One of my few heroes
Welcome to 'OZ' - The 'Other' Side of the Rainbow!! Posting is at 10AM, Noon and 2PM CST daily. Up to 12 days of posts on the main page. The archives have more. You can forward posts by clicking on the envelope at the bottom of the post. Enjoy your stay! *** If you need to contact me, or have a copyright issue, please use the "Contact The Wizard" form on the left side of 'OZ'. Original source and author is cited and credited in each post where possible. ***
Friday, December 30, 2016
I went to a party
I went to a party,
And remembered what you said.
You told me not to drink, Mom
So I had a sprite instead.
You told me not to drink, Mom
So I had a sprite instead.
I felt proud of myself,
The way you said I would,
That I didn't drink and drive,
Though some friends said I should.
The way you said I would,
That I didn't drink and drive,
Though some friends said I should.
I made a healthy choice,
And your advice to me was right,
The party finally ended,
And the kids drove out of sight.
And your advice to me was right,
The party finally ended,
And the kids drove out of sight.
I got into my car,
Sure to get home in one piece,
I never knew what was coming,
Mom Something I expected least.
Sure to get home in one piece,
I never knew what was coming,
Mom Something I expected least.
Now I'm lying on the pavement,
And I hear the policeman say,
The kid that caused this wreck was drunk,
Mom, his voice seems far away.
And I hear the policeman say,
The kid that caused this wreck was drunk,
Mom, his voice seems far away.
My own blood's all around me,
As I try hard not to cry.
I can hear the paramedic say,
This girl is going to die.
As I try hard not to cry.
I can hear the paramedic say,
This girl is going to die.
I'm sure the guy had no idea,
While he was flying high,
Because he chose to drink and drive,
Now I would have to die.
While he was flying high,
Because he chose to drink and drive,
Now I would have to die.
So why do people do it, Mom
Knowing that it ruins lives?
And now the pain is cutting me,
Like a hundred stabbing knives.
Knowing that it ruins lives?
And now the pain is cutting me,
Like a hundred stabbing knives.
Tell sister not to be afraid, Mom
Tell daddy to be brave,
And when I go to heaven,
Put "Mommy 's Girl" on my grave.
Tell daddy to be brave,
And when I go to heaven,
Put "Mommy 's Girl" on my grave.
Someone should have taught him,
That it's wrong to drink and drive.
Maybe if his parents had, I'd still be alive.
My breath is getting shorter, Mom
That it's wrong to drink and drive.
Maybe if his parents had, I'd still be alive.
My breath is getting shorter, Mom
I'm getting really scared.
These are my final moments,
And I'm so unprepared.
These are my final moments,
And I'm so unprepared.
I wish that you could hold me Mom,
As I lie here and die.
I wish that I could say, "I love you, Mom!"
As I lie here and die.
I wish that I could say, "I love you, Mom!"
Thursday, December 29, 2016
AMAZINGLY SIMPLE HOME REMEDIES
1. If you are choking on an ice cube, don't panic. Simply pour a cup of boiling water down your throat and presto. The blockage will be almost instantly removed.
2. Clumsy? Avoid cutting yourself while slicing vegetables by getting someone else to hold them while you chop away.
3. Avoid arguments with the Mrs. about lifting the toilet seat by simply using the sink.
4. For high blood pressure sufferers: simply cut yourself and bleed for a few minutes, thus reducing the pressure in your veins. Remember to use a timer.
5. A mouse trap, placed on top of your alarm clock, will prevent you from rolling over and going back to sleep after you hit the snooze button.
6. If you have a bad cough, take a large dose of laxatives, then you will be afraid to cough.
7. Have a bad toothache? Smash your thumb with a hammer and you will forget about the toothache.
Sometimes, we just need to remember what the rules of life really are:
You only need two tools: WD-40 and Duct Tape.
If it doesn't move and should, use the WD-40. If it shouldn't move and does, use the duct tape.
and finally, remember:
Everyone seems normal until you get to know them.
Never pass up a chance to pee, and never underestimate a fart.
If you woke up breathing, congratulations! You get another chance.
And finally, be really nice to your family and friends; you never know when you might need them to empty your bedpan.
2. Clumsy? Avoid cutting yourself while slicing vegetables by getting someone else to hold them while you chop away.
3. Avoid arguments with the Mrs. about lifting the toilet seat by simply using the sink.
5. A mouse trap, placed on top of your alarm clock, will prevent you from rolling over and going back to sleep after you hit the snooze button.
6. If you have a bad cough, take a large dose of laxatives, then you will be afraid to cough.
7. Have a bad toothache? Smash your thumb with a hammer and you will forget about the toothache.
Sometimes, we just need to remember what the rules of life really are:
You only need two tools: WD-40 and Duct Tape.
If it doesn't move and should, use the WD-40. If it shouldn't move and does, use the duct tape.
and finally, remember:
Everyone seems normal until you get to know them.
Never pass up a chance to pee, and never underestimate a fart.
If you woke up breathing, congratulations! You get another chance.
And finally, be really nice to your family and friends; you never know when you might need them to empty your bedpan.
Schroeder starts busking as income from Peanuts drops.
"I made a bad deal back in the 50's ... I signed a contract with residuals that were peanuts!"
What's-a matter you? Hey! Gotta no respect
"The Schoolmaster"
What-a you t'ink you do? Why you mek me so sad?
It's-a not so nice
it's-notso nice-a place
Ah
shaddap-a you face!
That's-a him. I will remember!
Big deal I say!
Ah ! Say dat again! Really nice
really nice!
