Sleep Is Creepy!

I recently read an article about a British study that purported to reveal a link between the position a person adopts while sleeping, and their personality. The piece was accompanied by drawings of sleeping men and women in cartoon pajamas. They were curled up in little balls, stretched out like a hippie jumping off a cliff in a Mountain Dew commercial -- and everything in between.

The whole thing triggered a full-body shiver.

There's no way to get around it: sleep is creepy. It's not something I talk about in mixed company, because I'm seemingly alone in these beliefs, but I've always felt this way. I remember being a kid and becoming slightly uncomfortable whenever they showed people in bed on Little House on the Prairie, preparing to turn themselves over to an eight-hour mini­coma (on the prairie). I'm sorry, but the widely accepted nightly ritual of climbing atop an elevated platform and assuming a state of insect-like dormancy is disturbing to me.

The fact that otherwise bright and energetic people willingly allow themselves to become drooling vegetables at the end of each day, feels like a failure. We, as superior animals, should be above such base requirements by now. It's clear that we aren't yet fully evolved, and are nothing more than glorified praying mantises, walking around with delusions of grandeur. Every night, as I climb aboard my raised dormancy platform, I sigh with resignation, feeling like a monkey in pants.

And have you ever seen a person sleeping? They look like idiots. I have no doubt that Albert Einstein himself resembled Gomer Pyle in a gas leak, while drifting off to sleep. As I put a fresh pillow case on my pillow every six months or so, I see the stains there, created by excess saliva that rolled out of my mouth during my nightly transformation into a lobotomized fool, and I feel shame.

This is no way to live, people.

In addition to all the time wasted to voluntary loss of consciousness, I worry that one of these days I'll go in too deep, and won't be able to pull out on the other side. Sleep is Death Lite, and playing chicken with the grim reaper is, I think, ill-advised. Yet we do it every day. So far I've won every contest, but the odds keep getting longer and longer. It's Russian roulette beneath a fluffy comforter.

Most of us seem to be cocky about it, absolutely sure we'll wake up in the morning, but I know better. Tonight could very well be the night that I'm drawn to the light. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take...

And the fact that sleep is not only accepted by society, but also celebrated, concerns me. We should be working at correcting this abnormality. Instead, we continue building homes equipped with special rooms (chambers) in which to assume our freakish science-fiction state of suspended animation, complete with fancy hand-carved hibernation stands.

"How big's your new house?" "Oh, not too big. It has four dormancy chambers, and two waste-elimination alcoves."

We also frequent places of business, like Bed, Bath and Beyond, where one can purchase a whole myriad of frilly, scented dormancy supplies. Dr. Phil might call it "enabling." If we had a grotesque dangling mole on our faces, we'd have it removed, not drive across town to purchase an imported mole cozy. Why are we not seriously endeavoring to eliminate our reliance on the sleep abomination?

Don't even get me started on dreams. When somebody begins a sentence with, "Oh man, I had the weirdest dream last night..." I head for the exit. Thank you for your desire to share, but the bizarre misfirings of your nocturnal brain waves frighten me. You say you were playing Jarts in a jock strap with Willie Mays and Mel from Alice? Well, that's simply excellent.

My wife loves to sleep; she views it as a refuge. She actually looks forward to it, which I find slightly insulting. I'm just the opposite, of course. I put it off as long as possible, and curse its talent for robbing me of one-third of my precious life. Escape can be had with beer and DVDs which, I believe, is highly preferable to wallowing around in heavy fabrics, three feet above the floor. When I finally give in to sleep's evil come-ons, it feels like defeat. Why, if I had an extra seven or eight hours per day, I could rule the world. Or at least watch a shitload of television.

Through history there have been many visionaries who've attempted to circumvent sleep, including Thomas Edison and Kramer, but we generally just accept it as a fact of life. What we need is something that will allow us to stay awake all the time, preferably in an easy-to-swallow tablet, with no adverse physical consequences.

I seem to remember reading a piece on the Internet a while ago, about a half-assed military experiment along those lines. For some reason they want soldiers to be able to stay awake for a week at a time, which seems a tad cruel. But once they get all the bugs worked out, by testing it on gullible college students and whatnot, I'd be interested in getting in on the deal -- far away from the battlefield, of course. It would be like having your weeks Super-Sized.

