Thanksgiving: Whine and Humble Pie

humble pie

humble pieNothing makes one more grateful/thankful than catching a whiff of whining leaking from one’s brain like a tire with a nail. (Tire air always smells so rank too, like dried barf and erasers.)

I’m one of those people who loves life as long as it loves me back, but a hang nail can get me out of sorts. I’m a whiner. Well maybe I don’t whine as much as pout. If you’ve ever played cards with me, you’ve seen it. I mean, why won’t something as fickle as random chance let me win more than 0.5% of the time? It’s not like I play cards with 100 other people at once. (Of course there is the possibility that I suck at cards, but that’s loser talk.)

With Thanksgiving days away, I’m feeling a bit mushy–like I want to hug the cosmos and apologize for having a bad attitude about the last month of sick kids and wife. Due to quarantining them, taking lots of Airborne and demanding extra sleep, I’ve stayed mostly healthy so that I can continue to blog. (Sometimes I’m just so darn noble. Does anyone else smell barf and erasers?)

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Consumption Vs. Production: an Internal Conflict

deer in a forest fireThe world is on fire, again. As I type this blog post, I’m separated from a murky, smoke-filled valley by some sticks, panes of glass and sheetrock. What a lousy way to celebrate the commencment of the 90th season of America’s favorite gladiator sport. (No, not Pyramid or Murder Ball. I’m talking about the NFL.)

Fire season is upon us. This is the time of the year when I’m most likely to languish in grim thoughts of Armageddon and cast my arms toward the fiery red ball in the sky while brimming with despair. So why should this year be any different?

Then I realized, fire itself gets to the heart of it.

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Rapturific! The View from the Sky

I don’t know about the rest of you, but I got raptured five days ago. I know. And I totally wasn’t expecting it. But I’ll tell you one thing. Right in the midst of my rapturous assent I started panicking about all you schmucks LEFT BEHIND. It really sucked too, because I realized I was the only one floating away. I always thought at least Michael Landon would join me. Then I thought, “Oh yeah, he’s dead already.”

Then my next thought really comforted me, “At least my dog, Fluffy, will be taken care of by a professionally vetted and secularly loving non-Christian post-rapture pet handler — all thanks to After the Rapture Pet Care. I mean, if so many people are doomed to eternal hell, than at least one of them should earn a decent wage caring for my precious dog, right?

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