Lifecyle of a Ping Pong Table

When your kids reach age nine or ten, a back-and-forth decision regarding a ping pong table can come into play. Heck, it’s hard coming up with ideas for Christmas...after already giving the Easy Bake Oven and Pogo-Stick. Oh wait, that’s what I got, when I was ten.

So you decide it’s time for a ping pong table. The kids say they really want one…will really use one…all the time, really. You have visions of the family pinging and ponging together. So the bearded big guy brings one.

Thanks Santa guy. We clear space in the basement and it’s an instant hit. The kids play with it…for hours and hours...challenging each other to games...for about a month. Then it sits.

The ping pong table is reduced to a large piece of dark green plywood taking up space. I decide to use it as a gift wrapping station, just to keep it in play.

After a few years, there is renewed interest. Our basement with the totally rad ping pong table becomes the new hot spot for middle-schoolers. Colinboy and his buddies love the competition of pinging and ponging...which quickly leads to ball whacking …at each other. Followed by pulling the rubber off paddles...and subsequent throwing ...leaving holes in the ceiling and walls. Ahhh... preadolescent boys having some ping pong fun.

Then everything goes silent again for the ping pong table. It sits and gathers dust... gets broken down and shoved into a closet. The table seems to be approaching the end of its useful life. We think about giving it away, but deep down hope for its return.

After a few more years...Colinboy and his peeps come home during college...and pull out the table for some pong. YES...a ping pong rebirth. The game, however, requires a new skill set...and is exclusively played with Bud, Miller, Stella, Sam, and the ever so buxom St. Pauli Girl.

If you’re considering purchasing a ping pong table for some family fun…please consider the ENTIRE lifecycle.

Do not be ponged!

Hello Already

What exactly burns your buns? Well…the certain something that burns MY buns…is when I’m shopping in a store and an employee says ‘hello’ to me…numerous times.

I’m a friendly Kat, so I’m not saying I don’t like to be cordial…but my buns are well-toasted when I get multiple greetings from the SAME person. I can get by with ONE 'hello' from a total stranger. A single ‘hello’ completes me.

I’m sure employees are instructed by management to say ‘hello’ to customers…make them feel comfortable…make them feel welcomed…make them feel like spending money…whatever…but they should also train them to look at the person they say ‘hello’ to. That way, they don’t end up over hello-ing it…which is as irritating and sincere as a Tony Hayward quote.

Anywho………..

Yesterday I went into B Band B…that’s the Bed, Bath and Beyond store…not the bourbon, brandy and beer store I usually frequent…and a woman working there said ‘hello’ to me as I walked by her. As I walked farther into the store she said ‘hello’ to me while stocking display shelves. Then I went back around the display…and she said hello to me AGAIN …after only 30 seconds.

“HELLO ALREADY. YOU’VE SAID HELLO TO ME THREE TIMES.” That is what I wanted to scream to the woman, but I couldn’t…like I said “I’m a friendly Kat.” Instead I just screamed it in my head.

At least Walmart has it right…they put the greeter person at the front door…so unless you are making multiple trips to the Mart…you are only getting one ‘hello.’

One ‘hello’ per customer. Is that too much to ask for? My buns are burning…gotta go.

BP's Slimy Tony Hayward

The leaks in the media regarding the resignation /firing/hit the road jack of BP Chief Executive Tony Hayward…appear to be as real as the oil leak in the Gulf that took place for 3 months. BP has FINALLY announced that Tony Hayward will be replaced on October 1st by Bob Dudley.

Little question: What took the BP Board so long to shit-can/mutually resign this guy? How many times did Tony need to do the wrong thing and say the wrong thing? Most people don’t get that many chances to screw up their jobs. I’ve heard of people being fired from McDonald’s for mixing up burger orders with McNuggets.

Tony Hayward is a PR nightmare. Most Public Relations firms would have committed harry canary with his numerous goofs and gaffes.

Goof #1…Tony tried to blame the oil spill on someone else…anyone. I think he first tried to blame it on The Beav…and then he tried Transocean.

Gaffe #2 …Tony stated that the amount of oil pouring into the Gulf was “tiny” compared to the volume of water in the Gulf. (But a lot of oil for his Olympic-sized pool.)

Goof #3…Tony left the Gulf to see his 52-foot yacht compete in a race off the coast of England during the height of the oil crisis.

Gaffe #4…Tony said he wanted to resolve the oil spill crisis because he “wanted his life back.”