In the meantime, though, I guess I have no choice but to play along and do my time atop the platform. I do so under protest, however; I want that to be noted.

And in case you're interested, the sleep position I usually adopt is called The Yearner in the British study I mentioned. "People who sleep on their side with both arms out in front are said to have an open nature, but can be suspicious, cynical. They are slow to make up their minds, but once they have taken a decision, they are unlikely ever to change it."

You got that right, bucko. And that's why I'm writing this at 4 a.m.

Traffic School Quiz - Cheaters Will Be Tailgated

I recently completed traffic school, after receiving a ticket which I totally blame on the other participant in the infraction: the camera at the intersection.

Brimming with traffic facts, I have selected five of the most important quiz questions and provided them below as a little refresher course for you, my fellow driver. I know you are a very busy person, so I recommend you print out this quiz, and the next time you have a few spare minutes, like when you are stuck in traffic, please fill it out.

1. If two vehicles arrive at an intersection at the same time, the driver _________ has the right of way.

a) who didn't stop


b) who is reloading


c) with the best agent


d) -less car

2. The National Highway Traffic Safety Administration estimates that 25% of crashes each year involve some form of driver distraction, like cell phone use, and the other 75% involve:

a) people putting cell phones away


b) people completely focused on the road who are attacked by pelicans


c) liberals listening to Rush Limbaugh


d) Rush Limbaugh

3. Motorcyclists are involved in a large number of traffic accidents because:

a) motorcyclists are worth 10 points


b) it is hard to see motorcyclists when you are on a conference call


c) motorcyclists only have the two wheels


d) bees are attracted to leather pants

4. High beam headlights may only be used when:

a) you are high on Jim Beam


b) Rush Limbaugh totally cuts you off


c) you need to communicate with the mother ship


d) the night has come, and the land is dark, and the moon is the only light we'll see

5. What causes more deaths in the U.S. each year than motor vehicles?

a) dying


b) watching "Super Nanny" while in possession of a firearm


c) playing ultimate circular saw blade Frisbee


d) pelicans

By studying the rules of the road, I re-learned some very important things. For example, your car's horn should only be used to warn other drivers of a possible danger, like the fact that you will kill them if they don't get out of your way.

So I promise never, ever again to drive stupidly, endangering others with my self-centered habits. Being late to work is not the worst thing in the world.

That would be traffic school.

Now roll down your window, pass this to the driver on your left, and see how you did.

A Dotty Ditty Including Feet

It was Eddison or Einstein, or some other genius whose name begins with an 'e' who said genius is one per cent inspiration and 99 per cent perspiration. Of course none of them wrote poetry. Even less funny poems. At times the inspiration packs its bags and goes on holiday, and all that is left is perspiration.

So I would love to compel your sympathy by explaining how how I have agonized over each golden word of this poem, cried over every beautiful phrase, and burrowed for the perfect rhyme, rhythm and meaning. How much know-how has gone into the use of the tools of the trade of word smith. How many cups of coffee have have been my only companion on sleepless nights.

I'd love to, but I can't!

Sometimes, writing funny poetry, the words just fall into place, seemingly wandering in off the highway of ideas as though looking for a seat in the shade to take the weight off their feet. (And I don't drink coffee either!) That seems to apply a lot to my dotty ditties; and here is one of those that mentions feet.

dotty ditty 113

Do You Walk With Your Feet?

Do you walk with your feet

On the pavement or street

And greet who you meet

On the way?

Does your head bounce around

With each step on the ground

(Well, that's what I've found),

And you sway?

Do you see each fresh sight

In a very new light

When spring is in flight

And it's May?

Well, you must be a friend,

So this message I'll send:

To be happy do tend -

Every day.

© Joseph Harris

The Heir on the Dog

I try to avoid the political arena as a rule, but as a concerned parent, I'm furious with this government's education policy. It makes my blood boil to see numeracy, literacy and religious tolerance dominate the curriculum, while tenuous football related analogies remain conspicuous by their absence.

