Two hip replacements later, with x-rays to prove it.

Tess, surgical scar and all

Every pet is special of course, but our golden Tess is 'specialer' to us.

She (and her sister, Abby) are HOPE Animal Assisted Crisis Response  dogs, two of 235 in the country who respond to tragedies and crises where there is need for comfort. Classified as a working dog, Tess was last at the D.C. Naval Yard after the shooting there that took 13 lives.

But what sets her further apart from many is that she has just completed her second total hip replacement due to significant hip dysplasia in both hips--it was bone against bone, our vet told us after the surgery. Sadly, this is a genetic trait in some golden retrievers. What this picture shows is the shaved area and surgical incision on her left hip, stitches still in place. These x-rays tell the story:

One hip done last spring

This shows Tess with her first hip replacement. You can compare the artificial hip with the non-treated hip. We were told the degree of her dysplasia was 9 on a 10-point scale.

Tess with both hips replaced

This x-ray was taken just after the second surgery and it shows both new hips.

The rather amazing thing about a hip replacement in a dog vs. one in a human is that  they both seem very similar in technique and apparatus to a non-medical eye. The x-rays look eerily similar but the human version costs lots more. Lesson: Get your next hip replacement at the vets.

Tess's procedures were both done by Veterinary Surgical Referral Practice in Cary, NC. Our Labrador retriever, Abby, has had surgeries there for torn anterior cruciate ligaments (ACLs) on both of her hind legs, something Labs seem prone to do.

Amid all the owner trauma, we could never have imagined how comfortable we were with VSRP. These veterinary pros specialize in neurosurgery soft tissue and orthopedic surgery for pets. They really care for their patients... and just as vital, the patients' owners too. We, with lots of experience, highly recommend VSRP.

Tess moving well with both artificial hips

Our biggie... we have pet insurance by Petplan . The people at Petplan were incredibly helpful from our first contact on the web. Not only were they easy to work with but personal, caring and empathetic  They made a significant difference. Again, from our experience, we highly recommend Petplan.

As an aside, we know how fortunate we are to not only have the great dogs we do but the means to afford the reasonable insurance premiums and the co-pay difference. We are grateful.

A word about prognoses... Tess's sister Abby, with ACL surgeries on both hind legs at VSRP-- the last about three years ago--runs 4-5 miles with me three times a week. Abby is a powerhouse. She loves to run and, if we are on a downhill and she spots a squirrel, I'd be in trouble if I didn't have my feet under me. She is so strong.

Rear view

Tess, on one artificial hip for the last months before this latest surgery, moves comfortably on her first hip replacement. She very obviously and painfully favored her unrepaired hip.

Biggest warning: The rehab is a real pill. Tess was on her new hips the morning after both surgeries. She comfortably walks on the new hip and thinks she is almost ready to go. However, the bone needs to graft around the implant and that takes 16 weeks, so she must be kept low key. She can't run, slip, jump or romp until she meets the specific rehab schedule set down by VSRP.  Fortunately, our dogs 'get with the program' and that helps a lot. It's a commitment... but satisfyingly worth the effort.

If you have ever have the need for any of these services or wonder if this is the thing to do, don't hesitate to help your animal if it is at all possible. Our dogs are both seven-years-old and they have a greater mission than just being our pets, as if that wasn't enough. They are also both members of Pet Partners Therapy Animal Program for hospital, hospice and other animal assisted therapy needs and have specialized training for their HOPE AACR mission. They have a significant impact on many more than us.

This was a great decision for us. If you have the means and need, go for it. And if you live close enough, there would be no better way to proceed than than to use VSRP and Petplan. Both are competent pros that have meant much to us.

Goofus and Gallant for rich kids

If grandma ever gave you a gift subscription to Highlights Magazine when you were a youngster in elementary school, you know Goofus and Gallant. This feature has been in Highlights since its inception in 1948 but it originated in 1936, created by Gary Cleveland Myers.

Goofus always did things poorly or sometimes rudely. Gallant always did things better, kinder. There was always a lesson for the young reader, with appropriate images, to do this, not that.

Goofus, with a bratty face, tells mom: "Here, sew this button on."
Gallant, with a smiley, sweet face, one arm on grandma's shoulder asks: "Will you please sew on this button."

Goofus, grabbing newspaper from mom says: "I want to read the funnies now."
Gallant, asking dad politely with a smile: "Are you finished with the funnies?"

So recently, the Wall Street Journal  put out its own version showing how rich parents should talk to their rich little inheritors... and I didn't make these up.


Picture shows rich father patting son on the head at the dinner table with a servant in the background holding a tray of food to be served.

Don't say: "Why are you asking about money? You don't have to worry about any of that."
Do say: We are lucky. My grandfather build a successful company and passed it down. Here's what that money can help us accomplish."

Picture shows rich mom talking to her young daughter in a limo en-route to airport.

Don't say: "The limo drive is so slow, I hope there will be time to hit the duty-free shop before first-class boarding starts."
Do say: "You can learn a lot by seeing the world. Would you like to help decide where to go for our annual vacation?"


Picture shows son asking rich dad--cocktail in hand while sitting in a comfy chair in his smoking jacket--for a few bucks to replace his broken lacrosse stick.

Don't say:  "Here's $3,000. Will that be enough?''
Do say: "Here's $300. That should be enough to replace your broken lacrosse stick and cover your snacks for the month."


Now don't get me wrong. I think these are fine lessons. But I still sense a touch of "lots richer than me" coming through.


Maybe we need alternate lessons for the middle class while there are still a few thousand or so of us still around.


Picture shows kid asking dad, in overalls working on the family car, for $20 to replace his punctured basketball:

Do say: "Sure son. Here's all my loose change. Ask your mom for some change from the jar in the kitchen cabinet and I'll see if I can find another few bucks next week."
Maybe say: "Here's a buck. Go buy a lottery ticket."
Possibly say: "The Harlem Globetrotters have a trick play using a deflated basketball and they are rich. See if you can learn from them."
Don't say: SMACK! "I TOLD YOU NOT TO BREAK YOUR BASKETBALL!
Perhaps say: "You have a birthday coming up. We'll see."
Can't say: Here's a thou, get something good... and those fancy Michael Jordan shoes while you're at it."
Best say: "Here's $20. Go get 'em Tiger!"

So you see, most of these are very good suggestions. What's right for you just depends.

