Got a last-minute urge to appear in a major metropolitan Fourth of July parade even though you don’t possess valuable skills like baton twirling or tuba playing? Here’s a step-by-step plan that’ll get you into the parade and noticed by all.
1. Borrow or rent a black SUV or limousine with tinted windows.
2. Ask several friends to dress in dark suits with white shirts and ties. Your own clothing should also be conservative: no flip-flops, cargo shorts, or bare midriffs.
3. Fasten small U.S. flags, upright, to all four corners of the vehicle.
4. During the height of the parade, approach the route from a side street. Have your driver inch the vehicle into the route as your bodyguards ask spectators to move aside.
5. Once you’re in the parade, step out of the vehicle and walk the route. Wave to spectators, “recognize” some people, and shake hands without making eye contact.
6. Every so often, your bodyguards should speak tersely into their suit collars.
7. To test the effectiveness of your charade, hand out ballpoint pens imprinted “Vote for [your name].” Come November, see how many write-in votes you get.
You may have daydreamed about life on the farm. Yet you wonder: Are green acres the place to be? Is farm living the life for me? Land spreadin’ out so far and wide …
This summer, you can easily and cheaply test your readiness for country life by starting your own mosquito farm.
First, create a hospitable home for your livestock. A shallow kiddy pool, unused tire swing, or empty plant saucer will work fine. Make sure it’s constantly supplied with stagnant water.
Loud buzzing will tell you when your efforts have paid off. Now comes the fun – feeding time!
Expose the flesh on your arms and legs, then stand still. Like sheep to the shepherd, your mosquitoes instinctively flock to their master.
As you discover how fun and easy it is to raise these fascinating insects, you’ll probably want to branch into specialty areas, such as selective breeding, training, and showing your mosquitoes.
Or maybe you’ll get tired of the whole enterprise, in which case you can simply buy a backyard fogger and gas the little buggers to death.
Clownaphobia, the perfectly normal fear of strangers wearing face paint and giant shoes, is expected to peak over the July 4th holiday.
According to Dr. Warren Pease, a psychiatrist at the University of Motown, clown sightings skyrocket during holiday parades and carnivals.
“This fear is embedded in our popular culture,” notes Dr. Pease, “as well it should be. You don’t know who’s under that fright wig or what they’re hiding in the baggy suit.”
Dr. Pease offers tips for clownaphobia sufferers:
--Sit far back from the curb when watching a parade. Clowns usually don’t venture beyond the first row.
--Avoid eye contact with the clown.
--If a clown approaches, back away slowly, keeping your arms at your sides. Avoid nervous giggling, as this triggers the clown’s predatory instincts.
--Check your yard each morning. Discarded squirting flowers, twistable balloons, and empty clown cars indicate an overnight visit. You’d be wise to set out cardboard containers of Clown-B-Gone, available at most major garden centers.
--For increased security, carry a custard pie whenever you go out during peak clown season. In most states, this is not considered a concealed weapon.
Most municipalities ban retail sales of all but the wimpiest fireworks. To find out where to buy the good kind, ask your cousin Melvern, the guy with two fingers missing from his left hand.
Fireworks that burst in two or three phases are called multi-break shells; those that send spirals outward in skittering paths are called serpentines; and those that set fire to your neighbor’s roof are called Exhibit A.
Some websites offer safety tips for setting up your home fireworks show, but you aren’t going to read them anyway, so we won’t list the websites here.
Experts warn that ordinary sparklers can burn skin, set clothing on fire, and produce permanent eye damage – so they may be more fun than you thought.
Dispose of all smoldering remnants in a metal container that’s been wetted down. That half-barrel of beer you and your friends just finished off would be ideal.
Among people with low expectations for a summer getaway, tent camping rates number one, according to a new survey.
Survey respondents talked about how tent camping lived up to their pitiful requirements:
“Waking up in a puddle after an overnight rainstorm was truly refreshing.”
“Softest bedrock I ever slept on.”
“Sometimes we even got to remove our mosquito-net hats.”
“Each night before bed, we bonded by pulling ticks off each other.”
“My teens are still raving about the fun they had digging their own latrine.”
“During that magical week, we spotted a chipmunk, a garter snake, and literally dozens of squirrels.”
“The evacuation brought everyone in the campground together, like family. We still exchange Christmas cards with the firefighters.”
“Nothing compares to hamburgers cooked over an open flame. We could eat them every night of the week. Come to think of it, we did.”
“We heard lovely chirping of crickets after 3 a.m., when the neighbors turned off their car stereo.”
“I’ve got great video footage of those bears tipping my car into the river.”
I hope you weren't expecting anything profound.
If I ever need to plead insanity, this blog will provide valuable evidence.
Copyright (c) 2022 by Leah Carson, d/b/a Excellent Words, LLC