Although this was written during the H1N1 (Swine Flu) scare, Grumpy believes you will enjoy it today. The first virus has swept through our house and we expect more as winter rolls in. Enjoy!


There’s nothing funny about getting a cold.

When you have a cold nothing you do, see, or hear seems even remotely humorous. There isn’t a picture or cartoon caption, nor blog that tickles your fancy, arouses your sense of humor, nor allows your giggle pin to become dislodged.

I cough, I wheeze, I ache and I sneeze. I’m am sick with a cold and that, my friend, is not funny.

Oh, I was a smart ass last week. You see, my wife and son have had two bouts of an upper respiratory infection since the first day of school in September. I was thinking, “Maybe my immunity is good. Maybe these colds will pass me by.”

Maybe pigs have wings! (First Swine Flu Reference)

Because, as my sainted mother would advise, “Never let the Devil know what you’re thinking, Grumpy!”

That’s right, I’m the guy who has that little character sitting on his shoulder, whispering in his ear 24/7. “Grumps, wouldn’t it be fun to . . . ?”Indeed, the little bugger takes all of his cues from me. But, that’s another Blog.

One week ago today I picked up this cold, flu, virus seasonal whatever. One week ago today all of my “funny” flew out the window.

Science has proven that any cold, flu, virus, seasonal whatever attacks your funny bone directly. I think they call it, “Tennis elbow of the humorous”.

I will illustrate my thesis by providing empirical evidence. Yes, I have set myself up as a guinea pig (2nd Swine Flu Reference) in an experiment worthy of the Bud Light Institute. As my friends ,you will reap the benefits of this: my sacrifices to science, as it were.

Here they are: “Two Reasons Why there is Nothing Funny About A Cold, Flu, Virus, Seasonal What-Ever-You-May-Call-It!”


What’s funny about that?

This thick mucus, gooey, slimy substance that clogs your passages is nothing to sneeze at, because if you do – you might just produce an unwanted projectile.

In medieval medicine, phlegm was one of the four basic bodily fluid humors. (Humor being- any of the four main fluids of the human body, blood, yellow bile, black bile, or lymph that determined somebody’s mood and temperament.) I could rest my case here, because my humor has been running out of me as quickly as if I’d sprung a leak. Indeed, I have quickly become humorless!

Like today, this amazing coughing jag overcame me, causing me to gag as if choking on a grape. To my horror, a great wad of something ejected from my mouth. I caught a glimpse of it between spasms, but it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

I looked everywhere – the floor, the keyboard and the top of my desk – but to no avail. Then, as I unzipped my jacked (Got the Chills), to my horror, there it was! Dangling from my jacket sleeve, like a great gob of crazy glue, was this piece of alien slime. It was as disgusting as anything I’d seen in a horror flick. In fact, any self-respecting Zombie wouldn’t dare eat it!

EEEEEEEWWWWWW! Snot even funny, my friend.

And what of the runny nose, you may ask. This river of snot that runs incessantly and uncontrollably and keeps your pockets filled with rolled up balls of wet and/or solidified tissues. If you’re lucky you can catch one of the “danglies”, those stray strands of mucus that bob like a rubber ball on an elastic, before it hits the floor.

“Pumba, don’t eat that!”


Funny? I think not!

The second reason Why there is Nothing Funny about a Cold, Flu, Virus, Seasonal What-Ever-You-May-Call-It! is Cravings, Perspective and Self-Esteem.

Every time I catch one of these viruses it amazes me how perspective changes and how certain cravings take over.

First of all, everyone views you in a different light. If you’re looking for sympathy forget it. Any amount of whining gets you nowhere.

“So, now you know how we felt last week!”

“Ya, dad, but my cough was worse than that!”

“What are you complaining about we’ve been sick for weeks!”

“Stop whining!”

I felt so bad last Tuesday I said to my wife, “Just shoot me!”

The look in her eyes said, “Find me a gun!”

Catch my drift.

A cold does nothing for your self-esteem. Kissing family members on the forehead is like kissing your great, great grandmother. Every time I lean in, my wife either turns the other cheek or does the forehead bob.

In public, if you cough or wheeze, good citizens retreat from you as if you are the carrier of all the disease and pestilence this world has to offer. Nobody like a humorless dolt, especially one whose constant vacuum like snuffs and sniffing does little to prevent the eruption of Mount Proboscis.