The children could do a lot worse than watch the video of Chelsea's FA cup semi-final win over Blackburn. If the little brats can't be inspired by the reconciliation of Mourinho and Abramovich as a result of the beautiful game, they may as well go and sew trainers for a living as further education would prove a waste of time and money.

I was hugely excited by the news that Roman shared a hug with Jose; it's been quite a while for me. I'm embracing the 4/7 for a Chelsea win over Newcastle.

The majority of the young lads would undoubtedly benefit from this revolutionary educational concept, and I'd even consider showing the tape to the girls if a strong grade in home economics has been achieved. Spurs versus Arsenal is be the embodiment of equality, the draw is an outstanding 23/10 shot.

It makes economic sense to look after the kids of today, as you never know when you'll need a cheap car stereo in the future. The 10/11 for Bolton to beat Reading is another example of value for money.

Charlton v Sheffield United could well be the greatest domestic dust-up since the Scottish war of independence where the English and the Sweaties went toe to toe in an epic battle. I'm no history buff, but as Scotland remained an independent nation at the end of the skirmish; I'm assuming England won quite comfortably. Charlton can follow suit at 23/20.

Mohammed Al Fayed may have taken a huge gamble appointing a caretaker manager at the business end of the season, but Sanchez is oozing confidence. "They said I couldn't beat Spain, couldn't beat Sweden and couldn't beat England; I've proved the impossible is possible." He's quite an articulate Lawrie. A driven Fulham can share the spoils with Blackburn at 23/10.

I can't foresee a Wigan goal at Anfield; the Scousers have been tighter at the back than Lee Hughes all season. Liverpool should take all three points at 4/9.

We all have people we admire. Some dig Mandela, others like the cut of Jesus' jib. Personally, I have a lot of time for Aidy Boothroyd. The Watford manager has remained upbeat throughout a disastrous campaign; Manchester City can land another blow at 17/10.

I have the utmost sympathy for Andy Johnson. On recent evidence, the England striker would need to be repeatedly pommeled with a baseball bat for the referee to even consider awarding a penalty; and that may not be enough at Old Trafford. West Ham can inflict a little pain on the Toffeemen at 6/4.

Aston Villa are finishing the season as they started; if it wasn't for that little six-month sticky patch in the middle they could have been contenders. The Villans are unbeaten against Pompey in their last six meets, the O'Neill revolution will continue at 5/4.

Cristiano Ronaldo has signed a new five year deal worth a reported £25m. That kind of money could go a long way to eradicating world hunger, although it would probably be easier to just ask Mark Viduka to donate his snacks. Manchester United will devour Middlesbrough at 1/5.

Rio Ferdinand limped out of the FA cup semi-final feeling his groin; confirming my suspicions. Luckily, the injury is not as serious as it first appeared; Rio can add a clean sheet to a United win at a more appetising 4/7.

Bolton, Charlton, Manchester City and Aston Villa form a 21/1 weekend accer that is so forthright; Prince William had finally explained why he binned Kate Middleton. "She's friendly, she's good with figures and her vocabulary is impressive, but the bint can't boil an egg," mused the astute part German future monarch.

A Soccer Folly

PARENT VS. REFEREE; PLAYER VS. PLAYER; PARENT VS. PARENT

The game started off with a group prayer in the middle of the soccer field. Each player beside her soon to be opponent. Prayer is a hard thing for me. It seems to be most often used as a wishing list. But, seeing the game started this way did make me feel good. (Of course, a group hug would have worked just as well. . . for me.)

Before I begin the Follies, I would like to pose a rhetorical question:

Have you EVER in any sport from pee wee to college seen a referee/umpire . . . any official, change a call because of something a parent yells from the side line? EVER?

The answer is NO.

Such it was on this particular sunny day in the middle of No Man's Land Kansas.

The referee WAS among the worst I have ever witnessed.

At first his bad calls had no bias. But, to the misfortune of my daughter's Lazers team, there pacing the sidelines was one particular parent who was feeling a little God like. He knew what SHOULD have been called (every time) and he was not afraid to share this information with the referee. (And as you might have guessed, in his world the Lazers had a perfect game with no fouls, no off sides, no trapping the ball, etc.)

