No Sense, No Feeling!

If you were approaching the back of a car with its right turn signal on, stopped at a red light while waiting for the intersection’s ongoing traffic to pass through their green light before making a right turn on red, what would you do as a sensible driver who also wanted to make a right-hand turn?

The correct answer would be to stop behind the vehicle that is waiting to turn right; however, a blockhead in a BMW attempted to pass on the right side of my automobile this evening, while I was in the process of making the right on red after the coast was clear. 

Fortunately I saw the nimrod and her fancy car in the side-view mirror out of the corner of my eye, and slammed on the brakes so as not to collide with the encroaching vehicle. The woman had the audacity to lay on her horn.

I got out of my auto, walked to the back and pointed out my blinking right turn signal to her while yelling, “What’s the matter with you, Lady? Why do you think my right blinker is flashing?” 

She stared straight ahead, not making any eye contact or acknowledging her mistake to me. No sense, no feeling, I thought, and returned to my car, making that intended right on red. It had turned green and then red again by the time I got back behind the wheel of the Cooper.

The woman followed but trailed far behind me, probably thinking I was a wild and out-of-control, no-good, uncouth, long-haired, hot-wired and inconsiderate bum; and decided she better keep her distance.  

Keeping tabs on her location by glancing in the rear-view mirror, I noticed the BMW had turned into a supermarket’s parking lot. Well that explained everything. She was on shopping mission, and nothing was going to get in her way, by god!

I had a gut feeling that was what she was up to: Born to Shop Syndrome, similar to tunnel vision, like a horse with blinders on either side of its head, so as not to be distracted from their primary purpose.

Speaking of “gut,” I’ve noticed the term has been a common thread through my news-reading recently. A California man with a tremendous beer gut—although he didn’t drink the stuff—found out after doctors examined him that all the extra fat was a 77-pound tumor, discovered by a CT scan.

A surgeon removed the mass after a six-hour surgery. One week later, the patient weighed over 100 pounds lighter and is living happily ever after.

A woman in Alabama, who thought she was pregnant, ended up getting checked out finally by doctors to find she had a 50-pound cyst attached to her ovary. The surgeons removed it. The patient has recovered and now sports a tremendously flatter gut.

President Trump on this past Tuesday said in an interview with The Washington Post, conducted in the Oval Office, “My gut tells me more sometimes than anybody else’s brain can ever tell me.” Our chief executive was most likely thinking about that Happy Meal he had for lunch.

My gut tells me things too, which happens after I eat. It’s embarrassing when it occurs in public. At a restaurant the other day, the waitress asked if everything was OK.

“Food sucks,” my stomach said. Well, that’s what the gurgling sounded like.

“I beg your pardon,” she said.

“Sorry, that was just my stomach acting up. Please pay no mind to it.” The young woman raised her eyebrows, shook her head, and slowly placed down my check on the table before turning away. I saw her pointing at me from behind the wait-staff counter, laughing hysterically. 

Almost got into a fight one time when leaving an eatery. Someone had bumped into me. “Excuse me,” he said.

“F**k you,” my stomach blurted out.

“What did you just say to me?”

“That was my stomach. I’ve got a slight case of indigestion. It makes noises like that all the time after I eat.” The guy looked at me suspiciously and continued on his way inside.

Usually I carry a pack of Tums whenever eating with friends or on a date. I could really end up in trouble otherwise by not popping one before dessert.

That wraps up this weeks bit of nonsense. Thanks for your continued support.

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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