About the author
My book, Funny Stories, can now be ordered through any national book store or e-book site. Available for all readers including Apple. Also available in paperback.
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A lot of people like to drink wine. They savor it. They know the good stuff from the trashy stuff. I appluad them. I also wonder if they ever think about bird crap. Yea, bird crap. Birds bomb anything outdoors with caca. I know that the grapes are washed first but have you ever washed bird droppings off your car?
Think about that the next time you order a carafe.
I got my comeuppance this week. I’ve bragged about being as healthy as a horse. A thoroughbred at that. I don’t get diseases or colds. I don’t break bones. I don’t miss work. I don’t complain about the few things I do get. I’ve been really proud of that. Well, hah! I got my payback and paybacks are Hell.
For several years I’ve had a problem with my gall bladder. I could live with it so I never said much about it. My wife tried nagging me into seeing a doctor, but I didn’t want to go. What does she know about medicine? More than me, apparently.
It got to where it was becoming a real bother. Certain foods were taboo. I was uncomfortable. I was in pain. I wasn’t planning to do anything about it until the summer was over. I didn’t want surgery to interfere with my plans. Even going to the emergency room didn’t mean anything. Well, the drug they gave me was wonderful but that’s it.
Then I had a few nights in a row where I walked the floor. OK, I’ve had enough. I’ll go to the doctor and see about doing something about it eventually.
My doctor felt around and tapped me until I yelled at her. “ Hey, don’t you be yelling at me, Bub. I’m not the one who’s playing games with my health. It serves you right. This what I call ‘tough love medicine.’” Oh. I would have been offended and done something if she hadn’t been right. Also, I was afraid she’d poke me again.
She called and got me an appointment with a surgeon for the very next day! That’s a miracle in and of itself. She told me that I’d better show up for it or she’d, “find me and make you wish you had gone.” Boy, doctors.
The surgeon asked me some questions after first telling me not to try hiding anything. He’d already talked to my doctor and my wife and he was, “in no mood for nonsense.” OK, I lose. I tell him exactly what I’ve been feeling. He said that he’d do the micro surgery on me in the morning. It can’t wait. I scoffed at him and said that he hadn’t even touched me yet. How could he know- Ouch!
“Did that hurt? If it did I’m cutting you in the morning. If not, you’re right and the rest of us are wrong.”
OK. I showed up at the Day Surgery Center. They told me to strip down and put the hospital robe on. Hospital robes are designed to rob you of all your dignity and pride. It makes you real docile and easier to handle. You’ll go along with anything just to speed up the time until you can get rid of the robe.
Then they did some tests, including blood work. That involves needles. That's a reason to avoid these people. They put an IV in my wrist. First, they had to try my hand in three places. When that didn’t go, and it never does, they call a special nurse to put it in. She puts it in my wrist. She says she always does. The hand doesn’t really work out. That’s nice. I guess the hand thing is either practice or sadism.
Then they shoot some drug or drugs into the IV. OK, now they have me. I will do anything now. Of, course, they don’t want me to do anything except lie there and be quiet, very quiet.
Next thing I know. I’m in some room, with some people I sort of recognize, such as my wife. I know I’m still alive. I think I’m still alive. I don’t care if I am or not. This is real nice. Floating along on a cloud. Then to sleep. Then awake.
Then-PAIN!!. I mean real pain. Not that I got a booboo sort of pain. This that butt kicking kind. Why did I go along with this? Then the nurse puts a shot into the IV. Ahh! Yes, that’s nice. I’m all yours. Maybe I’ll take care of some of my other problems.
Yea, when cows fly.
The Headless Horseman
Most Americans know the legend of the Headless Horseman. Most non-Americans probably don’t and it’s just as well. There is no purpose in telling the story again. This is some additional stuff that you may not have heard of.
The Headless Horseman liked to ride around scaring the little kids. They see him and then run home crying and hollering about a guy riding around with no head. to say the least this upset the parents.
“Now, boy, I done told ya not to be tellin’ no whoppers. This a real whopper. Go wash your mouth out with soap.”
“No, paw, it be the truth. I saw-”
“Take a big bite of this here soap.”
Then the drunks at the tavern started telling stories about a headless guy coming in and drinking. He’d set at the bar with no head and point to the whiskey. He’d pick up the glass and put it into his little bag. Then he’d tap the bar for another drink. The barkeep didn’t care if he had no head as long as he paid for the whiskey.
The drunks would go home and tell mama about some headless drunk. The wives got real concerned and complained to the preacher. The preacher began a series of hellfire and damnation sermons about demon rum. The drunks didn’t get that one. The headless guy drank whiskey not rum. Still, the pressure was on.
All the local businessmen were upset. This Headless Horseman scaring the little kids and upsetting the wives of the drunks and setting off Pastor Mr. Black was bad for business. They went to the sheriff and complained.
“Let me see if I’ve got this right. There’s a headless guy riding around and drinking in the tavern. You get this from little kids and drunks. Have I got it right?”
“Yes. What are you going to do about it. There’s an election coming up, you know.”
That was different. If the sheriff lost the election it was back to the pig farm. He said he’d find the headless guy and do something about it. The business community accepted that. They did say it needed done before the election or else the new sheriff could do it.
The sheriff checked with all the little kids to see where they’d been seeing the headless guy. He watched the tavern, hoping to catch him coming in for a drink. He couldn’t find him. The headless guy must have gone on the wagon. Maybe the sermons got to him although the sheriff thought it must have been hard to hear them with his head in a bag.
As the sheriff was locking up one night he saw the Headless Horseman. There he was riding up the street with no head. The sheriff hadn’t had a drink but wished he had of. A headless guy.
“Hey, you. You with no head, come over here.”
“What?”, the Headless Horseman asked the sheriff.
“For starters, put your head on your shoulders when you talk to me. This is creepy.”
“There’s no law says I have to have a head on my shoulder. This is America. I’m a free man. I can ride around with no head on if I want. There’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Well, yes there is. I can shoot you.” The sheriff pulled out his revolver. The headless guy looked at the sheriff. No, he didn’t. His head was in a bag. He just believed the sheriff was going to shoot him. Reluctantly, the Headless horseman pulled his head out of the bag and put it in his shoulders.
“Why, shoot, it’s you, Pastor.”
Funny Stories by Don Roble
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