Danny Mac's Blog - Posts Tagged "funny"

Hello everyone,

I recently started a Book Funnel account. I am not sure all of what is happening with it, but I will learn over time. With one promo complete and five more in progress, I am patiently waiting to see if it brings more sales. In the meantime, the more people coming to Book Funnel through my links posted on social media, the more promos become available. Please help me and other authors by visiting Book Funnel for your next venture into fiction.

It is my impression that Book Funnel hosts many authors struggling to sell books. Many of these authors are unknown to the wider book reading population. I encourage everyone to find Book Funnel and search its many books exposing yourself to new authors, like me. I am currently featuring The Six Loves of Jack Brown in five promos with many other authors with some offering an Amazon gift card. Many of them offer special pricing and other incentives.

Did I mention my dog is a Karen? Our previous dog learned new tricks within days. Starting with a treat, repeating the command, and eventually weaning her off the treat. Lucky learns “Last pee-pee” within a week. This gives the dog one last time to relieve herself before bedtime. We hate having to get up in the middle of the night.

A younger Ginger first appears as not very bright. I soon discover she learns things quite fast when it benefits her. Things like, when I pull the plates out of the cupboard for dinner, she jumps and howls to go out on the back porch she masters in two days. She likes the porch to view the world and perchance howl at the neighbor’s dog. However, when it comes to tricks that she sees no immediate benefit to her, she goes full Karen on us.

After nine years, she still refuses to move on “Last pee-pee” command without a cookie. Now that our resident Karen is nine years old, sometimes it takes waving the cookie under her nose before she shows any life. No amount of verbal encouragement works on her and she refuses to move without an edible bribe. She knows what to do and she knows it has the benefit of not waking her in the middle of the night, she refuses to move. Why, because Ginger is a Karen.

Furthermore, last night she gave me the disappointing Karen stare when I didn’t have a second cookie for her. My wife explains she breaks the cookie in half, gives her half to get her up, and the other half after hooking her up to go out. My attempt to please her did not meet her satisfaction and she grumbled at me until she fell asleep again.


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God bless,
Danny Mac

Hello everyone,

Karen Gets into Trouble

A quiet Wednesday afternoon finds me at the computer typing out a new chapter in my next book. The creative juices flowing to my fingers pecking at the keys place the words in a mad fury on the screen. A thousand words mash into a story in one hour. It requires a lot of editing but the basic story fills the page.

We have two burgundy red high-back chairs, a couch, and a loveseat decorating our living room. My wife covers the sofas with a cover easily removed to clean the Ginger colored hair off it periodically. Two matching throw pillows that adorn the sofas fill on the cushions of the red chairs keeping the dog off them and her hair from collecting and redepositing on unsuspecting visitors.

Ginger with her full Karen disposition believes this to be an affront to who she is. It is her right as a Karen to leave her dog hair anywhere she wants it. Furthermore, we peasants living in the house with her should wear her hair proudly wherever we go to show her dominance over us. Guest visiting her home should feel privileged to leave with her mark of orange-red hair all over their clothes.

In fulfilling this mission statement, she wrenches the covers off the sofas several times and prefers sleeping on the red chairs. Well, mom likes spoiling her fur baby but draws the line at her sleeping on the uncovered chairs. Ginger acquires the bright idea to pull the cushions and the throw pillow off the chair and sleep on the floor with them.

I break from writing to see her snoozing comfortably half on the red cushion and half on the throw pillow. “Ohhh, you are going to get into trouble when mom sees what you did.”

“Grrrrrnnnn, Orrrrnnneeerr,” comes back at me.

A couple of minute’s later mom enters the living room to see her beloved dog sitting on the couch staring at the mess on the floor. “Who did this,” she rants glowering at her fur baby.

“Grrrrrnnnn, rrrrrummmm,” in defense of the indefensible.

