-- I cannot stand L.C. She would be backstage being a diva and throwing tantrums and would abuse the roadies and staff. If you’re as bloody rich as her, why would you be so petty and awful towards others? Listen, I love her music but she’s an asshole.
-- I was on the highway when my tire blew and my cell was out of juice. C.R. and K.K. pulled over to help me. I was floored when I saw who they were! I actually had tickets to their next show! K.K. changed my flat tire while C.R. regaled me with insider stories on who was good and who sucked in the music biz. I’ll love them forever.
-- Hold on. Wait a minute. 3 things, people. My name is Junior and correct me if I’m wrong, but damnit, we’re supposed to tell about celebrities we hate and yet the last person tells how much they love them? This is wrong. But even wronger, you have to name these people! Using initials is a cop out. And last, what’s with all the musicians stuff? Everybody knows musicians are terrible people. Plus, in my opinion, they’re barely celebrities. That’s all I have to say.
-- Me next? Ok, he is an American politician named Chucky (my pet love name for him) who first dated me, then gaslighted me, then ghosted me and now refuses to have anything to do with me. Sure, I called him a liar and a cheat on social media, but then he tried to sue me for doing him wrong, like I was some high school girly who didn’t know how to get what she wants. I notified the press of us going to court and he immediately dropped the lawsuit, even still, is that reason enough to do me like he’s done? I’m not even going to use his initials ‘cause he’ll send some goons to find me. But I hate Chucky the political prick.
-- Can I include my own family members? My name is Christopher and I am 11. My uncle T.T. and my dad J.T. are a comedy team that have been using me as a butt of their jokes as long as I can remember. I hate people laughing at me. Makes me crazy. When I get big enough, I’m going to break both their legs. I have a 35 ounce Barry Bonds bat I’m going to use. It’s heavy. We will see who has the last laugh.
-- My husband, B.K.L. is a professional rugby player and after about his 20th concussion, started being mean to me and the children. We tried to get him help but every doctor told him to stop playing rugby, and of course, he wouldn’t hear of it. If he hits me one more time, I’m going to leave him. As horrible as it is to say, my husband is the celebrity I hate.
-- Jesus Christ! It’s me again, Junior. Hello?! Earlier, I asked you very nicely to give the celebrity’s name but you all continue to be cryptic like it’s some sort of game. Well it’s not! So now you are forcing me to tell a real story about a real celebrity which I didn’t want to do primarily because I don’t want to get sued again. Ahem. George Clooney, that’s right, the real George Clooney, ran me off the road on his motorcycle. I was just hitchhiking on the LA Freeway, as you do, and the bastard came straight for me and veered away at the very last moment. I fell back and could have really hurt myself or maybe worse. He pulls over, parks his bike, a custom made Exile cycle, takes off his half shell helmet and walks back toward me. I recognize him, of course, but he starts out like he’s a cop.
-- There’s no hitchhiking on the LA Freeway.
-- You could have killed me.
-- That would have been unfortunate.
-- You think?
-- You’re hitching at the apex of a curve. You can’t be seen until it’s almost too late. But I see there is no damage done so I will apologize and move on.
(Clooney turns to go back to his bike)
-- Hey wait.
-- What.
-- You never actually apologized. Not really.
-- Sure I did.
-- I don’t remember you saying to me, ‘Sorry kid, almost killed ya there. Almost caused a Hollywood sensation story equaled only by Fatty Arbuckle. Here’s my card, let me know if there is anything else I can do for you, and please, accept my apology for almost killing you in cold blood.’ You remember saying anything like that?
-- No, nor will I ever. I’m glad no one was hurt and there was no accident. My apologies for scaring you.
-- Scaring me?!
-- That’s all that happened.
Calling it a scare, can you believe that? I could have died motherfucker! I have hated that guy ever since.
What a fine collection of anecdotes.
Signed, the Management
August 3, 2026
He was making love to his wife when he saw the bedroom curtains flutter. Gary jumped up and pulled them back to reveal Jasper Luddington, his wife’s former boyfriend and current Dairy Queen employee.
-- Jasper! What are you doing here?
-- I am in love with Lydia. I came to do you in, Gary.
-- Do me in? Is that a knife?!
Jasper lunges at Gary but trips instead on Lydia's rabbit slippers and impales himself on his weapon of destruction, dying almost immediately and getting blood all over the bedroom carpet.