Then, despite the fact that food tastes as bland as papier-mâché, you’re always hungry. I can’t pass the fridge without opening the door and taking a peek. There goes the Boot Camp Program. Too sore and miserable to exercise, yet always ready to put food in my mouth. Maybe it’s true what they say, “Feed a cold!” But, really, I think the Devil came up with that one.

For example, we were at a Pig Roast on the weekend (3rd Swine Flu Reference) and as I watched them dismember the carcass, nothing in my body even remotely suggested that one of my favorite foods would taste good. But, even without an appetite and my taste buds in limbo – I overate!

Cravings don’t stop at food, my friends. Even though I feel like a bag of nails, suddenly my wife looks more desirable than ever. My God, Saturday’s hint of cleavage, the long red hair down to her back, the tore jeans, and the sexy smile put my motor in overdrive.

Too bad, she wouldn’t touch me with a ten foot pole. (My apologies to tall Polish men) I’m the guy with the bloodshot eyes, ringed by dark bags, who sports a red nose with mucus accessories. At that moment, I appear about as desirable as PAP smear.

Yes, I’m the guy with humor draining out of him by the tissue load. So, when I offer up an off color, suggestive remark to the Good Wife, it’s not even remotely FUNNY to her. NADA!

If you’ve seen the stare of death, then you know what I mean when I say that my wife’s looks could kill .

Man, the Devil has a heyday when your defenses are down. And that’s not at all funny. If you don’t believe me about all of this check out this Youtube Video that details how serious the “man cold” is. CLICK THIS LINK. I know you will enjoy it, ladies.



I think I have a solution to the NHL Lockout that may be as interesting as getting those millionaires back up on skates. I think there are enough grumpy old guys like me to form an alternate league; something we’d call the REAL OLDTIMERS LEAGUE OF NATIONAL HOCKEY –the ROLO NHL (if you are into acronyms).

I’m not talking about former NHL players here either. No, I’m talking about a group of flubbers and dubbers like me and you: guys who lace-them-up just for the love of the game and a desire to get out of the damn house.

We’d have teams like Team Viagra, Team Geritol and Team Attends and a whole host of others sponsored by multinational corporations who keep golden agers as spry and as crabby as spinster  librarians.

After hiring Don Cherry as the new commissioner, teams could barnstorm arenas cross North America and demonstrate a brand of ice hockey that would not soon be forgotten.

Here’s a look at the proposed REAL OLDTIMERS LEAGUE OF NATIONAL HOCKEY player contract with the owners.

  1. Two cases of light beer to be provided in dressing rooms after every game.
  2. One Red plastic cup for each player, per game for denture, false teeth, and/or bridgework containment during games. Cups reusable after game for beer pong and/or refreshment (See Item One). NOTE: Rule 24(B) Red plastic cups may not be brought to the bench and used for urination purposes.
  3. One case of Bengay Cream per team per season.
  4. Orthopedic surgeon to be in attendance at all league games. League will pick up the tab for any and all hip or knee replacements and the insertion of steel plates in the cranium.
  5. Free refills of water bottles. NOTE: Rule 56(C) Bottomless water bottles will be provided.
  6. League will designate whiskey and water as a sports drink and will market it to the public as Grumpy-Aid. RULE 14(a): There shall be a 50/50 split on all Grumpy Aid profits. In lieu of profits one case of Labatt’s 50 will be provided for each contracted player upon season completion.
  7. League Minimum salary 2x Canada Pension/Old Age Pension plus free Costco membership and monthly Timmies Gift Cards in the amount of $50.
  8. No games to be played on Shoppers Drugmart Senior Discount Days.
  9. Players will only use wooden sticks because no one in this league would understand the term, “Laying on the composite!”
  10. Helmets are mandatory on and off the ice and to and from every game site. Canes and walkers are forbidden as they may be used as lethal weapons during on ice confrontations
  11. The “I’ve fallen and I cannot get up” excuse will not stop or restrict game play. Players who are down shall stay down until the next stoppage of play; otherwise a delay of game penalty shall be assessed.
  12.  All flatulence will be restricted to the dressing room. Non adherence to this rule will result in expulsion. NOTE: RULE 75(D) One case of Beano per team per road trip provided.
  13. Cussing out young people can be applied only outside of the hockey venue and in the player’s neighborhood.
  14. Due to their lack of teeth players wave the right to have a league operated dental plan.
  15. At the conclusion of each season a “live” draft will take place to replace “deceased” players on each roster.
  16. Players become restricted free agents at the age of 80 or upon death; whichever comes first.
  17. Geritol will not be considered a banned substance nor a performance enhancer and is a permitted as a supplement for all players with “tired blood”.
  18. Other performance enhancers such as Viagra and Cialis may be used as needed but done so at the discretion of the players. However, these substances are NOT to be used  on the night prior to and/or during game days. Rule 99(X) Abstinence is a requirement for safe and steady game play and essential for  cardiac event prevention.

