Main Street by Roger Allen, publisher — March 18, 2010

Exponential

Our Expo is developing. Last year it drew some big crowds. This year it looks like there might be 170 booths and we’re starting to get them from out of town. Be sure to go. Unlike some similar events, this one is free!

Green rocks and a tin box

After Christmas, a teacher asked the kids how they spent the holiday away from school. One child wrote the following:

We went to visit Grandma and Grandpa. They used to live in a big brick house but Grandpa got retarded and they moved to Arizona. Now they live in a tin box and have rocks painted green to look like grass. They ride around on their bicycles and wear nametags because they don’t know who they are anymore. They go to a building called a wreck-center, but it must have got fixed because it’s okay now. Grandma and Grandpa do exercises there, but they don’t do them very well.

At their gate, there is a dollhouse with a little old man sitting in it. He watches all day so nobody can escape. Sometimes they sneak out, and go cruising in their golf carts. Nobody there cooks, they just eat out. And they eat the same thing every night – early birds.

Some of the people can’t get out past the man in the dollhouse. The ones who do get out bring food back to the wreck-center for potluck.

My Grandma says that Grandpa worked all his life to earn getting retarded. And she says I should work hard so I can be retarded someday, too. When I get retarded, I want to be the man in the dollhouse. Then I will let people out so they can visit their grandchildren.

Luck of the Irish

Paddy was driving down the street in a sweat because he had an important meeting and couldn’t find a parking place. Looking up to heaven he said, “Lord, take pity on me. If you find me a parking place I’ll go to Mass every Sunday for the rest of me life and give up me Irish whiskey!”

Miraculously, a parking place appeared.

Paddy looked up again and said, “Never mind, I found one.”

About Face

I tried to get on Face Book. Granted, I’m not too pleased with my face myself, but it was still disappointing when they said, “Access Denied.”

Last words

A will is a dead giveaway; backward poets write inverse; A calendar’s days are numbered. I’m not making this stuff up.

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