Enough of the Funk! How about this:

Clothespin, tweezers, tape, and a rubber band.

47 responses to “Enough of the Funk! How about this:

  1. UNTITLED

    A clothespin, tweezers and a rubber band
    Pushing my cart across the sand
    Two soda bottles and a crushed beer can
    Possessions that define who I am.

    A cardboard box and a piece of tarp
    Shelter me from the heat and dark
    Beneath an elm deep in the park
    You think my palace is a bit too stark?

    My army boots are patched with tape
    Around my neck my dog tags drape
    A meager life I barely scrape
    But from your world I must escape.

    I joined the army and learned the drill
    For twenty-four months was paid to kill
    From mountain tops the blood did spill
    An endless quota I could not fulfill.

    The temperature hovered at 109
    My comrades thought I was doing fine
    Until enemy fire nicked my spine
    And I was released from service to stand in line.

    Gusnhots echo throughout the night
    My mind debates, fight or flight
    I struggle to know wrong from right
    I hold my head as the demons fight.

    I reflect about life as a GI Joe
    Tears swell over people I did not know
    Unknown targets across the plateau
    Watching for movement down below.

    Tomorrows bring us all a new day,
    At least that’s what the people say,
    But not for those who died far away
    And for their souls I kneel and pray.

    Jeff Switt

  2. thornyrosedechile

    Nicely done, Jeff. A moving and, unfortunately, apt description of many returning soldiers.

  3. thornyrosedechile

    A little gross, but true, story minus the clothespin, tape, and rubber bands. Tweezers may or may not have been involved.

    I opened the clothespin and placed it carefully over the bridge of my nose before wading into the shin-high soup of dirty clothes, cookie crumbs, dog chewies, and wadded up paper from failed homework attempts. My seven-year old son Andrew’s bedroom was supposed to be a puppy and food-free zone.

    Armed with Lysol in one hand and tweezers in the other, I picked my way through the rubble toward his bed. The same cluster of small, dark dots that I had removed last week had appeared again on the wall near his pillow. Using the tweezers, I scrupulously tugged each one off.

    Spritzing Lysol, I wiped the area down. Just for good measure, I did it again and then a third time. I squirted the tweezers, too, before putting them away in the catchall drawer alongside the good scissors, the rubber bands, and the Magic Markers.

    After shoveling out the floor of his bedroom, I taped a note written in big, bold black to my son’s door. Do Not Enter with Food or Dog!

    Later, after school, he discovered that I’d been in there. “Mom! You cleaned my room again.”

    “Well, honey, I had to. It was a mess. You can’t live in filth like…” In the middle of my speech about cleanliness, he suddenly noticed that his dots were gone.

    Tears swam in his eyes. “You cleaned the wall.” He shook his head sadly as he pointed above his pillow. “I can’t believe you cleaned the wall,” he said, running his hand over the area where the spots had been.

    “Andrew, what were those spots? Why do they keep reappearing?”

    He turned his crumpled face to me and stared for bit before answering indignantly, “Mom, that’s my booger spot.”

    • I was holding out for it being a science fair project. Dang, you took me back some 30 years to the antics my sons pulled. God bless all little boys! They need it. Jeff

    • Thornyrose: well written funny story and so true so many times.

    • My middle son had a spot on the wall for his booger collection as well. I have jet to figure that one out. Why would we want to keep those things. I guess it is better than eat’n ’em later.

    • Oh my goodness !!!! Just another reason I thank God for not giving me children….puppies only eat poop, they don’t make it performance art.

    • Blech! That must be a boy thing. I only have a daughter and although her room is disgusting she has no area reserved for grossness. Enjoyed your story even if it was gross.

  4. MacGyver
    Season 8 Episode 140

    Angus MacGyver, on a mission from the Phoenix Foundation, rescues a girl kidnapped by Somali pirates while trying to implement another of Jack Dalton’s get-rich-quick schemes. Using only a clothespin, tweezers, tape and a rubber ban he creates the ultimate escape.

    • rubber band. With so few words, I still can make a whopper.

    • Walterburgle, this MacGyver is some kind of guy. Precise and concentrated, . A man of few words but resolute and creative Let’s hear more of him in the future.

      • It was an ABC TV show from the 80’s. I just made up an episode description for a new season. However bad the action was back then, he surely inspired a few to join the CIA.

      • Another demonstration of how worthless the 80s were! Coming from a child of the 60s. Which were fun. I think. I can’t remember.

    • Everyone needs a MacGyver in their life. I hope there are more episodes to follow.

