My (Possible) Brush With Jesus

How Catholic guilt lead to a $3,000 car repair.

There I was, the Monday night before Easter, warming a stool at Jimmy’s. Jimmy’s on Monday nights, watching Monday Night Raw with the lovely Heather, bartender extraordinaire, was becoming a tradition. With my work schedule, Monday is my Friday, so, there you have it.

This wasn’t just the Monday before Easter. It was the Monday before the court date on Wednesday to finalize the divorce. Quite possibly the last Monday/Friday night out I was going to get in a while once child support and shared parenting began. I was hoping to make the night last, but seeing as it was just me and Heather, and the final hour of Raw was starting, that hope was fleeting.


Then Jim walked in. Not the Jimmy the bar’s namesake. White dude, ball cap, mid thirties, wearing a landscaping t shirt. He was already sporting a tan from working, even that early in April. He sat a few stools down, ordered a drink, and started playing Keno. He asked if we always watched wrestling on Monday nights, and casually joined in our conversation.


After a bit, Jim went and checked his Keno numbers. That’s when the fun began. Continue reading

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Stupid Images That Pop into My Head and Give Me a Laugh: 06/18/19

Been a while since I’ve posted. Sorry about that. Life got in the way. Changed the title of the blog, but I’m still ordinary and average.

I got to the counter and Wayne, the guy taking orders, said, “Hey Bro, what’ll it be?”

“I’ll take the chicken special I saw on the sign by the gas pumps.”

Wayne turned and shouted to the kitchen, “Brocephus! I need an eight-piece for my bro here.”

“Coming’ right up, Brofessor.”

When I got home, I opened the clamshell container and found eight Tyson chicken patties and a couple of Kraft singles, still in the wrapper. I dunno. Maybe I’ve watched too much Food Network, but, I had a totally different idea of what broasted chicken meant.