In any case, sir, my spouse used to tell me that I had a behind capable of raising the dead from their graves. I wish to avoid taking any chances.
Isn’t that funny?
If you laughed at this joke, please SHARE it on Facebook with your loved ones.
Although Frank Fritz’s visage was instantly identifiable on television, his personal life was filled with hardships. This is the tale of his unfortunate events.
The long-lasting friendship between Frank and Diann Bankson eventually turned sour. Frank, who was 25, started seeing her, and the two got engaged in 2017. The following year, they moved in together after buying a farmhouse in Iowa.
Sadly, things became worse when Bankson said she had stepped into their bedroom and found her boyfriend with someone else, accusing her partner of cheating. After this occurrence, their relationship quickly fell apart, which led to Frank becoming an alcoholic, losing his job, and facing more health risks.
Both of them bear the permanent scars of their time together; they will always remember their tumultuous relationship even if they are no longer together.
When Fritz realized that Bankson had cheated on him, he was crushed. For their impending nuptials, he had already bought an expensive ring and a property. Fritz was reminded not to make the same mistake twice by getting a tattoo that said, “Once a cheater, always a cheater.”
He experienced financial and emotional hardship as a result of this tragedy. In an attempt to deal with his heartbreak, he started drinking excessively, which caused his weight to drastically drop. He acknowledged that despite his best efforts, he had been unable to move on from her. Fritz still harbored affections for Bankson and desired a marriage with her in spite of her actions.
Fritz had to take a leave of absence from his host position on the History Channel program American Pickers due to health concerns. The viewers of the show had missed him terribly and were ready for him to come back so they could enjoy it again. After undergoing back surgery and a protracted period of healing and recuperation, Fritz said that he was prepared to tackle his long-running series with all of his might.
Fritz stated that the showrunner had been in touch with him and assured him that he would return, even though there had been no formal statement about his return. However, TMZ claims that Fritz was not given any consideration for a hosting position at this moment.
Meanwhile, Bankson, his ex-girlfriend, has made public her connection to engineering administration manager Eric Longlett. She posted pictures of their recent trip to see Elton John’s farewell show, Yellow Brick Road, on social media with pride, writing, “He took me to see Elton John’s farewell tour, Yellow Brick Road.” I’m a really lucky lady. Sweetie, you are my favorite.
Bankson decided not to return to the show as a co-host, and she announced her new companion at the same time. Fritz had been the show’s host for more than 10 years, so it was evident how involved he was, but there didn’t seem to be any preparations for him to return. She said she was grateful to have found Eric and that she did not want to see Fritz again very soon.
When Fritz’s friend found the young guy unconscious on his home floor on July 4, 2022, it was a horrifying scene. Fritz’s companion promptly reported that he was experiencing a seizure to the emergency services. The US Sun recorded the exchange on camera.
Bill Fritz, Fritz’s father, informed reporters that his son was making great progress since being admitted to the hospital and was doing well despite his illness. But the journey was not without difficulties; upon discharge from the hospital, he was placed under custody and sent into a skilled nursing facility to receive additional rehabilitation.
One of Fritz’s longtime friends is said to have sought for and subsequently been granted formal guardianship rights over him in early August 2022 as part of an emergency appointment that also included conservatorship procedures. If the ward is ill or disabled and cannot make decisions for themselves, this procedure enables another person to act on their behalf.
The bank was designated as his conservator and his buddy as his guardian, with the responsibility of monitoring and managing his funds. This implied that all payments for his care facility, including property taxes, maintenance fees, health insurance, and medical treatments, were the bank’s responsibility.
In addition, they would be in charge of getting him to and from events and doctor’s visits. He had to submit a “initial care plan,” which includes involvement in decision-making since the stroke, in order to be designated as his friend’s guardian.
Furthermore, the wishes of the person or, if applicable, his family members must be reflected in all decisions made on his behalf. The bank would have to guarantee that all necessary measures are taken to guarantee his welfare and that any obligations are fulfilled on schedule.
It was just recently established that popular television show host Frank Fritz required a conservator and guardian after records made this clear.
In order to give Frank the care he needs, his designated guardian must make decisions regarding his living arrangement, place of residence, health, and medical needs. They also have to make decisions regarding Frank’s participation in activities and keep lines of communication open with his loved ones, potential suitors, and other relevant parties.
In addition to these duties, the guardian is required to provide an annual report outlining their success in taking care of Frank. Given the seriousness of his illness, it seemed unlikely that he could make wise financial or medical decisions without putting himself in more peril.
Fritz’s neglectful actions could have caused him physical or mental harm, thus it was obvious that he needed a guardian to keep him safe.
The court decided that Fritz needed a guardian to keep him safe and gave them control over some areas of his life while he got the medical attention he needed for his wounds.
Everyone involved in this case has experienced pain, and all we can hope is that Frank heals swiftly enough to begin making his own decisions. I hope the cherished TV show presenter makes a full recovery, and I want you to tell your friends and family about this tale.
