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Another brilliant idea

Tourism is a big moneymaker. Locally, we draw in a few tourists with the Red Flannel Festival, Start of Summer, Harvest Festival and miscellaneous other special events. Wildly creative promotion could bring us tourists by the truckload.

Since nobody actually wears red flannels anymore, how about a Lingerie Festival? I’m envisioning models for ladies’ underwear, historical displays (such as Queen Victoria’s bloomers) and a contest for better design of men’s boxer shorts. But especially the models.

And why has Rockford never had a Shoe Festival? Just imagine five-inch-heel foot races and shoelace knot-tying workshops. Rockford has been a shoe place for a hundred years, more or less. We need to make shoes fun enough to pull in the tourists. They’d sip their libations from high-heeled slippers in the beer tent…

I’ll stop right there for now because brilliant thinking always tires me out.

The olden days, part I

Henry was playing pretend-fight. This was back in the days before indoor plumbing. During his game, the boy knocked over the outhouse. Sure that he’d get a whupping, he ran into the woods.

It was after dark when Henry sneaked back and, sure enough, his father was waiting. “Son, did you knock over the outhouse?”

“No, Pappy.”

“Well, let me tell you a story,” said the father. “Once, not that long ago, George Washington received a shiny new axe from his father. Excited, he tried it out. Too late he realized he had cut down his mother’s favorite cherry tree.”

Henry’s father paused. “Just like you, he ran into the woods.” Henry felt his face turn red as his dad went on:

“When George came back, his pappy asked, ‘Did you cut down the cherry tree?’ George looked his father in the eye and said, ‘I cannot tell a lie. Yes, I did it.’ George’s father said, ‘Since you were honest with me, I won’t punish you.’”

Henry gulped. His father again asked, “Son, did you knock down the outhouse?”

“Pappy,” said Henry, “I cannot lie. Yes, it was me that did it.”

Then Henry’s father spanked him red, white, and blue. “Pappy,” whimpered Henry, “I told the truth! Why did you whup me?”

“Because,” came the answer, “George Washington’s father wasn’t in the tree when he chopped it down!”

The olden days, part II

Father Bill, the venerable old priest, visited the parish school now and then. He walked into the fourth grade class, where the children were studying the states, and asked how many states they could name. One by one they came up with about 40 names. Father Bill smiled and told them that in his day students knew the names of all of them.

Richie raised his hand and said, “Yes, Father, but in those days there were only thirteen.”

A deep thought

Do you realize that in about 40 years we’ll have millions of old ladies running around with tattoos?

And one more

Living in a nudist colony must take all the fun out of Halloween.

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