I really don't mean to make fun of the super rich... much. Those who are born with a silver spoon in their collective mouth (disgusting image!) do not have an easy life. Actually, I've worked all my life for people with money (both inherited and earned) and their lives are often not as 'rich' as mine. I'm really glad Bill Gates has all that money... and how he uses it. While he could leave his kids billions, he has vowed to give most of it away, leaving each heir only $10 million. And, no joking, I really think that is cool. Now there's a great kid lesson by example.

While money cannot buy happiness, it also cannot buy poverty. My dad, who died many years ago, told me, a person with $10 million isn't that much happier than one with $9 million." Of course, that was when a million dollars WAS a lot of money.

The Summer of 1927

Charles Lindberg and his Spirit of St. Louis

The summer of 1927 in America is more interesting than you could ever imagine, for a lot of reasons. Author Bill Bryson's latest work, One Summer in America, is all over it, as usual. Bryson is a most interesting author, researcher and story-teller with a WIDE range... but more of him later.

In 1927 Charles Lindbergh was the first to fly the Atlantic and take the prize so many aviators of the time died for. Known as Lucky Lindy, he was! He captured the nation and the world in ways unimaginable today except by the historically trite like Justin Beiber, the Kardashians, reality TV, yada yada. My, how the world has changed.

Lucky Lindy even had a hit song about him that swelled the pride of every American:

Lucky Lindy (Recorded by Vernon Dalhart ca. 1929-1930)  

From coast to coast, we all can boast and sing a toast to one
Who's made a name
By being game.  
He was born with wings as great as any bird that flies
A lucky star
Led him afar!

Lucky Lindy! Up in the sky
Fair or windy, he's flying high.
Peerless, fearless --- knows every cloud
The kind of a son makes a mother feel proud! 

Lucky Lindy!
Flies all alone In a little plane all his own,
Lucky Lindy shows them the way
And he's the hero of the day.

Just like a child, he simply smiled while we went wild with fear  
That Yankee lad!
The world went mad!  
Everywhere we prayed for him to safely cross the sea
And he arrived In gay Par-ee! 

But Lindy was far from the only story... only the first of that 1927 summer. Babe Ruth was pretty noteworthy that same year... as was Al Capone, Herbert Hoover, Calvin Coolidge and flag pole sitting. It was the advent of sensational journalism which filled our eye with colorful tales of murder, mayhem, scandals and con men that  caught America's eye the same way CNN, Entertainment Tonight, American Idol do today, but this was before TV...  when we first 'got the fever.'

Bryson writes: To a foreign visitor arriving in America for the first time in 1927, the most striking thing was how staggeringly well-off it was. Americans were the most comfortable people in the world.

American homes shone with sleek appliances and consumer durables--refrigerators, radios, telephones, electric fans, electric razors--that would not become standard in other countries for a generation or more. Of the nation's 26.8 million households, 11 million had a phonograph, 10 million had a car, 17.5 million had a telephone. Every year, America added more new phones that Britain possessed in total.

 Made in America? How about 42 percent of everything! Four times more cars than all the rest of the world. More gold reserves too. America only had 120 million people then, about a third of today's number, and most of those lived on farms or in small cities.

Travel? Railroads and airplanes, new as they were. We had one transcontinental highway and it was only half-paved from the Iowa to the Pacific. No TV of course, or air conditioning. Lots of homes had horses but didn't have toilets. A different time for sure.

But zeal? We had that. It was zeal and happenings and circumstance and curiosity that marked this remarkable summer. So did I like the book? Guess. It's filled with tales about all of the above.

Bill Bryson has always been a favorite of mine. He was born in Iowa with a lot of growing-up time in England where he now lives. He writes mostly non-fiction, most interestingly. His range is broad. He has a book about language called The Mother Tongue. Another about words called (you're not going to believe this) Words. I especially liked A Really Short History of Nearly Everything... and it is! Really. I found it most palatable as an audio book that I could listen to in drive-time snippets because there is so much to digest.

He is a good read... One Summer in America fits the bill just fine.

"You don't always get what you pay for."

When buying art, don't be fooled, like the West Virginia lady who paid $7 for a box of kitschy treasures at a flea market a few years back. She HAD to take the painting because it was in the box she wanted.

What attracted her to the simple little box was a very cute leather-crafted Paul Bunyan doll that she was sure she could resale at a profit and an adorable plastic cow that she liked for her kitchen. The silly little picture, about the size of a post card... well, she thought the frame might be worth something if she removed the engraved Renoir plate from the front of it.

It just so happened that the annual Starving Artists painting sale was going  on in my hometown that same weekend. It offered hand-painted 'steals' for as little as $9.95 with Van Goghs for only $49.95.

Sofa-size painting

AND, you can have this magnificent 'sofa-size' painting as your very own--with many more this size... and just as great to choose from--for only $69.95, none higher!

Now I ask you, who is the bigger fool? Why would you waste $7 on a painting no larger than a post card when you can cover your whole wall behind your couch with something this big, this awe-inspiring and this cheap?

Some people just don't know art.

Oh, the silly little Renoir it seems was painted by French Impressionist, Auguste Renoir about 1879. (So, "Ooh La La.") It is titled Paysage Bords de Seine, or Banks of the River Seine as I like to say in good old American. Those French have a different word for everything... and they go crazy over Jerry Lewis. Does that make me want that painting, even if it would bring around $100,000 when sold at auction? 

All said, how silly would that tiny little Renoir look on the red accent wall behind my massively

The Kiss

comfortable, overstuffed Scotch-plaid recliner couch? I'd probably have to buy a new frame... something much simpler, perhaps in black. No thank you! I'm a Starving Artist man where your money always buys a lot of square inches of canvas and it only takes a hundred bucks or so to do the whole darned house.

A nice "sofa-size" would also enhance my last steal... a really nice plaster of Rodin's The Kiss which set me back 25 smackeroos at a Starving Sculptor tent sale next to a BP Station last summer.

The pleasure I get from the "Oohs" and "Aahs" from all my art critic friends is my greatest reward. And besides, these artists will probably be next century's famous dead people... and they probably are really starving.

PS: The Renoir was possibly stolen from a museum in 1951 and not seen since. Courts will decide the true owner.

Chickery chick, cha-la cha-la...

What is Chickery chick? It's music from the past... way past, like this 1945, Number 1 song on the Hit Parade by Sammy Kaye. While music before TV, the internet, rock and roll, Motown, grunge, new age, etc. was different (lots of novelty songs to 'catch your ear'), music then and music now has always had a magic quality.

