This is the text of an e-mail I received from my daughter yesterday. I’m not sure who to credit as the author; however, since the author writes at the end, “Pass on if you agree,” I’m assuming I have his/her permission to publish it here. I am going to go even further and suggest that if you agree, send it in an e-mail to your state legislators.
Like a lot of folks in this state, I have a job. I work, they pay me. I pay my taxes and the government distributes my taxes as they see fit.
In order to get that paycheck, I am required to pass a random urine test, which I have no problem with.
What I do have a problem with is the distribution of my taxes to people who don't have to pass a urine test. Shouldn't one have to pass a urine test to get a welfare check, because I have to pass one to earn it for them?
Please understand, I have no problem with helping people get back on their feet. I do, on the other hand, have a problem with helping someone sit on their a ** .
Could you imagine how much money the state would save if people had to pass a urine test to get a public assistance check?
Pass on if you agree
Friday, April 27, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
An Elevator Ride
This story’s really short, but it’s kind of amusing. Maybe next time I’ll write something serious.
Copyright 2007 by Big Dave
They boarded the elevator together. He pushed the button for the ground floor. She politely said, “Four, please.”
As the little room began to descend, the two of them stood silently, watching the lights blink on and off, telling them which floors they were passing. As the light for fifteen blinked on, then off, the elevator came to a stop. The man and the woman both continued to just stand there silently, expecting the doors to open. After a reasonable amount of time, they both realized there was a problem.
“Looks like we’re stuck,” he said. “Same thing happened last week. Took an hour-and-a-half to get it going again.”
“Why don’t you try pushing the buttons?” she said. “Sometimes that will get it started again.”
“Sounds like you’ve ridden on this elevator before,” he said.
“Five days a week for the past year. I work for Murray and Wilson on thirty-nine.”
“No kidding. I bet you know my ex-wife.”
“What’s her name? Does she work in our office?”
“Her name is Mildred Finch. She doesn’t work there. Murray was her lawyer for our divorce last year. With the settlement he got for her, she doesn’t have to work anywhere.”
“Now I remember,” she said. “Mildred Finch. She’s the one who got the really big settlement. Right?”
“More than she deserved for the two years we were married.”
“Well, that’s community property for you,” she said. “You only have to be married one day and she gets half, he gets half. You did get to keep half didn’t you?”
“More or less,” he said. Then, “Look, pushing these buttons hasn’t done any good. Maybe we should try calling for help on the emergency phone.”
With the biggest smile she could muster, she said as sweetly as she could, “What’s the big hurry? Oh, by the way, you haven’t remarried have you?”
Copyright 2007 by Big Dave
They boarded the elevator together. He pushed the button for the ground floor. She politely said, “Four, please.”
As the little room began to descend, the two of them stood silently, watching the lights blink on and off, telling them which floors they were passing. As the light for fifteen blinked on, then off, the elevator came to a stop. The man and the woman both continued to just stand there silently, expecting the doors to open. After a reasonable amount of time, they both realized there was a problem.
“Looks like we’re stuck,” he said. “Same thing happened last week. Took an hour-and-a-half to get it going again.”
“Why don’t you try pushing the buttons?” she said. “Sometimes that will get it started again.”
“Sounds like you’ve ridden on this elevator before,” he said.
“Five days a week for the past year. I work for Murray and Wilson on thirty-nine.”
“No kidding. I bet you know my ex-wife.”
“What’s her name? Does she work in our office?”
“Her name is Mildred Finch. She doesn’t work there. Murray was her lawyer for our divorce last year. With the settlement he got for her, she doesn’t have to work anywhere.”
“Now I remember,” she said. “Mildred Finch. She’s the one who got the really big settlement. Right?”
“More than she deserved for the two years we were married.”
“Well, that’s community property for you,” she said. “You only have to be married one day and she gets half, he gets half. You did get to keep half didn’t you?”
“More or less,” he said. Then, “Look, pushing these buttons hasn’t done any good. Maybe we should try calling for help on the emergency phone.”
With the biggest smile she could muster, she said as sweetly as she could, “What’s the big hurry? Oh, by the way, you haven’t remarried have you?”
