Topic: Bernie Bates – Bee in the Bonnet

Shopping is like any other ruthless, repulsive, destructive habit, and furthermore, I think it should be regulated and policed. Anyone caught with more than they need in their shopping carts should face the fact that they may be a shop-o-holic!

As you may have already surmised I’m the poor husband of an admitted binge shopper. My misfortunate wife can’t pass up a deal, no more than an alcoholic can say no to a happy hour.

Much to my wife’s dismay; here’s a story that I like to tell to other husbands about my wife’s need for speed in the aisle-ways and buy-ways of stores everywhere.

There was this mighty shopper who could hunt down and slash the best prices. She could smell a deal from across the food court. Store owners clambered for her attention with sales, discounts and bargain bins. She was the reason they created the sacred day of: Dollar forty-nine day, Tuesday.

The truth is every Saturday without fail my lady love would head to the local shopping center. Then one weekend she felt a little under the weather and decided not to hit the tills for her thrills – that’s when the phone rang.

“Hello”, I said, the other person stuttered “Oh, ah, excuse me, wrong number.” Then they hung up – but I didn’t.

Holding the phone I pretended to listen intently, followed by the occasional, yes, yes, I got it. And with every passing second my wife’s curiosity grew and grew. “Who is it? Who’s on the phone?”

I finally said, “yes I’ll tell her.” Tell me what she exclaimed. With a serious look on my face I told her: “It’s Wal-mart, they’re wondering where the hell you’re at.”

Now I know I’m going to catch it from every woman who reads between these lines. But most men just don’t get the exhilaration most women seem to get from shopping, browsing and wondering aimlessly for hours at a time. I know for myself, I could walk into a store and pick up a loaf of bread, pay for it, drive home and toast it before most women could even get their shopping cart into the bakery isle.

On the twenty-forth day of December I like to go to the malls just to watch men scramble from one counter to another. They’ll grab something look at it and you can tell that they’re trying to match it with someone who’s on they’re list. A complete look of panic, stress and exasperation is written all over their faces – it’s like watching a fuse burning down before it goes boom.

As much as I dislike the chore of shopping; I like clean new clothes, enjoy fresh food and appreciate pillowy softness.

As I look around my home I realize how lucky I am to have a shopper-spouse. In these tough economic times every dollar counts. Just like the food chain in the wild kingdom; shoppers are an essential link in the evolution of business. If a product doesn’t sell, the company goes out of business, and the employees will lose their jobs.

Alcoholics can attend AA meetings drug users have rehabilitation centers even crazy people have safe padded institutes. If a man gets too drunk in a bar they’ll tell him that he’s had enough to drink, and then they’ll ask him to leave – so why isn’t there a shop-therapist or burly buying-bouncer at every mall?

THE END

Bernie Bates is a writer and an artist Email him at: beeinthebonnet@shaw.ca

Can you imagine being imprisoned, brainwashed, beaten and threatened with the devil’s a pitchfork? I’m not talking about a poor criminal being tortured in some third world country – I’m talking about an eleven year old boy – me.

I hated getting up early on Sunday morning to attend church services. Half asleep and bound in tight ill fitting clothes I sat there as some old man tried to bore me to death. Stand up, sit down and kneel before the image of a dead man hung on a cross. It all had an effect on my young mind; religion scared the crap out of me and the Indian residential school system made me feel uncertain of myself and fearful to the point of cowardice.

Even though I’d walked away from the church I still had a healthy respect for the man upstairs. I was positive that he controlled everything on this planet and I was instilled with a fear that he’d strike me down if I were to utter GD or OMFG.

As the years passed I began to question the existence of god, hell and female nymphomaniacs.

Scientific proof began to take over my thought processes and it wasn’t long before I seen the light (which travels at 250,792,458 meters per second).

When I was a little boy some holy-roller told me that the almighty knew all and seen all. I’m glad he was just blowing balloon juice – I’d hate to think there was some mystical pervert watching over me as I slept.

Another thing that bothered me about the existence of god(s) was how each side, in every war, always proclaimed that god was on their side. How could a supposedly merciful and loving god let fools kill each other in his (or her) name, and which side is he really on?

Speaking of humor; I think that Ha Ha will be the true savior of mankind. If we humans can share a good laugh we have a much better chance of defeating hatred and intolerance.

