Month: November 2017

The truck shown above appears to be a standard tractor trailer truck but it isn’t. I saw it in a parking lot in my hometown this summer. It is about the size of a standard large pickup truck. It appears to have possibly been custom made unless this model is actually for sale somewhere. There is a Peterbilt logo on the radiator, the name of a bona fide tractor trailer company. To be honest I don’t know what I was looking at when I saw this. All I know is it is not what it appears to be – a full-sized “tractor” that pulls the long trailers on our highways. – JH

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By Jim Hagarty
Renowned Terrible Limericker

I knew a young robin named Pete,
Whose only desire was to eat.
The bird got so big
Cause he ate like a pig.
He died happy, his life was complete.

By Jim Hagarty
1991

It comes as quite a disappointment to learn that the Canadian government has once again given in to protesters, in this case the group Victims of Violence, and killed – pardon me – cancelled a planned conference for murderers.

After all, killers have feelings too. (Well, okay, they’re a little short in the feelings category but they do have lots of rights, don’t they?)

At a low cost to the taxpayer of only $20,000, the government had planned to hold the three-day conference for 100 convicted killers – 13 women and 87 men – at Joyceville penitentiary near Kingston to examine how well treatment programs are working for long-term inmates. The convicts, all sentenced to life in prison, had also planned to discuss ways of lobbying Ottawa to drop the parole eligibility date for first-degree murder from 25 to 15 years.

The prison’s acting warden, Janis Grant, said correctional authorities and the inmates were planning to exchange ideas in a “brainstorming” session. One critic of that plan, who cannot be named, wondered whether or not it would be difficult to have a “brainstorming” session when there were so few brains among the proposed participants on both sides.

Picky, picky, picky.

The plan was to bus inmates to Joyceville from prisons across Ontario for workshops, speeches and “mingling.” Apparently, the event was becoming such a popular attraction, some inmates swore they’d kill to get there. They were promptly informed, however, that they had already fulfilled that part of the registration requirements. In a similar vein, some had planned to go to the convention dressed to kill but this was being discouraged for the same reasons. Nevertheless, given the acknowledged tendencies of the conference delegates, it was expected after a few of the “mingling” sessions, conference attendance would drop from 100 to about 75 by the second day and only 50 or so by Day 3. Some observers did concede this possibility as perhaps the only positive outcome of the conference.

A wellknown professional bleeding heart was scheduled to speak at the conference. An informed source said she planned to tell the murderers that they are fine; that it is society that is all screwed up. It was predicted her speech would go over very well.

Workshop subjects were rumoured to range from, “Dress To Impress At Your Next Parole Hearing,” to “Changing Murder’s Image For The ’90s.”
One seminar entitled, “How Stereotypes Are Hurting The Serial Killer,” was to include suggestions on how mass murderers could enhance their public relations, tips such as marrying in prison, finding God, writing books, etc.

All in all, this conference had all the signs of knocking ’em dead, so to speak.

But then along came Victims of Violence, angry that those who had brutally killed their relatives and friends should be wined and dined at the taxpayers’ expense at a three-day conference. They wanted the $20,000 to be spent to help police solve more murders. And though they were successful in convincing the government to cancel the event, I fear they may have missed a glorious opportunity for at least a little revenge.

After all, anyone who has attended a three-day conference, especially a government conference, complete with workshops, seminars and lectures, would know how severe a punishment such an experience can be.

And after a few good government “brainstorming” sessions, the next lives some of those convicts might have thought about taking could very well have been their own.

By Jim Hagarty
2014

I know that the service station sells gas and does auto repairs and is not a grocery store.

But four chocolate bars? Really?

There they were, on a shelf of their own, a shelf about three feet wide. They were spaced out to make it look like there were 40 candy bars. But there were only four.

I have been known to eat two chocolate bars in one sitting. I could have wiped out their entire inventory in a day, two max.

But I didn’t buy a bar as the supply of four looked as though they’d been there when FDR was still president.

Not bragging, but I know my chocolate bars. And this was not the place to be buying them.

By Jim Hagarty
2014

This is a story of hope and wonder and persistence. Some might add idiocy but that is not a word that applies, in my opinion.

In April 2013, a good lookin’ young fella (me), bought a nice used car (on the Internet, so you know I couldn’t go wrong). It was fantastic in every way with only a few flaws. One of those little wrinkles was a foggy headlight lens. So foggy it’s a wonder any light ever escaped it.

This was a problem I wanted to address so I took one year to think about it. This is the required waiting time for an issue such as this. To take action any sooner than 12 months would be impetuous and potentially dangerous.