-- Look at this mess! Now we have to change the carpet, Lydia! That’s expensive, you know. Why couldn’t he try to kill me in the garage? Nice linoleum floor. Would have cleaned up easily. Damn.
-- Jasper wasn’t very smart, Gary. He probably never gave a thought to our carpet. But he could make a helluva Blizzard.
-- Yeah, I guess there’s that. But he’s dead now, Lydia.
-- Yeah.
-- No more Blizzards from Jasper.
-- Yeah. He used to give me extra Smarties. So Gary, infidelity doesn’t bother you so much?
-- Look Lydia, the carpet is ruined and Jasper ain’t going anywhere. You want to finish what we were doing?
-- Sure.
-- How long ‘till you think he’ll start smelling? ‘Cause we gotta call the cops before that. Replacing the carpet is one thing but fumigating the house is another.
-- Won’t take but a minute to finish up, right Gary? After all, heh heh, you ain’t no Jasper in bed.
-- What does that mean?
-- I do have to say, you’re taking this very well.
-- What, the dead body in our bedroom?
-- No, the infidelity.
-- Infidelity?
-- Gary! Jasper and I were lovers!
-- You were?
-- Why do you think he was planning on killing you?
-- I dunno.
-- Well that’s why.
-- Huh.
-- Maybe it’s me? Is it me? Am I doing this to myself?
-- So no more Blizzards. That'll take some getting used to.
-- Call the police, Gary. Everything in my life is starting to stink.
When she was 60, she won the state fair blue ribbon for her cucumbers. They were the perfect shade of green, over a foot long and their taste was subtle but sublime. She went to her grave clutching that blue ribbon. For her, it was the emblem of a life well lived. Whereas a loser like Trump will go to his grave clutching nothing. He needs constant fake praise, AI slop and gold spray paint to feel good about himself. But there is never enough because he is a needy simp. In the end he will have nothing but a public deliriously overjoyed at his demise.
August 6, 2026
Overheard two American tourists in the mall.
-- I like it when the guys go play golf. Gives us the afternoon to shop.
-- Now this is what I call a vacation.
-- At first I was a little worried when Larry wanted to come to Canada. Foreign currency, ick. But Canadian money is so easy. It’s all different colors!
-- I like the 30% exchange rate.
-- Yeah, how does that work?
-- Every US dollar is worth a dollar thirty up here.
-- Boy these people must be stupid to think that they are 30% better than America.
-- No, it’s the other way around. We are 30% better than them.
-- I’d say 50 at least.
-- Canada is nice but it’s not nearly on the same level as America.
-- How could they be? I mean-
-- Oh my god! Carol, don’t move!
-- What is it, Sheri?
-- That man has a dog in the mall! There’s a dog in the mall! Oh my god!
-- America would never allow that.
-- I should say not.
August 8, 2026
A government website instituted 2 factor authentication and wrapped it in a terrible interface. I had to wade through page after page just to generate a setup key and then had to use an authenticator on my phone to get the key to work on the desktop website. The randomly generated codes are time limited, created anew every 15 minutes. I was late logging in and it had already revoked my key. Rage. Rage. Page refresh was useless. Had to do the whole damn thing all over again after I tried the 20 digit recovery key that didn’t work. Why do they call it a recovery key if it doesn’t recover?! Sigh. This badly designed portal has stolen every little bit of my patience. Why? Why?
August 9, 2026
I was going to tell you something silly that happened, but right after it, something serious happened that made the silly thing seem superfluous. However, they were connected. It was like a seesaw where one side sits high and silly but the other end is on the ground under a two ton rock that’s neither funny nor cute. So now, if I tell you the silly story, you might get a chuckle but your gaze is fixed on that rock just waiting to be explained. So then I’d have to tell you the serious story and that would change the mood, probably be inappropriate and would blow the silly story out of the water. So I think the best course of action is to forget the whole shebang, say nothing, move on.
August 11, 2026
Which would you rather have, a drought or a flood? A wildfire or a hurricane? An earthquake or a volcano? A tornado or a tsunami? Welcome to 2026, where all things natural are horrible and possible. You do get that we are the canary in the cage, right?
August 12, 2026
What do you do when you finally figure things out but it still doesn’t work?
Take Marty. He has written 14 books. All longhand. Now he has carpel tunnel syndrome and can barely hold a pen. His wife wants a hot tub, his agent wants a new manuscript, his publisher wants their advance back if he doesn’t meet his deadline. He says he’s too old to learn how to use a computer. He says he only knows how to do it one way, the way he’s always done it, writing his books longhand. Depressed, he claimed he was getting writer’s block, but his wife wouldn’t hear of it.
