Get OFF the Bridge!

Late April 2014 my wife and I went to Kauai for a two-week visit to determine if we truly wanted to live there full time.  We drove almost every road there was to be driven on.  Kuhio highway will take you to the farthest end of the North Shore.  That is if you can cross the Hanalei bridge.  It so happens one day we noticed a bikini model on the narrow one lane bridge.  A sign says that the local custom is to allow 5-7 cars to cross and then return the favor.  Except on this fateful day it had a model on it slowing everything down.  Now, my first thought was, “Well, it is Hawaii, bound to be plenty of bikini models running around slowing down traffic.”  My next thought was, “Get OFF the bridge! We want to get to the beach!”  I thought nothing of this until earlier this month on the Travel Channel we were watching a special about a Sports Illustrated shoot of the swimsuit edition models on Kauai.  Now, I was interested.

Well it turns out that the traffic stopping model was Hailey Clauson and here she is on said bridge.

Watching the show, you would think that every person who crossed that bridge was thinking,

“Sweet mother of all pancakes!”

In fact, I was worried about hitting her and being sued beyond belief.  Now that I know she is a world famous Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, I was worried about hitting her, being sued beyond belief and being severely mauled by hormone ridden young guys and turned into shark bait.

If Ms. Clauson is reading my world famous blog, I just want to know one thing.  Why did you have a picture taken with a surf board on a bridge?  Is this the popular place for string bikini surfer babes to hang out? Were you hitch-hiking?  Do you even know how to surf and keep that skimpy thread of fabric on?  Those were the thoughts on my mind.  Now, I said none of this out loud due to my respect of Mrs. Greenlee, who also has a mean right hook.

So in all respect to Ms. Clauson, I wish you a long and successful career and that Sports Illustrated continue to supply us sports coverage, no matter how loosely you define sports or swimsuits. Knowing that there might be future shoots on Kauai, I am glad we move into our home on May 5th. We made the perfect decision.  But please,

Get OFF that bridge!

Lovingly yours,

E.W. Greenlee

(Oh crap!  Here’s comes Mrs. Greenlee)




March Madness – 2015 Edition



Here is that time again, where I am sorting through paper bags full of client receipt and tax papers to do tax returns.  You thought this was about basketball?!  Oh noooo, it’s about the insane life a tax professional and the madness we see every year right up the grand finale – April 15th.  Now I know most of my readers probably have simple 1040EZ’s and big refunds coming, but some on my clients have complex returns.  This year we get the Shared Responsibility penalty if you don’t have insurance.  Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. Suuuure….

How many of you are happy to prepare a tax return?  Raise your digital hands.  I thought so, not a one of you.  This year we have a new person, a conservative, running for President of the United States.  His name is Mark Everson and he is the former Commissioner of the IRS.  Boo, Hiss, Bah!  Except he wants to rid tax returns for 150 million people.  Say whaaaat?!!   I kid you not.  Maybe it is time to look at this guy seriously.  Decreasing the power of the IRS and Congress could be a good thing. Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.

Some have asked me,”won’t that hurt your ability to make income?”  The answer is that most Americans truly don’t need a return.  Give them a bigger paycheck and let them pay a little each time they buy something they want.  Called a consumption tax, you control your tax liability, not Congress.  The problem is that they don’t want to give up the power to tax and play guardians over our lives.  March Madness is alive and well in DC, where every month is March.  Most of my clients are complex, so they still need to have accounting done before I give them a heart attack.  Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.

We will stay a little stressed now for the next 4 weeks, drumming up receipts from the trash can and making a dash of madness to our respective preparers, and when we are done, we will forget the pain of tax season and those who may have made an attempt to ease those pains.  We will curl up on our couch, open a bag of chips and brew and watch 68 teams running back and forth in a sweating frenzy, the real reason for the season – March Madness.  Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.

As for us CPA’s we will extend our most difficult returns so that we can have through October 15th to continue the madness.   Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of …, well, at least some of us are happy it’s March.

Now, please show your support of your CPA by leaving me a message of feigned sympathy.

Female Code – March 2015 (Maleopause)

Football Season - Again???

Sexopause – really?!  Milleniumopause – you get my drift now buddy?


To give equal time to the opposite sex, I’ve placed my mind into the role of a menopausal woman (God help me!) to counter debate my Man Club post titled “Naggopause.”  So without further interruption, the following 10 words have now been genetically engineered into the mutant genes of women everywhere, through menopause supplements such as chocolate and wussy flavored coffees, as a way to communicate with their husbands.