  5. Leave it to MacGyver to rescue a girl and have a rubber ban. LOLOL!

    • He makes it a routine/habit to carry duct tape, Swiss Army knife and various home cleaning supplies stitched into his clothing.
      Without MacGyver, I never would have escaped the clutches of the Oompa Loompa gang. They are a ruthless bunch.

  6. I was not raised in a Vacationing Family. We had a swimming pool in my high school years and then later, we kept a sailboat on Lake Wawasee. So our summer travel consisted of walking out into the back yard or a half-hour commute to the lake. That is not to say I have never traveled. I went to Monterey California for my honeymoon and once I attended a funeral in Dadesville, Alabama. It pains me to say that the funeral proved to be more fun than the honeymoon.

    Many of my friends have recently been telling me about their plans for the summer travel season; Disney Land, Grand Canyon, Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and Estes Park Colorado seem to be hot spots. This got me to thinking, “If I was planning a vacation, where would I like to go and what would I like to do?” I consulted Google to research the possibilities and began with the key word, “Fantasy Camps.”

    Of course I had heard of football and baseball camps, as well as car racing and space camp, but I was shocked at the amount of special interest vacations that are available. There is a railroad operations themed experience, spend a week in a lighthouse, or help sail a tall ship. One might opt for a canoeing excursion of the Artic or take a cruise on a working cargo freighter for $75.00 per day. If those don’t appeal to you, might I suggest CSI Camp or spending a few days resting in a haunted castle in Scotland.

    Still didn’t see anything appealing, well try one of these that Alison Nastasi from Flavorwire wrote about:

    Gnome Countryside: go camping and hiking while learning about the folklore of these “Little people”

    Izu Island in Japan: sits on top of an active volcano, forcing vacationers to carry a gas mask with them at all times. Now doesn’t that sound lovely?

    How About…

    Visit the Great Pacific Garbage Patch: for a mere $10,000.00 you can travel by boat to the site of the “Garbage Patch” which is famous for it’s high concentration of plastic waste, chemical sludge and debris that is trapped by the currents of the North Pacific Gyre ( a swirling pattern of oceanic currents). Vacationers help operate a Trawl that hauls big heaps of junk offshore. This one sounds like a gas mask might come in handy here also. How much family fun would that be?

    The aforementioned vacation opportunities are proof positive that some people will spend their hard earned money on any weird offering out there. These also gave me the idea that I could develop a local Theme Vacation that could possibly make a healthy profit.

    Two weeks ago I was hospitalized with Shingles and a Heart Attack. My roommate was the wife of a slacker husband and the mother of two unmotivated adult children who still live in her basement. The entire family sat vigil at her bedside arguing, cussing and helping her whine about the accommodations and staff. She phoned every friend and extended family member in a tri-state area to recite the litany of her symptoms, her vital signs and the state of her “regularity”. The curtain wall between our beds proved to be quite ineffective as a sound barrier. Consequently, I also got hammered with all the gory details of her confinement. One night , after she fell asleep, I tip-toed over to her bed and tweezed off all of her eyebrows , taped her mouth shut and strangled her with a rubber band. The next morning I was quite dismayed to discover that I hadn’t really killed her….it was only a drug induced, beautiful dream.

    After listening to her for three days, I was thoroughly convinced that she was more of a hypochondriac than anything else.

    So why not start a Fantasy Camp for hypochondriacs? The hospital could dedicate 4 to 6 rooms on a floor for people who really, really want to be sick but can’t achieve it on their own merit. You check in, designate what dreaded disease you would like to be “pretend” treated for and start your three days of being fussed over and worried about by friends and family. Doctors would give you only sugar pills while all the time telling you that you do, indeed, have the most severe case of (fill in the blank) that has ever been recorded in medical history. Since yours would be the most extreme case, the hospital could charge the most extreme prices. It seems like a win, win situation. I just bet you could even bill Obamacare for it and the bureaucrats would never catch it.

    Keep watching this space for future details about spending a week at the Peanut Beranski HypoHospital…where you can be the sicko you’ve always dreamed of.

    • Peanut – you are indeed a talented writer, your words have broad appeal. The honeymoon vs funeral details beg revealing!!!

      II have a family member (in-law) who I once reminded that hypochondria, too is a disease. Didn’t sit well.

    • Very nice. You have a knack for writing and seeing things from an awesome point of view.

      The HypoHospital would likely be a nightmare with liability insurance. Imagine the paperwork that would have to be filled out for patients of such high maintenance. Fake surgery could be a hit there as well. “I had to have a lung, kidney and gall bladder removed — they took my spleen just because they had me open.”

