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Roger on Main Street

Goodbye Roger

This was the last, and will be the last column written by Roger. He succumbed to his long battle with illness on Saturday, January 5, 2013 (see front page). It is a great sadness that his words will no longer appear in print in the two newspapers he founded. It makes my heart break that he will no longer brighten the day of so many with his special wit and observations. He was much like his column. That was Roger.

And, besides his family, the thing he loved most were these two newspapers, The Rockford Squire and The Cedar Springs Post. Neither would have existed at all if not for his spark, his dedication and his love of these little local newspapers. Publishing weekly through Y2K, Google, the financial crisis, war, the internet explosion and so many odds stacked against them, they have survived.

Now owned and operated by his two daughters, he was always there for us, just a phone call away with a cheerful tone and a way of calming the worst of days. He was our father, our teacher, our rock, and our best friend. We hope we made him proud.

Goodbye Roger, we’ll miss you.

roger on main streetWhen things get crazy

Wow. The world of hourly or daily news sometimes has dull days but there are times when everything happens at once. Last week made me glad this paper is a hometown weekly. We didn’t have to rush around to cover the explosions and deaths in the Middle East or the “storm of the century” that tore up much of the East Coast or, of course, the General scandal. All those news stories have had breaking developments that Big News operations must continue to chase.

Having had experience with FEMA, I can speak confidently that the East Coast storm story alone will last for weeks. I’ve seen lots of houses off their foundations. It will take $billions to repair these losses and thousands of print inches and broadcast hours to talk about them.

Getting a weekly paper out sometimes seems hectic but, in comparison, you’d probably have to say it’s pretty relaxing.

When things go bad

Three weeks after the wedding day, Sally called her minister. “Reverend,” she wailed, “John and I have had a TERRIBLE fight!”

“Calm down, my child,” said the minister. “It’s not half as bad as you think. Every marriage has to have its first fight.”

“I know, I know!” said Sally. “But what am I going to do with the body?”

‘Tis the season

An old man in Phoenix calls his son in New York. “I hate to ruin your day,” he says, “but I have to tell you that your mother and I are divorcing. Forty-five years of misery is enough.”

“Pop, what are you talking about?” yells the son.

“We can’t stand the sight of each other any longer,” the old man says. “We’re sick and tired of each other, and I’m sick of talking about this, so you call your sister in Chicago and tell her.” And he hangs up.

Frantic, the son calls his sister, who explodes on the phone, “Like heck they’re getting a divorce!” she shouts. “I’ll take care of this.”

She calls Phoenix immediately and screams at her father, “You are NOT getting divorced! Don’t do a single thing until I get there. I’m calling my brother back right now and we’ll both be there tomorrow. Until then don’t do a thing, DO YOU HEAR ME?” And she hangs up.

The old man turns to his wife. “Okay,” he says. “They’re coming for Christmas and they’re paying their own way.”

’Tis the season, blond edition

The blonde goes to the post office to buy stamps for her Christmas cards. She says to the clerk, “May I have 50 stamps?”

“What denomination?” asks the clerk.

“God help us,” says the woman. “Has it come to this? Give me six Catholic, 12 Presbyterian, 10 Lutheran and 22 Baptists.”

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Roger on Main Street

Roger Allen, father of publisher Lois Allen, is still in St. Mary’s Hospital recovering from two recent heart attacks. Cards and well wishes may be sent to Roger Allen, The Cedar Springs Post, PO Box 370, Cedar Springs, MI 49319 and we will be sure he gets them.

The following column was originally published in December 2011.

roger on main street

Merry Christmas!

How many dozens of people have you heard that from lately?  It comes in handy this time of year when you can’t think of anything else to say.

Robo calls

I get several every day, so I don’t answer until seven rings. And now there’s talk of allowing robo calls to cell phones. I may have to stop answering that one, too. You can get in touch with me by knocking on my front door.

“Completed,” finally

The President has withdrawn our troops from Iraq, although we’ll still be spending money there. Nine years is way too long, especially for an optional war with inadequate planning ahead of time.  And we’re still at war in Afghanistan. And while Pakistan purports to be our ally, we seem to be at war there, too.

I think it’s time to let them settle their own affairs. It’s obvious we can’t do it, and it only makes us poorer. Just think of all the other things we could have bought with that $1trillion+ spent on the Iraq war. Yes, that’s $1,000,000,000,000. Plus.

