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Machismo's Creed Humor Blog From The Horse's Mouth
My sisters and I went to have a picnic in a field where a symphony was
playing.  We parked near the outskirts (Does that mean lesbians?) for a
strategic exit plan, due to traffic flow issues upon leaving.  We unload
the coolers, chairs, blankets, and a bunch of other stuff that men would
leave at home.  I am looking ahead, thinking how far we have to
transport this whole ensemble.  My sister starts humming some John
Philip Sousa, as soon as we start walking.  Then, out of nowhere, here
comes Mr. America driving a golf cart towing an empty trailer of seats.  
He asks us if we need a ride...perfect, as we were carrying too much,
but at least the cooler had wheels.

I was carrying a compact folding chair and one awkward camp chair that
was difficult to place on the cart seats, while somehow missing out on
lifting in the heavier cooler (Hee Hee).  I am just going to go ahead and
state it right here that if I was alone, that golf cart would have never
come near me, because no guy ever goes out of his way for another guy
when there are women present.  I was just happy we got a ride to the
ticket counter...or so I thought.

We unload our gear then show that we paid and were let in the
entrance.  I grab my 2 chairs, one sister grabs another chair and a
backpack with wine glasses and some dry goods inside, while the other
sister wants to tow the cooler.  Off to the side is this man, that I see as
Mr. Corvette (Just for a visual:  He is that dateless husky guy with
wavy grey hair, a tight black polo shirt, and a mustache posed below his
outdated sunglasses, trying to hang on to what is left of the latter part of
his Middle-Aged years.), and he announces to all nearby, yet directed at
me, "Oh, a gentleman!"

Can you imagine what that does to a guy like me?  You are damn right.  
I gave him the mental up-and-down "once-over" which fueled my 454
cubic-inch mental state, right into ignition, and the T-Tops were off!  I
hit the brakes to compose myself, as somehow I was reminded of the
woman, from a few years ago, that removed my items and stole my
shopping cart, causing me to realize that there is really not much I can
do except, accept it and walk away.  I did give him a perplexing
crooked-faced stare to imply the it was the year 2016, and his idiocy
just put the cart before the horse.

Everyone moves along the path to the amphitheater, like a wagon train
crossing the heartland, while wondering where they will stake their claim
on the grassy slope.  There were a few thousand people scattered
around, which reminded me of a scaled-down version of the Woodstock
Festival of 1969.  I am not saying that because of the venue; I am saying
that because over half of these people look like they were actually
there, but have somehow changed their tune.  With some of their
elaborate food, drink, and folding furnishings, I would have to say that
they have done this before.

Everyone is situated and the stage is set for a flight through the world of
classical music.  The maestro waves his baton, and somehow it all airs
flawlessly in rhythm.  This guy can fluidly control over 100 instruments
with a chopstick, and I am wondering why he isn't the head of the TSA.  
Now that would be music to my ears.

With orchestration,

Mel O. Dee
Humor From a Graveyard Bench bottle and grave are Not Mine
A No Onion and Chive Word Salad:
Marksandershumor.com has the best internet funny blog and funny website,
with pics and photos that face into a Book to be published. As a humorist or
writer of comedy of a daily blog, I hope
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is very thought provoking.  Hilarious book, not Hillary - ous...  Trump that
humor. Articles and short stories that are funny. Internet Humor Blog. News
Alaska Humor. Dating is All about  sex, love, and life perspective.  God
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I can't be the only middle-aged guy that thinks fake dog poop is funny.  I
am the kind of person that wants to buy some that is scented, just to
take that situation of humor to the next level.  Now that is the type of
cohesive relationship for which I am looking, and not one that always
sends me to the doghouse with my blow-up doll/express-lane passenger.

On your patio,

Corey "The Vet" Driver
Being a guy isn't easy these days.  No, I am not talking about the social
pressure of “making it big” in business, or in pleasure for that matter.  I
just wonder where my underwear (Yes, I am going to call it Wonderwear
now.) goes.  I bought some recently, and my supply seems to have
metamorphosed into demand already.  You might think that the
complexity of this economic strife was due to chafing, but I dumped that
stock before the time of my last acquisition.  I have accounted for all of
my socks, which is unusual.

Maybe some woman has them hanging on the shower rod next to her
bras; that could be the signal from the lonely lady who earns the 75%
wage.  I will now be attentive to all the ladies watching me dig through
the packets of form-fitting briefs in the Men's department.  I hope she
isn't camouflaged in propaganda.  Shopping for fruits and vegetables
wasn't working out for me anyway.  I told you that it isn't easy.

From the trenches,

The Soldier of Fortune
Machismo's Creed is A
Best Seller, once I find a
publisher.  Most stories
evolved from thoughts
originating somewhere
between Alaska and Key
West.  This Blog is a start
of my Humor-Writing
exposure that hopefully
turns into a book review
someday. Thank you.

Mark Sanders
Funny Place:  Alaska
Florida Keys Fly Fishing
Key West Humor Fly Fishing Florida Blog
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Please Read This Story First:  Groom Me (Link)
What is this world coming to?  I am a member of Generation "X"; I don't
believe we are responsible for crossing out Christ in Christmas either,
which makes me wonder what in the Hell that label means.  So much has
changed in this country throughout my life.  Yes, I remember the Good
Ol' Day's, and I am not sure if Millenials can even fathom that.

Most Americans these days need an I.D. to function anywhere in this
country now.  I am not thinking what you are thinking.  I am just upset
that I never took the opportunity to check-in to a hotel as Mr. and Mrs.
Smith.  Those days are over, because it is probably against the laws
written into the Patriot Act, which nobody ever read.  I feel so empty
that it's off my bucket list, and now Mrs. Smith missed out.  Well, so
much for my Jim Rockford fantasy; I guess Mrs. 75% - Sanders will
have to suffice.

With cross-purpose,

Mr. F. Rust
Daily Blog of Mark Sanders and Machismo's Creed
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