I ate it.

“Now that Easter is here, and Lent is over, I can eat candy again. Where’s that chocolate bunny?”


“How lovely, Minnie.  And I can drink again.”


“You didn’t give up drinking for Lent, you idiot.  What did you give up, anyway?”


“Excuse me, but I have not had a margarita for 6 weeks.”


“You only drink those in the summer.  So what’s the big deal?”


“Shut up, Minnie.  Quit criticizing my sacrifice.  Do I belittle your candy addiction?  Do I make fun of your blue hair?  Do I tell you what a pain in the ass you are?”


“I can’t find the bunny.  What the hell?”


“What bunny?  Oh the chocolate one?  I ate it.”


“How could you?  I have been waiting for 6 weeks to eat that bunny.”


“It was stale.  You didn’t miss a thing.  Besides, tomorrow they will be at half price.  You can buy a hundred peeps for 5 bucks.”


“I hate peeps.  I used to like them until you put a dozen in the microwave and blew them up.  Every time I think about those decimated peeps, I get woozy.”


“Nobody buys those peeps to eat them. They dress them up and do all kinds of weird things with them.  Peeps are made for perverts.”


“You should be ashamed of yourself, talking trash on Easter, you miserable, bunny stealing, perverted moron.  By the way, did you start baking the ham yet?”


“What ham?  I bought little necks for dinner.”


“Oh no.  Not those damn clams again.  I could eat 4 dozen and still be hungry.  What happened to our traditional Easter dinner? ”


“I feel like a light dinner.  I am stuffed, after  eating that rabbit I stole from you.”


“Well, Wolf, you managed to do it again, you ruined my holiday.”


“Do you know what tomorrow is, Minnie?”




“April fools day.  Here’s your damn chocolate bunny, Minnie.   Hoppy Easter!”





Turning water into wine

“Have you noticed, Wolf?  That all the old people are your age?”


“That is a ridiculous statement.  Just what do you mean?”


“Well, Eric Clapton just turned 68, and then there is Billy Clinton, George W, Billy Joel, Sir Elton, Mick Jagger, and Betty White.”


“Betty White?  How did she get on  the list?  She is way older than I am, but I must admit,  she is my idol.  I want to be just like her when I grow up.  You know, I think I may have run into her today, at the supermarket.”


“You did?  What happened?”

“Well, some older gent was hired to help the seniors with their groceries.  He was helping me, but then he spotted a real old cougar and helped her out with her cart. I saw them in the parking lot, walking around, trying to find her car.  By the time I had packed up my stuff and unloaded it, they were still walking around.  I wonder if they ever did find her car.”


“It’s inevitable Wolf.  There is going to be a day when you forget where you parked.”


“I just hope I am not at the market and that old fella tries to help  me.  He is useless..”


“On a serious note, Wolf, nobody wants old people around anymore.  They look funny, they stink and they act like they know everything.”


“Yeah? Well, what about the pope?  He is 76, and just starting his new career.  I bet he never forgets where the popemobile is parked.”


“That’s because he is a holy man, and probably doesn’t indulge the way you do.”


“Are you kidding?  He drinks wine every morning.  At least I wait til noon.”


“But he turns water into wine.  Can you imagine?  Water?  Just think if you could learn how to do that.  You could retire.  You wouldn’t have to work to support your habit.”


“Well, I just heard the songwriter Phil Ramone died.  He was known as the pope of pot.”




“You see, Minnie, there are many popes in this world.  Since I didn’t get the main Pope’s job.  I am applying for Phil’s job.”

“What makes you think you are qualified?”


“Are you kidding?  I may not be able to turn water into wine,  but I can surely drive a mean potmobile.”




“And don’t call me Shirley.”




It’s just a shame, that’s all.

“What’s up for the weekend, Wolf?  Did you remember, Sunday is Easter.”


“Oh really?  Easter is on a Sunday this year?  How quaint.”


“Are you baking a ham?”


“Hell no.  I hate following the madding crowd.  Why do you insist on having ham for Easter, turkey for Thanksgiving, pork and sauerkraut on NY’s and corned beef on St Pat’s?  Can’t you see beyond the horizon?  Are you that near sighted?  Are you a follower?”


“What in the world set you off today?  I am only asking about a ham.”


“If you recall, last year, we had a ham on Easter. Then we had ham sandwiches and left over potato salad for 3 days, ham salad for another day and then, pea and ham soup.  I was so hammed out, that I was afraid to put on lipstick.”


