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Main Street

Roger on Main StreetGoverning

I see the Legislature has gotten rid of the law that all products on the shelf must have a price label.  I look at those all the time and now they will be gone.  I suspect prices will go up!
I also see that the law makes it impossible for us to have a Referendum on the issue. If we don’t like the law, too bad.

Letter to God

I noticed that my dog had written some letters to God on my computer.
“Dear God, is it on purpose our names are the same, only reversed?
“Dear God, when we get to Heaven, can we sit on your couch?  Or is it the same old story?
“Dear God, are there mailmen in Heaven?  If there are, will I have to apologize?
“Dear God, Let me give you a list of things I must remember to be a good dog:
I will not eat the cat’s food before they eat it or after they throw it up. The garbage collector is not stealing our stuff.  I will not roll on dead seagulls, fish, crabs, etc., just because I like their smell.  Sticking my nose into some ones crotch is not an acceptable way of saying ‘Hello.’ The cat is not a ‘squeaky’ toy so when I play with it and it makes that noise; it’s usually not a good thing.
P.S. Dear God, when I get to Heaven may I have all of my forgotten buried bones back?”
The dog’s e-mail came back with this message: “God does not accept e-mail, only prayers.”

In charge

A mild-mannered man was tired of being bossed around by his wife so he went to a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist said he needed to build his self-esteem, and so gave him a book on assertiveness, which he read on the way home. He had finished the book by the time he reached his house.
The man stormed into the house and walked up to his wife. Pointing a finger in her face, he said, “From now on, I want you to know that I am the man of this house, and my word is law! I want you to prepare me a gourmet meal tonight, and when I’m finished eating my meal, I expect a sumptuous dessert afterward. Then, after dinner, you’re going to draw me my bath so I can relax. And when I’m finished with my bath, guess who’s going to dress me and comb my hair?”
“The funeral director,” said his wife.

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