With my hand on the wheel and my brain in neutral . . .

Archive for the ‘Maybe make you laugh’ Category

What Should I Call My Brother Now?

Probably much more so amongst men than women, a telltale sign of friendship is plenty of good-natured teasing.  The tacit understanding is you don’t tease about something that really might bother the guy, unless you’re really, really good friends.  Even strangers can get in on the fun as long as there is something in their tone that lets the target guy know, “Hey, we’ve been there, too, and we’re going to help you get over it by making you laugh at yourself.”

There was a great example of this on one of the Facebook boating groups recently.  A man posted this:

Hey just a quick question… if your brother has run-aground 4 times in the past week… Would “Sandbar” be a good nickname!?!

and quickly got over 100 comments.  The brother chimed in, too, so obviously he knew it was just in good fun, and he seemed to be enjoying it.

High and Dry

The nicknames offered are listed below, but first a few comments and suggestions:

  • (From the original posting brother): Very, very true my brother… I love you a lot and can’t wait to get down to St Pete and …run aground with you!!!! er..um… I mean run around
  • Arrrgh . . . Actually, charts be more like guidelines…
  • He’s obviously a “land ho”
  • Change your ring tone (from him) to Gilligan’s Island theme
  • A crusty old salt once told me that the only people that never run aground are those that never go anywhere. By that logic, I’m somewhere into my third circumnavigation.
  • He was just doing a little depth sounding with the keel…
  • If you haven’t run aground, you haven’t been around
  • If he has a dinghy, he can call it HopAlong


“What should I call my brother?”

  • Adopted
  • Bar Hopper
  • Bump
  • Calamity John
  • Captain KneeDeep
  • Captain Runaground
  • Captain Sandbar
  • Chart Cheapie
  • Columbus
  • Crash
  • Dirt
  • Dumbass is a pretty good one
  • Flounder
  • Garmin
  • Grounder
  • GroundHog
  • Groundling
  • Honest “Sandy” Sandbar, your Local Guide-for-Hire
  • Lawn Dart
  • Lead line
  • Mayhem
  • Mr. Sandman
  • Pilot
  • Ping
  • Runaground Sue
  • Sandbar
  • Sandbar Slim
  • Sandhopper
  • Sandlubber
  • Sandy
  • Sandy Asshole
  • Sandy Bottoms
  • Simon Sonar
  • Sir Sandbar
  • Skid mark
  • Sonar
  • Speed-Bump
  • Stands With Fist in Sandbar and Head Up Butt
  • Stevie Wonder
  • Still Sanding After All These Years
  • The Clammer
  • The Dredger ? Sanding still?
  • The High Tide Kid
  • The Sandbot
  • Valdez

Sandbar 3

Eh, maybe it’s a man thing, but I’ll bet that 20, 30, 40, 50 years from now, something will spark the memory and one will say to the other, “Hey!  Remember that time we got all those Captain Sandbar nicknames on Facebook?”  And they’ll both be grinning.

Not MY fault!

So, a rabbi, a cowboy, and a clown walk into a bar . . .

So, a rabbi, a cowboy, and a clown walk into a bar together, and the bartender says, “What is this?!  Some kind of a joke?”

My Friend’s Story

Now and then a friend of mine tells this story from his youth, and every time it gets the laughs at exactly the same place. Maybe us all having a few beers has something to do with it, but at any rate, it goes like this:

“One night, when my friends and I were 16 years old and had newly-minted driver’s licenses, one guy in the group of us that hung out together said he could drive through Dead Man’s Curve at twice the posted speed limit.”   (There’s your first clue that teenage foolishness awaits: the cliché but true name of the piece of road, Dead Man’s Curve.) “After a few boasts and insults were exchanged, it became a bet. A few dollars were laid out, and then me with my big mouth said, ‘Wait a minute. We can all stand there and watch you go through the curve real fast, but how are we going to be able to tell that you’re actually going twice the posted limit?’

“He said to me, ‘Well . . . I’ll tell you what: since YOU think I can’t make it through Dead Man’s Curve that fast, YOU can sit next to me and keep your eye on the speedometer . . .’”

There it is, the point where people bust out laughing, even bending over and losing their breath. When the laughter begins to die down, often he’s able to revive it with:

“When I woke up in the hospital . . .”

The Dog’s Haircut Made it Official

e Petey on his back

Just a memory that crossed my mind:

Years ago, I had a housemate who had a 15-pound ragamuffin schnauzer who wore his long curls and cuteness as a disguise: whenever we tried to have him groomed (his breed is known for wearing an aristocratic mustache, short hair on the body, and curls on the legs and underside), he would reveal his true identity of a Tasmanian Devil.   After just two or three visits to every dog groomer in the area, they all told us that although they appreciate our business, please don’t bring our little rascal back. The last time we took him to a groomer, he came home with a limp and was stiff for days. Although we were sure that the groomer probably had gotten the worst of it, for us, like the dog, that was it: we’d had enough of the groomers. We bought a dog clipper set and tried to groom him ourselves. Surely, we thought, as his “Mom and Dad” we would be more gentle and patient than any professional groomer.   Well, that day cocktail hour came early.

My friend came up with a plan. In the evenings, sometimes the dog liked to cuddle on the easy chair with his “Mom.” He lied along her thigh, sideways, so he could use all four legs to push against the chair arm to keep his “Mom” on her side of the cushion.   In this position she petted him and lulled him half asleep, and then, stroke, stroke, scissor snip, stroke, stroke, scissor snip . . . It took awhile, but she got all the matted knots off his right side. She stood up, took away the pile of dog hair from the end table, and scooted him over to work on his left side. So, after about two hours, she got all of his rib cage, shoulders, and haunches cleaned up, but not his back or his butt. By this time the dog had figured out the ploy and wanted no more of it. He jumped down and ran around the house, ignoring our cajoling and evading capture.

My housemate pronounced, “Well, I guess it’s official. Hair short on both sides, long on top and in the back: our dog’s haircut is a mullet and we are officially white trash.”


2014, Mik Hetu, author of Napism.Info (for people who take their naps “religiously”)


Smoking Kills Fish

Smoking kills

Once, while walking the dog I came across this fish on the side of the pavement. Then nearest pond was far away, and the nearest lake even farther. I spied the cigarette butt nearby and surmised that the cause of death was tobacco-related. I brought the dog home, grabbed my camera, replaced the cigarette butt between the fish’s lips, and came away with irrefutable proof that smoking kills.
(Hey, if you can’t entertain yourself you can’t fairly expect anyone else to.)

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