Once there lived a chicken who would say "chick-chick"
"Chick-chick" all day
Soon that chick got sick and tired of just "chick-chick"
So one morning he started to say:

"Chickery chick, cha-la, cha-la
Check-a-la romey in a bananika
Bollika, wollika, can't you see
Chickery chick is me?"

Oh, there's more. If you don't know the words and the tune to Chickery chick, check it out here. It's cute.

So what's the magic quality? "Psychologists believe laws, stories and customs were presented as poems, chants and, eventually, as songs, in order for them to be memorized and recalled accurately. The idea was that the chant would help people to remember large sets of information across the ages. Music aids memorization by providing a rhythm, a rhyme and often, alliteration. All that structure is the key to unlocking information stored in the brain--with music acting as a cue." *

Many researchers think the brain function that responds to music evolved long before those related to language and that humans developed music and dance to aid in the retrieval of information.

Think it's an accident that most commercials include music? At today's Super Bowl prices --$4 million for a 30 second spot, if one was still available--advertisers will do everything they can to be remembered.

That's also why even patients with advanced Alzheimer's dementia have been know to sing along to a familiar song... or even play the piano or other instruments they once knew. (Visiting an Alzheimer wing a few years ago, I heard the most magnificent violin concerto coming from one of the rooms. Tracking the sound down, I was amazed that it was coming from the bow of a professional violinist who couldn't even remember his name or family.) Ever watch a concert and see everyone in the audience mouthing familiar songs as the artist sings or plays them? We're that good without giving it much thought. 

We just remember songs better than we remember grocery lists (Hmm. What rhymes with spaghetti?), where we put the keys or what my wife/husband said just two minutes ago.  Now if you try real hard, can you remember the Alphabet Song? Good! Lucky for us, the letters go in that order or we would really be mixed up.

Memory is triggered by songs and similar structures like rhymes and associations we create. After reading The Memory Book by Harry Loraine and ex-basketball player Jerry Lucas many years ago, I tested the theory. On a family vacation when my oldest was just 10, I used techniques of association taught in the book to see if the kids could recall long lists of unrelated things. After a short, simple explanation and a single read-though to help them build an association to the word, all but the youngest could repeat lists as long as 20 items--forward, backward and from any point I challenged them to start. And they could retain that memory and other lists as I tested them during our vacation, or as long as it was important to them. It amazed us all.

Sadly, it takes mental discipline to condition yourself to think this way until it becomes second nature--like doesn't every good habit? And it wasn't important enough for us to do, so we just struggle our best to retain our sieve-like memories. Now what was the name of that guy you were just introduced to one minute ago?

But for fun, unless you were born after these songs were sung, can you remember some of the lyrics to The Witch Doctor song? (... and he said, Ting, tang, walla-walla-bing-bang.... ) or that hauntingly beautiful It's a small, small world?

So there you have it. Now, with practice, your conversations at home and work will all sound like The sound of music, Oklahoma and The king and I  or a Dr. Seuss book so we will never forget where we put those glasses or keys again.

Memory is a funny thing... so much is in our head but getting it out... now that's another matter. Oh geeze... I forgot my pants again.

*Dr. Henry L. Roediger III, professor of psychology at the Memory Lab at Washington University in St. Louis.

Happy New Year... BUT WAIT A MINUTE!

Yogi Berra said many funny things and most conveyed common sense logic, Yogi style. My favorite:  "It ain't over 'til it's over."

While this is the perfect time for new resolutions and a clean slate, let's recognize that the new year is just a fresh start that will be largely forgotten when Dec. 31st rolls around 12 months from now. What really carries meaning in life is not how we start but how we end, do-overs and all.

Sports Illustrated columnist Steve Rushin said something very poignant in his end-of-year piece:

Soccer surely has the best ending, because the end isn't really the end at all, thanks to the stoppage time added on after 90 minutes of regulation. And who wouldn't want that at the end of life, a fourth official at your bedside, holding an electronic signboard with a lit 7, indicating seven years tacked-on to compensate for all the time wasting you did in the previous 90?

It is perhaps for the better that most of us don't receive a two-minute warning, don't really see the end coming, even though we know it's looming, a gateway to the great unknown. So we just let it arrive, both expected and yet catching us unaware, like the end of another column, at the end of another magazine, at the end of another year, beyond which lies a mystery.

I really like that.

So, let's celebrate the heck out of life... our blessing. Let's toast the future and do more this new year that is memorable... like a resolution kept, a kindness shown, a friend made, laughter shared, a burden lightened. The past is done. We've already lived that and we have those memories. But it is the future... the coming year after year where we will spend all the rest of our time. It is waiting to be lived. Let's do it better than ever! We deserve no less.

So in celebration of the past that is already fixed in our history, we sing Auld Lang Syne* written in 1788 by Scottish Poet Robert Burns:

Should old acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind
Should all acquaintance be forgot
And auld lang syne

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll take a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne

And surely you will buy your cup
And surely I'll buy mine
And we'll take a cup o'kindness yet
For auld lang syne

We too have run around the slopes
And picked the daisies fine
We've londoned many weary foot
Since auld lang syne

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll take a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne

We too have paddled in the stream
From morning sun to night
But the seas between us broad have roared
From auld lang syne

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll take a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne
We'll take a cup o'kindness yet
For auld langs syne

*auld lang syne loosely translated means 'for the sake of old times.'

May you all enjoy a blessed New Year!

First, out with the old:

Christmas Twister stars

Worse Christmas movie EVER: Christmas Twister, the story of a rogue tornado in the Ft. Worth area... a (believe it or not) category 6 with sustained winds above 240 mph. Yes, it's a bad one and only one government meteorologist, his assistant and a naive female intern know that conditions are perfect for the most devastating storm EVER!

Trouble is, his wife (who he loves dearly but they are having problems) works at the local TV station with a very vain weatherman who says that twister info is hogwash since it doesn't show on his outdated weather screen. Even the meteorologist's wife doesn't believe him since he tried the same thing in Chicago and was wrong... and disgraced!

So as these smaller tornadoes keep cropping up out of a clear blue sky, surprising everyone, nobody pays much attention. There are no police or ambulance sirens, not much of anything except cars blown over, trees snapped, homes ripped to shreds, people thrown about... but all OK, thank God!

Hero's daughter skips school and goes to the mall. Kid brother covers for her. Guess where the killer twister will hit?

