Dogs Rules vs. Mans

Most of us were taught the same rules by our parents, look both ways before you cross the street, say please and thank you and treat people the way you want to be treated. Sure we all had to be home when the street lights came on and answering the home phone was always a test “Dies resident, Greg Speaking”, this was long before I became Crack Egg. And every one of your parents friends were Mr. and Mrs. whatever. Those rules carried me through until I started school and then the rules started adding up.

At Catholic School we had more rules than ‘Carter had Liver Pills’ and in all honesty neither my mom, that coined this phrase in the household, nor I, ever knew if Carter ever even made liver pills. The only Carter I knew was the one that was a peanut farmer and eventual POTUS, but we rarely, we’ll never, spoke.

One of the first things I learned in first grade was that Dog was everywhere, which to a precocious five year old begged the question “then why do we have to go to church sister?” Although this was an honest question the sister was not amused and her answer to that question was to call my parents and report me. So Rule #1 was don’t ask questions the teacher couldn’t or wouldn’t answer. Damn I was learning fast.

As I advanced in school I always tested the above theory of asking teachers and professors these same teaser questions and each and every one came to the same conclusion, I was a hell raiser, someone they preferred to not have in their class, fuck them, I was the exact opposite in their role, I cherished students that challenged me.

In fifth grade I got unceremoniously moved from Sister Peters class and shipped across the hall to Mrs. Mulhern, why, I had no idea. Sister Peter had the face of a woman who was constantly sucking on a very sour pickle, and although I never said or indicated such, she Still booted me like a gopher from a vegetable garden. Later on in life I ran into Mrs. Mulhern again, she too was now a nun, and she told me the full story.

Sister Pickle, oops Peters, asked if Mrs. Mulhern wanted to know why I was dispatched, she said unequivocally no, but after having me for a year with perfect behavior, she had to know. Now you can’t make this shit up, Sister Pickle Face told her I set on my legs, I was quite short, and she plum didn’t like it. Seriously WTF, it could have ruined other people, me, ah I was fine, Mrs. M was chill.

In seventh grade I learned not to tell jokes, especially those that may, or may not have, contained curse words. I got overheard telling this doozy and my parents phone rang immediately. I’ve softened it up a bit, but dads belt was neither soft nor spared, though I’ve heard from my brother he laughed before he whooped my ass.

‘Little Johnny was sitting on a curb one day, smashing ants with his thumb, saying aloud but to himself, fucking useless ants, fucking useless ants’. Father Busy Body came up behind him and heard Johnny and told him his homework for that night was to find three things in Gods world that were useless.

The very next day Johnny was back on the curb smashing the ants using the same verbiage. The Priest had snuck up behind him and heard him repeating the same phrase. “Johnny”, he exclaimed “I thought I gave you homework, did you ignore me?”

Johnny looked up over his shoulder and not mincing words told the priest he indeed did his penance. “Well”, asked the Father “Name three things God created that are useless”.

Johnny apparently didn’t realize the hubbub he was about to create so he looked over his shoulder staring up at the priest. “Well” the priest was pressing him. Johnny was prepared “a penis on a priest, a Yoo-hoo on a nun, and these fucking ants”. Johnny was suspended for a week. So the next rule was don’t cuss in front of adults and priests don’t appreciate a good joke.

As I continued to learn in our free country how many rules I had to follow, I also heard that ‘rules were made for the other guy’ and I lived with that mantra most of my life. I guess rules have their place, but they add up and multiply as life goes on.

As I matured I taught a lot of these same rules to my kids, and they took to them a bit better than I, but they too stretched and bent them as well. Now as Governors throughout the country dictate rules to us, change laws and do whatever they please, I’ve added them to the list of useless shit.

I now know when I can be foul mouthed, and always look around before I shoot off ‘dirty jokes’ but since life has no detention at my age, I really don’t care. Until our corrupt government starts jailing us for cussing, fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke.

I still try to follow most rules, but I’m not a sheep, my path is for me to walk and an overbearing government won’t change my course. I still follow the golden rule, I look both ways before I cross the street, but if I choose to cuss, I usually don’t, that’s my decision, not some bureaucratic ‘leaders’ decision.

Crack Egg Out