Wednesday, August 12, 2020




Hoo hah. You are going to love this. Imagine you’re elderly. You’re alone. Your mate, your children, your dog, your cat, and your friends have all traveled to other worlds or existences leaving you to fend for yourself as best you can, till and if they return to this one. You have a disease. You don’t know it’s name for sure, not that it matters. Let’s call it the Malaysian Ear Fluggensheim. MEF for short. You have pills you need to take. You have five days worth of medication. If you don’t treat MEF, your mouth will quadruple its saliva output and you will exude enough drool to fill an Olympic size swimming pool. You call the automated number for your drugstore, press the appropriate number to reach the refill department, press in your prescription number, and then press 2 to let the idiot robot know your done. Before you hang up, you are told by a reedy voice that your prescription has expired and your doctor will be notified on the next business day. And so you wait. And you wait. And you wait till 4 days have gone by. You call the drugstore. You ask what’s going on. They tell you they called in the prescription 3 days ago. Maybe you should call your doctor. Which you do. The nurse, after you’ve told her your name, says they never got the prescription. Could she have your date of birth. You give it to her. Aha, she says. She found your prescription. What was the problem? Well, you see, here at the doctor’s office, we never see a refill unless we open your file. So how do you know to open my file when I need a prescription filled, you ask. The nurse tells you she doesn’t know. Duh. You’re going crazy at the idiocy of the medical profession as you watch your pool fill to overflow. Any of you ever wonder why the prescription you called in a week ago has to date not been filled? Now you know.

BONUS FOR THE WEEK. In a moment of utter frustration, I sent this note to some friends the other day. And so today, as a gesture of pure amity, I pass it on to you.

Whilst I sit on my throne, I ponder life's foibles. Is it a terrible thing to grow old? No. It's nature's way. Is it a terrible thing to lose some of the ability of one's youth? No. It's nature's way. Is it bad to lose a bit of one's memory? No. It's nature's way. Is it a bad thing to make notes to help you remember? No. It's nature's way. But shit. When I start forgetting where I placed those reminder notes of mine, well then, ol' nature can kiss my aging ass.

Wednesday, January 31, 2018


We're live folks.

In order to make this work send me an email at ( with the subject line 'ASK BENJAMIN'. Ready? Okay.  Let the games begin.

Dear Benjamin,
How did the bread called Pumpernickel get its name?

Dear readers,
A gentleman whose acquaintance I made over Thanksgiving dinner told me this tidbit. It is fascinating. I expand a bit upon the original. Whether or not it is true is another matter. It seems that Napoleon had 50 horses one of which had the name of Nicol. While on a military mission in that part of Europe now known as Germany, Napoleon or his groom gave the horse some of the local bread to eat. The reasoning behind this was the disdainful attitude of the Frenchman in charge towards the bread, which--due to its heavy concentration of grain--he considered unfit for human consumption. Instead he fed it to the horse stating in a most derisive way: "C'est du pain pour Nicol". (It is bread for Nicole). This disparaging remark--pain pour Nicol--became painpournicol and then pumpernickel. There are other theories--one of them being that the word pumpernickel was a pejorative part of the German language of the time equivalent to today's "jerk" . . . perhaps relating the word to those who ate it as observed by those watching the event as being less than sound of mind. This last part--of course--being only extrapolation on my part. And now you know--if not the whole story--as least part of it. Truth is often segmented into smaller particles of nonsense for easier digestion.

Dear Benjamin,
We've been pondering your column and our family has gotten together and think we've got one we don't think you can answer. It is this: What is the meaning of life, dear Benjamin? Tell us that if you can.
Yours truly,
The Lytelle family.
Samuel, Harry, Ida, Thomas and Sybil.

Dear Lytelles,
As an aside to your question I must tell you I love acronyms. That said . . . the answer to your question is truly quite simple. Life is the means by which food for the planet's inhabitants is preserved for up to ninety years and more without the need for refrigeration. I hope this clarifies things somewhat.

Dear Benjamin,
I wonder if you know how the Culet got its name.
Many thanks,

Dear Jeremy.
This question brings us . . . in a most delightful fashion . . . to the Ass End of a Diamond. First . . . I must warn you that there may be a bit more than a slight bit of extrapolation here though I tend to think not. I shall begin with Culus . . . the Latin word for anus. In French the word would be Cul. A cul-de-sac is a dead end figuratively speaking. Literally it is the ass end of a sack. Now let's shoot for the diminutive. It is here that I extrapolate a tad. Every language has its diminutives. Ette is the French suffix which is used to express its diminutive terms. Hence if Cul is ass . . . then Culette would be little ass. Of the many parts of the diamond there are three most of the world is familiar with. There is the Table. (That's the top flat part.) There is the Gridle. (That's the circumference.) And there is the point at the bottom called the Culet. (Alternate spelling might once of have Culette. (Little Ass.) And so . . . when speaking of the tiny pointed end at the bottom of a diamond . . . are we talking about the Culet? Or are we talking about the Ass End of the Diamond? These are the questions that torment my soul Jeremy. The questions are elusive. The answers too mysterious for words. Hope this helps.

Dear Benjamin,
Whenever I'm with this particular person at a party he always takes center stage and asks riddles no one can answer. Can you give me a riddle that's extremely difficult so that I can shut him up and put him in his place once and for all? Of course you would have to send me the answer by return email.

Dear Michelle,
You have twelve pieces of candy. Eleven weight exactly the same. The twelfth is poisonous and has a different weight from the others. You do not know if it weighs more or less. Just that it weighs different. Using a balance scale . . . find the poisonous candy in three tries. Answer is coming via email. I promise you will stump the bum.

Dear Benjamin,
I have always wanted to know how long I have left to live barring any illnesses or accidents. Can you help me?

Dear Anon,
All animals on this planet can measure their lifespan by heartbeats. For human beings their lifespan is roughly 2.21 billion heartbeats. Take your pulse in beats per minute. Multiply by 60 to know beats per hour. Multiply that by 24 for beats by day. Times 365 for beats per year. Multiply that by your age and subtract those results from 2.21 billion. That will give you heartbeats left to live. Divide that number by 365 and you will have years left to live. Add that to your age and you will have your answer. Hope this helps.


Tuesday, September 19, 2017

LOB (Umlaut over the O) [Sample Tidbits]

This is one of my earliest Tidbits articles and far and away my favorite. It is about an immigrant to the USA who's name is probably known by everyone world-wide. If you'd like to read it ... Click here.