Thack You!
with Larry Thack
Larry's Last Meal
At my age I think a lot about dying and frequently will shop for my last meal. It’s a real pleasure to choose the nutrition that will sustain my corpse with the energy it requires to not do anything forever.
Tonight, for instance I’ll make myself macaroni and cheese with a shallow-poached salmon in a nice cream sauce. It’s a strange combination I admit, but hopefully I’ll be dead in the morning so what difference does it make?
Guys on death-row get all the press for the last meal thing, but what experience do they have really? Frequently they’ll order these huge meals and then discover they have no appetite with death looming so closely. It seems these guys in prison don’t have a clue how to have a last meal, until now. This death row, media-darling monster in Arkansas, who incidentally looks very mean and guilty, requested Holy Communion for his last meal. What a classy guy! Not only does he totally square things with God, but who doesn’t have the appetite for Communion? So I’ll take a lesson from that guy- maybe Communion should be for dessert.
A lengthy and laborious internet search has confirmed that nowhere in the Bible does it say anything about some priest blessing the wafer and wine. All I have to do is be of the “right heart”. That’s just vague enough to work! Of course the search also points out that Communion is really a full meal that we share with a community, like a church community. The wafer and sip of wine came about because nobody had time for the dinner thing. After enduring numerous spaghetti dinners and fish-fries at churches I agree with the shortened version. Paul makes the point in Corinthians 4:20, “Dinner Thursday at my place unless…….
Larry Thack’s swaddling blankets fit properly
Please Stop Sneezing
This has been a tough year for those who suffer from pollen, and I sympathize partly but you geeks need to get it together.
There’s very little more disgusting than the sneeze. I consider it as rude as public urination and would be pleased if my fellow citizens might stop this clownish behavior of spraying us all with the contents of their noses. The folks down at the Senior Center are the worst. They perform a variety of offensive sneezes.
One of them sneezes like a little kitty. Just a puff of twinkle-stars is expelled in this cutesy-poo fashion. Whatever caused her to sneeze was certainly not enough of a foreign element to elicit a sneeze in the first place. I told her that style of sneeze would’ve been really helpful if she were pinned down in Normandy, but otherwise not useful.
Another one of them has this clean, whistling sneeze that sounds very effective but she does it 8-9 times and you end up wishing she’d just choke to death already.
One of them scrunches her face and makes a click noise. The goal here is to expel whatever has intruded your system. It sounds like you just trapped it.
There is one guy who gets it right however. He creates fun words while sneezing like “awchoooee”, murderousness and “Bleck!” This guy puts a lot of energy into it and always finishes by glaring in your direction. I guess I don’t have a problem with that method.
While we’re at it, don’t say “bless-you”. If I knew you were going to put a gypsy curse on me I would’ve sneezed directly on you.
Nevertheless we should excuse ourselves from the room and sneeze in private. This is yet another plank in my platform in my campaign for mayor.
Larry Thack starts his day with a shot of mouthwash
Recap of the 4th
The heat has been dangerous in our town the past week. I had heat exhaustion early in the week and was getting over it just in time for the holiday weekend. My plan was to read articles I’d saved and books I’d dogeared regarding our proud land’s sesquicentennial. I’d saved these over the course of the last couple years and was excited to sit in a cold, dark room reading nice things about our country.
Alas, strangers began invading my hovel around three pm, as I’d just opened an article about railroad expansion in the nineteenth century. My bagged salads were thrust from the fridge to make room for boxes of beer and seltzer-gin. My own regal box of wine had been demoted to a peasanty bag of wine to make room for the bottles they’d smash later. The trains didn’t make it to Milwaukee before I was kicked from my seat by a gang of excitable ne’er do wells. All I could do was wander from room to room until I was blown away by their vape pens. I retreated to a shady spot in the yard and continued to annotate my spreadsheet of the Declaration until the heat pushed me back into the trembling house. I sustained some milk-and-water natter from the guests then hid under my bed until it ended with a fireworks show that became the theme of Nextdoor.
I don’t like to throw around the word “mortified”, but that’s exactly what I was after seeing the fireworks debris on our street the next morning. It looked like a Gypsy wagon had finally decamped. There was an impossible number of tiny scraps on the lawn that could only be retrieved by picking up piece by piece. The invading guests had left me to rebuild Carthage one grain of salt at a time.