Ah, Shaddap-a you face!
*Thanks, A.D., for your inspiration... Forgiven -- Not forgotten
It's-a not so nice
it's-notso nice-a place
Ah
shaddap-a you face!
That's-a him. I will remember!
Big deal I say!
Ah ! Say dat again! Really nice
really nice!
Ah, Shaddap-a you face!
*Thanks, A.D., for your inspiration... Forgiven -- Not forgotten
Wednesday, December 28, 2016
Debbie Reynold's dead at 84
One day after her daughter, Carrie Fisher died, Mom Debbie joins her, This is so sad.
from TMZ.com
According to reports, Reynolds met with her son, Todd Fisher, in Beverly Hills on Wednesday to discuss the Star Wars actress’ funeral plans. She was rushed to the hospital from there after reportedly suffering a possible stroke. Todd told TMZ that Reynolds told him she wanted “to be with Carrie.”
The two were extremely close both geographically and emotionally; Carrie lived next door to Reynolds in Beverly Hills.
Shortly after news broke of the Singing in the Rain actress’ death, Ellen DeGeneres, Dane Cook, Al Roker and numerous other celebrities took to social media to mourn the loss of the Hollywood icon.
“I can't imagine what Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds' family are going through this week. I send all of my love,” DeGeneres tweeted, while Cook wrote: “Damn. RIP Debbie Reynolds. Legendary entertainer. I'm sure broken hearted by the loss of her daughter.”
According to reports, Reynolds met with her son, Todd Fisher, in Beverly Hills on Wednesday to discuss the Star Wars actress’ funeral plans. She was rushed to the hospital from there after reportedly suffering a possible stroke. Todd told TMZ that Reynolds told him she wanted “to be with Carrie.”
The two were extremely close both geographically and emotionally; Carrie lived next door to Reynolds in Beverly Hills.
Shortly after news broke of the Singing in the Rain actress’ death, Ellen DeGeneres, Dane Cook, Al Roker and numerous other celebrities took to social media to mourn the loss of the Hollywood icon.
“I can't imagine what Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds' family are going through this week. I send all of my love,” DeGeneres tweeted, while Cook wrote: “Damn. RIP Debbie Reynolds. Legendary entertainer. I'm sure broken hearted by the loss of her daughter.”
Two Minute Management Course
Lesson One:
An eagle was sitting on a tree resting, doing nothing. A small rabbit saw the eagle and asked him, "Can I also sit on my ass like you and do nothing?"
The eagle answered: "Sure, why not." So, the rabbit sat on the ground below the eagle, and rested. All of a sudden, a fox appeared, jumped on the rabbit and ate it.
Management Lesson:
To be sitting on your ass and doing nothing, you must be sitting very high up.
Lesson Two:
A turkey was chatting with a bull. "I would love to be able to get to the top of that tree," sighed the turkey, "but I haven't got the energy."
"Well, why don't you nibble on some of my manure droppings?" replied the bull. "They're packed with nutrients."
The turkey pecked at a lump of manure, found it actually gave him enough strength to reach the lowest branch of the tree. The next day, after eating some more dung, he reached the second branch. Finally after a fourth night, he was proudly perched at the top of the tree. Soon he was promptly spotted by a farmer, who shot the turkey out of the tree.
Management Lesson:
Bull Shit might get you to the top, but it won't keep you there.
Lesson Three:
A little bird was flying south for the winter. It was so cold the bird froze and fell to the ground in a large field. While it was lying there, a cow came by and dropped some dung on it. As the frozen bird lay there in the pile of cow dung, it began to realize how warm it was.
The dung was actually thawing him out. He lay there all warm and happy, and soon began to sing for joy. A passing cat heard the bird singing and came to investigate. Following the sound, the cat discovered the bird under the pile of cow dung, and promptly dug him out and ate him.
Management Lessons:
(1) Not everyone who shits on you is your enemy.
(2) Not everyone who gets you out of shit is your friend.
(3) And when you're in deep shit, it's best to keep your mouth shut!
An eagle was sitting on a tree resting, doing nothing. A small rabbit saw the eagle and asked him, "Can I also sit on my ass like you and do nothing?"
The eagle answered: "Sure, why not." So, the rabbit sat on the ground below the eagle, and rested. All of a sudden, a fox appeared, jumped on the rabbit and ate it.
Management Lesson:
To be sitting on your ass and doing nothing, you must be sitting very high up.
Lesson Two:
A turkey was chatting with a bull. "I would love to be able to get to the top of that tree," sighed the turkey, "but I haven't got the energy."
"Well, why don't you nibble on some of my manure droppings?" replied the bull. "They're packed with nutrients."
The turkey pecked at a lump of manure, found it actually gave him enough strength to reach the lowest branch of the tree. The next day, after eating some more dung, he reached the second branch. Finally after a fourth night, he was proudly perched at the top of the tree. Soon he was promptly spotted by a farmer, who shot the turkey out of the tree.
Management Lesson:
Bull Shit might get you to the top, but it won't keep you there.
Lesson Three:
A little bird was flying south for the winter. It was so cold the bird froze and fell to the ground in a large field. While it was lying there, a cow came by and dropped some dung on it. As the frozen bird lay there in the pile of cow dung, it began to realize how warm it was.
The dung was actually thawing him out. He lay there all warm and happy, and soon began to sing for joy. A passing cat heard the bird singing and came to investigate. Following the sound, the cat discovered the bird under the pile of cow dung, and promptly dug him out and ate him.
Management Lessons:
(1) Not everyone who shits on you is your enemy.
