We’ve been hearing a lot in the news about a disease called swine flu. Laughter is always the best medicine for flu or any other illness. From the funny farm, these are the symptoms:

YOU MIGHT HAVE SWINE FLU IF. . .

* You always pig out at food bars.

* You got a traffic ticket for being a road hog.

* You only go to work to bring home the bacon.

* You call your bathtub “the wallowing hole.”

* Looney Tunes offered you a movie contract.

* You are worried about whether pork is the real white meat.

* People think you’re snooty.

* You have a jar for bacon drippings on your dresser.

* You keep your valuables in a lard bucket.

* Your breath smells like bacon frying.

* You sizzle when you suntan at the beach.

* You’re married to a male chauvinist pig.

* You sleep like a pig in a blanket.

* The butcher asked to take your pulse.

* Your favorite movie is Babe.

* Your favorite book is Olivia the Pig.

* Barbeque restaurants make you nervous.

* Your mother’s name is Miss Piggy.

* You keep the baby in a pigpen.

* Your vehicle of choice is a Harley Hog.

* You like to ride piggy-back.

* You’re developing a sizable pot-belly.

* You believe in a high-fat diet.

* Your hair is braided into pig tails.

* Your favorite pastime is mud wrestling.

* Your favorite sports team is the Razorbacks.

* You refer to your kids as “the three little pigs.”

* Jimmy Dean wants to adopt you.

* You are exercising to get rid of your ham hocks.

* You speak perfect Pig Latin.

* Your fur coat has a curly tail.

* You snort when you laugh.

* You buy your groceries at Piggly-Wiggly.

* You wear a ring in your nose.

* You are living too high on the hog.

* Your kids are named Portia and Porky.

* Your kitchen looks like a pig sty.

* You actually went shopping for pig in a poke.

* You call your shoe rack the family tree.

* You eat mash for breakfast instead of cereal.

* You love mudpack facials.

* You have gravy stains on the front of your clothes.

* You refer to leftovers as pig slop.

* You keep your money in a piggy bank.

* Your dream is to live in hog heaven.

* Your house is mortgaged with Frosty Morn.

* You think of vacations as, “When pigs fly.”

* You’ve gone hog-wild on MySpace.

* Your favorite quotation is “That’s all folks!”

I always figured I would end up on the orthopedic surgeon’s operating table sooner or later, but I thought it would be for a knee replacement, not for a cervical disc fusion in my neck. But here I was, asking-actually begging-to have my neck slashed.

Shows what pain can do to you.

On the big day, I checked into a tiny room that was as cold as a freezer locker and received a backless hospital gown and a blanket so thin I could see through it. Eventually, a stretcher arrived for me and I watched the ceiling squares fly by as I was wheeled down long halls and into an elevator.

The anesthesiologist put an IV hookup in my arm. I was given meds that were supposed to relax me, but didn’t. “Don’t worry, you won’t wake up during surgery, we monitor your brain waves,” he said. What a relief. I hadn’t considered the possibility before that.

I wished they would turn up the drugs.

I was wheeled into what I recognized from TV as an operating room where masked figures in blue garb hovered over me, fiddling with various monitors. I felt a hot sensation in my arm and my wish for drugs was granted.

“Where am I?” I asked.

My eyes burned like fire. I had a large collar around my neck to support my head. Various medical people came in and out, checking monitors and doing whatever it is that medical people do to see if you are still alive.

My chest was congested and I couldn’t breathe. “Cough,” they told me. So, I coughed and coughed and nothing happened except it made my sore throat even sorer.

When I eventually woke up completely, I felt great except for blurry vision. I was ready to be discharged and go home. It wasn’t until later that I found I felt great because I was receiving morphine in my IV. The sneaks.

Breakfast was served-bacon, eggs and a biscuit. I wondered why they didn’t realize my throat was too swollen to eat.

The nurse’s aide came and bathed me with what smelled like Lysol. I wondered if she was using mop water. I was too weak to protest the burning disinfectant, but if there is ever a next time, I intend to be a hippie and refuse baths.

By evening, it was time for my first walk. I was afraid my head would fall off and go rolling down the hall. Two nurses dragged me and the IV stand down the hall and wheeled me back quickly when I nearly passed out.

By the following day, however, I would be able to walk up and down the hall with assistance and without mooning anyone.

I continued to cough. I’m not sure how long you can go without sleep until you become delusional, but given a choice between breathing and sleeping, sleep does not seem very important.

I wanted to go home. Finally, on the third day the doctor came and discharged me. A mere five hours later, I was able to leave. I was much weaker than I realized and fell on my knees trying to get into my house.

Welcome home.

The bad news: the doctor forgot to put a date on the prescription he wrote for pain meds, so the drug store wouldn’t fill it. The good news: I had pain meds left over from pre-surgery.

I slept sitting up in a chair for the first week after surgery, if you can call it sleeping. Nights were hell, coughing all night and trying to breathe. I called my primary doctor for an appointment, and found that I had bacteria in my lungs transmitted by the tubes in my throat during surgery.