My Neighbors Left a Note That Shattered My Heart — My Granddaughter Discovered It and Gave Them a Learning Experience
The music I played on my piano was my last link to my late husband. But cruel neighbors shattered that joy with a hurtful message on my wall. When my granddaughter found out, she made things right, leaving those entitled neighbors scratching their heads.
“Oh, Jerry, did you love it today, darling?” I asked softly, the last notes of “Clair de Lune” filling my cozy living room as my fingers lifted from the ivory piano keys. My eyes fixed on the framed photo of my late husband, Jerry. His kind eyes seemed to twinkle back at me, just as they had for over fifty years of our marriage…
Willie, my tabby cat, stretched lazily near my feet, purring contentedly. I reached down to scratch behind his ears, feeling the familiar ache in my chest as I carefully lifted Jerry’s photo.
“I miss you so much, darling. It’s been five years, but sometimes… sometimes it feels like yesterday.”
Pressing a gentle kiss to the cool glass, I whispered, “Time for dinner, my love. I’ll play your favorite before bed, okay? ‘Moon River,’ just like always.”
As I set the frame back down, I could almost hear Jerry’s warm chuckle. “You spoil me, Bessie,” he’d say, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
I shuffled towards the kitchen, pausing to look back at the piano, my constant companion these past 72 years.
“What would I do without you?” I murmured, running my hand along its polished surface.
That night, as I lay in bed, I whispered into the darkness, “Goodnight, Jerry. I’ll see you in my dreams.”
The next morning, I was lost in Chopin’s “Nocturne in E-flat major” when a sharp rap on my window startled me. My fingers stumbled, the music cutting off abruptly.
A red-faced man glared at me through the glass. He was my new neighbor.
“Hey, lady!” he shouted, his voice muffled. “Cut out that racket! You’re keeping the whole neighborhood awake with your pathetic plinking!”
I stared at him, shocked. “I… I’m so sorry,” I stammered, even as a small voice in my head protested. It was barely 11 a.m., and none of my other neighbors had ever complained before.
The man stomped away, leaving me trembling. I closed the lid of the piano, my sanctuary suddenly feeling tainted.
The next day, I closed all the windows before sitting down to play. The music felt muffled and constrained, but I hoped it would keep the peace.
I was barely ten minutes into Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” when my doorbell rang insistently. With a heavy heart, I answered it.
A woman with pinched features glared at me. “Listen here, old lady,” she spat. “The grave’s calling, and you’re still banging on that piano? Cut the noise, or I’ll report you to the HOA!”
It was only then that I understood she was my new neighbor’s wife.
I felt like I’d been slapped. “I… I closed all the windows,” I said weakly.
“Well, it’s not enough!” she snapped, turning on her heel. “Quit making noise with your stupid piano!”
I slumped against the door frame, tears welling in my eyes. “Oh, Jerry,” I whispered. “What do I do?”
I could almost hear his voice, gentle but firm. “You play, Bessie. You play your heart out. Don’t stop… for anyone.”
But as I sat at the piano, my fingers hovering over the keys, I couldn’t bring myself to press down.
Days passed, and I tried everything. I taped cardboard over the windows, played only in short bursts, even considered moving the piano to the basement where it might not be heard.
But nothing seemed to satisfy my new neighbors, the Grinches, as I’d started calling them in my head.
The thought of being separated from my cherished instrument, even by a flight of stairs, made my heart ache. This piano wasn’t just an object; it was an extension of my soul, a living connection to Jerry and our life together.
Forgetting about those bothersome neighbors for a moment, I lost myself in the music as I played the piano that night.
The next morning, I stepped outside to tend to my small herb garden. The sight that greeted me stopped me cold.
The cruel words “SHUT UP!” were spray-painted across the wall in angry red letters.
I sank to my knees and wept. “Jerry, I can’t do this anymore.”
That day, for the first time in decades, I didn’t touch my piano.
As night fell, I sat in Jerry’s armchair, clutching his photo. “I’m so sorry, my love. I just don’t have the strength to fight anymore.”
The shrill ring of the telephone startled me from my thoughts. I fumbled for the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Mom? It’s me,” my son Jacob’s warm voice filled the line. “How are you doing?”
I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “Oh, I’m fine, sweetie. Just a quiet day at home.”
There was a pause. “Mom, you don’t sound fine. Is everything alright?”
I sighed, debating whether to burden him with my troubles. “It’s nothing, really. Just… some issues with the new neighbors.”
“Issues? What kind of issues?”
I found myself spilling everything… the complaints, the threats, the vandalism.
“I don’t know what to do anymore, honey. I feel so… lost.”
“Oh, Mom, why didn’t you tell me sooner? We could have helped.”
“I didn’t want to worry you. You have your own life, your own problems.”
“Mom, you’re never a burden. Never. Your music has brought joy to so many people over the years. Remember all those Christmas parties? The school recitals you played for? You’re not a nuisance… you’re a treasure.”
