Jim Foster

“Well to be honest, Mr. Sharpe, I’m not sure if I know what happened. Let me see – I remember coming down the chimney. It’s a very nice one by the way, a straight shaft with none of those curves and right angles in it.

Snowbirds know where he goes but they keep that kind of information to themselves. They ply the old goat with booze so they get first crack at the goodies next Christmas.

I don’t doubt when he jotted down the poem, old Clement was pretty well juiced.

Under the terms of the union contract at Otaco (re: statutory holidays) he shouldn’t have been paid for Christmas at all.

“Look, he’s not talking to some jerk on the other line right now; he’s talking to me… What do you mean it’s the same thing?”

My first thought was perhaps a lonely bachelor had just finished off a bottle of Bombay gin and realized another evening was over and once again love had passed him by and…

Shakespeare knew a lot about women and romance. His gals were never prim and proper ladies who were subservient to men.

ShareA Geezer’s Notebook, By Jim Foster A few years ago I was fiddling around with the idea of coming out

Lying in a column is called poetic license, story enhancement, and sometimes pure bull droppings.

One of the problems of being a world-renowned columnist is hundreds, if not thousands, of loyal readers base their daily lives on our sage advice…