I swept and picked for as long as I could, but now the heat had disabled me back into the house. I was then scalded by steam when opening the second of four eventual dishwasher loads. Heat exhaustion how now set back in and I went to lie down and think about some of the stuff I’d cleaned today.
Larry Thack’s readership seems to be stuck at 24
Stupid Poodle
No longer is it any fun at all to play golf at the only remaining golf course in town. It’s always crowded with content creators and the course is too hard.
If it weren’t enough that the throngs of people make it unplayable, there now seems to be a loose dog that has ruined the experience further. To the owner of the stupid show-poodle that lumbers around the front nine I have this to say: First of all, you’ve been tricked! Your prize poodle is not a majestic example of the proud breed. No, your dog stumbles awkwardly with none of the dignity of its pedigree. From the distance of a six iron I originally believed it to be a gorilla. After the player in front of me cleared the green, I watched this dog wander around the green for a few minutes completely unaware of its surroundings. I just sat there and waited like a fool for this thing to clear the green so I could take a shot. I had a friend who once hit onto a green full of ducks. His pitching wedge pure and true found the brain of a goose. That friend could never play golf again. I’m not so concerned that the life of this baboon-dog is more significant than the pace of play on a golf course, rather I couldn’t bear the responsibility of apologizing to the owners of the dead, dunce-dog. I go to the course to escape the company of people for crying out loudly.
I’d complain but that would involve more people.
Larry Thack will spend the weekend catching up on his ebay negative feedback.
Lost Pen
I was fishing in me pocket for a pen just now and all I found were three pills. My daily tow for the brain and the stomach each, and then a new addition for the stomach, which I suspect is being poisoned by the brain. I’m not the sort to go without a pen, but then I’ve also neglected my fragile health situation by not taking my pills, so everything is collapsing.
I was hoping to remember what I needed to write down with that pen, but it’s lost. This is a bad day to be without a pen. I need to jot down tasks and record my observations. I need a pen for defense and as a tool. Maybe it was to remind myself to Google, “how to lance a boil with a pen”.
It again occurs to me that if I haven’t taken my pills, I could be in a grave manner and should eat something safe for my supper, or breakfast, whichever comes first. Aw, but there’s no sense eating breakfast. I have no appetite after what the night’s rest has done to me. I can feel a new wave of gout forming in my toe- how original.
Not eating breakfast means I’ve missed the first goal of the day. Good, that frees my spirit to be meaner. I shall swat at the friendly wrens who join me in reading the news. I won’t wave at some of the neighbors on the way to work. I’ll run every possible stoplight, yet I will also note the race and gender of anyone else who disregards our traffic laws.
It’s much later in the day now and I’ve shooed away many conversationalists. What’s this I feel in my pocket but my pills! This cannot be- I’m certain I took them earlier. At once I stomp over to the sink for some water and finally take my pills. The metallic taste comforts me- this is all I can accomplish today. That taste is also helping me realize that what I just “took” was a screw I’d picked up that was caught in the vacuum.
Larry Thack has forgiven King George III
Scourge of the Town
I would like to take a moment to discuss a new crisis in town. Middle aged men have taken to the streets with their bicycles. Sure this has been going on for decades now, but I don’t think anyone has complained about it lately.
Now we all know that bicycles are for kids and dishwashers at Mexican restaurants so what gives? These wheeled antiquities carry two things at all times: a fanny pack and a frown. Sometimes I’ll catch the eye of a cyclist and the frown seems to be a challenge of sorts, almost a dare. Further, they wear brightly colored shirts that beg for your attention. I want to look away, to keep driving and be on my way, but their displeasing blouses act as a matador’s muleta and I find myself helpless to control the wheel.
From the looks of these guys they’re not in it for the fitness, so why endanger themselves and annoy the rest of us? I suppose just as the Japanese find ultimate peace by walking into the ocean, American middle-aged men set out into heavy traffic at rush hour.
When I was a middle-aged boy there was this urban legend that it was “against the law” to ride your bike on the sidewalk. So fearful were we of being beaten and shot by the cops in our village we would never be seen anywhere but on the streets flowing with traffic. A return to the sidewalks for cyclists is what’s needed! Many of you will say there are bike lanes on the streets but we all know these are “texting easements” that allow for the natural side to side drifting that occurs when you’re trying to balance the responsibilities of driving and texting.
