When those at the top of the corporate ladder look down, all they see is shit!
When those at the bottom of the corporate ladder look up, all they see are assholes!

Several years ago, the Rumford Wild Animal Park bought a semi rare species of gorilla for patrons to enjoy. After they had the female gorilla for a few months, she got a bit on the……well, let’s say “feisty” side. Not sure what the problem was, owners of the Park brought in some veterinarians to make sure Betsy was okay. The vets determined Betsy needed a companion, if you know what I mean.

This put the Rumford Wild Animal Park in quite the conundrum as there wasn’t another gorilla around for hundreds of miles. Harold, who worked cleaning cages came up with a brilliant plan. He said he didn’t know of any real gorillas around but he heard Alfred, who lived up on the backside of the river toward E. Andover wasn’t too bright but was always looking for some “action”.

Harold went with the owner to see Alfred. The owner of the Park asked Alfred if he would consider making love to Betsy the gorilla for $500. Alfred said he would think about it.

A couple of days went by and Alfred went to see the owner of the Animal Park. He said he would take on Betsy but that he had certain conditions that had to be met. The owner wanted to know what conditions.

“Well,” said Alfred. “I don’t want to have to kiss the gorilla. I just couldn’t do that.”

The owner didn’t see any problem with that. “What else?” he asked.

Alfred piped up, “You’ll have to promise me that nobody will ever know I did this!”

“I am certain that can be taken care of!” exclaimed the owner. “Anything else?”

Alfred responded, “I’m going to need a few days to come up with the $500.”

A husband and wife were having dinner at a very fine restaurant when an absolutely stunning young woman came over to their table, gave the husband a big open mouthed kiss, then said that she’ll see him later and walked away.

The wife glared at her husband and said, “Who the hell was that?”

“Oh,” replied the husband, “she’s my mistress.”

“Well, that’s the last straw,” said the wife. “I’ve had enough, I want a divorce!”

“I can understand that,” replied her husband, “but remember, if we get a divorce it will mean no more shopping trips to Paris, no more wintering in Barbados , no more summers in Tuscany, no more BMWs in the garage and no more yacht club. But the decision is yours.”

Just then, a mutual friend entered the restaurant with a gorgeous young woman on his arm.

“Who’s that woman with Gary?” asked the wife.

“That’s his mistress,” said her husband.

“Ours is prettier,” she replied.

Beatrice wasn’t too smart. I mean it wasn’t that she didn’t have a clue, it was she didn’t even have a suspicion. She was also in possession of a face that only a mother could love. In other words, when Beatrice was little her mother went with her everywhere she went because she was so ugly she didn’t want to have to kiss her goodbye. Beatrice was however wealthy because she was the only member of the family of a wealthy uncle who come from down Boston way.

When the uncle died, he left his riches to Beatrice who shortly thereafter married Fred.

One day as Beatrice was talking to Fred and feeling a bit insecure, she quizzed, “Fred, would have married me even if my uncle hadn’t left me with lots of money?”

Fred’s answer flew right over Beatrice’s head, “Beatrice, I would have married you no matter who had given you that money.”

Did you know it was National Grouch Day? Me either. I thought some about talking about how the White House seems bent on finding some way to censor Fox News and anyone else who opposes their views, but that was too heavy a topic. Perhaps the Rush Limbaugh saga would do. Naw! I’m to angry to talk about that. Maybe a good rant about what going on with health care reform; getting old. The war on terror? Nope! Cap and Trade? Ditto, negatories!

Let’s go people watching!

Submitted to LaughMaine by a reader:

When the light is red there’s ample time to gawk around and check things (people) out. If, however, you happen to be in the middle lane, your view is a bit tunnel vision except if you are first in line. Then things open up a little more – to see…

Rather brisk that morning in Fairbanks, mid January when something passed by the front of my vehicle. A tire! Wheel attached and the lug nuts were still on.??

It was rolling nicely across the intersection in front of me and I just starred at it trying to figure out what happened; that a tire is rolling thru the intersection with six lanes facing it in all directions when all of a sudden – the axle still attached – it caught in the road and began gyrating all over the place wiggling and wobbling until it made a complete circle of the intersection and then rolled up the right hand lane as if it pulled over.

Just when I realized it was settled down enough so as not to kill some one, I checked out the folks checking out the tire axle gyrator thing. Boy!, we were all sooo amused by it. And then the vehicle that lost it came rolling through the intersection – on three wheels, I wouldn’t want to mislead you – pulled over to the right, picked up the axil tire gyrator and threw it in the back and drove off.

