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"Nonsense And Stuff" - The Book, and the Weekly Column |
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The Weekly Column, eVent Life Magazine
Since September, 2003, it has been my privilege to provide a humor column in one of the most popular entertainment and lifestyle papers in the Okanagan Valley. Over the course of the run to date, I've offered entirely impractical time management tips, offered some interesting suggestions on how to pass the time while waiting for assistance in a hospital emergency room, suggested that there are certain insurance claim no-no's, and wondered what ever became of The Smurfs. Here's just a small selection of favorites: ******************************************************************************************** You
Think YOU’RE Having A Bad Hair Day??? 911 Operator: “Ma’am, you ‘re going to have to calm down…” Caller: “MY HAIRBRUSH IS CAUGHT IN MY HAIR!!!!” 911 Operator: “Please ma’am, I need you to calm down just a bit…” Caller: “MY HAIR IS EATING MY BRUSH!!!!” 911 Operator: “Please, this really doesn’t sound like an emergency…” Caller: “I’M
GOING TO KILL SOMEBODY!!!!!!!!!!”
Somewhere hereabout, I entered this escalating drama… The morning “When Hairbrushes Attacked”, I received a phone call at work from my clearly agitated wife, who seemed to have gotten her brush lodged in her hair during an otherwise normal, everyday routine of preparing for work. There was something compelling in the tone of her voice, something that suggested I should drop whatever it was I might have been doing, and drive immediately back to our house. Which I did… Hastily… The sight that greeted me back at home was, well, let’s just say that truth is indeed stranger than fiction – entirely beyond strange. Some things you can’t make up. My wife was seated at our kitchen table, sipping from a cup of coffee, and definitely sporting a hairbrush berrette - knotted determinedly within the length of her hair… After considerable probing, assessing, and the generally consistent reaction I get whenever I try to bathe a wild cat, I had the further unpleasant task of gently explaining that we would have to “cut our way around the tangles”. Never has a surgeon performed with such precision, never so much at stake… After all was said and done, her hairstyle barely showed any sign of the grooming accident. To this day however, I keep a zipper-lock sandwich bag as a reminder, filled with remnants of her hair, and severed portions of the offending brush’s bristles (shh, our little secret…). I think I might know why that brush was so reluctant to give up my wife’s hair that morning. There are days when I begin to believe that my bedroom is part of an auto-body repair shop. One moment I will be leisurely enjoying my morning paper and orange juice, when suddenly from out of the relative quiet of the master bedroom ensuite there comes a blasting sound that would normally only be associated with the spray-painting booth for an automobile. That Darth Vader-like hissing sound is the unmistakable conclusion of my wife’s “Work-Day Preparation Program”, as she has finally placed every follicle where it must be (before she will ever appear in public), then applies enough hairspray to keep her hair firmly in place, even in the unlikely event of her being caught in the middle of a tornado colliding with a monsoon. This daily ritual in fact inspired the latent poet within me, and I came up with this little ditty, to the tune of “Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep”: “And Now I Spray My Wayward Hair. I Pray To God It Turns Out Fair. All I Ask Is A Little Flair, Or Nothing So Bad,
People Will Stare…” Now before you sit down and starting cranking out letters to the editor, or boiling up some tar for your feathers, my wife shares a writing credit on this column, as she not only allowed me to recount this story in the first place, she even helped me smooth out my little rhyme (pretty much everything after “And now I spray my wayward hair”). After all, writers that live in glass houses shouldn’t be too eager to poke fun at spouses that actually have a healthy supply of hair to tease. Pardon the pun… ©August 12, 2005 Dan St.Yves ************************************************************************************************************************** You’ve
Got Spam!