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Blogs
I’m still pretty new at this blogging stuff, so before I get too far along I want to let you know about some of the blogs I enjoy. The links are listed below.
http://toddreynolds.blogspot.com/
http://greenestake.blogspot.com/
http://subtlesales.blogspot.com/
http://dailynooz.blogspot.com/
The first one belongs to my nephew, Todd Reynolds. Todd is a musician/songwriter, so this site includes downloads of his music with his ramblings about the songwriting process as well as what’s going on in his life.
The next two are written by my friend, Grant Greene. The blog at http://greenestake.blogspot.com/ is entitled “Musings of a Warped Mind.” The one at http://subtlesales.blogspot.com/ is called “Subtle Sales Improvements.” Both titles seem to me to be self descriptive.
I found the fourth blog, http://dailynooz.blogspot.com/ , while surfing the web. They don’t actually update it everyday, but it’s usually funny and always interesting.
Well, that’s it for today. Check out these blogs when you find the time. Don’t forget to come back to mine occasionally.
http://toddreynolds.blogspot.com/
http://greenestake.blogspot.com/
http://subtlesales.blogspot.com/
http://dailynooz.blogspot.com/
The first one belongs to my nephew, Todd Reynolds. Todd is a musician/songwriter, so this site includes downloads of his music with his ramblings about the songwriting process as well as what’s going on in his life.
The next two are written by my friend, Grant Greene. The blog at http://greenestake.blogspot.com/ is entitled “Musings of a Warped Mind.” The one at http://subtlesales.blogspot.com/ is called “Subtle Sales Improvements.” Both titles seem to me to be self descriptive.
I found the fourth blog, http://dailynooz.blogspot.com/ , while surfing the web. They don’t actually update it everyday, but it’s usually funny and always interesting.
Well, that’s it for today. Check out these blogs when you find the time. Don’t forget to come back to mine occasionally.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Suicide Hotline
Here’s a story I wrote a few years ago. It has never been published. I hope you like it.
Copyright 1988, by Big Dave
A late night telephone conversation:
Voice #1: Hello, you’ve reached the suicide hotline. May I ask your name?
Voice #2: Do I have to tell you my name?
Voice #1: No. Not if you don’t want to. How can I help you?
Voice #2: I…I’ve been thinking about killing myself. And I’m going to do it! Don’t try to talk me out of it!
Voice #1: So then, why are you calling?
Voice #2: I’m not really sure. I guess I just wanted to tell someone. To let somebody know why.
Voice #1: I’m here to listen if you want to talk.
Voice #2: I’m not certain I can really explain why I want to do it. I’ve felt this way for a long time. Now just seems to be the right time.
Voice #1: Has anything important happened recently to make you feel this way? Divorce? A death in the family?
Voice #2: No. Nobody’s died. I am divorced, but that was a long time ago—ten years. Besides, I’d been suicidal long before I ever met my husband. Ever since I was a little girl of eight or nine I’ve thought about dying, and how nice it would be.
Voice #1: So, you’ve been suicidal since early childhood. Were your parents abusive? Did they neglect you?
Voice #2: No. No. Nothing like that. My folks were the best. I was an only child so they gave me all the attention I needed. They were always telling me I was a good girl, and how proud they were of me. Papa always had a good job, so I usually got whatever I asked for. I always had pretty dresses. I suppose you could even say I was a little bit spoiled.
Voice #1: Weren’t your friends jealous of you?
Voice #2: They never seemed to be. Mama didn’t have to work, and our house was sort of the meeting place for all the kids in the neighborhood. I always had the newest toys and games so all my friends always wanted to come over and play with me.
Voice #1: All right, then, how about if you tell me a little bit about your marriage?
Voice #2: Actually, there isn’t much to tell. Robert and I got married right after college. I worked while he went to law school. Two years after he passed the bar, he decided he was in love with one of the law clerks at the office, so we divorced.
Voice #1: That must have been difficult for you.
Voice #2: In a way, I suppose it was. Naturally I was hurt—I felt betrayed. But I also looked at it as sort of an opportunity—a chance to be out on my own for once in my life. At first the freedom was kind of nice. I just never realized I’d be free this long. But that was a long time ago. I don’t want to kill myself because of Robert.
Voice #1: Do you know why?
