Several years ago, while on a road trip, I decided to stop at a convenience store for gas and something to drink.
While deciding whether I wanted a soda, a sports drink, or just plain water, I was struck by the oddity of the pricing…
The water cost-per-ounce was more than the other drinks!
How could that be?
Logically, the other refreshments contained water AND other ingredients (not to mention processing).
Hmmmm…
I took a soda and a water up to the front, showed the cashier, and asked, “Twenty years ago, if I had told you that in the future a bottle of water would be more expensive than a bottle of cola, what would you have thought?”
She laughed and said, “I would have thought you were crazy!”
~
Since that day, I have pondered on what was occurring.
Periodically, bits of info have appeared in the media which reveal what is happening.
Put simply – water is the new oil.
Control of clean, potable water is the modern-day robber baron’s latest addition to the portfolio.
—
“Just shrewd business, yeah?”
More like rude business.
EVERYONE HAS TO HAVE WATER TO SURVIVE.
Many believe that access to potable water is an inalienable right.
Water barons would have us think that rights to water are theirs alone – after all, they purchased it.
The question is: should they have been allowed to do so?
One could argue that food is a commodity that is sold – and that people need food to survive.
Think about it, though – one can grow a garden, one can forage, one can raise livestock, and one can hunt or fish (the powers-that-be are working on taking these options away as well – but, that is another subject).
Can one grow/raise water?
Even more business-savvy was the idea to bottle it and make it easily available to the masses worldwide.
Now, when people think drinking water, they don’t think about springs anymore – they think about plastic bottles (another huge problem).
All water sources are becoming property owned exclusively by the wealthy – the overlords.
You want clean water?
We own it!
You buy it!
Effectively, the price of drinking water has been set to about $1 a pint.
Compare that to tap water which could fill HUNDREDS of 16oz bottles for that same dollar.
—
“Okay, but tap water is nasty.”
Funny thing is: much of the bottled water on the market comes from municipal water sources – in other words, tap water!
Fortunes are being made by tapping into (pun intended) the concept that the new standard price for potable water is a dollar a pint.
In addition, no matter how pure when bottled, chemicals within the plastic leach into the water and end up in the body.
Is this clean, pure, and safe drinking water?
If not, why are we paying such a premium?
Short answer: because the water barons intend to make sure EVERYONE ends up paying them, at their inflated price, for daily drinking water.
The standard has been set and we have little or no recourse.
—
“No worries – I’ve got a well.”
That’s fine.
A well can provide plenty of water.
Until it gets polluted, that is.
Well water is commonly tainted with many toxic chemicals, and new technologies threaten it even more.
Ever hear of deep-well injection to get rid of pollutants?
That is like sweeping dirt under the carpet and claiming the house is clean.
Or how about fracking?
Nope, I am not cursing (though it will prove to be a method that will curse us in the long run).
Fracking is a technique of obtaining natural gas by drilling into the ground and injecting pressurized fluid (toxic) to hydraulically fracture shale, thereby releasing the gas for collection.
Ofttimes, this procedure contaminates well water in the surrounding area, rendering it unsafe for human or even livestock use.
Not just unsafe to drink – unsafe to bathe with.
Crazy.
Creepy.
Cruddy.
Sometime, look on the internet for maps of fracking drill sites across the world (over a half-million in the U.S.A. alone).
Then look up maps showing aquifers (natural underground water reservoirs) of the world.
Overlay the two maps.
The result might compel one to question if there was some sort of method to the madness – are the same entities who are contaminating groundwater through fracking, also somehow vested in the business of selling you your daily drinking water?
Crooked?
Criminal?
Collusion?
—
“Dude, I’ll just collect rain in a cistern.”
Sounds good.
However, all sources of water on the planet have become subject to being owned, including rainwater.
It’s true!
Collecting rainwater for personal use is no longer legal in many places.
The rain that falls on your house and land may actually be owned before it hits the ground.
That’s right – entities are claiming ownership of the rain.
The next time you are happily standing in a summer shower, looking up at the sky, realize that each drop is a penny from heaven and someone else may already own it.
Kinda steals some of the joy.
You might not even feel like singing in the rain anymore.
There is something fundamentally wrong with all of this water wrangling.
Even a child can tell you…
Rain is for everyone.
Water is for everyone.
~
Back at that convenience store…
“Twenty years ago, if I had told you that in the future a bottle of water would be more expensive than a bottle of cola, what would you have thought?”
She laughed and said, “I would have thought you were crazy!”
“So, what’s next?” I asked.
She paused, thinking for a moment, then replied, “I don’t know – what is next?”
I looked at her and said one word before I turned to go…
“Air.”
~
Aloha `’”~