Rush to the climax, TV weatherman decides to cover this silly little storm and as he is on-camera making fun to his viewers, in the background, the most powerful twister EVER heads right toward him. The camera man, spotting it, tries to run but, alas, a railroad car carried airborne by the twister cuts them both down. I hope that TV weatherman has learned his lesson.

The mall, and its 15 or so people (producer probably couldn't afford many extras), screaming and running around waving their hands in the air, rush, single file, into a mall shelter, led by the meteorologist's brave school-skipping daughter. What acting!

In the end, the meteorologist is a hero, school skipping girl is a hero as she pulls a trapped victim--just in time-- from underneath a sign held up by a fraying rope that is breaking, one strand at a time. Phew! Meteorologist's young son is a hero as he helps someone out of the mall,  announcer wife is a hero as she saves another life, meteorologist himself is a double hero for calming a screaming, panic-stricken young woman... and the mall is a total wreck... sort of. Well, merchandise IS scattered on the floor inside, but otherwise, no broken glass or major damage... just stuff all over the mall floor. A category 6 can't harm a mall at Christmas time. It would be unethical.

There is one EMT in the film... he appears three or four times in different scenes and different uniforms, bandaging and saving lives. What a guy.

Finally, all the mall shoppers, dazed and walking funny, emerge into the sunlight, single file, spaced about 6 feet apart. Three or four actually slump on the curb and against the building. All clothes are torn and everyone has smudges on their faces and cuts and broken arms and stuff.

The reason it is called Christmas Twister is because we see some Christmas lawn ornaments in two of the scenes. Warning: Watch out for Easter Twister, Fourth of July Twister, Arbor Day Twister, etc.

The Academy Awards people are fickle... often passing over an obvious contender, so don't be surprised. But my recommendation: See it! It's the funniest movie not starring Will Ferrel now playing. Download it at Tango if you dare!

Yes Virginia, there are many Santas

Note: this photo purposely blurred to protect the real Santa (14th from right, middle row).

Do This

Christmas traditions representing the joy of the season often touch our hearts. In the spirit of Santa Claus, enjoy this editorial, first published in The New York Sun in 1897. It was written by Francis P. Church in response to a letter sent to his newspaper by 8-year-old Virginia O’Hanlon.

Not This

As I learned years and years ago, when you repeat Santa Claus six times real fast, it takes you back to the originator of this kind figurehead and the spirit of the season. May yours be filled with peace, love and kindness... and cause us all to remember the true reason for this blessed holiday.



Dear editor:

 I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.” Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

 Virginia O’Hanlon


 Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

 Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

 Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

 You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

 No Santa Claus! Thank God! He lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Merry Christmas all! May your new year be blessed.

"Anything you can do, I can do better." Robot Robert (a.k.a. #x35n589340)

"No you can't"

"Yes I can!"

"NO! You can't!"

Zzzzzap!

So it's come down to this, huh? In today's world, you either learn to love robots or... zap! You... or your job... is eliminated.

But. if you can't beat 'em, you could join 'em... IF you have an extra $400,000. Then you could buy a robot that scoops poop (true)... but that's not all it does. It also makes breakfast and cookies... presumably after it has washed those tiny robot hands... I hope!

Then there is something quite different... the Robotic butt (also true), no relation to Robot Poop Scooper though they must have a lot in common. Medical schools have different ways of teaching vital medical techniques such as administering a prostate exam. So instead of doing something disgustedly uncomfortable to volunteers, schools have a butt for that... or, a robutt (my most clever word). It is a realistic looking/feeling male mid-section torso bending over an examining table... and on the TV screen the doctor-to-be faces, a real image of the rest of a man so the student gets the full picture (oh joy!)... and a most realistic feeling for the task. The robutt does give feedback according to the sensors inside it. I wonder if one of the reports is "OW!" (Picture available butt... not for here. It's pretty realistic though.)

Then there is the Rubic's cube robot solver... in seconds... every time.

And the robot dart thrower that always wins the beer... and subsequently rusts to death.

There is also a robot stand-up comedian. Honest. "Did you know atoms have mass? I didn't even know they were Catholic."  Not bad... for a robot. And they say Andy Kaufman is dead.

My favorite though is the robot that plays rock-paper-scissors. It wins 100 percent of the time... and here's its secret: It cheats. It processes your throw in 1/000 or a second and counters it perfectly... every time.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot this one... you switch this robot on... it opens, a mechanical finger comes out... and it turns itself off. 
Now that's efficient function. Nice.

Mirror, mirror on the wall...

EVERYONE has someone on this earth who looks exactly like them. It's nature's law of doubles.

So I was walking into my favorite coffee spot the other morning when a woman in a passing car stopped, rolled down her window and asked, "Are you Art?  You look just like him."

No, I said. "No, I'm not Art... but he must be a ruggedly handsome son-of-a-gun."

"Oh, he IS, she assured me."

So next morning, I'm already in my coffee shop enjoying my first and in walks this guy. Two people wave and one of them says "Hi Art."

Now I ask you, do we look exactly alike?

Art

   

 Me

 I dunno, I just don't see it.

A True (made up) Superheroine Story

Author's note (me): This is my submission to NYCMidnight that sponsors a number of writing contests annually. The assigned genre for the 30 in my group was comedy. The scenario had to be The Boardwalk and the object that had to be included was anchor...1000 words max. Comedy, I found, is a bear. It's like "OK now, be really funny." So I tried. What do you think?

The Bruise Heard 'round the World

Help! HELP!

She heard the cry. Somewhere in this city by the sea, someone was in trouble… and it sounded serious.

Atlantis City had seen its share of lawless days when gangs of hoodlums prowled the streets making life terrible for the average, law-abiding citizen. But when gambling came to town to dominate its famed Boardwalk, people came. It was thought--and promoted in every ad and commercial--that big money alone would make the place safe even for families. 

Not so.

The bad guys just saw this happy occurrence as the opening of a mile-long smorgasbord that served money, jewelry and vice every night with roast beef on weekends. Even the millions of dollars the casinos spent to protect their investments didn’t help. Crime had already made this city the vacation destination of pickpockets, con men and ‘muscle’ around the world.

If money talks, then Atlantis City was singing an opera called “Mama Mia, that’s one spicy meatball.” And all the meatballs--er, pigeons, were served nightly with neon spaghetti. But still they came. Everybody wants to get rich quick… and “What shakes in Atlantas City, awakes in Atlantas City.” Capiche?

