Counting, schmounting.  It’s so overrated.  Counting calories stops as soon as the weekend gets here. Counting steps lasts until the battery dies. Counting beers? I say stop counting at one and proceed ahead.

And don’t even start counting hot dogs. Did you see the news that eating one hot dog can cut your life short by 36 minutes? Yeah, some party poopers did a study about the murderous effects of wieners. And the nerve–they wait til the end of summer to drop that number on you. Man, I’m down a couple of years since June.

We already know you’re not supposed to think about what’s in a hot dog. Put any thought to its ingredients and then it’s like eating something on a dare.  I dare you to eat some pig snout, lips, heart, kidney, liver

I hope you know a Rudy.

You know, there's a gift some people possess, no matter how often they share it. I mean, you can share money and things until you’re broke. But some people, share endlessly and they never run out of that thing, that thing that just makes others feel better.

You can’t put your finger on it but when you see them, you just feel better. I don’t know if there’s a better thing a human can possess.

Some people have an on/off switch and can light up a room and it’s a gift

You know that old line, if you haven’t got anything nice to say about someone, come sit next to me.

Hey, I’d like to hear some juicy trash, too, but I’ve gotta be careful who I ask to sit down, they might want to talk shit about me.

People talking shit reminds me, The Rockaway Times turns seven on Saturday. Way back, they told me newspapers were dead and lots of other newspapers had tried only to last as long as Lime Bikes. They told me some people might say mean things (i.e. talk shit) and

I might have Attention Deficit Disorder but I don’t have the patience to get tested. I was filling a coffeemaker with water the other morning and I got bored doing it. I got halfway through filling up the reservoir or whatever they call the water thing on those Keurig machines and just stopped. I was bored to tears. I couldn’t take it.

Of course, yes, yes, I know –that would mean I’d have to fill it up again that much sooner. Didn’t matter, doesn’t matter. As the women of Be Well Be Happy tell

I know it’s impossorous, but if I were king of the forest, it would only rain from 3 a.m. to 6 a.m.

If I were king of the forest, I’d allow cruel and unusual punishment for graffiti taggers. I’d thrash them from top to bottomus.

I’d banish bagel people who don’t separate Everything and Onion bagels from other bagels; I’d cane people who use an airplane toilet more than once a flight. Yeah, even on international flights. That’s what kings do.

I’d behead speeding car drivers (usually they come

I’ve moved from wearing a mask to a t-shirt that says: I came, I saw, I made things awkward.

These days, when I go to shake someone’s hand, I grab somebody’s fist bump or elbow. When I offer a fist bump, they shake my balled up hand. It’s a world where dance moves don’t match. I’m doing the lindy and everybody else is doing the tango. I try to waltz, they break dance.

The bright side is, people are more stingy with hugging.

Weird times. I had to check the history books. How the hell did

If you’re playing sports or a game any kind, the last thing you want to hear is someone telling you, “nice try” or “good try.”  Or anything like that.

Words will not make you feel better if you missed that putt by six inches or missed a jump shot with time running out. Or your jenga blocks fell after you got a little daring. Who, in the history of anything, has ever replied, thanks, I appreciate that, it really was a good try. Thanks for making me feel better.

You might start losing your

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