MIke R
Senior Insider
I have known this guy for a long time and he is very funny in a Dave Barry kind of way....
here is a good one for the holidaze:
December 27, 2009
Biff America: Cursing along with the Carols
by Jeffrey Bergeron
Take it from me, it is nearly impossible to operate a motor vehicle and curse violently while “Silent Night” is playing on the radio — so I turned it off.
You can't be in a hurry while driving around a resort community over the holidays. The town is crowded with visitors who are unfamiliar with the environment and road conditions.
When you are behind an SUV large enough to grow crops in, sporting Mississippi plates, with four chained tires, waddling down a dry road at 9 miles an hour, it is best to be patient; your fate/pace is out of your hands. Generally, I try not to drive, but when I must, I give myself lots of time. I'm one of those drivers who waves people though intersections or flashes my lights to let them know I'll wait for them to pass. This drives my mate and those behind me crazy.
But this drive was different. This time I was in a hurry. This was an emergency — damn it!
It was a few days before Christmas and I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.
I had only one more trip to the Post Office before I could call it good and relax. The place was packed with locals who, after working like mules for the last couple of weeks, had more money than time and more obligations than patience. I waited in line for 20 minutes to overnight my teen-aged god daughter some hip-hop CDs, a home piercing kit and a pair of those low-rise jeans that gives her dad facial ticks. At the same time, I picked up a few gifts that were mailed to us from friends and family.
As an enticement to suffer through the lines and crowds, I promised myself some coffee at a local spot where I could relax and read through my mail.
I was sitting alone at Amazing Grace with a cup of mud glancing though a holiday form letter mailed to me from someone I barely know.
“Though their teachers won't admit it, we are blessed with two gifted children. Ryan has created his own language which only he can understand and loves to wear his sister's clothing. Tiffany, now 17, is enjoying her new tattoo and has remained chaste and alcohol free, though all her friends have not.”
I was about two-thirds through this letter when I let out an involuntary yelp.
It dawned on me that I had left all the packages I had picked up that day lying on the post office floor. Those packages represented the bulk of our Christmas gifts. I left my mail on the table and sprinted for my truck.
I was driving like the drivers I hate. Swerving around stopped cars, giving dirty looks to jaywalking pedestrians and swearing like a sailor at anything slowing me down.
Eventually I turned the radio back on, reasoning that I could always shut it off when it came time again to swear.
“Silent Night” had morphed into “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” That's when my epiphany hit me like bad egg-nog: Whatever was in those boxes left on the post office floor, was nothing that I could not live without. Perhaps there was a present that my wife and I might like, but in truth we have everything we need. In fact, we could lose half of what we currently own and still have more than most world citizens and certainly way more than we require.
Suddenly I felt like a rich man.
You can guess the rest. I arrived back at the P.O. to find my packages right where I had left them.
The drive home was a joy. There was no need to hurry. The sun had just about set and I could see beautiful sparks flying out from the tire chains of the SUV with Mississippi plates.
***********************
Jeffrey Bergeron, under the alias of Biff America, can be seen on RSN TV and read in several newspapers and magazines.
here is a good one for the holidaze:
December 27, 2009
Biff America: Cursing along with the Carols
by Jeffrey Bergeron
Take it from me, it is nearly impossible to operate a motor vehicle and curse violently while “Silent Night” is playing on the radio — so I turned it off.
You can't be in a hurry while driving around a resort community over the holidays. The town is crowded with visitors who are unfamiliar with the environment and road conditions.
When you are behind an SUV large enough to grow crops in, sporting Mississippi plates, with four chained tires, waddling down a dry road at 9 miles an hour, it is best to be patient; your fate/pace is out of your hands. Generally, I try not to drive, but when I must, I give myself lots of time. I'm one of those drivers who waves people though intersections or flashes my lights to let them know I'll wait for them to pass. This drives my mate and those behind me crazy.
But this drive was different. This time I was in a hurry. This was an emergency — damn it!
It was a few days before Christmas and I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.
I had only one more trip to the Post Office before I could call it good and relax. The place was packed with locals who, after working like mules for the last couple of weeks, had more money than time and more obligations than patience. I waited in line for 20 minutes to overnight my teen-aged god daughter some hip-hop CDs, a home piercing kit and a pair of those low-rise jeans that gives her dad facial ticks. At the same time, I picked up a few gifts that were mailed to us from friends and family.
As an enticement to suffer through the lines and crowds, I promised myself some coffee at a local spot where I could relax and read through my mail.
I was sitting alone at Amazing Grace with a cup of mud glancing though a holiday form letter mailed to me from someone I barely know.
“Though their teachers won't admit it, we are blessed with two gifted children. Ryan has created his own language which only he can understand and loves to wear his sister's clothing. Tiffany, now 17, is enjoying her new tattoo and has remained chaste and alcohol free, though all her friends have not.”
I was about two-thirds through this letter when I let out an involuntary yelp.
It dawned on me that I had left all the packages I had picked up that day lying on the post office floor. Those packages represented the bulk of our Christmas gifts. I left my mail on the table and sprinted for my truck.
I was driving like the drivers I hate. Swerving around stopped cars, giving dirty looks to jaywalking pedestrians and swearing like a sailor at anything slowing me down.
Eventually I turned the radio back on, reasoning that I could always shut it off when it came time again to swear.
“Silent Night” had morphed into “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” That's when my epiphany hit me like bad egg-nog: Whatever was in those boxes left on the post office floor, was nothing that I could not live without. Perhaps there was a present that my wife and I might like, but in truth we have everything we need. In fact, we could lose half of what we currently own and still have more than most world citizens and certainly way more than we require.
Suddenly I felt like a rich man.
You can guess the rest. I arrived back at the P.O. to find my packages right where I had left them.
The drive home was a joy. There was no need to hurry. The sun had just about set and I could see beautiful sparks flying out from the tire chains of the SUV with Mississippi plates.
***********************
Jeffrey Bergeron, under the alias of Biff America, can be seen on RSN TV and read in several newspapers and magazines.