As Yogi Berra said, “Nobody goes there anymore because it is too crowded.”

But that infamy is now all in the past… ever since Wonderful Woman came to town about three years ago. It was amazing really. One night, as a young family was being robbed at gunpoint, an occurrence that happened all to often on the Boardwalk, out of the sky came an incredible streak of light and a flash or brilliance that the city—no, the whole world—would soon know as WONDERFUL WOMAN!

She was striking in her patriotic red, white and blue skin-tight spandex costume with a big anchor symbol on its front—“To sink crime for good,” she later explained. Her flowing dark hair and tall black boots would make any average citizen and tourist take proud note… and every lawbreaker tremble in fear.

It was her second appearance to stop the beating of a ‘high-roller’ walking from one casino to another that brought her to national prominence.  “Oh my God, they’re killing me! HELP…PLEASE HELP!” Again, it was Wonderful Woman to the rescue… out of the sky to play Whack-A-Mole without having to put in a quarter.

Another time, as a con man’s shill was showing a dozen curious tourists how easy it was to find the red card on the Three-Card-Monte makeshift table, Wonderful Woman came out of the crowd to bet a pair of handcuffs. She won.  

It certainly didn’t take her long to put a serious dent in Atlantis City’s evil side. Nor did it take long for the media scramble to descend. Every newsperson wants to pluck an exclusive… and Wonderful Woman was a plum worth picking.

“Wonderful Woman… Wonderful Woman… “they shout as microphones were thrust in her beautiful face… “Who are you? Where did you come from? Why are you here? How do you fly? Are you from another planet? Are you a spy from Russia or China? Does your mom know where you are? Where did you get your boots (which drew the Women’s Wear Daily reporter boos from her colleagues), Will you marry me? Etc.”

Wonderful Woman was all “No comment, no comment, no comment,” but with a wink and a smile that melted every Clark Kent heart and frosted every Lois Lane who sought the truth… and only the truth.

Then, she raised her arm to the crowd and as they hushed, she cupped her hand behind her ear to hear a faint cry for help.

With a “Sorry folks, I gotta go,” she took to the sky and was out of sight before anyone had a chance to say “Just one more question.” It was the microphone-boy for one of the big “NETS” that summed up all of their frustrations when he sighed loudly and said “Shucks. Darn it all.”

But the photogs had their front-page pictures, thanks to their new high-speed cameras. And tomorrow, all the world will know what we know… which is not much really. But, thank goodness that doesn’t stop today’s media. Who needs all the facts when you have juicy?

Diligently on the job again and again, Wonderful Woman later zeros in on a very worried old lady yelling for help. She must be found and removed from whatever danger faces her. As Wonderful Woman peers down from the sky between the tall buildings, she can feel the dramatic tension and then sees her damsel in distress.

“Wonderful Woman! Thank goodness you are here. My cat is stuck in that tree and only you, Wonderful Woman, can rescue her.”

Wonderful Woman looks at the frightened helpless feline high in the tree and unashamedly wipes a tear from her eye… “Oh! A kitty! Poor, poor kitty. Be calm, I’ll rescue you, sweet thing.

“Her name is Princess.”

“Of course. Oh Princess. Hold on sweet darling, Wonderful Woman is coming.

She leaps into the air and… WHAM! She suddenly flies into the side of a building…

“Oh no,” Margaret said as she woke with a start to find herself on the floor, jostled immediately awake. Her side and arm hurt from the fall. It is only then that she realized she was having her Wonderful Woman dream … again, when she rolled off her bed and against the wall. She shook her head as she recalled her dream… and she smiled, grateful that this time, the only damage was an enormous bruise ‘from here to Hong Kong.’

“Tomorrow night,” Margaret said to herself… “Tomorrow night Wonderful Woman will rescue that kitty.”

OUCH!

I thought I lost my left hand ring fingertip a few days ago. No exaggeration.

You remember the guy who got his arm stuck in a rock crevasse almost 10 years ago? His name is Aron Ralston. He was 27 at the time and while exploring a rock canyon on his own, an 800-pound stone fell, trapping his hand in an inescapable position. After five days alone and dying, he realized he had to cut off his arm to survive. So he did.

I had major empathy for him... as did most everyone else. It was hard to imagine what that must have been like because almost none of us have ever been in a situation like that before... at least, not been in an impossible situation and lived to tell about it.

Well, I kind of was. Oh, I didn't languish. I didn't have to drink my own urine to survive like he did. My wife was there and she could have brought me ice tea while I awaited almost sure death.

But the fact is, I was totally trapped and couldn't free myself. That was a very odd feeling... something totally unexpected that happened in a fraction of a second. Oh sure, you may say... a fingertip? HEY! I really did think I would loose my fingertip.

I was retracting the awning of our small RV into its traveling position when one of the side rails didn't fit correctly into its housing. So I placed my left hand behind it to force the inner piece in place. I was so successful that the tip of my finger became wedged between the two pieces which had now snapped into its full retracted position... with me trapped. My hand was stuck on one side of the rails, pinned against the RV's side... and my finger was solidly caught on the other--with the tip curled back like a hook--stuck tight. The awning was now locked in a non-retractable, closed position holding my fingertip as hostage with me out of reach of any object that might be of help.The strap which could help open it had rolled up into the folds of the awning, out of reach.

After just a few painful moments, I quickly realized that I was in that impossible situation and had no way to get loose... at least none that I had examined as my life passed before me in those fleeting moments. I really was stuck... and in pretty good pain.

Then I quickly and calmly thought, "Hey, I can holler for my wife to help. So I did. And we both had to puzzle through a solution. It took about 10 minutes to evaluate how to get my finger out at any cost. She quickly found a rod and managed to pry the two pieces apart... just enough for my finger to come loose.

My poor finger was flat... really flat at the tip and numb, with my fingernail a Halloween greyish-purpl, sporting a large blood blister underneath. It took about an hour for me to realize that the finger was regaining its form and I had a good chance at a full, non-amputated recovery over time. Three days later, at the time of the photo, it is still one painful puppy but, like Aron Ralston, I can now appear on all the talk shows and write a book (like Between a Rock and a Hard Place )  if anyone would ask. I think I'll title it Don't touch me there... ever, or I'll kill you.

"Honey, I will have that ice tea now."

Bring back old fashioned diners!

In your dreams

If you want fun... if you want decor... if you want grease... if you want food that is sinfully tasty, find a good, old fashioned diner like we did just a few days ago.