    • Peanut you cracked me up with laughter while reading your story.
      That line of having more fun in the funeral than in your honeymoon should become a classic. Delicious story.

    • Peanut, thank you for always sharing your unique perspective on life. It keeps me laughing. Please take care of yourself and recover quickly.

  7. thornyrosedechile

    Laughed out loud over your tweezer-wielding dream, Peanut. I think your HypoHospital would probably have a waiting list, and I’m with Jeff. I’d love to hear about the honeymoon vs. funeral. I wish you a good recovery.

  8. I may be in a funk but my daughter is not. She wrote the following for a class assignment. The first paragraph is an excerpt from James Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room. She was to continue writing in the author’s voice. I enjoyed reading it and wanted to share. Now I’m trying to convince her to take BWW with me. 😊

    Time flowed past indifferently above us; hours and days had no meaning. In the beginning, our life together held a joy and amazement which was newborn every day. Beneath the joy, of course, was anguish and beneath the amazement was fear; but they did not work themselves to the beginning until our high beginning was aloes on our tongues.

    It was beautiful but in an unconventional manner, awkward almost as if it wasn’t predetermined from the start, but by some bitter sweet chance our paths intertwined. He treated me as if I had something to give the world, each word even a small utterance bore so much weight and meaning. I was sacred. Like a child gazing into its mothers eyes with a certain anticipation, an expectation, looking for guidance and an understanding that I didn’t yet attain. Naturally I was afraid, afraid that he would see through my facade, afraid that I would lose my newly found significance, afraid that his affection would be turned in another direction and I would be lost forever trying to find that initial appeal that I once owned. And I cared for him in a way that didn’t involve intimacy or passion. Love was temperamental, love could be cold and unforgiving and I wasn’t willing to take the risk or jump off that ledge so I would just stare over the edge unprepared, unaware as he kissed me again on a rickety bench, and I still wasn’t sure how to spare his feelings. All the while we knew this affairs end was nearing. And his lips were soft and tender as he held me gently and I was engulfed in his smell. The clouds were grey although my mood was anything but that. Still scary and new and unsure, but he lingered with me like the smell of fire permeates within locks of hair. It was crazy and impulsive, but at the end of the day I felt my heart stir. I knew something had to be beginning. I was flying and spinning. I waited too long and my little sliver had broken and I had tumbled off that ledge and realized I could fly. He took my heart and didn’t shake, or flick, or push it… He inflicted an earthquake upon it. He thrust a tsunami at it. He threw a category 5 hurricane into my chest and rattled my rib cage; all the while making it that much harder to repress my constant angst and hidden aggression. It was dangerous, and somewhere in me I loved him, while somewhere in me I hated him.

  9. The current photo-prompt at 100WordStory will be closing soon. If you would like to give it a try here’s the link:

    http://www.100wordstory.org/photo-prompt/

  10. 100 Words (less the title)

    Maelstrom in a Desk Drawer

    Remember when our first was born? We, I, spent a week at the hospital. You, much longer. They held our mail. It was all bundled up when you came home.

    Diapers on the line. We thought we were doing the right thing, but it seems that washing them takes more energy than….

    Easy now, just hold still. There, got it. Was that really such a big deal? Now, what did we learn today? No bare feet on the deck.

    A report card. We’ll put that right here, next to the ‘first day’ picture.

    Rubber band, clothespin, tweezers, and tape.

    • Very clever, Gary, as usual. Left me feeling nostalgic. I hope you’re submitting something in the competition Ann suggested. I’d actually love to read a collection of your works. I greatly appreciate and envy the cleverness, humor and versatility of your writing.

  11. Don’t forget to enter something in this writing contest by June 27. Guidelines can be found at:
    http://www.ppulse.com/CallPage-9229.113117-Lit-Submission-Guidelines.html

    Try it! I’d love to see one of you win or place!

  12. Grandpa died on a Monday, was buried on a Wednesday, and on the following day, my mother was cleaning and disposing of the contents of the old house that Grandpa shared with Grandma for so many years and where my mother and her two brothers were born.

    I was trying to help her, but at the age of 10, I didn’t know the use nor the purpose of most of the artifacts and utensils in the house. So, all I did was to look busy moving things from one side of the kitchen to the other.

    It was early in the afternoon when mother reached the large closet in Grandpa’s bedroom and started to pull things out and placing them on the floor in no particular order.

