Month: September 2016

By Jim Hagarty
Renowned Terrible Limericker

I knew a fat toad named Hank
Who was built like a miniature tank.
He no longer hopped.
Years ago that all stopped.
He fell in a lake and he sank.

By Jim Hagarty
2016

I can’t pinpoint exact times and places or relate word-for-word conversations, but I am pretty sure the topic of discussion between four young men in their late teens during any half-hour car ride I was ever involved in was probably centered on young women, and quite possibly, the physical attributes of same, along with the extent of their potential friendliness. These were always highly intelligent discussions, I can assure you of that.

Last night, I was part of a half-hour car ride with four men who range in age from 65 to 92. We yakked up a storm like a bunch of magpies in a maple tree in spring.

Our sole subject, hotly debated: How best to remove a build up of wax from those two big ears on the sides of our heads.

I wouldn’t say any damage to friendships resulted from the lively back and forth, but if we had driven another half hour and stuck to the fundamental issue at hand, there might have been a broken heart or two when the ride ended and perhaps even men not speaking to men.

The one thing in our favour and the thing that prevented any breakdown in civility among us was the basic fact that none of us could hear what the others were saying at any given time.

All our ears were too full of wax!

Two men kept flower gardens
And tended them with care.
Each day they fed their flowers
Which grew up fine and fair.

And when their flowers bloomed,
Their hearts were filled with pride.
To see the wonders of their work
Completed them inside.

One man kept his flowers close
And shared them with no one.
But when his plants began to wilt
He wondered what he’d done.

The other man took up his flowers
And placed them here and there.
In hospitals and nursing homes,
They showed up everywhere.

The second man went home alone
And sat down in his chair.
He missed his pretty flowers
That were no longer there.

But he was grateful knowing that
His flowers had moved on.
The joy of watching how they bloom
And seeing where they’d gone.

The first man never felt the joy
His flowers might have brought.
The second man was happy;
The first gardener was not.

• Jim Hagarty

By Jim Hagarty
2014

I really like my neighbourhood grocery store. Everyone is very friendly there and they take special care to let you know they appreciate your business by adding little touches like having the cashier bag the groceries for elderly people. I think that is so neat.

The other day, I was in line behind one such senior citizen, a very old woman who seemed to be struggling to keep it all together. I thought the cashier would give the woman a hand to bag her groceries but she didn’t. She just tossed a few bags her way and turned to me.

I can’t say I was annoyed, just a little surprised.

However, I am able to report that I was filled with instant furiousness when, after ringing my items through, the young woman grabbed two bags and filled them up with MY groceries.

OK, that does it.

I want people to have to start showing their birth certificates before they become eligible for free bagging as choosing me over the woman ahead of me was a colossal error.

I went home and had an afternoon nap to try to recover.

Then got up and took my pills. Put on a sweater. And slippers.

I hate my neighbourhood grocery store.

By Jim Hagarty
2014

A neighbour rang the doorbell this morning.

“Could I borrow the key to my house?” he asked.

“Of course,” I replied and went and got it. “I’ll bring it right back,” he said.

“No hurry,” I answered. He has our key at his place.

I want always to live on a street where I have the key to my neighbour’s house and he comes and asks to borrow it when he misplaces his copy.

Next on the agenda: The keys to his beautiful truck and car. (He can’t drive both of them at the same time.)

By Jim Hagarty
2014

We need George Carlin in these troubled times.

However, seeing that my favourite funny man has gone missing, I will have to take on this curious expression for him.

Knock Yourself Out.

Who was the first person who, wanting to show someone just how little he or she cared for the outcome of what that person was about to do, said, “Ya, go ahead. Knock yourself out.”

I cannot wrap head around this. Why would a person want to knock himself out, if it is even possible to do that, on purpose? So there is one piece of cherry pie on the plate and you ask permission to eat it. Someone steps up, speaks for everyone in the room, and says, “It’s all yours. Knock yourself out.” (You know, for a really good piece of cherry pie, I might actually be willing to knock myself out.)

I just can’t figure out how advising someone to violently assault himself to the point of losing consciousness can be considered anything but a hostile commentary on a situation.

Wouldn’t it be better for someone to say, “Yes Jim, those last four pieces of cherry pie are all yours. I sure hope you enjoy them as you did the first four.”

If we could learn to adopt more pleasant expressions such as that one, that would really knock me out.

By Jim Hagarty
Renowned Terrible Limericker

A donkey in our neighbourhood
Behaved not the way that he should.
In fact, since you ask,
He was a jackass.
I’d get him to move if I could.

From an article today about the U.S. presidential election and how upside down everything appears to be:

Many people believe today that it is worse to call someone a racist than it is to actually be a racist.