My wife and I were in Natural Tunnel State Park Virginia (Virginia State Parks are rated tops in the nation) and found the Red Stone Drive In just outside the entrance to the park. It had a counter with stools and six tables. Breakfast is available all day... as is lunch and dinner.

Curb-side service, short orders, banana splits

We just couldn't pass it up. And we were not disappointed. When a first timer (like us) ordered the shrimp, he was advised to "Be careful... it is very hot and you could burn your lips [pointing] like that guy over there."

The guy 'over there,' a regular, responded, "That's why they call me hot lips." Everyone in the place (all eight of us) laughed and that was just the warm-up.

That's another thing about diners... the waitresses (always female) seem to be natural comediennes and know instinctively how to 'work their audience.'

"What do you have for dessert?"

"I don't think we have any dessert." Minutes later... "Well, we have ice cream." Minutes later... "We have pie too... lots of pie. What do you want?"

"I pass."

"That will cost you a bigger tip."

They have the "Love Meter."

'Love Meter" answers: "2 hot 2 handle," "Lover boy,"
"No pep," "Sex Machine," "Huggable" and "Frigidaire."

My score: I think that because of all the kids reading, I will keep this private, but is "wow!" a good clue? "Betty's never
 wrong," the waitress says, and you don't argue with the waitress.


Fun signs fill the walls:
 
"In case of emergency, pay your bill and RUN!"

"Drink coffee and do stupid things faster and with more energy."

"If our food isn't up to your standards, please change your standards."

"Either you love bacon or you are wrong!"

There were a few more, but some were a little too filled with double entendres.

And the food is... greasy of course but hey, the napkins are very absorbent...  and our food was really, really tasty. Be careful though, because the shrimp is very hot and you could burn your lips.

Our cost: The very hot shrimp plate with LOTS of perfectly done deep fried shrimp, vegetable soup, a hamburger on toasted bun, French fries a little soggy, endless good coffee and a great hush puppy sampler. $10.85, tax included, water free. And while that price may not be found everywhere, you have to understand, they don't take credit cards. A twenty covered it nicely. Call it entertainment tax.

...Or, you could go to McDonald's.

As we left, the staff lined up at the door to say goodbye

If the world isn't going to the dogs, it should.

Abby

This is Abby, our six-year-old yellow Lab. She makes people happy.

Tess

This is Tess, our seven-year-old golden. She also makes people happy.



They are both HOPE dogs and they do marvelous things. My wife Kathy and I belong to a volunteer organization known as HOPE AACR (Animal Assisted Crisis Response) which does just that.  The animals are our pets and this is our avocation.

Early on, HOPE was at 9-11 when a handful of dogs and handlers brought comfort and some sense of emotional relief to those first responders and families of the many who lost loved ones there. HOPE dogs have been at Virgina Tech, Hurricane Katrina,  TAPS (Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors... of the military fallen), wildfires, train disasters, shelters of hurricane, tornado and flood victims around the country and so many more places where people have serious need for comfort. We work with The Red Cross and other organizations as part of a large network of assistance where there is need. There are about 160 HOPE person/dog teams in 24 states and that number is growing.

And for anyone who has not experienced what comfort dogs can bring, the enormous response and gravitation to the dogs in traumatic situations is unbelievable. I'm convinced God put these animals here for this greater purpose.

A few weeks back, we and Tess were among those HOPE dog teams that were requested by the Navy to help bring needed comfort to all at the Washington Navy Yard. The shootings there on Sept. 16th took 12 lives (plus the shooter) and brought trauma, fear and heartbreak to all the military, staff and contractors on the base. It was enormous to those who were in building 197, the site of the tragedy. We worked under the Navy team of experts and psychologists responsible for the personnel recovery program.

We were there with our dogs for three days. There were five and six dog/handler teams per day at the Navy Yard over a two week period right after the shootings. We are second responders. The need was great and the response to the dogs had to be see to be believed. As the teams visited building after building, some off-site as well, we were often met by welcoming committees who cheered. We visited desk to desk in most cases, and if it was a secured building, we had an escort... but we tried to miss no one. One woman, seeing us from a third floor widow, rushed down to ask us to please come to her building.

We worked the Yard and were present where those directly affected by the shootings returned for the first time to claim their belonging as they were brought from the crime scene. It was most emotional. We were stopped by everyone from Navy Brass to the security teams, contractors, staff and anyone on the base. We heard stories and shared tears. What we heard most is, "Thank you for your service." Unbelievable that this should come to us when it is so much the other way around.

One could never imagine the scenario unless it happened to them. It was so moving... and also stressful for us and our animals too. It brought the enormity of what happened more clearly into our focus... something that just doesn't come across any other way.

All of the HOPE dogs and owner/handlers go through a training and education process to reach this level. Our animals are certified working dogs who do their magic as second nature to what dogs do. And the dogs know their job well.

When one of the Navy officers asked us what our dogs do, the answer was, "They make you smile," if only to put you in another place and give respite and calm, even for an instant.

 Hopeaacr.org  Check it out. Dogs make a difference in lives in so many ways.

There is no God save one, and Darwin is his name. The natural order of things takes care of each one of us until death… and that’s all there is, unless…

This is a short story I wrote for an on line writing competition. My assigned genre was Ghost Story and the primary scenario was to be a hotel room. The assigned object that had to be in the story was a tricycle. I found this a difficult task--to make it not sound like The Shining or any other like it... and the story came out ok... just ok. But here it is for you to judge. Thanks.

omg

Ring-ring-ring. That damn ringing in my head is driving me crazy.

I live. I die. That’s all. And I can prove it.

Darwin—now there’s my god. He was first to show how evolution brought us all to today. To see otherwise is to believe in Penn & Teller, Houdini and David Copperfield. Now where did that skyscraper go? It’s a trick… and that, you can believe.

It makes life so simple. I live in this grand hotel that provides me with all I could want… a clean suite--just like magic, food and services whenever and whatever I desire, magnificent landscaping and artwork, location, location, location--and respect, especially if you tip as I do.

My belief is to lead a good and moral life because I have the means to do so—self-made, I tell you. And yes, I have loved and I have lost. I have lived a full life and when I am finally at peace of mind, I will have won.

Death is nature’s way of telling me to take it easy. Life is hard. When the body begins to show wear, when life becomes more difficult than pleasurable, when you reach your tipping point and when peace of mind eludes you, it’s time to go. Maybe that’s why naps are so welcome… they are very good practice.