As mom picks up the cushion and pillow, Ginger waddles her furry butt into the kitchen with a stare declaring it was my fault for not picking up the mess she made. That’s right folks, it was my fault she got into trouble with her mom even though she was the one that broke the rules of mom. I misunderstood her grumbling to me to clean up her mess before mom sees it.

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God bless,
Danny Mac

Hello everyone,

Karen in the Kitchen

My first profession was as a line cook at several restaurants. My best training came under the tutelage of an NYC-trained chef. She was very instrumental in teaching cream sauces, sautéing, and proper seasoning. I learned great skills working with and for Marsha.

Even though I enjoyed my time with her, got yelled at when required, praised when warranted, worked with two other excellent cooks, and never had to wonder what to make. That problem was corrected by the servers in the dining room and they brought me a ticket filling everyone’s wants.

I cook for my family today, the only direction I receive is “I don’t care, I don’t know,” and my favorite, “Food!” I am lucky if they give me a meat to start the menu, let alone the sides. So, I fix what I want to eat unless I hear a suggestion. Most time I go out of my way to make it happen. My wife’s favorite is fettuccine alfredo, but that is very rich and we only have it one or two times per year.

The daily problem I have in my older cooking life is telling our resident Karen I do not need her assistance. For she is the only one in the house that offers to help. Go figure, the only one without opposable thumbs proposes to contribute as she poses as a premier taste-tester of all food. In her Karen-like mind, she sees herself as the savior of the family protecting us from bad food.

She could supervise from the edge of the kitchen waiting for something to drop, but being a Karen of a dog, she forces her furry red head directly in front of me. As I move from stove to refrigerator to countertop, she will forge her ten-inch tongue onto my cutting board for a quick taste. Her puppy trainer told us to step on her and she will learn to stay out of the way. This only works for dogs that are not a Karen. And so, my kitchen dialog includes, “Get out of the kitchen,” repeatedly until I yell at her to get her furry butt out of the kitchen.

Then she pouts the rest of the cooking time while lying in the living room, sometimes in the forbidden red chairs from last week. The echoes of complaints groan throughout the house every five minutes. Then she hears the plate coming out of the cupboard and prances into the kitchen knowing manager mom will soon follow to protect her from me shouting at her.

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God bless,
Danny Mac

Hello everyone,

My daughter dug up a six by twelve foot section of the yard and made a raised garden five years ago. We brought a truckload of dirt to fill the raised bed. We have enjoyed the fruits of her labors over the past few years. This past spring, she wanted more and cleared another equal section to the previous. Then tilled in compost and fill dirt to bring the garden to level with the rest of the yard. She planted tomatoes, jalapenos, and several other vegetables in the upper garden. In the lower one, she wanted some squash and melons.

The garden produced a healthy number of tomatoes and peppers, but their appearance lacked desirability and therefore not really sellable. What do you do when your garden gives you ugly tomatoes, we made salsa. The first batch came out three weeks ago with a little bite to it. For the second batch, we kicked it up with some hotter peppers and even better taste. The third batch made this past Wednesday scored a heat level between the first and the second.

However, this time my wife used a strainer instead of a bowl to hold the peeled tomatoes allowing the clear liquid juice to leak all over the counter. As she deseeded the red orbs, they added to the mess and eventually overflowed the counter.

As the juice dripped from the counter, our four-legged Karen licked up the juices falling from two sides of the counter. What Ginger didn’t count on was the juice to continue to drip as she lapped up the scrumptious people food. By the time we finished dicing the five pounds, her head, ears, and snout shined with sweet clear juice from the butchered tomatoes.

As the diced tomatoes, jalapenos, onion, cilantro, garlic, and other flavors stewed in the pot, Ginger’s head became crusted by the now-drying juices caking her face. Mom laughed at her appearance as I smiled for our Karen really didn’t care.

The salsa simmered for a half hour before ready for canning. The jars settled into the boiling water for five minutes and then on the counter for filling. The boss filled them, and I corrected the level with a teaspoon. She left me to cap, close, and the canned food aligned in the boiling water for twenty minutes.