Cat story

A friend writes:

Last Saturday night we were dressed and ready to go out to a Christmas party. We turned on a nightlight, turned the answering machine on, covered our pet parakeet and put the cat in the backyard.

Because we knew we’d be having a few drinks, we phoned a cab company and requested a taxi. The taxi arrived and we opened the front door to leave the house. As we walked out the door, the cat we had put out in the yard scooted back into the house. We didn’t want the cat shut in the house because she always tries to eat the bird.

My wife went on out to the taxi, while I went back inside to get the cat. The cat ran upstairs, with me in hot pursuit.

Waiting in the cab, my wife didn’t want the driver to know that the house would be empty for the night. So she explained to the taxi driver that I’d be out soon. “He’s just going upstairs to say goodbye to my mother.”

A few minutes later I got into the cab. “Sorry I took so long,” I said as we drove away. “That stupid thing was hiding under the bed. I had to poke her with a coat hanger to get her to come out. She tried to take off, so I grabbed her by the neck. Then I had to wrap her in a blanket to keep her from scratching me. But it worked! I hauled her fat bottom downstairs and threw her out into the back yard! Hope she doesn’t use the vegetable garden for a toilet again.”

The silence in the cab was deafening.

Last words

Years ago, my kids believed in Santa Claus. Now they think I’m Santa Claus.

 

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Roger on Main St.

Roger Allen, father of publisher Lois Allen, is still in St. Mary’s Hospital recovering from two recent heart attacks. Cards and well wishes may be sent to Roger Allen, The Cedar Springs Post, PO Box 370, Cedar Springs, MI 49319 and we will be sure he gets them.

The following column was originally published in November 2010.

roger on main streetUpdate

The Post recently did a salute to those serving in the military. The publisher didn’t mention that she, too, is a veteran of the U.S. Army. (She asked to be stationed in a “warm place with a beach.”)  She served in Germany (which is warm in the summer and probably has a beach somewhere.)  After service she did production in a factory and drove an 18-wheeler all over the U.S.

Now she follows in the footsteps of (the late) Cedar Springs pioneer Neils Andersen, continuing publication of the town’s newspaper. She employs seven people with all kinds of equipment that hadn’t even been invented yet when she was in the Army.  (How far will technology take us in the next 20 years?)

Retraining story

A proctologist became fed up with malpractice insurance and HMO paperwork; he was burned out. Hoping to try another career where skillful hands would be beneficial, he decided to become a mechanic. He went to the local technical college, signed up for evening classes, attended diligently, and learned all he could.

When the time of the practical exam approached, the proctologist prepared carefully for weeks and completed the exam with skill. When the results came back, he was surprised to find that he had obtained a score of 150%. Fearing an error, he called the instructor. “I don’t want to appear ungrateful, but I wonder if there is an error in the grade?”

The instructor said, “During the exam, you took the engine apart perfectly, which was worth 50% of the total mark. You put the engine back together perfectly, which is also worth 50% of the mark.” After a pause, the instructor added, “I gave you an extra 50% because you did it all through the muffler, which I’ve never seen done in my entire career.”

Priority story

A group of friends went out deer hunting and separated into pairs for the day. That night, one hunter returned alone, staggering under a huge buck.

“Where’s Harry?” asked the others.

“He fainted a couple miles up the trail,” came the answer.

“What? You left him lying there alone and carried the deer back?”

“It was a tough decision,” said the hunter. “But I figured no one is going to steal Harry.”

Problem solved story

The construction boss ordered one of his men to dig a hole eight feet deep. After the job was completed, the boss came back and said an error had been made and the hole wouldn’t be needed. “Fill ‘er up,” he ordered.

The worker did as told, but ran into a problem. He couldn’t get all the dirt packed back into the hole. A mound remained on top. He explained the situation at the construction office.

The boss snorted. “Honestly! The kind of help you get these days! There’s obviously only one thing to do. Go back and dig that hole deeper!”

Last words, almost

If you try to fail, but succeed, which have you done?

Last words

Grow your own dope, plant a man.

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Roger on Main St.

roger on main streetThe Allen Family had a wonderful Thanksgiving Dinner of turkey, mashed potatoes, w/gravy, cranberry sauce and more than one pie. There was no drinking and no one went to jail.