Larry Thack appreciates the kind salesman’s time, advice, research, and phone calls made on his behalf, but he’s just going to order it online
Foolish anachronism found in Belgium
Dearth of July
I am travelling to visit my sister this week in the breadbasket of our country, West Virginia. We’ll visit some graves, watch the fireworks, have a photo shoot at a graveyard, and dedicate a new tomb-wing at our family graveyard- mostly a graveyard related trip. Celebrating the 4th of July holiday in Colonial West Virginia gives me a historical feeling and I shall dress appropriately. I must find my old tricorn hat and brush the wool suit I wear every day, as an observer of good economy.
I shall not leave town without the scroll of prescriptions I’ll need to refill, first. I must take a stroll to the village druggist for replacements, but first need to compile a list of my needs- I like to go to the druggist prepared. Not only with a list of my needs, but also a description of the maladies for which I require the medicine and an anecdote to go along. Years ago, I noticed a line forming behind me as I told my funny stories to the pharmacist, and I try to keep adding to it to keep everyone entertained.
Let’s see, I take Losartan for high blood pressure but it works too well so I have to take Orvaten for low blood pressure to retain a pulse. I need Vitamin D supplements because I’m scared of the sun and Dr. Hammond’s Nerve Balm ‘cause I’m scared of my grandsons. I keep a bottle of Paregoric on me to ease my death anxiety and I take several varieties of Juice Plus pills because of OJ Simpson. Let’s not forget the lithium I need for mania, and a box of Chardonnay for hypomania. I should probably get some q-tips to treat my tooth decay.
I might also try to find a quaker gun while in town. I need to defend my fireworks-watching spot. One year the Pocahontas boys came up from the ground and took my blanket. I laid in wet grass that night.
Larry Thack just learned that abused dogs trail behind their owners
Larry would like to recognize those who gave their lives on the Fourth of July
Click each picture or enjoy a slide show
Obama Library Coming to Fayetteville
This essay was originally published in March 2015- Not sure how it all fell apart
I sat down with the President earlier this week after a speech I gave at Georgia Tech. He was in town for some reason.
Access to the President is something I enjoy from working on his first presidential campaign- I was his official “Slogan-Writer”. In fact, I come from a long line of campaign slogan-writers dating back to Henry Clay. Remember this classic: “Who is James K. Polk?” That bit of shrewd realism was the work of my father JC Thack, friend of Clay. That didn’t win Clay the election, but father Thack switched sides eight years later to help out Franklin Pierce’s campaign with this one: “We Polked you in ’44, we shall Pierce you in ‘52”. He was a genius at sloganning and was posthumously credited with Mckinley’s 1900 slogan, “Four More Years of the Full Dinner Pail”. In later years my father would help Harding “Return to Normalcy”, and even my mother-in-law got into the family trade. Not surprisingly, she came up with the very catchy, “We Can Do Better” for Kennedy. She was always saying that.
I came up with the line, “Change Your Concept of Hope” for the 2008 campaign. The committee to reelect the president thought it wasn’t vague enough and went with something else. This suggests the art of sloganning is just rearranging words properly.
Although we are best friends, this was not a social meeting, for we had business of great and historic importance. I explained to Barry that, as his tenure as our great leader comes to a close, it is time to start planning the Obama Presidential Library. This is the natural progression of Presidential retirement. Settle down with a nice museum, sell some books, make a little money on admission. It’s time to loosen-up and abruptly disappear from American culture. I urged Barry to build his library right here in Fayetteville. He’s in a tough spot- a lot of people will be slighted by his choice, so why not make it a neutral one? I’d sooner go to Atlanta than Kenya, after all. Hawaii just isn’t American enough for it, and Chicago already has a library. Besides, you can get the old glass factory for a song! And workers to boot. Why, half the town was thrown out of work when they shut down. Heehaw Heehaw!
The President fully agreed with me and we shall break ground on the tract of land between Dunkin Donuts and The Ford dealership in the spring following his final term.
