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If at First You Don't Succeed ... by C.L. Beck

Stories and Humor to Make You Laugh by C.L. (Cindy) Beck
Tags: lifestyle, humor



Photo © sxc.hu/trohaa

I recently remembered an incident that happened about a year ago. Oh, all right, maybe it was more like seven years, three months and fifteen minutes ago, but who’s keeping track? It’s still fresh in my mind, so that’s what counts.

On a whim, I'd decided to rearrange my computer desk. Yes, it must have been a whim and had nothing to do with the fact that dust deeper than the sand dunes of the Sahara had accumulated on my home office furniture.

“There’s too much clutter and so I’m going to move the computer speakers,” I said to Bearly, our hundred-pound dog. He looked at me and his brown eyes winked with wisdom, as if confirming my good idea. Or maybe it was from the dust floating in the air as I moved stuff—I wasn’t sure which, but I opted for wisdom.

I leaned awkwardly across the desk to loosen the speaker wires, while continuing my conversation with the dog. “Why can’t they make everything more accessible on computers? Why can’t they put the plug ends to the front of the speakers? Why can’t they—Oops!”

The plugs dropped behind the desk and onto the floor. Drat, a big problem already, because when the plugs are on the floor it requires one skinny person to slide under the desk and hand the wires up to one contortionist, who is bending over and slithering his hand behind the desk and down the wall.

Hmmmmm. I could see Trouble rearing its ugly head. There was only one person in the house and she didn’t qualify as skinny. No, I like to consider myself nicely curvaceous, or perhaps stunning-with-short-legs.

I thought about asking Bearly to go under and fetch the wires, but he hardly qualified as skinny, either. The last time he’d tried to get under the desk, the result had been similar to an earthquake combined with a wrecking ball.

I knelt on all fours and had just wriggled underneath when a brilliant thought hit me. String! I could crawl back out, tie a long piece of string to the keyboard, crawl under the desk, loop it (the string, not the desk) around the speaker wires, then crawl back out (again!) and haul them up. What a spectacularly brilliant idea!

From my less-than-comfortable spot under the desk, I glanced around the room hoping for a piece of string nearby. Rubber bands hung from a doorknob, and something sat under the couch.

"Oh, look, Bearly. There's a dried piece of spaghetti under there." He looked at me like I was a few noodles short of a lasagna, and said nothing. I gave a sigh—despite the interesting artifacts in the room, not a piece of twine was in sight. I lay looking at the dusty sand dunes so clearly observable from my vantage point, and pondered the questions of life. Where did I come from? Where am I going? Why isn’t there a long piece of tangled-together dog hair around when it’s needed?

With a groan from the effort, I wiggled my curvaceous body back out and went into the kitchen, found the twine, cut a long piece, went back and tied it to the keyboard, letting it fall behind the desk. Then, I crawled back under.

When I looked up, there was the string ... hanging a foot shorter than my reach. As I lay there, I pondered the questions of life. Who am I? Where did I come from? Why didn’t I remember to measure twice and cut once?

I twisted, trying to reach it and the muscle in my neck cramped. “Aaacckkk! Help, help, cramp!” I shouted, knowing full well no one was there to help me. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten about Bearly. Hearing my cries, he ran to the desk and in what seemed to be an effort to rescue me—but might have actually been the perfect opportunity to check my pockets for dog treats—he crammed himself underneath.

Now I had my curvaceous body, mounds of dust, speaker wires, a dangling string and a hundred-pound behemoth practically sitting on my face, all under the desk. I never knew a piece of furniture could totter like that and still stay standing.

Good things come to those with persistence, and if at first you don't succeed, try, try again ... or so my mother tells me. I don’t actually know that for a fact, though, because my mantra goes something like, “If at first you don't succeed, things will only get worse.” While I was down there, I decided to dust the wires. I jiggled one little plug, heard a zzzzttttt and saw sparks. The 120 volt zap up my arm gave me a small clue it was time to quit.

Eventually I managed to plug in the speakers and the machine was up and running again … except for an error message on the computer that said, “Can not find an Internet connection.” Which all just goes to show that good things might come to those who persist, but bad things come to those who dust.


------"If at First You Don't Succeed" © C.L. (Cindy) Beck------



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Sympathy Card Mix-up

Stories and Humor to Make You Laugh by C.L. (Cindy) Beck
Tags: sympathy card, humor



Image © Iamlm, sxc.hu

Sympathy Card Mix-up
(Author unknown. Received in an email from C. Larene Hall.)

A business was relocating and one of the owner's friends wanted to send him flowers for the occasion. The floral arrangement arrived at the new business site and the owner read the card, "Rest in Peace."

The owner was angry and called the florist to complain. After he told the florist of the obvious mistake and how angry he was, the florist replied,

"Sir, I'm really sorry for the mistake, but rather than getting angry, you should imagine this ... somewhere there is a funeral taking place today, and they have flowers with a note saying, 'Congratulations on your new location.'"
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If you get a second, drop off a comment and let me know a mix-up that's happened to you. The craziest one I ever experienced was when I received a Christmas present meant for someone else.

Evil Beasts of Summer: The Sequel ... By C.L. (Cindy) Beck

Stories and Humor to Make You Laugh by C.L. (Cindy) Beck
Tags: bugs, insects, humor



The evil beasts of summer had returned. No, I’m not talking about the census takers, I’m talking about the Queen Mother of all evil beasts—earwigs!