Voice #2: You know, there are days when I could give you a dozen different reasons. Then there are times when I can’t even think of one, but I just know that I want to do it. I suppose I must be crazy. Everybody wants to live—people dying of cancer, or starving, or whatever—holding on to what little bit of life they have. And here I am. I’ve got everything a person could want; and yet, I can only think of how nice it would be to die. Tell me something, did you ever go to Disneyland, or an amusement park, or a carnival when you were little?
Voice #1: Yes…
Voice #2: Do you remember how you wanted to do everything, see everything, ride every ride, eat all the cotton candy?
Voice #1: Yes…
Voice #2: And then you went back, say twenty years later, maybe you took your own kids. Only this time, you didn’t need to see everything, ride every ride, and you probably didn’t even want any cotton candy. Have you had that experience?
Voice #1: Yes, I guess I have, but I not sure I understand what you’re getting at.
Voice #2: Don’t you understand? That’s what it’s like for me. I’ve come back to the fair. I’ve seen everything I want to see. I’ve ridden all the rides. Now I’m ready to leave. I’ve been ready to leave since I was seven years old!
Voice #1: I thought you said you were eight or nine when you first began thinking about dying.
Voice #2: Seven! Eight! Nine! What difference does it make? Since I was a little girl! Daddy’s little girl! That’s who I was—Daddy’s little girl, Mommy’s little helper. Then I got married, so I was Robert’s wife. Mrs. Robert Jenkins! The perfect wife! The perfect hostess! Mrs. Robert Jenkins! Never Amanda Jenkins or just plain Amanda! Mrs. Robert Jenkins! I put him through law school! I kept house for him! We lived together! We made love together! Then he throws me off for some pretty face at the office! Damn him! I’ve spent the last ten years trying to—what is it they used to say?—trying to find myself, trying to figure out who I am. And you know what I’ve discovered? I’m nobody. Nobody at all. I’ve spent my entire life being what somebody else wanted me to be. And now there’s nobody for me to be anything for.
Voice #1: You don’t have children?
Voice #2: Robert and I planned to have children. We always talked about having three. But we put it off until he finished law school, then until he could move up the corporate ladder. Then Miss Prettyface came along and all our plans were done. There was a time when I thought I’d like to have a child, but I’ve resigned myself to the fact that that’s never going to happen. I turned forty last month. Oh, I suppose I could still have a baby, but I’m not sure that I really want one. Still, you can’t imagine what it’s like knowing you’re never going to be a mother. It’s like something very precious has been taken from me, and there’s no way to get it back.
Voice #1: Have you ever tried suicide?
Voice #2: I’ve tried twice in the past year. Once, I bought a bottle of sleeping pills. I had the bottle open and the pills in my hand, but I couldn’t put them in my mouth.
Voice #1: And the second time?
Voice #2: The second time, I bought another bottle of pills and drove to the hospital.
Voice #1: That seems like a strange place to go.
Voice #2: Well, I knew from the first time that I might not be able to go through with it and I was afraid if I changed my mind after I took the pills, I might hurt someone else trying to drive myself to the hospital half-asleep. Besides, I couldn’t stand the idea of my body not being found for days, or even weeks, if I did it at home. I thought if I died in the hospital parking lot, a doctor or a nurse would eventually find me in my car. They’re used to seeing dead people, so it wouldn’t bother one of them. So I sat there in my car, listening to the radio. Then I took the pills. I think I took twenty-four.
Voice #1: What happened?
Voice #2: I didn’t realize they would take so long to work. I just sat there. Waiting to get sleepy. Waiting to die. But the longer I waited, the more afraid I became. So after about an hour, I went to the emergency room. They gave me something to make me vomit. Then they pushed a hose up my nose and down to my stomach. Then they pumped some kind of charcoal into my stomach. They said it was to absorb any of the toxins left in my system. After that they took me to the Intensive Care Unit so they could monitor me while I slept—I slept twenty hours.
Voice #1: Quite an ordeal.
Voice #2: You know, it’s funny. There have been times since then when I’ve thought that maybe I really did die that night and that this life that I’m left with is actually hell. Crazy, huh? Anyway, you’d think something like that would have cured me, but…
Voice #1: But?
Voice #2: I guess maybe I was cured for a while. But after a few months, I began to think about again—about how I might do it right. I wasn’t something that was always on my mind, just every now and then. Sometimes I’d be in my car and I’d think about how easy it would be to just turn the steering wheel sharply and let the car roll over. Some nights before I’d go to bed, I’d pray that I would just die in my sleep.
