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Dick's Details...a bunch of totally un-important stuff for you to stuff in one ear, so you can squeeze the important stuff that's rubbing your wrinkles the wrong way out the other ear, and you can grab a grin. There was a story in the paper today about a rock group that's upset with an airline. The headline reads: "Smashing Pumpkin sues Virgin." Makes it seem like a modern Cinderella story. If the answer is "He would put it in our pockets" what is the question. The smart guys in the white lab coats tell us that kids 2 to 5 put their hands in their mouths an average of 10 times an hour. That's nothing. Our average politician puts his foot in his mouth a lot more often than that. Mormon leader Brigham Young had 56 kids by 27 wives. No wonder Mormons call him the founding father. I can't help wonder if he got his name from telling whoever supplied his wives, "I don't care how you bring em. Just bring em young. If the answer is "He would put it in our pockets" the question is "What would the average politician d

Thanks for dropping in here on my podcast. Glad to have your company. I'm sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable black leather poppa chair in my living room, wondering how I ever got this lucky. I figure I have finally proven that men are smarter than women. Because if women were as smart as men, how come I married my Lady Wonder Wench and she married me? I know some of you are going through tough times, and I'm not telling you how happy I am to make you feel worse. In fact I want to remind you of the words of Big Louie in my book Staying Happy Healthy And Hot. Louie says, "You can never tell when something wonderful is going to happen." The other side of that is true too. I've found an amazing thing in my life. Only about half of the things I worry about ever happen. In fact only about half of all the things I expect to happen in my life actually happen. I'm not kidding about that. And I wonder if you've found the same thing to be true. Please let me know. Email is dick at dick summer dot net. So look,

Thanks for dropping in on my podcast, glad to have you here. I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair in my living room, and I'm watching my laptop un-zipping stuff as it's changing into an operating system that Microsoft says I'll find a little more comfortable... Windows 10...and it looks like my laptop doesn't want me to watch it un-zip and change. The screen says something to the effect of, "This will take a while. You don't have to watch. I'll let you know when we're finished. And for God's sake don't touch anything on the keyboard." What the hell is it doing in there that I'm not supposed to see? It's like enjoying watching the girl in the house across the street change into something more comfortable, until she pulls down her shade. She's obviously not into letting me to touch anything either. And I don't especially like the implication that there's no sense watching something I wouldn't understand. That's just plain nasty. Big Louie, the star of my book Staying Happy

Thanks for dropping in here on my podcast. I appreciate having your company. Sometimes an actual thought hits me as I'm sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable, black leather poppa chair. And like a rock with a note attached that comes crashing through your living room window, an actual thought just went smack, right on the side of my head. Ow. That hurt. Thoughts are like muscles. If you don't use them regularly they hurt when you do. But I'm a man so I can stand the pain...here's the thought: It has been too long since I've reminded you about the Louie Louie Generation. I have deprived you of the wisdom of Big Louie for too long. So to make up for my misdeeds, I'm going to give you a report right out of my book Staying Happy Healthy And Hot on this podcast. The book is full of a lot of stories about my life, including burying a buddy, dealing with a mouse, and working with guys like Wolfman Jack, Don Imus and Cousin Bruce Morrow. But it also tells you about the new Louie Louie Generation. Here's part of

Thanks for dropping in on my podcast. Glad to have you here. I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair in my living room, trying to digest a food supply crisis, caused by the closing of our favorite supermarket. Depending on how you look at it, it's either terrific or terrible. It could be terrific because the supermarket we'll be going to across the street has generally cheaper prices which I like, or it's terrible because my Lady Wonder Wench doesn't like brands of food they sell. My Lady Wonder Wench does our food shopping because she knows and likes lots of the people who work there, she knows where everything is, and she doesn't like my approach to finding stuff in a supermarket. When I go, I usually find an attractive lady, and ask her to help me find what I'm looking for because I'm not familiar with where they keep stuff. I've found that many attractive ladies are glad to help a lost and confused Louie Louie Generation guy... and what's wrong with that? I get my shop

