Tag: humor

All Points Bulletin

I stumbled into the middle of a manhunt in Tallahassee today. I’d gone to eat lunch at Firehouse Subs on Capital Circle having become slightly addicted to their New York Streamer sandwich. The small size is only 360 calories and it tastes so darned good. But back to the manhunt.

As I walked out of the restaurant I heard the distinct sounds of a helicopter directly above me. I waved, for what it’s worth, and went on to my car. 

When I turned into a side street I saw a police cruiser, lights flashing, partially blocking the road. An officer standing by her patrol car waved me through. I still hadn’t connected her presence with the hovering helicopter, but when I turned the next corner and saw three cruisers and a police van, I realized I was probably in the middle of something big. 

I was just trying to get back to Capital Circle so I could go home, so I kept driving and turned right again. There, coming down the sidewalk toward my car was a police canine and his cop. That dog had the scent and was pulling hard on his leash. 

Hurriedly I found a way out of the area and drove to Home Depot a few blocks away. As soon as I was parked I googled breaking news in Tallahassee. Two possibilities popped up.

Now, I’m not sure which of these headlines is pertinent to the manhunt. One would certainly be more interesting than the other.

Was it this person they were using dogs to search for?


Or this one?


You know which one I’m rooting for, right?

Peace, people. And for goodness sake, put on some clothes!

Secret, Secret Agent

For this day I’ve decided to be a secret agent. I will be unobtrusive, nondescript, a silhouette of my usual self.

My cavalier demeanor will bely my purpose: to spy, observe, and report on my fellow citizens.

So far, I have noted one woman pushing a baby stroller. What nefarious plan might she be hatching?

I will hide in plain sight in hopes that her motives are revealed. Oh! Look! Starbucks on the right. Maybe another day.

Snapshot #150

These tiny little wildflowers are popping up in the yard across the road from Doright Manor. I call them, “Tiny Little Wildflowers Across the Road.”

Snapshot #149

Another photo taken at the Chain of Parks Art Walk in Tallahassee on Saturday. I call this one, “Be Advised.” I need one of these tshirts. Seriously. 

Snapshot #148

I came across this business at Tallahassee’s Chain of Parks Art Walk this morning. Let’s call this one, “Mixed Feelings.”

All This and Cataracts, Too.

All This and Cataracts, Too

Sometimes I kid myself:

I’m young, sexy, skinny, and brilliant.

Yes, I kid myself.

In reality, I’m old, dumpy, chunky, and bland.

And now I’m told I have cataracts. Yes, they’re “baby cataracts,” and shouldn’t be an issue for a number of years, but dammit all to hell; I have cataracts.

I see trouble on the horizon. Wait! I can’t see the horizon!


Peace, people.

©2017 by Leslie Noyes

Smelly Car

Studly Doright likes to trade cars. When he’s had the same vehicle for the span of a year I can feel him getting antsy to find the next great deal, so it came as no surprise when he sheepishly showed me a photo of a little Cadillac sports sedan and told me he’d bought it on eBay.

“It’ll be my golf vehicle,” he said.

“I thought the Dodge pickup was your golf vehicle,” I countered.

“Well, it was, but I’ll sell it.”

“What about the little Nissan convertible? Wasn’t it also your golf vehicle?”

“You know it gets lousy gas mileage. I’ll sell it, too.”

As long as I have a decent car to drive I really don’t care what Studly drives, but I had to give him a hard time. When the car didn’t arrive on time I began needling him.

“Are you sure you’re dealing with reputable people?” I asked. “What if they never deliver your Cadillac?”

“It’ll be here. It’s in Detroit and they had a huge blizzard last week.”

Two days later, still no Cadillac. I again questioned the prudence of buying a car sight unseen. Finally, though, the transport driver called to say he’d be in Tallahassee on Sunday afternoon, so when he sent an address I drove Studly into town to meet the truck. 

The car was badass: Silver, with black leather seats, and every bell and every whistle one could ask for. It also came with one unexpected bonus–the nastiest smell I’ve ever encountered outside of a garbage dump.

The smell wasn’t organic. Nothing had died in the car. It was a chemical type smell, as if  someone had used it as a vat for tanning animal hides. Gag!

Studly was in denial.

“It’s not so bad,” he protested, when I refused to ride in the car.

“Three Mile Island was less toxic than this car,” I said.

“Maybe it just needs a coconut scented air freshener,” he didn’t actually say, but I knew he was thinking it.

“Let me deal with it,” I sighed.

So for the past week while Studly has been at work I’ve coaxed the nasty smell out of his Caddy. Long drives down country roads with every window rolled down and the moon roof fully open have made a huge improvement in the car’s smell. It’s not yet quite to the pleasant stage, but I have a reasonable expectation that it soon will smell almost like a new vehicle. And it’s such fun to drive.

Maybe Studly has learned a lesson about buying cars on eBay. Or not. Regardless, life with him is never boring.


Phoebe Buffay knew a little about smelly things:

https://youtu.be/XNXIZuIBJKs

Baby, You Know What I Want

Baby, you know what I want…

…I want to eat fried chicken and potato salad without worrying about gaining a pound. That’s it. I got a whiff of a stranger’s fried chicken meal yesterday and now that’s all I can think about. 

My goal is to lose ten more pounds before we leave for Ireland’s fair shores in June, though, so I’ll have to settle for the next best thing to fried chicken: Gary Larson’s Far Side chicken.



I’m still hungry for fried chicken. 

Peace, people.