“Listen, I’m going to call Melissa. She’s closer. Maybe she can come check on you. And we’ll figure this out together, okay?” Jacob finished.
As I hung up the phone, I felt a small flicker of hope. Maybe I wasn’t alone in this after all.
Days crawled by. My piano sat untouched, gathering dust. I felt like a part of me was withering away.
One evening, a loud knock startled me from my melancholy. I opened the door to find my granddaughter Melissa standing there, her face glowing with a warm smile.
“Surprise, Nana!” she exclaimed, enveloping me in a tight hug.
As she pulled back, her eyes widened in horror. “Nana, who did this to your wall?”
I burst into tears, the whole story spilling out between sobs. Melissa’s expression darkened with each word.
“Oh, Nana,” she said softly, leading me to the couch. “How dare they do this to you? Did you report them?”
“I didn’t want to make a fuss. It’s just… it’s been so hard, sweetie. That piano, it’s all I have left of your grandpa.”
Melissa’s eyes filled with tears. “I know, Nana. We’ll fix this, I promise.”
“How?” I asked, feeling hopeless. “They hate my music. They hate me.”
Melissa took my hands in hers, her grip firm and reassuring. “They can shove their hatred up their butts, Nana. They don’t even know you. These entitled brats are about to learn what happens when you mess with the wrong pianist!”
The next day, Melissa was a whirlwind of activity. She made calls, ordered some supplies, and even enlisted the help of some neighbors I’d known for years.
“Nana, we’re going to teach those Grinches a lesson about respect.”
That evening, Melissa set up small speakers around the Grinches’ property, carefully hidden in the boxwood bushes under their windows.
When their car pulled into the driveway, she winked at me. “Show time, Nana!”
As soon as the Grinches disappeared inside, soft piano music began to play from the hidden speakers, barely audible at first. They rushed out, looking confused. Then suddenly, the music changed to a medley of barking dogs and car alarms.
I couldn’t help but giggle as I watched them run around, trying to find the source of the noise.
Melissa grinned triumphantly. “And now, for the grand finale,” she said, pressing a red button on a remote control-like device.
The air was filled with the most ridiculous assortment of fart sounds I’d ever heard. I doubled over with laughter, tears streaming down my face.
“Melissa!” I gasped between giggles. “You’re terrible!”
She hugged me tight. “Nobody messes with my Nana. Besides, a little harmless payback never hurt anyone.”
As we watched the Grinches frantically searching their yard, I was pleased. “Thank you, sweetheart,” I said softly. “For reminding me to stand up for myself.”
The next morning, a crew arrived at my house. To my amazement, they began converting my piano room into a state-of-the-art soundproof studio.
“Now you can play whenever you want, Nana,” Melissa said, squeezing my hand. “No one will ever tell you to stop again.”
As the workers finished up, I sat down at my newly polished piano. My fingers trembled as they touched the keys, but as soon as I began to play, it was like coming home.
The familiar strains of “Moon River” filled the air, and I closed my eyes, feeling Jerry’s presence all around me.
“That’s my girl,” I could almost hear him say. “Play on, Bessie. Play on.”
Melissa danced around the room, a glass of wine in hand. “You rock, Nana!” she cheered. “Grandpa would be so proud.”
As the last notes faded away, I turned to her with tears in my eyes. “Thank you, sweetheart. You’ve given me back my voice.”
“No, Nana,” Melissa said, kneeling beside me. “You’ve always had your voice. I just helped you remember how to use it.”
All too soon, it was time for Melissa to leave. As we stood in the driveway, waiting for her taxi, she handed me the remote control-like device.
“Just in case those Grinches act up again,” she winked. “One press, and it’s fart city. But I don’t think you’ll need it. The whole neighborhood’s got your back now, Nana!”
I hugged her tightly. “I love you so much, Melissa. Thank you for everything.”
“I love you too, Nana. Promise me you’ll keep playing, no matter what anyone says.”
“I promise,” I said, my voice strong and sure.
As I watched the taxi disappear down the street, my phone buzzed. It was a text from my son: “How are you doing, Mom? Melissa told me everything. I’m so proud of you. Love you. ”
I smiled, tears pricking my eyes as I typed back: “I’m doing better than I have in weeks. Thank you for being there for me. I love you too. ”
Turning back to my house, I could have sworn I saw Jerry standing near the piano, arms wide open, beckoning me to play.
I wiped away a stray tear of joy and walked inside, closing the door behind me. The piano was waiting, and this time, nothing would stop me from playing.
As my fingers touched the keys, I felt whole again. The music swelled, filling every corner of my home and my heart. And somewhere, I knew Jerry was listening, smiling, and dancing along.
“This one’s for you, my love,” I whispered, as the melody of our favorite song carried me away. “And for our family, who never gave up on me!”
The notes of “Moon River” floated through the air. As I played, I felt stronger than ever, surrounded by the love of those who mattered most, both here and beyond.
Leave a Reply