Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #13

Relating to Spring Cleaning:

• Work from the top down, inside to outside
• Rinse those hard to reach places with vinegar and water
• Use a Swiffer on your hardwood
• Wipe your squeegee after each stroke

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #12

When Preparing Your Boat for the Coming Season:

-        Make sure your head is clean and operating normally
-        Check for leaks on your dinghy
-        Scrub your topsides with a mild detergent
-        Lubricate your shaft and make sure it isn’t bent

The Book!

A collection of my best columns, titled "Callous Remarks," is now electronically available!  If you are a Kindle or iPad user then I'd be honoured to have you carry some of my humour around with you!

You can search Amazon for the title, or enter the code for my book - it is: B003ZSHQ2E

I do not have a cover for it yet, thus making these early copies true collectors editions!  I would be honoured and flattered if you ordered it, wrote a review, or just passed this info along to your network. Or all three, frankly.

Think of the book as a souvenir of having visited this charming website.  It's only $3.99 by the way.  Get the super absorbent model!  Fun for the whole family!

Seriously, thanks very much for reading, laughing, and for your support.

David

Census Concensus

Non-Canadians will not get half of this.  Canadians, however, will laugh their heads off.  I hope.

Long Form Consensus by David Crawford

Before everyone blows a gasket regarding this whole long form census issue, let’s take a look at what questions are on it so we can make an informed decision and THEN fly off the handle. 

Are you a refugee?  If so, where in Alberta are you from?

1. Ft. McMurray/Newfoundland
2. Calgary
3. Edmonton
4. Some other Godforsaken wasteland

Were you born in:

1. A barn?  Please close the door.
2. A stable
3. A roadside attraction such as the world’s largest ball of armpit hair. 
4. Toronto (same as C)

If you are a resident of British Columbia, please tell us about your grow operation:

1. It is in the basement
2. It is in the shed out back
3. It is a wonder to behold
4. Do you have any Doritos?

What is your phone number?

1. Your real number, not the fake one you give to pervy guys in bars.
2. Only one number please, Mr. Vander Zalm. 
3. I know that’s you under the burqa Mr. Vander Zalm and you’ve already signed now take off.
4. ‘867-5309’ is not a real phone number, it’s a song title.  We get that all the time.

Does anyone in your household have a disability?  If yes, please choose your handicap:

1. I am a member of the federal Liberal party
2. I am related to  *insert name of cabinet minister here* and suffer acute embarrassment as a result
3. I am deaf from the sound of pine beetles chewing trees nearby
4. You have to actually be logging before you can have a debilitating injury so we’re good

Are you able to speak English or French well enough to conduct a conversation?

1. Yes, that means you Mr. Chretien
2. And you, Mr. Ignatief
3. No, I am Canadian
4. You’ll get your turn to answer a question soon, Mr. Layton, so please just sit down.  Put your arm down.  There’s a good boy.

What languages other than English or French do you speak?

1. Pilsner
2. Tim Horton’s – “double double” etc.
3. Starbucks – “personal Grande decaf non-fat ristretto shot caramel machiatto no whip mocha cholesterol stroke paralyser latte transmission” etc
4. Short order cook - “Adam and Eve on a raft” etc.
5. TXT – no 1 ovr 40 cn rd ths LOL

What was your last level of ethnicity completed?

1. Some Irish
2. Some English/Chinese
3. Some Scottish
4. I dated a Jewish girl once

Tell us about your political affiliations

1. I am a member of the Green party and should therefore be shunned
2. I am a member of the NDP and therefore I already am shunned
3. I am a Liberal and I think I’ve suffered enough
4. I am a Conservative and will ask the PM what the rest of my answer should be, please call back in an hour

Do you currently own or operate a farm?

1. You poor sap
2. Camp fires made from chopped down apple or cherry trees are awesome
3. You actually still grow apples?  See answer ‘A’
4. If you grow something other than apples or cherries, is your crop for ‘medicinal’ purposes, such as glaucoma?
5. Can we come over and check it out?

How did you earn a living last year?

