Darker

Darker: (adj) having less light

Let us take a moment to consider, or even analyze, the law of attraction. It works on a simple premise: whatever attracts is pursued to gain the interest which brings, through the majority, that which rules.

For instance, I realize that the writers of the Declaration of Independence, the framers of the Constitution, the authors of the Bible, and those who penned music or dreamed about the ideals of a novel…

Well, you know who I’m talking about. People who were trying to be entertaining and inspiring, while lacing it with a bit of the eternal.

These pioneers are often shocked that their message is trimmed down to the darker portions.

I would assume if you went through the Constitution, that most of the precepts were meant to be positive, granting justice and opportunity for all.

But what fun is that?

Likewise, how enduring would the Bible be if it only talked about “loving your neighbor as yourself” instead of isolating off the reasons for damnation?

One year I bought a plastic bowling set for my son on his eighth birthday. I envisioned the children at his party setting up the pins and rolling the plastic ball, keeping score and competing with one another.

Yet when I walked in a half hour later, I found them all, each one with pin in hand, hitting one another. Occasionally, one of them would toss the black ball at a friend, just to vary the pain.

It isn’t that they didn’t understand.

All of them had seen people bowl.

It’s just that the pins made excellent weapons—and since they were plastic, the children could pull up short of lethal without being severely punished by their parents.

It takes a lot of initiative and determination to bring out the better parts of any idea. For it seems the inclination of the human race is to take something that was meant for good and find the darker twist.

I’ll tell you of a certainty—if we had used the deep fryer for French fries, fish, chicken and onion rings, the delicious coating would have been permissible and probably wouldn’t kill us.

But we found the darker side and decided that if fish was good fried, why not chocolate cake?

 

Cultural Diversity

Cultural Diversity: (n) the inclusion of diverse people in a group or organization

I was very surprised when I first discovered the varieties of chickens that are available. Matter of fact, it was during a slide show where a renowned farmer and breeder was explaining that “this group of birds over here was like this,” and “this group of birds over there had the following attributes…”

But as each slide passed in front of my eyes, all I could see were chickens.

I understand that’s because I am not an expert on the subject. Someone who studied it for years can look closely and find all sorts of indications that one conglomeration of chickens has a certain temperament, and another grouping is prone to a completely different behavior—not to mention that each one has unique desires for how they wish their parched corn to be seasoned.

I felt very stupid.

I was told that in some cases, an intermingling of these chickens will produce the most profitable and successful flocking.

But the professional also explained that focusing on one particular breed does allow for purity and predictability.

At the end of the lecture my head was spinning as I continued to peer at each slide in the show, forcing myself to notice miniscule differences.

The aberrations were quite important to this professional birdwatcher, but for the life of me, I could not distinguish one culture of “cluckers” from another. There were some unique colors and maybe a slight difference in beaks.

But it was all basically the same.

At the end of the evening, our guest speaker brought out cooked pieces of chicken from each one of the tribes of feathered friends. He explained the individuality we would experience while sampling each culture.

At the end of the demonstration I was very embarrassed.

When he asked me what I learned from the evening, I sheepishly looked at him and said, “It all tastes like chicken.”

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Crunchy

Crunchy: (adj) crisp or brittle.

Here I go again, bathing in the acid of honesty.

I don’t know why I do this. I could lie to you. You’d never know. It isn’t like you’re trying to vet me for government service.

I could deceive you like crazy.

But for some reason, I’ve settled in on this “schtick” of candor.

Truthfulness.

Honest, even if it makes me look a little dumb. Because I will tell you right now, looking a little dumb is better than lying and looking a lot dumb.

I don’t like crunchy things.

I just don’t.

People like their cereal crunchy.

Not me. I let mine sit around until it drowns, and the coroner arrives to confirm that it’s fully floppy and dead. As a kid, I often ate other children’s cereal they had rejected—“because it wasn’t crunchy anymore.”

Maybe that’s the root cause of my obesity. At least it would be fun to blame it on that.

I don’t like crunchy chicken.

You know—what they call “extra crispy?”

My French fries can be a little crispy—but if they’re a lot crispy, doesn’t that just mean they’re burned?

And I never got the idea of a crunchy candy bar. Has anyone ever tasted a Milky Way? No crunch anywhere. Just ecstasy.

I don’t like crunchy.

I will eat peanut brittle—only because I know that on the thirteenth chewing in my mouth, it turns into that delicious peanut butter paste I love so much.

Crunchy crunches.

And crunching is not a positive word. (Just consider your car.)

I don’t like to put my teeth into a reluctant apple. I know it sounds silly, but when an apple insists on being crisp and crunchy, I feel it’s just resistant to being eaten. Sometimes it even adds a sour disposition to match the crunch.

I have no criticism for people who like crunchy things, but my philosophy is, if you find yourself in the middle of the crunch…

Just pour on more milk and wait awhile.

 

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C


Subscribe to Jonathan’s Weekly Podcast

Good News and Better News

 

Chicken Pox

Chicken pox: (n) an infectious disease causing a mild fever and a rash of itchy inflamed blisters

The conventional wisdom of one generation is often the horror of horrors to the next.

When I was a young boy, I contracted chicken pox. I will not say it was a pleasant experience, but when you factor in the attention, ice cream
and time off from school, it balanced nicely.

But the true oddity of the whole event was how the mothers of my friends brought their children to our house and made them play with me, so the kids would all get chicken pox at once–and then it would be over.

