Lord, you know me better than I know myself. I am growing older and will someday be very old. Keep me from getting talkative, and particularly from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject.

Release me from the craving to straighten out everybody else's affairs. Make me thoughtful, but not moody; helpful, but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom it seems a pity not to use it all - but thou knowest Lord, that I want a few friends at the end.

Keep, my mind free from the recital of endless details; give me wings to get to the point. Seal my lips on my many aches and pains, they are increasing and my love of rehearsing them is becoming greater as the years go by. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally it is possible that I may be mistaken.

Keep me reasonably sweet; I do not want to be a saint, some of them are hard to live with but a sour woman is one of the crowning works of the devil. Help me to extract all possible fun out of life. There are so many funny things around us, and I don't want to miss any of them.

HELLO GENTLE READERS,

I wrote a blog a while back telling you of getting news from two separate doctors saying I probably would not live out the year. Borrowing an Araphoe phrase, I titled the blog "Only The Rocks Live Forever" because it seems to state the temporary nature of this plane of existance with simplicity and elegance. I am one of the Vioxx victims and have developed Congestive Heart Failure and the beginnings of Kidney Failure. I got some amazing responses from this entry, mostly from Native Americans. Bonnie (a Cherokee) wrote, "Greetings, Tom. In the words of Chief Seattle, 'There is no death, only a change of worlds'. In my words, "Es-ta-u", be strong". Having had a Near Death Experience, I know that this world is not the end-all-be-all of existance but, I was touched to the point of tears that others would take some of their precious time to communicate with me.

As odd as it may seem, this "death sentence" has been a most liberating event. I have, by necessity, been freed from the constraints of permanance. If, for example, this is to be my last conversation with a friend, make it pleasant. If this is to be the last song I play, let it be fun. If these are to be the last clothes I wear, let them be comfortable. If this is to be the last time I have sex, well, let's do it again! I wish I could have known this emancipation earlier in life. I would be a better person today. Living as though this life is a temporary gift is like waking up every morning to Christmas. My life is awesome!!

To quote Mark Twain, "The news of my death has been greatly exaggerated". In a recent medical visit, the doctor said, "It looks as though your health has stabilized. You may outlive me. You won't be running any marathons, though".

I hope I never tire of this "temporary", precious gift of life. Merry Christmas, ya'll!

Tom Vickers

P.S. I may start training for a marathon. Nah, not likely.

When you see a child get a beating - not the "whap" on the bottom that is more than likely deserved - but a beating.  No one says anything.  If something is said, or addressed, or social services called - it's the same song and dance.  You have read the reports just as I have - people in a position to do the right thing but don't and run from the responsibilities of their job - ie Pennsylvania I believe it is?  Or when the child is approached and told to tell the truth - the wrong parent gets "investigated" - gee - imagen that.  Or worse yet - child dies - due to political correctness. 

How I define beating and whap.  A beating can be the palm of a hand opened full on and the proceeding hand motions to hit the bottom; the taking off of a belt and whaling it as hard as possible - not caring where it lands; the closed fist motion - etc. etc.   Big - huge - black and blue bruises pop up and the child tells everyone they fell or the child forges a note so they don't have to change for gym. 

The whap on the bottom is where a defining moment of a parent is reached.  The child has done something that she/he knows was not to be done and had been told already, "No, don't do that".  It is disciplinary.   People use to do that all the time.  It defines to the child - that the mother or father is the one in charge - not the them. But you can't do that anymore because everyone conformed to "that is child abuse".   No that is responsibiliy. 

So - a touchy subject - all the way around - but the political correct way is ignore it.  Scandals pop up.  Don't believe me - why are more and more children dying from their parents hand or being negelected from a any state system put in place to protect them??? Why?  Onward.....

With the violence that goes on in the world - then here in the United States because though it is "The Land of The Free and Home Of the Brave" - we just can't work together.  (Now, I'm not saying I want a utopia - but fairness that is equal.) 