  1. Gameopause – that period of time where you are standing in a baby doll and you throw the Xbox out the window.  Here you scream at the top of your lungs –“You want an end to the sexopause or not?!”
  2. Maleopause – that period you don’t want him anywhere near you.  Just hold up a hand to his face and gently whisper “Maleopause.”  He will get this as a sign that if he does not run, serious bodily damage is about to take place.
  3. Milleniumopause – the word used to tell him to stop nagging about the lack of sex, or he won’t get any for 12 centuries. Touche!
  4. Shadeopause – That period when a woman hits the age of age 80 and is ready for sex and all that 50 Shades has to offer.  This is also the period of time she feeds you well, exercises with you, and then ties you up to kill you, using your vast wealth from saveopause to hire Fernando DeGuicheeCoochee, her 40 year old slave and gardener.  (again, I’m just thinking like an menopausal woman).
  5. Brazierreopause – that period where she flings her bra at you.  Do not be deceived, she is not telling you she wants sex, she’s hinting that your man-breasts are sagging and your identity as a man is in serious jeopardy.  She may pull out a whip from her spendopause period and enter shadeopause at the same time, demanding you firm your bad boy twins up. Egads!
  6. NASCARopause – for the love of god man!  You’ll spend all day watching a car go around in circles, but can’t wash your own?  You want the naggopause to start?  Then shape up.
  7. Duckopause – no you can’t just change channels to avoid the naggopause.  Get off your arse!  If he hears this she might go all 50 Shades with your duck caller and permanently affix to your anatomy, which leads to the next male period of life .
  8. Fartopause – when the dynasty ducko call sounds, it’s her signal that you are entering your gassy period and for her to enter spendopause.
  9. Meatloafopause – if you’re nagging about sexopause continues, this is the period of time where meatloaf becomes a daily staple – increasing fartopause, spendopause, and maleopause.
  10. Divorceopause – that period of time when a woman can bring a man to his knees, without whips.

And there you have it, ten new words that women everywhere will be talking about tomorrow.  They will comment here about how uncanny I am in reading their menopausal minds.

Now I’ll just take a pause from all this writing genius.  You are welcome.

Man Club – March 2015 (Naggopause)


Wedding Leap of Death

Yes, its menopause!

Sometimes I lie awake in the early morning hours and just think.  Sometimes the thoughts are deep and many times, well, like this one, not so profound.  Why do they call it “Menopause?”  Do men get a pause from women or women get a pause from men? As I said, this is not one of my more profound thoughts, but stick with me on this, because I’m about to set a new trend in the use of words or the homicide rate in married households, it depends on your perspective and hormone levels.

The following ten words have been added to the Man Club 2015 edition of manly, man rules:

  1. Naggopause – that very brief period of time when a wife actually allows you some peace.  It is also synonymous with the next word.
  2. Nanopause – the length of time  lapsed in an naggopause, indiscernible to anyone even armed with a nanosecond stop watch.
  3. Choreopause – that period where your honey-dos are given a rest, usually comprising of two nanopauses.
  4. Sexopause – for men married more than seven years, this is the length of seven years to the third power, times 2  (for those not good with math, that’s 12 centuries).
  5. Viagraopause – That period after sexopause ends and jumper cables no longer work to revive certain physiological functions.
  6. Greyopause – hopefully that period when you never hear anyone talk about the story, ever again, unless it ends the sexopause, only backed by a contract signed, witnessed and fully enforceable in a court of law.
  7. Spendopause – a word, even though completely contrived from thin air resonates with the opposite sex, like “fetch” does for a black lab.
  8. Saveopause – a word, even though completely contrived from thin air will not register with the opposite sex.
  9. Coldfeetopause – that period where your wife is in menopause that you get relief from cold winter feet placed near a certain obvious heat retaining male organ.
  10. Beardopause – that moment when the love of your life has a better beard than you and wants to borrow your grooming gear. Egads!

And there have it, ten words you can now add to your daily conversations with your wife, such as:

“Honey would you empty the trash?” says the lovely lady.

“Geez babe, can I have a few nanaopauses here? Your naggopauses and my choreopauses are getting shorter and shorter!”

Later that evening as you cuddle (their word, not ours) up to that same lovely woman…

“Hey babe, is the sexopause over?”

As she turns to you with the look of murder in her eyes, she so lovingly replies,

“I’ve decided to extend the sexopause for a milleniumopause.”

Oh crap!!! Appears the female code was also updated.  Now you are ready for menopause. That period you wish you weren’t a man, just a mere boy with his bucket of plastic army men playing in your parents backyard and girls were something to throw dirt clods at.  Sigh…

I am dead, died, kaput!

Three Bloggers on the Wall, Three Bloggers All, One Falls Down, the other gatyher around, To write about the Blogger who fell on the Ground

Three Bloggers on the Wall,
Three Bloggers All,
One Falls Down, the others gather around, To write about the Blogger who fell on the Ground


I saw this article on Facebook today about bloggers.

Bloggers Fake Death

So, to gain as much attention as possible I am writing this while dying.  Why should I not get equal attention?  This is Murica!  But what am I dying of or died from?  Hm….