How can thy fight with thou neighbor if thou are joking around?

It doesn’t matter to me what color your skin is, if you’re a homosexual or even if you believe in god. In fact I have a cousin who is brown, gay and attends church regularly – and that man is one of the nicest people I know – may his god love him!

All I can say is live and learn. And the most important lesson I’ve ever learned right from wrong. So as I ride off into my golden years I have no problem with people knowing that I’m a scientific atheist. It just feels right to me, and if you feel that I’m wrong, just don’t hate me for it.

So, just how does a reformed bad-ass atheist come to share laughs and breakfast with a bunch of little old church ladies? Even after I told them how I felt about religion; these beautiful people were wise enough to know that it didn’t matter. They didn’t try to preach, teach or scold me. What they did next was more impressive than any televised evangelist could ever do – they invited me to join them every Sunday after church for breakfast and b***s**t.

Bless their little old souls!

THE END

Bernie Bates is a writer and an artist Email him at: beeinthebonnet@shaw.ca

You’ve heard it said that one man’s trash is another man’s treasure? Then I’m sure we can all agree that these were two very different types of men; one tossed it out because of its imperfections and the other man took it in and loved it for the rest of his life.

And therein is the answer to whether something is pornographic or not. Where do you draw a line in the sand? ISIS will stone a woman for showing way too much of her curvy, sweet sexy ankles; at the same time another religious zealot in Rome pays young girls to show him their curvy, sweet sexy ankles. One of them gets off by demeaning women and the other jerk just gets off.

But just to be fair, women too like to get their groove on. After all sex is how we all got here, except that Jesus guy, and if you believe that Adam and Eve, then you’re just too naive for words.

Sex makes the world go around. Birds do it even this Bee in the Bonnet writer does it. Your mom does it and your dad likes it – so get over it already – sex happens.

Getting back to pornography, porno better known today as porn – my guess is that sometime in the future it will simply be referred to as P – whatever it’s called it makes trillions with a capital T. No pun intended; but there are some big bucks to be made in sex.

P isn’t just a recent thing either, although bringing the internet into the privacy of your home was a huge reason it grew so big so fast. P has been around for a very long time – I’m sure there was some monkey who drew something rude in the sand and his buddies went wild until the momma monkey walked in.

As a writer, I think that research is the key to getting things straight, and I intended to get to the bottom of this subject. So I whipped out my keyboard, and had barley pounded out the word porn when my computer blew up like a Vegas slot machine. Not only are there way too many sights to see there are way too many kinds of kinks; from bald head fetishes to toe kissing, and every orifice in between, from the very young to the very old, and in every shape, size and color.

The sex industry is growing in leaps and bounds, and the money that some of these ladies demand is amazing. It’s no wonder both men and women flocking to P. What other job can you name where you don’t need an education, the hours are as flexible as you are, make big bucks and as an added bonus you get to do something that you love – over and over again – until your eyes roll into the back of your head?

Even though sex is the oldest profession in the world, and there was supposedly a sexual revolution back in ’69 – very little progress has been made. Women are still exploited, beaten, rated and berated like a dog. I attribute these hindrances to little old men with very little foresight, very little insight and very little else.

I hope that one day there will be such a thing as make love not war.

THE END

Please feel free to contact Bernie Bates at: beeinthebonnet@shaw.ca

As a humorist I look for the punch line in any given scenario. I tend to walk on the sunny side of the street, look for the silver lining and live by the motto: tomorrow’s a new day. Today it dawned on me – I’m beginning to wake up and smell the coffee – I’m beginning to think that yesterday’s jokes could be tomorrow’s ironic epitaph.

Only a short time ago any rational human being would have laughed at the thought that Donald J. Trump could become the President. We all thought that it was impossible, a big joke, we all thought he’d fizzle like a snowball in hell – well as sure as climate change is real – the great white hope is ahead in the polls.

Sometimes the long shot comes in.

“Ah, but we Canadians, ain’t got nothin’ to worry about, eh? We have Justin to look out for us. He’ll stand up to Trump, as sure as snowballs fizzle in hell!”

This made me ponder what other things have I joked about – things that I thought were impossible – what other snowballs have I under estimated?