(2) Not everyone who gets you out of shit is your friend.
(3) And when you're in deep shit, it's best to keep your mouth shut!
Laws of the Universe,
These are the laws of the natural universe: (AND TRUE--bet you've experienced most, if not all of them)!!!!!!
Law of Mechanical Repair:
After your hands become coated with grease, your nose will begin to itch.
Law of the Workshop:
Any tool, when dropped, will roll to the least accessible corner.
Law of the Telephone:
When you dial a wrong number, you never get a busy signal.
Law of the Alibi:
If you tell the boss you were late for work because you had a flat tire, the very next morning you will have a flat tire.
Variation Law:
If you change lines or traffic lanes, the one you were in will start to move faster than the one you are in now.
Bath/shower Theorem:
When the body is fully immersed in water, the telephone rings.
Law of Lines:
When you walk in the grocery store, there's never anyone in the checkout line.
Inverse Hair Dryer Law:
You're sure you hear the phone ringing in the background, until you turn the hair dryer off.
Law of Close Encounters:
The probability of meeting someone you know increases when you are with someone you don't want to be seen with.
Law of the Result:
When you try to prove to someone that a machine won't work, it will.
Law of Bio mechanics:
The severity of the itch is inversely proportional to the reach.
Theater Law:
At any event, the people whose seats are farthest from the aisle arrive last.
Law of Coffee: As soon as you sit down to a cup of hot coffee, your boss will ask you to do something that will last until the coffee is cold.
Murphy's Law of Lockers:
If there are only two people in a locker room, they will have adjacent lockers.
Law of Natural Attraction:
If you and your date are the only two on a five-mile stretch of beach, the family of five will set up right next to you.
Law of Dirty Rugs/Carpets:
The chances of an open-faced jelly sandwich landing face down on a floor covering are directly correlated to the newness and cost of the carpet/rug.
Law of Location:
No matter where you go, there you are.
Law of Logical Argument:
Anything is possible if you don't know what you are talking about.
Law of Mechanical Repair:
After your hands become coated with grease, your nose will begin to itch.
Law of the Workshop:
Any tool, when dropped, will roll to the least accessible corner.
Law of the Telephone:
When you dial a wrong number, you never get a busy signal.
Law of the Alibi:
If you tell the boss you were late for work because you had a flat tire, the very next morning you will have a flat tire.
Variation Law:
If you change lines or traffic lanes, the one you were in will start to move faster than the one you are in now.
Bath/shower Theorem:
When the body is fully immersed in water, the telephone rings.
Law of Lines:
When you walk in the grocery store, there's never anyone in the checkout line.
Inverse Hair Dryer Law:
You're sure you hear the phone ringing in the background, until you turn the hair dryer off.
Law of Close Encounters:
The probability of meeting someone you know increases when you are with someone you don't want to be seen with.
Law of the Result:
When you try to prove to someone that a machine won't work, it will.
Law of Bio mechanics:
The severity of the itch is inversely proportional to the reach.
Theater Law:
At any event, the people whose seats are farthest from the aisle arrive last.
Law of Coffee: As soon as you sit down to a cup of hot coffee, your boss will ask you to do something that will last until the coffee is cold.
Murphy's Law of Lockers:
If there are only two people in a locker room, they will have adjacent lockers.
Law of Natural Attraction:
If you and your date are the only two on a five-mile stretch of beach, the family of five will set up right next to you.
Law of Dirty Rugs/Carpets:
The chances of an open-faced jelly sandwich landing face down on a floor covering are directly correlated to the newness and cost of the carpet/rug.
Law of Location:
No matter where you go, there you are.
Law of Logical Argument:
Anything is possible if you don't know what you are talking about.
"How Could You?"
When I was a puppy I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was "bad," you'd shake your finger at me and ask "How could you?" - but then you'd relent and roll me over for a bellyrub.
My housetraining took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed, listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs," you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.
Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love.
She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" - still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy. Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love."
As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch - because your touch was now so infrequent - and I would have defended them with my life if need be.
I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams. Together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway. There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf.
Now you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family.
I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog or cat, even one with "papers." You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar as he screamed "No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You gave me a goodbye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too.
After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked "How could you?"
They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you - that you had changed your mind - that this was all a bad dream...or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited.
I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table, rubbed my ears and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood.
She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured "How could you?"
Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said "I'm so sorry." She hugged me and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself - a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. With my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not meant for her. It was you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of. I will think of you and wait for you forever.
May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.
The End
My housetraining took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed, listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs," you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.
Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love.
She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" - still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy. Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love."
As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch - because your touch was now so infrequent - and I would have defended them with my life if need be.
I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams. Together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway. There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf.
Now you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family.
I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog or cat, even one with "papers." You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar as he screamed "No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You gave me a goodbye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too.
After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked "How could you?"
They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you - that you had changed your mind - that this was all a bad dream...or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited.
I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table, rubbed my ears and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood.
She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured "How could you?"
Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said "I'm so sorry." She hugged me and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself - a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. With my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not meant for her. It was you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of. I will think of you and wait for you forever.
May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.
The End
*© Jim Willis 2001
Tuesday, December 27, 2016
Two Minute Management Course
Lesson One:
An eagle was sitting on a tree resting, doing nothing. A small rabbit saw the eagle and asked him, "Can I also sit on my ass like you and do nothing?"
The eagle answered: "Sure, why not." So, the rabbit sat on the ground below the eagle, and rested. All of a sudden, a fox appeared, jumped on the rabbit and ate it.
Management Lesson:
To be sitting on your ass and doing nothing, you must be sitting very high up.
