Georgie Got Run Over

Presidential Performance Review

We all know how we would grade Dubya's tenure. I wonder how he would rate himself? Ha! No one would allow him to do so, because it would require honest and objective answers.

Exhibit A: Geography Test

It appears the old boy has problems with multiple choice questions.
....The test designers must have known that the True or False questions would give him fits!
....All things considered, that's probably not too bad of a score for a rich oil man from Texas.






Georgie Got Run Over By The Democrats
(Sung to the tune of "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer")
(Refrain:)
Georgie got run over by the Democrats
Wiping the tears from his eyes with his sleeve,
You can say there's no such thing as landslides,
But as for me and America, we believe.

He'd been thinkin' too much about Iraq,
And we'd begged him to bring our troops home,
But he said he'd find the WMD first,
So he mumbled in the Oval Office all alone.

When they found him after the elections
On the White House lawn in the grass,
There were slap prints on his sad face,
And the First Lady's boot marks on his ass.

(Refrain:)
Now we're all so worried about Georgie,
He's seen the Democrats take away his veto.
See him in there watchin' war movies,
Drinkin' Ovaltine and playin' with his G.I. Joe.

There were no Weapons of Mass Destruction,
That's why we're bombin' every camel in Iraq.
He has no support in Congress or the House,
Should we open the absentee ballots or send them back?

(Refrain:)
Now that his goose has been cooked,
He's eatin' rice from some Korean paddy.
The map of the red and blue states
Seem to match the eyes and hair of his Daddy.

I'm askin' all my friends and neighbors
To tell him to call back our girls and boys.
They never should have given a Presidency
To a man who plays war games with G.I. Joe toys.

(Refrain:)

No.816

Follow That Star !

Dateline: 2006, New York City - (MAGI press story) - Today in Downtown Manhattan, three Eastern Kings hailed a cab on Broadway. Bearing gifts, they reportedly said to the hack, also a Middle Easterner, "Follow that star!"
....The Must Always Gag Information news service reported that it was the middle of the day and no stars were visible in the bright sunlit sky.
....It was later learned they were chasing Paris Hilton. (They loved her video.) They had a lot of money and wished to sign up to be in her next feature film, "It Came Upon The Midnight Clear."

Santa Baby

Ever wonder what Santa does the other 364 days of the year? That's when he gets his presents. He receives them from those who have been naughty and nice!

Believe you me, he's checking that list more than once and he's definitely checking it more than twice!

Five will get you ten that Santa's favorite song is Santa Claus Is Coming To Town ! Where do you think all those elves came from?

Because you asked for it, Lime , here is your song. I just happened to have the perfect cartoon to accompany this joyous holiday ditty.

We Three Stooges of Dubya Are
(Sung to the tune of We Three Kings)

We three stooges of Dubya are
Getting rich with soldiers afar;
Condi and Cheney, Rumsey so zany
Following Super Tsar.

(Chorus:)
O, Tsar of Blunder, Tsar of Blight,
Tsar who thinks he's always right,
Eastward attacking, proof he's lacking,
Dragging us into his fight.

Born a babe, silver spoon in his mouth
And now the Republicans have gone south
Tsar rambling, Tsar gambling
His big foot in his mouth.

(Chorus:)

No.815

O Little Clown Who's President

As I am sometimes wont to do, I like to parody songs. With Christmas fast approaching there is a plethora of carols from which to choose.

I was in a quandary. Which one should I parody? At first, I experimented with the words: O Come Let Us Ignore Him.... Then I toyed with: Oh, Tsar of Blunder, Tsar of Blight.... Another had possibilities: You're a mean one, Mr. President..

Then lo and behold, I found the caricature at the above right. Now just what song could possibly tie in with that cartoon? The parodied title and subject fit like a glove: Oh Little Clown Who's President...So clear your throats and take a sip of whatever libation is close at hand and sing along...

Oh Little Clown Who's President
(sung to the tune of Oh Little Town of Bethlehem)

Oh little clown who's President, we still hear how thee lied
About thy fears of terrorists and the weapons that they hide.
You neath satin sheets somehow manage to fall asleep tonight,
Despite the hopes and fears of our troops while they fight.

Should we attempt another number? Sure, why not? I'm a sandwich! (translation: sandwich = on a roll)~(Note to self: delete this awful pun)

The Dubya's Song
(Sung to the tune of The Grinch's Song)

You're a mean one, Mr. President,
You really are a jerk,
You're as welcome as a rash,
You're a real piece of work, Mr. President,
You're a megalomaniac gone berserk!

You're an idiot, Mr. President,
Your heart pumps oil,
Your brain is full of grandeur,
Your smile can make milk spoil, Mr. President,
You should be wrapped with thirty-nine-and-a-half feet of foil!