Eventually, it was hard to get a call in favor of the Lazers; that is just how it works. It was inevitable with the God Like Lazers Parent continuously shouting at the referee.

Selfishly, I was more annoyed with him because he was obstructing every ones view - mostly mine - of the game.
(Like a St. Patricks Day Parade Parent. The ones who follow their child performers along the parade path and stand in front of the people who have been waiting and waiting sitting there on the sidewalk. I look up , because of course I am talking about ME, to watch the dancers and I am butt level with a group of obnoxious parents! My kids are crying and I'm..... sorry, I tend to get carried away.)

As I mentioned, this was one of the most deplorable jobs of refereeing I have personally seen. He wasn't calling fouls. The other team had lots of replacements so they always had a blast of new energy but they didn't have the skills to even turn the ball around on the field. Girls with no skills on the soccer field are dangerous. They just don't have any control. (Especially, if they are bigger.) The opposing team were all over our girls.

Another truth to any game: Not calling the personal fouls makes for a wild game! It didn't take long for the Lazers to become just as reckless if not worse. It is that whole justification thing.

Toward the end of the game, one of the Lazers blatantly shoved her Opponent off of the ball. She "won" the ball and had passed it as the Referee blew his whistle. About the same time, the Opponent ran over to the Lazers girl - who no longer had the ball - and shoved her across the field.

God Like Lazers Parent started yelling, "That is what happens when you don't call the game." Over and Over.

The Referee warned him that he was on his way to the parking lot. He then huddled the two girls in question for a fatherly talk. The surprise finish, the Ref gave the ball back to our team. Man, that broke the other team out of their silence.

The next excitement in this brawl was a call no referee could have won.

Lazers Girl had the ball, Opponent was taller and therefore pushing down on Lazers Girls back. Lazers Girl was now trapping the ball. Tit for Tat; both illegal plays. This call did not play out in our favor. Opponent was awarded the ball. Lazers Girl Dad was up out of his seat - crazy mad having his say.

Now for reasons I just don't know, perhaps the Opponent's Parents had had enough as well, one of the parents from the other team decided that he was going to set Lazers Girl Dad straight. So the yelling began. First from where they were sitting, and then face to face.

Opponent Dad, "You can't trap the ball."
Lazers Girl Dad, "The other girl was on top of her."
Opponent Dad, "You can't trap the ball."
. . . just keep replaying this dialogue and that was about the jest of it.

I wanted to walk up to them and tell them Hallelujah they were both right. That the only foreseeable answer to this problem was for all us parents to storm the field, over throw the Officials and let these two dad's referee the remainder of the game.

Just as I was about to my feet to offer my solution, the parent confrontation turned from bad to downright UGLY!

Opponent Dad, "Just go sit down. Just go sit down. Just go sit down."
Lazers Girl Dad, "I will, your not worth my time!"
Then it came down like the judges gavel from the Opponent Dad, "And you call yourself a Christian."
Lazers Girl Dad. "I am a Christian. I am protecting my daughter!"
Opponent Dad, " You don't need to protect your daughter that is what the Referees are for!"

I had to laugh to myself. We had come full circle. Just as both girls on the field were wrong, both dads that stood before us showing their a$$es, were also wrong.

As Opponent Dad stated, Lazers Girl Dad can't protect his daughter on the field. Besides, she was way past it and still giving her all out there on the field. And as Lazers Girl Dad said, the referees were just plain awful!

The battle was over. Lazers 2 - Opponents -3.

I felt as exhausted as my girl who could barely make her way to the car. Along our way we passed Lazers Girl Dad, God Like Lazers Parent and Opponent Dad who were all huddled together in a group hug.
Amen....

. . . Okay, I made that last part up. I can't help it. I just love a group hug!

Birthday Poems To Irritate Men

Over the years I seem to have amused and delighted many friends and colleagues by composing funny poems and writing them in their birthday cards. I have now decided to publish my anthology of wit, humour and downright rudeness for the world to enjoy!