    The closet was half empty when, from the upper shelf, she retrieved a dark, rusty medium size metal box with a discolored label affixed on its top that read: for Stevy eyes only.
    “Steven, come see what Grandpa left for you” called my mother.

    I came running from the kitchen and stood next to my mother who continued looking at the box with curiosity. “Here” she said “look what’s inside.”

    I immediately recognized the rusty box which felt good in my hands and in my heart for this was a gift from my Grandpa, a man I admired, loved and respected. A man who used to tell me stories about his experience traveling to other countries and who taught me many things every kid should know; from how to take care of a flat tire on a bike, to how to make a kite.

    Aware about what was inside the rusty box, I opened the top in slow motion in an effort to delay looking at its content. At that moment, I understood what death was all about. My eyes swelled and I couldn’t hold the tears that started coming down my cheeks. My mother, noticing my affliction and despair, placed her hand on my head trying to comfort me.

    Inside the box were most of the tools my Grandpa used to fix anything: clothespins, tweezers, a half roll of tape, several rubber bands, a twisted tube of glue, some thumb-tacks, paper clips, a heavy worn out Swiss army pocket knife with 10 different tools and other odd items such as nuts, screws and nails.

    In addition to these items there was an envelope address to me with a note inside. I unfold the sheet of paper and started to read:
    My dear Stevy:
    By the time you read this note, I’ll happy together again with your Grandma.
    You are now in possession of the rusty old box which, as you know, contains everything you need to fix most of the things around you.
    Put it to good use by helping others.
    I certainly hope that, eventually, you will become a father and that you will teach your children about this box as I taught you.
    I love you
    Grandpa.
    ************
    “Dad, Dad, come quick” my nine years old son yelled rushing into the house through the back door.
    “What is it? What is happening? I asked him concerned that something wrong had taken place in the backyard where 4 or 5 kids about his own age were playing with their toys.
    “Hurry”, he said “and bring the rusty box. We got to fix a wheel that came off of Andy’s truck.”Grandpa died on a Monday, was buried on a Wednesday, and on the following day, my mother was cleaning and disposing of the contents of the old house that Grandpa shared with Grandma for so many years and where my mother and her two brothers were born.

    I was trying to help her, but at the age of 10, I didn’t know the use nor the purpose of most of the artifacts and utensils in the house. So, all I did was to look busy moving things from one side of the kitchen to the other.

    It was early in the afternoon when mother reached the large closet in Grandpa’s bedroom and started to pull things out and placing them on the floor in no particular order.

    The closet was half empty when, from the upper shelf, she retrieved a dark, rusty medium size metal box with a discolored label affixed on its top that read: for Stevy eyes only.
    “Steven, come see what Grandpa left for you” called my mother.

    I came running from the kitchen and stood next to my mother who continued looking at the box with curiosity. “Here” she said “look what’s inside.”

    I immediately recognized the rusty box which felt good in my hands and in my heart for this was a gift from my Grandpa, a man I admired, loved and respected. A man who used to tell me stories about his experience traveling to other countries and who taught me many things every kid should know; from how to take care of a flat tire on a bike, to how to make a kite.

    Aware about what was inside the rusty box, I opened the top in slow motion in an effort to delay looking at its content. At that moment, I understood what death was all about. My eyes swelled and I couldn’t hold the tears that started coming down my cheeks. My mother, noticing my affliction and despair, placed her hand on my head trying to comfort me.

    Inside the box were most of the tools my Grandpa used to fix anything: clothespins, tweezers, a half roll of tape, several rubber bands, a twisted tube of glue, some thumb-tacks, paper clips, a heavy worn out Swiss army pocket knife with 10 different tools and other odd items such as nuts, screws and nails.

    In addition to these items there was an envelope address to me with a note inside. I unfold the sheet of paper and started to read:
    My dear Stevy:
    By the time you read this note, I’ll happy together again with your Grandma.
    You are now in possession of the rusty old box which, as you know, contains everything you need to fix most of the things around you.
    Put it to good use by helping others.
    I certainly hope that, eventually, you will become a father and that you will teach your children about this box as I taught you.
    I love you
    Grandpa.
    ************
    “Dad, Dad, come quick” my nine years old son yelled rushing into the house through the back door.
    “What is it? What is happening? I asked him concerned that something wrong had taken place in the backyard where 4 or 5 kids about his own age were playing with their toys.
    “Hurry”, he said “and bring the rusty box. We got to fix a wheel that came off of Andy’s truck.”

