GOLFER GUY TRIP SCAM . . . AND IT WORKED!

Heard about four clever fellows who told their wives they were going on a 4-day, bucket-list type golf trip to play Pebble Beach. That's the storied and very expensive golf course south of San Francisco.

Well, these canny laddies each brought four golf outfits for the trip. But they didn't play four of those very expensive rounds. Ah, no.

With a few wisely-placed tips to their caddy, they played Pebble Beach, all right -- but made a beeline  to the restroom after playing three separate holes. Why? To change into another golf outfit!

They had the caddy take their picture four separate times in that one round, with four different golf backgrounds on the highly recognizable course, and each time they were all wearing different golf outfits.

THEN they boarded a plane for Las Vegas . . . and spent the next three days gambling and carousing, even though those were not specifically wife-approved activities. Not sure if they wound up spending more, or less, money than the planned-upon four rounds at Pebble.

But when they got home, they each had four different golf pix to show their better halves. Yes, they got away with it. Bogey for honesty . . . birdie for ingenuity.

BLACK WALNUT PAIN: AW, NUTS!

My neighbor encourages me to harvest the dropped black walnut shells from around her tree. I take about half, and leave the other half for our fuzzy little squirrel friends.

Have to give two thumbs down for how much it hurts to hand-shell the thick and gooshy outer shell away so that the hard-as-nails inner shell can dry out. Did it in the sink, using mostly my thumbs, and now they are ouchie-oochie. The inner shells are on racks in the basement for two weeks:

Then, when a good football game is on TV, I will crack each one with a hammer, trying my best to avoid the aforementioned thumbs. Then I will snip off remaining hard shell parts with wire cutters. That's how you extract the most lovely black walnut nutmeats. Time-consuming? Certainly. Worth it? Oh, yes.

Black walnuts thus harvested will keep in the freezer for two years. But they will probably last only 'til December. Then it will be time to make my favorite Christmas cookies: black walnuts in the sugar-cookie dough, rolled in powdered sugar, and baked to warm perfection. Mmmmmm! By then, my thumbs will have recovered, too -- I hope.

PEAR SNOW: A TREAT TO HELP YOU PARE DOWN

My neighbor's pear trees had a bumper crop this year. She brought over not one, not two, but FOUR sacks of luscious pears.

It reminded me of this good, light, diet-friendly dessert recipe. Bet I will be making a quadruple batch soon:

Pear Snow

•   5 small pears, peeled and sliced

•   3/4 cup white grape juice or apple juice

•   1/3 cup sugar (use a sugar substitute such as Splenda if you wish)

•   4 tsps. lemon juice

Combine all ingredients in a saucepan. Bring to a boil.

Reduce heat and simmer for 8-10 minutes. Cool slightly.

Pour mixture into a blender. Blend for 1-2 minutes, 'til smooth.

Pour into a pie plate. Cover with a lid or foil. Freeze for about 4 hours or until firm.

Return to the blender for about 30 seconds. Place in individual serving dishes such as glass custard cups. Re-freeze for at least a few more minutes.

Garnish with mint leaves and a maraschino cherry.

Tongue Twisters: Can You Meat Be? I Mean . . . Beat Me?

Try these out. Say them three times in a row. Aloud. Fast. Can you do it? I’m 0-for-3:

            Peggy Babcock

            Soldiers’ shoulders

            Lemon liniment

Of Weirdbeards and Beer

Now I've heard everything: a friend's husband has been ordered to wear a BEARD NET while doing his microbrewery thing, or else. You know, as a hairnet is to a lunch lady in the school cafeteria, a beard net is to a gentleman who brews beer commercially.

The friend is delighted. She hates the beard. She hasn't seen his face for a while, so this is going to be great.

EXCEPT their customers are upset. They say they aren't sure they WANT to drink a microbrew made by a man who DOESN'T have a beard.

I tend to agree.

IRONICALLY FUNNY

Don't know who originated these, or who would admit to it:



The economy is so bad that, I got a pre-declined credit card in the mail.

CEO's are now playing miniature golf.

Exxon-Mobil laid off 25 Congressmen.

Angelina Jolie adopted a child from America.

Motel Six won't leave the light on anymore.