Recently, the United States has experienced school bullying up close and dangerously/deadly.  I am speaking of the gun violence brought into the schools.  Warning signs people.  Warning signs.  Doctors, forgo your fee and stand by your words and ethics to warn whoever needs to be warned.  During the interviews the main theme in all of them - "they kept to themselves" - "they had a history of being bullied but I didn't think it was that bad" - "we kind of saw some signs, but talked to them" ----- ummm ----- they are children.  (See, any adult that speaks to someone say 40 or 50 or older, always calls you a kid. Do they or do they not?)

Translation of why I have writen about oh so touchy subjects.   Recently, it has "come to light" - the scientist that sent the anthrax was already diagnosed (!!!) as having issues.  I quote, "Privacy concerns, bureaucratic loopholes, the demands of a criminal investigation — all combined to let Ivins keep his job and stay out of jail for years. And in the high-security lab until last November."   People. Does anyone, anyone see a pattern?? Dig further back - I bet he suffered abuse of the worst kind - more than likely bullied to death in school/college too - why were those people targetted??? Why?  There has to be a connection.  There has to be.  There always is.  Talk to a forensics psychologist, a detective, or even a profiler - there is always a common link of some kind that will connect the dots.  Has to be. If there wasn't, the creme de crene, that have committed home grown terrorist acts on this soil already, wouldn't have been caught!  (Yes people are not buying he was the guy who sent the biological agent - and there are conspiracy theorist out there working that already. So - no need to mention that/those here.)

Think.  Watch. Don't over react. Listen. Pay attention. Get the facts.  Connect the dots.  Theorize. Cover your bases.  If no one listens - then go to the next one who will.  A boss - has a boss - has a boss.

I have strawberry scented shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. I'm afraid the body wash won't last long, though. I also want strawberry scented lotion. I like smelling fruity! XD

Also, while at a tennis tournament (won, lost, lost), we went to Target and I got a cute shirt and a little magnetic picture frame for my locker. I also got a locker mirror/bin that's really cool. I hope to go to Walgreen's because I saw a pencil pouch in their ad that was pretty cute.

It looks like I'm going to be number 3 singles on my tennis team. Huzzah!

Also, my older sister's best guy friend told us a funny story:

Him: Who are those gilrs?
Me: I don't think I know them. Why?
Him: Well, one of the was like "Owww!" and another was like "Shut up," and the first one was like "What? He's hot!"
My sister: You're too conceited.

I've decided that I'm too happy to be depressed.

But I have to say I feel like it is another year older, another year more pessimistic, languid, disillusioned with the world.

On my actual birthday I did nothing special with my wife or family.  At work my employees did a little birthday lunch.  I was so mad at the guy that told them when my birthday was because I hate that sort of thing.  Work is work, I am polite and sociable with the people that work with me but I had sitting down and making small talk with them.  He knew that and did it anyway, so that put a crimp in the birthday day.

Over the weekend I went out Kayaking.  I was with a group of people that had all signed up online at meetup.com.  I found myself not wanting to be anywhere near them though, I just wanted to be on my own, small talk just irritated me.

I think I am reaching a point in my life that I don't like other people.  I find myself making excuses to not attend social gatherings or even to talk to people on the phone.  When I talk to people they either want something or just want to talk about themselves, neither of those make for a nice time.

I wonder sometimes if I should maybe see a shrink, but I am a smart person, I find myself thinking through my problems, and possible solutions and thinking that, if I didn't get myself into the problem (or didn't let people get me into them) then there wouldn't be a problem and I could continue my private, hermit like, existence.

The other possibility is that I might just turn into a psychotic maniac and blow something up, but since I have no cause or beef with anyone that is somewhat unlikely :)

I get the impression that I am to old to be fooling around with the twenty somethings, and I too young to be taking life seriously like fifty somethings.  Right around now most guys would be being fatherly, but since that isn't possible I am stuck in limbo.