E-mail is a wonderful thing, allowing communication from friends and
family around the world. Occasionally though you just might receive a puzzling
communication from around the world, very likely what has come to be known as
SPAM: Dearest Kind Friend, My name is Pep See Kollah, first and most great son of His Majesty King Koh Ka Kollah. We are emirates of the Carbon Nation, wealthy due thanks to vast supplies of Styrofoam peanuts, used mainly in your North American electronic component packaging. They are also quite delightful barbecued… You may well wonder why I, a great and wealthy man may be sending you this message, perhaps entirely clearly out of the blues. Let me assure you that you have come highly recommended to me and I father, as we have need of your special expertises. However, this must remain ENTIRELY CONFIDENTIAL!! You should not speak of this request to any living person, be they related, or even at your fine North American McDonald restaurants. I would especially decide you not inform family members with any sort of formal education of schooling. Or spidey senses… Also, be very assured that there is NO RISK whatsoever to your own fine personal wealth, as this proposition can only enhance your large current standing. Our country stands at a grave crisis. Forces lurk that perspire to halt production of our Styrofoam peanuts, perhaps plunging this great nation into irreversible chaos and misfortune. I am not at liberty to explain how this could come to be, but you must trust me, my friend, as I am a very honest and physically agile man. Dearest companion, we have decided along with our treasurer that we could possible safely deposit US$45 million (FORTY-FIVE MILLION UNITED STATES DOLLARS) into your own bank account, until this madness ends. Naturally you would be entitled to any interest on these humble funds, and my father and I would gladly share US$5 million (FIVE MILLION UNITED STATES DOLLARS) with you as a Beneficiary Contractor to steward this temporary assistance. Carbon Nation salutes you, my North American host, as you are a kind and selfless guardian of people. We envy your flawless antelopes!! You must forward to me immediately upon receipt of this request several assisting matters: a) Your bank information, for us ONLY to deposit this money. And your PIN, as we must appoint a second treasurer to view this account through our local ATM. b) Your VISA card number, and expiry date, as we will also gladly pay the balance off for you once this matter has settled. c) Your mortgage information, however you must have a minimum of 40% equity which may be accessed should we need to refinance our Styrofoam supply during the temporary housing of our wealth… Please I must also request that you never try to contact me personally. Those that wish us harm are ever vigilant, and it is our strongest desire to continue peanuts for your electronics. Best of wishes, Prince Pep See Kollah. ©August 27, 2004 Dan St.Yves ******************************************************************************************************************** 17
Reasons To Own A Smart Car! Just when you thought that monster-sized SUV’s & RV’s were taking over the city roads and national highways, along comes the latest (and smallest) entry to motorized travel – the Smart Car. They’ve been around for awhile already, but these fun little vehicles still turn heads whenever you see them, or happen to trip over one in the Costco parking lot.
As fuel prices have escalated over the last year, I imagine this
mini-vehicle’s appeal is primarily phenomenal gas mileage, yet without
sacrificing the ability for two adults under 4’5” tall to transport 3
hamsters and a loaf of bread in absolute comfort. However, these cute little
cars have many more reasons to be so appealing for owners, and I’d like to
highlight just a few here today: 1) Smart Cars are of course capable of traveling on real roads in the city, and even on the highway, but they would also not be at all out of place hauling clubs on a golf course, or even speeding (such as they do) on a go-kart track. 2) Smart Cars are great at the campground at night, as you can just click on the ignition, and have a handy portable flashlight for that treacherous, dark trip from tent to outhouse! 3) With only minor modifications, and the addition of a sunroof, they make an excellent toaster, and they won’t take up too much space on your counters. 4) Smart Cars make a great scooter for Grandma! She’ll easily navigate the aisles in those casinos or bingo halls, and look sharp doing it! 5) You’ll save a fortune on towing bills when they break down, as most any other car can fit one in their trunk. 6) Smart Cars bring back great memories for former owners of AMC Pacers. 7) Smart Cars make a wonderful hood ornament, even on those tiny Hummer II’s. 8) Your teenage sons will never ask to borrow your Smart Car, there’s no back seat!! 9) At the end of its practical life, you can place it up on an end table, and have a dandy little aquarium… 10) Smart Cars don’t actually have to be smart, you could probably beat one in a game of Trivial Pursuit. 