I love naps because they are my respite from the pressures of the day and the weariness of the heart. The older one gets, the more weariness there seems to be. Naps are my escape from the dregs on my mind… especially that damn ring-ring-ringing in the background of my head most waking hours, most of my life. And the days get lonelier and harder to bear.

The best doctors tell me the ring-ring-ringing is tinnitus, but it is not. And that definitive conclusion has cost me thousands. Next best guess—I’m going crazy. But that’s not it either, though some will beg to differ. And let me tell you, psychiatrists cost more than audiologists. It all wears a body down so.

I take several naps a day, some days—especially when the ring-ring-ringing tells me to, like now! Mercifully, I usually wake with a clear head, until the day’s momentum catches up.

Good grief! I’ve overslept. I was supposed to be at the Waldorf to receive the Goodman Humanitarian of the Year award and that was an hour ago. I’ve never overslept before, or missed anything important, for that matter.

How come I didn’t get a phone call? How come it’s still light outside? Is my clock wrong? I’ve got to splash some water on my face to…

Ouch! Damn. What the hell? A tricycle. What is this doing in my apartment and how did it get here?

Now the concierge won’t answer. Someone is supposed to be on duty 24/7. ANSWER THE DAMN PHONE!

Look at this little trike… pink with a white seat, streamers sprouting from the rubber grips and a bell on the handlebar. I just can’t figure this out. I’ll bet Helen was on duty and she brought it up… but why?

That’s odd. The emergency light is blinking. What’s going on?

“Hold it. HOLD IT! What are you doing? What are all of you doing rushing into my apartment? What’s happening? ANSWER ME! Why is the Emergency Squad here? There is no emergency and you don’t need a gurney.

Oh my God! That’s me on the couch. I’m still sleeping. No, NO, THAT CAN’T BE. I’M HERE.

“Helen? HELEN! WHAT’S GOING ON? HELEN!” She can’t hear me.

There are three of them frantically working to revive me and Helen, wringing her hands, is looking on anxiously, with tears in her eyes. I try to shake them but they don’t feel my touch. I’M DEAD! I’m dead.

I shouldn’t be here then. What’s the deal? I… wait a minute. WAIT A MINUTE!

The bell on the bike…[ring-ring-ring!]  It’s my bell. IT’S MY BELL… all my life it has been with me… it’s my bell.

“That’s my bike Daddy… you bought it for me a long time ago. Remember? I ring my bell every time I  think of you. Mommy and I have been waiting a long time. Oh daddy, I have missed you so.”

Jenny… my little Jenny… AND MOLLY… oh my god! OH MY GOD! (I know now you can cry tears of joy when you are dead.)

“Hello my darling,” she beckons with an angelic smile and radiating warmth.  “Welcome home.”

But… but 63 years ago you and Jenny were killed by that drunk driver… my life ended. There was nothing else to live for. I had lost everything that ever mattered when you were taken from me. God I knew, was a myth. THERE IS NO GOD!

“Come, see for yourself, silly man. We are together again, forever, my love. Forever.

So tell me I'm nuts, but...

Stan Laurel (left) and Oliver Hardy

... don't you think that Pope Francis and Stan Laurel of Laurel and Hardy are the same person? (Hey, it's a miracle! And a pope only needs three--not counting card tricks--to be considered for sainthood.)

Pope Francis (aka Stan Laurel, I think)

It's no wonder that the world loves Pope Francis.

After he was selected as the next pope, his first order of business was to personally pay his hotel bill and move into a more modest Vatican guest house instead of the opulent and sprawling papal apartment.

He said helping the poor will be a central focus of his priesthood... and he asked priests and nuns not to drive flashy cars. He drives a Ford Focus (though not the one with the Domino's Pizza delivery sign on top).

He also said, "If someone is gay and he searches for the Lord and has good will, who am I to judge?"

The Catholic Church, he says, has been too focused on abortion, gay marriage and contraception and seeks to find a "new balance" to deliver the message.

This pope has even made phone calls to common people, of all things. "Hi Bill, this is Pope Francis but you can call me Frank. How's it goin'?" (I totally made that up, but he did make a call or two... unheard of in the strict order of the office.)

Of course, six months does not make a Popedom, but people like this guy.

All of which begs the question: Is the Pope Catholic?

MEAT IS FROM A COW

Note: This essay was written for an Olive Garden 50-250 word contest to the theme: How would you help to fight hunger in your community for anyone in grades 1-12 with winners for each grade level. I really believe should be the third grade winner for three very obvious reasons: 1) It is well written and to the point; 2) The bright young writer makes her Papa very happy and proud--and I know that first hand; 3) Today is her first double-digit birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY RIO! 

by Rio, 3^rd grade

In 2012, I was living in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Cars passed our house regularly and the only animals around were squirrels. Eating dinner one night, my six-year-old brother asked innocently, “Wouldn’t it be gross if meat actually came from cows?”  Since then, I’ve moved from a place of not understanding where meat comes from to Middletown, Maryland where I live on a 21 acre farm with ten chickens, two guinea hens, and a dog.

As my farm grows and changes, I grow and change. I’ve learned about the ways of nature and food. When a visiting dog killed my favorite chicken, Phoebe, I learned to appreciate nature when you have it, then let it go when it’s gone. As we fill my mom’s office with seedlings and chicks, I’ve learned how life begins so small, then ends up as a blooming accomplishment.

 I want everyone to know about food and nature as I do. To create this knowledge I will have groups of children come to my farm to plant their own meals, and work with the animals on the farm. I will ask other farmers in my community to help. I hope this experience will inspire people to waste less food because they know someone worked hard to make it, or because an animal suffered for its production. When children learn that meat comes from cows, and noodles from wheat, they learn about nutrition. With better nutrition, less waste, and new knowledge to create food, we will reduce hunger.

Smart vs. Dumb

In 1946 Dick Tracy wore a wrist radio ... and it only took 67 years for the real world to catch up! Samsung, Sony and reportedly Apple and everyone else will be marketing smart watches, or as Apple might say, iWrists. (Teaser alert: But that wasn't the very first smart watch. I'll tell you the story of the very first smart watch at the end of this post.)

Sure, Tracy could communicate just by talking to his wrist. "Calling squad 8. T.V. Wiggles headed for unloading shaft at Steel St. and the River. SHOOT TO KILL!" (Actual fake wrist-to-Chief alert by Dick himself.)