If I were to win the lottery I think I would make a pretty good stab at becoming a hermit

HELLO GENTLE READERS,

I have a friend, Consuela, who had a habit of judging people on their appearance. At work, shopping and just about town, she was always commenting on the looks of others. That one's shoes didn't match her dress, his nose is too big or she needs to find another hair stylist. I must say that Connie, herself,  was always "dressed to the nines" which enhanced her natural beauty.

Nobody I know took more pains with their own appearance. I don't know, maybe this made Connie feel better about her own flaws. Whatever the reason, Connie took pains to point out the shortcomings of others.

One day, while exiting Wal Mart, she saw an old acquaintance, Lucy, in the parking lot. Lucy, as usual, was disheveled. Her blouse didn't match her pants, her hair looked as though it had been combed with a weedeater and one shoe was untied. Connie thought to herself, If I could just spend a week working on that girl she could be quite attractive!

They exchanged pleasantries and as Connie was walking away, the heel on her shoe snapped and she hit the pavement like a sack of potatos. There she sat, in an oil stain, with a rapidly swelling ankle. Lucy looked back once and then continued to walk away. Dazed and embarrassed, Connie picked herself up and hobbled toward a bench, all the while wondering why Lucy didn't come to her aid.

As Connie plopped down on the bench, shoe broken, ankle swollen, dress oil-stained, sweat-drenched and hair mussed, she noticed an old man and a dog at the other end of the bench. Not just any dog though-this was the ass-ugliest dog she'd ever seen. One eye blue the other brown, knobby-kneed, warts with hair bristling, patches of fur missing and a scraggly tail. This dog was a trainload of ugly; a repulsive, slobbering mound of DNA gone very, very wrong.

"Opium", the man said. "I beg your pardon", Connie haughtily retorted? "Opium. Your perfume is Opium, if I'm not mistaken", the old man answered. "Why, yes it is! You must have a very good nose", said Connie. "Well, God giveth and taketh", the old man offered. "How do you like my dog , Suzie", the man asked? "Isn't she a beauty", he inquired? Connie sat in stunned silence contemplating this tail-wagging, year's-worth of ugly. "Yeah, we've been together for six years now. Best friend I ever had", he told Connie. "Well, it's about time for lunch. Nice to have met you", said the blind man as he rose, picked up his cane, reached for Suzie's harness and made his way toward home.

tom vickers

[dailymotion id=x1k724]

Video Clip : Spinning The Wheel

Singer : George Michael

It came, it went, and I'm cool with it.

Best gift: Phoebe coming home from hospital in good health.

Best line: Taylor says " Daddy, 40 isn't that old – and you're STILL taller than mom."

Best surprise 1: The weekend prior, Jodi led me unknowingly into a restaurant where some of my best friends from high school awaited.

Best surprise 2: Taylor had Jodi drive me to a "surprise" lunch. She asked me to close my eyes while we rode there.

Best after effect: Time flies. Savoring more moments, taking more chances, squeezing more fun and appreciation out of every second.

BETHLEHEM, YEAR 3 COMMON ERA:

And it came to pass that the child was born in Bethlehem. There appeared a bright star in the eastern sky which the Magi saw. They followed the star until the star stood over a mean and humble stable...

Zeta Retiguli, Year 6592384:

"Master, the sun grows brighter and larger with each revolution, Is it true? Is it going supernovae", the accolyte asked? "Yes, I'm afraid so. Over six million orbits of civilization are about to end", the master answered! "So it is coming to pass as written. God will destroy the planet a second time but this time with fire", the accolyte accepted....

tom vickers

HELLO GENTLE READERS,

Many years ago my father, a brilliant and talented man, had a small stroke. As a result of this he, for a period of time, became dyslexic. When he would read aloud, he would transpose words or the letters in words. While challenging, this condition also provided him, and the rest of the family, with some very lighthearted moments. That situition inspired this post:

