Friday the Thirteenth!

Well it's Friday the 13th and you know what that means...good luck! I don't believe that Friday the 13th is something to fear. Those that fear Friday the 13th are called Friggatriskaidekaphobes, I fear trying to pronounce the word! Those that fear the number 13 are Triskaidekaphobia.

Napoleon, J. Paul Getty, Herbert Hoover and Franklin Delano Roosevelt were all practicing triskaidekaphobes. Twain once was the 13th guest at a dinner party, and a friend told him not to go because it was bad luck. "It was bad luck," Twain later told the friend. "They only had food for 12!"

There are Friday the 13th celebrations, haunted walks, fan clubs as well as elevators, home addresses and streets that exclude the number 13. What's wrong with the number 13? I was born on the 13th and I think it was good luck for me! What do you think about all this superstition?

Hey, if we had 13 months to the calendar year, we'd all be a lot younger! Have a great Friday!

No need to put off your looney superstitious fears just because of an inadequate calendar . . . remember Pogo ?

Churchy La Femme: "Run for it, now ! ! !"

Albert t. Aligator: "Why, what's up?"

Churchy: 'Friday the 13th comes on a Wednesday this month !"

Bah, Humbug! Have to find some ladders to walk under today!

And don't forget to have a black cat cross your path.

It's a full moon tonight too, awoooooooooooooh!!!!!!!
Spooky.

It occurs to me that the "Friday the Thirteenth" supersitition is a lot less dangerous to humanity and society than some of the other superstitions we humans exhibit.

Mrs. cav nearly broke a mirror this morning, the operative word being "almost". Give me the e-mails of the superstitious and I will send some spam and tell them all the mirror DID get broken...and on this scary day....

Wot? Like rabbits' feet? I HATE that one....

Are any of your friends or childhood companions amputees as a result of this superstition, Miss Wabbit?

Do chickens have lips?

Dunno . . . never had the habit of kissin' domestic fowl . . .

How 'bout foul domestics?

Chickens don't have lips, but they do have a disgusting buildup of undigested grain in their gullets, which I had the pleasure of cleaning while working at Eiginsenn Farm. Also, they have a habit of pecking at the blood of their slaughtered brethren when the heads come off. Cannibals, I say...no problem with KFC here.

You wouldn't look so great being gutted either!

Well, I just lit three candles on one match, which burned my fingers, making me spill some salt, so I threw some of it over my left shoulder; which went right into my black cat's eye, which crossed my path (with very sharp talons, might I add), tripping me so that I dropped my hat on the bed. "MacBeth!" (my cat's name), I screamed, as I stumbled into the living room under a ladder I had been using to hang a mirror on my wall, which subsequently dropped; shards of which I only avoided by quickly opening a nearby umbrella. Stuffing 13 $2 bills in my pocket, I stepped out of the house left-foot first and waved goodbye to the stork nesting in my chimney. So, should I buy a lotto ticket today?

Couldn't hurt.

I wouldn't gamble or gambol on it.

All right, Bob, that's it for you . . . go to your room . . .

But I am in my room. Maybe I should leave it instead. I await your orders sahib.