Sunday, February 24, 2013

The Daytona 500 is about to start. I’m going to watch it. Meaning I’ve left all the normal Sunday things go hang for the day.

I’m not certain if you get newspapers. Or if you read comic strips in the Sunday papers – uh huh, me neither. It just happened to be there and I . . . well, picked it up.

Shoe  went this way:

Boss Crow: “I’d like you to interview Wort the mortician for a profile in Sunday’s Lifestyles Section.

Shoe: OK, Chief. I’ll see what I can dig up.

At Mort’s the Morticians:

Shoe: So, Mort, you’ve been an undertaker for a long time?

Mort: Indeed. It’s all I’ve ever done.

Shoe: So when did you decide that would be your life’s calling?

Mort: Back when I was in High School. My guidance counselor gave me an aptitude test.

Shoe: And what did it tell you?

Mort: I couldn’t think outside the box.

*

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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