The New Good Samaritan

Are you prepared for an emergency? Have you got the essentials to take care of your family when disaster strikes? Everyone should. But Hikingware.com wants to ask another question: Once your own family's needs are met, are you willing to reach out to others during an emergency or crisis? Here's a little think piece about that question, called:

THE NEW GOOD SAMARITAN.

A certain man went down a public road, not long ago, where thieves fell upon him.

He was stripped of everything except a few rags, and left for dead.

Several people saw him as they came by on the same road, but did not stop to investigate.

Finally a Samaritan came by and stopped. He was very concerned at what he saw.

So he acted quickly.

He immediately went to the capital to demand better roadway safety so such things would not happen any more. He led a petition drive that helped to increase the number of police on the roads, and donated a large amount to help fund better road lights. He organized a youth group to cut back the weeds and bushes on the roadsides, to make it impossible for thieves to hide themselves nearby.

For all of this he was recognized and applauded by the government and good people everywhere. His story went viral, and he soon had his own radio talk show -- where he urged everyone to make a difference. He was given a medal, wrote a book, and ran for Congress.

As for the thieves' victim, he was eventually picked up for vagrancy, and taken to a free clinic where he died while waiting to see a doctor.

Coal Miner Layoffs

From the Wall Street Journal:

Murray Energy Corp., the largest privately held coal miner in the U.S., has warned that it may soon undertake one of the biggest layoffs in the sector during this time of low energy prices.

In a notice sent to workers this week, Murray said it could lay off as many as 4,400 employees, or about 80% of its workforce, because of weak coal markets. The company said it anticipates “massive workforce reductions in September.”

Should you meditate digging coal

the end result is just a hole.

And what makes it worse,

the hole's in your purse --

and you'll be tossed out on the dole. 

In Paris the air is crasseux

From the Washington Post:

In an effort to curb pollution that some days makes the city as smoggy as Beijing, Paris began on Friday to ban cars built before 1997 from coming within city limits. Vehicles registered before then — and motorcycles before 1999 — will now face modest, phased-in fines during weekday traffic between 8 a.m. and 8 p.m., though they can drive freely into the city on weekends.

In Paris the air is crasseux.

Parisians, they mutter "Par bleu!"

So elderly cars

the city now bars,

making Renault to go fou. 

Cookie Dough

A little girl ate cookie dough.
It gave her an unhealthy glow.
Bacteria has laid her low.
She's gluten-free, six feet below. 

Wally the Whale

From the Los Angeles Times:

Wally the whale was towed into the sea by two Los Angeles County lifeguard boats Friday evening at Dockweiler State Beach, just a day after he washed ashore.

Lifeguards, working with the county’s Department of Beaches and Harbors, decided to tow the carcass far out to sea, where it will be clear of shipping lanes and where currents will keep it away from the beach. Natural decomposition and marine life will do the rest . . .

dead bodies towed into the sea
sounds like a first class remedy
not only for whales
but all other fails.
hey Bernie, do you water ski?

The Fitness Center

A maiden who wanted to shed
some butterfat finally said:
"My fitness club here
serves Cheetos and beer--
but helps me get out of my bed."

A lawyer from Inver Grove Heights

A lawyer from Inver Grove Heights
guaranteed clients their rights
to hourly rates
that only Bill Gates
could pay without holding last rites. 

dreams of a grouchy gourmet

airplane food and hospital food and things warmed up from cans
feeds nothing but the belly tho it's cooked in copper pans.
i used to dream of brunches that would thrill my inner soul;
of dishes fused with saffron, set aflame with liqueurs droll.
cheeses of distinction and fine artisanal bread 
and livers from those geese that only acorns are force-fed.
but since i am a bachelor and don't bring home much loot
my cooking is so basic that it tastes like some old boot.
my meatloaf is pedantic and my pasta falls apart,
and for making my own mayonnaise I haven't any heart.
perhaps someday i'll rob a bank and feast on courtly quail
before they can catch up with me and toss me into jail.
O death where is thy victory, o grave where is thy sting?
it's in the fact I can't tell squab from common chicken wing . . .   

I'd rather the Army play tones

I'd rather the Army play tones
on woodwinds than fly any drones.
A bomb or two less
is fine, I confess;
but please spare those long brass trombones!

Tempest in a Milk Carton

The Senior Lunch today down at the Center is roast pork, mashed potatoes, diced beets, and a large white fluffy dinner roll with butter. And a side of applesauce.

They serve it cafeteria style, so I take my plate, grab 2 cartons of 1 percent milk, and head over to the condiment table for some hot sauce.

And there I collide with one of the cranks that infest the Senior Center.

A scruffy old man, in patched overalls, with a threadbare DEKALB seed cap wedged firmly on his head, is pouring ketchup ove his beets. He says:

"Hey, you can't have two milks. You're only supposed to have one."

This is news to me. I always take two.

"Who says?" I ask politely.

"You're supposed to take one, not two." he repeats, his eyes ablaze with the unholy zeal of the stickler.

I decide that today is not the day I will be kind to idiots, so I silently turn my back on him to go to my table. He follows me.

"You better put that other milk back so's there's enough fer everbody" he grates through his long yellow teeth.

"Ah, go peddle your papers" I tell him. I have always wanted to use that phrase since hearing Victor Mature snarl it in a gangster movie.

He stands unmoving above me as I eat. Like a senile obelisk.

He finally whirls and strides away. I am left in peace, but not for long. He comes back with the Senior Lunch supervisor, an earnest young man with rimless glasses and a crew cut.

The supervisor is plainly all at sea, since I am obviously not doing anything upsetting or immoral.

"You see what I mean?" says DEKALB in triumph.

"Is there a problem?" the supervisor asks no one in particular.

I continue to eat my lunch, dipping my roast pork into the applesauce -- something I learned to do when I lived in Florida.

At this, DEKALB snorts and shakes his head in disgust, then takes his tray over to another table, where he slams it down -- startling an old woman in a flowered nightie dozing over a Nora Roberts novel.

Now the supervisor, as is the wont of supervisors worldwide and forever, decides he'd better earn his keep by annoying someone. And that someone is me.

"Just don't let it happen again" he tells me, rather uncertainly.

Now maybe he means it as a mild joke, a way to smooth over a rough patch in the day's events. But I choose not to take it that way.

I fix him with a beady eye -- I practice piercing looks in the mirror every morning, so I'm pretty effective. And I say, deadpan, "Don't let WHAT happen again?"

 At this, the supervisor pretends to hear his name being called, gives me a friendly bob of the head, and skitters away.

I finish my lunch, including both cartons of milk. The pork is a bit dry, but dipping it in the apple sauce helps. Busing my tray, I notice several cartons of milk left out on the condiment table, so I ask one of the nice lunch ladies about it.

"Oh" she says, "there's always some milk left over after lunch. Take 'em if you want -- otherwise we just have to throw them out."