Author: Jim Hagarty

I have broken a few laws in my lifetime, I will freely admit. Gotten away it with a few times, taken my lumps on a couple of other occasions.

But the law that states you cannot have 51 lumps in your pants when you cross the border from the U.S. into Canada, I have always abided by and always will because I don’t have time to spend 10 years in prison. I could do seven or eight, but not 10.

A Canadian man from Windsor, Ontario, however, is not as morally upstanding as I and so he was recently caught trying to smuggle 51 turtles, hidden in his sweatpants, across the border. Most of those creatures were taped to the legs of this man who was returning home from the International Genius Convention in Detroit (I couldn’t make it this year) but others were hidden in his crotch.

Forget giving the guy 10 years in jail as punishment. I think walking around with a bunch of turtles hidden in your crotch should be considered punishment enough.

I sometimes stick turtles in the crotch of my pants and walk around just for fun but I would never try to smuggle them into another country and to be honest, turtle crotching is just a shell game.

But if, after reading this, you decide to try it anyway, I would advise you to stay away from the snapping turtles. Those guys have no souls but plenty of nasty teeth.

Believe it or not turtle smuggling is a growing crime worldwide. Some of the motivation for this comes from the fact that some of these reptiles will sell for more than $800.

That’s another thing I wouldn’t do. The most I will spend on a turtle is $650. Any more than that and you’re just being ridiculous, in my opinion.

My real concern, of course, is for the mental health of those poor turtles. One moment, they’re just poking along looking for a hare to torment and the next, they’re stuffed down some guy’s sweatpants, about as cruel a fate as I can imagine.

©2014 Jim Hagarty

You might not know it to look at me, but I am a rebel. I have been all my life. I do not like authority. I hate people telling me what to do.

So when I was caught for speeding about 15 years ago, I was some sort of mad. I paid the fine, whatever amount it was, and made a promise that this was never going to happen to me again.

Around the same time, I returned to my car in a parking lot to see a ticket for letting my meter run out. I do remember paying a $15 fine for that. Again with a promise to never go through that again. Not one more single penny will I ever pay in fines to the city I was born in.

I had the good sense to be born in the city I still live in and this is how I am treated. I don’t think so.

I have made three solemn vows in my life. My wedding vows, my speeding vows and my parking vows. So far, all three are holding up pretty well.

And this is the ultimate rebellion. To refuse to get caught breaking the law by being determined to never break the law. Yes, a few other drivers want to run me off the road when I travel 80 kilometres an hour in an 80 kmh zone. But they just don’t appreciate or even know how a true rebel works. They probably think a real rebel drives 120 in an 80 zone or takes a parking ticket out from under his wiper and puts in on the car beside him, assuming that person will pay the fine without even examining the ticket.

To be a scofflaw is easy. Any frivolous man can do that. But inside the chest of a real rebel beats a heart that is committed to obeying the rules. To defeat the system by co-operating with every bit of it.

I just smile now when I drive by a peace officer who is pointing his radar gun at my car and at the officious official marauding the parking lots looking for expired meters.

I am a rebel’s rebel and these poor souls don’t even know the extent of my revenge.

©2021 Jim Hagarty

A friend gave me a snapping cold can of Coke at a guitar jam last night. What a nice thing to do. But I already had a can of Coke on the go so I decided to take it home and have it today.

I carried guitar and Coke to the van and put the pop in the drink holder under the dash. When I got home, it crossed my mind that I should put that in the fridge. But I was gripped at that moment by a sudden seizure of laziness, a first-time experience for me, and so I left the can in the holder overnight.

Today, on one of my about-town missions, I was sent through a couple of drive-throughs for hot chocolate and for coffee. With a total drink holder capacity of only two, something had to go. So, as the Coke was unopened, I removed it and put it on the floor, where it commenced to roll around. On its travels, it rolled between the two seats behind me and headed for the back.

It was pouring rain outside and in my imagination, it seemed like a spray of rain suddenly came from the back of the van to the front., some of it hitting me in the back of the head. But as this was impossible, I just chuckled.

