Chapter 69

Before we continue with this installment of the report, I want to clarify something. In the previous chapter (68), Sweetie had mentioned the song “Six White Boomers” as being an old holiday favorite of hers. I did a quick search and found that it was written by Rolf Harris.

Several of you informed me that Rolf Harris was convicted of sexual assault against young females and other crimes. He served a number of years in prison (an experience that we all hope he “greatly enjoyed”) before being released. He was black-balled after that and died in 2023.

When I asked Sweetie if she was aware of this, she reminded me that she had lived in a remote part of the country, and news coverage was spotty at best. She lived on a ranch “the size of bloody Long Island”, and they had supplies brought in either by small aircraft, or a semi-annual truck delivery. Ham radio was used as they didn’t have satellite phones. So for a lot of current affairs, they were not up to date. This also took place at a time when she was getting ready to move to London in order to live with other family members for school.

WE DO NOT IN ANY WAY, SHAPE, OR FORM CONDONE WHAT ROLF HARRIS DID. He was convicted of something horrific, and to be honest, the nearly six years he served is nowhere near what he deserved (Life). Please remember, all I did was a simple search of “Who wrote the song...?” His criminal activity record didn’t show up.

That being said, shall we move on to more pleasant items?

A reader named dnkjd51 sent this to me to share. You might have seen a few previously, but they are still funny. Thank you. Maybe we can use the title “And that’s when the fight began,” here.

While watching “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire” in bed, I turned to my wife and asked, “Want to have sex?”
Without even glancing my way, she replied, “No.”
“Is that your final answer?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said firmly.
“Alright,” I said, “then I’d like to phone a friend.”
And that’s when the fight began.

We went out to a restaurant, and the waiter took my order first.
“I’ll have the rump steak, rare,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow and asked, “Aren’t you worried about the mad cow?”
“Nah,” I replied, “she can order for herself.”
And that’s when the fight began.

At her high school reunion, my wife couldn’t stop staring at a drunken man at a nearby table.
“Do you know him?” I asked.
“Yes,” she sighed. “He’s my old boyfriend. I hear he started drinking right after we broke up and hasn’t been sober since.”
I said, “Wow! Who knew someone could celebrate that long?”
And that’s when the fight began.