   Jay… knowing you would be most comfortable with the format, I decided to consult my Bizarrebie Tarot Deck on your behalf.
Using the single card method, we receive an insight into 2013 and how your future unfolds…
~THE TWINS.
You can relax a bit! On the positive side, the card holds great promise regarding earlier fantasies coming into fruition. This can apply to any facet of your life, but is most easily understood in the context in which it is presented.
Basically, this is the BOGO (buy one get one free) card of the deck – the geezer with double-Gidgets! You dive into the bush and come out with two birds. Ah, a happy time for the hunter, to be sure… a festive feast in the making (with more than a bit of spare to go around)!
However, along with this glorious prize comes great responsibility. A word of caution is necessary:
Too much gluttonous party behavior and the morning may come where one opens the pantry only to find that they are left with spotted dick.
~
What?!?
Oh… Jay is from England and spotted dick is steamed suet pudding with raisins.

`’”~

1) The Mayans reveal their new calendar and sell it on Amazon.com (shipping is a bit pricey).
~
2) Hanna-Barbera sues Ford Motor Company over its new pedal-powered car.
~
3) Unemployment becomes so rampant that warring countries start dropping bums instead of bombs.
~
4) In an effort to curb those pesky customer withdrawals, Bank Of America installs shark-pit trapdoors in front of every teller… “Next!”.
~
5) The Hell’s Angels discover cold fusion in one of their meth labs – rival gang, British Petroleum, declares turf war.
~
6) Somebody slips acid into the punchbowl at the Scientology convention – the following week, all its members are in tie-dyed uniforms.
~
7) Tom Cruise goes back into his bunker.
~
8) The popular ‘Gangnam Style’ video will lose its most-viewed status to the uberviral Britney Spears comeback dance hit: ‘HyperClogging’.
~
9) John Frum actually does return and begins promoting his new cargo pants-based fashion line.
~
10) The Beach Boys commandeer the HAARP project and start sending out good vibrations.
~
11) The Tea Party undergoes a radical transformation and becomes The Mushroom Tea Party – their new slogan: “Who cares about the fiscal cliff? WE CAN FLY!”
~
12) In order to make government more transparent, members of Congress are required to wear clown costumes.
~
13) GMO foods revolt.

`’”~

RULE 1:

A Big Board Makes You Cool.

Go buy the biggest and most expensive standup paddle board (SUP) you can find. If there are no shops available in your area, it does not matter, because everyone knows that the best boards come from China. Check out Sams Club and Costco, or simply do a net search. Remember, your physical conditioning or body type are no big deal – it is kind of like buying a truck: size and a killer paint job are what score the chicks.

RULE 2:

You Don’t Need Any Skills.

Don’t waste time by paddling on flatwater to get used to your board. Learning to ride it is simple. Take the fin(s) out, put your new SUP on the living room floor, stand on it, and take a few air strokes with your paddle (don’t worry if your paddle scrapes the carpet, this is normal). That’s it. If you do not fall – you are good to go. Heck, you don’t even need to know how to surf at all, and the only reason to use a leash is if you don’t know how to swim.

RULE 3:
You Are God’s Gift To Surfing.

Having trained in your living room for a minute or so, it is now time to do a bit of research – go on the computer and look up surfline. Find your local surfspots with surfcams and choose the one with the most surfers on the break. Take your SUP out there. Surfers love SUPs, and feel much safer with one in the lineup. Paddle to the peak. Start taking as many waves as you can and you will be making new friends in no time!

~

On a serious note, I always liked Blane’s rules for SUPsurfers:
Kook or Kool?
Aloha `’”~