Lesson Two:
A turkey was chatting with a bull. "I would love to be able to get to the top of that tree," sighed the turkey, "but I haven't got the energy."
"Well, why don't you nibble on some of my manure droppings?" replied the bull. "They're packed with nutrients."
The turkey pecked at a lump of manure, found it actually gave him enough strength to reach the lowest branch of the tree. The next day, after eating some more dung, he reached the second branch. Finally after a fourth night, he was proudly perched at the top of the tree. Soon he was promptly spotted by a farmer, who shot the turkey out of the tree.
Management Lesson:
Bull Shit might get you to the top, but it won't keep you there.
Lesson Three:
A little bird was flying south for the winter. It was so cold the bird froze and fell to the ground in a large field. While it was lying there, a cow came by and dropped some dung on it. As the frozen bird lay there in the pile of cow dung, it began to realize how warm it was.
The dung was actually thawing him out. He lay there all warm and happy, and soon began to sing for joy. A passing cat heard the bird singing and came to investigate. Following the sound, the cat discovered the bird under the pile of cow dung, and promptly dug him out and ate him.
Management Lessons:
(1) Not everyone who shits on you is your enemy.
(2) Not everyone who gets you out of shit is your friend.
(3) And when you're in deep shit, it's best to keep your mouth shut!
An eagle was sitting on a tree resting, doing nothing. A small rabbit saw the eagle and asked him, "Can I also sit on my ass like you and do nothing?"
The eagle answered: "Sure, why not." So, the rabbit sat on the ground below the eagle, and rested. All of a sudden, a fox appeared, jumped on the rabbit and ate it.
Management Lesson:
To be sitting on your ass and doing nothing, you must be sitting very high up.
Lesson Two:
A turkey was chatting with a bull. "I would love to be able to get to the top of that tree," sighed the turkey, "but I haven't got the energy."
"Well, why don't you nibble on some of my manure droppings?" replied the bull. "They're packed with nutrients."
The turkey pecked at a lump of manure, found it actually gave him enough strength to reach the lowest branch of the tree. The next day, after eating some more dung, he reached the second branch. Finally after a fourth night, he was proudly perched at the top of the tree. Soon he was promptly spotted by a farmer, who shot the turkey out of the tree.
Management Lesson:
Bull Shit might get you to the top, but it won't keep you there.
Lesson Three:
A little bird was flying south for the winter. It was so cold the bird froze and fell to the ground in a large field. While it was lying there, a cow came by and dropped some dung on it. As the frozen bird lay there in the pile of cow dung, it began to realize how warm it was.
The dung was actually thawing him out. He lay there all warm and happy, and soon began to sing for joy. A passing cat heard the bird singing and came to investigate. Following the sound, the cat discovered the bird under the pile of cow dung, and promptly dug him out and ate him.
Management Lessons:
(1) Not everyone who shits on you is your enemy.
(2) Not everyone who gets you out of shit is your friend.
(3) And when you're in deep shit, it's best to keep your mouth shut!
Carrie Fisher, Star Wars actress, dies aged 60
US actress Carrie Fisher, best known for her role as Princess Leia in the Star Wars series, has died aged 60, days after suffering a cardiac arrest.
Fisher was taken ill on a flight from London to LA on Friday and was taken to hospital when the plane landed.
But a family statement said with "deep sadness" she died on Tuesday morning.
As well as starring in other films such as The Blues Brothers and When Harry Met Sally, Fisher also wrote four novels and three memoirs.
In a statement released on behalf of Fisher's daughter Billie Lourd, spokesman Simon Halls said: "It is with a very deep sadness that Billie Lourd confirms that her beloved mother Carrie Fisher passed away at 8.55 this morning.
"She was loved by the world and she will be missed profoundly. Our entire family thanks you for your thoughts and prayers."
The daughter of singer Eddie Fisher and actress Debbie Reynolds, Carrie Fisher made her film debut opposite Warren Beatty in 1975's Shampoo.
But far greater fame was to follow when she played Princess Leia in the original Star Wars trilogy, a role she reprised in last year's reboot The Force Awakens.
She endured a difficult private life, and has often discussed her years of mental illness and drug addiction.
More to come
Fisher was taken ill on a flight from London to LA on Friday and was taken to hospital when the plane landed.
But a family statement said with "deep sadness" she died on Tuesday morning.
As well as starring in other films such as The Blues Brothers and When Harry Met Sally, Fisher also wrote four novels and three memoirs.
In a statement released on behalf of Fisher's daughter Billie Lourd, spokesman Simon Halls said: "It is with a very deep sadness that Billie Lourd confirms that her beloved mother Carrie Fisher passed away at 8.55 this morning.
"She was loved by the world and she will be missed profoundly. Our entire family thanks you for your thoughts and prayers."
The daughter of singer Eddie Fisher and actress Debbie Reynolds, Carrie Fisher made her film debut opposite Warren Beatty in 1975's Shampoo.
But far greater fame was to follow when she played Princess Leia in the original Star Wars trilogy, a role she reprised in last year's reboot The Force Awakens.
She endured a difficult private life, and has often discussed her years of mental illness and drug addiction.
More to come
Logic
Two South Texas farmers, Jim and Bob, are sitting at their favorite bar drinking beer. Jim turns to Bob and says, "You know, I'm tired of going through life without an education. Tomorrow I think I'll go to the community college and sign up for some classes." Bob thinks it's a good idea, and the two leave. The next day Jim goes down to the college and meets the dean of admissions, who signs him up for the four basic classes: Math, English, History, and Logic.
