Dammit!

My profile allows comments, but sometimes it nuts up and won't allow comments on new posts. That is not intentional. I'm used to obedience from my men, and I fully expect it from my computer - but then again, if I were a jap computer, I'd probably screw around with my owner too if he were an old dubya-dubya-eye-eye-vet.

And don't try calling customer support if, like me, your Hindi is a bit rusty when asking for anything beyond the lamb masala, fresh nan, papadam, or if you're telling the clerk you want a sky blue slushi in the 32 ounce cup.

So, troops, fire away!

Seven Things I've Learned in My Life

Some priest's wife named "Emily" told me she was "tagging" me. At first, this had me quite concerned, for if Blanche Scuttlebutt had read that before moi, I may have lost my "cojones" to the Ginsu(tm) ("Now how much would you pay?").

But getting "tagged" by a dame doesn't mean what you sickoes and pervs that lurk around the internet reading blogs by old army chaplains think it means. Emily's intentions are innocent, I can assure you, though if I do say so myself, I look pretty damned dapper in my Royal Canadian beret and cigar.

Be that as it may, I've been instructed to come up with Seven Things I've Learned in My Life. Of course, that assumes I can learn at least one thing a decade in the course of my adulthood. That's a stretch (who the hell am I, Albert Einstein?), but here goes.

Seven Things I've Learned in My Life

1) Bureaucrats (whether military or ecclesiastical) are pin heads. Nothing will rob a man of his mental capacities and virility faster than sitting behind a desk pondering policy and mandating mission statements. Anyone elected or appointed to such a position must resign immediately, or face the inevitability of life-long stupidity and ED. If any of you readers are bureaucrats, as Donitella Versace would say: "Get out!" Give up the fancy-shmancy title, the fat income, and junkets to Siam, Vegas, and Hindoo-stan. Stop getting off on having people suck up to you. Either 1) Get a real job, or 2) start serving at an altar. One less beancounter won't hurt "The Company!(tm)". Besides, your wife will thank me.

2) Synodical (and District) Conventions are a waste of time. I hear plenty of fine "confessional" (read: "boring") pastors explain why I should at least go to meet the other pastors and get drunk. Well, I like to drink with real people: truck drivers, teachers, pro wrestlers, etc. Pastors are, for the most part, boring individuals. Besides, I can't stand to be at any kind of official LCMS function, since every time I hear the word Ablaze!(tm), my "roids" flare up. Who needs that? Fellas, stay home, visit shut ins, read books, pray the breviary, and if you really must drink with a pastor, there is most likely a papist priest near you. Besides, a neighborhood pub is far more interesting than a sterile overpriced Holiday Inn lounge. And at least Father O'Malley won't rat you out to the circuit counsellor if you make a confession. Also, big screens are for football games and Seinfeld reruns - not for sappy hymn-sings and 1984-like headshots of Jerruh. Besides, if a guy knows Robert's Rules too well, he must be homo. Keep your "point of order" to yourself, girly man!

3) A healthy prostate is a happy prostate. Nuff said.

4) Do not change from Jack Daniels to George Dickel without a Guiness buffer. The stomach lining becomes agitated, and the T-bone you spent thirty four bucks on will end up on the floor of the Chevron bathroom. Not that I have learned this from experience. Whiskies, like Reformed and Lutheran theology, are best not mixed.

5) Satan's greatest tools are: contemporary worship, women clergy, and the crescent wrench. The first two are patently evil, but the last one is a genuinely valuable tool - whether used by God or the Devil. You can adjust the size with the handy little thumb-wheel, and thus, can replace a drawer full of specific wrenches - Pinko Metric or Genuine American - with just one. The fella that invented that thing should get the Nobel Prize.

6) Learn martial arts. Jiu Jitsu may not save your life, but when you're standing in the line at Barnes & Noble and the smart-assed barista with the pierced eyebrow does that eye-rolling and "pffft" noise when you ask the difference between a "grande" and a "venti" and what the hell is a "macchiato" anyway (not to mention why do you have to take out a damned mortgage to buy a frigging cup of Joe in the bookstore), you can grab that Frankenstein bolt in her nose, twist it, put her in a joint lock and throw her to the floor like a rag doll. Then you can grab your back and tell the manager that your lawyer is in the can, and you're ready to sue the pants off of them for their insensitive employee's injuring of an an old war hero who was just asking for a coffee. It's a great way to get free cappuccinos. Not that I have learned this from experience. Also, not a bad evangelism opportunity either. It beats that Kennedy door-knocking crap any day. You see where that got Bobby and Jack. Teddy's liver hasn't done so great either (which may explain why he's gung-ho to bring in "guest workers" by the millions - more potential organ donors)!

7) Roses are better than people. They always smell good, they never give you any guff, incompetence and stupidity are never a problem, you know exactly where the thorns are, and when the flowers become useless, you just cut off the dead heads. I had some dead heads on my lawn once (the hippies, that is) and I gotta tell ya, they really shriek when you nail them with buckshot. In that sense, they are more fun than the roses. The difference is, I actually want the roses on my lawn.

Now I guess I'm supposed to tag a few other folks. I'm tagging Gerry Kieschnick, Bob Hope, the kid from Flipper, and anyone else who wants to play along. Now get back to work, dead heads - and stay off my lawn (well, Blessed Reformer Retirement Home's lawn, anyway - they don't know about the shotgun under my bunk)!