He had to admit it. The business had failed… he had failed. Sitting at his desk in the den, James pulled his tanned hands back through his thinning bleach blond hair and, in an attempt to release the pressure, let out a long sigh. It did not work.
This past year had been the worst. Every day, the books crept deeper into the red. Customers abandoned accounts. Suppliers raised prices significantly or went under. Debt had become the defining factor of the business. How much credit was available? How much would it take to cover this month’s bills? How would he get through the next month? Many times, he had wracked his brains answering these questions, and had always found a way through. Not this time, though. Credit was maxed-out. The house had multiple mortgages. Solutions were exhausted. He had already had to layoff all of his employees, with the exception of his cashier, Mary Lynn. Though she was a young unwed mother, who desperately needed the job, she was next. He had to face the facts… it was time to close the general store.
He stared out the window of his den. The view was idyllic. The sun was just beginning to rise and the rays slipping over the distant mountains infused the soft morning mist with a golden hue. From his desk, he could see old man Johnston’s orchard, where the cherry trees were blooming, and tiny pink and white petals fell silently to the ground.
Down the hill, he could see the weathered steeple of the church where he had joyfully married his wife. “Oh how beautiful she was on that day!” he thought, and he caught his breath as remembered Kate, happy and smiling and divinely radiant in the white and flowing bridal gown that her grandmother, too, had worn on her own wedding day.
Farther still, beyond the ancient oaks of the park, the top of the hospital could just be seen – the same hospital where his son Jimmy, now 17, had been born. He was so proud of that boy! Jimmy was turning out to be a fine young man who stayed out of trouble and made sound decisions. He had been an excellent boy scout and was now one of the most promising cadets in his school’s JROTC. The kid had always had a good heart and knew how to listen to its promptings.
Greenridge was one of those quiet towns where almost everyone knew everybody. It was well known that the general store was going under. It was no surprise, as most local businesses had almost immediately given up the ghost when forced to compete against the big-box stores that had cropped up near the Greenridge exit on the interstate.
A few stalwarts, such as old man Johnston, faithfully patronized the general store, refusing to shop at the corporate chain centers. It seemed that only the older generation could see what was truly happening to their town and they ofttimes would drop by, purchase some small item that they could not really afford, sit with him on the rocking chairs lining the store’s front porch, and warmly recall the days before the economic invasion. Though James appreciated it, their collective business simply wasn’t enough to keep the doors open. As a matter of fact, he felt guilty – as if he was letting them down, these faithful friends and loyal customers who had stood by him in these last lean seasons.
To think, it had only been three years earlier, when business had been so good that he had been able to finally afford to take the family to Hawaii. And, before that, to Florida and Mexico and Costa Rica.
Of course, the store did not generate enough profit in and of itself, but Kate had been a schoolteacher and they would scrimp and save to be able to take a couple of weeks vacation to enjoy some faraway sun and surf. This was before the State Legislature had voted to cut teaching positions/salaries as one of many sacrifices to appease the newly created beast of a bizarrely wayward and unruly budget. Kate, having tenure and higher pay, was politically maneuvered into forced retirement. No, they would not be taking any surf trips this year.
He smiled, remembering how his own father thought it odd that he, James, to whom the Greenridge General Store would someday be handed down, had chosen as his preferred avocation… surfing.
At first, James Sr., was appalled. He had lectured James, in an attempt to convince him that surfing was a complete waste of time and, as was his habit, he pointed the mouthpiece of his briarwood pipe at the boy for emphasis, concluding that the sport was likely to turn him into a hoodlum.
However, after watching his son grow up, despite the surfing, he knew that James would run the store as well as, or even better than, himself. His son was no hoodlum, rather, he had proved to be an able businessman as well as an honest and upstanding man of strong character. No, the surfing was not a bad thing. In fact, he had decided, it was probably far better than many pastimes a man could entertain. James Sr. was proud of his son and it was with no regret that he handed over the reins of the store to him, on that fine day, years ago.

James sat at his desk, staring out of the window, vaguely watching the workers harvest the cherries in old man Johnston’s orchard. “Thanks, dad… I appreciate it. I know you understand, with the economy and all… I’m just sorry it had to happen like this. I’m sorry I can’t have better news, but regardless, happy Father’s Day – I love you.” He hung up the phone, opened his desk drawer, and calmly took out his Colt 45…
~
Hey, this ain’t a Hallmark card.
Aloha `’”~

Jimmy watched the waves peel, an endless procession of precise peaks folding themselves, like liquid origami, onto the reef. He had never seen anything like it.
The waves wound their way around the point and broke flawlessly for hundreds of yards. Still not able to shake the feeling that this was somehow unreal, that there was something that he had forgotten, he excitedly grabbed his board, leapt into the inviting ocean, and began paddling effortlessly toward the rising sun, up at the point…