Goof #5…Tony stated that the “environmental impact of this disaster is likely to be very, very modest.”

Gaffe #6…When asked about whether he was able to sleep at night in light of the oil spill’s disastrous effects…Tony stated “Of course I can.”

I’m not sure what is cruder…the millions of gallons of oil spewed into the Gulf or Tony Hayward’s comments.

Anywho........

I know…it’s hard to blame this whole disaster on Hayward. It’s not all Tony’s fault. It’s just FINALLY time for Tony to take his billions of dollars and get back to his yacht…back to his un-real life...because Tony just doesn’t "get it." Tony doesn't seem to grasp the real toll this crisis has taken on the real people who live on the Gulf coast.

Tony Hayward’s public persona and managing of the Gulf oil spill are like oil and water…they do not mix.

Blogus interruptus

If you’ve read my blog with any regularity, you may have noticed that I have come down with a condition. The condition is an interruption in blogging…otherwise known as blogus interruptus…a failure to be regular.

There will be times this summer when my blogs will be irregular and lacking. Don’t worry they won’t be lacking in dot dot dots…BUT they'll be lacking in numbers. The cause for my irregularity is due to the season…summertime.

“Summertime and the living is easy” ….sing with me. It’s the time to kick back, relax, take walks on the beach, and take an occasional katnap. All this activity might keep me away from habitual blogging…so I won’t be as regular.

Besides, I must admit the other reason for blogus interruptus is that when I’m at the beach…my blog chair doesn’t feel the same. It doesn’t have the same comfy cozy fit with my butt…you know, the way an ole shoe fits your foot…all broken-in and soft like butta.

My beach blog chair feels stiff…so it impedes the flow of creative thoughts. I’m basically like the Nile River flowing south to north…my creative thoughts flow from my seat to my head.

Anywho……………

In order to get through this period of blogus interruptus, there will be times when I will feel compelled to post an old blog…a blog drudged up from the bowels of previous blog posts…and dusted off to look like new.

Blogus Interruptus, however, is a temporary condition and will be reversed when the katdays of summer are over.

I look forward to getting over my blogus interuptus condition soon…so I can become regular again.

Kat Rant

I haven’t ranted in a while…so hold your ears…or close your eyes…I’m doing it now.

My rant has to do with the police. I know the police were invented to help the public…and save the day. But last weekend, I swear I was almost taken out by a cop…and I wasn’t even doing my usual illegal stuff.

I was driving on my side of a two-sided road that is only divided by a double yellow solid line of paint. The road goes up and over a small mountain where the speed limit is 40 and curves back and forth.

I was driving and singing away to tunes with the volume cranked up. And next thing I know…a cop is coming full speed at me…head on. It crossed the solid yellow line to pass the car in front of him on the blind windy curve. He narrowly missed me…by a scream.

I wanted to do something. Anything. I laid on my horn. I wanted to make a citizen’s arrest. I wanted to report the cop for almost turning me into road kill…but I was afraid he would have my number…if you know what I mean.

Okay, maybe the cop was rushing to help someone who was in dire need. But I don’t think killing a middle-aged blogger in the process is justified…warranted….or very nice.

Anywho……….

The incident got me thinking…I wonder how many people have been maimed or killed in accidents resulting from an overzealous cop with a need for speed and siren? I wonder if they keep those statistics or bury them under the people they take out.

I’ve got a sneaking suspicion…that if they did keep such statistics…the public wouldn’t be privy to them.

Rant over.

Whew…I feel so much better getting that off my chest. Thanks for listening. I hear it is healthy to let it all out and not keep anything bottled up. That way you don’t end up with anger management issues…ala Mel Gibson style.

Pick Me, Pick Me

Have you been watching the Bachelorette? I admit, I jumped in toward the end…after Ali whittled down her choices…from twenty to four men…Roberto, Chris, Kirk, and Frank. Who needs to watch all that kissing and groping of random guys. On second thought…… (Note to self: find out when next season begins.)

I started watching the show when it was time for the home visits. That’s when the Bachelorette visits the guy’s hometowns and meets their families. The whole fam damily…the mother, the father, the weird sibling, the crazy uncle.

I think meeting the entire family is a bad idea…you never, ever want to have your love interest meet all the crazies in your family at the same time. They should be pulled out of the woodwork over a period of time...so not to scare your lover off.