I wondered why someone didn’t think of that sooner.
Not fully coherent, I took pain pills along with other medications, which must have been too much sedation as I dreamed of being three people, one who slept, one who floated around the room on sparkling fireworks, and one who coughed.

The doctor ordered a neck monitor to electronically stimulate my neck and make it heal faster. I call it a high-tech witchdoctor necklace and have threatened to decorate it with chicken bones and feathers.

Surgery is gross. I do not recommend it. Pain is worse and I recommend it even less.

Next time, I intend to find an easier way to get material for a column.

Sheila Moss, Humor Columnist

www.humorcolumnist.com

Day 1-I come home from work and find the garage door partly open. “What’s going on?” I wonder. I go inside to check and find a strange dog in the garage. 

Whose dog is that? “Get! Go away! Shoo!”
I guess I will just leave the garage door open until it decides to leave. I’ve seen him around here before, but I’m not sure whose dog he is.
Day 2-My daughter informs me that the black lab belongs to the neighbors. They are gone for the weekend. “Something could happen to him.”
Yeah, like he could get reported to animal control for not being on a leash. But, she makes him a bed in our garage and closes the garage door so he will not get cold.
“Okay, he can stay in the garage until they get back, but he absolutely cannot come in the house. He is not our dog.”
Day 3-I walk into the kitchen and the dog is sleeping on the rug by the door. “What is that dog doing inside?”
“Smokey was cold outside.” Smokey? Now it has a name.
“He’s too afraid to get off the rug. See him shaking?”
Probably afraid the dogcatcher will find him. “Okay, he can sleep on the rug in the kitchen, poor thing, but he absolutely cannot go in the rest of the house. He is not our dog.”
Day 4-My daughter says, “I checked the neighbor’s yard. Smokey’s leash is broken; he chewed though it.
“You are not going to make him go outside in the cold rain, are you? They don’t ever let him run loose.”
Meanwhile, the dog is in the garage scratching on the kitchen door. Next thing I know, he will want to bring twenty canine friends inside with him.
“Okay, he can sleep here until they get back, but he has to stay outside except at night. He is not our dog.”
Day 5-The door to my grandson’s bedroom is closed. I knock on the door and the dog answers, “Woof!”
“What is that dog doing in the bedroom? He is supposed to stay in the kitchen! He is not our dog!”
“He is sleeping on the floor, grandma! He likes it in here better than in the kitchen. He is lonesome.”
Am I the only one who suspects a conspiracy? “Okay, he can sleep here, but just on the floor, and just until the neighbors get home! He is not our dog.”
Day 6-The dog is in my grandson’s bed, stretched out on the bedspread, snoring.
“What is that mutt doing in the bed? Lonesome? How can he be lonesome? Why isn’t he outside? No, you can’t keep him! He is somebody else’s dog!”
Day 7-The neighbors come home! Yippee! I see their car in the driveway.
I immediately give the dog his walking papers and put him out the back door without any luggage or spending money. The dog walks through the wet grass, slowly dragging himself to the neighbor’s house, where he scratches the door.
No doubt he is pretending that he was locked out the whole time, is cold and hungry, and was chased by wild cats. He had to chew through his collar to escape, and is lucky to be alive.
I have not seen the dog since they came back. I’m sure they have no idea that their mongrel was sleeping in the neighbor’s bed, dining on the neighbor’s dog food, being petted by the neighbor’s daughter, and spoiled by the neighbor’s grandson.
They are probably so happy to have their dog come home unharmed that they will lavish him with affection and promise never to leave him home alone again.
Actually, there is no point in leaving him home alone. The next time they go somewhere, they might as well just leave him with us.
We wouldn’t want him to be lonesome.
Sheila Moss, Humor Columnist
www.humorcolumnist.com

Have a bad year and wishing for better luck next year? Try eating some black-eyed peas. Black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day are a southern tradition. There seems to be little agreement on how this custom began, though, or why a food as humble as black-eyed peas might be considered lucky. Read the rest of this article »

A few weeks ago we had a gasoline crisis in the area. The media reported that we are on a major pipeline that brings oil from the Gulf. The report mentioned there could be about 25% less flowing because some oil refineries still are not back to normal since Gustav.

Immediately phones started ringing, people started calling other people, and everyone jumped in their car and sped to the gas station-just in case there might be a shortage.

PANIC!
Lines grew; other people saw the lines and figured something must be going on. So, they got in the line too. After all, if there was going to be a gas shortage, they wanted to be sure their tank was full.
Read the rest of this article »

My honey has some excellent qualities, but keeping up with his cell phone is not one of them. He has misplaced his phone so often that I have lost count of the number of times.

The other day it happened again. We were in the car heading home after work when he reached for his phone and it wasn’t there.

“My cell phone is gone!” he exclaimed, as he scrambled around in his pockets while still trying to drive.
“Call the number from my phone and maybe someone will answer.” But it only rang and rang. Either no one found it or whoever found it intended to keep it. Read the rest of this article »

We went to a breeder and picked her out even before she was old enough to come home. She was cute, I must admit, really cute.

