My Work Schedule

By Jim Hagarty

When I was 15, I thought I had to be working very hard at a job to get ahead.

When I was 25, I thought I had to be working very hard at a job.

When I was 35, I thought I had to be working very hard.

When I was 45, I thought I had to be working hard.

When I was 55, I thought I had to be working.

When I was 65, I thought I had to be.

The Name Game

By Jim Hagarty
Punn Ditt Inc.

Here in Canada, we have a new prime minister. A good-looking young chap who has been attracting attention around the world in other countries which are wishing they could have their own Justin Trudeau. He is the oldest son of an earlier prime minister we had, Pierre Trudeau.

Canadians all love this guy. Well, maybe not every Canadian.

Some followers of Canada’s Conservative Party who got thumped in the election last fall are not all taking it well. They like to comment on the Internet and think up creative and respectful names for our new prime minister.

This is one recent morning’s sampling:

  • Golden Boy
  • Pampered Prick
  • Junior
  • Boy Blunder
  • Rich Trust Fund Baby
  • His Highness King Justin
  • Messiah Trudeau
  • Mr. Selfie
  • The Rich Part Time Drama Queen
  • Sonny Daze
  • Jihadi Justin
  • Trust Fund Baby
  • The Hologram
  • Our Boy
  • Zoolander
  • Trudope
  • Captain Selfie

I am looking forward to the day these enlightened ones are back in charge of Canada. I might not be around to see it.

Maybe my grandchildren.

Gun Smarts

By Jim Hagarty

So science has developed the “smart” gun.

A smart gun, or personalized gun, is a firearm that includes a safety feature or features that allow it to fire only when activated by an authorized user.

Good for science.

Meanwhile, God is apparently busy trying to create a smart authorized user. Along with a smart unauthorized user.

He is said to be not even close to perfecting either one and it is rumoured He has gone back to creating Earth-like planets Americans can move to after Donald Trump becomes president.

The Hitchhiker

By Jim Hagarty

There is a country song about a singer who is driving along near Montgomery, Alabama, when he spies a hitchhiker by the side of the road. A long, lanky fellow in a cowboy hat.

The driver pulls over to pick him up. The grateful passenger is Hank Williams. Fifty years after the country music icon died in the back seat of his car.

A similar thing happened to me today.

I never met my Grandpa. He died in 1950, a few months before I was born.

But there, on the side of the road, was a hitchhiker. A thin man of medium build, dressed in what seemed like Sunday clothes, wearing a neat straw hat.

I pulled over and was soon astonished that the man was my Grandfather. It was quite an experience. He was startled too to become acquainted with the grandson who had picked him up.

“Where are you heading?” I asked him. He gave me an address. I wasn’t familiar with the place. I pulled out my iPhone.

“Just wait a minute. I will enter the address in Google Maps.”

“In what?” he asked.

I tried to explain. He was fascinated with the little device I held in my hands.

“Do you mind if I go through the drivethrough?” I asked my ancestor.

“What is a drivethrough?” he asked.

He didn’t want anything. I ordered a drink at the restaurant speaker. He was startled when a voice took my order.

I was handed a paper cup at the window. I explained it contained coffee.

“In a cup made of paper?” he asked.

We drove along. A female voice on my phone told me to turn right, turn left.

Then the phone made a strange sound.

“Hey, I just got a text,” I said.

“A what?” asked my forebear.

I pulled over to answer the text. And an email that had also come in.

Then the phone rang. Grandpa was startled. I answered the call. He knew what a telephone was, but had never seen one not attached to a wall and a receiver that didn’t have a cord.

We drove a few more miles. I pulled over again.

“Do you mind if I check my bank balance?” I asked.

“That’s fine,” said Grandpa. “But where are you going to find a bank around here? And it’s Saturday. They are all closed.”

“No,” I laughed. “I will check it on my phone.”

After that, I showed him a video of two puppies chasing a tennis ball. He turned white. He had died eight years before the farmhouse he had built was outfitted with its first black and white TV. He had never heard the term TV.

We started driving again.

“Do you mind if I pop in a CD?” I asked my grandfather.

“A what?”

Music boomed out of the car speakers. He jumped a bit in his seat. I turned off the music.

We drove along in silence for a while, then I pulled into a gas station to fill up. I started getting out of the car.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Don’t worry,” I answered. I walked up to a big machine, stuck my card in a slot, removed the pump handle and filled up my tank. Replaced the handle, got back in the car, and started to drive away.

“Don’t you have to pay for that gas?” asked Grandpa.

“I already did,” I replied.

We drove along. I pressed a button and rolled down the windows. It was a hot day. The sight of the windows going down on their own surprised my Grandfather.

We passed a Chevy Volt as we drove along.

“Why is that car moving but not making a sound?” asked Grandfather.

I started to explain about electric cars.

He interrupted me.

“Could you let me off at the next corner?” he asked me.

I pulled over. Said a painful goodbye. He got out.

As I drove away, I saw him looking astonished at a young man who went whizzing by him on a motorized skateboard.

I put the CD back in.

“I’m so lonesome, I could cry,” sang Hank Williams.

A tear ran down my cheek.