So I have invented a new family game that will help everyone understand what to do when in the presence of the Queen. Seems like some people still don’t get it. The game is still in its infancy stages but the premise of it is that players would be faced with different scenarios where they are forced to make decisions to save the queen but not allowed to touch her in any way. You touch her, you lose.
Here’s one such scenario. Liz is on the sinking Titanic and all her handlers have perished and poor Liz is frantic and alone. She’s not used to this so she’s way out of her element and sobbing like an infant. Liz wants off the ship that’s sinking faster than the popularity of the Monarchy. Tossing protocol aside, she reaches her arm out to you for help. Yes, the Queen is reaching out to you, a peon. A commoner! Was that a pig flying overhead?
So, the question is, what do you do? Remember, YOU CAN’T TOUCH THE QUEEN! While you ponder this, here’s another one. The 91 year old Liz is ascending some stairs which at her age, could be a daunting if not treacherous task. You are the closest person to her and you are certain she might trip over the royal rug. You were right! The old lady stumbles towards you and only you could halt her descent. What do you do?
I await your answers…
It’s the story of my life. I am about to stop at a red light and noticed that the other lane over has no traffic. No vehicular presence!
“Right on”! I thought. “I would have nothing but road as soon as the light goes green.” I start to change lanes at about the same time as the turtle ahead of me eho obviously doesn’t need the open road ahead. What would she do with all that road anyways? I swear under my breath and fall into place behind her. Foiled again!
I didn’t know it was possible for a person to choose their sexual orientation. That’s not all, one could also get their kids to grow up as a…a…uhm…thing? No wait, an unassigned-gendered organism or being. Yup! yes siree!
I just read, that in British Columbia, (That’s in Canada for you Mercan folks), a baby was giving a ‘U’ for sexual orientation on its health card on the request of the parent who wants to raise the kid as a sex-fence straddler. (I made that word up by the way).
The parent thinks it infringes on the baby’s human rights to be forced to live like a
duck boy or girl. Parent X wants baby Y to choose whether it wants to continue on as a male or female once Baby Y is old enough. (Let’s use X and Y here for clarity). Being gendered without a choice is socially crippling to Baby Y, according to parent x. (Not exactly their words but mine sounds better).
So all these years, I could have been a gir/woman, boy/man and later on pick my sex? Imagine the naked girls I could have seen as I changed in their locker rooms! Or the hung men! My oh my! I’ll take that and that and that! Who the heck decided that I wanted to be male anyways? Who thought I would rather boxers over G-strings? Or be a husband instead of a wife? Or play on a boys’ team instead of a girls’? Or even be on top instead of…oh never mind. Hell, I even attend an all-boys high school!
I love this new world order. Wrong is right and right is wrong. Male is female and female is whatever it wants to be. No boundaries! I tell ya, things, they are a changing…
Read story here.
Help! My cousin is missing! I haven’t seen her in about two years and someone or something has taken over all her social media accounts. Whenever I creep her Instagram, Facebook or Snapchat account, I see someone or something that looks nothing like her. This thing has rabbit ears, dog nose and flawless skin. The mouth is that of a dog’s and to top it off, there’s a crown of flowers on its/her head. What should I do? Should I file a missing person report?
I simply cannot stand the internet these days. Well not exactly the internet,the world wide web, the WWW. The thing is, not to long ago, I could do a search in Google or whatever search engine and I will click on the link I like best and it will show me ‘just the facts, sir’. Now when I click on the link, it takes me to a page with a couple of sentences that relate to the topic I searched for and the rest is INTERESTING STUFF!
Just today, I clicked on a link that was supposed to take me to videos showing the effects of Trump’s ban on immigration. The first thing that caught my eye was a photo of racks. Yes, that kind of a rack. Cleavages! Not uncovered, mind you, but enough to pique my interest, especially when it said, ‘What shape breasts are you?’
Of course I want to see how my breasts stack up against whatever ones they had on display, so Muslim Ban forgotten and off into breastland I go. I didn’t stay long though because, yes you guessed it, I was again bombarded with a bunch of other options to check out. See what the cameraman captured, Stars who showed too much, 20 things you never knew existed, animals you never knew existed…the list goes on. and on and I went on and on and on until, you guessed it, I was on some hub or something like that. Oh well..
So yes, I can’t just surf anymore. Impossible.
Hey Dads, and you too moms, ever noticed how you have different feelings towards your child calling ‘mommy’ or ‘Daddy’?
When your little one first utters the word ‘Dadda’ or ‘Mama’, you drop whatever you were doing, and run to their crib, or where ever they are. “Oh my God! She said Dadda! She said Dadda! Did you hear that, hon? Babes, little Elsa just said Dadda!” As the ‘Dadda’ utterances get more frequent, your response times slows until one day, you barely react. Glued to your television set watching the Winnipeg Jets play the Washington Capitals, little Elsa’s ‘Dadda’ falls on deaf ears.
Unfortunately, little Elsa is not ‘little’ anymore. The cuteness is gone. Elsa is 7 years old and now says ‘daddy’ instead of ‘dadda’. You barely noticed the transition and sometimes actually cringe when you hear ‘Daddy!’ Just call your mom, already! What does a guy have to do to just get some peace and quiet around here? It’s not the same anymore, is it?
The other day while sitting on my throne, yes the toilet! I heard some disturbing noises coming from the stall beside me. Being the inquisitive type, I looked under the partition to see if I recognized the shoes. Just wanted to put a face to the noise. I know, I am weird that way. I instantly saw the shoes belonged to my boss! Gurgle! Gurgle! Splat! The unearthly sounds continued…
To save him from the embarrassment of meeting me at the sink and realizing my ears were unwilling witnesses to his toilet toils, I finished my texting and facebooking and beat a hasty retreat.
I haven’t looked at my boss the same way since that experience. He didn’t seem like the noisy shitter type either! You can never tell I guess…