Voice #1: But you haven’t acted on these feeling?
Voice #2: No. They’ve always gone away before I tried anything.
Voice #1: And now?
Voice #2: I’ve been having these suicidal thoughts for the past two months. Almost constantly. From the moment I get up in the morning until I fall asleep at night, dying is always on my mind. Is there anything you can do to help me?
Voice #1: Well, you’ve called the right place for help. We know that sleeping tablets aren’t the answer. You’ve tried them and they didn’t solve anything. I don’t usually recommend this for women, but in your case, I think it may be the best solution. I would suggest a hand gun. It’s messy, but it’s quick and it’s sure. For $200 I can have a 38-caliber pistol delivered to your home within the next thirty minutes. If you don’t have a valid gun permit, I can sell you one with the serial number removed for $250. We prefer cash, but we do accept major credit cards.
Copyright 1988, by Big Dave
A late night telephone conversation:
Voice #1: Hello, you’ve reached the suicide hotline. May I ask your name?
Voice #2: Do I have to tell you my name?
Voice #1: No. Not if you don’t want to. How can I help you?
Voice #2: I…I’ve been thinking about killing myself. And I’m going to do it! Don’t try to talk me out of it!
Voice #1: So then, why are you calling?
Voice #2: I’m not really sure. I guess I just wanted to tell someone. To let somebody know why.
Voice #1: I’m here to listen if you want to talk.
Voice #2: I’m not certain I can really explain why I want to do it. I’ve felt this way for a long time. Now just seems to be the right time.
Voice #1: Has anything important happened recently to make you feel this way? Divorce? A death in the family?
Voice #2: No. Nobody’s died. I am divorced, but that was a long time ago—ten years. Besides, I’d been suicidal long before I ever met my husband. Ever since I was a little girl of eight or nine I’ve thought about dying, and how nice it would be.
Voice #1: So, you’ve been suicidal since early childhood. Were your parents abusive? Did they neglect you?
Voice #2: No. No. Nothing like that. My folks were the best. I was an only child so they gave me all the attention I needed. They were always telling me I was a good girl, and how proud they were of me. Papa always had a good job, so I usually got whatever I asked for. I always had pretty dresses. I suppose you could even say I was a little bit spoiled.
Voice #1: Weren’t your friends jealous of you?
Voice #2: They never seemed to be. Mama didn’t have to work, and our house was sort of the meeting place for all the kids in the neighborhood. I always had the newest toys and games so all my friends always wanted to come over and play with me.
Voice #1: All right, then, how about if you tell me a little bit about your marriage?
Voice #2: Actually, there isn’t much to tell. Robert and I got married right after college. I worked while he went to law school. Two years after he passed the bar, he decided he was in love with one of the law clerks at the office, so we divorced.
Voice #1: That must have been difficult for you.
Voice #2: In a way, I suppose it was. Naturally I was hurt—I felt betrayed. But I also looked at it as sort of an opportunity—a chance to be out on my own for once in my life. At first the freedom was kind of nice. I just never realized I’d be free this long. But that was a long time ago. I don’t want to kill myself because of Robert.
Voice #1: Do you know why?
Voice #2: You know, there are days when I could give you a dozen different reasons. Then there are times when I can’t even think of one, but I just know that I want to do it. I suppose I must be crazy. Everybody wants to live—people dying of cancer, or starving, or whatever—holding on to what little bit of life they have. And here I am. I’ve got everything a person could want; and yet, I can only think of how nice it would be to die. Tell me something, did you ever go to Disneyland, or an amusement park, or a carnival when you were little?
Voice #1: Yes…
Voice #2: Do you remember how you wanted to do everything, see everything, ride every ride, eat all the cotton candy?
Voice #1: Yes…
Voice #2: And then you went back, say twenty years later, maybe you took your own kids. Only this time, you didn’t need to see everything, ride every ride, and you probably didn’t even want any cotton candy. Have you had that experience?
Voice #1: Yes, I guess I have, but I not sure I understand what you’re getting at.
Voice #2: Don’t you understand? That’s what it’s like for me. I’ve come back to the fair. I’ve seen everything I want to see. I’ve ridden all the rides. Now I’m ready to leave. I’ve been ready to leave since I was seven years old!
