POLITICIANS

Manure :  In the 16th and 17th centuries, everything had to be transported by ship and it was also before the invention of commercial fertilizers, so large shipments of manure were quite common.    It was shipped dry, because in dry form it weighed a lot less than when wet, but once water (at sea) hit it, not only did it become heavier, but the process of fermentation began again, of which a by-product is methane gas. As the stuff was stored below decks in bundles you can imagine what could (and did) happen.   Methane began to build up below decks and the first time someone came below at night with a lantern...... BOOOOM!   Several ships were destroyed in this manner before it was determined just what was happening  After that, the bundles of manure were always stamped with the instruction ' Stow high in transit ' on them, which meant for the sailors to stow it high enough off the lower decks so that any water that came into the hold would not touch this volatile cargo and start the production of methane.        Thus evolved the term 'S.H.I.T', (Stow High In Transit) which has come down through the centuries and is in use to this very day..  You probably did not know the true history of this word.  Neither did I.    I had always thought it was essentially something to do with POLITICIANS... The Patient Grandpa...   I was walking through the local supermarket the other day when I saw a grandfather walking around with his 2 year old grandson. It was obvious that the grandpa wasn't having an easy time of it, with the siren-like voice of his cherished youngling scaling upwards every time candy or toys came into view. The grandfather, however, kept his cool, and intoned softly to the child: "Ron, relax, it won't take long." When the screaming didn't stop, the grandpa continued: "Ron, there's no reason to get angry, try to enjoy this walk and in a minute we'll be on the way home, promise." When I came out of the store I saw them in the parking lot, the child screaming and the older man still talking softly and quiety to him. I couldn't help myself. I walked over to him. "Sir," I said, "I have to say you are an amazing grandfather. The way you talk to the boy and keep your calm despite all of this screaming - Ron's a lucky kid to have a grandpa like you." "Thanks," said the grandfather, "but I'm Ron. This little bugger's name is Michael."