-- There is only one solution, dear.
-- Minnie, the doctor said surgery won’t help. I’m not learning a computer and I refuse to even try to dictate a book to someone.
-- There is still one solution, Marty. You are going to have to learn to write with your left hand.
God bless Minnie! He started practicing right away. He was proficient in a couple of weeks and wrote his next book with his off hand. But it bombed. People could tell it was written left handed and they didn’t like it. Now what?
What do you do when you finally figure things out but it still doesn’t work?
August 13, 2026
Channel surfing. Drat, 3 stations in commercial breaks. Click. Click. Click. Stopped on this 600 pound guy lying in bed with 5 pizza boxes scattered around him. The room was dingy, the bed was filthy and he had drool and tomato sauce on his face, fingers, clothes and bed sheets. The camera slow pans over the filth. Everything about this show was disgusting and disturbing and I felt nauseated just by witnessing it. Click. Next stop is an America’s Cup yacht race where one boat slams into the back of another. Guys were thrown into the water and both boats were towed back to shore. The two captains were screaming at each other from their wrecked vessels while their sponsors cried on the dock. Click. An Italian chef is bantering with the show hosts while they make a dish on camera. At one point the host asks the chef if he’s going to add mushrooms. He blows up. Mushrooms! This is not a mushroom dish! Click. Watch one inning of a baseball game between two teams I don’t care about because my mind keeps drifting back to that absurdly obese dude. At what point does that guy say, All right, I’m going for it! I turned off the TV.
August 14, 2026
He was sitting on a bus stop bench muttering, “Recalibrate, recalibrate.” In his hand was a small curved bone-like object. He would shake the thing and say, “Recalibrate”. A homeless guy who had been sleeping in the bus shelter sat up and took notice.
-- Hey man, whatcha doin’?
-- Recalibrate, recalibrate.
-- What’s that thing in your hand? Why you shake it like a Magic 8 Ball? You know the Magic 8 Ball? Always gave the right answer. Fuckin’ uncanny. Wait, is that a bone? That looks like a bone. Friend, why you shake that bone? Is that some voodoo shit? You don’t look like you’re from ‘round here.
-- Recalibrate, recalibrate.
-- Ok, now we gotta talk about that recalibratin’ thing. I was sleeping here-
-- Recalibrate, recalibrate.
-- What are you doin’, man?! I said I was sleeping! Y’all recalibratin’ and wakin’ me up.
-- Recal-
-- Ok look, maybe you really are a alien and don’t know our ways. Wait, is that a chicken bone? Is that what’s goin’ on here?
The bus pulls up to the shelter. The man gets up and boards. The bus leaves. The homeless guy mutters about inconsiderate recalibratin’ aliens and goes back to sleep.
Some things just defy explanation.
August 15, 2026
She couldn’t remember her PIN. It vexed her every time she wanted to use a credit or debit card. Fed up, she had the 4 numbers tattooed on her. They needed to be in a discrete place, so she chose between her breasts. Then she found out that her bra covered the numbers so she had to start going shopping without one. Then she discovered that she had to pull her shirt down pretty far to see all the numbers but without a bra, she was flashing everybody. Finally, she realized it was a mistake not to print the numbers right side up for her looking down instead of right side up for the tattoo guy. And yet, with all that rigamarole, she still couldn’t remember her PIN. When chips came in and just tapping or swiping the card was enough, she wept with joy. But every boyfriend after that all asked her the same question: What does 3704 mean?
August 16, 2026
They were talking about where they were going to live when he said he wanted to move north to Scandinavia or Canada as he relished the cold and winter sports, while she had been thinking south to maybe Brazil or even Australia as she had always adored the sun and sand. They realized their futures were incompatible. They parted ways. 7 years later they ran into each other on the street. Because she had moved to Tasmania, gotten skin cancer with a terminal diagnosis, she was pale and fragile and unsure. He had only one hand and one foot as he had suffered severe frostbite, gangrene and amputation after falling into a crevasse in Norway. They chatted, caught up, wished each other the best and again, parted ways, both of them thinking to themselves, Whew, dodged a bullet there.