The concussion protocol would go something like this:

80 year old defenseman takes a hard hit behind the net. Twenty-five year old trainer walks player through initial concussion protocol.

TRAINER: “How are you feeling?”

PLAYER: “How do you think I’m feeling you moron, holy crap, I just got my bell rung!”

TRAINER:” “What is your name?”

PLAYER: “Hey, aren’t you the saucy punk I shooed off my lawn last week?”

TRAINER: “Can you please tell me your name?”

PLAYER: “Who do you think you are – A COP? Don’t be such a smart ass.”

TRAINER (Frustrated): “Bill, can you tell me your damn name?”

PLAYER: “You just said my name sonny, It’s Bob! Are you daft or something?”

TRAINER: “I called you Bill, Bill, not Bob!”

PLAYER: “Then just get the Sam Hill out of my face and call me Billy-Bob you snot-nosed panty-waist!”

I’m thinking, two teams of Grumpy old guys would provide some great entertainment. Every team would have the demeanor of the old Broad Street Bullies –angry, feisty and obnoxious. Simple brush byes would result in bench clearing donnybrooks.

PLAYER ONE: “Hey, dickhead, you skated in front of me and cut me off!”

PLAYER TWO: “Well, you tailgated me all the way up the ice, you old fart.”

PLAYER ONE: “You wanna go, buster?”

PLAYER TWO: “Bring it on, grandpa!”

Yes, this league would provide great replacement hockey. We could dress the referees in clown suits for the kiddies. The price of admission would be a mere five bucks plus a donation to the food bank. And, games would begin at six o’clock so players could get to bed by 9:30 pm. This would be great family entertainment for ALL ages. Playoffs for the Defibulator Cup would be knock-down drag ‘em out slugfests.

Commissioner, Don Cherry had this to say about the new league, “I can’t tell you how many people said, ‘I’ll never watch hockey again, I’m done with it,’ once the lockout began. I just laughed. I knew it wasn’t possible. It’s a religion here, a way of life. We love the game too much. People were starving for it. When the REAL OLDTIMERS LEAGUE OF NATIONAL HOCKEY season starts, they will all be back. They can’t help themselves.” Quoting the Commissioner again, “People think common sense is common but it is not!”

Indeed, the REAL OLDTIMERS LEAGUE OF NATIONAL HOCKEY will reel in those fans like hungry salmon. Hockey starved families will come out in droves to yell and chortle at their favorite players like, “Gummy” Macfarlin, “Pops” Putatoski and “Spindly Legs” Larue.

And, the league will not be without controversy given the match penalty and 5 game suspension handed out to “Rummy” Russell last season in his Langton, Ontario Beer League. When a youngster called out, “You skate like a girl, Rummy!” the old blunderbuss replied, “Ya, and Santa Claus is dead, kid!” (See item 13 above – re cussing out kids.)

Yes, the game might be slower and the goals few and far between but OLDTIMERS HOCKEY will be the next big thing after News of the World Darts, Honey-Boo-Boo and Party Poker, of course.

Commissioner, Don Cherry believes,”Dees guys play da game the right way, Ron. None of dem guys wear skirts or shoulder pads or were born in Sweden!”

But be forewarned, the Team Viagra “Dance Pack” won’t get you up out of your seat. (Sorry, that’s bad choice of words.) These grannies in spandex are about as sexy and tantalizing as a group of widows at a quilting bee. You might want to cover your children’s eyes when they break out their interpretive dance to the rambling beat of the Stone’s “I can’t get no satisfaction”.

Not pretty, my friends! Not pretty!