So after the hometown visits…Ali dumped Kirk, the guy with the weirdest relatives…which makes total sense. Hey, Ali could be connected to those zanies for the rest of her life. It was no surprise that the guy whose father keeps animal guts and body parts in his freezer and has 24 varieties of animal heads tacked to his walls...was told to hit the road. buh bye.

Anywho………

Monday night’s episode was Must-See Cry TV. It took place on the gorgeous island of Tahiti. (Note to self: put Tahiti on list of places to go.) But there was trouble in paradise. Frank dumped Ali before their sailing date. He decided to stay with his ex-girlfriend. Drama ensued………

Ali was devastated…turned inside out. She cried real tears (tell-tale sign: ugly cry) about how it wasn’t fair…how could Frank do this to her? Question: Isn’t Ali gonna do the same thing to two of the three guys that are left?

I think Ali was devastated about Frank leaving the show, because he was really the guy she was gonna choose. Ali was way too twisted in angst and emotion for Frank to not be her #1 choice. Besides wouldn’t Ali have to know who she was choosing by then…the guy she is supposed to spend the rest of her life with?

So at the rose ceremony…there stood Chris and Roberto….side by side. Each of them smiling at Ali…looking like they were wearing “pick me, pick me” signs.

This seems very unnatural to me. They looked liked wimps. If a guy feels that strongly about you…loves you, wants to marry you, wants to have children with you…wouldn’t he turn and punch out his competition?

I think when it gets down to the last two guys standing…there should be an old fashioned duel. Winner of the duel takes all…and Ali.

Now that would make great reality TV.

Note to self: Call the producers of the Bachelorette with your brilliant show suggestion.

Rule Stretching

Would you consider yourself a rule person? There are those including myself who are definite rule people. Not that I lay down a lot of rules, but I follow them.

And then there are those who think rules were made to be tested. Ahhh…sometimes that would be Colinboy. People like Colinboy don’t always follow every rule to a T. He’s more creative. He likes to bend them around…into an “O.”

I’m not saying he’s breaking cardinal rules…or road rules. He’s not a bad Colinboy. No, he falls into the rule stretcher category. He thinks some rules are flexible like rubba bands and hamstrings…made to be stretched.

Besides…rule stretching is all a matter of semantics anyway. Heck, politicians do it all the time. Bill Clinton tried to stretch the definition of the word “is.” He tried to give a small word...extra definitions. Colinboy might have a future in politics.

Oprah is trying to enforce the rule of “no talking or texting on your cell phone while driving.” It seems like a good rule…and like Colinboy says, “should be easy for Oprah. She has a personal driver.”

Anywho……………

I’m a rule proponent…follower…adherer. I stick to the rules like gummy bears to my crowns. Because I know for sure… if we didn’t follow the rules, there would be total chaos in the world.
I know you are thinking that I can’t be all goody three shoes…all the time. That I must have broken some rule…sometime. Well, I have a confession to make...

I recently entered the EXIT door at CVS. I know...it was wrong.

The EXIT door was wide open and was the closest door to me...so I went for it. I first looked over my shoulder…hoping I wasn’t captured on the CVS security camera.

I know the EXIT door is made for people leaving the store and should never be used as a means of entry. Someone could have been leaving the store when I was entering and a collision could have occurred.

I hope my infraction doesn’t make Colinboy think that it’s now okay to go from rule stretcher...to rule breaker.

I guess I better watch myself. I hear rule breaking is a slippery slope. Before I know it I might start breaking other hard and fast rules…like the rules of grammar, the rules of chess, the rules of exponents...and..…the rules of golf.

(Mother of golf…Say it isn’t so.)

Sound of Muzak

It’s amazing how often you hear Muzak…also referred to as elevator, background, and light music. Anyway, you package it…it’s canned.

Muzak is most often heard while you’re waiting on hold for a human to get to the phone. Like waiting for the grooming department at Petco. I was thinking that Petco(where-the-pets-go) could use some better muzak for people on hold. Suggestion: Any tune by the Pet Shop Boys.

Muzak has even made its way to the pumps at gas stations. Suggestion: make it fun with a little Beetle’s tune... “Baby you can drive my car”….or Janis Joplin’s “Oh lord won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz.”

For some reason, a lot of canned music is irritating. It’s something you have to endure, but then again...since when was anything “canned” considered a good thing? Canned laughter…not funny. Canned response…not creative. Canned email…never appreciated.

Anywho.........