However, Roger is currently serving time at St. Mary’s Hospital in Grand Rapids after suffering from two separate heart attacks within the past month. He started having chest pains sometime during Thursday night, last week, November 29. After being admitted to St. Mary’s Hospital, it was determined that he had suffered a recent, more severe attack prior. The earlier attack, hopefully not brought about by turkey, caused extensive damage. The second “attack” an infarction, was less severe, but he is struggling to get home from there.

No one regrets more than he, that he will not be able to write a column for this week’s paper. However, for those who just have to have a little Roger’s “Main Street,” we are substituting a previous one for that needed “fix”.

The following column was originally published in December 2007.

The following column was originally published in December 2007.

 

December 7, 1941

Seventy-one years ago tomorrow, Japanese bombers swooped out of the sky for a surprise attack on America’s naval fleet, moored at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Our fleet was crushed and more than 2,400 Americans were killed in the raid. For a dwindling number of us, the event isn’t just history. We remember the day.

It was a Sunday. In that pre-television era, the reports came in on the radio, and my family’s radio stayed on all day. My parents were stunned. The whole nation was stunned. At the time it happened, a Japanese envoy was in Washington talking peace to our Secretary of State.

President Roosevelt quickly requested a joint meeting of Congress. On Monday, Dec. 8, he asked Congress for a declaration of war against Japan, retroactive to Sunday’s attack. Three days after that, the fascist governments of Hitler’s Germany and Mussolini’s Italy declared war on America. They thought it was a great time to defeat us–we’d be too busy fighting Japan.

World War II had begun.

Those of us who remember December 1941 also remember that our lives changed abruptly. For the next few years, our nation’s efforts were bent on victory (although at first we seemed to get little of it). Our factories stopped making cars and bicycles and converted to ships, tanks, guns, and airplanes. Goods in short supply—including shoes and food and gasoline—were rationed for civilians.

The military draft took all levels of society, rich and poor.

Finally, after an entire nation’s sacrifice, we won a total victory. Japan’s unconditional surrender came three years and eight months after the Pearl Harbor attack. I still remember vividly my town’s celebration on “V-J Day.” Hitler’s government had already surrendered three months earlier.

Useful facts, or not

• You’ve heard the phrase, “once in a blue moon.” A “blue moon” is the second full moon in the same month. The expression has been around for 400 years. Usually we get one every 2-1/2 years.

• You have probably said, “for Pete’s sake!” An itinerant farm hand from Lincolnshire said it first at 2 p.m. on Sept. 23, 1497, immediately after he impaled his foot with a pitchfork in the presence of the local priest. There’s no written record of the incident but you can believe this if you want to. Actually, it’s “a minced oath” – a substitute for a different phrase, like “for St. Peter’s sake!”

• When everything is coming your way, you’re in the wrong lane.

• A day without sunshine is like night.

• 42.7 percent of all statistics are made up on the spot.

• On the other hand, you have different fingers

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Roger on Main Street

roger on main streetWhen things get crazy

Wow. The world of hourly or daily news sometimes has dull days but there are times when everything happens at once. Last week made me glad this paper is a hometown weekly. We didn’t have to rush around to cover the explosions and deaths in the Middle East or the “storm of the century” that tore up much of the East Coast or, of course, the General scandal. All those news stories have had breaking developments that Big News operations must continue to chase.

Having had experience with FEMA, I can speak confidently that the East Coast storm story alone will last for weeks. I’ve seen lots of houses off their foundations. It will take $billions to repair these losses and thousands of print inches and broadcast hours to talk about them.

Getting a weekly paper out sometimes seems hectic but, in comparison, you’d probably have to say it’s pretty relaxing.

When things go bad

Three weeks after the wedding day, Sally called her minister. “Reverend,” she wailed, “John and I have had a TERRIBLE fight!”

“Calm down, my child,” said the minister. “It’s not half as bad as you think. Every marriage has to have its first fight.”

“I know, I know!” said Sally. “But what am I going to do with the body?”

‘Tis the season

An old man in Phoenix calls his son in New York. “I hate to ruin your day,” he says, “but I have to tell you that your mother and I are divorcing. Forty-five years of misery is enough.”

“Pop, what are you talking about?” yells the son.

