This is my last column before Halloween, and I suppose I do have a bit of good news: Seems my bum knee is coming around sufficiently to allow me to hand out candy on the big night.
With Halloween around the corner, I decided to talk about something that is creepier than a lot of folks seem to think. I call them the four types of prophecy.
We shot the flu the other day. Hope it works.
Alas, it was an innocent mid-week trip to the store to pick up some things. And the visit had started off well. I had swung by a particular part of the store and had gotten a good “bah, humbug” fix, snorting at all the Christmas stuff that was already up. Ah, yes, that was the ticket.
“How I wish the ‘infernal combustion’ engine had never been invented.” — J.R.R. Tolkien.
“What’s Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer…..” Ebenezer Scrooge.
I will now relate a touching tale, of a man and his recliner.
Today, it’s a little of this, a little of that:
I have been faced with a terrible choice this week – to fair, or not to fair?
This is supposed to be a humorous, if not always hysterically funny, column. But lately there hasn’t been a lot of funny stuff going on the world. That’s why, after giving up on current events, I decided to to write a column on different aspects of birthdays.