Thanks for dropping in on my podcast. I'm glad to have you with us. I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair in my living room, staring at the black hole on the stand over on the wall. Technically speaking, it's a big, blank, black TV screen. But it's really a big, black hole...sucking you down inside...you can feel it happening...every time you turn it on, you can feel yourself...boldly going...nowhere. Well, maybe over to the couch. I don't like going nowhere, so I don't watch much TV...just the news and some sports. From 6 to 6:30 it's amazing to watch the same stories spinning from MSNBC, to CNN, and over to Fox. The spin can get you dizzy. Then I watch the broadcast network news for the relatively non-fiction version of those same stories. Actually, Lester, David and Scott stretch the truth too. Some of the stories they call "breaking news" were pretty well smashed up quite a while before they got broken on the air. But they never say, "Hey folks, here are some stories

It's pretty neat to be sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair again. I was sitting in a hospital bed for a couple of days this week. Don't worry. It was just kind of a glorified tummy ache. They said, "You're suffering from acid reflux." Right. Of course I was suffering from it, what else was I supposed to do with it. I didn't want to go to the hospital, but I went when my Lady Wonder Wench mentioned that my breathing was coming in short pants, and she rather emphatically pointed out it was supposed to be coming from my lungs. Actually... I was really hurting. But like most Louie Louie Generation guys, unless we are in an actual coma, have a hole about the size of a basketball in our chests and we're out of blood, we don't want anything to do with hospitals. One reason is we know a hospital bed is like a parked taxi with the meter running. Especially when you're in the expensive care unit. That's where they keep the pay bed pans. Another thing…you've really got to guard your rea

I was sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room the other night, watching a movie called Tootsie, starring Dustin Hoffman on TV, and I couldn't resist telling my Lady Wonder Wench that Dustin's agent must have called him after he auditioned for the part, and said, "Dustin, you got the Tootsie Roll." Immediately…as soon as I said that, there was a clap of thunder, and the lights and the TV went out. It was like God was looking down at me and saying, "I didn't give you the gift of language for you to abuse it by telling jokes that bad, so Zap...here''s a power failure…have a nice day." I hate it when God shows off like that. Thunder and lightning. That's scary stuff, even for brave and manly Louie Louie Generation guys like me. Can you imagine how scary it must be for Pimple People with all their metal piercings. Some of those guys have enough metal stuck in various private places to build a multi engine car. Zap. Thunder. Lightning. I'll bet that's where some of th

They're telling me I shouldn't be sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable black leather poppa chair in my living room, and I'm not going to stand for that. The smart guys in the white lab coats are telling me that sitting is one of the worst things I can do to myself. They're implying that sitting is a reckless act of self-destruction. They say it's worse than smoking, and of course smoking kills people. I think they're a little off base with that one too. I don't think smoking is responsible for killing nearly as many people as the people who are trying to quit smoking are responsible for killing people. I am a reasonably healthy guy. As I told you in my book, Staying Happy Healthy And Hot, I get up early most mornings, and I go up-down, up-down, up-down. Now the other eye lid. Then I go for a good, long, brisk, sit...here in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room. I like sitting here.

As you know by now, Louie Louie Generation guys are the bedmates of choice of supermodels, lovely, lusty lady chief executives, and Catherine Zeta Jones look-alikes. That's because we treat our women with lots of love and lots of lovely lust, we have some pretty good life stories to tell, and many of us have paid off our nice cars and sometimes even our boats and private airplanes." I know that's true because it says it on page 2 of my book "Staying Happy Healthy And Hot." Louie Louie Generation guys know lots of things about living with women that the Pimple People guys won't bother to learn, and the Dreary Drones have long forgotten. For example, women are smarter than men. That's why not many women marry a man because he has good legs or looks good in a sweater. We also know "There's no such thing as a hopeless romantic, because hope is the power that keeps a romance alive." And we like being romantic whether other guys approve or not. And "Bodies are much more honest than words." My Lady Wonder Wench