“We can’t stand the sight of each other any longer,” the old man says. “We’re sick and tired of each other, and I’m sick of talking about this, so you call your sister in Chicago and tell her.” And he hangs up.

Frantic, the son calls his sister, who explodes on the phone, “Like heck they’re getting a divorce!” she shouts. “I’ll take care of this.”

She calls Phoenix immediately and screams at her father, “You are NOT getting divorced! Don’t do a single thing until I get there. I’m calling my brother back right now and we’ll both be there tomorrow. Until then don’t do a thing, DO YOU HEAR ME?” And she hangs up.

The old man turns to his wife. “Okay,” he says. “They’re coming for Christmas and they’re paying their own way.”

’Tis the season, blond edition

The blonde goes to the post office to buy stamps for her Christmas cards. She says to the clerk, “May I have 50 stamps?”

“What denomination?” asks the clerk.

“God help us,” says the woman. “Has it come to this? Give me six Catholic, 12 Presbyterian, 10 Lutheran and 22 Baptists.”

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Main Street

roger on main streetGeneral confusion

It’s risky these days to turn on the radio or the TV. I’d like to avoid getting any more information about Tampa’s social life.

 Speaking of generals

Although I was in the army for two years, I never met a general. Never even saw one. Maybe it’s because I was only Private R. Allen, just out of high school.

My military service was a crash course that took me from boyhood to manhood. Much of it was spent in Korea. At this point it’s probably safe to confess something about all those nights when I stood guard duty over there: Sure, I carried a gun and knew how to use it. But, every night, I was alone; every night, it was dark. And, every night I was scared.

Although I never met a general, I did know two admirals. My Uncle Jim and my Uncle Mark both went to Annapolis and were career Navy. One time when I was a kid, Uncle Jim brought me back a little model Chinese junk boat. I still have it. Neither uncle seemed like the type to be sought after by social climbers. But I guess we’ve all learned; you never know.

Speaking of generals #2

General Petraeus seems to be in a lot of hot water. The CIA says there were no government secrets passed on in all those e-mails, so what’s all the fuss about? Nonetheless, a lot of Americans think that what Petraeus did after his secret came out, was the right thing to do. He admitted to the affair and resigned his job because of it. (Granted, it was a very special kind of job.)

The news media has revealed more about Washington goings-on than I really want to know. Now I’m starting to suspect that many, many congressmen, senators, and military brass have had flaming affairs. If all of them resigned, I’ll bet there would be tons of openings in the job market.

Inside joke

Soon after being transferred to a new duty station, an Army husband called to tell his wife that he’d be late getting home again. He went on to say that dirty magazines had been discovered in the platoon’s quarters and they had to discipline the whole squad.

The wife launched into a tirade. She knew that many men had girly pictures hanging in their quarters at the previous post, so his new platoon shouldn’t be penalized for something so trivial!
The husband calmly listened to her gripes and then explained, “Dirty magazines: the clips from their rifles had not been cleaned.”

Political commentary 

1) A politician is a person whose politics you don’t agree with. If you do agree, he’s a statesman.

2) Instead of giving a politician the keys to the city, it might be better to change the locks.

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Roger on Main Street

roger on main streetFingers crossed

A week has gone by since election day, so I think my crossed fingers may have done some good—no re-counts or major protests have popped up to give the news channels something to fill their time with.

On the other hand, I should have crossed them about General Petraeus, head of the CIA. But who would think?

I’ll leave them crossed until the “fiscal cliff” is dealt with, wisely, in a BIPARTISAN manner. This makes it hard to type, but let’s not take any chances with something so important.

Speaking of gambling

A woman who played cards one night each month with a group of friends was concerned because she always woke up her husband when she came home around 11:30.

One night after cards she decided to try not to awaken him. She undressed in the living room and, purse over her arm, tiptoed nude into the bedroom –only to find her husband sitting up in bed, reading.

“Good grief woman!” he exclaimed. “Did you lose everything?”

Speaking of problem solving

A man was walking into the hospital for a routine exam. Just as he reached the main entrance, another man, one who had just exited the hospital, keeled over on the sidewalk. The first guy ran toward the second and saw that he was, obviously, dead.

The man rushed into the hospital, grabbed the first doctor he could find in the hallway, and screamed, “Doctor, Doctor! I just saw a man walk out of the hospital and drop dead on the sidewalk! What should I do?”