Larry Thack’s Socialist Agenda Should Work Fine this Time
Great Father
“Son, I have a dozen rotten eggs here and I need you to take them out to the trash, please.” These words were gifted to me by my father on a Saturday morning, and I had no plans. I immediately called a fellow hood-rat and we set out terrorizing the town. My father’s encouragement that day led me to become the stepfather I’d always wanted to be, and I shall now pat myself on the back for some of the heroic advice I’ve imparted to the wee barons.
All children have these foolish dream occupations and I was keen to stamp out these ideas early. Believe me kids- you don’t want to grow up to be a doctor or lawyer. Doctors spend all their time around gross sick people and lawyers spend all day with criminals or if not, they should be generally ashamed of themselves. Firemen just sit there all day. One episode of “Cops” and they’ll be scared civil. Seems like one of them wanted to be a locksmith- I don’t have a problem with that.
Then, there were the mundane, daily lessons that remain useful in a well-lived life: It’s good advice not to make eye contact with anyone having car trouble. Coughing and sneezing were not allowed, mice were not given cookies, and you’re not to trust Whitey, of course. I tried to keep it in line with George Washington’s Rules of Civility and Decent Behaviour.
Oh, but how time is the enemy! They grow up so slowly and you haven’t gotten much accomplished. I mean, talk about no excuses. These people are always around- why is the majority of them still unable to throw a baseball? Or do her taxes. Before they can recognize and recite racial slurs from antiquity, they are ready to drive, and as soon as you get your learner’s permit, it’s time to start drinking.
I wanted to make sure they were prepared. We learned how to pack a cooler, stealing ice from motel ice machines. I held discussions on the proper order in which to consume beers and spirits, and other tips like the error of mixing grain alcohol with Gatorade. We’d have projects fashioning homemade pipes out of Mountain Dew cans. There was a study on bong resin-extraction and recycling. They learned to bum a cigarette, and what to do if its menthol. By the time the oldest was in high school, every one of her pre-teen siblings had a fake ID. They probably won’t buy any toxic blow or be worse than functional in their addictions. This is the American dream- for children to surpass their parents.
My youngest grandson is at camp this summer and I overheard he was bringing in cartons of cigarettes he’d bought in a neighboring town. He’d hand a few out at bonfires and rodeos, then make a nice penny when his campmates got hooked. Another industrious Thack.
Did I succeed? Certainly not. But an Air-BnB host summed us up well: “They seemed like nice people”.
Larry Thack is Enjoying Five Straight Days without Hearing some Blather from the Pope
John's Emissions
I’ve interrupted his lunch. This is generally how things begin at John’s Emissions. On the annus, our township requires horseless carriages to pass a pollutant query, and I always manage to annoy the emissions guy, John.
You can’t do anything right with John. It’s not that he’s overly demanding or particular, he just has a few questions for each customer and we never know the answers. There’s a dizzying array of questions he might ask about the car: how many liters is the engine? What year is it? These aren’t difficult questions, but I tend to freeze when he asks them. I want to accomplish one thing today, and that’s to mollify John, maybe even make him proud.
I’ve been going to John for years and the pressure has become too much. Once I asked him if I should stay in the car or get out, and he said, “I don’t care what you do.” I tried to stand as far out of the way as I could and he then berated me for standing in the sun. He wears one of those giant floppy hats with the draping neck protection. “You must always take measures to protect yourself from the sun’s harmful rays”, he demanded. I shuffled back into the shade.
“Engine size?" I meekly wager that it’s a six cylinder. He dismissively states, “so, you don’t know”. He declares that “it’s actually an eight cylinder”, but then informs me “that has nothing to do with the size”. After failing his tests, he shakes his head and motions for me to go sit in the corner. He has a recycled optometrist chair sitting in the shade for patrons who can’t do anything right. I very much felt like Billy Pilgrim sitting there.
Something else has him agitated now. Apparently, there’s no barcode on the inside of the door like “every other car” forcing him to climb onto the hood and painstakingly type the whole VIN number into his machine. He asks me to pop the hood, which I do wrong. On this model car, I have to pull the lever twice- I only did it once. He lets me and all the passers-by know.
I’m always surprised when my car passes the emissions test, given how John always knocks away any confidence I had on the way in. His price is fair at $17.99, but if you don’t tip him, you’re immediately cursed by his un-spendable change: a two-dollar bill and a penny. This prank he plays on non-tippers puts him high on my hero-list. When you do tip, he gives a very gracious and mock-surprise, “oh, thank you very much.” Like he’s just a regular guy.
