The Coasters

January 31, 2020

Ever since the “College Admissions” scandal became public knowledge I got to thinkin’ about my failed attempt at promotin’ to Captain II. Could this scandal be my chance to sneak in through the back door and finally promote into the Captain II ranks? I hate the thought of cheatin’, but sometimes desperate times demand desperate measures. I was hopin’ I might be able to convince the mayor, a councilperson, or even a “financially embarrassed” chief(s), if there’s such a thing, in lettin’ me make a direct deposit(s) into their favorite bank account for the correct answers to the next scheduled Captain II interview. Think about it, even if we get caught, what can be so bad about spendin’ 7 days in jail while watchin’ a big screen TV? And if the aroma of $100 dollar bills stacked on top of each other ain’t temptin’ enough I’m willin’ to sweeten the deal with a month’s worth of “Impossible” burgers. I know you’re out there. Think about it and get back to me.

The other day I went to my favorite “Big Box” hardware store and began searchin’ the paint department for a quart of de-natured alcohol but couldn’t find any. I finally found an employee in that department and asked, “What aisle is the de-natured alcohol on? The guy looked at me and replied, “What’s de-natured alcohol?” I wanted to tell him it’s exactly like Jack Daniels before the cinnamon color is added but realized I’d probably get the same puzzled look. Anyway, I eventually found out they don’t carry it anymore and then remembered I live in California.

Can you believe these moronic auto insurance ads on TV? “Only pay for what you need” has now become the latest gimmick in the automobile insurance racket. Really, you mean there’s people out there drivin’ around in Toyota’s whose premiums would cover a Rolls Royce? Which may explain the reason why I enjoy watchin’ Shark Tank so much. I really get a kick out of Kevin O’leary, aka Mr. Wonderful, when he suggests to rookie entrepreneurs that he/she take their questionable business ideas out behind the barn and shoot them. Which is exactly what I’d like to do to Doug and his side kick, the Imu.

The Wife and I went to this year’s Relief Association’s “Open House.” If you haven’t been to this event you’re missin’ out on some seriously good camaraderie and outstandin’ food. It’s sort of like a good retirement dinner, but different. They even had servers walkin’ around with plates of shrimp sticks, fancy cheese covered crackers and caviar. Yea, caviar! By the time my Wife dragged my swollen gut to the designated “No more eatin’ for you” zone, I had developed a severe case of the gout. Good times.

Before I forget, I’d like to welcome John Hicks, the new Editor of the Grapevine Magazine. A new day has dawned at the Relief and I’m sure John will fit in nicely and do an outstandin’ job.



As a child I always had a fear of someone bein’ under my bed at night. The other day I finally went to a shrink and told him, “I’ve got a problem. Every time I go to bed I think there’s someone under it. I’m scared and I’m goin’ crazy.” He said, “Just put yourself in my hands for one year and come talk to me three times per week. I should be able to get rid of your fears.” I asked him, “How much do you charge?” “$150 per visit,” was the reply. I told him I would think about it.

Six months later the doctor met me on the street. “Why didn’t you come to see me about those fears you were havin’?” he asked. “Well, at $150 a visit, three time a week for a year is $23,400.00. A bartender cured me for $10. I was so happy to have saved all that money that I went and bought a new pickup truck.”

“Is that so?” With a bit of an attitude he said, “And how may I ask did a bartender cure you?”

“He told me to cut the legs off my bed. Ain’t nobody under there now.”


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