The Green Red Green (24 page)

These are just the most obvious areas of male dominance that deserve scientific research or a study. I would be willing to undertake the study if someone gives me, say, $3,100.

T
hey have sophisticated computers in cars these days. Things like the GPS that tells you exactly how to get to where you’re going, for anyone who doesn’t have a wife. Or the central monitoring unit that tells you if there’s a door open or a seat belt undone or your engine just fell out. So I’m thinking they could easily devise a computer to keep track of how fast you’re going compared to the speed limit. For example, if you’re driving to work and the speed limit is sixty, but you’re only going thirty because the traffic is so bad, that would be registered in the computer. Let’s say you did that for fifteen minutes. The computer would show that as a credit on the dashboard screen, and as soon as you hit an open stretch of road, you’d be allowed to use that credit without getting a speeding ticket. You could go 90 for fifteen minutes or 120 for seven and a half minutes or 150 for three and three-quarters minutes or the speed of light for a nanosecond. As soon as your credit was used up, you would resume the speed limit.

I know this would never work, but it’s nice to dream about.

Y
ou ever see these old guys with the young ex-model wives? He’s a shrivelled-up billionaire and she’s gorgeous and the same age as his socks. They call them trophy wives—a little something to have on your arm to let other guys know that you have more to offer at ninety than they do at twenty-seven. (You may have more to offer, but not for nearly as long.)

Okay, I can understand the trophy concept from the old guy’s point of view; I just don’t see the appeal for the woman. Now, if it’s love, that’s fine. Logic and love rarely intersect. But if it’s
something else, then it seems to me that this old codger is a trophy husband for her. Some trophy! I’ve got bowling awards that look better than most of these guys.

I’m thinking that these women are more attracted to the safety and security of a rich grandfatherly type than they are to the good looks and virility of a man their own age. And I guess when the trophy husband passes on in a year or two, she just finds another one like him. There are a lot of rich old guys who find young women attractive. But it takes someone special to be a career trophy wife. You need the personality of a nurse and a bunch of black dresses.

I
‘ve just leased a car, and I found the leasing options to be interesting. The payments are about the same as they are for a car loan, but at the end of the term, I have more choices with the lease. With a loan, you may end up owning a car that you don’t like. With a lease, that doesn’t happen. So naturally, I was wondering if you could expand the lease theory to personal relationships. What if instead of marrying a person, you just sign a three-year lease? At the end of the term, you could re-sign for another three years, unload the person privately, or just walk away—as long as you hadn’t had any accidents.

O
nce in a while, you have to call a repairman to come and fix something in your home. In most cases, you don’t know the
guy and probably just picked his number out of the phone book. The problem, of course, is that you may be dealing with an incompetent who will create more problems than he corrects. Now, you don’t want to be rude and ask him outright if he has any idea what he’s doing, so here’s a way to make a very quick judgment on the quality of the impending work: hang around and look at the contents of his tool box. If it contains any of the following, you may have a problem:

A
fter you’ve been married for a while, your personal belongings tend to get intermingled. Sometimes, to save money or because you ran out of something, you end up using toiletries that your wife bought for herself. This can be inappropriate and sometimes harmful. For example, a razor blade that has shaved a pair of human legs is no longer safe to use on a human face. Toothpaste containing baking soda is not for the discerning palate. And you shouldn’t be using Shampoo for Fine Hair when what you really need is Shampoo for Scarce Hair.

N
othing spoils a vacation faster than kids constantly whining, “Are we there yet?” “I’m hungry. I’m bored. I think we’re lost. This road stinks.” Or how about all five of your youngsters chanting, “We want to stop for ice cream!” in the middle of your airline flight to Disneyland?

To make the family trip less of a screaming-and-pouting festival, there are some games to amuse the kids while you drive. Or if your kids are old enough to drive, here are some games to calm your nerves.

Get your kids to try to unscramble the following everyday words. For example, the first one, “Upshut,” is really “Shut up.” Get it? Enjoy.

Wasn’t that fun? Now try unscrambling these common phrases used in everyday conversation:

SPLEW RRS MUBS PLUNT GNURINGLY.

YABBA DABBA DOO!

US DEFT GRILL UBU SNO TIDDUS POOTY.

SHE SMELL SEA SCHELL BY DEE SEECHORE.

KLATUX BARADE NICTO.

YUU STIPUD DOGDANT

IMA TON A NGURIELDMMGINNEGS CQOUISTNT’ TURB-PELT GNU.

QUNADO OMNI FLUNKUS MORITATI.

AH! AH! AH! AH! AH! … WELBOT.

DOMO ARIGATO, MR. ROBOTO.

IXNAY, IT’ SAY EETHAY OPSCAY!

O
ne way to pass the time on a long family trip is to have a singalong. But most songs last only three minutes and end up with everyone arguing over what the lyrics are. I’ve actually seen people come to blows over the words to “Blinded by the Light” by Manfred Mann. And you don’t want to be in a van full of guys singing “I Am Woman.”

The ideal song for a long trip is “99 Bottles of Beer.” It lasts for miles and miles. Everyone can remember the words. And everyone knows exactly how long till the end of the song. On the other hand, “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” gets monotonous pretty quickly and leads to arguments over when someone was supposed to join in with his verse. That old classic “Hello Operator, Give Me Number 9” might offend some passengers. And the popular “Hey, Bus Driver, Speed Up a Little Bit” is lots of fun until you hit a guardrail.

Since we live in such a large country with long, lonely stretches of highway with nothing to see except scenery and nature, it’s obvious we need more songs for long trips. So here are a few I’ve written. Enjoy.

(To the tune of “Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?”)

(One passenger does a trumpet solo with his lips, making a lot of wet, funny sounds while everyone else sings the chorus.)

Chorus:

(Repeat with passengers taking turns doing the trumpet solo. The goal is to make the funniest sounds with the least spit.)

(At this point, someone reads what’s on a passing sign.)

(Repeat with a new sign.)

Everyone But Us

(To the tune of “London Bridge Is Falling Down”)

(Repeat.)

(Some songs involve clapping along or hand gestures and so on. This song is sort of like that.)

(PUNCH!)

Chorus:

(Repeat from the top.)

(Here’s another song that gets kids physically involved.)

(Pull out a Kleenex and start at top of song again, changing “one” to “two” and so on. Stop when you run out of Kleenex.)

I
’m not talking about a car to take to the drive-in theatre, because where the theatre used to be there’s now a Walmart. I’m talking about your very own self-contained drive-away, drive-in theatre, made out of your car.

Your guests will sit in the car, just like at a drive-in. But the screen will be mounted on the inside of the hood, and when the hood flips up, forward, the screen’s in position.

(If you have a car where the hood opens the other way, just wail away at it with a ten pound sledge and then re-attach it properly using duct tape)

Hang your screen on the inside of the hood. You can use a bed-sheet or, if you prefer something white, I suggest a fridge door.

Mount your projector on the rear deck behind the back seat. (You may have to move the dog with the blinking eyes) Attach the power cord to the car’s battery.

While you’re there, dump a bag of unpopped popcorn kernels into the hole in the exhaust manifold. Once you start the engine and the manifold heats up, the popcorn will pop and be blown out the exhaust. You can catch it by clipping a pair of panty hose over the end of your tailpipe.