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Saturday, September 8, 2012

Ask The Cranky Old Man Next Door

Dear Cranky Old Man:
Last year I installed a ceiling fan, then just last month my wife noticed it started making these noises.  She says on slow, it just goes wurrrr, wurrr, wurrr, but then on medium, it goes whacka, whacka, and on high, it's tickity-tickity-tickity.  I've turned on the fan myself, but I don't hear anything.  What should I do?
Noisy in Boise

Dear Noisy:
My mother was right.  I should've been a doctor, then I wouldn't have to put up with numb-skulls like you.  This is easy to fix.  Take a big roll of duct tape and some extra-large cotton balls.  Then tape the cotton balls in her ears and ask if the fan still bothers her.  While you're at it, tape her mouth shut.  Now leave me alone.

Dear Cranky Old Man:
Last spring I married the most wonderful man in the world, except for one thing - my new mother-in-law.  She comes over almost everyday, and I know she's snooping.  For example, the other day she asked to use my bathroom, and later she was asking if everything was alright between me and Jim because she noticed a bottle of Prozac and were either of us feeling depressed.  She'd been going through my medicine cabinet!  I guess she means well, but I just want her out of my business.  How should I handle this.
Harried Newly-Married

Dear Harried:
Thank God the liquor stores open early today, I'll need a good belt after dealing with you nit-wits.  Go to a toy store and buy out all their marbles.  A couple or thousand or so should take care of it.  Then carefully - and I mean carefully - put all those bad boys in your medicine cabinet and close the door quick before any come out.  Next time that old battle-ax uses the restroom and takes a peek in the medicine cabinet - WHOOM!  All them marbles come out, and problem solved.  She won't go snooping in your house anymore.  Now leave me alone.

Dear Cranky Old Man:
I'm a high-school principal and I'm sick and tired of dealing with young men and their sagging trousers.  We've tried everything from assigning detention to writing the parents and tightening up the dress code, but they still come to school waddling in the doors because their pants are so lose.  Every teenage boy in the school needs one hand free just to hold his pants up.  I'm at my wits end.
Helpless in High School

Dear Helpless:
You sound like just the sort of namby-pamby I'd expect in a public school.  No wonder the country's going to hell in a hand basket.  What you need is a good big tiger.  If you can't get a tiger, a mountain lion would do, but a tiger would work best.  Feed it as little as possible and get it real hungry.  Then once a day, while the kids are changing classes, let that rascal loose in the hallway.  It won't eat more than one, but it'll eat the slowest one.  That'll learn 'em to wear pants that fit.  Now leave me alone.

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