Nevertheless, I say bring it on. Old Guys hockey is better than nothing and nothing is what we have at the moment.

Let Grumpy know what you think of the lockout. Leave a comment here.

Her’s a Grumpy treat. Click this Youtube link for a Don Cherry musical rant about the NHL LOCKOUT:

And, if you want to see just how good this could be CLICK THE LINK for last years  BUD commercial to get the feeling!


WEEKEND TREAT: The Legend of Bald Mountain Jack

So, as stated earlier, this poem received an Honerable Mention in the Northeast Kingdom Chamber of Commerce Robert Service Poetry Contest back in 1997. (St. Johnsbury, Vermont) I post it here as a little rainy weekend (Hurricane Sandy Prequel) treat.



The Legend of Bald Mountain Jack

Dark is the face of this mountain man’s mug,

With a beard all twisted and black.

The scar cross his nose all jagged and bowed

Tells the tale of a frenzied attack.

For the wolf that did pounce from the brush that cold night

In Vermont’s uncharted far reaches,

Was the wolf that men say, that stands to this day

By the side of this renegade’s breeches.

This Jack from the woods, now hoisting a pack

Weighing twice what a work horse could carry

Had headed for town with a squint and a frown

For the bride he had promised to marry.

From Bald Mountain he trudged with a stride that was long

His clenched fist as broad as a stump

While whistling a tune that mimicked a loon

Down trails huge boots they did thump.

On through Lyndonville, Barton and West Burke

Jack scaled each summit with grace,

Though down in the valley he thought of his Sally

And the scowl on that hard women’s face.

‘Twas a visage he savored, for mountain men claim

That beauty abounds in the snow.

Imagined with fondness, an image distinct

The true love ignited to grow.

Sal’s clothes, though so tattered, were all that had mattered

For Jack saw through all her pretensions

It was the strength of her sinew, that made Jack continue

His most honorable marriage intentions.

Now Sal was a gal that gentlemen feared,

For her arms were tattooed and quite hairy,

And most of the town, though sensibly sound

Had lost track of her husbands since buried?

So St. Johnsbury’s streets were deserted that day

The townsfolk retreated and staring

Through curtains now drawn, as they waited for dawn

And the betrothal of that notorious pairing.

Now Sal left her hovel and strutted her way

As she sloshed through the snow in a hurry.

She had waited so long with a love that was strong

For her Jack and his pet that was furry.

Jack slipped into town, then stopped in his tracks

When he saw the bold face from afar

Sal stood in the snow, her features aglow,

From the light of her blazing cigar.

Jack trudged through the slush, and likewise did Sal,

The distance between them receding.

The wolf and the man, the gal with the plan,

Which fatefully now was proceeding.

With arms full extended, they met at the square,

Embraced in a hug of redemption

And the kiss that they kissed both crackled and hissed

With the love that had been in suspension.

The wedding most say was a sight to behold,

The couple both riding an ox.

With Reverend Bob Speck, so staid and erect,

Standing high off the ground on a box.

With vows thus exchanged, the party got started

The townsfolk were ripe for a bash.

But Jack and sweet Sal had too much to drink

Barrels of hooch they proceeded to smash.

With a crash and a crunch, the partners guffawed

As the townfolks ran hither and thither.

But the blizzard that roared outside the great door

Placed Jack in a delirious dither.

For how would they get to their honeymoon hut

Which stood high on a mountain near Stowe.

An impossible task to walk on the track

Because of the depth of the snow.

Jack had an idea that came in a flash

So he plunked himself down in the middle

Of the barrel staves shattered that rustled and clattered

To his feet his hands they did fiddle.

So strapped to their feet these parallel boards

Slid gracefully through the fresh snow.

As Jack and his gal, the sensational Sal

Down mountain face slickly did go.

Legend now has it, at least so I’m told

That the coupling described in this poem

Resulted in skiing becoming the sport

For which the State of Vermont is well known.

WEEKEND UPDATE: What’s coming next week on Grumpy’s Wacky World?

Well, first of all, thank you for all of your visits here. The hit total for the month is approaching 1200; well beyond my 1000 hit goal. I hope you continue to enjoy Grumpy’s views and his continuing follies as we move forward. Here’s what’s coming next week. If you like what you’ve read please click the share buttons at the bottom of each post (Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Pinterest and EMAIL) to get others to view.

