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“Friggin!” I looked it up before I wrote this. I got a second opinion. It hasn’t been all that long since the word “Friggin” has come on the scene. I hear it all the time around me and I hear it on television and radio. To me, it’s the Christian way to say, Fu*k without saying Fu*k. God, I hate that word! Personally, I prefer the work “Fu*k’in” over the word “Friggin”. Of course, I like the simple uncomplicated way of doing things, so I find it more insulting to hear someone say Friggin instead of using the already perfectly good sound that means the same thing.

I even heard Dave Ramsey (The talk show host on the Dave Ramsey show) say Friggin on the air and he claims to be a Christian. If he can say, “Friggin” on the air and use it where he could have made use of the word “Fu*king or Fu*kin, then it has to be the “F” word we’re all familiar with and that wouldn’t be very Christian. If he wants people to be honest and straight forward with dealing with money, then what’s Fu*king wrong with speaking straight?

People are still shocked and complaining about four-letter foul language on our air ways. So, if this be the case, then they should just come up with alternative words and leave the dirty stuff to people who are the experts in foul language. Leave Fu*k to those who know how to use it properly… So stop “Friggin” around with the word, “Fu*k”

Here’s a new one just finished last night.

Thank God Easter is over… well atleast from the viewpoint of a Dishwasher. I went into work at 9:00 Easter morning and started working fast and furious to make sure all my pots and pans were caught up before the church avalange came. I got everything ship shape and I guess god decided to give us all a little break and the crowd slacked off between the breakfast buffet and the dinner buffet. I was even able to mop the floor a little. It looked like someone shoveled mud in on the floor the night before and “Oops! just didn’t mop it up.

I got my floors cleaned and the folks started to arrive. They kept on arriving for three solid hours. I must have washed every pot in the place six times. It just kept going and I couldn’t let up for a second. I kept up like a little trooper and it all stopped around two o’clock. I even got out of that place by four fifteen.

I was so tired when I got home, I had to take two hot baths to feel normal enough to even go to bed. I was tired the next day and I’ve finally recovered. The boss said, “Well if you think that was bad… Wait until Mother’s day!” I guess I have something else to look forward too. I know I’m gonna get schedualed for that one also, because they love me at that place. I wish everyone had a nice job like I do, the world would be a happier place.

Every time Marcella and I come in the house after being out, we always see there has been a phone call and the light is blinking for us to find out who it is that left a message. There is a whole world of helpless people out there and they all know our phone number.

Thank god we don’t have a cell phone that we carry around everywhere we go. We keep ours safely tucked away in the glove compartment of our car so we don’t have to deal with it unless were on the road.

Every time the fire siren sounds, we instantly think of the farm. We can just see that ramshackle place going up in smoke. It actually wouldn’t be such a bad thing, considering the shape it’s currently in, but for the fact that one person is handicapped and couldn’t get out without help… And considering the mentality of the help out at that place, Marcella and I worry every time the siren blows.

We came home to find the message board lit up and flashing. It’s the farm. They have a clog in the sewer line. This isn’t anything new. This is been happening for years. Its an old ceramic pipe that runs out into the trees and empties out on the ground. You flush and the pipe takes the stuff out into the trees. No sewer treatment for those folks! Well, they’re lost. They flush and the stuff won’t leave the toilet. They don’t have any money left over from their twinkies, cigarettes, soda pop, bottled water, lottery tickets, beer, pizza hut pizza, cell phone bills and other vital necessities. Stuff is supposed to work and then when it doesn’t they don’t know what to do. They can’t call a plumber because they can’t pay the man when he does the work. They can’t call a plumber outside the family, because when he see’s where the poo is going, he’s going to shake his finger at them. Well, if he even gets that far. The stench from all that dog, cat and rat crap on the floor, walls and kitchen cabinets will make him sick and he’ll make an excuse to go to the truck for a wench or something and never come back.

“What can we do? asks Harold. Do you remember where so-in-so got that pipe snake the last time this happened?” and on and one and on. Why the hell does he call us? Marcella and I, aren’t plumbers. When we have a problem, we call the plumber and they come out and fix the problem. We pay them right away. That’s the secret ot good service. Pay the man!

“Gee! We don’t have any money and i’m not working and Clete is glued to the recliner watching what-ever and is waiting for his cell phone to ring to find out about his “Unemployment benefits” so he can, “maybe” buy the two belts he needs to get his clunker of a car to run. Maybe he’ll wait for his income tax return to come in before he goes to town for the belts. Maybe he’ll be able to get Harold off his lazy butt to take him to town to get his belts, but that won’t be so likely, if the past problems between those two are an indication as to the level of cooperation. They’ll leave a message on our message machine.

“Gee! Aunt Marcella! (They always use “Aunt” when they need something, and they always need something!” We need you to come over to our smelly house and be our mommy,” That’s, what they want. They want us to come over and take charge of all the complicated stuff. All the dirty jobs they don’t do, (like maybe saving some money for emergencies). Take all the complicated stuff which will allow them to go on doing the same stupid crap they do. Four adults living in that house and there isn’t a brain between them and the only solution to all their problems is to call us, maybe, because we’re stupid and not smart enough to remove message thing from our phone… But then, they’ll start showing up at our door. At least the message machine doesn’t convey their smell into our living room and we still have the option of not calling back one of these days.

We came in last night and the light was flashing… “Drat!” … It turned out to be my daughter Lisa, wanting to know what I wanted for my birthday, coming up next week!

When I was around fourteen years old, we had the big one. Any one my age would have remembered the blizzard of 1957 in Kansas. I can remember the wind blowing for a couple of days and the snow coming down horizonal. No one dared go outside. Thank God our electricity didn’t go out. Many people’s did however. We were town folks and so we fared better than people out on the farm. When finally the snow ended and we ventured outside. It was a sight to see. The now drifts were so high we could simply walk to the roof of our house. Everything was stopped, even the trains were all snowed in and had to be rescued. That snow stayed on the ground well into april.

This snow had that potential, except it was heavy, wet and the temperatures were very warm. It started to melt almost the minute the sun came out. Still it took Marcella and I nearly until noon to dig out the drive and to liberate my car. I’m glad I didn’t have to go to work that morning.

It’s all gone now, except for the photographs.

I went to Great Bend Coffee and my friend Tom was there. He goes there often. He’s the hippie in my old man comic. He looked as if he’d been through the ringer. He looked old and had very red rings about his eyes. He told me he’d been to the hospital with a Liver failure and a near heart attack.

He said he went to work and felt ill, so they sent him home. When he got there, he said he could hardly get in the front door. He said he had to crawl on his hands and knees to get inside. He then called 911 and they came and rescused him.

They then decided to fly him to Wichita, but just as the plane was about to take off, the flight was aborted because of bad weather in Wichita. They took him back to the hospital. Then another company said they would fly him, so they transported him back to the airport. Different company, different airplane, the same type of airplane, maybe a pilot with more guts and he was off to Wichita.

I don’t remember what he said they did, but he lived and was back home. He was so excited to see his photo on the front of the “Old Guy” that he bought two copies. I’m sure glad to see he made it through his near death ordeal.