  1. Cold Weather
  2. 3,000 Cable TV channel nothingness
  3. Hollywood comic book / reboot madness.  Terminator T-10 and counting / Awesomely Amazing Amy and Spiderman Gone Girl.
  4. Tax season blues
  5. I helped my wife clean the house
  6. I lowered the toilet seat
  7. Took out the trash

That’s just a few that have the most realistic probability of occurring.  But that doesn’t attract readers and followers, I must… be… creative.

  1. I’ve had 28,000 lovers (had to outscore Wilt Chamberlain) and died from exhaustion, even though that calculates to sex every 20 minutes.  What a lovely way to go.
  2. I won the Publishers Cleared Home $7 a week prize for life contest!!!  I died of a heart attack, but have a Sport Illustrated Swimsuit edition to line the coffin.
  3. Brian Williams and I scaled the north face of Everest.  He survived to tell the tale, but gave me no credit. What a pal!

Well, it turns out I am not as creative as I thought.  I suppose it is because I love life and love to hear people laugh.  It’s not about me all the time.  I don’t need 100,000 blog followers (at least yet) to obtain daily affirmation.  I have a mirror for that and an image of Stuart Smalley running around my brain.  You’re special and dog gone it, people like me.

I feel sorry for those in this world that suffer from loneliness and depression.  Writing and conversing with others brings me up and I learn from it was well.  I have many simple philosophies in life:

  1. Commit one single act of kindness per day.
  2. Give attention to someone speaking.
  3. Smile.
  4. Find ways to live and learn filling every day with as much as possible.

We live in a very harsh period of human history where technology can lift you up or tear you down quickly, depending if you are honest and sincere, or just plain narcissistic.

I write because I love to and most of my humor writing is inspired by Dave Barry, who is self deprecating and simply takes real world news and blows it out of proportion, with a little scent of satire splashed in to make you think.  If you ever read me in woeful mood here, just digitally slap the crap out of me, I’m not the only one in this world with problems.  I promise I’ll pull my big boy pants up and get a grip or seek professional help.  Then I’ll be right back to tell you all about it.

Gone Girl – A Review


Not Another Clue Card!!!!


Last night I watched “Gone Girl”, simply because not much else was on and I like Rosamund Pike. I was really enjoying the story right up to the point where she returns home to the oohs and aahs of the public and press at her return, followed by police ceasing all further investigations, followed by her remaing all bloodied up for the gratuitous shower scene.  Really?!  I wasted 2 hours getting ready to cheer the villainess getting her due and everyone just walks away as though nothing happened???  Aflack, you wuss-wuss!

This is why I’ve almost decided to stop watching movies, it is a clear indication our brains are shrinking.  Let’s look at the bloody insane evidence:

  1. What sicko woman wants to have a selfie with a guy who is whispered to have killed his pregnant wife?  Oh I forget, the type that wants their 15 seconds of Facebook fame or a selfie with Charles Manson.
  2. Who was the Nancy Grace wannabe?  All she did is allow the story to evolve where ever the wind blows. Justice may be blind, but reporting is now void of the 5 senses.
  3. Pike’s character admitted all she needed was a few good neighborhood idiots and obligingly she found them faster than you can sign up for Gacko insurance.  They must have lived in Idiocracy USA.
  4. She was unemployed, he was unemployed, and yet still managed to get a $100K credit line?  They never questioned the VISA bill charges or used a lie-detector on Pike.  Oh how convenient!
  5. What attorney with a $100,000 retainer fee EVER, EVER takes a case like this?
  6. They didn’t review the tapes of her at Neil Patrick Harris home to see the romper room activities of the two.
  7. What’s with Harris’ character knowing what shade of hair color to buy to see the “real” her?  What guy would EVER know that?

I could go on and on.  I almost wanted to take a ball-peen hammer to my skull.  Look, I love a good story that has you thinking to the very end, but when you use $6 of your retirement funds to rent a movie, you don’t want to think about a sequel titled,

“Gone Money”

I will say this, Pike’s performance was good, scary good.  I’m not sure I’ll watch anymore of her movies because I’m a little freaked out now, dreaming a clue card might arrive in the mail. She had a limited role in Simon Pegg’s movie, “Hector and the Search for Happiness”, which I watched before this one.  That was a decent flick.

As for Mr. Aflack, come on dude, stand up for us guys, we are being bombarded as being lazy and lacking intelligence, merely controlled by sexual thoughts and video games.  You handed it to them on a platter, fitting extremely well into the neighborhood of convenient idiots.  This applies to all Missourians, are you going to take this lying down?  Demand your rights for equal idiocy and let’s get a few Silicon Valley stories going like “iGone iGone iGirl.”

What has happened to men?  Where’s Rhett when you need him, such as a scene from: “Gone with the Windy Girl”

“Frankly, Awesomely Amazing Amy – I don’t give a damn.”

Now, I’d pay to see that…

Chime in now.  What recent psychopathic movie did you watch that just had you asking, “What the…?”