In a single life time climate change has proved itself to be real. With a stunned look on my face I couldn’t believe my ears when Global TV meteorologist Mark Madryga, announced that the temperature at the north-pole rose above freezing one day this past winter – and I’m not joking. It’s no laughing matter.

In a single life time, economic prosperity just meant that you could take care of your own family and still afford a summer vacation. Today our livelihoods are dependent upon a global economy.

Take this as an example; it was once thought that if a toy’s label read MADE IN CHINA, that it was a cheap piece of crap. Today, our children’s toys are battery powered computers with labels that read MADE IN CHINA.

Somebody’s laughing all the way to the bank.

In a single life time, the news of a murder went from a big deal to no big deal – life is becoming cheaper. I wonder what a life is worth these days in North Korea. How many lives would Vladimir ‘The land grabber’ Putin, put on the frontline to save his image? What other jokers should we worry about – the Taliban, ISIS or Al-Qaeda – and who’s in bed with who? Do the Ayatollah Ali Khameuel and Kim Jung-un have a back door deal?

To tell the truth, at the beginning of the Canuck campaign, I chuckled at Justin P. J. Trudeau’s chances of becoming the next Prime Minister of Canada. I laughed out loud at Kim Jung-un’s cartoonish appearance and the jokes practically wrote themselves with every foot-in-mouth speech trumpeted by Mr. Trump – but what happens if the stars aligned and the long shot won?

I feel like the clown who’s laughing on the outside, but inside he’s so scared he’s pooping in his big clown shoes.

In my twisted witty brain I picture it unfolding like a James Bond movie; a clean cut man with nice hair finds himself in a bad part of town. A German Fraulein is tending bar, in the backroom a game of Russian roulette is taking place – with a real Russian, an American gambler, an Asian misfit, a sweaty terrorist and a Canadian who’s just looking for the men’s room.

THE END

Please feel free to contact Bernie Bates at: beeinthebonnet@shaw.ca

Ma turns to Pa and says, “All you see on TV today is sex and violence. It makes a person wonder, what in the hell is this world coming to?”

The short answer is better coverage. With the help of instant communication devices and James Earl Jones’ CNN, we are caught up in a web of sensational news.

Moments after shots are fired we hear the reports. The only filter offered is when a commentator says, “The video you are about to see is graphic and may not be suitable for young children.” Then before junior can close his eyes the TV splashes the image of some poor soul getting splashed like a bug on a windshield.

There was a time that it would take days to deliver bad news to the public. Then along came the advent of cars, trains and automobiles. Leap forward to today where every network is vying for your ears, eyes and dollars.

There was a time at the turn of the century when the dime store novel was all the rage. People in the east could read about the Wild West. Soon there were rival publications vying for those dimes. So they created things like the fastest gun in the west, damsels in distress and the red skinned savages.

Bang. Bang, you’re dead.

The one-ups-man ship is still with us today. The more gore the better the ratings are – and we’re the ones to blame – we eat that stuff up under the guise of being an informed individual. But in my opinion, we’re still looking for the dime store thrill of Bang. Bang. You’re dead. The only difference is the savages of today are religious extremists.

Have we become so numb to the nightly news that death has just become a sidebar to the latest sports and tomorrow’s weather?

Ask yourself whether the weather is more important to you than a bomb in Bagdad?

Pa turns to Ma and says: “Ah let those nuts kill each other. We should bomb them all.” The truth is Pa didn’t say that, it came from a store manager whom I considered to be a descent, educated individual – as it turns out he was the savage.

Pa, isn’t the only person I’ve heard rant and chant death to them all! When I hear such bravado it makes me think that the word ‘mankind’ is an oxymoron and those who spout hatred are just plain old morons.

How do ordinary Canucks, here in good old peaceful Canada, get so riled up? Is it because we hate injustice and have such great empathy for our fellow man that we are willing to kill a few fellow men just to prove it? Is it because we, holier than thou, see it as us versus them or are we being whipped into a frenzy by television’s fast breaking news events, the repetitive rehashing of a story and slick packaging?

Here’s a bit of good news; this war will pass into history just like all the wars before them.

Not that long ago the world hated Huns, Nips and red skinned savages. Today Germans, Japanese and First Nations people are seen as allies that live in relative peace.

