Forget these yellow machines, NO MONEY IN IT.

[olds45512]

Originally Posted by ol'George

Been around since mid 1800's, US navy used to pay their men occasionally with $2 bills.
It made the sometimes not so navy friendly local business/people understand what the good ol' US government actually put into their economy.
I used to tip waitresses in $2 bills back when I was young as well as
Susan B's, & gold dollars when they came out.
After a time or two @ a particular restaurant, I always got good service.
Today a lot of "kids" @ cash registers think the dollars are quarters so I just
stopped using them to eliminate confusion.

You should have your own TV show, you could call it "story time with ol'George". Hell I'd watch it, anythings better than the kardasions( or however its spelled )

To quote the comedian Tim Wilson " that was way back when women would do a thing called cook.

[ol'George]

Originally Posted by olds45512

You should have your own TV show, you could call it "story time with ol'George". Hell I'd watch it, anythings better than the kardasions( or however its spelled )


To quote the comedian Tim Wilson " that was way back when women would do a thing called cook.

ok, thought it was KarKrash@hand

This kind of goes along with Tim Wilson:
Not my words but I agree!
I remember the bologna of my childhood,
And the bread that we cut with a knife,
When the children helped with the housework,
And the men went to work, not the wife.
The cheese never needed a fridge,
And the bread was so crusty and hot,
The children were seldom unhappy
And the wife was content with her lot.
I remember the milk from the bottle,
With the yummy cream on the top,
Our dinner came hot from the oven,
And not from a freezer, or shop.
The kids were a lot more contented,
They didn't need money for kicks,
Just a game with their friends in the road,
And sometimes the Saturday flicks.
I remember the shop on the corner,
Where cookies for pennies were sold
Do you think I'm a bit too nostalgic?
Or, is it ... I'm just getting old?
Bathing was done in a wash tub,
With plenty of rich, foamy suds
But the ironing seemed never-ending
As Mama pressed everyone’s' duds.
I remember the slap on my backside,
And the taste of soap if I swore
Anorexia and diets weren't heard of
And we hadn't much choice what we wore.
Do you think that bruised our ego?
Or our initiative was destroyed?
We ate what was put on the table
And I think life was better enjoyed.