You're a coward, Mr. President,
You're a mealy mouthed punk,
Your heart is as cold as an icebox,
Your Party is all but sunk, Mr. President,
The three words that best describe how I should feel, and I quote,
"Drink, drank, drunk"!

No.814

Tis the Season To Rant

Fog comes on little cat feet.
It sits looking over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on. -Carl Sanburg

Christmas comes on big trucks.
It sits looming over counter and shelf
in bustling stores
and lingers for months. - Hale McKay

When the October shelf space for Halloween displays are reduced to make room for the Christmas paraphernalia, I can't help but ask myself, "Am I the only one who realizes that the latter holiday is almost two months away?"
....Of course, I'm not the only one. I know that. Then, to add insult to injury to my sense of a perfect world, there were houses already decked out in Christmas regalia -in October! While I am no Scrooge, is it any wonder that by the time the first of December rolls around, that I finding myself spreading cheer with such epithets as "Merry Friggin' Christmas?"

Although this early capitalistic free enterprise force feeding of goods sticks in my craw, it falls to a distant second place to a carcinogenic evil of pandemic proportions. The previous sentence was a verbose way of fighting back against this threat. But first, allow me to say this:
! Tis the season!
I don't care who the f**k you are or where the f**k you came from, under no circumstances do you have the right to deny me one iota of my freedom of speech or expression. It offends you because you don't worship or believe in Jesus Christ? You have the same rights as I to believe and practice your own religion, but not at the expense of others.
....You've taken away prayer in our schools. You've taken away the Pledge of Allegiance. You've maliciously tried to have "In God We Trust" removed from our currency. What more do you want?

You want what? You want me to say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas ?" To put things in perspective, why don't we change the name of the state of Alabama? Why don't we find another name for apple pie a la mode? Those are sure to offend someone, don't you think? Who wants a state or dessert that contains the phonetic sound of "Allah ?" Does anyone else see the folly of all this falderal?

You've denied us the Nativity scene on public properties. You want it removed from private properties also. Nyah-nyah-nyah! You didn't get that one, assholes, did you?
....Well, I'm not about to stoop to your level - to that of whale shit which lies on the bottom of the ocean - and attack your Gods or religions. However, with all the crap you've been shoveling, I'd be perfectly within my rights to do so.
....I have just one more thing to say on this matter, and you can put it in your pipe and smoke it:

Hopefully on this sensitive subject, this will be the end-all to end all !

No.813

Fairy Blog Mother

Hortense stood outside a door of the Fairy Tribunal on the day of her annual perform-ance review.
....A recent apprentice Fairy Godmother, it hadn't been a very good month for her. It seemed that no matter how hard she'd tried, something would go wrong. She was certain that she would surely lose her wand and maybe even her wings this time around.
....From behind the door she heard a voice say, "Is that Hortense waiting out there?"
...."Not really, Mother," replied her assistant. "She appears to be calm."
....Exasperated the God Mother exclaimed, "What did you say? Oh, never mind. Send her in, please."
....Standing before the dais, Hortense bowed to the matriarch of the Fairy Sisterhood.
...."Tsk-tsk," said the Fairy Godmother Superior, "You seem to be having trouble grasping the concept of a being a Fairy Godmother, my dear. Granting wishes carries a certain amount of responsibility."
....Observing the prescribed protocol of the Tribunal, Hortense nodded and did not speak. She listened intently as the matronly fairy read from the report of Hortense's assignments. She cringed when she heard the name Bill Gates, the bespectacled nerd she had granted three wishes.
...."The kid tricked you, that much is certain, but a good Fairy Godmother must see through chicanery. You should have been suspicious when he used all three of his wishes for free downloads. If they were free in the first place, then you should have denied him those wishes. Unknown to you he was downloading the programs of his rival programmers."
....Hortense sighed in defeat. The rest was history. The kid went on to found Microsoft and in turn created a monopoly of biblical proportions. She raised her wand, certain that the Godmother Superior would be demanding it.
....Instead she waved off the tendered wand. "I have a special assignment for, Hortense. It is an easy case, but no less an important one. I trust that even you cannot fail at this endeavor."

