You know you're getting old when your little brother turns 42, as mine did yesterday.

OK, OK, so 43 isn't old, but it's older than I've ever been before.

If I'm not careful, I'll degenerate into doing a permanent Grampa Simpson routine.

Dear Mr. President, there are too many states these days. Please eliminate three. I am NOT a crackpot.

The Swedish are coming! The Swedish are coming!

You never know what people are capable of. I never thought I could shoot down a German plane. But last year, I proved myself wrong.

We can't bust heads like we used to. But we have our ways. One trick is to tell stories that don't go anywhere. Like the time I caught the ferry to Shelbyville. I needed a new heel for m'shoe. So I decided to go to Morganville, which is what they called Shelbyville in those days. So I tied an onion to my belt. Which was the style at the time. Now, to take the ferry cost a nickel, and in those days, nickels had pictures of bumblebees on 'em. Gimme five bees for a quarter, you'd say. Now where was I... oh yeah. The important thing was that I had an onion tied to my belt, which was the style at the time. You couldn't get white onions, because of the war. The only thing you could get was those big yellow ones...

Posted by Russ at 11:23 AM, June 9, 2005 in Observations