The doctor thought about it for a few moments then suggested, “Spin him around. Make it look like he was coming in.”

 Speaking of not nice

A guy walks into a bar and orders a beer. He has brought only enough money for one beer, however. As he’s drinking his beer he realizes he has to go to the men’s room. Not wanting to take any chances with his one and only beer, he gets a slip of paper out of his pocket and writes on it, “I SPIT IN THIS BEER.” Then he goes off to the men’s.

When he comes back a few minutes later, there’s an addition to the note he left next to his beer. It says, “I SPIT IN IT, TOO.”

Just survived the edit

Two detectives down in Mexico were investigating the murder of Juan Gonzalez.

“How was he killed?” asked one detective.

“With a golf gun,” the other detective replied.

“A golf gun? What’s a golf gun?”

“I don’t know. But it sure made a hole in Juan.”

And, for closers:

Have you heard the joke about the 13-inch ruler?

Never mind. It’s too long.

 

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Roger on Main Street

roger on main streetDisaster!

Tornadoes, floods, and hurricanes. For 20 years I visited their aftermath as a reservist employee of the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA).

Since this paper comes out after Tuesday’s voting, my comments aren’t political. They reflect what I know or experienced first hand.

Most FEMA employees are part-timers, from all over America, with particular training or skills. Typical: middle-aged retirees, seasonal construction workers, and small business owners with managers in place. Right now FEMA workers are busy along the East Coast. They’ve left their families or their jobs at an hour’s notice to go someplace they’ve probably never been before.

My own first FEMA assignment was flooding in Marion, Illinois. By coincidence, my last was another flood in Marion. In between I was all over the country—Hurricane Frederick out of Pascagoula, Mississippi, a flood in the West Virginia hinterlands, etc.

Wherever FEMA people go, they’re heading toward a disaster. Damage may make it hard to move around. First thing to do is to buy a map; second is to find a motel room, often miles away. When we get our assignments, we locate a damaged property, inspect it, and give people information available at the time. Then it’s on to the next, maybe dozens in a day.

At each disaster site, a FEMA office is set up. It might be a closed-up school or an unused storefront—cheap, never fancy.

The head of FEMA during 2005’s Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans didn’t organize well. (You remember: Michael D. Brown (“heck of a job, Brownie”). I hear good things about the current FEMA head, W. Craig Fugate. You may have seen him on TV explaining flood insurance.

FEMA management positions are full-time. But most FEMA employees work on an “on call” basis. If there is work to be done, they go. Otherwise they stay home in their regular lives. They don’t get paid unless they’re on a job. I’ve always felt that FEMA is a bargain for the American taxpayer.

Probably true

My husband Jerry took me camping, for the first time. At every opportunity he passed along outdoor survival lore.

Then we got lost hiking in the deep woods. Jerry tried the usual tactics to determine direction—moss on the trees (no moss); direction of the sun (overcast day). Just as I started to panic, he spotted a cabin in the distance. Jerry pulled out his binoculars, studied the cabin, turned around, and led us right back to camp.

“Terrific!” I said. “How did you do it?”

“Easy,” he replied. “In this part of the country all TV satellite dishes point south.”

Probably not

“Hello, Police Department?”

“Yes. What can I do for you?”

“I’m calling to report my neighbor, Jack Murphy. He’s hidin’ pot inside his firewood! Don’t know how he gets it inside them logs, but he’s hidin’ it there.

“Thanks for the call, sir.”

The next day, six police officers descend on Jack’s house. They search the firewood shed. Using axes, they bust open every piece of wood but find no marijuana. With a sneer back at Jack, they leave.

Shortly, the phone rings at Jack’s house.

“Hey, Jack! This here’s Floyd. Did the police come?”

“Yeah.”

“Did they chop your firewood?”

“Yep.”

“Happy birthday, buddy!”

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Roger on Main Street

Bumps on your head

I’ve found myself groping around on my head lately after reading an article about “phrenology.” That’s a word we might not recognize today. In the mid- to late 1800s, however, it was a big deal.

In those days many people were convinced that the shape of the skull, which reflected the shape of the brain, determined character and talents. Reading the bumps on people’s heads was called “phrenology.” (In those days, some scientists were pretty loosey-goosey about evidence.)