1. Self employed – writer
2. Ha ha ha ha ha!  That’s hilarious!  No seriously – did you make any money last year?
3. Who are you kidding?  Don’t trifle with us.  We know you’re a writer
4. We are the federal government you know
5. Give us all your money anyway and we’ll pretend we didn’t have this conversation

What is the best thing to do to people who say words like ‘orientate’ or ‘nucular’?:

1. They should be disemboweled with a blunt wooden farm implement
2. They should be put in a sales seminar with all the ‘relators’
3. This is a Canadian survey, Mr. Bush.  Buzz off.
4. They should be forced to listen to all 500 Stompin’ Tom Connors albums until there ears bleed.  Actually, that happens after one album so never mind.

Nasal Warfare

Here is the finished column that evolved out of the previous post...

Having found the carpeted cat tower climbing thing I was looking for at a garage sale, I was beating up the seller with my savage negotiating skills.

"What do you want for it?"
"I don't know - how about ten bucks?"
"OK"

It’s a talent.

Anyway, the host and I were chatting amiably as his wife went off to fetch the tower thingy when suddenly I felt an outrageous tickle in my nose.  It was enormously powerful, no doubt caused by some lurking hair that had finally built up enough spring energy to overcome the hold-back hairs that had restrained it thus far. 

It sproinged across the inside of my nostril and started titillating the other side with some ferocity. 

I uttered a loud “Aah!” gasp and began furiously rubbing my nose in an effort to quiet the horrendous irritation up there.

It didn't help.

I began twitching and rubbing it with some violence.  The home owner was staring at me now with rapt fascination.  One second I was commenting on his wares and wishing him well with his sale, the next I was contorting my entire face and rubbing my nose so violently it appeared I was perhaps trying to produce sparks with it to start a fire (and wouldn’t THAT be a talent).

The rubbing and twitching wasn’t working, so, humiliation aside, I violently inserted my index finger to the third knuckle to bring some relief.  Up it went, twisting, twirling and hopefully slicing the hair off at its base.

No such luck.

By now I was really off my rocker.  Picking, twitching, gasping, and rubbing - all in an effort to get rid of the horrible tickling menace that was my nose.  I couldn't stand it.

The man asked "Are you all right?"  He must have thought I was some sort of crack addict in desperate need of a score.  I tried to lighten the atmosphere, which had quieted since a small crowd had gathered to watch me pitch some sort of fit.  "I have a hair up my nose!" I announced.  "It really tickles!  Aarrrgh!"  I don't think this explanation did much to assure them that I was normal.

Then I remembered that I carry a finger nail clipper on my key ring.  Clutching it, I rushed over to a tacky dresser with a dreadful 1970's style decorative mirror attached, leaned up close to it, and inserted my clippers into the offending tubule.  I began frantically snipping, the denuded hairs shooting forth like grass from a push lawn mower.

All the while I was gasping and moaning such was my distraction.

The clippers mainly nicked my delicate nasal tissues and pulled the stout, springy hairs out by the roots, bringing more gasps of pain, and also causing a small flood of tears to well up. 

Intensely focused, I lost track of where I was and what was going on around me.  Finally I must have snipped the blighter because the itch suddenly went away.

Tears streaming down my face, nicks inside my nose starting to bleed, small hairs sprayed over my cheeks, I turned away from the mirror, smiling and at peace.  “Aaaaah!” I sighed.

I beheld a crowd of twenty or so stunned onlookers who began applauding. 

Newly arriving patrons of this garage sale were no doubt curious to observe a disheveled, wild-looking gentleman with kleenex wadded up his nose and tear stains on his cheeks leaving the scene.   

I didn't have time to explain to them it is not often you find exactly what you are hunting for at a garage sale.  It pays to dig around in dark, cramped places to turn up the really satisfying stuff.

Goose Cull

I wish to commend the City of Kelowna for their ingenious solution to the growing Canada Goose problem.

Rather than shooting them with automatic weapons and grenade launchers as suggested by more militant members of the public (me), officials have decided to cull the geese by giving them cell phones so they can text each other while flying.

This causes the geese to be distracted, resulting in them plowing into buildings, their beautiful “V” formations becoming “___” formations on the sidewalks below. City crews then sweep up the cell phones, leaving the dazed birds to fend for themselves against the packs of feral bunnies which roam the streets of our fair city.