You know about the "Elite"...the guys who keep their personal helicopters on their yachts, which are anchored on some of their private islands, and their his and hers personal jets ready at all times to take emergency trips to those Islands, or anywhere else that's really exclusive. It's some kind of different world from the one the rest of us live in. And I love watching it un-ravel in the James Bond movies. But I'm never going there. On purpose. I was sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair in my living room reading a national magazine called, "The Week" when a story called "Wife Bonuses: The world of elite housewives," jumped off the page and grabbed me by the throat. It's about rich guys wives who get paid what's now calld an annual "Wife Bonus" by their Wall Street type husbands. The amount of the bonus is based on things like how well she does with the kids applications to get into the best schools and of course her own performance in the bedroom." That's a quote. "Huh,

I was a little concerned after last week's podcast in which I revealed Big Louie's All Purpose Answer to the Three Deadly Questions all women ask, because it gave guys a huge advantage. I was afraid I'd find my Lady Wonder Wench carefully reading our wedding license looking for loopholes. As smart as she is, I don't think even my Lady Wonder Wench has really come to grips with how completely basic Louie Louie Generation guys are. I doesn't matter what we're doing...giving a presidential press conference...batting in the last of the ninth, bases loaded, your team three runs down seventh game of the world series...landing an airliner with 400 people aboard during a hurricane and one engine on fire...there's a constant thought going around in our heads... Me want food. Me see woman with food. Me want woman too. It's our testosterone that does this to us. I explained about testosterone on page 69 in my book Staying Happy Healthy And Hot. I quote, "A guy's brain is swimming in a sea of testosterone, which gives

Guys...I about to give you an answer that you will need many times in the tumult of your lives. It's a phrase given to me by Big Louie, the star of my book Staying Happy Healthy And Hot. It's the only possible answer to the three great questions that all Louie Louie Generation guys must face. Question #1 is "Does this outfit make me look fat?" Question #2 is, "If I died would you get married again?" And great question #3 is "Was I your first sexual partner?" Guys, you will be tempted to make up your own answers to these questions, but don't. If you are asked any one of those questions, the only survivable answer is the one Big Louie has given us. It is...listen carefully...take notes...write it down. The answer is "Hhuh? You've got to be kidding." This podcast is a brief rehearsal, because you will get hit with those three great questions.

I was sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in the living room, trying to explain to my Lady Wonder Wench why I absolutely must get a new and kind of expensive piece of navigation equipment for our little Piper airplane. She did that wifely moment of silence when something expensive comes up in a conversation, then she looked up at me, bit the corner of her lip, looked down and said "The biggest difference between men and boys is the size of their toys." But then she looked back up at me, and gave me one of those smiles that lights up the room... and she very quietly said something that explains why she has stayed with me for so long, even though by now she certainly knows that no matter how nicely she kisses me, I'm never going to turn into a prince. That's what this podcast is all about.

I am a typical Louie Louie Generation lad. That means in dog years I am dead. I am young at heart, but somewhat older in other places. In short, some of the butter has slipped off my pancakes. And I guess I must be living proof that evolution can go backwards... because when I saw a comment from Broadway star Lea DeLaria in this week's New York Magazine I immediately stopped stirring my coffee with my car keys, I quickly put the coffee cup down on the table next to my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair, and I stood up so fast that I felt weightless for a moment... and said something that sounded like Gezorninplatz. The comment was, and I quote, "Gender is so passe." Folks...no it's not. At least not for me.