With so much violence on TV what are Ma and Pa going to watch? All that’s left is reality TV, info-commercials and sex.

THE END

Please feel free to contact Bernie Bates at: beeinthebonnet@shaw.ca

“Call it in the air: heads or tails?” That’ll be your fate, right? Or do we even have a choice in the great scheme of things?

These and other questions can be found in the back of your mind. We’ve all pondered the end of life as we know it.

What event will it take to pull the trigger on all out war? Will it be terrorism, an economic tsunami or maybe another cyber attack on Sony – or worse – The Simpsons?

Have you prepared for the poop storm that’s coming our way? The reason I’m asking is because the stars, in my opinion, are beginning to align, and I’m not referring to comets, meteors and asteroids – Oh, my!

The price of gas is falling faster than road-apples from an Arabian stud, at a time when certain oil producers can ill afford it – countries like Iraq, Syria and Russia. I’m sure that Ali Baba and the forty wives will be able to ride out the aforementioned storm in complete comfort, but what about the rest of them?

Now ask the voice in your head: if there is a loser in this game, then who’s the winner?

Are you feeling like a disposable pawn, yet?

It is widely known in coffee shops everywhere that Russia is built on corruption, like a pyramid of cards, and it’s all about to come crashing down. I’m willing to bet my butt that Mr. Putin is hurting and feeling the squeeze. I’ll also throw this into the pot; at the very least I think he’ll try to bluff his way out by threatening war in the Ukraine. I’ll also re-raise my bet that he’s not above playing Russian roulette with the lives of his fellow comrades.

Look at it this way; pretend that you’re in a high stakes poker game with the mafia, and you’re holding a mitt full of sh*t. You’ve just bet more than you can afford, you shove all in, and try to bluff. But they call – what do you do then?

I’m sure that Mr. Putin has seen the videos of what happened to Gaddafi, Saddam and Osama. As I see it his only other move is to kick the table over and make a break for the back door, and hope that some country is willing to harbor him and his billions.

I wonder if Las Vegas is giving odds on whether or not Putin will land on his head or his tail.

Then there are the wild cards: Isis, Kim Jong-un and a bunch of nuclear powered clerics who aren’t dealing with a full deck. Not to mention an outgoing American President who would love to dump this world wide chess mess in the laps of a Republican House of Representatives and senate.

“Well played, Mr. Obama. Well played.” Is that how historians will one day praise him or will they just shuffle him off as being politically lucky?

Speaking of luck, how’s yours? If you happen to work in the frozen wastelands of northern Alberta, you’ll be a lucky ace to draw a paycheck in the coming year.

I know it’s only a penny ante game to the big oil boys, but the falling gas prices make me feel like the prince of pumps, king of the road and a joker who’s laughing all the way to the bank.

Check mate!

THE END

Please feel free to contact Bernie Bates at: beeinthebonnet@shaw.ca

Summer is almost here, and so too is the need to drive. Get your car shined up, gas up and giddy-up.

GAS UP BEFORE GAS GOES UP – Bernie Bates

Only a short time ago the price of gas was cheaper than day old bread, but with the road trip season coming up, it will take a lot more bread to get down the road. It’s almost as if gas prices are being fixed to coincide with driving season.

I keep telling myself that one of these days there will be a big government announcement: ‘New car uses poop as fuel’. Just think of how symbiotic it would be? We could enjoy a good meal and recycle it on the way back to the grocery store.

I wonder what will power our cars in the future? Will it be batteries, cold fusion or grease from Mickey Ds? There’s a fortune to be made for a smart cookie who is cleaver enough to stop that from happening. I’m sure that the last thing that OPEC wants is for some egghead to discover free energy by mixing sweat, Red Bull and hand cream.

You can mark my words that one day soon we humans will wise up and stop using fossil fuels. Oil spills, smog and vapor trails in the sky will be things of the past. The reason for my optimism is because human nature, like nature itself, will evolve, heal and grow.

This third rock from the sun has been shot repeatedly, suffered extreme heat and ice ages. In only a blink of time man/womankind has climbed out of the trees and is now reaching for the stars. We’ve honed our skills through war and our need to provide a better life for our offspring.

Even a few generations ago our forefathers had to walk to school then our grandfathers drove off to college and now the answers to life’s questions are at our children’s fingertips and a click away. As the old hippy saying goes: “Far out, man!”