The chuckling ended when I exited the van and opened a rear door to get my pop. The pop was still there but instead of being contained in a nice small aluminum can, it was distributed here, there and everywhere, high and low, far and wide. As the can rolled toward the back, it hit a bit of steel somewhere under the seats and a nice big puncture resulted. Because the Coke was a bit shook up from all the rolling around, the thing went off like a July 1 fireworks.

Guess how I have spent my afternoon.

So, the moral of my story is, and it is an obvious one, never accept a free can of Coke from a friend.

©2012 Jim Hagarty

There are two ways to go through life: Kicking and screaming at the things that obstruct you, or, this way.

Twelve years ago, a woman in Penticton, B.C. found that Pacific chorus frogs were making the freshwater in her backyard pool their pad. Rather than call animal control, Alexis Friesen, a wildlife biologist, decided to convert the pool into a wetland habitat for local, at-risk critters. Over many years Friesen nixed the drainage system, levelled the pool with river rock, sculpted the sides with sand bags, filled in the gaps with natural soils and added pond water. Now, everything from long-toed salamanders and garter snakes to bats and great blue herons are flocking to the natural habitat.

When your heart is big enough for at-risk frogs, your chance for happiness takes a big leap (see what I did there?).

©2015 Jim Hagarty

When you consume watermelon with just a little less enthusiasm than a very hungry warthog might do, you are bound to dribble some of the juicy goodness down the front of your shirt. If that garment happens to be a brand new tee shirt which you have saved up for a year to buy, your distress will be instant and real.

The solution to this dilemma, of course, sits in bottles on the shelves of the local Pennyrama but being frugal, you are not in the mood to shell out many bucks for a container of Stainaway or Slopstop. As effective as these treatments might be, you are sure there is an easier answer in the materials you already have somewhere in your cupboards and on the shelves in the garage.

So, you consult the Internet and sure enough, you already have all it takes to remove any and all stains from your clothes, new and old. Best of all, the remedies are easy and work quickly.

Here are a few practical home formulas for removing watermelon stains and many other non-lethal spots.

1. Mix a solution of blue dish detergent, white vinegar and water.

2. Stretch your shirt out fully in your bathtub. If you do not have a tub, consider getting one installed.

3. Submerge your shirt in lukewarm water, then spread the solution you have prepared over the stains. Rub in lightly with the forefinger of your left hand.

4. Let garment and solution sit for three full days.

5. Remove the shirt and without rinsing it, apply generous amounts of rubbing alcohol over the stain(s). Let sit for two days and then apply one cup of hydrogen peroxide.

6. One week later, hang the shirt on the line and if you have access to an air rifle or pistol, shoot pellets that have been dipped in premium gasoline at the stain. Leave the shirt on the line overnight.

7. Lay your shirt flat on a table and sprinkle equal amounts of baking soda and epsom salts across the stain. Rub in lightly with a toothbrush and if the stain is stubborn, eventually switch to a wirebrush.

8. Rinse the shirt in warm water and then dip the stained section into a mixture of turpentine and motor oil – 5W30.

9. Before the shirt is completely dry, spread crushed ice cubes over the stain, mixed with fine sawdust and play sand, if you have some available, along with a litre of warm cola. Leave sit for two days, then rinse in lukewarm water.

10. This final step is important. Tie your shirt to the radio aerial of your car and drive for one solid hour, slightly over the speed limit. The stain will be gone when you pull back into your driveway.

If, by some chance, these steps do not work, there is a sale on Stainaway at Pennyrama this week. Also, new tee shirts are half price till Saturday at Save a Buck.

You’re welcome.

©2021 Jim Hagarty

Not bragging, I hope you understand, but I am among the wealthiest people in my town, if not the richest. Consequently, I am often asked for secrets I might have to attaining great wealth by those who would like to be rich too but haven’t quite managed to make it yet.

I will admit I have been stingy with imparting my knowledge on the matter, unlike Warren Buffett who shares his know-how freely. Asked why he does that, he says it’s because he knows no one will do what he suggests.

But now that I am on my way to third base and will be heading for home one of these days, I think it would be less than generous of me to hang on to what I know.