Meanwhile in merry old England, Prince Charles had just left the home of his mother, the Queen. Once again he had failed to convince her that the picture of his wife, Camilla, should not be used as a dart board in the Queen's reception hall.
....Angrily he jumped into his car and burned rubber away from the house. Suddenly just before he had reached the main gate he felt a sickening thump. Fearing the worst, he stopped to see what he had run over. As if he wasn't in hot water with her in the first place, he had just run over his mother's beloved prized poodle.
....He was pacing back and forth frantically thinking. "Should I run? Or should I fess up to my mother?" He was startled by a sudden puff of smoke. There before him, floating about one meter above the ground, a woman had materialized from nowhere."
...."Fear not, sir," she said to him. "I am your Fairy Godmother. I was sent to help you."
....Gathering his senses, Charles said, "Why, yes. I do so need your help." He pointed to the bloody lifeless corpse of the dog. "Do you suppose you can bring the Queen's favorite dog back to life?"
....Hortense studied the mangled remains of the dog and sadly shook her head. "I'm afraid the dog is beyond my powers to resurrect, sir." She saw the disappointment etched on his face. "Perhaps there is another wish I can grant you?"
....Thinking for a few minutes, Charles removed his wallet from his pocket. He produced a pair of photographs and held them before her. "The picture on the right is that of Diana, my first wife. She was loved by everyone, including my mother. Sadly, she died in an automobile accident some time ago. Isn't she beautiful?"
...."Yes. She was a very beautiful woman," Hortense replied.
...."The other photograph," Charles added, "Is of my current wife Camilla, the Duchess of Cornwall. You see, no one likes her, not even my mother."
...."That's unfortunate, sir. But how do those photographs address my offer to help you?"
...."Do you suppose you could make Camilla as beautiful as Diana?" Charles asked.
....Hortense studied the pictures intently for several minutes before handing them back to him.
....She turned and said, "Let me have another look at the dog!"

Looking onto the screen of her magic power notebook, the Fairy Godmother Superior had been watching the whole drama unfold. She turned to her assistant and said, "She done good! She has passed the test."

No.812

Bagged, Gagged and Tagged!

Cannon to the right of me ! Cannon to the left of me !

Darned if I didn't get caught in a cross fire ! ....Hoosier Girl to the right of me !
....Serena Joy to the left of me ! Into the valley of the blog meme I ride !
....As a rule, I don't do memes, though I have conceded a few times. As both of these lovely ladies have opted to tag me with the identical meme, and as both are recent additions to my Blogroll, I was tempted stay my ground. Instead, I have decided to relent if for no other reason but out of respect for them.
....Actually, there is a another reason, albeit a devious one. Remember girls this well known quote by the Pointmeister: "Them that tag are destined to be tagged in turn." For by linking the two of you here, I also have extended an invitation to my readers to visit your sites. Should they, if and when they get tagged, they will have fresh meat targets.

I don't like to talk or write too much about myself because I find myself to be boring. The complexity of my being is lost in its simplicity. Besides, almost everything one could learn about me has been in front of you all along. It's right here in my Blog.

I do believe I was tagged with the same meme some time ago. It seems to me that it asked for five weird things about myself. It appears that a meme is like a snowball; as it rolls downhill it gets bigger. Thus, I am required to now cite six things ! I feel safe in stating that the answers this time will differ than those before.

Weird #1: I apply salt to watermelon, cantaloupe, apples, pears, oatmeal, and pizza. If there is no salt available, I will not touch any of these.

Weird #2: There will be many who will disagree, but to me the worst movies I ever saw were: Pulp Fiction, The Godfather, Santa Claus Conquers The Martians, and almost every movie that was an adaptation of an original TV program.

Weird #3: Even though I grew up when they were at the peak of their popularity, I cannot tolerate the singing of James Taylor, Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, Melanie, and Joanie Mitchell.

Weird #4: For some reason, I find it very difficult to compose a post directly to the screen. I must first write out everything long hand and then post from what I committed to paper.

Weird #5: I once contributed to the graffiti on a bathroom stall by writing "For a good time read...," and completing the line with my site's URL. To this day I wonder if I'll ever get a comment that states: "I found your blog on a shit house wall."

Weird #6: The weird thing is that I don't find any of these weird things necessarily weird !

Thanks to Hoosier Girl and Serena Joy for giving me this arduous task opportunity to expose the weirdness within me. I think?

No.811

Different Strokes

The cheetah is the fastest land animal.

The picture at the right depicts the work of artist Guido Daniele. The human hand is his canvas. His works of art, which take three to four hours to complete, survive only long enough to be photographed before being washed down the drain with soap and water.

I was also struck by his representation of the American bald eagle, which appears below. I discovered this artist and his works in the recent issue of Readers Digest. There were photographs of several more examples of his work, including an elephant, a dog, and another eagle with its wings spread.

The eyes of his creations even appear to be looking at you.

If you wish to see these images and more, you can visit the magazine's website featuring Daniele's work by clicking here.

While on the subject of animals, here is an accurate depiction of how one goes about training a cat:


Sometimes you can do too good of a job training a dog!


I am proud to say that I have figured out a way to train a turkey.

Ladies, looking for a way to train your man?


Then again there are those that make you wonder if they were ever trained at all!

Then again, maybe the human race had a bad trainer.


