Yeah, I couldn’t do it myself. The closest we got was our guinea pigs, but they are friends not food.

The husband of a couple we know have a few chickens in a coop in their back yard. Definitely pets, but they do get eggs.

The major difference between them and a “normal” person is the wife is a veterinarian, so he pretty much has the healthcare of his birds covered.

Driving my parents’ GMC suburban home late one rainy night from my job, I took the turn into the driveway too tight. I scraped the side of the truck against the chainlink fence gate post. The hinge pin cut a gash in the side of the truck.

I knew my dad would be pissed. Everyone was asleep already, so there was nothing to do but do to sleep.

When I woke up the next morning and told my mom, she said she knew and she told me not to say anything to anyone and my dad was going to take care of it.

As it turns out, they were using me as an example of a good driver to shame my brother and my sister, and they didn’t want them throwing it back in their faces.

You mean those green flowers?

-ancient Greek guy (probably)

I think I have two.

Older story first.

A man I supervised died at work. He happened to die in his office on a Friday night when he has scheduled to be off work the following week. On Wednesday the cops where he lived called me and asked me to check his office. He was supposed to meet up with his brother on Saturday, but never showed.

I went to his office and found him there, dead and very cold.

I was scheduled off on the Thursday and Friday. When I returned his office had been emptied, the walls painted, and the ceiling and flooring replaced. We finally found out what it took to get one of our offices renovated.

The spooky part is I continued to see him walking in the halls after. Clear enough that I once ran down to the end of the hall where he turned, only to discover no one there.

I don’t really believe in ghosts, although I’d like to. So, my explanation is that it was just my mind fucking with me.

The new story is just a little bit spooky.

My dad’s birthday is the day after mine. I’m May 4th, he’s the 5th. My mom didn’t have to buy him a birthday present the year I was born.

Every year I’d get a birthday card for him. Always something goofy. I love my dad, but it’s a complicated relationship, and all the sappy, “you’re the wind beneath my wings” cards never sat right with me. So I’d always pick a joke card.

This year the first card I picked up was a sappy card. I read it and for some reason it didn’t seem wrong. I still thought that I should get a goofy card instead, but I couldn’t find where I pulled the sappy one from to put it back, so I bought that one.

My wife noticed and questioned me about it, but I said it was what I wanted to give him.

We decided to go to my parents early on the 2nd to celebrate the birthdays.

It was a nice visit. My dad and I drove to a sandwich shop to pick up lunch so we had some time together in the car, and then my wife and I spent the rest of the day with them.

We also had a conversation about opening the card before his birthday. He said it wasn’t his birthday, a sentiment that I would normally agree with, but I told him that we were celebrating early and he should open it, so he did.

Early the next morning, my mom called me to tell me he died. It was Sunday morning, and he had insisted on going to church. They got there, but he was having trouble walking up hill from the parking space. My mom told him to park closer, and he got nasty with her (one last opportunity to verbally abuse her), so she got out and went into church without him.

When he didn’t show up, she went out to check on him and found him sitting on a short wall trying to catch his breath. She went over to make sure he wouldn’t fall. He stood up and they walked into church and sat in the pew. As soon as they sat down, he leaned over on her and died.

So a bit spooky that I got him the first “I love you, dad” card in more than 30 years for the birthday he didn’t make it to. Also spooky that he was so unusually insistent on getting to church that morning.

To really freak people out, I have to make sure that when I eventually die it’s on May 2nd.

The last time one of these folks wanted to buy my house, They were calling me, my wife, and my brother (which was particularly strange since he doesn’t live near me and has nothing to do with my house).

I finally responded so they’d leave my brother alone. I told them I wouldn’t entertain any offer less than $1 million.

My house is not worth $1 million. Maybe if it was in absolutely perfect shape. It’s a Victorian house. It used to be the pastor’s rectory for a church across the street. When the church wanted to tear it down to build an addition, they moved it instead.

However, it probably needs around $200k-$300k of work to get it to perfect shape.

They can pry my ~3% fixed rate mortgage out of my cold, dead hands. I’m not selling it unless I get enough to buy the next place without a mortgage.

The amazing thing about that is, sharks didn’t even mention it. No bragging or trying to get special status. They are just so chill about it.

All I heard is that we should have a hunting season for leaders over 65.

I used to think that way, and then in the past year I just changed. Now I make my bed every morning and I’m happier. I don’t know why.

I think it is just the clearest indicator that I’ve transitioned from aging to old. I made it 55 years thinking making the bed was a waste of time, but in my 56th year my attitude suddenly and without warning flipped.

Just because they are called “public” it doesn’t mean they’re owned by the public. It’s a non profit created to produce media for public consumption, but they still have bills to pay, employees, etc.

If they have content for streaming or DVD sales or (probably more likely) licensing to other PBS stations, they need to get income from it to maximize their ability to continue to produce the free broadcasts they were created for.