While bunnies usually prey on weak or ill animal rights activists, Dazed Geese are increasingly featured on their menus.

Individual geese continue to be targeted by airborne police for operating a vehicle (themselves) while using an electronic device. Lawyers for the geese have filed appeals of the tickets, claiming they were only checking voicemail and not actually engaging in any two-way honking while flying, therefore reducing the risk and questioning the validity of their sentences.

A spokesperson for the Police says they will continue to give chase should geese take off from the officers who stop them. These high speed pursuits, or ‘wild goose chases’ as they have come to be called, are a danger to the public and will not be tolerated, say police.

New Airport Screening

The line of passengers at the new airport screening machines was long but moving quickly. I was here to interview Bill, a security guard and scanner operator.

“Bill, do people have any privacy issues with these new full-body scanners?” I asked.

“No,” Bill said. “They really seem to like the combination of airline safety and body imaging. It saves everybody time.”

Bill continued as he worked. “We thought people would really take issue with us being able to see through clothing and such, but so far so good. Whoa – look at the body on this lady! I’ll save that one and put it up on YouTube later. Nice!”

“YouTube?!” I exclaimed. “I thought these scans were confidential and destroyed right away!” I asked.

“Well, they’re supposed to be but someone messed up the legislation so we keep and share them. Confidently. Not confidentially. Big difference.”

“Hey, Gulwinder! Look at this guy!” he said to the guard next to him. “No spleen! Check it out! Looks like he’s had his gall bladder out too.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. What was more shocking was that people didn’t object at all. They even seemed to appreciate the system.

“This screening at the airport is very convenient,” said one female passenger. “It sure beats waiting at the doctor’s office, then going to the x-ray place, then back to the doctor’s. Here, we get everything done at one time. And you get airline points,” she said.

“Can I see your boarding pass please, Ma’am?” said the guard. “I see that appendix surgery is healing nicely.

We’ll get those stitches out on your return flight.”

Other comments followed. “Yes Sir, just put your watch and loose change in the bin with your jacket. Oh, and you might want to get that polyp checked. Here’s a referral card for a proctologist. Have a nice flight.”

“When entering the scanner, please hold your arms like this, take a deep breath, hold it until you hear the whir and click, good! Please step forward.”

“Sir? When you bend over to put on your shoes, could you cough please? Good! Everything appears to be normal. See you next flight.”

“Congratulations Ma’am – it’s a girl. No, it’s a boy - look at that! Next?”

“Good morning. Can I see your boarding pass please? Thank you. You’re beeping because of a coin in your stomach. See? Did you swallow that recently or when you were a child?”

“Good morning Ma’am! Just drink this barium, or ‘airline coffee’ as we call it, and we’ll be done in a jiffy. Next!”

“No sir, it appears that pain in your tummy is just gas – quite normal. Have a nice flight.”

“Sir, we have reason to believe you are carrying contraband. Lucky for you, you are also scheduled for your annual colonoscopy so you get the 2 for 1 cavity search special today. Just go with these officers…”

Not only were these people fast, they were good too. “Did you go to medical school to learn all this stuff?” I asked.

“I took a semester at the community college, but I realized I could learn more out here at the airport. After I write my exams this week I’ll move into internal medicine like the baggage guys.”

I must say it is comforting to know our health and airline safety are in such good, usually gloved, hands.

You know...

I really should update here once in a while...huh.

So I'm working on about 80 partial columns and ideas at the moment, all in various stages of perfection and Pulitzer-worthiness, so I thought I'd jot down a few of the things I'm working on.
People do that on blogs apparently.

Now in order to understand how I write a column, you must understand how my brain works. It's different, let me tell you.

What happens is I'll think up a stupid sentence or circumstance, or experience one (like bending over to pick up something on the floor in the kitchen and bashing my head into unconciousness on the granite countertop), and so I jot it down in my Ideas file on this laptop here.

As I let the idea bop around my head (or 'fester' as medical authorities describe it), I keep adding other, related bits of humour to the pile, until I have enough dumb stuff to mold into a column. Hopefully. Keeping things on theme with any kind of focus is extraordinarily challenging for a scatterbrain such as myself, but I get there occasionally.