What a deal!!! Intersections are so much fun. That spring, you know, when the snow banks are gone and the roads are dry enough to drag a cat through…

I was turning right so I had front row-center at this intersection. I couldn’t make my right turn yet, there was a window van coming through the intersection, dragging a cat.

At first glance I surmised little Jonnie had tossed something out the window, unbeknownst to mom. I didn’t see that part. The part I saw was when the horns started blowing throughout the intersection for the woman to stop.

She came to a fast halt. The cat was on one of those expand-a-leashes, they stretch quite a distance, thank God or it would have been under the vehicle.

Why I suspect little Jonnie might have something to do with it is because the cat that was being dragged is still headed for the stopped van. I thought it might hit the van and hurt it more but as it neared the back of the van the leash stayed tight and when the cat reached the back by the window, it disappeared up the van and in the window – mommy stepped on the gas peddle real quick and away they went.

So, if I’m the guy you’re tootin your horn at at the light, don’t be in such a puckah! Something might be happening!!!

Mainard True

Caption: “I know you used to be a U.S. Senator in a previous life, but there has to be SOMETHING between here and there!”

Saturday, as most of you know, I went with Milt on a photo shoot outing, etc. Lasted part of the morning and then it poured buckets the rest of the day. In short, it was a wash out.

Sunday, I got up early and drove to the Ft. Myers area and met up with a hometown buddy and we took in a spring training baseball game between the Minnesota Twins and Baltimore Orioles. Before you read on, I want to warn you that what I tell happens is gross and disgusting but somewhere in my sick sense of humor, I can only help but laugh. You may choose to read something else.

We got settled in to the game and seated to my right, perhaps a half dozen seats away, was the Fat family from Cellulite City. There was Mr. and Mrs. Fat and their two fat sons – one perhaps 6 and the other 8 or 9. Combined, the family could have tipped the scales at well over a half ton.

We arrived about 30 minutes before the scheduled first pitch of 1:05 p.m. and as we sat talking and laughing (no we weren’t drinking beer), it didn’t take long to realize that the Fat family had a groove worn into the steel bleachers leading directly to the snack stand. First it was hot dogs, then slushies, a round of Cokes, some popcorn and couple more hot dogs. Every time someone selling concessions moved anywhere in the stadium, up went a yell from someone in the Fat family.

At one point, I glanced over to see if these people were actually human and that’s when I noticed the Dad looked like he had a baseball for a head balancing on top of a huge pile of molten lava. If you were to look close enough, you would have noticed two Nike sneakers sticking out of the bottom of the lava rock.

Just when I didn’t think it possible for any normal person to ingest anything else, Momma Fat broke out the peanut butter and fluff sandwiches, bottles of pink Gatorade and passed each member a huge bag of Cracker Jacks, I suppose to add some variety to their Easter Sunday dinner.

The crowd had began to gather and there were few vacant seats around us. The presentation of the colors and the singing of the National Anthem followed and it was impossible to tell if any of them stood. They were as tall seated as standing but they did continue eating. Nothing was going to interfere with that.

Before we got through the first inning, the older of the two boys began coughing. I’m not sure which came first – the uncontrolled projectile vomiting all over the crowd which led to the coughing or the coughing started the event. Bright pink puke trickled down his chin, spattering and blending in with the assorted partly digested remnants of his stomach on the walkway between his feet.

What then to me became an unexplained phenomenon, nobody in the family seemed all that concerned. The younger bog was looking on as if to say, “Look at all the good food wasted.” Dad was busy trying to find the bottom of his bag of Cracker Jacks and Momma Fats was licking the fluff and peanut butter from her fingers.

Most people around them were appalled at the actions and lack of response. A lady sitting directly in front of them now had pink puke and assorted other goodies looking like an abstract work of art stuck to the back of her Baltimore Orioles commemorative t-shirt.

The coughing persisted and the boy became angry that he couldn’t eat more in between his puking and so looked at his mother in needy way. Finally, Momma Fats got up leading her two boys directly toward me. I scattered in panic and ran for the high ground seeking shelter behind the television cameraman perched in the highest location up behind us. I just knew that kid was going to paint some more art on hundreds of unsuspecting baseball fans.

I wondered aloud if they were headed for the snack bar to get a refund.

I returned to my seat looking around from drippings or any other signs a walking ball of vomit had bounced through my seating area. Once I determined the coast was clear, I moved to sit down and that’s when I noticed Daddy Fats had just finished his giant bag of Cracker Jacks and was slip-sliding through the pile of puke trying to get his hands on the three other bags abandoned by the runaway vomit machine, his brother and Momma Fats. It was at this point I began having visions of what the inside of their home must look like. I abandoned any more thoughts like that.