Thanks again for your help,


WEEKEND UPDATE: What’s coming next week on Grumpy’s Wacky World?

MONDAY: NHL Lockout: Grumpy’s Outrageous Plan to get Hockey back into your life

TUESDAY: Cold and Flu Blues: Tis the Season to be Snotty


THURSDAY: A Picture Says a Thousand Words: Grumpy’s Take

FRIDAY: Grumpy has Rubber-Baby-Buggy-Bumpers

The Golden Hemorrhoid

Living in a Socialist State like Canada does provide benefits. Thanks to Tommy Douglas we have universal Health Care and it’s free. Well, not quite. Our taxes are astronomical. That’s how we pay for it. Buy a coffee, 15 cents goes to the next Doctor’s appointment you have.

And so on!

In any case, no matter the illness, we can head to a health care facility and receive effective care with no bill forwarded to our home address. We have no idea of the cost (except when we pay income tax, sales tax, gas tax, alcohol tax, tobacco tax yada-yada-yada tax) but we are fully covered.

My mother, who you know as Hellfire Helen, visited her Doctor almost biweekly in her later years. She thought he was, “A very handsome young man.” In other words, for you young’uns out there, she thought he was, “Hot!” I really think she went there just to visit and bat those octogenarian eyes in his direction. But, that is a whole other issue in Canadian medicine -Doctor stalking.

A friend of mine visited his parents in Florida about two weeks before we arrived on our annual vacation. Before they left, his entire family suffered from a bout of the flu. This included constant yakking and multiple trips to the porcelain telephone. Yes, my friends, both ends were involved, totally and completely.

Upon arriving in Florida, my bro discovered that, with all this explosive action, he’d popped a Hemorrhoid and the pain, of course, increased exponentially. Now my buddy is a Black Belt Ninja whose pain tolerance is remarkable. But, upon inspection by a nurse, he was told that he’d better get his ass into emergency STAT.

Long Story Short:

He was told he required surgery to take care of the thrombosis. Fortunately, he had travel insurance. The company actually considered having him flown home to Canada to have his anus retooled and refitted.

I wonder why?

Wouldn’t the cost be prohibitive?

I mean a flight home?

Nay, nay, my friend, a compromise solution was negotiated.

Upon consultation with the doctor it was determined that the surgery would take place at the local Florida Hospital and the Insurance Company would, in fact, cover the cost.

Long Story Shorter:

While we were in Florida my buddy’s father received the itemized bill for this rather routine surgery. This was to be submitted to the Insurance Company.

May I have the envelope, please?

TOTAL COST FOR BUTTHOLE RESECTION:  22 000 freaking dollars.

This was for minor out-patient surgery. They did keep him in for an overnight because the surgeon had either a busy schedule or an extended golf game. No matter, that kind of money could buy you a luxury trip on a 90 day World Cruise and then some.

The operation cost $11 000 and the other $11 000 was made up charges for supplies and the like.

There was a $2000 charge for dressings.


I could take $2000 into Walgreens and snatch up every band aide, compress, pressure bandage, elastic wrap and sterile pad they had on their shelves, and then still walk out with at least two cases of beer, a box of prunes and a pack of condoms.

This hemorrhoid must have been the size of a Pumpkin, certainly worthy of an esteemed place in the Hemorrhoid Hall of Fame (Bemidji, Minnesota, I believe.). Surely the hospital could have it bronzed and then given it to my pal as a souvenir of the Sunshine State.

CANADIAN CUSTOMS: “Do you have anything to claim, sir?

MY BUDDY: “Just this large bronzed twenty-two thousand dollar hemorrhoid, sir.” (Holds it up proudly.)

I can’t imagine NOT having health insurance and living in America.  You’d always be one tragedy away from total bankruptcy.  I have heard the horror stories.

But, I should have been aware of this situation. My insurance company sent me a letter advertising a 10% discount on travel insurance stating that a broken arm could cost me $20 000 in the US. Needless to say, I bought the package for all of us.

Because, now I know that “ripping a new butthole” costs even more than a broken arm or a leg.

Can any of you Americans explain this to me?

I’m dumfounded.

Is the Obama plan going to help you? Maybe you need higher taxes?

Hey, I see Obama stated that there was a solution to the NHL LOCKOUT on Letterman the other night.

Never mind!