    • You had me tearing up, Lando. I loved your clever tale. It brought back memories of my father who passed away several years ago. He was a surgeon but often said he would love to have been a mechanic he so enjoyed repairing things.
      Thanks for commenting on my post. I’m still trying to convince my daughter to take Ann’s class. She’s not big on online classes but I’ll keep trying.

  13. Sorry for my posting that was submitted twice by error.
    The first time I tried, the system indicated that my story could not be posted. I didn’t know why.
    Then I tried again and when I pressed “submit” the two stories were posted.

  14. Poodle Grooming Instructions

    Paying a groomer 80 dollars every two weeks gets expensiver and expensiver. The time has to come when you decide to bite the bullet and do it yourself.

    1. Borrow a poodle to practice on, hopefully not too terribly large. I like the middle size, about 15 pounds or so. Never start this process on your own poodle. You are going to have a really funny looking dog for a while, and you don’t want your dog to be embarrassed about her appearance while you’re learning.

    2. Tell the dog to jump up on the grooming bench. This may take some time but it will be worth it when you turn 75 and don’t want to bend over and pick up a heavy, soggy dog.

    3. Brush the coat out very thoroughly. This will only take you about an hour or so, unless you brushed the dog yesterday.

    4. Comb the entire coat, now that all the snarls are out from the brushing.

    5. Invite the dog into the shower with you and get both of you soaking wet. This is especially nice on a hot summer day, as it cools the temper that’s beginning to build in your head.

    6. When the dog is clean, tell her to stand still, and not shake water all over the place. Stand back while the dog shakes.

    7. Instruct the dog to return to the grooming bench and dry her with your hair dryer. This will take about an hour, too. While you hold the dog with one hand and the dryer with the other, brush the coat to be sure it doesn’t get all tangled while it dries.

    8. Pick up the poodle’s long ears and put a clip type clothespin on the hair, being careful not to pin the dog’s ears. When she screeches from the pain when you pinned her ears, remove the clothespin and use a big rubber band. Just put it on like you would a ponytail band, only be sure it’s loose enough that you don’t cut off the circulation in her ears. When the poodle shakes off the rubber band and you can’t find it after looking all over the room, get a roll of painter’s tape and tape the #$%^&* out of those ears.

    9. Shake some talcum powder into each ear so you can see the hair inside. Using your special ear hair tweezers, proceed to pull all the hair out of the dog’s ears. She’s used to this and won’t object unless you grab too much hair and try to turn her ear inside out.

    10. When you return from the emergency room after getting your arm stitched up where your borrowed poodle bit you……….go online and find the nearest groomer. Call and ask for her earliest appointment.

    © Meegiemom, all rights reserved

  15. Brilliant!

  16. now I know you’re goofy….thanks, Jeff

  17. Meegie, funny story. Good advice about borrowing a dog for this experiment.
    I haven’t got a dog in a long time. Is it true that grooming cost $80 these days?

  18. Yup, and that’s before the tip

  19. How A Show is Born

    Phil wanted clothespin. Willie favored tweezers. Jase disagreed with the both of them; he pushed for rubber band. But Corie swayed their vote in the end. Duck Tape Dynasty.

    Bwahahaha

  20. That’s because Corie already had her new “Fashion Designer Duct Tape” business cards made and was doing a thriving business making prom clothes.

  21. Krystyna Fedosejevs

    Clothespin sprung broken
    Tweezers couldn’t stay closed
    Tape taped spindly straps
    Rubber band twisted
    stretched lacy black bra
    rocketing it off
    my backyard clothesline
    to land in neighbour’s
    cup of Earl Grey tea!

  22. Clothespin, tweezers, tape, and a rubber band.
    I can fix most anything
    If I have that stuff on hand
    Maybe just a little paint
    To cover up the spots that ain’t
    quite right
    That ain’t quite right
    Clothespin, tweezers, tape
    I’m planning my escape
    Rubber band, take my hand
    Even in a foreign land
    I can make repairs
    Taping up the tears
    Perhaps I’ll add
    A paper clip
    Hold together
    Things that rip
    If I could have a stapler too
    That would be just great
    There’s not much I can’t do
    With rubber bands and glue
    I can fix your stuff
    Tell me if I’ve said enough
    Clothespins, tweezers, tape,
    Rubber bands and glue,
    Staplers, staples, paint and string
    Now I’ve told you everything
    You can fix stuff too
    With tweezers, tape, and glue
    I said You can fix stuff too
    With tweezers, staples, tape and glue!
    Watch my Youtube video
    I’ll tell you just how it should go
    You can fix stuff too
    With tweezers, staples, tape and glue….

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