Once in a Blue Moon (not the beer)...you’ll hear real music while you’re on hold that makes you wanna get your groove on. (When I say YOU, I mean ME.)

I don’t think it’s weird to busta move when you’re on the phone...last I knew…they can’t see you from the other end of the phone. Besides it’s a great way to pass the time, get some exercise, and work on my moves...which are so fine.

Sometimes I do get caught…not bustin...but I get caught singing along when they switch over from the canned music. “Can I help you? And I’m singing into the phone: “Don’t. Don’t you want me?”

Something should be done about canned music...there's really nothing noteworthy about it. It would be great if someone could address this issue and help with a better sound of Muzac..and I’m not talking Julie Andrews...or even Rhonda. Although Rhonda did Help Me once.

If I was hired as Director of Canned Music, the first thing I would do is get rid of all computer generated music...which to me sounds like a series of electronic farts.

It’s interesting...I’ve made a profound connection: the same electronic fart sounds generated from canned music are eerily similar to the digestion of canned spam.

Fudds Exotics Menu

Have you been to a Fuddruckers? I haven’t because we don’t have one near us…but given a chance, I would. Who could resist the “World’s Greatest Hamburgers?” Especially one with a name that sounds nasty…if you change a few letters around.

Every now and then, there is nothing like a good burger and beer. Simply said: an ale completes an angus…kinda like PaulA completes Kat.

Anywho……….

The news out of Fuddrucker-ville is that they have introduced a menu of exotic burgers called “Fudds Exotics.” We are not talking about serving routine beef…the average Bessie. That is so old school beef. We are talking an animal of a different hoof…big game meat. The kind whose stuffed head looks attractive on the living room wall.

Fuddruckers first started its Fudds Exotics Menu with the bison burger…a half a pound of bison on a bun. Which is a cute way to refer to rangy buffalo meat .

Recently they added elk. I can’t imagine ordering an elk burger off a menu. It just seems like it would taste so elky…not that I know what that tastes like. But, unless I dipped each elk bite in a bucket of blue cheese and chased it with a brewhaha…I think it would blow.

In case bison and elk are just bland potatoes for your taste…stay tuned to the upcoming additions to the Fudds Exotics menu.

Wild boar will be coming in September to a Fuddruckers near you. (Remember: be careful how you pronounce that name in public.)

Ostrich will work its way onto the menu for Thanksgiving. I know most people eat turkey during the Thanksgiving holiday…but if you really want to stick your skinny neck out and try a new meat…the ostrich could be your bird of choice.

There is only one Fuddruckers restaurant located in the state of Connecticut which is in Mashantucket…an Indian Reservation. Most people from the reservation are probably used to taking a walk on the wild side with their food…so they wouldn’t be weirded out by the menu of exotic burgers. I’m sure that…without reservation they would like to see Bear meat offered next. IDK…I’m thinking that bear meat might be too grizzly for me.

As long as they keep the Kat Burger off the menu…I’m down with that. But if you live in East Asia…I hear the Kat burger will soon be coming to a Fuddruckers near you.

(I think I just let the Kat out of the bag with that announcement…sorry Fuddruckers.)

Apply Within

A summer job is a great way for a college kid to earn money toward college expenses. But with the cost of today’s college tuitions...it probably only helps with a weekly Starbucks latte.

I remember the summer jobs I had when I was in college. Who doesn’t???

I remember……………
….Teaching baton twirling to young girls through the town recreation center. I can still see their faces as they looked up to me, like I was something special (more like I was a good two feet taller.)

….Working as a secretary’s assistant at the U.S. Immigration Service-Intelligence. Which, if I might add…it’s only fitting that I landed a position in their Intelligence division…everyone says I ooze intelligencia.

….Working as an office assistant in the Admissions Office at UVM. Unfortunately, admitting prospective students was not part of my job description.

I also remember hoping that I wouldn’t mess up, screw up, or goof up.

Anywho……………..

As I stood in line on my last visit to Carvel…I watched a teenager write “Happy Birthday Jessica” on an ice cream cake. Her cursive was perfect and she had just the right number of crooked letters in Jessica. Hey, that takes skill. I’m thinking if I had her job I would have had to cross out and do over before I got it right.

After I placed my order, I watched her flawlessly stack swirls of ice cream on my medium cone. I commented to her on what a GREAT JOB she did with it…and she beamed. I think it’s nice to give young people praise…to encourage them. Okay, I might have been sucking up to her so she would give me an extra swirl...when I came in the next day.