It was one of the most disgusting things I had seen in a long time. Now it looked a bit odd as this very fat man sat alone in the middle of the stands shoving food into his mouth without a care in the world.

I continued to make jokes with my friends as we waited to see what they would bring back with them from the snack bar. Oddly enough, they didn’t return and once Daddy Fats had finished all the food, he took a nap.

I guess he slept for 3 or 4 innings and when he awoke, he glanced around to see if there was any food he might have missed and seeing none, he left.

Needless to say, the thoughts I had prior to the game about a bowl of nachos and an ice cold drink, no longer existed. I watched the game.

Home now needing to sort through way too many emails and get back to work. While you wait for my next important news event to get posted, why don’t you go get something to eat.

Mainard True

Mainard True

Mainard True

This was submitted by Alan Remington from Anchorage, Alaska.

If you used every letter in the alphabet and put it in front of “Lucky!!!”, remove the “L”, that dog would come to you. Funny,
huh. She’d even come to “Car key”. It didn’t matter to her. Insults and lies will offend no dog. Especially Lucky. Food-whore from the very start. If you had something in your hands, she assumed it was food and she was entitled to it. Perfect for after-dinner clean up. Slip the plates down onto the floor and let her go. Lucky was in heaven.

By the beginning of July, if you haven’t gotten your line wet yet, what are you waiting for? Most of Alaska is in a hub-bub getting to the water. If you are unfortunate enough to still be sorting out all your gear from last year, you are not alone. Keep after it. It’ll make sense after a while. The tents set up in driveway aren’t staying there, they’ve just been water-proofed.

And Dan and Clyde arrived last night from Arizona. Clyde loves to fish and who doesn’t. Especially here. Land of the midnight sun. The most perfect campsite in the world. It doesn’t matter what time you start to get ready for fishing or what time it is when you leave or what time it is when you finally get there. The midnight sun is enough light to set up camp.

We rolled all the tents over to finish drying and I noticed Dan and Clyde over beside the garage. Looks like they’re bent over something or working on something together. “What’s that?”, I said. Clyde lifts her head, “salmon eggs”. Dan never moved. He was concentrating so hard. As I approached I saw they were trying to find a nice flat spot to set the 2 flats of freshly brined eggs. So they settled for an appropriate spot together.

They both seemed to enjoy each other’s company. And the eggs looked almost good enough to eat, but of course, do not!!!!!!!

As the day progresses, the gear that once lined the driveway has slowly been removed. By now, folks are beginning to wind-down for the day, after all it’s 11:00pm. It’s so easy to lose track of time. The television is on but no one listens. Company is wonderful; “Oh shit”!, says Clyde. “We left the eggs outside”! So, out the door they go to get the eggs and are right back just as quick.

I know Clyde is proud of all her work on those eggs. I can see it in her face. She looks at me and asked if I had moved the eggs………. Like I had. I said no and she’s not believing me, I can tell. After some discussion, everyone went outside to find the eggs. By the book, as they say, and still no eggs. Everyone is intrigued with the mystery.

We had to abandon the search until morning when daylight might reveal more. And it did. The best spot for the eggs was up on top of the snow machine trailer…. high enough to keep Lucky off. She’s so old, she struggles going up stairs and has to take a break on the way up. Evidence showed drag marks on the deck and the color was right. I decided to go find Lucky.

Perhaps she did get the eggs and if so, my God, she’ll die. Peering inside her mouth and around her gums didn’t help. Her gums were pink………. “Never fear”., I said. “Lucky will show us whether she ate the eggs or not…..later today or tomorrow, right, Lucky”?

Just like clock work, she showed us. Pink, pink, not so pink, everywhere you looked. “guilty as charged!”. She had eaten the 2 flats alright. Her stomach was growling long rolling grumbles. Passing gas was ongoing anyway but she really didn’t seem to be acting any differently. It was obvious she was hungry. I can’t figure out how she got on the trailer. Food whore.

Lucky came with the house. Indeed. The previous owners didn’t want her any more and would have taken her to the pound. Outdoors year round, house training was a long struggle and eventually she figured it out. At 5 or 6 yrs. old, training was slow. We replaced the front door as well as changed “the swing”. It took Lucky a couple of weeks to figure it out. A week and a half for BJ. I was lucky, I installed it.

So , Lucky has been lucky. However, I prefer to think of her as “fortunate”.