Summer is over. I'm in a deep depression. I'm looking for an old column to run because the thought of putting two original thoughts together is making me nauseous.
I could write about Obama but then all my good friends who think he is a great president will have an attack of the vapors.
This weekend, whenever I saw Obama shucking and jiving about Syria, I thought of the old Laurel and Hardy movies in the 1930s where whenever they got into trouble Oliver Hardy, the fat guy who would always cause the problem, would turn to Stan Laurel – a timid soul who did nothing – and shout, "A FINE MESS YOU GOT US INTO THIS TIME, STANLEY." In case you don't get it, Stanley, in this case, is Congress.
OK, I found an old column. While you're reading it I'm going to sit here with my thumb in my mouth thinking that my beloved football Giants may not win six games this year.
My beloved city may soon be in the hands of Bill de Blasio who, as mayor, will have many New Yorkers moving to Chicago for their safety.
Just as one waits for the first robin of spring, I'm waiting for the first squeegee guy of autumn.
I'm still shaking.
It all started the other day when I climbed into the shower and started to soap up my entire body.
(Those of you who know me may turn their heads now and retch at the thought of my chubby soaped-up body. I understand.)
Then I reached for my shampoo bottle and shampooed my beard and mustache. Those of you who have hair on your head may be amused that a man with a shaved head would shampoo his beard and mustache. I happen to find it reassuring to touch my head every morning and feel hair in my hand, albeit just a puny little beard and what many women find to be a creepy mustache.
Now with my beard and mustache filled with soap, I reached for the conditioner. That's when I saw it. The world's largest water bug had been attached to the back of the conditioner container, and now he was flapping his disgusting wings and coming towards me.
I heard a woman screaming: "E . . .E . . .E . . .EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE."
Later I realized the woman I heard screaming was me.
I have no idea how, but in less than a blink of the eye I was out of the shower. Did I fly over the shower stall? I checked the glass door of the shower to make sure I hadn't crashed through it. It was in one piece.
I must have thrown the conditioner container – it was on the other side of the bathroom.
I watched the giant water bug drowning and doing what looked like a backstroke in the shower water.
He was so big that I had to stop myself from letting out another scream.
I would swear from looking at him with his wings flapping that he had a first-class section and a coach section.
Now I was completely covered with soap and I had no intention of washing myself off in the shower.
Actually, I had thoughts of not showering again for at least a year or two.
So I dried the soap off of my chubby body. Soap is really sticky when it hasn't been washed off, isn't it?
I watched the now-drowned water bug, which was way too big to go down the drain for a fitting funeral at sea.
As I walked out I told my wonderful housekeeper Rene about my terrible experience.
Rene, who has something nice to say of everyone, just shook her head and said, "You are such a coward."
Then she told me to take an umbrella because it was going to rain.
As I walked out of my house the thought hit me that since my body was so covered with soap, if the rain hit my skin I would leave a trail of bubbles coming off of me all the way to work.
If you wish to comment on "Jerry's Ink" please send your message to firstname.lastname@example.org.