It sounds almost medieval. But in their simple way, they realized that keeping the chicken pox alive for months and months, with each child having his day in the sun–or out of the sun, in this case–would be truly agonizing.

So in a sense, what was created was a chicken pox party.

Here were the positive aspects:

  • All the kids could play together.
  • All the kids could benefit from the treats together.
  • And all of the kids could miss school at the same time, so they could study and literally do their homework at home.

It was a simple solution from a simple people who had not yet benefitted from all the vaccinations.

And by the way, had not decided to argue about the value of vaccinations.

 

Donate Button

Chicken

Chicken: (n) a domestic fowl kept for its eggs or meat

Thirteen cents less a pound.

As a boy, my father found out that he could buy chickens that were alive cheaper than he could buy them in the store. For some reason, he thought this was a good idea.

Now, it’s not like we lived on a farm–it was just a residential street with a small garage.

My father came home with four chickens in their little wooden, slatted pens. The first thing that struck me about the chickens was how damned noisy they were
.

But even though I believed these creatures were not terribly intelligent, they had some sort of sensibility, realizing they were not traveling out in their crates to visit the Lincoln Memorial. A certain doom invaded their screams–or were they clucks? Actually, it was somewhere between a cluck and a scream.

I was seven years old. My father requested I go and bring him an axe.

I will pause here for a second to remind you that we are standing in a Middle America garage and my father is ill-prepared. He has not figured out how to grab the chicken, put it down on a wooden box, take his hatchet and behead the squawker.

He discovers that he doesn’t have enough hands. After all, he needs one hand for the hatchet and the other for the chicken–which is more than a handful. So he turns to me and says, “Son, come here and hold the chicken’s neck down so I can chop it.”

There were so many things in that command that disturbed me that I wouldn’t know where to start.

I froze.

This made my father angry–mainly because the chicken was beginning to get the better of him, and its claws were reaching up, ripping into his flesh. After being yelled at two additional times, I finally made my way over and placed my small hand around the chicken’s neck.

The poor fowl bastard turned and looked at me.

My dad brought the hatchet down and I found myself holding the head of a chicken as the body flopped all over the garage, spurting blood and spewing feathers in every direction.

We repeated the process three more times.

I never got better at it–nor did my dad.

At the end of the experience, we had a garage covered in blood and feathers, and four chicken carcasses stacked on top of each other, twitching and wiggling.

My dad also failed to realize that after chopping off the heads, there was the process of removing feathers, feet, chicken butts and any number of unnecessary parts that don’t fry up well.

The butchering only happened once.

After that, my dad decided that paying a thirteen-cent-a-pound surcharge for “completed” birds was much more pleasant.

 

 

 

Donate Button

Cack

j-r-practix-with-border-2

Cack: (n) a talkative, gossiping person

I have a new favorite word!

Cack!

How perfect! Does that not describe every single gossiping soul that you have encountered in your life?

They cackle–like poultry. And this stimulated me to realize that there are three types:

There’s the duck cack:

This is the person who tears another individual’s character apart, under the guise of concern and prayerful wishes, ducking away from the responsibility of being a back-biting loser.

This is followed by the chicken cack:

“Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck” all day long, pecking at the integrity of others, only to turn chicken and deny their involvement when confronted. They’ll even tell you who started the rumor.

And finally, there’s the goose cack:

These are people who are so sure that they’re direct emissaries from the Lord God Almighty that they’ll take their long neck and beak and unapologetically stick it up your ass–goosing you.

After all, when you speak for the heavens, you’re certainly not concerned about earthly criticism.

Here’s the question:

Can I catch myself when I become a cack?

Can I keep myself from barnyard nonsense so I have the right to live in the house with other sensible human beings?

Donate ButtonThank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Avocado

Avocado: (n) a fruit with tough leathery skin and a large stone

For years the avocado has taken great grief for being ugly on the outside and then having a pit or stone that is much too large for its contents.dictionary with letter A

I really sympathize.

Even though my skin does not resemble an alligator, I am not horribly attractive on the exterior, and being rather obese, I occasionally will take some teasing, or worse, inconsiderate advice from the meandering masses.

I think the avocado would probably agree with me when I say that the problem is not with the oversized pit, but rather, the undersized fruit.

In my case, I have it figured this way: I am not really fat–it’s just that I was intended to be 8 feet tall. Consider it a mistake of creation or a mutation of evolution–whichever your preference tends to be.

Also the avocado suffers from the malady of occasionally being tasteless. You will find one that is sweet and absolutely delectable, but often it is as flat as bargain-brand mayonnaise.

So the only claim to fame for the avocado, as far as I know. is that it is one of those “perfect” foods.

In other words, if you found yourself trapped on a desert island and all that grew there were avocados and bananas, you could live a full, long and healthy life. You’d probably want to kill yourself on Day Nine for want of the bacon and chicken breast to go with your avocado sandwich, but medically you would be sound.

The thing I do like about an avocado is that it draws out one of the better human attributes: looking for something good to say. 

Donate Button

Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix

*******************

NEW BOOK RELEASE BY JONATHAN RICHARD CRING

WITHIN

A meeting place for folks who know they’re human

 $3.99 plus $2.00 S&H

$3.99 plus $2.00 Shipping  & Handling

$3.99 plus $2.00 Shipping & Handling

Buy Now Button