Before you ask, she is a Shih Tzu, a small frou-frou dog from a breed originating in China.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had a puppy at my house. I’m not quite sure what to do with her-housebreaking, chewing, and all those horrible things that puppies do.
But she is really cute. Read the rest of this article »

I’m so tired I can’t hold my eyes open, but I can’t fall asleep. I might miss my final bid on eBay. It all started about a week ago when I decided that a turquoise-and-silver necklace would be a nice accessory to have.I put “buy turquoise necklace” in a search engine and eventually found myself on eBay. I was a bit familiar with eBay as I’ve bought a few things there before; but I always lose when I bid, and it seems to be too much trouble and easier just to buy things elsewhere. Read the rest of this article »

School days, school daze—it’s almost all I hear at this time of the year. Kiddies are all excited about their new backpacks crammed with number-two pencils, three-ring binders, wide-ruled notebook paper, football trading cards, yo-yo’s, and whatever else they can sneak in. Yes, I’ve had those calls from the school about the rubber snake too. Read the rest of this article »

There is no point in arguing with a man when he gets that “I-want-a-new-car” gleam in his eye.

My man got that gleam in his eye nearly two months ago. By now, it is no longer a gleam, but more like a laser beam. Read the rest of this article »

I was practically certain that I was too old for amusement parks.

My spouse loves amusement parks. He is a big, overgrown kid who still wants to ride on the rides. I tolerate them.

We heard about an amusement park in Chattanooga. It is not too far away and it seemed like a good weekend adventure. We took my grandson along for an excuse, though my honey really didn’t need an excuse.

This place turned out to be a kiddy park, which was okay since my grandson is a kiddy and so is honey. They had a few adult-type rides, but for the most part it seemed to be more like the place where old amusement park rides go before they die.

I agreed to go on a ride called the Tilt-A-Whirl. Silly me.

“Isn’t this fun?” yelled honey, as it slung us around in circles.

“I feel sick! I think I may throw up.” I groaned, as I staggered away, feeling like I’d been inside a blender.

While I recovered, honey went on another whirly ride. I don’t know what it did as I was too nauseated to watch. My grandson was also chicken at first, though he recovered and rode it later—no hands.

“Let’s ride the paddle boats!” exclaimed honey.

“My knees! My knees!” I was finding body parts that I had long ago forgotten about.

“How about the Scrambler then?” asked honey.

“How about the swings?” I replied in desperation, immediately sorry I had mentioned it.

As I flew round and round, I was certain my shoes would go flying off my feet and end up somewhere in the lake. My eyebrows twitched as I tried to figure out how close to death I was.

“Baby stuff,” grumbled honey.

I knew we were headed towards the roller coaster as we worked our way to the back, and sure enough, there it was. I used to love roller coasters, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

We inched up the first hill and I held on with white knuckles. “Wheeeee!” yelled honey as we hit the first dip.

“Help! Let me offffff!” I screamed as my internal organs turned inside out and my backbone crackled. I couldn’t remember what it was that I used to like about a roller coaster as I staggered away holding my back.

“Does this place have first aid? Call the paramedics!”

After that, it didn’t really matter, as everything that could be broken was already broken and my brain was jelled.

I got on their newest ride, fool that I am. I forget what it was called. Actually, I’m trying to forget the whole day.

“You know what happens, don’t you?” asked my honey, seeing my pale face and clenched teeth.

There was a kid about five years old sitting next to me. How bad could it be? As we reached the top and plunged back fourteen stories to earth, I found out. My hair stood straight up, my glasses nearly jumped off my face, and my stomach is still up there somewhere.

The little kid next to me was crying, as I unbuckled my seat and honey helped me wobble to the exit.

“I’m going to kill you for that!” I mumbled to my former honey…

After two hours, I was ready to go home. It took another six hours before my grandson was convinced.

I crawled to the closest picnic table, wishing I could take a nap.

I stared at the carousel. “See the pretty horses go round and round, up and down,” I gurgled.

By the end of the day, I was sunburned and brain-dead but managed to make it home without losing my glasses, my teeth, my camera, my shoes, or my lunch.

But, I am absolutely certain now that I am too old for amusement parks.

How do you know when it’s going to be a bad day? For starters, it might be a bad day if you wake up to the sound of the smoke alarm going off at 5 AM in the morning like I did the other day.
With the alarm screaming, I hit the floor and ran down the hall to see what was going on. I couldn’t see anything because in the excitement I forgot all about putting on my glasses.
FIRE! FIRE! Read the rest of this article »

One of life’s most useful but least discussed items is toilet paper. We take the existence of toilet paper for granted and have pretty much forgotten about the days of catalogs, newspapers, shucks, leaves, corncobs, and other alternatives used by our ancestors. Who had the idea of making this product and how did it come to be one of the items we consider as a necessity? Read the rest of this article »