Larry Thack spent his savings on a pied-a-terre in Havana
John, seen here in Legionnaire's hat and UV fishing shirt, waves goodbye
To the Moon!
The first fake moon landing was a joy for the people of the United States and I think we all look forward to a new one. I do wonder why we’ve waited to go back to the moon after more than a half century, given the vast opportunities there. I’m more concerned about the perils of colonization, and also worried that we’ve forgotten how to get there.
It seems to me the Moon industry would quickly become bigger than the Auto industry. There’s a lot to do up there- we could spend the first few months just raking. I’m sure colonization hasn’t changed much- build a fort, do the crops, have a famine. Clearly the thinking here is to get ahead of things and be thusly prepared for Winter, or “The Starving Time”.
Failing to do this means all sorts of trouble. Fortunately, there are no indigenous Moon people to attack us and steal our gunpowder, but maybe there are? My grandparents, Phoebe Belcher Thack and Mitchell Clay Thack, were attacked at their peaceful settlement in West Virginia. Two of the children were killed and scalped. A third was dragged to Ohio and burned at the stake. My Gen-Z nephews assured me they deserved it.
Disease often befell the original colonizers and the Moon has been complicit for thousands of years in its spread of Lunacy. Pliny the Elder believed a full Moon would moisten the brain and lead to all sorts of seizures and madness- statistics prove he was right! Further, Moon dust has been known to cause symptoms similar to a cold.
What about scurvy and rats? Are we even thinking about these things? What a folly it would be if we just watched history repeat itself.
Oh, but what faith I lack in our explorers! Surely, they’ve considered all this and are proceeding with historical indifference. They’ll endure some hardships, but the task at hand is drilling for rare earth minerals, and no sensitivities or local customs should inhibit this mission. Once we have the mines producing, we can erect a church and the Moon will be ours.
Larry Thack will be the Guest of Honor at One of those No Kings Rallies
Michael Jackson or Jeffrey Epstein
Now and again, I like to go to the movies. It’s the one place where things are at the proper volume.
In preparation for my big trip, I started reading the movie listings and reviews. Animal Farm seems like the obvious choice, since I finally finished reading the massive tome. But all anyone ever talks about is the new Michael Jackson biopic. I’ve already read two favorable reviews, but they didn’t start out favorably. One called him a “stone cold pedophile” and the other a “horrible human being”. Well now I have to rethink the whole thing. Michael Jackson- a bad guy?
Of course he’s a bad guy! What am I thinking? He would lure children to his “Neverland Ranch” and expose them to Tinker Bell and Captain Hook. This all sounds so familiar and it’s gotten me to thinking- who’s worse Michael Jacskon or Jefferey Epstein?
Epstein doesn’t have any movie reviews by which to judge him, but he does do poorly in the press. I’ve never heard him called a “stone cold pedophile” but plenty of people agree he’s a “horrible human being”.
When I think back to the days of Jackson’s height of popularity, I recollect a society that had a contract with Jackson- there was an understanding not to have a slumber party with Michael Jackson. I think it was an addendum to the pledge of allegiance and “Happy Birthday” for wisecracking kids. Whenever there was a report of Jackson’s molesting, the whole country would shake its head and say, “what kind of an idiot would let his kid go to Michael Jackson’s house for a sleepover?” Between his creepy voice and bizarre appearance, allegations of child molestation seemed appropriate and frankly, deserved. I mean this guy has worked hard, put out numerous “comeback” albums. He deserves a treat from time to time and he has requested young boys. This new movie suggests Americans are supportive of this idea, but I’d better ask around first.
Epstein seems like he’d be worse than Jackson for numerous reasons. Epstein only hangs out with other rich guys and that sounds like something most people could agree to dislike. He also appears smugly in all photos, whereas Jackson looks gentle and kind.
Jackson also possesses the noblesse oblige -he’s rich, famous, and has contributed to our culture- he should be able to do whatever he wants! Epstein’s just rich.
Besides all that- I polled everyone in town and it is universally agreed that Epstein is worse. I can only conclude that Americans agree it is bad to be a child predator, just not as bad if you compel us to dance.
Larry Thack’s Patience is Wearing Fat
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Rare photograph of Jackson appearing to be the most normal person in the picture.