“Time for a bath,” caused our resident Karen to act surprised and she sought out a hiding spot. Mom being the ultimate manager of the house, pulled out the Kryptonite for Ginger’s Karen antics. With one genuine dog cookie, our resident Karen becomes a fun-loving dog who loves bath time.

Ginger entered the kitchen soaking wet before the salsa crossed over to the counter to cool. She pranced like a queen until she remembered the licking was not complete and started on the legs of the counter. “I already wiped them down!” smarmily out of my mouth. The Karen returned with a disgruntled stare.

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God bless,
Danny Mac

Hello everyone,

In 1993, a girl managed to do what no other girl could and that was to steal my heart closely guarded heart. Between the winter and spring quarters of college, we married in a small chapel with friends and family in attendance. We settled into a small apartment after a brief honeymoon. First day living in our first home, I called her boss. “I am not the boss, we are in this together,” protested out of her mouth.

When we finished the spring quarter with a few more times her objecting to being called boss, my mother invited us over for lunch. Mom prepared sandwiches as we talked about our new life together. My father’s footsteps could be heard echoing throughout the house as he came down from his office. “What’s for lunch, boss?” nonchalantly exits his lips.

My wife stared at me knowing why I called her boss. At that moment she accepted her position of boss in the house knowing it came from a long line of men calling their wives boss.

Fast forward nearly twenty-nine years later, Ginger, our dog, likes looking out the patio window to express her Karen indignation at the neighbor’s dogs, two houses down. Before spotting the desire of her ire, I yelled at her, “What is the rule of looking out the door?” Answering my own question, “Don’t”

“Oorrrnnn-rooo-noooo” or translated to English, “I was doing no such thing and you can’t prove I was.”

“You certainly were searching for a reason to bark your head off.”

“Narnnn, rrrrooooonnn,” which means “I was just looking.”

“Take your furry butt upstairs before you get into trouble.”

She runs off in a huff to see the boss of the house. My wife comes down a couple of minutes later and asks, “Why did you yell at her?”

“First I didn’t yell but spoke firmly. Second, she took a peek out the window to bark at the neighbor dogs.”

“Oorrrnnn-rooo-noooo” came two steps behind mom with a Karen-like smile on her face.

Addressing my four-legged child, “So, you went and complained to the boss telling her lies hoping to get me in trouble?”

Even our dog knows who the boss in our house is.


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God bless,
Danny Mac

Hello everyone,

Sorry for the brevity of this week’s blog, I am fighting a head cold and as I approach sixty-four years old; it becomes more draining with each year.

It was nine years ago we picked Ginger from the shelter not knowing her breed. She appeared somewhat hyper, but it was the prison-like environment we supposed. We took her and our daughter to obedience classes for the betterment of both. The daughter excelled and learned a lot. Ginger being the super-hyper type didn’t fare as well.

Ginger slept with me and mom in our room. The first movement in the morning brought the bouncing puppy onto the bed to play hop on pop. Mom rose first and the crazy dog rolled, jumped, and then pounced on me until I rubbed her head as she demanded. The sink water ran, and Ginger gathered by the door for breakfast. After they left the room, I could rise without being scratched and scraped by over-anxious claws.

The years pass and Ginger’s chin transforms from a cayenne orange to a salty white. Her bouncing personality transforms from a hyper-spry dog to a Karen-like demeanor. Our morning routine changes from a pouncing puppy to a grumbling old dog complaining we are disturbing her sleep. Instead of hearing whimpers of excitement to start the day, a low toned, “Gooorrrrnnnnn,” and “Grrrruuummm,” fills the room because we chose to move in the morning. As the autumn morning sun peers into our windows after we rise in the morning, the darkness echoes the discomfort as we start the day. Don’t disturb a Karen from her sleep, even if the Karen is your family dog.