The enemy was there, just beyond the perimeter of their makeshift camp. All of the men knew it, and the smell of fear was now added to the collective stench from weeks without bathing or any real rest.
Jimmy leaned on his rucksack, keeping his head well below the brush that barely concealed the patrol. His thoughts were of home, and long-forgotten memories began to surface in his mind. He remembered his mother, eyes watering, singing ‘You Are My Sunshine’ to him before leaving him on that first day of kindergarten. He remembered that golden day when he had nervously pitched the no-hitter against the best team in all of Little League. He remembered his dad, who was laughing and splashing him with water while teaching him to surf, on the first trip of many that they would take before the old man passed away. He remembered the first time he had danced with a girl and how soft and warm Mary Lynn, in her cotton floral dress (he could still see the pattern in his mind), had felt in his arms as they slowly swayed to the music at the Alberton Jr. High School dance. He remembered his grandfather, who, with a briarwood pipe between his teeth, had somberly given him this advice before he was deployed, “Always remember to choose the hard right over the easy wrong, boy – this is what separates the leaders from the losers in this world…” These and many other memories flooded his mind, as he stayed low and still and silent.
They were in a bad situation. There was no denying it. The enemy was on the move and their numbers were far greater than expected. Though concealed, Jimmy and his men were surrounded, on all sides, by soldiers wearing uniforms of a different nation. A blanket of silent and tense apprehension enveloped them as they helplessly waited. They knew their orders were to sit tight and, under no circumstances, were they to reveal their position.
Jimmy glanced over at Calvin Thomas, a new private who had recently been assigned to the group. Jimmy had not quite sized-up this new addition to his patrol, but had immediately taken a dislike to the brash and cocky young shit talker. It was evident that Calvin was another one of those green, glory-hungry, reality-starved, too-damned-froggy soldiers who had made it through boot camp without quite getting ‘it’. Jimmy briefly wondered which higher-up he had offended to deserve having this clown under his command.
In the near distance, voices barking orders in a foreign tongue could be heard.
As he met Calvin’s eyes, Jimmy put a finger to his lips to urge caution, a gesture to which Calvin responded to by smiling broadly, tightening his grip on his M-16, and unleashing a disturbingly audible fart.
There was a sort of shuffling sound as everyone cringed in an attempt to further condense themselves into invisibility.
The foreign voices ceased.
The torrent of sweat trickling from the men’s pores was almost audible. Time itself was caught in the portent of the moment and it began to slow down.
Oddly, Jimmy found himself thinking of when he had been barreled, while surfing with his dad, on the North Shore of Hawaii. Time had slowed down for him on that day, too. He remembered, vividly, the barely moving reflections on the wave’s surface as it began to tube over him, the colors of the coral reef crawling slowly under his board, and the sound of the stalled-time thunder stretching on longer than any moment he had ever experienced. He also remembered that the second he exited the tube, time resumed its normal pace with a shocking suddenness.
Today, time did exactly that, again. He watched as the still grinning Calvin stood up, in slow-motion, and began to fire his weapon. Jimmy could see the flames slowly licking the air around the muzzle as the bullets began easing into space. The thunder from the reports stretched out into an endless echoing roar.
Nobody said a word. Yet all, as if encased in almost solid amber, began to rise against the onslaught that was sure to follow. And they, with bright blood-red flowers blooming from their bodies, began slowly falling back to the ground.
As Jimmy gained his footing and began forcing his muscles to train his weapon toward the enemy infantry soldier who was firing on him, he saw the man’s eyes.
What he saw there was a sadness, a sorrow, that he did not expect.
Then the red flowers rose up between them, and Jimmy began to slowly fall to the earth. He remembered jumping into his warm bed as a small child – this falling sensation was not unlike that. At this moment, time resumed its ever-furious pace. With a “thwumph!” he hit the ground and was momentarily filled with pain and fear and horror, but these, too, succumbed to the cold blackness that now enveloped and consumed him.

Jimmy watches the waves peel, an endless procession of precise peaks folding themselves, like liquid origami, onto the reef. He has never seen anything like it.
The waves wind their way around the point and break flawlessly for hundreds of yards. Still not able to shake the feeling that this is somehow unreal, that there is something that he has forgotten, he excitedly grabs his board, leaps into the inviting ocean, and begins paddling effortlessly toward the setting sun, up at the point…
~
Please remember that all soldiers are people.
Remember their courage and sacrifice.
Remember the hardships and injustices they endure.
Remember to love thy brother.
Remember and, perhaps there will come a day, despite profiteers and politicians, where war will become both obscene and obsolete – a thing of the past.
Bless us all.
Aloha `’”~

