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My Last Five Years
by James M. Quillen

Much to my amusement, the past five years have been a roller coaster ride. The whole crazy chain of events began one evening in the fall of 2001 when it took me an hour and a half to watch "60 Minutes." This shocking realization that I was slowing down, no longer "the wiz I once wuz," was a draw-matic experience, and I spent a whole month just doodling in my sketch book. Thirty days later when I reported back to work as supervisor of grocery baggers, the boss told me I'd been sacked. This unexpected development led to a succession of jobs which I will briefly describe: job #1 I managed a muffler shop which kept me exhausted; job #2 I sold washing machines which left me constantly agitated; job #3 I worked as a tree trimmer but was sycamore times than I was well; job #4 I hired on at a fish hatchery where I roe-d a boat to work until the hatchery caught fire from spawn-taneous combustion. Then I went on to job #5, dental hygiene instructor where I cleaned up on plaques recognizing my outstanding work; next came job #6, a stint as a monorail designer where I laid the groundwork for my one track mind; from there to job #7, a big oil company where I refined my crude sense of humor; and last but not least, my present occupation, job #8, physical fitness instructor which so far (because I haven't many clients) has been an exercise in few-tility...it's just not working out.

Despite all my employment turmoil, I'm proud to say I haven't neglected my reading. Some of my recent favorites: "Hazards of Winter Driving" by I. C. Roads, "Secrets to Good Nutrition" by Edith Right, "Favorite Top Water Lures" by Buzz Bates, "Hair Raising Tales Of The Apaches" by Tom A. Hawk, and that terror of the Pacific, "Giant Tidal Waves" by Sue Nami.

Perhaps my most noteworthy accomplishment and the instrument of my greatest satisfaction during the last five years has been my country song writing. I'll never forget that June morning in 2002 when I "boot scooted" into Nashville, fretting about my guitar picking, convinced I was well versed in the art of song writing, but totally unprepared for the chorus of rejections that await all novice writers. Undaunted by not getting my songs published, I immediately penned a classic about a country boy dumped by a Chinese gal entitled "She Done Me Wong". Unfortunately, lacking Johnny's Cash, Charlie's Pride, and someone to "Help Me Make It Through The Night," my stay in Music City was short lived, but on the way back home on the Greyhound I witnessed a wreck which was the inspiration for my greatest song to date, "My Dairy Truck Got Creamed." As you're probably aware, none of my tunes has topped the charts yet, but I have high hopes for my latest attempts: "Migraines Hurt Worse Than Yours, " Ol' Dan'l Didn't Need A GPS (In honor of the Wilderness Trail); "Let's Go Swimmin' In A Car Pool;" my personal favorite, "The Driver's Seat" (Thought I was in the driver's seat but I wudn't even in the car); and the one that has a nice ring to it, the one I'm called to write, "I'm A Prisoner Of My Cell Phone."

For those of us sliding down the slippery slope of fifty, the state of our health becomes a major concern which brings me to my most recent adventure, last week's visit to the doctor. My first complaint was an unusual one: I explained to the doc that I was having to strain to pass gas and after numerous tests and x-rays he concluded I had hardening of the farteries! He suggested one way to alleviate the problem, but not rectumfy it, was to get into a regular habit of eating whole wheat Cheerios. He recommended a dye test for the corroded artery in my neck, checked those blue, web shaped meanderings in my legs and informed me I had a mild case of very close veins, and then warned me to continue treating my shingles or I could end up with a much more serious condition known as aluminum siding. Finally he surmised my frequent memory lapses were due to eating too much pork which had triggered a rare occurrence of ham-nesia!