These rhymes have proven to be particularly popular with women – demonstrating how cruel and heartless the 'gentler' sex can be to the men in their lives. They can be copied into birthday cards, Father's Day cards, Christmas cards, or simply cut and pasted onto an email … in fact they can be used anytime someone you know needs cheering up – or bringing down a peg or two!

Many of the poems rely heavily on the shortcomings of we poor men; ie, drunkenness, uncontrolled flatulence, lecherousness, good old fashioned plain laziness, inability to master DIY, thinning hair, suspiciously thickening midriff etc, etc. Characteristics which I'm sure apply to some extent to all husbands, boyfriends and sons.

You will see that each poem contains a man's first name, but not as part of the rhyme. In other words, you can easily 'personalise' the rhyme by replacing the name with the name of the person you would like to send it to. (This works best if the names have the same number of syllables. For example, 'Bob' can be changed to John, Dave, Mick, Paul etc; 'Andy' can be changed to Simon, Roger, Alan etc).

For whatever reason you decide to send one, the poor unsuspecting fellow will receive a very amusing rhyme poking fun at some of his - shall we say - less romantic characteristics. A possible side effect is that he may also be impressed at your wit, humour and resourcefulness - but please don't expect him to admit to that. Here they are;

*

Ian doesn't much like it,


When you tell him he's losing his hair;


And he gets just a little bit grumpy,


When you point out his tyre is spare.

So be sensitive now it's his birthday,


And remember, the man's not bionic;


Sit him down in his chair, don't mention the hair


And pour him a large Gin and Tonic.

*

John likes booze and John likes women, He doesn't like running and he doesn't like swimming; He likes sitting down and he likes eating grub, He doesn't like work but he does like the pub.

Being John's Missus is a pain in the neck, When he dresses up smart, he still looks a wreck! He thinks posh restaurants and theatres are above him, But I suppose all these things are just reasons I love him!

*

There once was a young man called Laurence,


Who when urinating did so in torrents,


When asked, "Was it Venice


That inspired this menace?"

He replied, "No, I learnt it in Florence".

*

Matthew wants presents for his birthday, Matthew wants jewellery and cars, Matthew wants to go out to restaurants, And meet gorgeous women in bars.

Well I've got a present for Matthew, For this playboy who thinks he's so cool, It's what he got me for my birthday, Coincidentally that's B*GGER ALL!

*

Nigel is a gentleman, It isn't just a pose;


His shoes are always polished, And he never picks his nose.

He opens doors for ladies, And offers them his seat;


His nails are never dirty, And his hair is always neat.

But when it's Nigel's birthday, He loses all his class;


He has an awful lot to drink, And ends up on his a*se!

*

Peter when I look at you, I remember when you were twenty-two,


Your hair was thick, your wrinkles few, And you didn't spend so long in the loo!

*

Robert, on your birthday, I want you to relax;


Sit down and put your feet up, And I'll bring you drinks and snacks.

I'll do all the household chores, And put your clothes away;


In fact it won't be much different, To every other day!

*

Vince, Vince, what can the matter be, You're turning into Les Battersby,


It's your birthday on Saturday, So for crying out loud mate CHEER UP!

*

Alan you know I love you, You're really very sweet;


In fact I'd call you perfect If it wasn't for your feet!

*

Brian has a problem, He's older than before,


And now that it's his birthday, He feels a little sore.


But Brian shouldn't worry, Or mooch around the house,


Because what he lacks in youthfulness, He makes up for with nouse!

*

Charlie likes to have a drink, And he's often in a hurry;


But keep your distance in the morning, If he's been out for a curry!

*

David, Happy Birthday Love, I've kept you dressed and fed;


Now I ask just one thing of you – Please stop farting in bed!

*

Frank, your birthday's here again, So it's a good time just to sit


And wonder why for the rest of the year, You're such a miserable git!!

*

Eddie, now you're getting old, And your hair is going grey;


I have some words to say to you, On this your special day.

You're generous, wise, good-looking, kind, And all your jokes are funny;


But the greatest thing about you Dear, Is all your lovely money!