“What has lipstick got to do with Easter and ham?”


“You can put lipstick on a pig….”


“Oh for crazy.  What’s with the drama?  Did you turn into a queen?  Did you wake up this morning and after shaking off the after effects of the glorious grape, did you evolve into the ultimate ham bone?  I am merely asking an innocent question.  What about Easter?”


“Look, Minnie.  Easter is 2 days away.  Haven’t you heard about living in the moment?  You are wasting away again in hamaritaville, living in the not so distant future, planning for a day that has yet to surface.  You may not want a ham when Sunday rolls around.”


“I can see that you are in one of those moods.  I say black, you say white. I say day, you say night.  It’s just a shame, that’s all.”


“I really don’t care much for Phil Collins, Minnie.  He is a ham bone.”


“But he was a hell of a drummer.”


“Not according to Ringo.  He says he is the worlds’ greatest drummer.”


“Nope.  Buddy Rich was better.”


“Just for kicks, Wolf, can we talk about Easter?”


“Sure Minnie. What should we have for dinner?”


“Uhm.  Geez, I give up.”


“Let’s have a ham.”




Old people never buy new undies

“I hate it when my clothes fall off, Minnie, especially when I am at work.”


“Oh no.  What the hell?”


“And I am sick and tired of having to hoist up my pants when I am walking around the warehouse.  I just know those damn pants have a mind of their own.”


“Why don’t you wear pants that fit?  In this day and age, there is no excuse for wearing plus size elephant pants that fall down to your knees.  You could trip on your pants, fall flat on your face and wind up pantless in a sea of curious onlookers.  Oh the horror!”


“If my pants weren’t bad enough, my steel toed shoes have laces that are a foot long and no matter how I tie them, they stream out from my falling pants, and create havoc.  I have to watch every step I take, every move I make, every vow I take, every claim I stake…”

“Did they?  Or did they not, fall down?”


“Yes, they did.  And to make matters worse, I had undies with holes in them.”


“Why didn’t you wear a decent pair of undies, Wolf?  Don’t you know that people will judge you by your undies?”


“The truth is that I woke up late.  I grabbed those goofy undies with holes, a pair of pants that are too large and a bra that had shrunk.  Do you know what’s its like to have your boobs falling out, your undies blown out and your pants on the ground?”


“Well, Wolf.  It’s a senior thing.  You are old, senile and a mess. It’s normal.  All old people look like hell.  They wear clothes they have had since high school, never buy new undies and forget that their boobs have blossomed into low hanging fruit. Welcome to Social Security, AARP and Medicare.”


“AARP?  What’s that?”


“American Association of ripped panties.”




Sweet home, Pennsylvania

“When it rains, it pours.”

“Oh oh. A bad day, Wolf?”

“The sun will come out tomorrow.”

“Please don’t tell me, not another night of riddles.”

“Have you ever seen the rain, coming down on a sunny day?”

“It’s too cold to rain.”

“Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.”

“What the hell is wrong with you Wolf?  I am trying to sympathize, or emphasize with your bad experience today.  It isn’t raining, it isn’t snowing, and yet, you throw out these random statements.  Having a conversation with you is maddening.  What the hell happened today,  that set you off on a wild tangent?”

“Let’s just say that I am no stranger to the rain.”

“Well, I must say, your brain cells are fried. It’s no wonder you have bad days at work.”

“I did battle today, Minnie.  My alter ego emerged.  I was the evil twin, the protagonist, the absolute vodka.”

“Aha!  So you started the fire.”

“Yeah.  I started the fire.  I was the uptown girl, the piano man, waiting for a night with Captain Jack.”

“And just how many glasses of wine did you consume on your nightly prowl?”

“I took the long way home, Minnie.  I did the logical thing.”

“That’s it.  I am done.  You are insane.  Conversations with you are less than satisfying.”

“Are you saying you can’t get no satisfaction?”

“Yes, Wolf.  After all, we are living here in Allentown.”


It’s 5pm, somewhere

“All the clocks in this house are wrong, Wolf.  The computer says one thing, my watch says another and the kitchen clock stopped running.  What time is it, anyway?”


“Does anybody really know what time it is?   Does anybody really care?”


“Please, don’t start with the Chicago songs.  I am serious.  We have a time crisis in this house.”


“That’s why we have cats, Minnie. They know when it’s time to go to bed, to get up and to eat.  They are creatures of the black lagoon.  I see them hunkering around now. They want to eat.  It must be dinner time, 5pm.”


