Christmas At The Tip Jar Makes A Happy Curmudgeon

An early Christmas gift came to Curmudgeon Compound!

This blog, like many of life’s better activities, is a fiscal black hole. That’s just the way it is. There’s no profit to be gained from fishing, hunting, or drinking whiskey either. I would scarcely consider them unwise. So long as it remains fun and provided the NSA doesn’t crawl further up my ass, I’ll keep writing.

On the other hand, I never took a vow of poverty. If you’re looking for someone that thinks money is the root of all evil, you’re talking to the wrong Curmudgeon. Every bit helps.

Several weeks ago I put up a tipjar. I never specifically mentioned it. Y’all know how a tipjar works; click the button, type a credit card number, and enter any random amount that floats your boat. PayPal’s banking goblins put the money in my Gringott’s vault and e-mail me about it.

Do you have to hit the tip jar? Nope. You can hang out and read for free. No pressure. Loser.

On the other hand, if you give me a tip, you’re a hero and a credit to humanity. Possibly a God among men. At the very least a beacon of awesome. You rock.

Despite (or perhaps because of) the fact I’ve scarcely mentioned it, tips trickle in from time to time. Each one is a party. Really!

Even the smallest amount makes me happy. I’m the kind of guy who’ll stop on a busy street to pick up a penny and be pretty pleased to find it. (Mrs. Curmudgeon points out that blocking traffic to pick up a coin that has the purchasing power of dried dogshit is the first sign of geezerhood. To that I say “kids these days don’t know squat” and pull up my pants to my armpits.)

This morning was a tipjar revelation. I’ve been “off grid” for several days. It’s a busy time and I’ve been too distracted going through the meatgrinder of modern life to fret over e-mail. Also my laptop is starting to crap out so every time I boot it up I wonder if it’ll be the last. If there was an important e-mail I was missing it.

While brewing coffee, I felt a weird obligation to check my e-mail. Lo and behold there was a tip. A pretty generous one! Holy shit! Angels sang from the heavens, I did a Curmudgeonly happy dance, and my dog howled with me. Some coffee may have been spilled. I’m still grinning.

I’d like to personally thank the fellow who gave the tip. Something memorable; possibly write a saga in his honor, paint his name on my tractor hood, and name my chainsaw after him.

However I’m really into anonymity. I extend that courtesy to my readers. So that’s that.

You know who you are. Thank you very much. I hope you have a Merry Christmas and I want you to know that I appreciate your gift.


P.S. Yes I made a Harry Potter reference. Yes, I’m aware that makes me totally uncool. Too bad. If you’re looking for cool you surely know that train left my station years ago.

About Adaptive Curmudgeon

I will neither confirm nor deny that I actually exist.
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7 Responses to Christmas At The Tip Jar Makes A Happy Curmudgeon

  1. Anonymous says:

    Hey…I’m leaving you a tip just because you made a Harry Potter reference! Plus I like your blog, your continuing sagas make me laugh, sometimes a lot. Merry Christmas.

  2. cspschofield says:

    (Mrs. Curmudgeon points out that blocking traffic to pick up a coin that has the purchasing power of dried dogshit is the first sign of geezerhood. To that I say “kids these days don’t know squat” and pull up my pants to my armpits.)

    Sounds to me like you might be a classic example of Early Onset Geezerhood.

    I know I had it when I had a mall job and realized that what I was thinking when the slightly dressed, quite nubile, mall-ratetts sauntered by was “Cute. But she’d want to talk afterwards, and she has nothing to say.”

  3. Bruce says:

    This is one of my favorite blogs. I look forward to every post. Thank you for taking time out of your life to share with us.

  4. Rich in NC says:

    This post “pants in the armpits” made me laugh out loud, for the second time, in a row… the first time I laughed out loud was the “It’s not a minivan” post. You verbalize exactly my sentiments.
    Thank you.

    Rich in NC

  5. Morris says:

    If it comes to cool that train *never* arrived at my station…

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