1. The dyslexic Atheist denies the existance of Dog.
2. The dyslexic Agnostic wavers on the existance of Dog.
3. The dyslexic Catholic believes that Dog is out to get you (and your little god, Toto, too)!
4. The dyslexic militant Muslim believes that Dog hates the "West"!
5. The dyslexic Hindu believes in many, many Dogs (various breeds?).
6. The dyslexic TV Evangelist says Dog needs your money.
7. The dyslexic Jew says, "Hear O' Israel, Dog is one"!
8. The dyslexic Buddist tries to become one with Dog.
9. The dyslexic Unitarian believes that Dog is pure love.
10. The dyslexic Baptist says that Dog will send you to Hell in a gas can (at these prices?).
11. The dyslexic Branch Davidian believes that Dog wants you well armed.
12. The dyslexic Moonie believes that Dog wants you to sell flowers at the airport.

Please feel free to add to this dog-gone list. Thank Dog it's finished!

tom vickers

Two new research papers arrive at this conclusion. One tracked traditional happiness data by asking people how satisfied they are with their lives. It found that women, who in the early 1970s reported being slightly happier than men, are now slightly less happy.

The other analyzed time-use studies over the past four decades to determine how much time men and women spent doing things they found unpleasant. Since the 1960s, men have gradually cut back on tasks they dislike. They now work less and relax more.

Meanwhile, women have replaced housework with paid work (or not replaced as much as added onto), and as a result are spending more time doing things they don't enjoy.

The obvious explanation would seem to be the old "second shift" theory, that women just added their jobs onto their already long and laundry-filled to-do lists. But, according to the Times, this overlooks the fact that women aren't actually working more today than they were 30 or 40 years ago - they're just spending more time on paid work and less on cooking and cleaning.

(In the index, both men and women seemed to dread their jobs. They ranked time at the office above only trips to the doctor and washing dishes in terms of enjoyment. Both would much rather cook or do laundry.)

But the gender happiness gap appears long before working life. As "life has generally gotten better over the last generation" -- the Times boldly asserts, using "less crime, longer-living grandparents and much cooler gadgets" as evidence - male high school seniors have gotten happier. About 25 percent say they are satisfied with their lives, up 16 percent from 1976. Meanwhile, only 22 percent of their female peers say they're happy, about the same in the 70s.

I would posit this may have something to do with how dismally bad men's fashion was in 1976. But the experts who talked to the Times chalk it up to the "hottie theory" - the pressure for high school girls to be hot above all else. Back in the 70s, that's all you had to be. Now you have to be a Harvard-bound, track star, volunteering-at-the-homeless-shelter-on-weekends hottie. That's enough to bum anyone out.

The Clintons' Connection To A Deal Gone Bad

The Wall Street Journal has a labyrinthine tale of how Italian businessman Raffaello Follieri, better known to most of the world as actress Anne Hathaway's boyfriend, used his connections to Bill Clinton's top aide to get introduced to an investor who is now suing him.

At the center of the story is Douglas Band, a 34-year-old former White House intern who once escorted Monica Lewinsky to a ball "at her request" and who remains Bill Clinton's right-hand man.

Two years ago, Band befriended the "handsome and charming" Follieri, who had moved to New York to launch a business buying and redeveloping all the properties that the Catholic Church had to sell to pay off its debts from sex abuse law suits.

Follieri claimed he could help Sen. Hillary Clinton with Catholic voters during her presidential campaign. And, oh yes, and he was also looking for investors.

Band acted as a "gatekeeper to the former president's web of business and charitable enterprises" for Follieri. Clinton even went into business with him. In 2005, Yucaipa Cos., a Los Angeles firm where Clinton has been a partner, agreed to invest $100 million in Follieri's church property development business.

There were lots of other Clinton-related deals for Follieri, but lately the Clinton-Follieri relations are "in tatters."

Yucaipa managing partner Rob Burkle, Clinton's close friend, has sued Follieri for allegedly misappropriating $1.3 million. The suit claims the charming Italian used Yupaica's investment to fund a lavish lifestyle that included "a Manhattan penthouse, five-star meals and private jets for Mr. Follieri and his girlfriend, actress Anne Hathaway."