Well that just about brings me up-to-date, but before I close, I'd like to leave you with some of my observations and musings from the past five years: If you're looking for the world's greatest submarine pun, it's not surfaced yet. School kids who get sick from flunking tests run a low grade fever. Farmers don't get Dear John letters, they get John Deere letters. You can tell tea lovers by the bags under their eyes. Back yard neighbors who cuss while cooking out use profane gas. Sweet potato farmers have a simple philosophy: We think therefore we yam. You shouldn't tell beer belly jokes if you can't remember the paunch lines. People who don't sleep well get up at the crack of yawn. A snake that's cried is known as a wept-tile. U.S. female sailors aren't allowed to wear belly button rings due to navel regulations. More novels will be written about graveyards when writers come up with suitable plots. When a chemist breaks a bone, it's usually a compound fracture. Buffalo Bill always told his little boy before riding off on a hunt, "Bison." Thieves caught stealing air conditioners are soon freon bail. Old quarterbacks never die, they just pass away. A few claim to have seen apparitions from the spirit world, but I haint. People who tell tornado jokes have a twister-ed sense of humor. When Australian aborigines don't answer knocks at their front door, they're usually outback. If Cleopatra had tried to run away from Julius, he would have ordered his guards to Caesar. When a mechanic falls and wrenches his knee, it's usually because some nut bolts in front of him. You can tell it's raining cats and dogs when a Siamese steps in a Poodle. According to blood banks, a secretary's blood is typo. The thought of cremation just burns me up. Never accidentally barf on loved ones because they'll throw it up to you the rest of their lives. Race car drivers get lucky sometimes and victory just falls into their laps. The new basketball goals for web surfers have both an outer and an inner net. Most bread recipes are in the public dough-main. The American Indians that bred birds of prey were Mo-hawks. And one final thought: Thank goodness those giant, prehistoric skunks are ex-stink!

P.S. I almost forgot. I'm currently chairman of a wildlife fund that's soliciting money to buy hair pieces for American bald eagles. Would you like toupee for one?

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You are NOT write. I mean, right. LOL! Crazy man!

Wow!! Woulda made my grandpa the punster proud!!

Linda

Heh heh, Those are great!

I can't believe I read all this. You have been reading the humor section of Boy's Life magizine haven't you?

Thanks Tricia, Linda, Moosesong, and Samuel for enduring the pun-ishment of my little short story. Some years ago on a lark I set out to write a short story with a pun in almost every line and "My Last Five years" is the result of that effort. Most of the puns are my own creations but a few may be borrowed because I could have read them somewhere else and forgotten their origin. Puns are like song titles...so many people can come up with the same pun that you never know who came up with it first. All I know is that I had a lot of fun writing the story, and btw, I've finished the lyrics to several of the songs mentioned in the second paragraph. And to answer your question Samuel, I don't ever recall reading Boy's Life Magazine. At any rate, hope all of you enjoyed a few laughs during the read.

James, pick up a copy of Boy's life magazine and turn to the humor section. Most of the stuff is playground puns and jokes that the kids submit. I prefer it to the humor on the New Yorker magazine for instance- in fact I think it is the polar opposite of sophiscated humor.

If you came up with most of these yourself, I am impressed. I don't think I even know how to write a pun.

Samuel, I'll try to locate a copy of Boy's Life magazine and check out their puns and see if any of theirs are similar to the ones I've "groaned up" with. Thanks for the tip...always enjoy reading new puns.

I am in ah of your stunning punning. You brought me to tears of a mazement.

P.S. Do we get to choose the color of the hare piece? How lucky for us to have you share this.

Glad you enjoyed reading the puns Vondelle and that you had a few laughs in the process. Speaking of puns, did you hear about the punster who copied a couple of pages from the dictionary onto the surface of his tennis court so he could exercise and play on words at the same time? BTW, not only do you get to choose the color of the eagle's hair piece, but the people in the state of Washington get Tacoma it too. One other thing, in your reply to my post, you gave me the idea for another pun: What's a toupee for a bald headed rabbit called? A hare piece.

James,
Swear I commented on this a month ago....well, would you believe??? I really did, but obviously didn't hit submit. Hey, I came here to edit a book I'm working on...went through TEN chapters, got all the errors...forgot to copy it. Didn't know it until the next day, and BOY was I ....
This is really funny. Had to wear my waders through some of it, but great good fun!
Ben

Very entertaining, I liked it alot. Ever consider writing a piece loaded with spoonerisms??

Ben, appreciate you stopping by and enduring all the puns and best of luck on your novel.

And, Rick, thanks to you too for the read and glad you liked it. To answer your question, I hadn't thought of writing a short story using lots of spoonerisms, but now that you mentioned it, it might not be a bad idea, and perhaps with a pittle lractice the task might not seem so daunting as it noes dow.