Night of the Sick Geezer

Last week, I was so sick, I found myself unable to write a new blog post. Hey it was a struggle to get outta bed!

So...about that...

For some time, me and my fellow "geezers (that's what my niece calls us; yet she still enjoys our outings!)" had been planning a reunion of sorts at a local bar.

With some effort and through a ton of texts, I managed to get (almost) everyone on board, including one of our pals who resides in Portland. 

The bar was Ground Zero, the area where I picked up this hideous virus (and am still recovering from). But through the miracle of modern forensics, intensive investigation, and arduous research (and lotsa assumptions), I found out exactly who Patient Zero was.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't as tough as all of that...for you see, in our group texts, one of our friends gave us a "heads up. I'm recovering from a bad cold."

To which I responded, "unless you're 100% recovered, stay at home because we don't want your plague."

His comeback? "Now I'm more bound and determined to come."

Sure enough, when I saw him enter the bar, I turned to my brother and said "crap. I didn't think he'd actually come."

With about a dozen of us in attendance (half of the bar's capacity pretty much), we had pushed two tables together. At the time of Patient Zero's arrival, our second table was occupied by just one other geezer.

I pointed at the barren table and said, "you sit over there."

He didn't. Not only did he find it funny to sit down right next to me (12 guys around two small tables is quite "cozy"), hilarity further ensued as he comically rubbed the back of his hand against mine. Several times. And since it was loud in there, he yelled while talking to me and I felt his virus-ridden spittle land on my cheek and hand. This occurred during his explanation that it'd been a week and he wasn't contagious any longer.

Yikes.

Anyway, a good time was had by one and all of we geezers. And after that night, I went home. And waited for the other shoe to drop.

And drop it did. Right on top of my head like a cartoon anvil purchased from the Acme Company.

Wednesday morning, I felt like a pu-pu platter. As the day progressed, I grew worse and felt like a three day old pu-pu platter. Eight days later, I still haven't completely recovered from the Virus From Hell. Thanks buddy!

So it was my civic duty to check in with the other geezers. I put out a high alert and canvassed them to see if any others had fallen ill. Sure enough, my pal from Portland had the exact thing I had, picked it up at the same time, and we're both in the recovering phase. (I still haven't heard back from three of the geezers, so they're either busy or on their death beds.)

I told my wife the entire horrific saga. She said, "if you die from this, I'm not inviting 'Patient Zero' to you to your funeral." I suppose there was some comfort to be had in that. When I told a couple of the other geezers my wife's comment, one guy said, "make sure your wife knows I'm still on a low-carb diet and pretzels and light beer will be fine at your wake." It's good to have friends.

Meanwhile, Patient Zero still refuses to accept full responsibility for his reckless actions. Sure he has a point that we were in a crowded bar, but I'm extremely suspect. At the bar, my interactions were limited to the 12 of us geezers. And prior to our soiree, I hadn't been outta the house in about a week. The evidence certainly points toward him. 

In a way, I suppose I don't blame him. Not really. I probably would've done the same thing if I were in his sick shoes. It's not often we have everyone gathered from our college days, quite an accomplishment, one not to be missed.

Still...still...this cautionary tale adds an entire new spin on the saying "drink responsibly."

Speaking of irresponsible behavior, people don't come any more irresponsible than my character, Zach, possibly the world's dimmest male stripper (whoops...excuse me..."male entertainment dancer"). Just ask his long-suffering detective sister who constantly has to bail him out of jail and worse situations. All because he's kinda dumb and can't help but fall into very bad situations. See for yourself in my Zach and Zora comedy mystery series available here.

Sorry, guys! No new blog post this week...

 ...someone has graciously donated their plague to me. It's all I can do to get outta bed. I'll be back next week for more fun and frolics.

Zombie Cow!

While my wife peruses the morning "news" on her tablet, she likes to call out ludicrous headlines.

"Here's one for you, honey," she said. "'Beloved cow killed by trespasser; ranch owner says not the first time.'"

Yow! Just how many times has this poor cow died? You'd think that after a while the ranch owner might just throw in the towel and quit performing his voodoo rites to bring back his beloved cow.

Obviously, the headline suffered from poor writing. This is the kind of stuff my take-no-prisoners journalism professor in college would've ridiculed for the entire class' enjoyment.

Which brings me to the sad state of so-called journalism these days. Remember all of those 40's and 50's movies where newsrooms are packed with hard-hitting, dedicated, chain-smoking reporters? They're pretty much gone now. Instead of the bustling newsroom, we have conspiracy theorists churning out crap on their computer from their mom's basement. And more and more of our newspapers are going the way of disco.

Now, every time I hear the term "fake news," I cringe. Mostly because I attribute the term to our preening jackass in charge who shrugs off anything negative he hears about himself as "fake news."

But I'd be foolish to doubt the existence of "fake news." These days, people from both sides of the political aisle throw out anything that suits their agenda, true or not. It's becoming harder and harder to sift  the reality from the crappery.

News is compromised. Everywhere. Even the highest bastion of nighttime news shows--60 Minutes--has become vulnerable to our cranky, orange baby king's needs and wants by offering apologies and losing lawsuits. It's pretty sad.

And never trust anyone who only watches one news channel. If some guy says to me, "last night on NewsMax, they said President Trump bla, bla, bla...," I immediately tune them out. Why, it seems like only yesterday that news was supposed to be completely unbiased and not push their own agenda. Those days are long behind us. Even CNN or MSNBC are admittedly more left-leaning than they probably should be. So it is hard to get true news any more. Try to stay balanced. Go ahead and watch CNN. But then switch over to Fox News to see what the other half is up to! If nothing else, many laughs will ensue!

And do you guys remember editors? You don't? Well, for good reason! They don't exist any longer, as dead as a zombie cow. An editor used to be a full-time job, the overseer of bad writing and fact-checking. Now, any buffoon with access to a computer can churn out anything and post it on the world-wide intronets as "news," the facts be damned. And don't even get me started on the misspellings and poor writing in these "stories." Even professional outlets apparently have done away with editors, their stories riddled with errors.

Okay, I realize I'm coming off as a negative nelly and a cranky coot. But having a journalism degree means a lot to me. Having said all of that, there's still plenty of enjoyment to be had by looking at a lot of the trashy click-bait and articles purporting to be "news." Laughs abound! 

Hey! Didn't I start out by writing about a zombie cow?

While I'm on my cranky old guy soapbox, you may as well check out my book of short stories, Twisted Tales From Tornado Alley. In it you will find stories of horror and occasional bursts of dark comedy. But I also wrote it at a time when I saw where our country was headed and some of the stories represent everything that's wrong with our country these days. (It's also fun, though. Don't let me scare you off!)