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God bless,
Danny Mac

Hello everyone,

While reading last week’s post, Ginger nodded happily along as my writing carried her voice. When finished she gave me the look, “Is that it!” Apparently, she had more to say. Here is the latest from Queen Ginger and the karen of all she can see.

Dad is unfair, but he gives me the best head scratches. His nails kneed deeply into my skull messaging bliss causing my eyes to roll up into my head. However, he only does it once or twice a day. As the euphoric sensation commences, he stops, literally, like two seconds into it. Mom says, “You had your two minutes of loving, now it’s my turn.”

Last week, dad tattled, “Ginger tried to sit on the red chair.” Mom raced down to see the couch cushions still protecting the chair. Dad lied to her by stating, “Ginger was trying to knock the cushion off the chair.” Yet, the cushion remained on the chair. Without a hint of proof, this man lied on me to mom. The truth was, I tried to fix it because it was crooked and my Judas of a mother scolded me on dad’s word.

The worse of the worst came this week when dad took mom out of the house for the whole day leaving me sad, alone, and heartbroken. They pranced in the door smiling and carefree knowing I nearly starved to death in their absence. Meeting mom with my usual friendly greeting to see her home safe and sound from her long exodus, “Ginger relax, we were gone only an hour,” uncaringly rang from her mouth.

Then I notice they brought back gyros for the family. Sister reached into the bag for her gyro and tzatziki. Then mom pulled out one and opened it. Dad stepped between to obtain his gyro while mom and sister played with their food. Not wanting to be left out, gently squeezed between mom and dad to reach mine. I tenderly grazed dad’s arm to reach the open sandwich on the counter when he screams, “AAAAHHHH!” making me and mom jump.

The taste of the delicious gyro meat falls from my tongue in fear of this tyrant scream. I ran under the dining table to see the piece of meat I dropped on the floor with tomato bits and a little sauce. Mom knows the truth, “That’s my fault for not paying attention.” Dad growls at me, yes literally growls at me. Then says, “You know you are not allowed on the counters.” No one knew there was a second insy-weency piece of meat behind mom and that is what a half-starved dog received for lunch.

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God bless,
Danny Mac

Happy Friday Everyone,

Home is where dog hair sticks to everything but the dog!

This past week proved to be mostly quiet with a couple of karen moments. There were two that stood out in my mind. The first was last Sunday when I let her out for the umpteenth time in the afternoon. Where the sun filled the day in the morning, clouds crept across the sky just after lunch. Around three, the familiar sound of clang waffled through the house as Ginger decide ten minutes in the house was a sufficient respite from the joys of lingering outside.

Barely sat down again, when the hectic scratching came from her door. With a moan and a grumble of my own, I drew myself out of the recliner. Walking through the utility room to her door I heard complaints in a tone that would make a sailor blush. “I’m coming” trying to appease the karen within our dog.

Ginger barged through as the door opens. I spied several raindrops painting the stepping stones like abstract expressionist art. Still moaning about me leaving her outside during a monsoon Ginger groans dramatically at me.

At least twice a day, I found myself chasing after her to stop the tirade at the neighbor’s dog, some random truck, or unseen forces of evil in her mind. The front moved through during the evening with plenty of rain. Monday morning clouds gave way to afternoon sunshine albeit a bit cooler. Ginger sunned herself all afternoon in twenty minutes increments.

As the sun settled over the tree-lined western sky, she wanted out again. I marveled over the fact not once did she karen over something today. A whole day without screeching at some innocent soul for merely being within her eyesight. This lasted about three steps when “Aaarrrroooorrraaarrooo” muffled into the house. One fat old spin later, I opened her door to see her stretched to the furthest point of the leash howling at the two dogs, two doors down.

It was a quiet day for she did not bark at anything all day long from the inside or outside the house. Of course, in the mind of a karen, this could not happen. The prohibition on irrational howling brought on by the day had to stop. She found her self-righteous indignation just before the sun settled making it nearly impossible to achieve her dominance over the neighborhood.

Ginger, please give me one day without howling at the world.