August 17, 2026
He had been partying with his friends, but it was time to go home. He called an Uber. The driver was a beautiful woman named Lola. He got in her car, said goodbye to his friends and was never seen again. Some of the horny hopeful suggested that Lola kidnapped him and made him her sex slave, while others thought that she most likely robbed him and dumped his body down a well, while still others, the optimistic and emotional ones, say the two of them fell madly in love on that ride home, got married and have two darling little ones, the lot of them living the dream we all aspire to and rarely reach. The sensational truth finally came out in 1997. Turns out Lola was an alien recruiter for an interplanetary sex cult and needed one more to fulfill that month’s quota. She abducted him and would eventually dispose of his body down a well, but not before he impregnated Lola and gave her interplanetary twins. So in a way, his friends wild guesses about his disappearance were almost right. Uncanny, eh?
Moral of the story? This isn’t exactly a moral, but bad Uber for hiring alien sex cult recruiters. Is that any way to run a business?
August 18, 2026
Dear Keith,
Hear me out. I am a 10 out of 10. I was born with out of this world looks. Even without makeup, I’m a 10 out of 10. When I crawl out of bed, I’m a 10 out of 10. As you well know, being beautiful can be a double-edged sword. I am stared at all the time by both men and women. It’s like being famous without being famous. Well how useless is that? Sure, I can always get into the clubs, but how shallow is that? People see me and they automatically assume I’m dumb. Can’t be gorgeous AND smart, noooooo... So I have to deal with that all the time. I have admirers, sure, but just as many people are intimidated by my looks or feel inferior or something because I have no real friends. Boys just drool and women want nothing to do with me. Is it a curse? Yes and no. Anyway, I was wondering if you had any comments on the naturally gorgeous?
Signed,
Don’t hate me ‘cause I’m beautiful
Dear Beautiful,
Everyone has their issues. Unfortunately, most cannot relate to yours, thus their curiosity and misunderstandings. But that’s them. I say use your superpower to your advantage. Looks open all the doors. Once inside, find someone that values you for you.
August 19, 2026
I work with people in Los Angeles and New York. They are always asking where I live.
I live here.
August 20, 2026
The CB radio came alive.
-- This here’s Movin’ Mike. Has anybody out there tried to take an 18 wheeler up Harris Road, the one with all the hairpins?
I was driving a friend’s Kenworth loaded with his machine shop equipment, moving it and him (in another truck behind me) to his new shop in northern British Columbia. I have also been up Harris Road in a big rig so I got on the radio.
-- Movin’ Mike, this is Seldom Seen. Going up Harris is doable. Just try and keep some speed as you have a couple of steep sections to climb. But be aware, it’s the coming down that will kill you.
-- Making the hairpin turns?
-- That and the grade. It’s 14% in some sections. You can burn your brakes out. Do they have snow up top already?
-- No, I was told it was dry all the way. I didn’t bring chains. I got to get in and out while the weather is good.
-- What’s your weight?
-- 51,000 on a 53 footer. Mining stuff. Where you off to?
-- Going up to the Bulkley Valley.
-- Pretty country up there. Ok, man, thanks. This is Movin’ Mike movin’ on. Enjoy your drive.
Seven hours later we get up to the town my friend is relocating to. The plan was to drop the trailers at his new yard, sleep at his shop and bobtail the tractors back (it’s a 15 hour drive). On the way down the CB crackled again.
-- Hey bobtail boys, I’m a little heavy, they got any weigh stations up this road?
-- No. Unless the Ministry has portables set up - and we haven’t seen them - you’re good.
-- Thanks. Listen, isn’t Harris Road somewhere around here? You know, where that truck wrecked yesterday?
-- What wreck?
-- Oh man, you didn’t hear? A semi went over the edge and fell a couple hundred feet into a ravine. The rig exploded and caught fire. Driver was killed.
-- (My friend and I both said at the same time) Movin’ Mike.
-- He was hauling mining explosives. Dynamite and shit.
-- Was he going up or coming down?
-- I dunno.
Guess what I thought about the rest of the way home.
August 21, 2026
They named their kid, Google. Google Nietzsche. Every time he had to say his name people thought he was telling them to Google the philosopher Nietzsche. Fed up, at 18 he changed his name to Google Smith. “Much easier,” he said, “now I don’t have to spell Nietzsche all the time.” Wait a minute…
August 22, 2026
Do you realize how much is going on at this moment in the world? Everything is happening all at once. Simultaneously. Right now. Everywhere. At the exact same time. All the people on Earth living separate lives, all the animals on land and the fish in the oceans trying to survive in the same world at the exact same time through changing seasons and a moving, rotating planet. Think about it. We are all doing everything we do, at once, right now, in the present moment. All of us! And it works! ‘Splain that, Ricky.
