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151 articles in category Humour / Subscribe

Autumn is part of an integral cycle. This is the time we have to pull up the plants we cherished, fed, and protected during the last five months of the year. During the summer months we were proud of how strong our plants looked. We waited patiently for their fruit to ripen so we could fill our family’s tables with delicious vegetables and sweet-scented flowers. Like everything in everyone’s life all things change and nothing stays the same. In other words, everything is mortal.

Walking into my garden, I am saddened to see my tomato plants turn black with brownish green tomatoes left on dying stems. When the tomatoes were in full bloom you couldn’t see the cage through the thick foliage of green leaves and ripened tomatoes. In fact, throughout the entire summer I had to add miles of twine in order to keep my once giant tomato plants from falling to the ground. This of course made the task of cleaning up this part of my garden more difficult, because I had to separate the plants from the cages and then from the twine.

After I pulled the main part of the tomato plant away from the cages I accidentally knocked my glasses from my head and proceeded to step on them in the muck of mud and crushed tomatoes. Looking down at them and seeing they no longer looked like glasses I decided to leave them in the garden over the winter. Who knows maybe I’ll grow an eye-glass plant. Continue Reading →

Ii was hanging out the washing in the back garden, as I infrequently do, when a woman who was walking down the road strolled into the garden and stopped for a chat about the weather, the state of the nation and such matters. In those days the garden was unfenced, you see, but not any more.

Staring at her in some amazement I wondered if this was just a localized way of introducing oneself to new people, or was it – I suspiciously conjectured – simply a short cut habitually taken? After a couple of minutes of one-sided idle chit-chat over the washing line, during which my growing annoyance was camouflaged by inane grinning, she continued diagonally through next door’s garden and casually left the premises via a small gap in their leylandii hedging.

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My wife was annoyed with me the other day. I was sent to my closet to get rid of items that I no longer wore. These included t-shirts, sweat-shirts, pants, jeans, shorts, hats, and every other thing I have covered my body with, for the past 50 or so years.

H.G. Wells should have known, that if one could find a time-machine in this universe, all one had to do was look in an old man’s closet. As always, my wife was right. When I opened my closet it looked like it was filled with a solid block of multi-colored cloth. There was not a space either hanging or on the shelf that could fit another item. How the shelf didn’t fall, because of the massive weight of sweatshirts and sweaters, is above and beyond my comprehension.

Shoes and old worn-out sneakers covered the floor of the closet that I assumed had a rug over it. I assumed this because there was a possibility that the shoes could have been on top of even older sweaters. I decided to start at the top and work my way down.  When I reached and grabbed what I thought was a single sweatshirt the entire contents of the shelf came tumbling down. How I survived the avalanche is above and beyond my comprehension. Continue Reading →

Aall I remember was seeing white. In a panic I jumped out of bed wondering if I had just been attacked by the largest piece of lint known to mankind. It turned out to be my cat who decided to see if I was still alive by sitting on my face.

When one’s day starts out like this it usually means there are a few planets lined up in a way that makes the day go a bit odd. I am now a fervent believer in this hypothesis. The day was supposed to be a happy and busy one. We were going to a wedding in Massachusetts and had to be ready to leave by midday. Since it was only 7am my wife and I knew we had plenty of time. She basically planned everything.

All I had to do was survive waking up. Earlier that month she bought me a brand new summer suit. The old one I had was from my first communion. She also bought me a new shirt and tie. At the time she asked me to try it on but since I was a bit too comfortable in my combination pajamas, bathing suit, and shorts I told her I would do it another day. I had a pair of shoes dating back to the disco era but since what comes around goes around these were once again in style.

My wife also bought a beautiful outfit for herself. I think she had hopes we would be the best looking there. I knew she had a chance but as for me, well, reality does what reality is. Around 10:00 we decided to get ready for the wedding. After my wife laid my new suit and shirt on the bed she asked me to be careful. I asked her what I could possibly do to destroy a suit by putting it on. She just gave me a look and I quickly admitted precedence had been set.

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There are many ways of evaluating what kind of a week you had. You could review your checkbook to see if you added or reduced your balance. You could weigh yourself to see if that extra glass of wine or can of beer actually increased the size of your waste or butt.
Or you could focus on your eyes in a mirror, to see if the bags under your eyes increased in bulk. Scientifically the best way of measuring the success of your week is by checking to see what’s inside your dishwasher. 
The next time you have to run your dishwasher, because nothing else can fit in it, observe what is in it. If the number of wine glasses or beer mugs overwhelms the number of dinner dishes, you probably had a very stressful week.
If you think back you probably had little energy to cook or even open a can. Pouring a glass of wine or opening a bottle of beer takes a lot less energy, plus it lessens the time to end up falling asleep in front of your TV.
If the number of coffee cups overwhelms the number of dinner dishes, you were definitely expecting a rough day. There are certain mornings when all it takes to get you going is a single cup of coffee.
There are also certain mornings when you realize the day ahead will be filled with many explanations as to why something wasn’t done, or why you did it.

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There I stood at the end of my driveway looking out into my front yard from my garage for the first time since late November. Obviously I’ve looked at my yard before but concentrating on its appearance was now important because I was pretty sure the last of the snow had fallen. This meant the snows of winter would no longer disguise the debris that found its way onto my property. Before walking on my lawn I tested the ground to make sure it was dry enough so my feet wouldn’t make indentations that would probably mean the death of my lawn mower.