When Phase 2 (obsession takes hold) arrived following the year-long consideration period, I began to research solutions. I am not a car guy in much the same way that Stevie Wonder is not a house painter, and so I defer to our mechanic to solve 99 per cent of our car’s problems. If he says I need a two-phase, four-pronged, self-timing, fully computerized, oil deflector injecting thing, I tell him to go ahead and crack one on there, price be damned. But I draw the line at a foggy piece of plastic. If I can’t fix that, then I have failed as a human being.

I was willing to do anything it took to clear up this lens cover, anything, that is, except spend any money. I drew the line at that. So, when you want to do something for next to nothing, you turn to the Internet, which I did.

First out of the gate was toothpaste. Several videos by several people showed them smearing on ordinary toothpaste and wiping it off almost immediately to show a perfectly clear lens. I chuckled and laughed, grabbed some toothpaste and took to the task. Those idiots on YouTube need to be rounded up and charged with giving out false headlight lens advice. The only fitting penalty would be to have each of them eat a tube of toothpaste.

Next up, vinegar. The miracle household chemical. More videos. More instant results. I ran outside, vinegar in hand, applied as directed, and voila! Nothing. Now I had a few more YouTube frauds to add to my hate list.

Baking soda and vinegar. It fizzed which is a sure sign of something that would clear up a headlight lens. If I ever bump into the young man who made the video with that solution, I will pour baking soda and vinegar down his pants.

Baking soda and Murphy’s Oil Soap. OMG, why didn’t I think of that? So obvious. And so ridiculously wrong. I will never forgive the chump that posted that video.

Blue Dawn dish soap and vinegar. When I die I want to be embalmed with Blue Dawn and vinegar. I hope that solution keeps me intact for a while because it absolutely fails as a headlight cleaner.

I took to Facebook and posted my problem. I got several replies but I had obviously misled some of my FB friends as they somehow had the impression that I was willing to pay for a kit to clean my headlight lens. I am not.

However, on Sunday, I had to admit defeat. I went to the store and stared blankly at the couple of dozen kits and ointments that promise to clean up my headlight cover. I got discouraged and walked out with nothing.

Home again, and foolishly cruising the Internet one more time, I noticed this little comment from someone, somewhere who I now have a crush on. “If you’re desperate,” wrote the commenter, “and nothing you have tried has cleared up the problem, apply some baby oil. Buff dry.”

I love baby oil and I would like to officially thank all the babies who got together to create this oil, whatever is in it, I don’t care. My headlight lens is clear as a bell now and I am running all over our property applying baby oil to everything that moves.

My problem was solved for less than a nickel. Less than a nickel is my favourite price to pay for anything. I am tempted to do a YouTube video, but am resisting. I don’t want anyone beating me on the head with a baby oil bottle although I could probably treat that bruising with Blue Dawn and vinegar.

I was at a wedding this summer and as part of the photograph session afterwards, the newly married couple had rented the services of a man who owns this 1962 Rolls Royce. It appeared to be in mint condition and the owner estimated its current value at about $100,000. When I was a kid and dreaming about cars morning, noon, and night, the Rolls Royce was the best. Over the years, I have encountered a few of them as I have been driving along and still go nuts at the sight.

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By Jim Hagarty
Renowned Terrible Limericker

I know a young man named Landau
Who favours cheddar cheese and how.
He nibbles all day,
Also likes curds and whey.
So much so he bought his own cow.

By Jim Hagarty
2014

I will go out on a limb and venture to say that you did not do this yesterday. If I am wrong, let me know.

I was at our back fence when I saw our cat Mario lurking by the composter. A few minutes later, I saw him streaking madly for the garage. With a mouse in his mouth. We have two composters and they serve as high-rise mouse condos.

This meant only one thing. A half eaten rodent was soon to be deposited on the garage floor and I would be on my knees cleaning up blood and guts, a job I do not have a lot of good feelings for.

I took off running. I surprised myself and discovered that I am able to outrun a cat with a mouse in its mouth. I got to the back garage door and slammed it shut, then noticed the window was open too. I quickly closed it. Mario was left frustrated outside with his bounty which he was bringing to me as a gift. On this one occasion, I did look a gift cat in the mouth.

Now I will readily admit that I might have lost the race if I had had to run it with a 20-pound ground hog hanging from my teeth, but I won and that is all that matters.

It’s funny. I hobble down the street every day and tell the neighbours (who also run away), how much my hip hurts. My young neighbour brings over his tractor and cleans the snow out of my driveway all winter long because he is under the impression that I am about one or two stumbles away from a wheelchair, though I have no idea where he came up with that notion. However, my true Olympian spirit showed in my high-speed, mouse-deflecting sprint to the garage, and my bones were not a factor.

The score so far is Mario, 35, Jim, 1, but at least I’m on the board.