"Logic?" Jim says. "What's that?"
The dean says, "I'll show you. Do you own a weedeater?"
"Yeah."
"Then logically because you own a weedeater, I think that you would have a yard."
"That's true, I do have a yard."
"I'm not done," the dean says. "Because you have a yard, I think logically that you would have a house."
"Yes, I do have a house."
"And because you have a house, I think that you might logically have a family."
"I have a family."
"I'm not done yet. Because you have a family, then logically you must have a wife."
"Yes, I do have a wife."
"And because you have a wife, then logically you must be a heterosexual."
"I am a heterosexual. That's amazing, you were able to find out all of That because I have a weedeater."
Excited to take the class now, Jim shakes the dean's hand and leaves to go meet Bob at the bar.
He tells Bob about his classes, how he is signed up for Math, English, History, and Logic.
"Logic?" Bob says, "What's that?"
Jim says, "I'll show you. Do you have a weedeater?"
"No."
"Then you're gay."
"Logic?" Jim says. "What's that?"
The dean says, "I'll show you. Do you own a weedeater?"
"Yeah."
"Then logically because you own a weedeater, I think that you would have a yard."
"That's true, I do have a yard."
"I'm not done," the dean says. "Because you have a yard, I think logically that you would have a house."
"Yes, I do have a house."
"And because you have a house, I think that you might logically have a family."
"I have a family."
"I'm not done yet. Because you have a family, then logically you must have a wife."
"Yes, I do have a wife."
"And because you have a wife, then logically you must be a heterosexual."
"I am a heterosexual. That's amazing, you were able to find out all of That because I have a weedeater."
Excited to take the class now, Jim shakes the dean's hand and leaves to go meet Bob at the bar.
He tells Bob about his classes, how he is signed up for Math, English, History, and Logic.
"Logic?" Bob says, "What's that?"
Jim says, "I'll show you. Do you have a weedeater?"
"No."
"Then you're gay."
Monday, December 26, 2016
Happy Holidays from The Wizard and his partner
Season's Greetings from The Wizard and his partner Dwight. Click here for a short movie.
Boxing Day: a seasonal short story (was written exclusively for the Evening Standard)
by novelist Tom Rachman, for The Evening Standard
Inhabitants of High Barnet were searching online for 'nipple' and 'grandma' and 'guilt'
Danny high-stepped over the Christmas wreckage, string lights blinking on the bedraggled tree, under whose fallen needles lay untouched objects last glimpsed on a shelf at Waterstones. His presents for the kids had flopped, it seemed. Then again, in his own childhood, Mum and Dad had given certain objects gifts he’d spurned but cherished later.
He consulted his watch — as per Boxing Day tradition, Phil was arriving soon. The two friends had met 18 years earlier, aspiring screenwriters in their twenties then, Danny Berger from north London, Phil Schachter from Minneapolis, both secular Jews who had bonded over a secret passion. At first, their predilection had leaked out sheepishly. Finally, they confessed: both were rather partial to Christmas.
Raised on separate continents, they had grown up resenting all the pushy holiday bonhomie, hiding out on December 25 at movie theatres, and not for a seasonal picture. But, just as one shudders at certain tastes when young, only to develop a perverse savour for them in maturity, they reached their mid-twenties with a hankering to stuff stockings, smell pine trees indoors and gnaw limbs off gingerbread men. (Both still shrank from the Christmas ham; there was a limit.)
After Danny married Sue, who was not Jewish, he was able to quench his closeted Yuletide yearnings — always with the excuse of the kids. To be clear, the religious aspects held no interest. It was the pagan indulgence, not least the grub. And Phil joined in, schlepping up to High Barnet annually to scoff their holiday leftovers, all with the pretext of watching Boxing Day football on telly.
As years passed, the two spoke less of their screenplay, placing it gently into that deep snow where hopes retire. Phil was still writing, mostly for small-time TV dramas, bad ones. Danny designed websites from home now, cooked for the family, drove the kids around when Sue was overseas for work.
Danny’s life kept expanding, adding kids and dogs and cat and gerbils and hamsters and mice (some uninvited). Meanwhile, Phil’s life became narrower, more ascetic and directed. When he’d first arrived in London, he had set his heart on some day living by the canals in Maida Vale and moved nearer every few years, obliged to take increasingly cramped flats, thereby reversing the path of his peers, who had started in tiny central digs and entered middle-age on the spacious periphery, besieged by torn wrapping paper. But Phil planned everything, which was why he’d had no kids — if you planned enough, you never ended up eating fajitas at Christmas, as the Bergers had the day before.
“Greetings,” Phil called out (the Bergers’ front door was always unlocked), sloughing off his natty Scandinavian overcoat, which smelled of a recent cigarette. “Your kids don’t rush down the stairs to greet me?”
“Why, did you buy them something?”
“Why, should I have?”
“Absolutely not. They’re over-indulged already,” Danny said, leading Phil upstairs. “We all agreed on non-electronic gifts this year. You’ll see how that went over.”
The first child they encountered was Lily, a pre-teen with flashes of how she used to be when still willing to watch old movies with her parents, though now she inhabited a chillier guise, in make-up and ill-fitting heels. She sat at the computer, engrossed in a shoot-em-up video game.
“Weren’t you and Sam playing Trivial Pursuit?” Danny asked.
“He’s looking at porn on his iPhone.”
“Am not, liar,” said her brother, who slouched from his bedroom, a shag of bouncy hair and a caterpillar moustache, his tight T-shirt emitting the fug of cannabis and sweat. Each time Sam appeared, so did the Seventies.