The first thing I did was pick-up all the cigarette butts that ended up on the peripheral of where my property ends and the road begins. I could never figure out why people throw something out the windows of their cars they know will never disintegrate. Hell, I could never figure out why people throw any type of garbage out of their cars and into the road. I wonder if they think some magical force would make their garbage disappear?

This year I counted 86 cigarette butts thrown on my lawn. I looked up at my house and wondered where the sign was hidden that advertised how my property was one large ashtray. Or did my property have some sort of a magnetic attraction for the plastic in the filters of the butts, so all of the discarded butts in the western world ended up on my property. Continue Reading →

A publisher from Great Britain answered my complaints, via e-mail, about how I couldn’t believe the present elections in the US, by welcoming me to the wonderful world of the, “AOP”. When I questioned his response he told me that an “AOP” was an angry old pensioner. Since I am retiring this year all I could do was agree. An “AOP” in the States is simply considered a curmudgeon. A curmudgeon?

In the heat of many political discussions concerning how our society has become obsessed with today’s political environment, my brother-in-law stopped my argument with that single word. A curmudgeon is a simple phrase that made all the onlookers of our squabble stare and agree that my newest of titles was the one that fit me best.

Sensing success he didn’t stop there. He added the adjectives pessimistic and simplistic to the noun curmudgeon. I then wondered if I was destined to be known forever-after as a pessimistic and simplistic curmudgeon.

On the way home, I kept asking my wife how a man, whose earliest memory of politics had to do with donning a white shirt and thin black tie so I could emulate my belief in Jack Kennedy’s New Frontier, be called a curmudgeon?

How could I be called such a name? How could a man, whose history evolved with the concept of the Great Society, be reduced to such a, well, simplistic description?

The End.
It took all my life to reach the status of AOP by Jim Fabiano.
Jim Fabiano is a teacher and writer living in York, Maine.
Email Jim:


“I have no clue what I did with my glasses.”
That is what my friend, Hank, told me as he began his story. Hank and his family had just watched the Patriots lose their last game of the season. At first I didn’t see how a little absent mindedness could bother anyone. However, when I saw how upset and nervous he was, I had to listen to the rest of his tale.

“For the past decade or so I have always put my glasses on the end table, by my chair in the living room. It is a habit I have and I do it without thinking. Then, one morning I reached for my glasses and they weren’t there. I spent the entire day looking for them and wondering what could have happened to them.”

It was obvious he was not bothered by the loss of his glasses but was stressed by the fact that his glasses had seemingly disappeared. He told me he asked his wife, Stacey, if she could think of anywhere his glasses might be and she told him what he already knew. Wives are very good at stating the obvious!

As he told me his story I began to wonder where lost things go. I have also lost many items and have no idea where they went. I lost a pair of sunglasses last year. They disappeared out of the small drawer by the door that opened into our garage.

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I always got a kick out of watching television shows about how a person’s pet starts to look like its owner. Or maybe it is the other way around. Chipping the ice out of my driveway, I watch a short, stocky man walking a short stocky bulldog and a frizzy-haired older woman holding onto her Pekinese.
Last Friday I was stuck in some slow-moving traffic. As usual I would put on some soothing music, or sport’s radio station, in order to simply wait it out. Moving through traffic I noticed a large black Chrysler truck pull up beside me.
I believe a truck of that size would have to be black. I don’t remember ever seeing a light-blue Chrysler truck. Even though I was driving a pick-up that was supposed to be high off the ground, I still felt as though I was in a sub-compact next to the monster truck beside me.
Inside was a man who also made me feel very small. He had his forearm leaning outside the window. Or at least I think it was his forearm. His arm looked as though it was twice the size of my thigh. Peeking into the cab of his truck, I also noticed his head was twice the size of mine.

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A conspiracy is brewing in our nation and no one has the power to stop it. I am not talking about a deep political injustice that has to do with the military industrial complex or a foreign association of terrorists bent on the destruction of the United States.

I am talking about a conspiracy of much greater magnitude between the confections industries and the multi-million dollar weight loss business. Ever since Thanksgiving raised its ugly head with pumpkin and apple pies, chocolate covered lollipops in the shape of pilgrims, and those evil looking yellow peepers the sugar industry has inundated our lives with tons of holiday delights.

They were found everywhere. When one woke up in the morning they were next to our breakfast cereals in the form of clover shaped green marshmallows. Our coffee went from bitter black to sweet creamy brown. Driving to work little bags of crispy treats were found in the front seat of our cars and even the toll booth attendants gave out little foiled wrapped kisses to go along with their good morning greetings.

After one arrived at work everyone was carrying a sweet little this or a tart little that. The exchange of holiday cakes and candies continued right through lunch. At least what most of us used to think was lunch?

The midday meal used to consist of a plastic wrapped tuna salad sandwich stuffed under a two-month old apple or pear. If one were real lucky they would pull out a brown spotted yellow banana from a brown paper bag that was destined to be recycled throughout the rest of the year.

The holiday lunch consisted of jellied ham jammed in a fruit filled bun wrapped in a kind of plastic gift wrap with pictures of lions and tigers and bears. Underneath this sugar-filled sandwich lay Christmas cakes, walnut laden chocolate brownies covered with layers of powdered sugar to the point one would expect to see a small plastic man skiing down its slopes like one would do at Sunday River or Aspen. Continue Reading →