Now, we can do that too... and lots, lots more. With our new devices, we can check email ("What is email?" asks Tracy), talk, text, take pictures, search the web and (gasp!) tell time. No more will be have to look at our phones 20 times an hour... we can just count down, minute by minute and everyone will think we are just punctually challenged.

Most consumers say the first introduction of the smart wrist watch does not actually tell time... it just counts down to the introduction of Apple's iWatch.

Smart in a one-on-one with the Chief

Actually, the first Smart phone really was invented in 1986 by Maxwell Smart... get it...  Maxwell SMART?  (Never mind.) He had a cleverly designed phone that actually looked like a size 12 shoe that would also fire bullets when he dialed 117. Smart also had The Cone of Silence in several forms that eliminated eavesdropping and many other clever devices to stifle crime. 

We have Google Glasses so that means that if we have an iWatch (or whatever), we could actually see ourselves checking our email while checking our email while checking our email... very Escher-esq. Meanwhile, we are so cool, no one would notice.

While we get smarter and smarter 'stuff,' why is it we seem to get dumber and dumber? I know... the robots made us do it.

Now, as promised, the real story of the very first smart watch:  

A guy rushing for his train in Grand Central Station in NYC is running late. He stops a stoop-shouldered, bedraggled little man huffing and puffing as he struggles to carry two enormous suitcases.

"Hey friend," asks our commuter, "can you tell me what time it is?"

The man stops, grateful to be able to put his monstrously heavy suitcases on the floor and rest. As he wipes sweat from his brow, he looks as his watch and tells the harried commuter, "It is exactly 5:17.26 1/2 pm on the 365,276th day, 4th hour, 38th minute and 52 1/2 second past the birth of Christ, a Thursday in leap year 0, when the sun warmed the day to 82 degrees fahrenheit or 27.777778 celcius."

"Wow!" said the commuter who was literally stopped in his tracks. "Your watch told you all of that?"

"Oh," says the watch owner, "my watch will tell you anything you would ever want to know. Is Elvis alive? Is O.J. Simpson the real killer? When will the Cubs win the pennant? Anything, really.

 "WOW! I've GOT to have one! Where can I buy a watch like that?"

"You can't," says the little man. "You see, I invented this watch and it knows EVERYTHING... but it is one of a kind and it is mine."

"But I'll give you anything for that watch," says the commuter.  "ANYTHING! I must have that watch."

After 5 minutes of intense haggling, the commuter convinces the watch inventor--with the help of $2 million dollars--to sell him the watch. Happily, he straps it on his wrist, says "Thank you so much," and starts to run in hopes of catching his train.

"Wait... WAIT," hollers the watchmaker, pointing to the enormous suitcases sitting on the floor, "Don't you want the batteries?"

Announcing the First Annual JOKEFEST: The Brits vs The Colonists

The ten best jokes in this year's Fringe Festival in Scotland have just been announced. The headline in the British newspaper read "... these are the best jokes, bar none." Oh yeah? The jokes are so lame that I am challenging them to see which side of the pond has the funniest jokes. You be the judge.

Number 10

Theirs: The good thing about lending someone your time machine is that you basically get it back immediately. (As Groucho Marx used to say: "Time flies like an arrow, fruit flies like a banana.)
Ours: I was in Rome recently and wanted to say "Hi" to the Pope, so I looked up his number in the phone book. It was et cum spirtu-tuo. (OK, so maybe you have to be Catholic, but it was funny in third grade... and beats the pants off their joke.)  Score: 1-0 USA

Number 9

Theirs: I was adopted at birth and have never met my mum. That makes it very difficult to enjoy any lap dance.
Ours: What songs do cows like to dance to? Any kind of mooosic will do. (A simple kid joke wins again!)  2-0 USA

Number 8

Theirs: The Universe implodes. No matter.
Ours: Chuck Norris counted to infinity--twice! (Cha-ching!) 3-0 USA

Number 7

Theirs: You know you are fat when you hug a child and it gets lost. (No!)
Ours: What does a snail say when he is riding on a turtle's back? Weeeee!! (Another kid joke is all it takes.) 4-0 USA

Number 6

Theirs: The Pope is a lot like Dr. Who. He never dies, just keeps being replaced by white men.
Ours: The Vatican announced it will begin selling its ceremonial incense mixtures that were previously only used in worship services.  The first scent will be Popepourri. (Now that's funny!)
5-0 USA

Number 5

Theirs: I can give you the cause of anaphylactic (sic) shock in a nutshell.
Ours: What happened when the monster ate the electric company? He was in shock for a month. (Kid jokes are better.)  6-0 USA

Number 4

Theirs: My friend told me he was going to a fancy dress party as an Italian island. I said to him "Don't be Sicily." (Their best attempt yet. Awkward but cute.)
Ours: Q: Did you hear about the Italian chef that died? A: He pasta way. (We really would have won but I'm giving them this one for sentimental reasons... I'm Italian.)  6-1 USA

Number 3

Theirs: I'm in a same sex marriage... the sex is always the same.
Ours: Take my wife... please! (Ta dah!)  7-1 USA

Number 2

Theirs: I used to work in a shoe-recycling shop. It was sole-destroying.
Ours: Man finds a shoe repair claim ticket in an old suit he hadn't worn for 12 years. Thinking he would play a joke on the shoe repairman, he presented his ticket with a straight face. The repairman, showing no emotion, checked in the back room then hollered, "They'll be ready Thursday."  8-1 USA

And the Number 1 British winner

Theirs: I heard a rumour (Britspeak) that Cadbury is bringing out an oriental chocolate bar. Could be a Chinese Wispa. (Really? Is that the best you've got?)
Ours: The doctor sadly tells the patient, "Sorry but you have only one month to live." The patient, crestfallen, grabs the doctor by his lab coat lapels and desperately asks "Isn't there something... anything I can do?!" The doctor pauses, then says, "Well... you could take two mud baths a day... " Hopeful, the distraught patient says, "Oh, thank you doctor... will this cure me?" Doctor shakes his head, "No... but it will get you used to the dirt." (Always save the best for last, right?)

Final score: USA 9, Great Britain 1
The elegant solid gold Knee-Slapper Trophy goes to America for the first year in a row!




Now don't you all go rioting like this is a football (really soccer) game... just be graceful and give us a "Jolly good, old chap" ... and send more episodes of Downton Abbey.