There it is… the beach!
Before we continue, a prologue is necessary.
~
According to the a.m. report, the waves are chest high and glassy.
You spend the morning stuck in your cubicle, squirming around in your pleather chair like a kid on a long car trip who has needed to pee for the last 17 mile marker signs.
You watch the secondhand crawl slowly from one delineation to another…
“tick…”
“tick…”
“tick…”
Like Chinese water torture, the pressure between your temples builds until it becomes almost unbearable…
“Tick…”
“TICK…”
“TICK!!!”
In your inner voice, you scream, “I cannot take it – I gotta get outta here!”
Against better judgement, career longevity, and honesty itself, you begin brainstorming in order to formulate an escape plan.
This not being your first escape, you realize that the ruse has to be somewhat extreme to create the illusion of validity.
You rule out: death in the family, sexually transmitted disease, self-inflicted broken bones, office cubicle fire, demonic possession, tooth ache, epileptic seizure, finger-down-the-throat induced vomiting, having your buddy show up in a police uniform to fake your arrest, calling in a bomb threat, Tourette’s, dog got run over, disrobing and streaking around the entire office, hallucinating from moldy rye bread, plumbing overflowing at home, promising your surrealistically repugnant supervisor a date in exchange for the afternoon off, Ciguatera, making sure a colleague witnesses you drinking out of the toilet, faking a fall down the stairs, Tuberculosis, alien abduction, spontaneous hypnosis, being bitten by a zombie, channeling Hunter S. Thompson, RF sensitivity, incessant hiccups coupled with synchronized flatulence, migraine headache, fever and chills, uncontrollable laughter, paralysis of the lower limbs, smearing whip cream around your mouth to appear rabid, Lyme’s disease, a plane crashed into your house, anaphylactic shock from consuming a strawberry jelly filled doughnut in the conference room, delusions of grandeur, head lice, faux smallpox created from melted red crayons, voodoo curse, sudden onset of claustrophobia, intestinal parasites, and being replaced by a doppleganger.
You rule these out, mainly because you have already used these excuses and suspect that your boss, though somewhat dimwitted, would recognize repeated reasons submitted for absence.
No. This one must be a fresh excuse…
Suddenly, it comes to you!
With a shiver, you pour the remaining cold coffee, from that grande cup on your desk, down the back of your khaki slacks and go ask your boss for Pepto Bismol.
~
Yes!
It worked!
With a barely concealed fist-pump, you exit the building, place a towel on the driver’s seat, start the engine, and make a bee-line for home.
Once in the house, you, much like a leper checking numb fingers to make sure they are still there, verify that you are bringing all your necessary surf gear.
Board – check!
Shorts – check!
Rashguard – check!
Leash – check!
Wax – check!
Satisfied that you have what you need, you now load the vehicle and proceed to the gas station.
Long ago, you calculated that you require precisely 1.5 gallons of gas to get to the closest decent surf break and back. Having missed a good deal of work recently, last payday found your paycheck as gaunt as a half-starved runway model – luckily, you only have two more days of self-imposed austerity policies to endure.
The sign says “Regular $3.93 99/100″.
Momentarily, you consider that everyone knows that the figure is, more realistically, $3.94, and perhaps that they list it like that as a sort of courtesy, letting you know up-front that you are going to be a victim of sneaky pricing tactics.
Grudgingly, you decide to use your next two days’ ramen and egg money, in the form of 12 penny rolls, placed in both pockets, to pay for the fuel.
Approaching the door, you have to quickly grab your waistband to prevent your Mercury walk shorts, laden with the weight of the coins, from falling down to your ankles.
The cashier laughs but then recoils as you place the rolls on the counter.
“I’m sorry sir, but we cannot accept…” he begins.
Perhaps experiencing a moment of compassion, from seeing the stark desperation in your eyes, he says, ” Okay buddy – just put your name and address on them…”
As one who has just received an unexpected pardon, you thank him profusely, head to the pumps, get your gas, and begin to wend your way to the beach.
~
There it is… the beach!
Only it is not chest high anymore – it might be knee on the set.
Neither is it glassy – the wind has turned side onshore at about 20 knots.
You stare in disbelief, your jaw dropping and remaining open long enough for a bystander to worry about your tongue becoming sunburned.
The minutes go by:
“TICK!!!”
“TICK…”
“Tick…”
With a Curlyesque gesture, you draw your hands across your face as if to wipe the wind-chopped panorama from view.
Shaking your head, you begin gearing up to go surfing anyway – if you did not, you know that you would be plagued by guilt.
Actually, you have no remorse about your escape from work.
In fact, you rather enjoy orchestrating these deceptions.
No… the guilt you are trying to avoid by paddling out, despite the unappealing conditions, is one of a different nature, and is a product of the times.
You are going surfing to avoid…
GAS GUILT!
`’”~