The adults congregated in the kitchen for cold leftovers, and Sue provided Phil with updates on her life. She worked on conflict resolution in South Sudan, where her local assistant had recently suffered a motorcycle accident, skinning his arm from wrist to shoulder. The only reachable medical facility was a US military outpost, at whose entrance Sue had demanded help. The soldiers obliged, free of charge.
“As an American,” Phil said, “I find it comforting that should I ever be without health insurance in the States and need urgent care, all I have to do is travel to South Sudan.”
“It’d probably be quicker than through the NHS,” Danny grumbled.
“Oh, come on,” Sue said. “The NHS may be rubbish for small things. But if it’s a major issue, the system does snap into action.”
“Yes, what you have to do is complain of shooting chest pains,” Danny said. “And when they’ve got you under the defibrillator, you shout, ‘Oh, and I’ve also got this rash!’ ”
Sue swatted her husband with a napkin; Phil laughed.
“And you?” she asked their guest. “What’s news?”
“Headline is I’m moving.”
“Two yards closer to the canal?”
“No, to California. In January.” Years of coping in London had been all right but he’d been offered work on a new HBO drama. It made sense to be home again.
“And it’s the golden age of television,” Danny remarked, sounding blithe but inwardly disconcerted. This must have been in the works for ages. Phil hadn’t mentioned it. “Golden age of television,” Danny repeated, addressing Sue.
Her eyes widened in nominal agreement, prompting a rush of irritation in Danny at being married to a scold, one who deemed every box-set series a waste of time, and ... Though, this wasn’t how he felt about Sue; he admired her. But aren’t you allowed to feel one way and its opposite about your spouse?
Sam swaggered in, chortling at his smartphone. “Just found literally the most hilarious app. Look, Dad, you can see what words people are looking up online.” The inhabitants of High Barnet, it transpired, were searching for “nipple” and “grandma” and “guilt”.
“Faintly disturbing,” Sue said.
Lily shouted from upstairs, “See what they’re looking up in Chelsea.”
Sam read aloud the answer: “cowering” and “sycophantic” and “griping”. He flashed them the screen. “I’m literally not making this up.”
“And my people?” Phil said.
“Yes, what says Maida Vale?” Danny asked.
“No, check LA,” Phil said.
“In Los Angeles,” the teenager replied momentarily, “it’s ‘peephole’ and ‘ephemeral’ and ‘prodigy’. What’s ‘prodigy’?”
“Not you, dear boy. Not you.”
They switched on the football but nobody really watched, given all the chatter. By the second half, Danny had drifted upstairs. He’d bought no Christmas present for his friend; they never exchanged them. But he wanted to give Phil something. Instead of seeking an impromptu gift, he stood at the edge of his bed, dreaming.
The same person may be switched from ally to enemy. Phil had never invited them to his latest place. Phil’s Leftie politics were such a put-on — was there an American who really hated Boris Johnson that much? And he made cringe-worthy misuses of slang, such as: “Hey, bloke, how’s it going?”
Absurd as Danny knew it to be, he’d still been harbouring expectations that they would make their film together. How long into improbability does one clutch at dry ambitions? Long as possible, he supposed.
“Game’s ending, Dad!”
He grabbed a DVD as a present — Escape to Victory — still with Sainsbury’s £3 price sticker on it.
Phil waited at the bottom of the stairs in his overcoat. “Time to mosey on, I think.”
Danny abandoned the DVD on the stair behind him and hastened down, hand extended, taking Phil’s in both of his, not embracing — they never did. He spoke softly in order that the kids not hear: “You’ve done so well, my friend.”
When alone, Danny lingered before the tinsel-strewn tree. There were places online that enumerate your life: how many more meals you’re likely to have, how many trips abroad, how many Christmases. How many more friends would he have? Friendships were so rare and so brittle. Women seemed to accrue friends with age; men seemed to shed them. He recalled Hanukkah presents as a child, and the competition with his brothers over who had received the bigger gifts.
If there’s a god, Danny thought, he has no idea what to get anyone.
“What are you doing over there?” Sue asked.
“Pondering a godless universe,” he replied cheerfully. “Any mince pies left?”
“I just finished them.”
“That’s proof then: there is no god.”
“But there are gingerbread men.”
“Yes,” he said, following her to the kitchen. “There are always gingerbread men.”
Inhabitants of High Barnet were searching online for 'nipple' and 'grandma' and 'guilt'
Sabre-tooth tigers had marauded through the sitting room, shredding wrapping paper, crumpling chocolate coin wrappers and ripping open gift envelopes, before slinking back upstairs, miffed not to have received the latest iPad.
Danny high-stepped over the Christmas wreckage, string lights blinking on the bedraggled tree, under whose fallen needles lay untouched objects last glimpsed on a shelf at Waterstones. His presents for the kids had flopped, it seemed. Then again, in his own childhood, Mum and Dad had given certain objects gifts he’d spurned but cherished later.
He consulted his watch — as per Boxing Day tradition, Phil was arriving soon. The two friends had met 18 years earlier, aspiring screenwriters in their twenties then, Danny Berger from north London, Phil Schachter from Minneapolis, both secular Jews who had bonded over a secret passion. At first, their predilection had leaked out sheepishly. Finally, they confessed: both were rather partial to Christmas.
Raised on separate continents, they had grown up resenting all the pushy holiday bonhomie, hiding out on December 25 at movie theatres, and not for a seasonal picture. But, just as one shudders at certain tastes when young, only to develop a perverse savour for them in maturity, they reached their mid-twenties with a hankering to stuff stockings, smell pine trees indoors and gnaw limbs off gingerbread men. (Both still shrank from the Christmas ham; there was a limit.)