So here are some bits and pieces floating around up there:

With all the controversy about airport scanners these days, no one has seen the positive side to this issue. Namely, using these scanners as health screening devices.

Overheard at the airport recently: "Would the passenger on Westjet Flight 243, seated in seat 12a, please see your doctor about that polyp..."

"We have reached our cruising altitude, would all passengers now please roll over onto their left side and take a deep breath. Hold it! Good. We'll now serve sandwiches..."

"Any passengers interested may now purchase headphones, or if you don't need sound for your viewing pleasure you can just tune in channel 9 for a picture of Mr. Baker's spleen."

"Did you swallow that ball bearing when you were a kid sir?"

"Passengers scheduled for a barium swallow, or 'airline coffee' as we humourously call it, please report to the first class lounge."

And so on...

Other columns being excreted soon will concern vacuum related humour and some stories about my sordid past (including a bear skin rug), an announcement regarding the Crawford Annoyance Scale (which is expected to rival the Richter scale in popularity), a column comparing curling to baseball (somehow) for my American readers, and I'm sure some more stuff I can't recall at the moment.

So sit back, relax, and hug yourself in delicious anticipation of the thrills and spills to soon follow. Don't touch that dial!!

Learning to Fly Pt. II

Rabbit #1: “So – do you like this new piece of wood sticking out of my head?”

Rabbit #2: “Uh oh. Crawford is flying again. I’ll start packing… ”

Ah yes – the joys of flying ultralight aircraft. Wind in your face. Bugs in your teeth. Bits of propeller flying off in all directions. Such is the life of a flying instructor in these marvelous aircraft.

Ultralights, in the early 80’s, were a big thing in aviation. They were/are tons of fun, relatively safe (this statement is usually accompanied by a large asterisk), and I used to fly them a lot.

Since you weren’t allowed to call it a “joyride”, what we did was call it an Introductory Flight Lesson. We would hop into the plane with a prospective customer, fire up the engine, and take off into the wild blue yonder.

Due to the underpowered nature of these aircraft, takeoff would occur mainly due to curvature of the earth rather than aerodynamic forces.

On one of these flights I turned over the control stick to my prospective student – a young man keen on learning to fly. We were bird-like as we happily putted along in what appeared to be a motorized lawn chair.

Upon reaching our cruising altitude and before meal or beverage service could commence, a fairly large piece of the wooden propeller rudely decided to make its own travel arrangements, and departed the aircraft without my express, written permission.

Now, when something is spinning rapidly and it suddenly becomes unbalanced, a certain violent vibration sets in, which causes the remaining components of the spinning object to flounder. Owners of ceiling fans usually become experienced with this phenomenon when a child jumps on a bed and carelessly destroys the fixture by thrusting their head or arm into it, for example.

The vibration in our case was imparted from the propeller to the engine, which was situated just over my head. Being seated beneath a large, heavy, explosive steel object violently shaking from side to side, tearing itself from its mounting bolts, can be disconcerting.

As an experienced flying instructor reacting to an in-flight emergency, I uttered an exclamation (“Goodness gracious!” were my exact words I believe) and immediately took back control of the aircraft from my ‘student’ by breaking his terror-frozen fingers one at a time in order to remove them from the stick.

Throttling back, knowing we would not be able to return to our scheduled point of departure, I began looking around for a place to execute a non-airport landing, or ‘crash’ as we pilots call it. This was not easy since I was busy going through my emergency landing checklist, which mainly consisted of shrieking like a school girl.

I quickly briefed my passenger on emergency procedures. “Did you sign the waiver back there?” I yelled. “Yes!” he replied. “Good!” I said. “Prepare for landing!”

I may also have shouted “We’re gonna crash!” “Goodbye cruel world!” “I can see my house from here!” and other words to that effect.

The landing/crashing experience taught me that travelling in the same direction as the deep, ploughed furrows in a field would make a non-scheduled landing there much more comfortable. I’ll try to remember that next time.