You know what’s even more far out, man/woman? Cars are also evolving right along with us. Today’s cars have blind spot alerts, rearview cameras, voice command systems, and this is just the beginning. Soon cars will become automatic, autonomous and anatomically correct for your butt size.

In the not so distant future the sound of a roaring motor will just be as foreign to our offspring as the whistle of a steam engine is to us. The smell of gasoline and burning rubber will only exist in museums and in the memories of old men in old folk’s homes.

Then again – before I make all you gear-heads cry – tomorrow’s personal transportation vehicles will be more powerful than any grease-monkey could have ever imagined.

I’m sure that our ever increasing need for speed and humanities desire to catch up with time will lead to some amazing machines. Just imagine hopping into your very own hotrod and zipping off to New York for pizza – in thirty minutes or less?

But, back to today’s reality and that gas sucking, four wheeled money pit in your driveway. Only our sex drive is more expensive than our love affair with the automobile. First there is the original price tag then maintenance, insurance, cleaning, tires and fuel. The only upside is that you can always get a new model.

THE END

Please feel free to contact Bernie Bates at: beeinthebonnet@shaw.ca

As some of my readers may know, I’m a wise old Indian – well I’m at least two of those things.

All three of these personal stats have given me a very unique prospective on life. The first thing we should talk about is the Indian in the room – it wasn’t easy growing up being brown.

OLD NATIVE PREDICTS EARLY SPRING – Bernie Bates

If the priests didn’t get you, it was the red-necks trying to get with your sister, and don’t get me started on those wild cowboys.

From time to time I’ll meet an uninformed member of society, who begins to rant about how good the government treats us “Injuns.”

Just for the shock value I pretend to agree with them: “You’re right, it’s not fair! The government gave us free land to live on, taught us the missionary’s possession and offered us all of the tax free cigarettes we could smoke – what’s not to love?”

I never tell these numb noggins the truth because it’s just easier to let them live on Rumor street, Bliss city in the state of Denial. As we all know facts and fools are like mixing oil and water. If I do take the time to calmly explain the truth to this type of person, it’s like telling a charging pit bull to sit, stay and roll over.

Then there are the enlightened hippie types who just want to hug me and express their sorrow for what their great, great, great grandfather did to me. These sad, remorseful folk say things like oh you poor, poor man – but they’ve never once given me any money?

Age has given me the ability to laugh at being brown. There was a time when I would have gone on the warpath with the feeble minded, fork tongued pale faces. But times have changed over my many moons of a life.

A good gage of how things have changed over the years is by noting the names we’ve been called. It has evolved from: “the only good Injun is a dead Injun” to “I’m proud to be part Native on my great, great, great grandmother’s side.”

Over time people have progressed from calling us godless heathens, to Injuns to the less derogatory greeting of, “Eh, chief.” Then more politically correct names like Indians, Natives to First Nations people. It makes me wonder what they’ll call us in the future.

Over time society has started to take a second look at the heathen’s way of life and how they used to live in harmony with nature. Instead of nuclear powered electricity, indigenous people used the nuclear powered sun for their light source. Natives used local plants and animals instead of trucking in loads of expensive beads and trinkets from far off lands – and water came from clean, clear creeks.

Personally, I hope Natives reconnect with the land and once again begin to understand mother earth’s secrets. For example: moss only grows on the north side of a tree, in case you get lost. If you want to start a fire, dry grass is just under the snow and mating season happens only once a year. Well, at least two out of three are worth noting.

I’ve also noted over my lifetime that winters have changed. If things continue at this rate spring will arrive after a very cold autumn.

THE END

Please feel free to contact Bernie Bates at: beeinthebonnet@shaw.ca

It is said that youth is wasted on the young – but what if you’re young at heart?

Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you that I sure don’t act my age. I love to joke around, horse around and as fidgety as a kid who needs to pee.

Some folks are quite happy to stand around, lay around or be home bound – but not me. The lure of what’s around the next corner tugs at my very nature. The horizon beckons me like a moth to a porch light.

I’m also a people person. I love to watch people as they stroll by, and in my mind I try to imagine what type of person they are. You can tell a lot about Joe or Jane Doe just by the way they carry themselves, their expression or the cloths on their back. I’ll wager that you too have played this game of guessing who’s who.