After Danny married Sue, who was not Jewish, he was able to quench his closeted Yuletide yearnings — always with the excuse of the kids. To be clear, the religious aspects held no interest. It was the pagan indulgence, not least the grub. And Phil joined in, schlepping up to High Barnet annually to scoff their holiday leftovers, all with the pretext of watching Boxing Day football on telly.
As years passed, the two spoke less of their screenplay, placing it gently into that deep snow where hopes retire. Phil was still writing, mostly for small-time TV dramas, bad ones. Danny designed websites from home now, cooked for the family, drove the kids around when Sue was overseas for work.
Danny’s life kept expanding, adding kids and dogs and cat and gerbils and hamsters and mice (some uninvited). Meanwhile, Phil’s life became narrower, more ascetic and directed. When he’d first arrived in London, he had set his heart on some day living by the canals in Maida Vale and moved nearer every few years, obliged to take increasingly cramped flats, thereby reversing the path of his peers, who had started in tiny central digs and entered middle-age on the spacious periphery, besieged by torn wrapping paper. But Phil planned everything, which was why he’d had no kids — if you planned enough, you never ended up eating fajitas at Christmas, as the Bergers had the day before.
“Greetings,” Phil called out (the Bergers’ front door was always unlocked), sloughing off his natty Scandinavian overcoat, which smelled of a recent cigarette. “Your kids don’t rush down the stairs to greet me?”
“Why, did you buy them something?”
“Why, should I have?”
“Absolutely not. They’re over-indulged already,” Danny said, leading Phil upstairs. “We all agreed on non-electronic gifts this year. You’ll see how that went over.”
The first child they encountered was Lily, a pre-teen with flashes of how she used to be when still willing to watch old movies with her parents, though now she inhabited a chillier guise, in make-up and ill-fitting heels. She sat at the computer, engrossed in a shoot-em-up video game.
“Weren’t you and Sam playing Trivial Pursuit?” Danny asked.
“He’s looking at porn on his iPhone.”
“Am not, liar,” said her brother, who slouched from his bedroom, a shag of bouncy hair and a caterpillar moustache, his tight T-shirt emitting the fug of cannabis and sweat. Each time Sam appeared, so did the Seventies.
The adults congregated in the kitchen for cold leftovers, and Sue provided Phil with updates on her life. She worked on conflict resolution in South Sudan, where her local assistant had recently suffered a motorcycle accident, skinning his arm from wrist to shoulder. The only reachable medical facility was a US military outpost, at whose entrance Sue had demanded help. The soldiers obliged, free of charge.
“As an American,” Phil said, “I find it comforting that should I ever be without health insurance in the States and need urgent care, all I have to do is travel to South Sudan.”
“It’d probably be quicker than through the NHS,” Danny grumbled.
“Oh, come on,” Sue said. “The NHS may be rubbish for small things. But if it’s a major issue, the system does snap into action.”
“Yes, what you have to do is complain of shooting chest pains,” Danny said. “And when they’ve got you under the defibrillator, you shout, ‘Oh, and I’ve also got this rash!’ ”
Sue swatted her husband with a napkin; Phil laughed.
“And you?” she asked their guest. “What’s news?”
“Headline is I’m moving.”
“Two yards closer to the canal?”
“No, to California. In January.” Years of coping in London had been all right but he’d been offered work on a new HBO drama. It made sense to be home again.
“And it’s the golden age of television,” Danny remarked, sounding blithe but inwardly disconcerted. This must have been in the works for ages. Phil hadn’t mentioned it. “Golden age of television,” Danny repeated, addressing Sue.
Her eyes widened in nominal agreement, prompting a rush of irritation in Danny at being married to a scold, one who deemed every box-set series a waste of time, and ... Though, this wasn’t how he felt about Sue; he admired her. But aren’t you allowed to feel one way and its opposite about your spouse?
Sam swaggered in, chortling at his smartphone. “Just found literally the most hilarious app. Look, Dad, you can see what words people are looking up online.” The inhabitants of High Barnet, it transpired, were searching for “nipple” and “grandma” and “guilt”.
“Faintly disturbing,” Sue said.
Lily shouted from upstairs, “See what they’re looking up in Chelsea.”
Sam read aloud the answer: “cowering” and “sycophantic” and “griping”. He flashed them the screen. “I’m literally not making this up.”
“And my people?” Phil said.
“Yes, what says Maida Vale?” Danny asked.
“No, check LA,” Phil said.
“In Los Angeles,” the teenager replied momentarily, “it’s ‘peephole’ and ‘ephemeral’ and ‘prodigy’. What’s ‘prodigy’?”
“Not you, dear boy. Not you.”
They switched on the football but nobody really watched, given all the chatter. By the second half, Danny had drifted upstairs. He’d bought no Christmas present for his friend; they never exchanged them. But he wanted to give Phil something. Instead of seeking an impromptu gift, he stood at the edge of his bed, dreaming.
The same person may be switched from ally to enemy. Phil had never invited them to his latest place. Phil’s Leftie politics were such a put-on — was there an American who really hated Boris Johnson that much? And he made cringe-worthy misuses of slang, such as: “Hey, bloke, how’s it going?”
Absurd as Danny knew it to be, he’d still been harbouring expectations that they would make their film together. How long into improbability does one clutch at dry ambitions? Long as possible, he supposed.
“Game’s ending, Dad!”
