This requires a full scientific study.
Editor’s Note: This is from a non-scientific study, but results are interesting.
Dogs sleep 19 hours a day (or so.)
They’re really not very active at all.
They will show up for all mealtimes,
Or sometimes, just to catch a ball.
So, eighty percent per day asleep,
A vast amount of total time spent,
Yet, when I take a one-hour nap,
That hour will be in the twenty percent.
Twin Diagnoses
My Doctor said “Your weight’s too high!”
He said, “Less food – more exercise!”
I said, “So, that’s it, I’m going to die.”
How do you get fired from a rock band?
It’s better to burn out than to fade away.
Sometimes, you just have to go your own way.
After all the losses of the past few years,
It’s strange to have someone leave the band,
Yet, he’s not dead, he just got canned.
I empathize with Mr. Buckingham,
I hope he remains hale and hearty,
At IBM, he’d get a retirement party.
Monday is the start.
Many days will follow it.
I don’t like Mondays.
I wasn’t sure who I should call,
The fourth time that I hit the wall.
I laid there, staring at the valance,
Waiting to regain my balance.
My sense of balance really stunk,
Yet, for once, I wasn’t drunk.
The therapist said my crystals fell,
Off the rods my ears held so well.
(I knew eventually crystals would be an involved.)
My wife suspected that I had a stroke.
In the lonely night, just before I awoke.
But with a stroke, I wouldn’t only miss the bed.
With a stroke, I would have woke up dead.
So, a nautical lesson, as I slip.
One hand for me, one for the ship.
When I’m home, and not out sailing,
It’s time to go install some railing.
My grandkids’ and my worlds collide,
Because we both can slip and slide.
I just find it very wrong,
To be diagnosed with a U2 song.
(At least, I wasn’t diagnosed with Mysterious Ways.)
My grandkids rode around in my car.
We set the locks so they can’t go far.
They tried to escape just one time each.
The secret lock was out of their reach.
All safe.
We went home at last, sad to say.
We’ll go back up again someday.
Later, their Dad came down to visit.
Well, to a meeting, same thing, is it?
We went to dinner, which was quite a treat.
We got home, but he’s still in the back seat.
All safe.
Pain and suffering. Constantly.
Editor’s Note: Weebles wobble, but they don’t fall down. So, my wife is not a Weeble. Some people are just accident-prone. I know one of them. She married me. Oy vey. This is in her voice, since that’s the only way it makes sense. You just have to imagine the cries of anguish at the end of each stanza.
I think I’ll have a glass of tea.
Ouch! I think I sprained my knee.
I was writing out my shopping list,
I stopped because I sprained my wrist.
The list said, “Ribs. At least a rack.”
Wow. I think that I just wrenched my back.
I filed the list in my to-do folder,
But now I may have popped my shoulder.
I turned on the TV and saw Bethenny Frankel,
Then dropped the remote and broke my ankle.
It’s Spring, we should be on a ship,
It’s just I may have strained my hip.
I reached to remove a piece of fluff,
And I think I tore my rotator cuff.
I know it’s time to feed the pup,
It’s just I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.
My husband said, “Hey, let’s get frisky!”
I said, “Oh, my God! That’s much too risky!”
My husband thinks he’s such a clown,
I’d hit him, but I’ve fallen down.
Again.
One of the dogs took over the blog today.
My Mommy has a house of bricks.
She also has a topiary of sticks.
I didn’t understand her twigs so grim,
Until she gave my lovely hair a trim.
I was a girl beautiful and faultless,
I’m now a guy with pattern baldness.
I have a home upon the range,
Mom made it look like I have mange.
From the poop deck to just poop.
The past few Aprils were fun for me.
When NaPoWriMo came around,
I found myself away at sea.
This year, I’m staying home.
So, I don’t see open seas.
I’m see poop wherever I roam.
I love my dogs, the entire pack.
It just takes them so little time,
To recycle any snack.
So, away at sea, one hand for you,
And another hand for the ship.
Home in the yard, one foot for grass,
And one foot for the shit.
What do you call your grandparents?
A grandmother wants control of her title.
Choosing what she is called seems vital.
Some will never be “Grams” or “Granny.”
They want to be called “MomPlus” or “Sammy.”
Grandfathers don’t really seem to care.
Since we get called random terms here and there.
I have been “Grandpa”, “Papa”, “Grampy”, so to speak.
All of those were just in the past week.
Next time, I’ll have another name.
I will probably have myself to blame.
I said my name was King Frank-Bob.
We’ll see if that’s accepted by the mob.
I answer to the term my grandkids choose,
Either good or bad, win or lose.
Call me a saint or call me a sinner.
Just don’t call Grandpa late for dinner.
Unfiltered Thoughts 