Pigs

My uncle is a wheat farmer in Manitoba, Canada.

His farm is big; like the size of Luxembourg big!

The last time I visited, I followed him around as he fed his assorted animals: cats, cows, chickens…

Every Spring his next door neighbour, who lives about as far away as Belgium, gives him 2 piglets. In the Fall my uncle butchers them.

As he put in their feed, I noticed one of the pigs was a lot bigger than the other one. The big one pushed the smaller one out of the way and ate most of the food.

“Do your pigs have names?” I asked.
“Ham and Bacon” he answered.
“Which one are you going to kill first?” I inquired.
“The biggest one” he replied.

Moral of the story: Don’t be a Pig.

note: If I were a pig, I’d want to be anorexic or bulimic.

Nightly Conversation

Do you talk in your sleep?

I’ve been informed that I do.

I never used to. I wonder when this started?
I’m not even saying anything good either: I’m saying 1 2 3 over and over again.

I don’t think I like this development.

I travelled with an Australian guy who moaned for 30 minutes every night.

Sometimes right when he fell asleep, sometimes just before he woke up in the morning.

I don’t think he liked that very much either.

I once met a guy who was a sleep walker.
While travelling, he stayed at a hostel in Amsterdam.

The hostel had 2 locations on opposite corners of the same city block.

He went to bed at his hostel and woke up around the block outside the other hostel.

He did this in his underwear!

The worst part must have been running back to his hostel.

Maybe talking in my sleep isn’t that bad.

note: maybe I'm a dyslexic rocket launch control person.

Marbles

Do you remember Marble Day at school?

I do. What a great day. I waited all year for Marble Day.

Sure, you could play marbles any day, but not at school in the open and everything!
Look at me! I’m playing marbles Mr. 3rd Grade Teacher; and there is nothing you or anyone else can do about it.

Marbles had great names: cat’s eyes, steelies, pee wees, cobs, king cobs, crystals… but the best name was bullfudger. I’m sure there are a lot of other cool names for them too.

I carried my marbles around in a Crown Royal bag.
How cool was I? Pretty cool, I kid you not.

Even the rules had cool names:

Keepsies: you win the marbles used by your opponent.

Quitsies: allows any one to stop the game without consequence. You could either have “quitsies” or ”no quitsies“.

How cool is that? Pretty cool!

I guess “quitsies” and “no quitsies” are the unwritten rules for most things in life anyway.

Marriage: sometimes it’s quitsies and sometimes it’s no quitsies depending where you live and who your lawyer is.
War: usually no quitsies applies.
Work: sometimes quitsies; sometimes no quitsies, if you don’t get your final paycheck.
Sports: quitsies all the way. Just watch professional tennis to see what I mean.

note: keepsies applies to everything, and I’m calling double keepsies infinity just so it’s clear.

Used Golf Balls

Used golf ball sales people.

You know the type: hanging out on the other side of the golf course fence, sitting in a lawnchair next to the sign “Cheap Golf Balls“.

Usually they are sitting on a piece of land that has just absorbed your last golf ball.
What opportunists! 100% profit! Bastards!

Are there any other lost items that you can sell in the open and not be arrested for?
Selling lost umbrellas, pets, wallets, or dental retainers will probably find you explaining yourself to the authorities.

It’s not fair.
I bet those used golf ball sellers don’t pay tax either.