As we rumbled along through the tall grain and across the furrows, my student shouted with joy “We made it!” “We’re not finished crashing yet!” I cried. “Drop the anchor!” Seconds later we stopped.

The silence which follows a successful crash landing is wonderful, and a feeling of joy permeated the air. An unfortunate smell also permeated the air and it wasn’t just leaking gasoline.

Following our landing, in true ‘Right Stuff’ fashion, I just trotted back to the airfield, got a new propeller and some other parts, replaced what needed replacing, and took off back to the airport from the dirt road we had almost reached during our ‘landing.’

My student did not avail himself of this return flight, despite my entreaties about it being safe. As I departed, I recall seeing him walking funny towards a farm building.

Pity – I was going to refund his lesson money. Go figure.

Learning to Fly Pt. 1

Having learned to fly at a young age (4), I am always baffled when I meet someone who is afraid to get into an aluminum tube of imminent fiery death. People who have a phobia about flying are what we pilots sensitively call ‘chickens’.

One way for scaredy-cats to get over their fear of flying is to actually learn how to fly. “Get onto the horse that is about to violently buck you off!” we say. Here’s how to do that.

First, get young, coordinated, thin, fit and rich. Learning to fly costs quite a large amount of money so if you are not independently wealthy or have not recently struck oil on your property, your best bet would be to become a brain surgeon. Go ahead – I’ll wait.

Um de dum…

OK so now you’ve got lots of money. Good. Hand it all over to a Flying School which you’ll find at any airport, ‘airport’ being defined as ‘That place where you go to stand in line and have your toothpaste confiscated and x-rays taken of your privates on your way to Disneyland.’

What a flying school will do, after taking all of your money and buying cases of scotch, is take you flying in one of their training aircraft to see if they like you. There are a number of different small airplanes out there, with comical names like MessieSchlitz, Winnebago, Sopwith, Fakker, Caterpillar, Piston, Pipper, Spad and Clunk.

Today you’ll probably get into what is known as a Thunderbolt, or ‘Cessna’. The first thing you’ll notice about this or any airplane is the dizzying array of knobs, gauges, buttons, boeings, twittles, spigots and flings that are on the dashboard. Pay no attention to these since most of them will be marked with little signs saying “Damaged in last crash” or some such. Only airline pilots actually use them anyway so for now just focus on the fact that there is a goofy steering wheel and two brake pedals.

These pedals are awesome in that they are used to steer and they are both brakes! Can you imagine how cool it would be to drive a car that had these? You could drive with no hands and still steer – what an excellent way to terrify the children!

Anyway, with your instructor, get into a seat and let him or her grope you into your seat belts, of which there are about 19. Not that you’re going to need them when you crash or anything. Their purpose, like helmets on skydivers, is to humour insurance agents who will be watching your every move from here on. There may even be one lurking in the back seat, trying to visually check your cholesterol level. Pay no attention.

So the instructor will push a few things and pull the gas handle thingy and start the noisy motor up front, called the impeller as I recall, and off you’ll go, plowing into all the parked airplanes because the gas pedal stuck and didn’t you know Cessna is made by Toyota?

Actually, you’ll be wearing comically huge headphones at this point and the instructor will tell you how to plug your nose and blow up your ears to unplug your crustacean tubes so that as you climb your eardrums won’t burst, messing up their comically huge headphones. Something like that. It’s like scuba diving only going the other way.

So now you’re racing down the runway until you magically lift into the air and experience a wonderful sensation which we pilots call ‘barfing’, which is completely normal.

Once you recover, you’ll notice you are headed straight for the tall trees at the end of the runway but don’t panic! We’ll cover what to do about that in the next exciting episode of Crawford’s Crashes, wherein I’ll explain exactly how a propeller once flew off the airplane I was piloting, and, coincidentally, why pilots always carry a spare set of clean underwear with them when aviating.

Until then, this concludes Part One. Please rewind before returning to storage case.

Superbowl Kid Conversation

Kid approaches Dad during half time show.

"Who's the band Dad?"

"Yes."

"Who's the band Dad?"

"Oh yeah - you've never heard that one. It's a band called The Who. They're from my generation."

I hate wasting good jokes on kids who don't know what I'm talking about.