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God bless,
Danny Mac

Happy Friday Everyone,

Our old dog is trying to change the rules to mom bringing her a banana treat every morning. So far, Mom has resisted the idea with a sing-song chant ba-na-na to entice her dog downstairs. I read the story to Ginger last week and sounding like Mark Twain, she karen-groans, lies, and damn lies! So, this week I offered to express her many complaints in her karen voice.

Dad gossips about me from his twisted point of view. His falsehoods cover inaccuracies to outright untruths. However, his unfairness accelerated to a new level in its treatment of me, the ever-faithful family protector, comforter, and head of the house. Let me spread the truth regarding his deceiving role in the house.

The other day, this tyrant of a man screams uncontrollably at me to get my “Fat Furry Butt” out of the kitchen. This is from a man who is one donut shy of playing the Stay Puft Marshmallow Boy. Here I am serving the family for ten years at the same weight as when I was a spry young puppy, and he has the nerve to call me fat.

During last week’s wind storm, the neighbor releases a box to attack us. This box creeps suddenly and incrementally towards our house. At times, it flies high into the air in preparation for a frontal assault against the house. My first response is to let out a warning yelp to caution my family in the house. Then I start my strategic scaring howls to keep the hideous instrument of destruction away from our yard.

Dad, in his infinite gullibility, comes out and laughs at my protective baying. “It’s a little box. Why are you carrying on like that?” as he grabs my leash and leads me back into the house. He doesn’t understand the power of devastation the box of that magnitude has in tearing down our house.

As spring brings more sunshine, Mom opens the blinds on the bedroom window. This allows me to survey the neighborhood with an elevated view to spot danger and potential crises effecting my family. The two shady dogs down the street pretending to play when they are really planning our demise are my main point of concern.

Occasionally, when their plans of torture become quite troubling, I will politely remind the people of my house of their threat by giving a cultured bark. Dad yells at me to stop and then closes the blinds and maneuvers the louvers to eliminate my sightline to the peril. He has no respect for my position in the house.

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God bless,
Danny Mac

Happy Friday Everyone,

Well, Ginger played one of her old tricks today. It’s called Ding-Dong Ditch karen style. Ginger banged on her door to come in the house. I crawled out of my chair and lumbered to the door. With the squeal of the old hinges the door opened in time to see her run away from the house to check something else to do. “Really,” I exacerbated.

In return, Ginger gave me the “pity the fool,” look to her peon peasant serving her every need.

I received the cold furry shoulder on Tuesday and it was not my fault. Mom and sister took to gardening just after lunch. Mom refused to let Ginger onto the porch because the faux wood deck became excessively hot in the high summer sun and it gets too hot for her tender little paws. Ginger stood at the screen moaning her complaints to me working on book number six.

It started as a soft grumble then intensified into loud groans of displeasure. “Mom said no,” was my objection, which was met by a side-eye curse as if to call me lazy and worthless. Then long sorrowful moans from the pain of being locked inside with grumpy old dad. Her cries of loneliness went unheard by the women working in the garden as the pitiful whimpers affected my writing.

“I can let you out on your leash,” I encouraged her in that direction. However, our resident karen had her heart set on the deck and any alternative was an insult to her and her self-appointed status in the house. The rest of the day I asked, “How are you doing,” or “Do you want a butt scratching?” It was met with her walking away still complaining of me not letting her out to supervise from the vantage point of the deck.

At bedtime, “Goodnight Ginger,” in an attempt to make up with her is met with, “mmmrrrrnnnn” in a low slow tone showing no forgiveness.

So when my sixth book comes out, don’t be surprised that chapter twenty seems darker than the rest of my writing since I endured grunts of disparagement at me, my writing, and my lowly status beneath Queen Ginger.

I finished reviewing the edits on Sunday and sent book 5, The Devil’s Dragon, back to the editor to find the last of those pesky grammar errors. It is due back in early June and then comes the process of designing a cover.

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God bless,
Danny Mac