He grabbed a DVD as a present — Escape to Victory — still with Sainsbury’s £3 price sticker on it.
Phil waited at the bottom of the stairs in his overcoat. “Time to mosey on, I think.”
Danny abandoned the DVD on the stair behind him and hastened down, hand extended, taking Phil’s in both of his, not embracing — they never did. He spoke softly in order that the kids not hear: “You’ve done so well, my friend.”
When alone, Danny lingered before the tinsel-strewn tree. There were places online that enumerate your life: how many more meals you’re likely to have, how many trips abroad, how many Christmases. How many more friends would he have? Friendships were so rare and so brittle. Women seemed to accrue friends with age; men seemed to shed them. He recalled Hanukkah presents as a child, and the competition with his brothers over who had received the bigger gifts.
If there’s a god, Danny thought, he has no idea what to get anyone.
“What are you doing over there?” Sue asked.
“Pondering a godless universe,” he replied cheerfully. “Any mince pies left?”
“I just finished them.”
“That’s proof then: there is no god.”
“But there are gingerbread men.”
“Yes,” he said, following her to the kitchen. “There are always gingerbread men.”
"Boxing Day" - The 4-11
Boxing Day, December 26th, is a public holiday in the United Kingdom, Australia (excluding South Australia), Canada, New Zealand and countries in the Commonwealth of Nations with a mainly Christian population. It is based on the tradition of giving gifts to the less fortunate members of society. Contemporary Boxing Day in many countries is now a "shopping holiday" associated with after-Christmas sales. This day is historically England's name for St Stephen's Day - St. Stephen was one of the first Christian martyrs, being stoned to death in Jerusalem around A.D. 34-35 - the 26th December, which is a public holiday in most countries in Europe and many countries around the world with predominantly Christian populations. In the Eastern Orthodox Church, St Stephen's Day is celebrated on the 27th of December, although in Greece the Greek Boxing Day (Synaxis Theotokou, Σύναξις Θεοτόκου) is also celebrated as a public holiday on the 26th of December and is not related to the English version. In Ireland the Bank Holidays Act 1871 established the feast day of St. Stephen's Day as a non-moveable public holiday on December the 26th, although since partition the name "Boxing Day" is used by the authorities in Northern Ireland and it has become a moveable public holiday in line with the rest of the UK. The Banking and Financial Dealings Act of 1971 established "Boxing Day" as a public holiday in Scotland. In the Australian state of South Australia, December the 26th is a public holiday known as Proclamation Day. It is usually celebrated on the 26th of December, the day after Christmas Day; however, unlike St Stephen's Day, Boxing Day is not always on the 26th of December, its associated public holiday can be moved to the next weekday if the 26th of December is a Saturday or Sunday. The movement of Boxing Day varies between countries. OriginsBoxing Day dates back to past centuries when it was the custom for the wealthy to give gifts to employees or to people in a lower social class, most especially to household servants and other service personnel. The name has numerous folk etymologies.
As with Christmas itself, some elements of Boxing Day are also likely related to, and ultimately derived from, the ancient Roman Saturnalia, which also had elements of gift giving and social role reversal.
DateIn the countries that observe this holiday, 26 December is commonly referred to as Boxing Day, no matter what day of the week it occurs. However, in some countries, fixed-date holidays falling on Saturday or Sunday are often observed on the next weekday. Technically, Boxing Day cannot be on a Sunday - that day being the officially recognized day of worship, so traditionally it was the next working day of the week following Christmas Day, (i.e. any day from Monday to Saturday). In recent times this tradition has been either forgotten or ignored, and 26 December is considered by most to be Boxing Day when it falls on a Sunday. 1993 was the last year when 26 December was called Christmas Sunday in the UK; in 1999, the next time the date fell on a Sunday, it was Boxing Day.
If Boxing Day falls on a Saturday, then Monday 28 December is declared a public holiday. In the United Kingdom and some other countries this is accomplished by Royal Proclamation. In some Canadian provinces, Boxing Day is a statutory holiday and is always celebrated on 26 December. As with most statutory holidays in Canada if it falls on a Saturday or Sunday, compensation days are given in the following week. If Boxing Day falls on a Sunday, then in countries where it is a public holiday the Statutory Holiday is moved to Monday 27 December. In that event, Christmas Day would be on a Saturday, so Tuesday 28 December would be declared a holiday in lieu, that being the next available working day - thus the Boxing Day holiday occurs before the substitute Christmas holiday. If Christmas Day falls on a Sunday, then Boxing Day is on Monday 26 December, and no Royal Proclamation is required. In such a circumstance, a 'substitute bank holiday in lieu of Christmas Day' is declared for Tuesday 27 December; again with the Boxing Day holiday occurring before the substitute Christmas holiday. Although the same legislation—the Bank Holidays Act 1871—originally established the Bank Holidays throughout the United Kingdom, the holiday after Christmas was defined as Boxing Day in England and Wales, and the feast day of St. Stephen's Day in Ireland. In Australia and Canada, Boxing Day is primarily known as a shopping holiday, and a time where stores have sales, often with dramatic price decreases. For many merchants, it has become the day of the year with the greatest revenue. In recent years, this has been expanded to "Boxing Week". While Boxing Day is actually on 26 December, many retailers who hold Boxing Day Sales will run the sales for several days before or after 26 December, often up to New Year's Eve. In some areas of Canada, particularly in Atlantic Canada and parts of Northern Ontario, most retailers are prohibited by law from opening on Boxing Day. In these cases, any sales specifically scheduled for December 26 are moved to the 27th.*Wikipedia
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