*

Gary always gets drunk on his birthday, Once he's started, he just cannot stop;

So he usually gets slung out the boozer, And comes home with sick down his top!

*

Harry's the perfect husband, For 364 days of the year,


But he does go astray on his birthday, By trying to drown in beer!

*

Tony's very good at doing jobs around the house,


When it comes to DIY you couldn't find a better spouse;


So I thought that for his birthday I would get him something good,


To help him with the patio or bevelling of wood.

Should it be a power drill, or something else by Bosch?


A Black and Decker sander or a Karcher power wash?


But in the end I thought, you shouldn't fix what isn't broken,


So I did the same as last year – bought a ten pound record token!

*

There once was a fella called Kevin,


For whom being in a pub was just heaven,


When offered a drink,


He didn't have to think,


He would say, "Not just one, I'll have seven"!

*

Today is Dennis's birthday, And he'll probably go out to play,


I remember last year he knocked back so much beer, He ended up on Crimewatch UK!

*

Simon likes to go out with his mates, Simon likes to take girls out on dates,


He likes fish and chips and he likes Man United, And Keira Knightley gets him really excited.

He'll go out on his birthday and paint the town red,


He'll drink the bar dry then take cod and chips to bed,


He'll lie there wishing that Manchester was nearer,


Then he'll drop off to sleep and dream about Keira.

*

Andy don't want no presents for his birthday, Andy don't want special grub;

Andy don't want no cards and kisses, He just wants to go to the pub!

*

Barry is a nuisance on his birthday to be honest, All the usual types of gifts he doesn't like at all;

If you haven't spent a fortune he'll thinks your present's modest, So this year I've decided that he's getting B*GGER ALL!

*

Elliot quite likes to party On his birthday, with friends far and wide;


But curiously the next morning, He just wants to curl up and hide!

*

Happy birthday Timothy, Go out and have some fun;


Keep up your reputation as A Lazy Drunken Bum!

*

There once was a young man called Chris,


Who was permanently out on the p*ss,


When his birthday came round,


He just stayed in his lounge,


And drank cocoa all night – oh what bliss!

U. S. Seniors Retiring To Iraq Say That's Where The Medicare Money Is

U. S. senior citizens, noting President Bush's new budget, which calls for billions to be spent in Iraq while billions are cut from Medicare, are foregoing traditional retirement destinations like Florida and Arizona and opting for Iraq.

The numbers reflect a convincing coincidence. Bush's budget calls for $100 billion more for Iraq and $100 billion in cuts for Medicare.

Following up on the new retirement trend, we went to Kennedy Airport and caught up with some seniors who were booked for Baghdad.

"Excuse me," I asked a group of seniors who just stepped off the bus in front of Saudi Arabian Airlines. "I understand you're all heading for Iraq?"

"That's right," a man in Bermuda shorts replied, and reached into his golf bag. He took out a chapeau in the usual mullah fashion. "Got my black turban right here. You know what they say? When in Baghdad, do as the Iraqis do."

"And I have my black burkah," his wife added, lifting it from her purse. She slipped it over her head and modeled it. "What do you think?"

"Very cute," I replied. "You'll fit right in. Can you please clarify why you've chosen to retire in Iraq instead of, say, Miami?"

"Simple, son," a man with a fishing rod, who happened to be wearing a baseball cap on top of his turban, said, "That's where the Medicare money is."

"Not to mention social security," his wife commented.

"The plain fact is, we'd rather eat in Iraq than starve in America," another man added.

"But aren't you concerned about safety issues?" I asked.

"Of course, we are," the man in the Bermudas replied. "But we're in this for the long term and, the way things are going, we can hardly count on Medicare and social security in America."

"We've got to follow the food," another elderly gentleman stated.

"But you could get blown up?" I suggested.

"Oh, we thought about that," the man with the baseball hat on top of his turban replied. "We'll just have to take our chances."

"Never underestimate the power of a senior citizen," a frail man said, raising his fist. "Didn't you read about the 70-year-old fella who broke the neck of the kid who tried to rob a busload of seniors?"

"Yes, I did notice that event," I told him.

"He was a war vet," one of the women informed me, with evident pride.

