SOME OF MY OWN MR. BEAN MOMENTS

Today I bought some groceries, and on my way out of the store I decided to grab a couple of anti-bacterial wipes, and so I did, and then I started pushing (what I thought was my basket cart of groceries).

I was now outside, still pushing the basket cart, and I looked down and saw an empty basket.

I rushed back inside the store, pushing the empty basket, and there was the one that I had left.

DUH.

*

One day while teaching an English class, I needed to go to the office.

When I returned to the classroom I looked for my chalk.

I asked my students if they had seen my chalk.

They said, “You still have it in your hand!”

*

I returned home with some groceries.

I put away the groceries.

Instead of the freezer I had put a steak in the pantry (food closet).

*

NOTE: I don't even know if I should count this as a Mr. Bean moment. It's not funny.

When I was fourteen I went on my first and only hunting trip.

I had killed a deer.

I wrote a poem about this experience.

The poem expresses my sorrow about what I had done.

The Mr. Bean moment came after I had yelled down to my grandpa that I had shot a deer. He was down at our campsite.

He yelled back:

“Cut his throat!”

“What?” I said.

“Cut his throat! Cut his throat!”

So I began cutting the head off of the deer.

It took awhile.

Grandpa kept yelling to cut the throat.

I kept cutting.

And finally, the head came off.

I put it in my backpack, and carried it back to camp.

I proudly opened the backpack and pulled the head out.

Grandpa:

“What the hell did you do?”

Me:

“I did what you said. Cut its head off.”

Grandpa:

“I said to cut his throat!”

Me:

“Oh.”

IT'S ABOUT RENEWABLE RESOURCES

I AM YOUR VOICE

I am your voice.

Believe me.

I will tell you this.

I am a great businessman.

I make great deals.

I am your voice.

Believe me.

I will build a great wall.

Believe me.

I will be the law and order president.

I am your voice.

Believe me.

Believe me.

Believe me.

Believe me.

Believe me.

Believe me.

Believe me.

(Someone, please turn the off switch on my back.)

IT'S ABOUT RENEWABLE RESOURCES

DON'T USE MY BRAIN TO GET HIGH

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2016/07/16/robbery-suspect-kept-stolen-brain-beneath-porch-and-used-it-to-get-high-police-say/

While authorities may have encountered formaldehyde-laced marijuana, using a dead person’s brain for drug purposes shocked some investigators.

In the heyday---or I should say Mary Jane's day (or grassday) of my pot-smoking life---the last thing that I wanted to do is to spray anything on the marijuana that I smoked.

The thought never crossed my mind.

In fact, very little crossed my mind when I was stoned.

I was aware that the government was spraying herbicides on marijuana fields, but again, I didn't think about that when I was getting high.

The peculiar news story above really got my attention.

Someone had been using a human brain to get high?

Wow!

How?

It was strange just that there was another person's brain in someone's house.

Forget that the brain was being used to get high.

Of course, as it turned out, it was other things in the brain that were being used to get high, not the brain itself.

“It (the brain) even had a name: 'Freddy'.”

I thought that my own mind would be blown away, or at least become high from this news story.

No such luck.

“The defendant related that he knew it was illegal to have the brain and that he and (another man) would spray the embalming fluid on ‘weed’ to get high,” Trooper John Boardman, an investigator involved in the case, wrote in court documents cited by the AP.

It made me a little sick.

One more thing that was kind of strange and amusing was the offense that was cited:

“...misdemeanor abuse of a corpse and conspiracy to commit abuse of a corpse.”

Wow!

Even our dead bodies have rights!

One more thing is I wish that the news story had been written like this:

“At this point now, we’re just trying to figure out where it came from,” Pennsylvania state trooper Bob Hicks said. 

“We’re hoping that if anyone feels like they’re missing their brain, bring it to our attention and maybe we could return it to the rightful owner.”

IT'S ABOUT RENEWABLE RESOURCES

ZOROASTER AND THE CUTTING BOARD

One time I went to buy myself a cutting board. 

It wasn't easy like here in the U.S. where we just go to our local retail store.

Instead, I needed to visit a carpenter. 

When I found one, I used my "survival Farsi" and told a bearded carpenter what I wanted. 

I used strange (but I hoped understandable) gesticulations to describe what I wanted. 

I believe that my gestures said more than my use of the local language. 

The bearded carpenter acknowledged that he understood my request, and proceeded to cut and sand a block of wood.

 He was finished after about 10 minutes, told me the cost, and then asked me if I believed in Allah. 

I pointed to the sun and muttered, "Zoroaster".

 I knew immediately I should have just said "Yes" and left. 

The bearded carpenter slapped me gently on my cheek, shook his head, and wagged his finger at me. 

I paid him for my breadboard and left.

But his slap was as much a shock to me as the one that the bishop gave me at my Confirmation.

Another time I went to buy some toilet paper, but before I could buy the TP I had to answer a question: "Was I Russian?" 

I think I was just getting teased, but this shopkeeper had a serious demeanor when he asked his question, and so I took it seriously. 

I was able to buy the TP once the shopkeeper realized that I was not Russian.

Touryalai told me "Russia steals our gas and food." 

Later, of course, they would to try to steal his entire country.

IT'S ABOUT RENEWABLE RESOURCES

THE FIRST DAY OF WINTER

Another Bakery Anecdote.

 I had on my straw hat, my duck-down gloves, a coat over my beaver fur vest, and of course, my Italian hiking boots. 

I was riding my Chinese bicycle on my way home, and the rain was turning to sleet, and then came snowflakes, and it was getting colder by the minute, but I needed to buy my hot, delicious naan. 

I got off of my bike, but instead of standing at the bakery window to order, I walked bravely up the wooden steps to the door entrance of the oven-pit, to get warmer, and to get a closer look at the bakers. 

One Afghan gently grabbed my arm, grinning a devilish smile, and started pulling me inside.

 He pointed at the fiery pit and then at me. 

I was a bit scared, until he started laughing, and the other bakers started to laugh, and so I knew that I wouldn't be tossed into the fiery pit.

I got my naan, hopped back on my bicycle, and rode off to my house.

 My bike was slipping and sliding, and I was having problems navigating, and I looked forward to arriving at my house where I knew I would soon have a roaring fire going in my faithful little oven. 

My straw hat fell off, but I didn't care, and I didn't want to stop in this freezing weather to pick it up, and so I kept riding, knowing that tomorrow a goat or sheep would discover a tasty treat.

This was the first beautiful night of winter.

In Kabul the weather turned off and and on like a light switch.

 I remember only one time that it rained, and as it rained, I thought, "It's spring today.”

IT'S ABOUT RENEWABLE RESOURCES