“5pm?  Are you kidding?  They ate at 5pm.  I fed them, while you were whistling Dixie at the local pub.”


“There is no need to have a clock, Minnie.  Listen to your inner voice.  Tell your brain to wake up at 6am, and you will.  Eat when you are hungry and go the hell to bed when it’s dark. All creatures live and thrive on their inner biorhythms.  If you depend on a clock to rule your life, the clock wins.  Take control Minnie.  Don’t let the notion of time be your guide.  As you know, time has a way of ticking, secretly, silently. And one day you wake up and you are 30 years older.”


“Listen to me, you idiotic moron.  All I am saying is that our clocks are screwed up.”


“Tick tick tick.  Your life is a clock.  You are born at midnite and die at noon.  It’s inevitable.  So who cares if the kitchen clock is 10 minutes off?  Do you think, in the scheme of things, that 10 minutes is going to make a difference? ”


“I beg your pardon, but if you are more than 3 minutes late for work, you will get an occurrence, and ultimately, get canned, for those 3 minute events.  You, of all people, have to be concerned about the time.”


“Yup.  Those 3 minutes really make a difference, in my work.  Let’s see:  3 minutes a day, 21 times a month, 12 months in a year.  It’s an abomination.”


“Cut the sarcasm, Wolf.  Can we synchronize the clocks?  Please?”


“Sure.  Let’s do it.  You change your watch and I will change the kitchen clock.”


“Ok. What time is it?”


“Hmmm.  Let’s see.  I see the cats lined up.  It’s 5 pm.”



A sit down comedian

“You should really be more careful what you post on facebook, Wolf.  I saw  your latest posting and it was offensive.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The anal glaucoma post.”

“Oh that.  So what?”

“What if your boss read that?  You are calling in with anal glaucoma because you can’t see your ass going into work.  Very tacky, indeed.”

“My boss has better things to do than research my diseases.  Besides, yesterday, I posted this one:  I have used up all my sick days, so I am calling in dead.”

“You think you are so funny, don’t you?  You laugh at your own jokes.  You remind me of Herman Munster.  He laughed at all his jokes too.”

“Yeah, well, he called in dead a few years ago.”

“I loved Herman.  How can you be so callous?”

“Well, in my yout….”

“Don’t start with the Cousin Vinny thing.  I am giving you some serious advice.  Quit posting garbage on facebook.  It will bite you in the ass some day.”

“Right.  At my age, if I applied for another job, it wouldn’t be facebook that is an issue, you idiot.  It would be my age.”

“You mean when you retire, again, if I may be so bold, that you would think about getting another job?”

“Why not?  My next job will be my dream job.  I will either be a wine taster or a stand up comedian.”

“Stand up?  Hell, you can’t stand for more than 10 minutes, and your knee gives out.”

“OK.  A sit down comedian.”

“Don’t you want to enjoy life?  To hang out and have no responsibilities?  To do what you want when you want?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”
“I have anal glaucoma.   I can’t see my ass sitting around and getting old.”

“You are old.  What the hell are you talking about?”

“I may be old, but when you retire, you really get old.  Look at you.”

“At least I don’t post obnoxious things on facebook.   I act my age.  I am a dignified senior citizen.”

“Well, I’m not.  So there.”

“You are a hedonist, Wolf, never thinking about ramifications.  Very short sighted.”

“Yeah, it’s the anal glaucoma Minnie.”


When in doubt, mumble

“Hey Minnie, how’s it going?”




“I said how’s it going?”




“Why do you always say what or huh?  I think it is just a habit.  You know very well what I asked you.”


“What?    You know I can’t hear you when you mumble.”


“I was not mumbling.  I spoke very clearly, succinctly, coherently.  I asked you a simple question, and you pretend you can’t hear me and start with the mumbling routine.  It’s getting old.”


“Yes, you are.”


“I am what?”


“Getting old, and  you do mumble.  Lately, the mumbling has exacerbated.   You really should have it checked.”


“If I exacerbate, you masterbate.”




“You heard me distinctly.”


“Did you say I elaborate?”


“Hey, what’s that in your ears?  Cotton balls?  What the hell?”


“Huh?  I can’t hear you when you mumble.  You know I have cotton balls in my ears.”


“Why?  What’s wrong with your ears?”


