September 06, 2006

Jerry's Ink

The Best of Jerry

Jerry, in deference to the working men and women of this great country, refused to do any work over the Labor Day weekend. Below is a sampling of some of his previously published random thoughts. Obviously, the man has too much time on his hands.

The first person you now see at an airport is a soldier. It's reassuring except that he's wearing a camouflage uniform. It would be a camouflage uniform if he was deep in a jungle, but it stands out like a neon sign at an airport. The fact is, when you are at an airport the only way to camouflage yourself is to be disguised as a Burger King stand or a Starbucks stand or a Nathan's Hotdog stand, and then you can blend into the airport's surroundings.

My wife, the Beautiful Judy Licht, is one of the smartest people I know. Her problem is that she cannot handle anything that requires the slightest mechanical agility. To her, manual dexterity is the name of a Mexican boy.

Someone sent me this tasteless joke on the Internet and when you read it you're going to smile and hate yourself for smiling. Then you're going to hate me for being so insensitive. I only put it here because the ACLU has guaranteed my freedom of speech:

Two Middle Eastern mothers are sitting in a cafe in Saudi Arabia chatting over a plate of tabouli and a pint of goat's milk. The older of the mothers pulls her bag out and starts flipping through pictures and they start reminiscing.

"This is my oldest son Mohammed. He's 24 year old now," she said.

"Yes, I remember him as a baby," says the other mother cheerfully.

"He's a martyr now though," mum confides.

"Oh, so sad dear," says the other.

"And this is my second son Kalid. He's 21."

"Oh, I remember him," says the other happily. "He had such curly hair when he was born."

"He's a martyr too," says mum quietly.

"Oh gracious me . . ." says the other.

"And this is my third son. My baby. My beautiful Ahmed. He's 18," she whispers.

"Yes," says the friend enthusiastically. "I remember when he first started school."

"He's a martyr also," says mum, with tears in her eyes.

After a pause and a deep sigh, the second Muslim mother looks wistfully at the photographs and says, "They blow up so fast, don't they?"

I do look like a Muslim terrorist, and frankly, I am disappointed and alarmed when I'm in an airport and I am not singled out and subjected to an intense body cavity search.

I did once have a female security person in a Detroit airport single me out and although she bore an uncanny resemblance to Shaquille O' Neal, I must admit when she ran that metal seeking wand over my body I found it quite pleasurable and, frankly, exciting.

Alas, even though I was fantasizing as she did this never once did she say, "Is that a bomb in your pocket or are you happy to see my wand?"

When I am putting a martini glass to my lips there's a 50-50 chance that I'm going to spill most of it on my lap.

Don't get me wrong I think the martini glass is the most beautiful glass in the world. Especially when it's frosted and cold on the outside and filled to the brim with an icy Absolute Pepper Vodka and a kiss of dry vermouth.

Unfortunately, for all its beauty, the martini glass is not really built to hold liquid. The slightest move or tremor causes a spill. I am clumsy and a filled martini glass is tough for a klutz like me to control.

There is a bright side to this. If I had imbibed every single drop of martini I have spilled in my lifetime I would be writing this column from The Betty Ford Clinic.

This is the part where I'm going to say something that women are going to think is sexist.

(Here's the disclaimer.) Ladies, I'm not talking about you and your spouse here, I'm only talking about Judy and myself.

Men, pay no attention to my disclaimer, you know what I mean.

Nine or 10 times in our 23-year marriage Judy has finished dressing first and was actually waiting for me.

She has waited for me to finish dressing a total of one hour in all of our time together. I have waited for her about a year and a half.

How many times have I heard: "Should I wear this earring or this earring?"

"But Judy, they look alike. We're late."

"No, no, this hoop is a tiny bit larger than this hoop."

How many times have I heard: "How do you like how my hair looks?"

How many times have I said: "Your hair looks great, but we're late."

"You didn't even look at my hair."

"That's because I remember what your hair looks like. We're late."

Tom Cruise is a terrific actor, but pound for pound he may be the craziest son-of-a-bitch of them all.

I always feel better when most of the patrons sitting around a sushi bar are Japanese.

I've had two wives, both wonderful women who only have wanted the best for me. My parents doted on me and granted me my every whim.

My five children are always there for me always concerned about my well being.

But no one in my life has ever been as concerned with satisfying my every need as my new RCA Victor Direct TV remote.

If you wish to comment on "Jerry's Ink," send your message to jerry@dfjp.com.

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