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One afternoon, during our second week of summer camp, we were at the pool and Azuriah (1st Grade) came up to me screaming with his hands over his eyes, “MY EYES! MY EYES!” Sunscreen was spread thickly on his forehead and the water from the pool had cascaded opaque streams over his eyelids. “It hurts! Ow!” I grabbed Max and Jack (3rd graders), to accompany us in the bathroom to rise out his eyes.
Max and Jack showed little sympathy and fooled around with the sinks as I instructed Azuriah to splash water over his eyes. He wailed and carried on with torturous pain “MY EYES!” Owwww!”
I appreciated Max and Jack keeping themselves occupied but I noticed Jack filling his cupped hand with liquid soap. “Jack!”, I said firmly. “I’m trying to help this guy out and you’re just wasting the soap! Go sit down on the bench and wait please.” I resume helping Azuriah get water over his face and not ten seconds later, I see Jack with his hands over his eyes yelling, “AHHH MY EYES!”

He and a friend go duck hunting in winter, and of course all the lakes are frozen. These two guys go out on the lake with their guns, a dog, and of course the new vehicle. They drive out onto the lake ice and get ready. Now, they want to make some kind of a natural landing area for the ducks, something for the decoys to float on.

In order to make a hole large enough to look like something a wandering duck would fly down and land on, it’s going to take a little more effort than an ice hole drill. So, out of the back of the nw Navigator truck comes a stick of dynamite with a short, 40-second fuse.

Now, these two Rocket Scientists do take into consideration that they want to place the stick of dynamite on the ice at a location far from where they are standing (and from the new Navigator truck), and they don’t want to take the risk of slipping on the ice when they run from the lit dynamite fuse and possibly go up in smoke with the resulting blast. They light the 40-second fuse and throw the dynamite as far away as they can.

Remember a couple of sentences back when I mentioned the vehicle, the guns, and the dog??

Let’s talk about the dog: it’s a highly trained Labrador used for RETRIEVING. Especially well trained at retrieving things thrown by the owner. You guessed it, the dog takes off at a high rate of doggy speed on the ice and captures the stick of dynamite with the burning 40-second fuse about the time it hits the ice. The two men yell, scream, wave their arms and wonder what to do now. The dog, cheered on, keeps coming.

One of the guys grabs the shotgun and shoots the dog. The shotgun is loaded with #8 birdshot, hardly big enough to stop a Lab. The dog stops for a moment, slightly confused, but continues on. Another shot and this time the dog, still standing, becomes really confused and of course terrified, thinking these two geniuses have gone insane. The dog takes off to find cover, under the brand new Navigator truck..

The men continue to yell as they run away. The exhaust pipe on the truck is still hot, so the dog yelps and drops the dynamite under the truck, and takes off after his master.

Then – BOOM – the truck is blown to bits and sinks to the bottom of the lake in a very large hole, leaving the two idiots standing there with this “I can’t believe this happened”look on their faces.

The insurance company says that sinking a vehicle in a lake by illegal use of explosives is NOT COVERED. He still had yet to make the first of those $560.00 a month payments!!!

And you thought your day was not going well.

New York, NY

Police across the nation are warning people who wear pagers to be on the lookout for the latest scam.

According to police, pagers in several states have been beeped by a number displaying a 212 area code (New York) and the prefix 540. When the victims return the call, they are charged $55 on their phone bill.

The call the respondent makes has been electronically linked into a 900 “pay-per-call” system which allows the charge to be added to the phone bill.

“People will look at the number and say ‘Gee, who is calling me from out of state? It must be important,’” said an investigator.

On Saturday last, I had dinner at a local Chinese restaurant. My fortune read:

“You will gain admiration from your pears.”

Comice? Bartlett? Canned? I don’t grow or eat them, anyway.

These are metaphors from actual school exam essays.

Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two other sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.

His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a tumble dryer.

She caught your eye like one of those pointy hook latches that used to dangle from doors and would fly up whenever you banged the door again.

The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.

McMurphy fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a paper bag filled with vegetable soup.

Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze.

Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the centre

Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.

He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.

The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.

Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left York at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Peterborough at 4:19p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.

The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the full stop after the Dr. on a Dr Pepper can.

John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.

The thunder was ominous sounding, much like the sound of a thin sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a play.

The red brick wall was the color of a brick-red crayon.

Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long it had rusted shut.

The door had been forced, as forced as the dialogue during the interview portion of Family Fortunes.

Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.

The plan was simple, like my brother Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.

The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for while.

Oh, Jason, take me!” she panted, her breasts heaving like a student on 31p-a-pint night.

He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck either, but a real duck that was actually lame. Maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.

Her artistic sense was exquisitely refined, like someone who can tell butter from “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.”

She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.

It came down the stairs looking very much like something no one had ever seen before.

The knife was as sharp as the tone used by Glenda Jackson MP in her first several points of parliamentary procedure made to Robin Cook MP, Leader of the House of Commons, in the House Judiciary Committee hearings on the suspension of Keith Vaz MP.

The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her like a dog at a lamp-post.

His wife’s infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free cash point (ATM).

The dandelion swayed in the gentle breeze like an oscillating electric fan set on medium.

It was a working class tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with their power tools.

He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a dustcart reversing.

She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was room-temperature British beef.

She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.

It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it to the wall.



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