August 23, 2026
BAD MOVIE DIALOGUE
JULIA
I will kill myself if you don’t let me go with you!
ROLF
Julia, I’m going to see my wife and kids.
You can’t possibly come.
JULIA
I’ll stay in the background, I’ll be real quiet,
nobody will know I’m there.
I have to go with you!
ROLF
It’s out of the question, Julia.
JULIA
What am I to you, Rolf? Just your mistress?
ROLF
That’s exactly what you are.
JULIA
I’m more than that! You make me want to kill myself!
ROLF
Stop being so dramatic.
JULIA
If I can’t have you, maybe nobody gets you.
ROLF
What are you implying, Julia?
JULIA
Who knows, Rolf, maybe I’ll take you with me when I go.
ROLF
Oh, now you’re threatening to kill me. That’s it.
I’m leaving.
JULIA
My blood will be on your hands!
ROLF
Goodbye Julia.
Rolf walks toward the door but Julia runs past him out to Rolf’s car where she hides in the backseat and strangles him 6 minutes later on the highway. They both die together just like Julia wanted and Rolf, not so much.
END OF ACT 1
August 24, 2026
They named their new girl, Flossie. Really? Is it a child, a cow, a cat or a dog? It’s 2026. Flossie? Really?
August 25, 2026
Overheard a tourist at a gas station convenience store.
-- The total was $5.93, right?
-- Yes, sir.
-- And I gave you six Canadian dollars, right?
-- Yes, sir.
-- Then you’re supposed to give me 7 cents change, right?
-- Uh, not really.
-- Not really?! You’re trying to gyp me!
-- No, I’m not.
-- You Canadians are all thieves! You only gave me a nickel. I want the other two cents. Now!
-- I can’t do that.
-- YOU CAN’T DO THAT!
-- We don’t have pennies anymore. I don’t have any way to give you two cents.
-- Well doesn’t that beat all. Legally sanctioned ripping off by the Canadians. A couple of cents here, a few cents there and it adds up to millions! You know what? I don’t want your stupid change. You keep that two cents as your tip, buddy. This country sucks.
-- Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.
-- Look punk, I oughta-
-- If you want to scrap, let’s step outside. We can do it in front of your wife and kids in the car. I’ll even give her directions to the hospital afterward.
Without another word, the tourist exits. In the car he can be seen remonstrating to his wife about the big Canadian ripoff. They eventually leave. What just happened? Other people’s lives.
August 26, 2026
Everybody seems to hate getting older but I like the perspective it provides. I can look back with greater understanding and I can look forward with anticipation for whatever lies ahead at the end. Knowing we all die is the one brilliant certainty afforded in a life of mass uncertainty. We are all making it up as we go along, but we all know it’s terminal. Perhaps that’s what makes living a life tenable?
August 27, 2026
Questions:
Can you get along in today’s world without a cell phone?
When did you realize Brussel sprouts are vile?
If you read a book and loved it, then found out it was written by AI, would you then hate it?
If given a choice between a pickup truck and a Ferrari, would you even consider how much a Ferrari oil change costs?
He started wearing pearls. Everyone laughed. Now it’s a thing for men. Was he ahead of the curve or just another bandwagon follower looking for attention and a bit of glamour?
He was a firm believer that Bluetooth was stealing his thoughts and selling them to the Russians so he refuses to allow it in his house, in his car, on his phone. Look, to be fair, has anybody ever really investigated Bluetooth for stealing thoughts?
If someone’s life was at stake, and eating an entire meatloaf by yourself could save them, would you? Could you?
Some say black is a colour and some say it is the absence of colour. Where do you stand and why?
If you had to pick one way to ruin your life and others, which would it be – a mean alcoholic, an addicted hard core drug user, an inveterate gambler or a gambling, alcoholic, heroin using insurance salesman from the Midwest married to the wrong girl?
If your husband is allergic to nuts, do you feel charmed knowing you have a way to “accidentally” off him if things get bad between you?
If dogs and cats are not among the best things life has to offer, what is?
Left-handed people are a mere 10% of the population. Are these people defective? Should they be removed from the gene pool? Discuss.
What a fine collection of questions. We must do this again.