The story's an interesting look at how money, celebrity and power function, but perhaps more interesting (and telling about the Journal's new owner) is its timing. The time peg appears to be the fact that heads of state, business leaders and other notables are gathering in New York today for the annual meeting of Bubba's do-gooder powerhouse, The Clinton Global Initiative.

The Clinton camp has denied doing anything more than listening politely to Follieri's promises of help with the Catholic vote. Nevertheless, the story dredges up some old ghosts - Monica not the least among them - that no doubt the Clintons would just as soon forget.

Twice As Much To Be Spent On TV Ads This Primary Campaign As Last One

And speaking of millions and Clintons,USA Today reports that candidates, political parties and interest groups will spend at least twice as much on TV ads than they did in the last presidential election before the nominees are chosen.

A record $100 million or more will be likely paid to put candidates and their messages on the air before February, analysts expect. That's so much more than the $45 million spent during the 2003-04 primary race because this campaign is so much more competitive.

Back then, nobody was challenging President Bush for the Republican nomination. This time, both fields are crowded. Plus, there's the Romney factor - Republican Mitt Romney's campaign has spent $7.4 million so far to run ads, by far the most of any candidate.

But spending doesn't always help. Sen. Chris Dodd has spent $900,000 on ads and has not budged from low single digits in Iowa and New Hampshire surveys.

Brought to You by Who's Who In Asia and Courtesy of THE SKINNY

You can catch an interesting debate on Who's Who In ASIA Video News here -  Who's Happier?

USA TODAY:

DATELINE: COURT of SPAIN, 1492:

"But, sweetheart, there's a whole New World out there", exclaimed the queen! "So you say, Izzy. Well, you and that ne'r-do-well Cristobal Colon", the king answered. "Ferdie, he's onto to something. I just feel it", she pleaded. "Listen darlin', we're tapped-out paying for that war with those damned Moors and you've maxxed-out our Visa by buying that frickin' tiara", he explained. "Ferdie, I'll make it worth your while tonight", she teased. "Ok, Ok. Send the son-of -a-bitch in. You will wear that Arabian Night costume I like, won't you", he asked? "Baby, tonight I'm your slut", she promised.

So, as history records, Columbus gained the support of Spain's Court.

"Cristobal, get off your knees, man", the king ordered! "Yes, Sire", he complied. "So, what's this little excursion goin' cost me", asked the king? "Your Majesty, I've spoken to the Sailor's Guild and, for three percent of any gold, jewels, spices or any other treasures, they will sail for minimum wage. I'll need three ships, fully provisioned and I'm, uh, uh, asking for forty-seven percent of any booty for myself", he answered. "So, that leaves just fifty percent for the Crown", the king grumbled. "Sire, it is known that a trade route to the east will bring untold wealth to the nation. Your Majesty, I had a dream and, in this dream I saw two Golden Arches. People were lined up buying strange food. Money was changing hands at an amazing rate. There was writing on the arches. It was written in Anglish. It said 'Billions Served'. If true, Spain must have its share. Besides, we will gain great favor with the Pope by converting all of those eastern heathens", Columbus pleaded. "How is it that you will reach Asia by sailing west? Sounds as dumb as a footprint to me", Ferdinand offered? "Sire, the world is round. There is no east or west", he explained. "Ok. I don't have a good feeling about this but, let it be written", the king relented.

"Uh, there are a coupla' more things, your highness", Columbus meekly said. "What? What now? Be quick, man! The queen and I have other fish to fry", the king impatiently implored! "Well, it's the EPA and Interior Department. They want an Environmental Impact Statement and a study on possible effects on any Indigenous Peoples in any new lands", Columbus reported. "Damn! Those little bastards will be the death of me", the king exploded! "I had to deal with those little twerps regarding environmental clean-up after our war with the Moors. Imagine, telling me, the king, that I had to bury the dead bodies of those heathens after each battle. Causes diseases to leave the son-of-a-bitches to the carrion birds, they said. Puh-lease", the king complained! "You just let me handle this. Indigenous peoples, indeed", said the king.