So…
Jon E.B. now has a blog.
What are the implications – how will this affect you?
Well, for starters, it won’t affect you if you do not read it.
That is… unless someone else reads it and, they, being affected, choose to do something that affects you.
For example: I could blog that everyone should call their mother on Mother’s Day.
If you are a mom, one of your spawn might be snapped out of their foggy forgetfulness by my suggestion, and, consequently, choose to call you.
~
You note that the caller ID says that it is your youngest son, Jeremy. Poor misguided Jeremy. Of course, you are happy to take the call, even though he still owes you a great deal of money from his failed medical leech farm venture. After all, it is Mother’s Day.
“Hi mom… Happy Mother’s Day!”
You talk for a while, avoiding topics that might lead to discussions involving leeches or farms or anything monetary or medical, and as the conversation is winding down to a close, Jeremy asks, “Hey mom, can I borrow your car for the afternoon? I mean, you aren’t planning on going anywhere today, are you?”
You confirm that you intend to stay home and ask him what he needs the car for.
“Just want to go pick up some things for a project I am working on…”
“Sure. Okay, just be back by dark if you can.” you reply.
A minute later, he walks into the kitchen where you are tending to your kombucha (he has been living in the garage since the leech farm fiasco) and with a quick, “Thanks, mom!” grabs the keys off the counter and heads out the door.
With a sense of pride, you smile as you hear the engine of your new hot pink VW Beetle begin to purr, and then accelerate smoothly through the gears as it goes down the street.
Little do you know, but Jeremy has decided that money is secondary to, and a given byproduct of, fame. He has a plan…

The pink car eventually comes to a stop along the wharf.
Sitting in the driver’s seat, Jeremy places a call to the local news station, informing them that a newsworthy event is about to take place.
He then calls the fish house and, as previously arranged, workers in rubber boots begin showing up, pushing pallet carts loaded with fish boxes stacked head high. Jeremy momentarily considers that he probably should have paid you first, but decides that he is rather proud to have invested all the money from his recent win at the regional Y-Box video game challenge.. a whopping 2 grand… on this highly important project.
Setting his phone down, he excitedly hops out of the car.
Looking around, he sees no sign of the news crew yet, but decides to begin anyway.
First opening the doors on the passenger side, he then commences to start accessing the boxes and transferring their contents into the car.
You see, in a strange gambit to get in the Guinness World Book of Records, Jeremy has decided to set a new and, as of yet, unheard of record attempt – the most mullet ever packed into a VW Beetle.
1,643 mullet to be exact – he counts them as he carefully stacks them in the car.
He grins as he envisions the royalties he will make when Volkswagen begins to capitalize on his soon-to-be-viral record with a new marketing campaign based on setting records consisting of how many of such and such can be crammed into a VW Beetle.
With great difficulty, he manages to finally get the front door shut. There is an audible ‘click’ and he begins feeding fish through the gap he has left at the top of the window. Mullet heads, fins, and tails begin to press against the glass. The fish faces stare silently as a small crowd of puzzled onlookers begins to gather.
As he is sliding the final remaining mullet through the barely open window, Jeremy suddenly realizes he has left the keys in the ignition. To his dismay, he discovers that the car had locked when he shut the door. Not only that, but his cellphone and wallet had been placed between the seats and were now under a few hundred pounds of sleek slimy silver mullet.
Aggravated by this irritating development, he sits down on the curb and, with his head in his hands, begins mumbling obscenities under his breath. At this moment, the news van arrives.

Back at the house, you have completed your necessary tasks and are ready to settle down and relax for the rest of the day.
As you pour, and then sip, your kombucha tea, you realize that the original gelatinous parent pancake in the jar is actually a sort of mother, too. With a wink, you softly say, “Happy Mother’s Day…”, walk into the living room, and switch on the TV so you can watch the news…
~
So…
upon reflection, perhaps you may begin to realize that you should read my blog.
This way, you can be prepared, as the effect of not reading it can be profound.
Everyone, I suggest you call your mom today.
A bit of advice for you moms: answer the phone, but under no circumstances should you loan out your car.
Happy Mother’s Day! `’”~