Dumped from the vaunted Canandaigua YMCA yet again

OVERHEARD AT THE DREADED CANANDAIGUA YMCA

I am in the Men’s Locker-room.
“Boy oh boy,” layabout says. “Have ya ever seen wind-damage in January? That’s a March-thing. Must be them Ruskies!”
“Woops! Scotch that! We don’t blame the Ruskies any more,” he says.
“Yep,” I said. “Now we blame that Al Qaeda guy — the boogie-man that replaced the Ruskies.”
“Or that guy in North Korea with the spiky hair,” he said. “—He’s controllin’ our weather, I tell ya!”
“Maybe we should invade Brazil; that’ll teach ‘em!” I said.
(Why my mother-in-law watched for Russian bombers from the Bath Fire Tower: “What are they gonna bomb?” my wife always asked. “The cheese factory,” my mother-in-law would say. “Ending the world’s supply of mozzarella-balls.”)

My macho blowhard brother-in-Boston loudly claims my flying “Overheards at the dreaded Canandaigua YMCA” will get me dumped.

My wife of 40 years is Linda.