I am beginning to lose my sex drive. I noticed it last night and twice this morning. But as Big Louie, the star of my book Staying Happy Healthy And Hot always says, "Just because we no longer have the rock hard abs and perky breasts like the people in the TV beer commercials, there's no reason to let ourselves just give up and turn into hunks of luke warm meat." And so I think there is still hope. Hope is pretty much the mission statement of our Louie Louie Generation. Big Louie always says "As long as you have some moving parts left, for crying out loud...move em." And he always reminds us that, "You never can tell when something wonderful is going to happen." Well...something wonderful seems to be happening. If you have been startled by the sound of your favorite song playing in an elevator, if you've been going to the beach to get some color and it turns out the color is blue...because you've been holding your belly in, if you've been lying about not only your age but your children's ages, if you've b

You know how a chunk of a song sometimes keeps going around and around in your head. The smart guys in the white lab coats call that an ear worm. I really wish they had called it something else, because that's not a nice picture. I have two of them going on right now. One of them is a once upon a time, a long time ago song called, "Little Things Mean A Lot." The part of the song that's going around in my head goes "...always and ever...now and forever...little things mean a lot." Usually when a song gets stuck in your head like that, if you think about it, the lyric has something to do with what's going on in your life...and I'm trying to figure out the connection here. I know why the other song is going around in my head. It's a song from a movie that's so old the copy I have is on videotape. It's a movie that had a big impact on life for my Lady Wonder Wench and me. I have a feeling that "Little Things Mean A lot" may be on my mind, because I'm finally coming to understand there's not much I can do about

The next time your hat pops off because your head is expanding to keep up with your ego, do one of three things. #1-Try telling some other guy's dog to roll over and play dead, #2- Walk down the beach trying to catch the attention of someone in a bikini while you're wearing your 40 or so year old Speedo. Or #-3 push the pedestrian crossing button to change the sign from don't walk to walk. I have done #s 1 & 2 before several times, and today I hit the trifecta. I stood pushing the damn change the crossing sign button on a busy street, and I pushed and pushed, and pushed and it totally ignored me. I hate ignorance. I especially hated it this time because there was a lot of traffic, and I had to get across the street to a gas station that had a men's room. I mean I was starting to hop from one foot to the other. I really had to get across that street. By the way, I don't make a habit of hanging out in men's rooms, but I feel you might like to know there is a sign in the Denver airport's men's room that r

I was having a wonderful erotic dream last night, when something went BUMP! I leaped out of bed, throwing my back out of whack, bit my upper lip so I wouldn't yell something the Lord wouldn't want to hear, hit my head on Mr. Floor which made my world spin backwards a couple of turns, and woke up my Lady Wonder Wench who said something that sounded like "Gezorninplatz" which I think might mean "It's 4 AM, what the hell are you doing?" I said, "shhhh" as I grabbed my 12 gauge, and stumbled out into the hall on prowler patrol. Remembering what my armed to the teeth buddy Al told me..."Just the sound of a shotgun clicking a round into the chamber will scare anybody off"...I clicked a round into the chamber as loud as I could, and eased my way out into the living room hoping I wouldn't see anybody. And I guess Al was right, I must have scared anybody off. My Lady Wonder Wench said, "It's 4 AM what the hell are you doing?" I said "Something went bump just now, didn't you hear it?" She said "No." I un-chambered t

As I have mentioned, I am not in the dog house with my Lady Wonder Wench. I am, instead, sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair in my living room. I am not in the dog house, because we don't have a dog. And at the possible cost of being placed on the neighborhood terrorist watch list, I don't want a dog...ever again. I had a couple of very bad dog experiences, and I've never fully gotten over them. My buddy Al has a dog named Ike. He often says Ike is like one of the family. I know Al's family, and I don't know which one Ike is like. Ike is part boxer, which probably explains the fact that every time the doorbell rings, he trots over to the corner, sits down, and wags his tail. Ike, not Al. Ike is overweight, but he doesn't like the diet pills al got from the vet so Al hides them in his ice cream. Ike's ice cream. My Lady Wonder Wench had a dog when I met her. Her dog was a Border Collie she called "Lady." Lady didn't like me because although Ms. Wench was a very attentive d