“We’re overrun by bugs,” I called through the open window to my husband, Russ. As I did, one of the nasty-wahsties fell … er … I mean, one of nature’s little decomposers fell from the eaves onto my shoulder. A lesser woman would have freaked out, while I merely brushed it off like someone had lit me on fire. Then, realizing that an entomologist who believes we can live in harmony with nature shouldn’t react so strongly to creepy bugs that look like the spawn of Hell, I swatted the rest of my clothes as if cleaning off dust. Just in case any of the neighbors were watching through a pair of binoculars.

“Russ, come look at these earwigs and help me figure out what to do.” As I said it, Russ rounded the corner with a container of insecticide large enough to nuke every living creature in the Intermountain West. I eyed it and gave Russ my sternest look—one designed to let him know that commercial pesticides were forbidden.

He stared back. “Do you have gas pains? Your face is all contorted.”

Smart aleck. I pointed at the can-the-size-of-a Patriot-missile in his hand. “We do not use poisons to kill God’s creations.”

“Maybe you do not, but I do.” Russ popped the cap and turned toward them, looking as if he intended to empty the can on them.

I grabbed his arm. “No, wait! Let me see if there’s a natural way to eradicate them.”

Russ’s jaw dropped. “A natural way? You mean like how you tried to kill the ants the natural way by sprinkling orange peel on them, so they multiplied and replenished the earth instead? Or the natural way you got rid of wasps by spraying them with ammonia, so they populated the yard and built nests in the clothesline poles, creating offspring large enough to carry off the neighbor’s Great Dane?” He paused. “Well, maybe that one wasn’t so bad.”

Seeing my chance, I grabbed the pesticide from him before he came out of his daydream about the neighbor’s barking dog being carted off as wasp fodder. “Most of the bees are gone now. And I’m sure I can find an environmentally safe way to take care of the earwigs. Just give me a few days.”

Nodding his head dubiously—probably because he knew I was right, but more likely because he knew he’d be sleeping on the couch if he didn’t let me try—Russ walked back in the house, dragging his can of bug spray behind him.

It didn’t take long for me to find an eco-friendly solution. Homemade earwig bait! I put the plan into action.

Two weeks later, while out hanging laundry and dodging the wasps that could not be living in the clothesline poles, I saw Russ step out the back door. He stuck his nose in the air, like a hound dog, and sniffed.

“What’s that awful smell?” Then he looked at the house. “And why are there billions of earwigs crawling all over the walls?”

I stopped pinning the clothes in mid-pin. “Billions of earwigs? Oh, you’re just exaggerating. They’re dying off, thanks to my natural methods of extermination.” I walked over and looked at the walls. They did seem to be teeming with activity. Even worse than that, an aroma reminiscent of dead sheep assaulted my nose.

Uh-oh. It seemed to be coming from my cup of homemade earwig bait that sat near the foundation, so I stepped closer to conceal it. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s being covert.

Russ cocked his head and pointed behind me. “What are you trying to hide?”

“Nothing.”

He pushed me gently aside and knelt on the sidewalk, peering into the cup. “Gross! What is this? It looks like earwig stew. And stinks like—”

“It’s not that bad. It just smells like sheep.” I filled my voice with a cheery optimism that I found hard to actually feel since my queasy stomach kept turning over from the odor.

“Sheep? More like roadkill soaking in rancid oil. Where did you get this idea?”

“From the Internet,” I replied. Not an easy task, talking and gagging at the same time. “It’s bait. The earwigs are attracted to the oil, and then they fall in and die.”

Russ held the cup as far away as possible. “It looks to me like thousands are drowning and rapidly rotting, but the rest are thriving on the oil, increasing in numbers, and they think they’re your pets!”

I reluctantly shook my head in agreement, but said nothing since it was hard to talk while holding my nose closed with one hand, and shooing Russ toward the trash can with the other.

As they say in novels, all’s well that end’s well. Or something like that. With grave misgivings that Russ would cover the entire block in a poisonous cloud of insecticide, I agreed to let him nuke the buggers. Within a matter of minutes, most of the earwigs expired. Russ found all thirty malodorous cups of bait and carried them at arm’s length to the trashcan. Once the mushroom cloud of insecticide dissipated, the air once again smelled clean and fresh.

Well, except for slight stench that would occasionally drift past as I was outside fighting the wasps for use of the clothesline. It probably came from some ol’ dead sheep somewhere. But, then again, it could be that I jumped just a little too quickly in giving the neighbors my Knock ‘Em Dead Recipe for Earwig Bait … before I’d actually tried it out.


------"Evil Beasts of Summer: The Sequel" © C.L. (Cindy) Beck------



This blog sponsored by YourLDSNeighborhood.com.



Please show your appreciation by stopping for a visit. And take a minute to check out their newsletter, and yourLDSRadio as well!



Ad Copy Bloopers

~~Funny Stories and Humor by C.L. (Cindy) Beck~~
Tags: bloopers, funny stories

It's probably safe to say that most readers visiting this site love bloopers. Therefore, it was only natural when the funnies below showed up in an email to put the bloopers out here for everyone to enjoy.



Clumsy Ad Copy

1. No matter what your topcoat is made of, this miracle spray
will make it really repellent.

2. We do not tear your clothing with machinery. We do it
carefully by hand.

3. For sale: an antique desk suitable for lady with thick
legs and large drawers.

4. Now is your chance to have your ears pierced and get an
extra pair to take home, too.

5. Dog for sale: eats anything and is fond of children.

6. Dinner Special—Turkey $2.35; Chicken or Beef $2.25;
Children $2.00.

7. Auto Repair Service. Free pick-up and delivery. Try us
once, you'll never go anywhere again.

~ From The Good Clean Funnies

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And now that you've had a chance to laugh, take a minute to leave a comment telling me which was your favorite. The blooper that had me giggling was #3—the lady with thick legs and large drawers!