11) A Smart Car would make a lovely amulet on your favorite necklace chain… 12) Your infant son won’t feel outsized when he pulls up beside you on his Tonka truck. 13) Smart Cars use less gas than a lawnmower, but generally don’t mulch worth a damn… 14) You can pretend to be a lighthouse keeper if you happen to back one up onto a merry-go-round. 15) In the winter, you can clear the snow off your Smart Car by flicking a towel from the doorway. 16) You can park a Smart Car just about anywhere, but it’s advisable to use little Billy’s bicycle lock to ensure other kids won’t walk away with it. 17) The best part of owning a Smart Car is that I burn more gas just by starting my Jeep than you’ll use in week, so who’s laughing now?? ©February 3, 2006 Dan St.Yves *************************************************************************************************************************** Golfing
With Inge (I Believe I Can Fly…) Hastily Scribbled Notes From A Golf Cart: *October? This has to be one of the latest golf
tournaments I have ever been involved in. Got teamed up with my wife Ellen, Brad
(one of her male colleagues), plus Inge, an exchange worker from Sweden. Inge is
here from a factory in Goteborg, where she’s second assistant vice-manager
trainee in the company that produces the costumes for Abba-Mania. Not quite as
fluent in English as other Swedes I have met, but charming nonetheless… *2nd hole. Even though it’s raining like a bugger
and we can see our breath, the mood is quite jovial overall. Inge is getting
acquainted with some uniquely Canadian liqueurs, thanks to a mini-bar Brad has
installed in his golf bag. My wife and I are still embracing our tepid
coffees…. I’ve already lost three balls, on an executive course. Ugh… *4th hole. I’ve joined Inge and Brad in
taste-testing various shots. I think the end result may have even straightened
out my drive. Ellen has decided to walk beside the golf cart, rather than join
me… *6th hole. I’m not exactly sure about
half of what Inge is talking about, what with our language barrier, but like I
do at home, I just smile and say “Uh-huh”. Seems to be doing the trick.
I’ve decided that I’m going to teach her how to “scoop” balls from the
golf cart. She should enjoy that. 7th hole. We’ve decided to use Brad’s
drive, so we need to pick up the other three balls along the way. I’ve coached
Inge on how to lean safely out of the cart, and pluck the ball from the grass as
we pass it. With a big thumbs up we approach Ellen’s drive, and Inge
successfully seizes the golf ball, like she’s been doing it her whole life. I
motion to the crest of a hill, where her ball has come to rest. Another big
thumbs up, and a bigger Swedish grin. I hit the gas…. It’s not until I hit the high side of the hill that I
realize it’s not so much a hill, as it is the bank of a creek. A small
irrigation creek, but a creek just the same… Like The Dukes Of Hazzard at 7 MPH, the golf cart careens
down towards the creek, my foot still on the gas, Inge still reaching for the
golf ball, apparently oblivious to what will be a very sudden stop. 7th hole, continued. Inge has hit
the front support for the roof of the golf cart, but still manages to snap up
the ball. In my haste to assess the situation, I step out into the creek, and
slide directly onto my abacus, in a pair of cream-colored pants I shouldn’t
have been wearing past Labor Day anyhow. Before I hit the grass, all I had time
to utter was “are you O….”. the “K” was lost within the rest of the
wind that was knocked out of me. Ellen and Brad are rushing over to help as I’m emerging
from the black lagoon, and Inge is feeling her sternum for signs of fracture.
Thankfully, all is well, but if a CSI team had been dispatched to inspect the
crime scene, there would have been no evidence of skid marks. This had been a
launch pad… We work the golf cart out of the mud, and now Inge is in
agreement with Ellen, she’d much rather walk, thank you very much. 8th hole. The rain has started to kick in
again, and even though Ellen still insists on “fresh air and exercise”, Inge
reluctantly agrees to rejoin me. Even more interesting, she agrees to scoop one
more ball…. We miss it on the first go-by, but as I spin around, as God
is my witness, I could swear she says: “I’ve got the ball!!” Spinning around, I see that she is sprawled out on the
grass, along with the golf clubs we failed to properly fasten in the back of the
cart. Apparently, what she did say was: “I’m going to fall!!” 9th hole. Management has dispatched the
Course Marshall to seize my golf cart. Inge has limped back to the clubhouse,
thwarted in her hopes of fully enjoying this late-season golf tournament. I
negotiate how long I will be banned from the course, then follow along well
behind her. Turns out our ditch-dive was in full view of the clubhouse,
nowhere near as discreet as I had hoped. During the awards presented over
dinner, I win a special trophy, for longest dive. I wonder how long it took the organizers to scratch out the “r”… ©October 14, 2005 Dan St.Yves
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