The Life of a Lazy Bum


Lazin’ at Bristol Basin

Here’s a topic to which many scriveners can relate. Is it still a no-no to end a sentence with a preposition?

According to Merriam-Webster, no, it’s not. So, perhaps the thesis sentence for this essay should read, “Here’s a topic many can relate to.”

This writer is too old-fashioned to feel comfortable doing so, however.

A recent trending topic on Twitter was: #SignsThatYoureOld, those of which are revealed to me regularly on a daily basis.

Not using a terminal preposition is one of them, along with the many aches and realizations that growing older brings forth to this aging baby boomer.

My main contribution to that hashtag’s thread was one is considered old when he or she looks into the mirror and sees his/her father or mother there instead. Then again, that’s a lot better than seeing no reflection at all. I see my pop in there all the time.

Someone commented on my post that one knows they’re old when looking in the mirror and wondering who the geezer is in their bathroom.  My response to that was about my avoiding the mirror whenever possible and not taking many selfies.

Reading my subscribed-to AARP magazine and periodicals doesn’t help either, making me paranoid about the latest dangers found through studies performed about eating my favorite foods and partaking in habitual pastimes.

Being a lazy bum can’t get me into too much trouble. What complicates matters is being a procrastinator on top of that. Both afflictions are synonymous, I suppose, which justifies or cancels each other out.


This year’s inspection stickers expire at the end of this month.

This month’s lazy-fare, a play on words for the term: laissez-faire—translated literally from French to mean, “Let it do,” or figuratively as: let it be—is the yearly procrastination for my getting the Cooper inspected, which is due by the end of July.

This year, I should be able to push it off successfully until August 1st, extending my requirement for another month next year. There’s a method to this idiosyncrasy.

Today, I adjusted all my calendar watches to the correct date, which were a day behind due to only thirty days in June. No problem and smooth sailing for that chore again until the end of September.

My passport expired at the end of June. I waited until May to renew it. Took five weeks for me to receive the new one, just in time. I haven’t left the country yet. Maybe a trip to Canada to get the first immigration’s stamp put in the back of the booklet might happen soon; although, the car needs new tires, for which I’ve been putting off getting a new set.

I really should do that before inspection anyway. Then maybe I’ll take a long trip to clear my head. The vehicle has run-flat tires, meaning if they puncture, the car is still drivable due to reinforced sidewalls to keep the car buoyant, which costs about $250 per tire plus alignment and installation.

Hate to spend that much money.  No spare came with the car. The Cooper doesn’t have room for a spare tire, unless I put down the back seats and keep one on top of them; but that would look lame.

Been putting off writing my weekly drivel in this journal as well. I’ve been slack as a result of the extended 4th of July Weekend, and skipped last week’s edition. So now I’m ahead of the game for once and have completed this week’s way before deadline.

My latest cover is over a week old as a result. Please allow me to share it with you:

Thanks for your continued support and for stopping in.  Oh-oh, there’s a terminal preposition in my closing sentence.  What the heck, might as well live it up.

About Mike Slickster

As an early retiree with an honorary doctorate degree from the proverbial "School of Hard Knocks," this upcoming author with a lot of free time on his hands utilizes his expansive repertoire for humorous yet tragic, wildly creative writing that contains years of imaginative fantasy, pure nonsense, classic slapstick, extreme happiness and searing heartbreak; gathered by a wealth of personal experiences throughout his thrilling—sometimes mundane or unusually horrid—free-spirited, rock-'n'-roller-coaster ride around our beloved Planet Earth. Mike Slickster's illustrious quest continues, living now in Act Three of his present incarnation, quite a bit on the cutting edge of profundity and philosophical merriment as seen through his colorful characters, most notably evident in the amusing Thirty Days Across the Big Pond series, all of which can be found at
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