I wonder how talented I would have been as a Carvel employee. I can be a perfectionist…so I would have had a lot of do-overs…which probably wouldn’t have gone over too big with the bosses. But they never would have found out…I would have easily eaten all my mistakes.

Hmm......I wonder if Carvel is still hiring for the summer or if I missed the banana barge...melting any of my Carvel aspirations.

Dental Captive

There is one career that I would never be aching to do…one that I just wouldn’t want to sink my teeth into. That would be the job of a dental hygienist.

Let’s be real….not every patient has the beautiful mouth of Julia Roberts. Cleaning Julia’s mouth would be a dream job because it would be easy. She has a nice wide mouth…with lots of room for a hygienist. A hygienist can really get right in there…right down to the elbows.

The thought of dealing with the general public’s mouths puts my teeth on edge…especially if the person didn’t have time to brush before the visit. Because a hygienist's job involves invading someone’s personal space…they become privy to knowing who had the burrito…and who had the garlic chicken for lunch.

Anywho…….

Not all patients are easy…especially if they’re like me. During my last teeth cleaning the hygienist asked if there was something wrong because I was wincing and making faces. I wasn’t hurting, but the constant sound of metal scraping my teeth, after a solid 20 minutes...got long in the teeth.

I’m also a squirmer by nature, so I don’t sit still in the recliner. I wring my hands and constantly move my feet. I’m like the Lady GaGa of the dental chair.

Plus I’ve learned that spitting is an art. The hygienist always wants you to rinse and spit, but when I do…I end up running the drool down my face and having to mop up. I guess baseball players are better suited to the spit procedure.

Double Anywho……..

I think I may have brushed my hygienist the wrong way…one too many times. It seems as though she has had it up to her crowns with my Lady GaGa song and dance routine and feels compelled to toughen me up.

I know this by the way she grabs my mouth and yanks it wide open. She’s been giving me the work over while I'm held captive in her chair. I think she is trying to teach me: “Life isn’t all fun and games.” “You’ll be a better person for it.” “The pain I’m feeling actually hurts her more than it hurts me.” Who is this woman anyway? Since when did my mother become a dental hygienist?

Luckily, I managed to escape her clutches by the skin of my teeth. She should be careful though...I'm ready to fight her tooth and nail.

Hey, no skin off my teeth.

The Meat House

With the economy and such, most small stores have had a tough time staying open. The small candy shop where Wishy used to work recently closed …which was a sad day for her…and for all of us with sweet teeth. I’ve got 28 of them.

So it was a medium-rare event when a new store called the Meat House opened. The new store has a neighborhood feel and very good beef. The prime of the prime. The pork of the chop. The Ham of the burger. And it can also be expensive. It puts the X in eXpensive.

I recently went in for a couple of pork chops (pork chops are a way to eat gallons of applesauce without looking like you're 5 years old) and saw they were selling pork chops for 17 dollars a pound. Oooweee…that’s a lot of dough for ham.

I was informed the chops in question were Kurobuta and considered to be the Kobe Beef of pork chops. Like I should be impressed. I don’t care if Kurobuta is the Kobe Bryant of Basketball…I don’t wanna pay that. I say give me rookie pork.

Anywho……..

People are running their ham hocks off to get into the Meat House. Frankly, it’s the busiest store this side of Hamburg.

I’m actually very surprised that people are that mad for the cow. I thought we were eating less meat and more chicken and fish for health reasons. But apparently I’m miSTEAKen. Now I’m finding out people have been hiding red meat in their shopping carts at the Stop and Shop under their Metamucil and bags of lettuce.

Now their love for meat is out in the open. There’s no hiding it when you enter at store called “Meat House...Your Neighborhood Butcher.” I know I might be considered rare...because I prefer sweet over meat…but apparently my town is full of meatheads…Michael Stivic, Chuck Angus, and Sir Loin of Avalon...to name a few.

I better cut it out with the meat jokes. I know I’ve butchered them enough.

Lethal Mouth

I don’t think I’m going out on a limb by saying...Mel Gibson has officially earned his reputation as a racist. I don’t want to offend Mel fans...but he has done it again. Offended yet another group of people.

(Aww...come on Kat....don’t be so hard on the guy. We are talking Mel here....Sexiest Man Alive.)