Your head bumps supposedly revealed if you were artistic, cheerful, or fearful. Your bumps revealed if you were a fine, upstanding citizen or a criminal.

Seeing profit in this, snake oil salesmen switched their specialties and went around doing “readings.” People were eager to pay to have their heads groped.

Skeptics, of course, spoiled the fun, even before phrenology was discredited by actual scientific evidence. One of those skeptics was Mark Twain. Under an assumed name, Mark Twain visited a phrenology reader and was advised that he had no sense of humor. Another head bump reading—this time as himself, the famous humorist—got him diagnosed as having a fine sense of humor.

The phrenology article made me suspect a couple of things: 1) Snake oil salesmen have switched their specialties again and have gone into politics. 2) Groping my own head suggests that my hair is getting thin on top.

Department of medicine

A man is recovering from surgery when the nurse appears and asks how he’s feeling.

“I’m okay,” says the patient, “but I sure didn’t like those four-letter words the doctor used during surgery.”

“What did he say?” asks the nurse.

“Oops!”

Department of religion

A preacher was looking for a used lawnmower. He found one at a yard sale that the owner’s boy, Jim, happened to be manning.

“This mower work, son?” the preacher asked.

“Sure does,” Jim said.  “You have to pull hard on that cord, though.”

The preacher bought the mower. When he got ready to mow, he yanked and pulled and tugged on the cord. No luck. It wouldn’t start.

Back he went to the yard sale place. “You said this would work if I pulled on the cord hard enough,” he complained.

“Well,” Jim said, “maybe I didn’t mention that you need to cuss at it sometimes.”

The preacher was taken aback. “I haven’t done that for many years!” he said.

Jim smiled. “Just keep yanking on that cord, Pastor. It’ll come back to you.”

Department of geriatrics

• These days about half the stuff in my shopping cart says, “For fast relief.”

• Good advice is something a guy gives when he’s too old to set a bad example.

• Don’t let aging get you down.  It’s too hard to get back up.

• Remember: You don’t stop laughing because you grow old, you grow old because you stop laughing.

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Roger on Main Street

roger on main streetVoice of experience

I lived through the 1928 depression. From what I see now, the current one is working its way to a close. The direction from here is up. Thought you’d like that good news as the leaves come down and we hear winter growling in the distance.

More experience

Mrs. Smith gave her first-graders a math problem to solve. “If I had ten sheep and five of them jumped over a fence, how many would be left?”

“None,” answered Josh.

Mrs. Smith raised her eyebrows. “None?” she said. “Josh, I think something’s wrong with your arithmetic.”

“Mrs. Smith,” answered Josh, “you don’t know your sheep. When one goes, they all go.”

Summary

Experience doesn’t always bring wisdom; sometimes experience comes alone. That may be the case in my prediction about the economy (although my fingers are crossed and I’m doing what I can). But Josh does know his sheep.

Laws of the natural universe

Law of the Workshop: Any tool, when dropped, will roll to the least accessible corner.

Law of probability: The probability of being watched is directly proportional to the stupidity of your act.

Law of the Telephone: When you dial a wrong number, you never get a busy signal.

Law of the Alibi: If you tell the boss you were late for work because you had a flat tire, the very next morning you will have a flat tire.

Variation Law: If you change lines (or traffic lanes), the one you were in will start to move faster than the one you are in now.

Bath Theorem: When the body is fully immersed in water, the telephone will ring.

Law of Close Encounters: The probability of meeting someone you know increases when you are with someone you don’t want to be seen with.

Law of the Result: When you try to prove to someone that a machine won’t work, it will.

Law of Biomechanics: The severity of the itch is inversely proportional to the reach.

Theater Rule: At any event, the people whose seats are farthest from the aisle arrive last.

Coffee Law: As soon as you sit down to a cup of hot coffee, someone will ask you to do something that will last until the coffee is cold.

Murphy’s Law of Lockers: If there are only two people in a locker room, they will have adjacent lockers.

Rug Law: The chances of an open-faced jelly sandwich landing face down on a floor covering are directly correlated to the newness and cost of the carpet.

And now my favorites

Brown’s Law: If the shoe fits, it’s ugly.

Wilson’s Law: As soon as you find a product you really like, they will stop making it.

Law of Logical Argument: Anything is possible if you don’t know what you are talking about

Oliver’s Law: A closed mouth gathers no feet.

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