The Brussels Post, 1975-01-08, Page 21115
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Serving Brussels and the surrounding community,
Published each Wednesday afternoon at Brussels, Ontario
by McLean Bros.Publishers, Limited.
Evelyn Kennedy - Editor
Member Canadian Community Newspaper Association and
Ontario Weekly Newspaper Association.
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BRUSSELS
ONTARIO
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MAICULATION
You see officer...
Sugar. and Spice
By Bill Smiley
A forlorn tree The insurance claim is an area where there is
always a high standard of imaginative explanation.
The following are reputed to have been parts of many
varied claims that followed traffic accidents and
published in the journal of the National Council of
Chartered Accountants in South Africa.
"I consider neither vehicle was ,to blame, but if
either was to blame, it was the other one."
"One wheel went into the ditch. My feet jumped
from the brake to the accelerator, leapt across the
other side of the road and jumped into the trunk of a
tree."
"I knocked over a man. He admitted it was his
fault as he had been knocked over before."
"I collided with a stationary bus coming the other
way."
"To avoid a collision I ran into the other car."
"My car had to turn sharper than was necessary
owing to an invisible truck."
"The other man altered his mind, so I had to run
over .him."
"A pedestrian hit me and went under the car."
"I thought the side window was 'down, but it was
up as I found when I . put .my head through it."
"A cow wandered into my car. I was afterwards
informed that it was half-witted."
"A bull was standing nearby, and a fly must have
tickled him because he gored my car."
"She suddenly saw me, lost her head, and we met
sideways."
"I ran into a sho window and sustained injuries to
my wife's legs."
"I badly misjudged a woman crossing the street."
"Coming home, I drove into the wrong house and
collided with a tree I haven't got."
"I ,had to leave my car for a minute, when, by
accident or design, it decided to run away."
"The other car ran into mine without giving me a
warning of its intention to do so."
Bottle throwing dimwits
This Journal-Argus reporter blinked a time or two
recently when he spied a three-year old girl
struggling home with an arm-load of broken beer
bottles. She looked up at us and said something like
"bad things". We couldn't have agreed more, but
wondered what age the morons had been who threw
the bottles out of cars in the first place.
We suppose the only valid reason for throwing
empty booze bottles out of a car is•the fear the John
Law's might stop the vehicle and catch somebody
with an "empty " which could be used as courtroom
evidence? Surely some type of law could be arrived
at which would make the punishment for throwing an
empty bottle at least twice as severe as "being in
possession"?
The amount of damage caused annually to tires,
let alone the number of Stitches and amOunt of
chip-digging carried out when people; particularly
children on the tun, fall oh gla's, must indeed be
Spectacular, Even in this small town!
indeed, when they are passing out these Canada
medals, the first candidates, in Our Opinion, should
be those people who Make a practice of collecting
bottles Wong the roadways. A Special medal should
be awarded three-year-olds who have more sense
than the grown dirri-Wita who heave glass
hapha2ardly around the landatape,
(8t. Mary& Journal Argus)
This is being written in the pre-New
Year hiatus. And I am writing it in the
pre-natal position, the hiatus between
being happy and being alive.
It's rather awkward, as my elbows keep
hitting my knees, and vice versa.
However, I'm alone, with the lights out
and the doors locked, so it's worth it.
My wife has been away for three days, so
that life has been rather peaceful in the
domestic confrontation field. On the other
hand, we are plagued with that infernal,
eternal thing invented by Alexander
Graham Bell, and at any moment I expect
to leap with nerves at its shrill, and hear
the beloved but expected voice on the other
end, pleading, "The house is an absolute
mess,- isn't it?"
As a matter of fact, the house looks as
though a ship-load of Vikings had spent the
weekend, before going on to loot and rape
somewhere else, but I and equal to these
occasions and reply firmly, "I've just
finished the dishes., dear."
Brunhilda, at the other end of the phone
line, doesn't know that this means I've just
dropped and smashed a huge trayful of
Beleek, Spode, Worcestershire and fine old
Woolworth's Japanese.
But she senses something. Some people
have a great sense of smell, or taste. My
wife has a great sense of sensing. "You
sound funny," she'll say. "What are you
up to?"
"Well," I chuckle, -"it depends on what
you mean, dear. At the moment, I'm up to
the phone. In the fairly recent past, I've
been up to the bathroom, and up to the
dairy to get some milk."
This goes over like a ton of feathers.
"Just as I thought, " she'll say. "The
house is an absolute mess." She seems to
get some strange, vicarious satisfaction out
of this idea. If the house is a mess, out
marriage is good and solid and I am to be
trusted.
''You arc quite right," I retort, knowing
the formula. "Your daughter and your
son-in-law and your grandchild have just
left and your soh has just arrived, and lie is
going to Paraguay to pioneer the faith and
Paraguay is full of sn.akes And tortillas and
enchiladas and Mennonites and the Green
Hell and he wants Money.'
"Don't give him a cent, until I get
home,'' she cOmmailds.
This is- what is known as ittereotirs6,
between married people. Both parties
ktiow what the next move is, and there is
tio confitsion, clutifsiness, or frustration.
Shudder to. think what it must be between
single people,.
Well,. that vva an itnagitiary, if
verisinillititdiriOtis i conversation With My
wife. The rest of this column is cold fact.
My daughter was home with Pokey and
that other fellow she hangs around with. I
changed his diapers six times (Pokey's),
while his father slept and his mother
played contemporary music )slabs and
cords) on the piano.
The kid and I had our usual super time. I
must be getting old and sick and stupid and
queer because he's the only person I have
any fun with any more. We wink solemnly,
smile gravely, crawl under the dining room
table and bump our heads, and hold out
our arms to `each other when everything
else palls. He likes whisker-rubs and I like
satin cheeks.
According to his grandmother, he and I
have the two sets of most beautiful eyes in
the world. His are like two huge, dark
grapes with a devilish light in them. Mine
are blue, blood-shot, fallen-angel type. We
also share an affinity for doing things other
people think we should not do. He rubs the
cat the wrong way. I ruffle my wife's
feathers.
I'd like to have had him for Christmas
but his other grandfather was apparently
pacing the floor, hitting his head against
things, and threatening to call out the
Mounties if he didn't see his grandson, so I
had to let him go.
However, I was not to be left alone and
lonely loitering, as I had so much looked
forward to, during—te holidays. My son
Hugh arrived. My son is a bird of paradise
or a bedraggled sparrow, depending on
how you feel.
I was a bit in the sparrow mood,
following the receipt, a few days before, of
his bag and baggage, to the tune of $46.60
express, collect.
Yes, he is going to Paraguay to spread
the faith. Yes, last year he went to the
Holy Land. The Arabs didn't get him.
Neither did the Jews. yes, he is brOke,
Yes, there are enchiladas and
Mennonites in Paraguay. The enchilada is
a corpulent scorpion. If you step on one
while he is resting in your shoe, and
squash hitn, you must eat filth, and this
results in a disease called enchiladitis,
which calls for the roof of your Mouth to
cave in.
And, of course, if you step on a
Mennonite in the course of spreading the
faith, you get Mennonitis. This does not
cause the roof of yoiir mouth to fall in, but
the front, including teeth.
There are shots for the fotiner, but not
for the latter.
At any tate, I-Itigh and I dined in lonely
state on Christrtiai El and from a Capon: We
weren't lonely, but lie Was .146 was the only
castrated rooster in the joint,