When I die . . .

Smallish rants,
philosophical
meanderings

This is what I want my politically correct obituary to say when I decide to go toe’s-up:

George Sidney Smith, a French-Welsh-English-Irish-African-Native American-American, was jerked to Jesus today after saving newborn triplets and their mother from certain death by four rabid pit bull dogs.

“It was the bravest thing I ever saw,” Mrs. Beelzebub Slawman, the mother of the triplets, said. “He saw the danger and threw his body between the attacking dogs and me and my precious triplets – Ebekaneezer, Lorki and Prettypenny.

“He died with a smile on his lips.”

**

Ignorance you can do something about. Stupidity goes straight to the bone.

**

I do wish The Pope would keep his tongue in his mouth and his thoughts in his head on the subject of condoms.

First, he’s not supposed to know anything about such things, and secondly, The Pope talking about sex is like a politician plying his trade in Washington-on-the-deficit talking about fair play and honesty.

**

Okay, here’s an admission: I’m overweight.

At 6-2, I weight about 227 pounds. The mirror tells me that at 63, I don’t really look all that bad. I have not yet felt the urge to go to the Golden Corral or any all-you-can-eat buffet anywhere and look at the other patrons just to raise my self-esteem.

But I need to lose 20-25 pounds. I know it and I plan to get right on that project … after I finish icing the carrot cake with caramel icing.

But I don’t have the problem that a Bellevue, Nebraska policeman has. Chris Parent lost his job because at 5-9 and 300 pounds he was considered obese and unfit to be a police officer.

He sued and got reinstated because of a badly worded policy manual.

Report is that he’s on restricted duty, that he will only be allowed to run down those accused criminals he can actually catch … like candy-grabbing toddlers.