"Yep, of one American war or another," a senior volunteered with a sigh. "Quite a few to choose from."

"How about suicide bombers?" I dared to ask.

"Bring 'em on, son," the frail senior said, assuming the position of a boxer with his dukes up.

"But aren't you forgetting that most of the money earmarked for Iraq is for military activity?" I asked.

"We're going for the rebuilding money," the man in the Bermudas said. "They're wasting billions. And we figure we can get in the way of some of it."

"And what do you think is going to happen when Americans see millions of seniors, retired in Iraq? They can't just let us starve there, can they?"

"Congress will have to divvy up something for us, and that's more than they're likely to do if we stay in America."

"And something is better than nothing," a woman affirmed.

"But what about the culture gap?" I asked. "Aren't you a little set in your ways?"

"Yes, we are," one of the men admitted.

"I notice the turbans. Do you plan on becoming Muslim?"

"Whatever it takes to get in the way of some money," the man insisted.

"We've thought about it," his wife interjected. "And becoming Islamic is better than not being able to afford medical care."

"Or starving on what's left of social security," another woman added.

"Do you think you'll be able to enjoy the usual retirement activities there, like golf and fishing?" I asked.

"No problem," the man with the golf bag said. "Iraq may not have the best golf courses, but I see there's plenty of desert for sand traps."

"I've noticed a river runs through Baghdad," the man with the fishing rod said. "Got to be something in it besides body parts."

"How about you?" I asked a woman with a tennis racquet.

"I haven't seen any tennis courts there," she admitted, "but some of the sand should be hard enough for the ball to bounce."

"What about a net?" I asked.

"I guess there'll be some sacrifices," she replied, and looked around at the crowd. "But I know one thing. I won't have far to look for someone to play with."

"I brought my racket," another woman called.

"And, if worse comes to worse," her husband advised her, "you can teach an Iraqi how to play."

"Excuse us, son," one of the men said. "We have to move along now. Can't miss our flight."

"We're bound for Baghdad!" his wife almost sang.

"OK," I replied. "Thanks for the interview. And enjoy your retirement."

Adventures Of Drsilly

In Japan, Drsilly got cervical spondylosis (the big word that means 'neck pain'). He had to bow his neck every time before he could pick up few words. The people around him seemed tiny compared to his height. It is silly but Drsilly says he got nightmares resembling the famous fable of little David who dares to attack the huge guy Goliath. Drsilly left Tokyo.

Drsilly flew to Singapore. It may surprise you to know that Drsilly never went to office or any apartment during his brief stay at Singapore. Drsilly just sat in his room like a prisoner. His friend who was a gynecologist was riding on the elevator with Miss Dickson Ale and after half an hour, he was in jail.

In Singapore the law and discipline is so strict that if a woman complains against you it is considered a serious offense. For the same reason Drsilly did not take his wife along with him to Singapore. He wondered how many life times of imprisonment he would have had if all the complaints his wife had went to the authorities at Singapore. Drsilly once shouted loudly his wife's name in sleep. Was it because he remembered his wife? Probably yes, because that was his last day in Singapore and Drsilly moved to Malaysia.

Drsilly had to stay in a hotel for his friend did not come to pick him up. Drsilly was almost certain that his friend would not turn up when his friend told him that he certainly would be there to receive the great Drsilly. The confidence in the friend's voice assured Drsilly that this guy won't turn up.

The next morning when Drsilly woke up in the hotel he realized that his watch, his wallet, and all had disappeared. "How stupid are these thieves in Malaysia?" groaned Drsilly.
Drsilly went to the police. The cop shoved him away as though he was a slimy nematode. Drsilly used his persuasive techniques and told the police that if they had kidnapped 'him' instead of taking away his shaving kit, all of them would be happy.

"What do we do with you?" asked the cop.
"Let the robbers demand huge ransom from my wife," said Drsilly. "You would be honored by the Interpol for rescuing me from the captives and CIA might even consider employing you in Kansas."