So here goes. If you are interested, follow carefully.

I have never made a fortune investing, though I own a few shares in this and that. Never bought lottery tickets or a hockey team. Stayed away from the racetracks and casinos.

But what I have relied on, as did the pirates of olde, is buried treasure.

If you’re brave, try following the bouncing ball.

Thirty years ago, I erected a six-foot-high board fence around my backyard. I could have hired someone with a tractor to come in and dig deep postholes to bury the many wooden posts I would need to complete the structure. But, I took another path, one I knew would someday pay off.

Instead of postholes, I used steel fence spikes which were a new thing at the time. Less fuss and muss, simple to use. But here was my thinking.

I paid $5 per spike and I knew that someday those things would go up in value. I also knew I would be taking them back up out of the ground eventually when the fence needed replacing. My calculation was that they would go up in value during the time they were buried in the ground.

And they did.

That was 30 years ago that the spikes were buried and this week, I sold 10 of them that I had removed from the ground as my neighbour wanted to replace the section of fence we share.

I sold them for $8 each.

The beauty of my winfall of $1 per year for 30 years is that during all that time, no one but my family and I knew about my buried treasure. So there was no chance of it being stolen in the middle of the night. And anyone with the energy to tear up my fence to make off with my spikes, would almost have been entitled to take them.

And my luck will continue. I don’t mind announcing to the world that there are 50 more spikes holding up the rest of my fence. I can’t imagine what they might be worth when I finally sell them someday but I know the gain will be considerable.

So this is how it is done. Take your treasures and bury them in your backyard.

Forget Warren Buffett. Clever as he might be, I am sure he never thought of doing that.

Ahoy matey!

©2023 Jim Hagarty

Here’s another thing that didn’t happen to you this week but did to me. I was witness to the worst case of lawn rage I’ve ever seen.

A guy speeding down my street yesterday went nuts when he saw that the road was blocked for construction but he didn’t let a little thing like a gigantic truck get in his way. Instead, barely even slowing down, he detoured up onto my lawn, drove on it the whole width of our double lot, past our two maple trees and out the other side to the street again.

He did this in spite of the fact that I was standing on my front lawn at the time and was just lucky to not have gotten a close look at the underside of his vehicle.

Apparently he was on his way to the 32nd annual National Genius Convention in Toronto.

The only thing that bothered me about this was I was supposed to catch a ride with him to the convention where I was to be the featured speaker but he must have forgotten to pick me up.

We geniuses are often thinking about more important things than ordinary folks think about such as not driving like maniacs across other people’s lawns. I briefly thought about hopping in my car and chasing The Lawn Ranger down but I didn’t have the heart to drive across my poor blades of grass that had suffered more than they deserved to.

©2014 Jim Hagarty

I have had a job for the past few years and the ironic thing about that is I have tried not to have a job for the past few years. Over the course of my working life, I have generally found it harder to have a job than to not have a job.

In fact, the process leading to not having a job is usually a fairly simple one. Having a job, at the very least, involves such annoyances as an alarm clock, a shaved face and non-hobo-like clothes. Not a huge fan of alarm clocks, a shaved face and non-hobo-like clothes, I have found the job-keeping process a tricky one at times.

The job-getting effort does not involve very much, usually just a suit, a tie and shoes not normally found on an Olympics track. But when I am working at the job I currently have, the consequence of that activity is I am not sitting in a lawnchair which is where a man of my tender sensibilities belongs.

So, I resolved to quit my job. I phoned my boss and explained my decision. The news was not well received so I promised to continue doing the job until my replacement was found.

In retrospect, I realize now that zero effort was put into finding my replacement. It was decided a short time later that we should get together and discuss this and that is what happened. During the summit meeting, I failed miserably to stick to my resolve and walked away with a raise.

I didn’t want a raise as it was easier to quit a job that paid me only enough to buy three new pair of socks and a bag of caramel popcorn a year. Now, more socks and corn were suddenly within reach. I went home a richer, but sadder man.