Signed, the Management
August 28, 2026
In town, he was a well known, well respected man who died suddenly. His family needed to get into his computer to deal with the estate, but no one knew the PIN. They took it to a computer repair shop and asked them to break into the machine. But when the techs got in, they found reams of child porn and a love affair with the right that he had hidden from the outside world. The family was horrified and wanted the computer back in order to dispose of the evidence, but the tech shop was obligated to report this material to the authorities and they did. A scandal ensued. The well respected man was exposed as a duplicitous, heinous, sexual predator. He was shredded as a liar and a monster. His family was lumped in with him and suffered greatly the town’s slings and arrows. There was no public funeral. Flags did not fly at half mast. Instead, they had to erect a fence around his grave to stop the locals from pissing on it.
August 29, 2026
Overheard a man and woman at a party.
-- We just met, right?
-- Uh, yeah. I’m Carl.
-- Carl, I want to ask you a question that none of my students could answer.
-- What’s your name?
-- You’re not listening, Carl. I want to ask you a question that none of my students could answer. It’s Alicia. What do you do?
-- I’m a plumber.
-- Ok, can you tell me, what is the opposite of a cult member?
-- Um, someone who thinks for themselves. People join a cult because they want someone else to do the thinking for them. They willingly give up their own self determination in favor of subordination and devotion to the cult leader and his ideas, whims, predilections, insecurities, weird thoughts and whatever else he decrees. Pretty bullshit tradeoff if you ask me.
-- Very good answer!
-- Gold star?
-- So is MAGA a cult?
-- Oh, without a doubt.
-- Are you sure you’re just a plumber?
-- Are you single?
-- Are you in a cult?
-- I own several, actually. I keep them out of town so as not to affect my plumbing business.
-- So, you are the cult leader?
-- Can’t you tell? My charisma isn’t showing? Really! If I may be so bold: dear Alicia, what’s with the cult thing? You thinking of joining one?
-- God no. We just had parent-teacher meetings and so many of them are MAGAs. It was scary how blindly they followed the orange gasbag. So many of their kids are awful too. Miniature bigots, future racial provocateurs, right wing punks filled with hate for immigrants and people who are different from them. How do you teach them anything? How do you kill a cult?
-- Do away with the leader. The cult falls apart. Unfortunately, new one’s pop up because mankind is stupid, greedy and power hungry. There will always be others.
-- Are you sure you’re just a plumber?
-- Alicia, wanna go out to my truck and make out?
-- I’m afraid, Carl. What if you abduct me for one of your out of town cults?
-- As any good cult leader would say, Oh Alicia, honey, I wouldn’t do that…
-- Sooooo convincing.
-- Is that a yes?
-- Ok.
-- Ha ha, you’re already under my influence!
-- You’re no plumber!
August 30, 2026
Her car payments were overdue. It got repossessed. She had no way to get to work. They fired her for not showing up. She hadn’t paid rent in months and every knock on the door made her fearful of eviction. Needing money and having no car, she took a part-time lifeguard gig at the community center pool down the block. A kid drowned on her watch. She was fired and the family sued. She had no money for a lawyer and went to jail. In jail she was abused by her cellmate Big Lois. It went on for 5 years until she was granted parole. When she walked out of prison she had nowhere to go, no place to live, no job, no car, no money and bad credit. In prison, she at least had a bed, was fed every day and had no need of a job or car. Sure, there was Big Lois but there was also stability. Because one sounded better than the other, she knew she would crime again. And soon.
This isn’t recidivism, it’s something else; perhaps the end result of the absence of a social net.
August 31, 2026
He was from Germany and he thought that Canada was a metric country. Silly man! We are a hybrid country. Some things are metric (temperature, weights, mileage and speed) while others are imperial (all building materials, cooking recipes, property sizes). The German man did not understand imperial measurements and would get easily agitated, blurting out to anybody who would listen, “What is an inch? What is a foot? Ack!” He got so worked up about the measurement mix-ups that he had a rare vacation breakdown. Unable to cope with the hybrid system, they flew him back to Germany and finally, once again surrounded by his familiar, beloved Metric system, he was able to relax. Just to be cautious, his wife put a sign on the front door: Willkommen. Nur bitte keine imperialen Maßeinheiten erwähnen! (Welcome. Just don’t mention imperial measurements!)
Moral of the story: No matter what you love, somewhere, somehow, something's going to break your heart.