“What?  Did you mumble something about my ears?  If you must know, I put a paper clip in them and now they hurt.  So I put extra virgin olive oil in them, and it kept leaking.  Hence, the cotton balls.”


“I swear you have a death wish, you idiot.  Paper clips.  For crazy.  This was a deliberate action on your part to do harm to yourself.   How does it feel to be leaking oil and stuffed with balls?”


“Did you say your balls are leaking Wolf?”


“Yeah, that’s it.  My balls are leaking.  I am surprised you heard that.”




“Cuz I was mumbling.”



Never go shopping when you are hungry

“Well, Minnie.  I did it again.  I went to the grocery store, hungry as a bear, and came home with all kinds of goofy stuff.”


“What happened to your list?  You always make a list before you go shopping.”


“I lost it, in the doughnut section.”


“Did you get my orange juice?”


“Uhm.  No.  But I did get you an apple dumpling.”


“You know I  can’t take my pills without orange juice.  You promised to get it for me.”


“Oh for Pete’s sake.  Take it with a beer.  I remembered to buy beer.”


“You bought apple dumplings, doughnuts and beer?  What did you buy for dinner?”


“I thought we could go out for dinner.”


“Why?  You just went shopping!”


“Yeah, but there is nothing to eat for dinner.  Unless, of course, you would like a Sarah Lee cake, after it thaws, or a raspberry popsickle.”


“Didn’t you buy anything but sweets and beer?”


“Minced garlic.  One of those huge jars.  And a pineapple.”


“Have you heard of impulsive buying Wolf?  It is a sickness.  You have it.”


“Wait.  I remember now.  I bought a can of cashews and a frozen pizza.  Now, how can you say I am sick?”


“You win.  Let’s go out to dinner.”


“You go ahead Minnie.  I’m not hungry.”


“What the hell?”


“I ate your apple dumpling and the can of nuts.  For some odd reason, my tummy hurts.  I think I will stay home and nurse a case of beer.”


“You idiot.  You really are a sick woman.  I’m going to dinner.”


“Where are you going?”


“To the Cracker Barrel.”


“Oh good. Hey, as long as you are going out, can you do me a favor?”


“Now what?”


“Can you order me some grits and dumplings?  And a side of crispy bacon?”


“I guess.”


“And then, can you stop at the grocery store on the way home?  And do a little shopping?  There is nothing to eat in this house.”



The 6 pack

“Don’t you wish you were addiction free Wolf?”


“I don’t have addictions.  I have habits. It’s other people who have addictions.  Like you, for instance. You are addicted to picking fights with me, after a particularly rough day at the office.”


“Don’t get high and mighty with me.  You don’t work in an office. You work in a warehouse, in the back room, where there are no windows and only highly crazed individuals.  You know they say that when you hang out with the same 5 people all day, you begin to take on their traits, habits and persona.”


“I will have you know that I am not anything like those 5 goofs.  I don’t have Tourette’s, I am not grouchy, I do not strut my stuff, I am not an enchantress and I am not a wino.”


“Are you kidding?  You have all those traits.”


“Shut the #5#%#%% up Minnie, you @@5@T%$$ idiot.  I am sick and tired of your Pollyanna attitude.  So don’t talk to me anymore.   I am way too classy for you anyway:  sexy, enticing and mesmerizing.  Excuse me, you %%@%^$$^, I need a glass of wine.”


“See what I mean?  You are no longer an individual.  You have been transformed into one of the 6 pack.  Your personality has been trashed.  And the sad truth is that you have ignored their best traits, and settled on the worst.”


“Excuse me, but those are their finest attributes.”


“Yeah, ok.  I just hope they haven’t been contaminated by your ridiculous behavior.”


“Just what does that mean?”


“The way you act, Wolf.  Like a silly grade school kid who thinks everything is funny.  I have wanted to tell you this for a long time, and now I am going to say it:  You are a world class asshole.  Life is not a joke, Wolf.  It’s serious business.  You need to grow up, settle down and quit ruffling feathers.  It’s time to give up the chicken butt thing.”


“It’s Buttafucco, Minnie.”




“Chicken Buttafucco.  My roomies love to hear me answer my phone that way.  It makes them giggle and think they are back in kindergarten.”


“Is that it?  Is that all you have to say after I have bared my soul and tried to help you?”


“Well, there is one more thing.”


“What’s that?”


“The 6 pack has decided to have cookies and milk every afternoon and then nappie time.  Can I borrow your whoopee cushion?”