As the summer went by, however, it became clear to me that the boatload of jewels being suddenly dumped on me did not make me like my job any more than I did when the compensation for my efforts was less enthusiastically doled out. So, I arranged another meeting today to re-break my job-quitting news and I tossed and turned last night in bed trying to think of a way to deliver it to the company gently.

The meeting was held. Unexpectedly, I was given the title of manager. Well, a man of feeble ego such as I possess reacts to a new title like a child slobbers over a fresh sucker so there was a bit of a glow came over me in the wake of my elevated status. There have never been very many managers in my family. I was breaking new ground here.

Alas, before I even arrived home, I realized there was a worm in my shiny new apple as I was still miserable. I need to arrange another meeting. But I am very afraid that another such encounter might have the effect of getting me appointed president of the board of directors. Later, trying to quit that position, I will no doubt walk away with the status of new CEO of the company.

I feel like the old woman who swallowed a fly, I don’t know why she swallowed a fly, perhaps she’ll die. This woman exhibited very poor reasoning and judgment abilities in my view. She swallowed a spider to catch the fly, a bird to catch the spider, a cat to catch the bird and a dog to catch the cat. This was not going her way at all.

She then swallowed a cow to catch the dog and finally, a horse to catch the cow. And after all that, she died.

I wonder if I’ll get a car and a driver when I’m CEO.

©2015 Jim Hagarty

I ordered my meal in the restaurant and asked for a Coke. I expected a glass of pop but instead, the waitress delivered my order in an old-fashioned glass Coke bottle, a little skinnier than in the old days, but close enough.

OMG, the clouds had parted and Heaven shone down upon me.

I have rattled on and on for decades about how Coke (or any pop) out of a can or plastic bottle tastes nothing like the Coke of my youth which came only in glass bottles. Now that was when a Coke was a Coke!

I couldn’t wait to lift this miracle to my lips and treat my taste buds to something they had been deprived of for so long. I raised the bottle, and let the first swig trickle down my throat like shallow creek water over rocks after a winter’s thaw.

Glug and then a couple of more glugs.

Well, half in tears and full of emotion, I am here to report that this beautifully bottled Coke seemed to me to taste no different than the stuff that comes in cans and plastic containers.

It was like finding out Paul McCartney really did die some time in the sixties and was replaced by a look-a-like. Or that the moon landing was staged somewhere in Arizona.

How could this possibly be? I am despondent. It is a cruel world.

I was raised on the bottle. Now nothing makes sense any more.

©2017 Jim Hagarty

Some men have two of various material things, even if it’s just a two-car garage. And to make sense of such a garage, those men probably have two cars. Some guys have two homes, though I’ve never met anyone who has, unless you count a winterized cottage as a second home. Some men have two jobs, two massive-screen TVs, two dogs, two horses, and on and on.

As for me, I specialize in having one of a number of things. I only have one formal suit of clothes, for example. One pair of dress shoes. One dog. One cat. One wife, one son, one daughter. One house.

However, I need to confess that I am the proud owner of two smartphones. I used to get by with just a basic old cellphone but one day I smartened up and got me a used smartphone off the Internet. A few years later, a relative gifted me with his used smartphone, one generation newer than mine, and suddenly, according to experts, I am twice as smart as I used to be. This was a state of being I thought I had already achieved through my sheer brilliance but having two smartphones, and using both of them every day, apparently sealed the deal. It has even been suggested that I might be twice as smart as most people who get by somehow with only one smartphone, but that is probably a debatable question.

I use my phones a lot to read the news and watch videos. Hence, I always have one charging so I am never having to wait on electricity to keep me going.

The only drawback is I can use only one of the handy devices to make actual phone calls and send text messages although the one I can’t use for those purposes gives me access to the Internet all day long so my Trump Horror Quota is always filled.

This was a bit of a disappointment at first when I tried placing a call to myself from one smartphone to the other but couldn’t get through. It was a letdown as I wanted to hear my views on the various issues of the day.

Whatever my opinions might have been, and opinions are something I also have more than one of, I am sure they would have all been very smart. I guess I could just smarten up and ask myself directly someday, maybe in a mirror.

That should be easy as I have two bathrooms and there’s a big mirror in both of them.

©2022 Jim Hagarty