The anti-Semitic remarks he made after his 2006 DUI arrest were made when he was drunk...so should we excuse them? As far as I’m concerned...his verbal tirade is what he thinks. It is the voice reel that plays in his close-minded brain. The alcohol only took away any filter he might have between his brain and his mouth. Ooooo...so serious katwoman.

Fast forward four years...Mel is caught on audiotape yelling obscenities to his girlfriend that are both anti-African American...and derogatory to women.


Back in his day...back in the 80’s...Mel Gibson was THE MAN... loved by men and women. A man’s man...a woman’s man. But now it’s...Goodbye Lethal Weapon...Hello Lethal Mouth.

Some might feel his remarks are a case of open mouth, insert foot. But I think after his latest remarks...it should be a case of...open mouth, insert soap.

Or maybe the way to handle his Lethal Mouth is for him to go for anger management classes. I’m not exactly sure what goes on in anger management classes but I’m thinking they should have a special closed room for Mell ... an “I’m rubber, you’re glue tank.”

“Okay Mr. Mel Gibson..enter the anger management tank. Shut the door and let loose every nasty thing you’ve ever thought. Get it out of your system. Offend every race, ethnicity, religion, persuasion, and percussion that you can think of. Just get it out in the sealed “ I’m rubber, you’re glue tank.”

Yea...I’m thinking the “I’m rubber, you’re glue. Whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you” tank could help Mell with his Lethal Mouth. At least he might feel how offending his comments can be.

Whether to Tether?

The sight that always cracks me up is the sight of a child on a leash. The visual of a child being walked on a leash…looking like they should be on all fours…is one that makes me look twice and chuckle.

I understand why some parents would want to walk their child like a dog in public places. Small kids like to wander off…and there is nothing worse than the fear you have when you think your child is missing. It is instant panic.

And I know this because Colinboy used to do this to me on a regular basis. I never lost him, or came close to it, but there were many times that I felt I lost him forever…even if it was for a split second.

This mostly occurred when shopping in clothing stores. His modus operandi was to hide under the circular clothing racks and not answer when I called him. Maybe it was his way to get me to stop shopping and immediately leave the store, or maybe to watch his mother turn into a Looney Tunes character…but his antics worked on both accounts.

After the initial shock and fear, I would be so happy when I found him and so p o’d when I found him. I’d give him a big hug...and a big scolding about hiding from his mother. I’d lecture him about stranger danger...and tell him about all the time-outs he was going to get later…and threaten him that I was going to send him to bed without…dessert. He would look at me with his baby browns...and flash a smile…as we left the store holding hands headed for home.

Anywho……

I’m thinking the child leash would have saved me from a lot of aggravation. I could have had many hours of worry-free, hassle-free, headache-free shopping. But then again…knowing Colinboy…maybe not. With a leash tethered to his back…he probably would have resorted to barking, panting, and lifting his leg to pee…granting him his intended result...an early exit from the store.

Nasty Clogs

Getting through a crowded airport terminal is not easy.

I don’t know how pilots and flight attendants, who spend their lives walking through airports, deal with people that clog the terminal aisles. They must possess a lot of patience...which is not on my list of virtues. (But neither is tact, courtesy, or understanding.)

The worse is to walk behind 5 or 6 of these cloggers who are walking together. They form a barricade that stretches across the aisle and chat with each other as they saunter through the terminal aisle. There is no way to get through them…unless Red Rover allows it.

Or there are those who make the same move, when you make a move to go around them. So you tack back…and they come about too. They won’t let you sail through. These are the tacking clogger types.

The texter cloggers are the ones in front of you walking with their head down and nose to their phone. Hey, read this texter cloggers: STOP TEXTING AND KEEP IT MOVING.

The indecision cloggers move aimlessly through the aisles…and are very confusing to walk behind. There is no rhyme or reason to their movements…but a strong cup of coffee in the morning usually takes care of that.

But the cruddiest of cloggers are the ones that stop suddenly and cause collisions. They put the freakin’ emergency brake on in the middle of the highway, before the exit ramp.

Anywho....

I’ve been trying to think of how to unclog the terminal aisles of clogger types…a way to flush the airport terminal system of these nasty clogs. (I like to think of ways to improve traffic patterns to make them run smoother. An odd hobby.)

It came to me…Liquid Plumber. Gallons and gallons of Liquid Plumber might do it. It works at home. But they do say chemicals are not very healthy.

Now I’m thinking about a snake. A really long snake would do the trick. All clogs are afraid of snakes.