On the other hand, just like you should never judge a book by its cover, you should never assume what’s in the hearts and minds of others. Let’s say you notice a white haired lady who is dressed to the nines and wearing a snooty scowl on her face, would you ask her how old she is? How about a burly man with tattoos, would you ask him not to curse in front of your lady? And of the two, who do you think would be more likely b*tch slap you?

I’ve been in sales most of my life, and I’d like to think that I can read people pretty well. To be successful in the sales game you have to be able to read a person within a heartbeat of meeting them. Their face, body and voice will have certain ‘tells’ that will tell you their mood and how you should interact with them. Some white haired old ladies may like to be teased with naughty innuendos. Then you might meet some big gruff, tough guy who won’t even tolerate the word poop to be said in his presents.

My wise old uncle once said to me: “it’s better to sit quietly and be thought a fool, than it is to stand up and open your mouth and prove it.” Its words of wisdom like this, that are passed down from generation to generation. Even animals teach their young what they can eat and what can eat them.

Throughout the ages every family has passed down knowledge so that their offspring won’t have to suffer the same hard lessons that they did. Take for instance a man who works at a menial job from dawn to dusk – he wants his children to get an education so that they may have an easier life. Most soldiers don’t want their children to face bullets and bombs – so that they may have a life. I don’t know about you but I’d rather make love than be shot at.

If the National Rifle Association lobbyist had their way every person on the planet would own an assault rifle – yet mental health is a low priority in our halls of government. It makes about as much sense as issuing drivers licenses to blind people.

It would seem that the only lesson The NRA and Islamic radicals have learned is: Shot first and ask questions later.

THE END

Please feel free to email Bernie Bates at [beeinthebonnet@shaw.ca].

My dad would get drunk and smack my mom in the face. He’d scream at her, then turn to us kids and tell us to go to bed.

I felt so damned helpless to see her slumped on the floor bleeding. I can still see it in my mind’s eye – it’s something that all the tears in the world can’t wash away.

To this day I cringe at violence, loud voices and confrontation.

Then one day dad hit my mom in front of a real man. The man quickly grabbed my dad’s arm and put him to the ground. Then he began to scream and curse at my father.

I learned a lesson that day: stay and fight or be damned to live in fear.

Here’s my question to you; where do you draw the line? What would you do if you were confronted with a scene of violence against a woman? How about a child or an animal?

Would you, as they say: “man up”?

We see it happing every night on the six o’clock news – with film at eleven!

Yet, John Doe turns to Jane, on the couch and sighs. “That’s terrible! Why doesn’t somebody do something?”

I know there is only so much one person can do. Plus, how does one get started? Where do I go, and who has the time anyways?

All good points to consider before you stick your neck out, speak out and stand out from the crowd.

There’s a quote that comes to mind. “First they came for the Jews” – Pastor Niemoller. Mr. Niemoller, didn’t speak up when the Nazis tried to bully the world. He also laments that when the Nazis came for him, there was no one left to speak on his behalf.

While I’m on the subject of notable, historical quotes. I can not forget: “I am Malala.”

Malala was shot in the head, in an attempt silence her crusade for education. Just like Hitler’s Nazis, the ignorant Taliban extremists failed to stop the human spirit.

On the other side of the political coin, we should be just as wary of officials who don’t stand up, put up and who never seem to shut up.

I’d like you to count in your mind how many politicians have come and gone and we still have homeless people. We’re still fighting the prohibition of a weed. And local children are going hungry while your local grocery store is throwing food out.

Do you know why these seemingly chronic problems still exist in such a civilized, modern and rich society, as Canada?

Take for instance the common sense approach to the problem of marijuana.

We could tax the living hell out of it, just like alcohol, cigarets and gas. That simple act would free up police and court time. In turn that would free up space in the prisons that could be turned into shelters for the homeless.

As we all know people get the munches after they’ve smoked a big fat joint. That would put a stop to food wastage. Because you just know a hopped-up pot-head will pay good money for day old donuts.

And here’s the best part, our politicians could cut our taxes!

Don’t laugh. It could happen, if we just stood up and said, “ enough!”

THE END

Please feel free to email Bernie Bates at shaw@shaw.ca