A picture is now only worth 200 words.

They renamed Wall Street "Wal-Mart Street."

Finally, I called the Suicide Hotline. I got a call center in Pakistan and when I told them I was suicidal, they got all excited, and asked if I could drive a truck.

Live, Laugh, Love . . . But What "L"se?

Our teenager and I were in hysterics this afternoon in traffic, following an SUV with a schmaltzy slogan on a cling on the back window. You've seen it:

We thought we could make a lot of money by creating new clings to go along with that one. Each word would start with "L," like the original. They would be in the same flowery typeface, so that people might expect some more sweet thoughts, and would never expect anything else. But these new "L" words might be a bit . . . edgy:

LUST

LEAK

LOP

. . . or:

LOSE

LOLL

LICK

. . . or:


LURE

LOAD

LAG

. . . or maybe not. We can see the copyright invasion problem right now. Another "L" word: LAWSUIT!

Not Iron Man -- Beef Jerky Man

Our teenage daughter is volunteering at a national triathlon in our city this weekend. Yesterday, she spent hours in the welcome tent. She was distributing T-shirts and goodie bags to participants from all over the world.

One triathlete was 75 years old. She said he was "ripped" though very thin, and was very, very tan. While she admired his tenacity for keeping in such great shape at such an advanced age, she said:

"He looked like a piece of beef jerky."

Win a Golf Tournament, Get a Jacket

Mr. Wonderful's recent men's golf stag was a funhouse take on much more famous golf tournaments. For example, you've probably heard of The Masters in Augusta, Ga., one of the worldwide majors. The climax is when the previous year's champion helps the new winner put on a beautiful, classy, green sport jacket.

Well, at this local tournament, the winner of each flight got to come forward and put on a jacket, all right -- but they were all about $3 jobbies from the local thrift shop. My husband's was actually a women's collarless jacket in a jaunty black, white and gray buffalo plaid. He didn't look THIS bad in it, but pretty close:

When Golfers Get Too Frisky: FORE!

Hubby was in a men's stag golf tournament over the weekend that featured one crazy golfer in a Scottish outfit, complete with kilt.

Apparently, he bragged of "going commando" in the underwear department, though mercifully, he didn't try to prove it.

However, it was unwise of the organizers to place the beer coolers in a prominent part of the ballroom for the party afterwards. The kilt wearer manfully strode up to the cooler to get a beer, bent over . . .

. . . and removed alllllllll doubt.

It gave new meaning to the term "highland fling."

Wacky Photo Apps for Kids

A Not-So-Wacky OIympic Torch

Perfect Dish Towel for a Divorcee or Widow

Future Flirting Pro

Grandma, Mom and Dad, and Brian, age 9, were at a restaurant. The waitress was a gorgeous blonde young woman.

When Brian ordered, he asked all kinds of questions about the fish tacos on the menu. She answered kindly. When the food came, he asked for extra salsa, which she brought, and later a go-box, which she provided.

When she came with the bill, Brian brought down the house. He looked at her and said:

"CALL ME!!!"

What We Need to Ban to Stay Safe

The horrible terrorism incident on Bastille Day in Nice, France, has created a worldwide push to ban ASSAULT TRUCKS.

That reminds me -- since the murder "weapon" in the case of Steven Roy Harper in Omaha many years ago was actually a pitcher of lemonade in which he placed poison, I feel we also need to ban ASSAULT LEMONADE.

Then one of the murderers on Death Row in Nebraska drowned a little boy in the bathtub. Naturally, this calls for a worldwide ban on ASSAULT BATHTUBS.

Sheesh. The only BAN I want to hear about is the added DEODORANT under the arms of ISIS terrorists when they hear American bombers overhead. :>)

Arm & Hammer, or Maybe Arm & Pudding

Have been doing a lot of gardening and yard work. My new hobby is feeling my arm muscles with pride and satisfaction.

However, maternal buffness is in the eye of the beholder. One time, years ago, I offered my bicep to Maddy, age 10. "Go ahead. Squeeze!" I expected a proclamation that I was muscle-bound.

Instead, she said, "That feels like pudding in a Target sack."

Back to the drawing board, or perhaps the weight room.