Photos from a few days in the Poconos.
My Progress
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Occasional pictures and thoughts from someone Too Old to Rock and Roll, but Too Young to Die. No, you're never too old to Rock'n'Roll if you're too young to die!
My Progress
- Argie
- Central Ohio
Still looking for my pony!
Mom and Dad were worried that the twins had developed extreme personalities -- one was a total pessimist, the other a total optimist -- So they took the boys to a psychiatrist.
First the psychiatrist treated the pessimist. To brighten his outlook, the psychiatrist took the pessimist to a room piled ceiling-high with brand-new toys. But instead of yelping with delight, the little boy burst into tears.
"What's the matter?" the baffled doctor asked. "Don't you want to play with all these toys?"
"Yes," the little boy bawled as he shrunk into a corner, "but if I did I'd only break them."
Next the psychiatrist treated the optimist. To dampen his spirits, the psychiatrist took him to a room stuffed to the ceiling with horse manure. Emitting a yelp of delight, the optimist scampered to the top of the pile, dropped to his knees, and began gleefully slinging out scoop after scoop with his bare hands.
"What do you think you're doing?" the psychiatrist questioned, just as baffled by the optimist as he had been by the pessimist.
"With all this manure," the little boy retorted, beaming, "there must be a pony in here somewhere!"
First the psychiatrist treated the pessimist. To brighten his outlook, the psychiatrist took the pessimist to a room piled ceiling-high with brand-new toys. But instead of yelping with delight, the little boy burst into tears.
"What's the matter?" the baffled doctor asked. "Don't you want to play with all these toys?"
"Yes," the little boy bawled as he shrunk into a corner, "but if I did I'd only break them."
Next the psychiatrist treated the optimist. To dampen his spirits, the psychiatrist took him to a room stuffed to the ceiling with horse manure. Emitting a yelp of delight, the optimist scampered to the top of the pile, dropped to his knees, and began gleefully slinging out scoop after scoop with his bare hands.
"What do you think you're doing?" the psychiatrist questioned, just as baffled by the optimist as he had been by the pessimist.
"With all this manure," the little boy retorted, beaming, "there must be a pony in here somewhere!"
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