Voice #1: I thought you said you were eight or nine when you first began thinking about dying.
Voice #2: Seven! Eight! Nine! What difference does it make? Since I was a little girl! Daddy’s little girl! That’s who I was—Daddy’s little girl, Mommy’s little helper. Then I got married, so I was Robert’s wife. Mrs. Robert Jenkins! The perfect wife! The perfect hostess! Mrs. Robert Jenkins! Never Amanda Jenkins or just plain Amanda! Mrs. Robert Jenkins! I put him through law school! I kept house for him! We lived together! We made love together! Then he throws me off for some pretty face at the office! Damn him! I’ve spent the last ten years trying to—what is it they used to say?—trying to find myself, trying to figure out who I am. And you know what I’ve discovered? I’m nobody. Nobody at all. I’ve spent my entire life being what somebody else wanted me to be. And now there’s nobody for me to be anything for.
Voice #1: You don’t have children?
Voice #2: Robert and I planned to have children. We always talked about having three. But we put it off until he finished law school, then until he could move up the corporate ladder. Then Miss Prettyface came along and all our plans were done. There was a time when I thought I’d like to have a child, but I’ve resigned myself to the fact that that’s never going to happen. I turned forty last month. Oh, I suppose I could still have a baby, but I’m not sure that I really want one. Still, you can’t imagine what it’s like knowing you’re never going to be a mother. It’s like something very precious has been taken from me, and there’s no way to get it back.
Voice #1: Have you ever tried suicide?
Voice #2: I’ve tried twice in the past year. Once, I bought a bottle of sleeping pills. I had the bottle open and the pills in my hand, but I couldn’t put them in my mouth.
Voice #1: And the second time?
Voice #2: The second time, I bought another bottle of pills and drove to the hospital.
Voice #1: That seems like a strange place to go.
Voice #2: Well, I knew from the first time that I might not be able to go through with it and I was afraid if I changed my mind after I took the pills, I might hurt someone else trying to drive myself to the hospital half-asleep. Besides, I couldn’t stand the idea of my body not being found for days, or even weeks, if I did it at home. I thought if I died in the hospital parking lot, a doctor or a nurse would eventually find me in my car. They’re used to seeing dead people, so it wouldn’t bother one of them. So I sat there in my car, listening to the radio. Then I took the pills. I think I took twenty-four.
Voice #1: What happened?
Voice #2: I didn’t realize they would take so long to work. I just sat there. Waiting to get sleepy. Waiting to die. But the longer I waited, the more afraid I became. So after about an hour, I went to the emergency room. They gave me something to make me vomit. Then they pushed a hose up my nose and down to my stomach. Then they pumped some kind of charcoal into my stomach. They said it was to absorb any of the toxins left in my system. After that they took me to the Intensive Care Unit so they could monitor me while I slept—I slept twenty hours.
Voice #1: Quite an ordeal.
Voice #2: You know, it’s funny. There have been times since then when I’ve thought that maybe I really did die that night and that this life that I’m left with is actually hell. Crazy, huh? Anyway, you’d think something like that would have cured me, but…
Voice #1: But?
Voice #2: I guess maybe I was cured for a while. But after a few months, I began to think about again—about how I might do it right. I wasn’t something that was always on my mind, just every now and then. Sometimes I’d be in my car and I’d think about how easy it would be to just turn the steering wheel sharply and let the car roll over. Some nights before I’d go to bed, I’d pray that I would just die in my sleep.
Voice #1: But you haven’t acted on these feeling?
Voice #2: No. They’ve always gone away before I tried anything.
Voice #1: And now?
Voice #2: I’ve been having these suicidal thoughts for the past two months. Almost constantly. From the moment I get up in the morning until I fall asleep at night, dying is always on my mind. Is there anything you can do to help me?
Voice #1: Well, you’ve called the right place for help. We know that sleeping tablets aren’t the answer. You’ve tried them and they didn’t solve anything. I don’t usually recommend this for women, but in your case, I think it may be the best solution. I would suggest a hand gun. It’s messy, but it’s quick and it’s sure. For $200 I can have a 38-caliber pistol delivered to your home within the next thirty minutes. If you don’t have a valid gun permit, I can sell you one with the serial number removed for $250. We prefer cash, but we do accept major credit cards.
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