Sometimes men get blindsided by women. Just when I think my relationship is going great, my wife will say something like, "Something is drastically wrong with our marriage."

Naturally, being dumbfounded by this statement, I'll ask, "Why do you say that? I thought that things were never better."

She'll say something like, "If you don't know, I am not going to tell you."

Upon further investigation I'll usually find out something along the lines of her friend's husband just gave his wife flowers for no apparent reason. I'll try to explain to my wife that the friend's husband is probably just buttering up his wife for something he wants or trying to take the heat off of him for something he's done.

"It doesn't matter. She got flowers and I didn't."

"What about the flowers I gave you last week?"

"Those were for my birthday and they don't count."

The fact is, the friends husband should be shot. Men sometimes forget about the meeting we that had years ago where we determined which days of the year we give flowers to our wives. These special days were set aside so that no man would ever get in trouble for not giving a woman flowers when he is supposed to give flowers. We decided that anniversaries and birthdays are the big ones, followed by Valentines Day and then Mothers Day, etc. The fact is that my wife's friend's husband gave flowers when he shouldn't have. He broke the code. He crossed the picket line. He is Benedict Arnold.

In order to get those new golf clubs or because he wanted to make up for late night bowling with the boys, he betrayed men everywhere. No, he's not the bad guy. It's every other husband who happened not to give his wife flowers that day. We are the one's who have to pay for his hollow generosity.

"Honey. Do you think your friend's husband would like to go hunting with me and some of the boys?"

"I think he'd like that. I'll call my friend and I'm sure she'll want him to go."

"Good. I'll call the boys and tell them to get their guns ready."

The first of two newly hired assistants had shown up in my office for his first day of work. In his hand was a breakfast bag from a local restaurant. "I brought you a biscuit," he said.

I told him it was good to see him sucking up to the boss so early in his career.

Shortly afterwards, the second assistant showed up. "Where's my biscuit?" I asked.

"Was I supposed to bring you one?"

"Well, the other guy did. I guess you don't want to get ahead as badly as he does."

"If a biscuit is all it takes to get ahead, I'll bring you two tomorrow."

As we finished discussing various aspects of the job, the subject of my age came up. Assistant number one commented, "You certainly don't look your age."

I said, "There you go again. Sucking up to the boss." As the two assistants laughed I stood up and asked, "Do I look fat in these jeans?"

Assistant number two spoke up, "Oh no way. You look fabulous in those jeans."

I looked at my new employees and said, "You will both go far."

Now, you too can operate your very own home based business that really works. First, convert your basement into a meat grinding plant. Next force a bunch of illegal aliens into indentured servitude and let the fun begin. It's just that simple.

"But how do I turn my basement into a meat grinding plant?" you ask. It's simple. Buy a bunch of meat grinding equipment and set it up in your basement. Then buy a bunch of meat and put it in your basement.

"Okay, that sounds easy enough but where do I find illegal aliens to force into indentured servitude?"

All you have to do is rent a U-Haul, take a trip to the Mexican border and open the doors of the truck. The truck will literally fill itself in a mere matter of moments.

"I live in Minnesota. Can I rent a truck and park it at the Canadian border?"

You most certainly can; however, it might take a considerable amount of time for you to collect a truckload of illegal Canadian aliens. I would suggest baiting the truck with beer and pike.

" I'm producing five tons of horsemeat sausage a day. Who am I going to sell this stuff to?"

Believe it or not, that isn't a silly question. All of the major fast food chains as well as many fine dining establishments will jump at the chance to purchase your product. If all else fails, go get another truckload of illegal aliens and start a canning business in your attic. Everyone loves potted meat and you can easily market your goods at a local flea market.

"Is this business legal?"

As long as you aren't raided, you should have no trouble with law enforcement officers. If your operation should be discovered, you can do one of two things to avoid problems:

1. Plead the fifth,
2. Bribe the officer(s) with a lifetime supply of fresh haggis.

That should be everything you need to know to get yourself started in the fast paced and exciting world of meat grinding. It's fun for the entire family and should reward you for many years or until you get caught, whichever comes first.

The original reason that I began writing and publishing short stories was so that my son wouldn't have to hear about how weird and strange I am from other people. This way, he can get that information straight from the horse's mouth. However, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, as he has increasingly become the target of many of my stories.

The mind of a child is a complex thing. How it works, I'm not quite sure. My wife wanted our son to pick up his toys and instructed him to, "Make sure you get them all." My kid interpreted this statement as, "We're going to the mall."

"No, I said to pick up them all."

"When are we going to the mall?"

"We aren't going to the mall. Pick up all of your toys."

"We're going to the mall!"

Bill Cosby is right. All children have brain damage. Evidence of this is my son running around the house with a disposable diaper on his head as he yells, "I'm a pirate! I'm a pirate!" I see a four-year-old with a diaper on his head. He sees a pirate. I just don't understand.

It's my job as a parent to help heal my child's brain damage and I must say that I have been somewhat successful. A car cut me off on the highway one afternoon and as I braked to avoid a collision my son yelled as loud as he could at the offending vehicle, "Hey! Watch it pal!"

"My first thought was, "That's my boy!"

He comes up to me and begs for me to tickle him. As soon as I grant his wish, with a fit of giggles he will say, "Stop harassing me!"

The lad has just recently gotten to the point that he no longer cries when getting a haircut. He will let me know this fact when we arrive at the barber shop be saying, "I'm not going to cry Daddy. Don't worry. I'm not going to cry. It wasn't long ago that he would sob during a haircut. It wasn't uncommon for him to jerk his head away from the barber and exclaim, "Knock it off!"

The best times are bedtime when I get to read him stories. Our ritual starts with me saying a prayer followed by his prayers and then stories. Some stories are from books others are made up as we go along. Others are recreations of actual past events as he remembers them and he seems to remember the details better than I do. I'd better get the prayer and/or story right because if I don't, I will be reprimanded without hesitation.

At the end of our nightly routine, I have been known to fall asleep as I gently rub his head. I'm almost always awakened abruptly by a child pushing on my head as he urges, "Daddy! Wake up and go to bed!" I'll get up, tuck him in, then go downstairs and listen to him get out of bed and play.

"Are you sleeping up there?"

"Yes Daddy!"

"Are you harassing me?"

"Yes Daddy!"

"Well, watch it pal!

"Yes Daddy!"

"Knock it off and go to bed!"

"Yes Daddy!"

"I'll turn to my wife and say, "This kid is crazy! Why does he act this way?"

She'll look at me and say, " I'm a pirate and I'm going to the mall."