In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue....

tom vickers

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A supercentenarian (sometimes hyphenated as super-centenarian) is someone who has reached the age of 110 years or more. Click for Supercentenarian photographs by Mark Story Living in Three Centuries: The Face of Age.

More photos can be found at Live Long: Feats of Longevity and Aging.

Two University Professors Bet on "The Maximum Human Life Span" 143 Years from Now

Click for more details.

When I was a child/teenager, birthdays were not exactly on the top of my parents' list of important dates.  Before my (paternal) grandmother died, we had cake and ice cream after supper.  This included Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt Gerry, Uncle George, and their kids.  I don't recall any presents, and the cake was always homemade (oh how lusted for one of those super sweet heavily frosted store bought/bakery cakes) and the ice cream was always Neopolitan, which my mother sliced.

I remember that my little (baby) brother had a 6th birthday party with his classmates and neighborhood friends.  By this time we were living in the village of Clarence Center, my mother was not working in the factory, and Daniel was the still the only boy and the baby of the family. 

When my parents bought their first little house in Clarence Center, I was 16 and acutely aware of the neighbors and neighborhood.  I took on responsibility for mowing the lawn, because Dad did it only on the weekends if he felt up to the chore.  All our neighbors kept their grass short, and so once (sometimes twice) a week, I'd don my green and yellow baseball jersey that I found in the bottom of a relative's "care package" and a pair of cut off jeans and mow the lawn.  This was not an easy chore, because our lawn mower really sucked.  Getting it started was an effort, and keeping it running depended upon my quick footsteps and a certain amount of praying.

I was determined not to be embarrassed by the condition of our lawn.  After all, I had so much more about my family and life that embarrassed me.

My father gave the lawn motor no attention whatsoever, until one day I simply could not get it to start.  I had pulled every muscle and ligament in my arm, and asked him for help.  Sitting in his recliner, drinking a beer, and watching tv, he gave a heavy sigh, uttered a few obscenities, and followed me outside.  "Is there gas in it?" he asked.

I wanted to shout,  "I know you think that I'm a complete moron, but would I actually risk your bad temper without first filling the gas tank?"  Instead I quietly said,  "Yes."

He fucked around with the mower, swearing, calling me names, and finally turned it upside-down expecting to find it full of grass and with a dull blade.  Surprise, surprise.  I knew enough to clean the underside of the mower after each use and I used steel wool to clean the blades.

"Get me a beer, God damn it."  I ran to the house for the requested beer.  As I opened the back door, I noticed the next door neighbor, Jerry, talking to Dad, so I went back into the kitchen for another beer.  The two men chatted about the mower, then Jerry said,  "Let's hear it."

Dad stood up, checked the choke, and pulled on the starter cord.  "Doc, you need a new spark plug for Christ's sake."  Of course, Dad was embarrassed to miss such a fundamental necessity, so he turned to me and yelled,  "What the hell is wrong with you?  Get me a spark plug."

As I ran back into the house, I heard Jerry say,  "Jesus, Doc.  The kid mows the lawn.  How should she know about spark plugs?"

Once in the basement, I searched for a new spark plug completely unaware of what I was seeking.  Jerry came downstairs, looked at Dad's cluttered workbench, saw a box with motor oil on the floor, looked inside, cried, "Here it is!," smiled at me, and said, "You'll be mowing in no time, kid!"

That summer was my 17th birthday.  My father bought a new lawnmower.  My mother bought a new hair dryer.  I don't recall a cake, card, or Happy Birthday, but I do recall telling everyone that I had received a lawnmower and hair dryer for my birthday.

These days I keep my cell phone on in order to get the calls from Chelsea and Sydney.  Those calls are the highlights of my day.  Even my ex-husband remembers my birthday, something that warms my heart considering....just considering.