Drsilly of course would be spending all the money before reaching home. Drsilly is a peace loving man. Actually, Drsilly is a dedicated spiritual man. All spirits, champagne to vodka, any type it be, Drsilly can identify by taking a sip. Drsilly is not a thief. He is just using his own money. He would also feel abundantly worthy for the rest of his life knowing how precious he was to his wife. 200 thousand dollars was a good amount to have.

There was a harsh sound. How shall I describe it? Well, the kind you hear when a huge truck is stuck in snow and is trying to pull out full throttle. This sound was familiar to Drsilly. It emanated from the vocal cords of his wife. Drsilly was woken up by his wife and as usual, she had been shouting hoarse for the ninth time.
By that time Drsilly had already received the ransom and was up with a smile.

I confess, that it was the first time Drsilly got up from bed with a smile on his face.

Taming the Wild Dust Bunny

One pet that is easy to care for and is not demanding is the Common Dust Bunny (fluffus delicus timidus sporadicus (L.)) however it must be captured and tamed. To do so, once you have located one, is to slowly approach it. Do not move towards it too fast or your subject may run and hide further underneath its hiding spot. Should it do so, under no circumstances should you use an object, such as a broom, to retrieve your potential pet as Dust Bunnies are easily harmed. Simply move around slowly to the other side of its hiding place and, working with a partner, gently blow into its hiding spot to coax the timid Dust Bunny out the other side and hopefully into the hands of your partner. You should have instructed your partner to be very gentle when scooping up your new pet.

Care of your new Pet Dust Bunny

Housing

Now that you've captured your new pet, the best place to keep it in is an old laundry basket turned upside down. This way, your pet has a good view of the outside world as well as good lighting, although this is not necessary for your pet's happiness as it can exist in dark places and be perfectly content.

Food and Water

Dust Bunnies are very easy to feed. They exist on a variety of soft, light materials. Your pet Dust Bunny will eat only if taken out of its cage and let loose to roam over a smooth floor in a good draft. Just sprinkle laundry lint, human hair, fur from other pets, small feathers and dust onto the floor, and watch your pet roll around hungrily consuming your offerings.

A delicacy to offer your pet Dust Bunny, but only sparingly as it is very rich, is the lint taken from a navel also known as "belly button lint".

Feed your pet only once a week. If you find your pet is getting too large, it will become lethargic and may stop playing. Its size may also present a danger to your household and guests in that it will shock guests and family members who may leave and never return. (See Killer Dust Bunny, monstera dusticus (L.))

Under no circumstances should you give your pet Dust Bunny liquids of any kind. Doing so is very dangerous; it may cause your pet to become waterlogged and it may either drown or will become so heavy that it will never recuperate even after drying out.

Exercise and Playtime

Your weekly feeding should give your pet Dust Bunny enough playtime and exercise as it runs around in the draft you provide it. Never let your pet outside to play; it is guaranteed that it will escape and you will never see it again. Never put a leash on your pet; doing so may cause bodily harm to your Dust Bunny and it will deteriorate at an alarming rate.

Even if your pet is large enough and needs no further feedings, let it out of its cage once a week to play in the breeze, as always keeping a watchful eye for potential dangers such as vacuum cleaners, brooms, mops, other pets and people walking within the room.

Companionship and Reproduction

Pet Dust Bunnies do not really require a companion however, if they are allowed to roam in the vicinity of other dust bunnies instinct may take over and they might mate with another of their kind. Doing so will not cause reproduction but will simply create a larger dust bunny (See Killer Dust Bunny, monstera dusticus (L.))

The following items are highly dangerous to your pet:

- human feet, especially those clad in heavy boots and shoes


- vacuum cleaners


- mops


- dust mops


- other pets


- water and other liquids


- fire

How to avoid creating the Killer Dust Bunny, monstera dusticus (L.)

A dust bunny that reaches 3" or more is a potential threat, especially to those who visit. Your guests and family members may not return once they have met your overly large Dust Bunny. Therefore, refrain from feeding the bunny that has reached maximum size. This will not harm it as it will exist on molecules in the air and will no longer require any additional food to survive.

Following these simple steps will keep your Pet Dust Bunny content and healthy, and will assure you of a lovable pet that you can enjoy for life!