I don't consider my birthday to be a national holiday.  It has never been a special day, and it will never be a special day.  That's ok.  I just get a bit disappointed in all the people who do not think I am worth a Happy Birthday phone call or lunch or drink or anything.  I have a friend who loves vodka and peanut butter.  One year for his birthday, I delivered a basket of various vodkas and peanut butters to his office.  The gift didn't even need a card (although I did include a card), because he knew immediately who knew him this well.  I gained a great deal of joy out of giving that gift.  Just as I am thrilled when I happen to give my daughters something they really love (and that is difficult to do as any mother of a daughter will attest).

So, on my 57th birthday, I took my car in for an oil change, told the service tech it was my birthday and I wanted no surprises.  I then went to Babys R US to buy some  baby furniture for my house, since I shall become a grandmother in January.  I found only tacky crap and bought nothing.  Then I went to Marshall's for a new bra and panties, bought a new comforter and accessories for my bedroom instead, and stopped at the liquor store for a bottle of cold champagne.  What the hell!  It's my birthday.

I arrived home, checked the mailbox to discover not one motherfucking birthday card, and decided to celebrate with a glass of champagne with strawberries.  I know exactly when my children were born, and on their birthdays, I think of them all day.  My mother can't take the time to remember me, so remembering my birthday is out of the question.  Am I bitter?  No, just resigned.

After drinking a bottle of champagne, I slept for three hours, arose, showered, dressed, and decided that I deserved a nice dinner.  I drove into Rhinebeck and enjoyed a quiet birthday dinner alone.  Guess what?  Dining alone on your birthday is not pathetic.  It's actually liberating, and I enjoyed my meal immensely.

So, what's my point in this blog?

I made my life and I can't really complain.  I can only try to make my situation as best as possible.  That I accomplished last evening, as I sat outside dining and watching the people determined to have a great Saturday night.  It's not about one day or one night; it's about one life.  And mine  is a good life.

 HELLO GENTLE READERS,

Haven't had the ol' crystal out in a while so, I thought I'd see what's kickin' in the spirit world. Let's light this candle and see who shows up. EENY-MEENY-CHILI-BEANY the spirits are about to speak..."SNAP-CRACKLE-POP,"...Kelloggs? Is that somebody from Kelloggs?..."I Am THE GREAT I AM"!...Who?..."I am HE WHO IS"!...Oh, God!.."Not as dumb as you look are you, my child"?...Good Lord! Is it r-r-really y-y-you?..."Yes"... I-I-I d-d-didn't m-m-mean t-t-to bother you..."No bother. I was already in the neighborhood."...Really?..."Yeah, I've received so many petroleum prayers lately that I thought I'd check it out for myself"....So, what's the verdict?..."I guess we won't be giving out any halos at Exxon this year. Besides, I've had a hankering for a Double Cheeseburger and Biggie Fries from Wendy's"...Lucky you. I can't have them because of heart disease..."Ha-Ha-Ha"!...It's not funny. They make my feet swell!..."Your feet smell"?...Swell, swell! Not smell! Good Lord!..."Yes"?...Do you mind if I ask some questions? Some things really confuse me..."Go ahead, son. I put on my robe one arm at a time just like you"...What's up with the Platypus? It can't seem to decide what it is..."Spare Parts"...Spare parts?..."The universe came with some assembly required and, the instructions left a little to be desired"!...I know what you mean. The manual to my cell phone seems to be written in Babylonian Cuneiform. By the way, you don't speak Babylonian by any chance, do you?..."Never had much use for phones. I still use a burning bush. Tried and true, it is". Oh. What about snakes? They don't seem to be quite finished. No limbs, no eyelids, nasty disposition."IT WAS LATE SATURDAY NIGHT, OK"!!! Ok, Ok! Boy, that seems to be a sore spot..."Just drop it! Any more questions"? Well, one more. Will I go to heaven?..."EENY-MEENY-MINEY-MOE".....

tom vickers