On a closing note, I just realized a way to cut down on the number of divorces every year in the country. All you need to do is to have the cell phone companies write the marriage contracts. You'll never get out of them!

No.810

Have A Nice Day, Turkeys!

Er... I mean ... Have a nice Turkey Day!

Seriously, folks...

On this day of celebration, let us not forget those who cannot sit and dine with us. Let our prayers of thanks include our service men and women who are fighting to keep us free.
....We don't have to agree why they are where they are, but let us pray for their safe return.

Since I have been serving up Thanksgiving posts for the past week, I thought that today I'd place some dessert on the table.

"A cheeseburger and fries," a man says to the waitress.
...."Me too," says the turkey sitting at the table with him.
....After they had finished eating, the waitress handed the man the check stating, "That'll be $9.40."
....The man reached into his pocket and produced the exact amount plus $2.00 for a tip.
....The man and the turkey return to the same diner the next day. Both he and the turkey order a steak and a baked potato. Again, the man reaches into his pocket and produces the exact amount including a tip.
....For the next several days the man and the turkey return. On each visit the man orders a different and more expensive menu item, and each time the turkey has the same thing. Without fail the man would produce the exact amount of the bill and an appropriate gratuity.
....Finally the waitress's curiosity gets the better of her, "How is that you manage to have just the right amount of money in your pocket every time you order? And what's with the turkey?"
...."A genie granted me two wishes," the man explained. "My first wish was that I'd always have the right amount of money to pay for anything."
...."Brilliant!" said the waitress. "But what's with the turkey?"
...."Well," he said, "my second wish was for a big-breasted chick who would agree with everything I say."

~~~~~~

Hear about the man who ran a turkey farm and an auto-detailing business from the same company?
....He named it: Gobble Degook

I fear some of you may have missed two very funny posts. (If I do say so myself.) For your humor palate, check out these two posts:

...1)Dead Turkeys Walking -- A humorous Thanksgiving take on Charles Dickens' classic, "A Christmas Carol." A must-read for Bush bashers! (Posted Monday, 11/20.)
...2)The Real First Thanksgiving -- Only a twisted mind could uncover the twisted (but true?) events of how the first Thanksgiving happened. (Posted Sunday, 11/19.)

Here's wishing each and everyone of you and your families a Happy and Bountiful Thanksgiving.

I hope you had a better Thanksgiving than mine. --Because I had a GREAT one!

No.809

Thanksgiving Confessional

I have a confession to make. With the exception of the title, the images and these opening paragraphs, you are about to read stolen material - contraband. They say confession is good for the soul? I say, that's easy for whomever 'they' are to say.
....Before condemning me and passing judgement, at least allow me to plea bargain. I am guily of this larcenous undertaking. I stole this post! However, I have to ask that the charges be dropped.
....I stole it from ... myself! That's right, I pilfered my own archives. This post originally appeared on the 25th of November, 2005, titled First In First Out.
.... If I am guilty of anything, perhaps you'd consider a lesser charge, maybe that of laziness?

What's worse than over-eating on Thanksgiving?
You have gorged yourself on three helpings of turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, squash and all the other trimmings. You have already unsnapped your pants and loosened your belt two or three notches. You have taken up station on the couch for some football. You have performed the act of remoting and the station and volume are set. Your upright posture has given way to a more comfortable angle for optimum viewing. You were thinking "It doesn't get any better than this!"

Now, how can over-eating on Thanksgiving be bad?
One thing comes to mind. In Accounting, they sometimes use the FIFO method. First In First Out means that the first order in is the first to be processed. So it is with the food we ingest. You remember that your last meal yesterday consisted of three chili dogs and a dish of nachos. They had decided to overstay their welcome as it was. Something has got to give!
With your nap interrupted by that primal call of the wild, you are driven to seek a haven where you can purge your system. In that Fortress of Solitude, you contemplate the desserts that have been gathering at the table where once the main entrees had resided. You are salivating thinking of those culinary delights awaiting to tickle your palate. The involuntary processes are at play as you patiently rule that domain from your throne.

What's worse than over eating on Thanksgiving? To your horror, you discover there is something! You have discovered too late that there is no toilet paper on the roll! Anxiety begins to set in as you helplessly look around for a spare roll. There is none to be found! I am talking emergency here! There is that ray of hope that springs eternal as you reach for the waste bucket. There must be some discarded tissues or pieces of paper. There is none! Someone must have emptied the bucket. You curse their efficiency. For a fleeting moment your eyes fall upon the clean face cloth and towels hanging by the sink. Wisely, you decide that is not a viable option.

To bide time, you try flexing and unflexing certain muscles in hopes of calling forth more output. Perhaps a second wave might be cleanser of sorts? You admonish yourself for thinking of such a stupid idea. Your eyes suddenly widen as if you had made a monumental discovery that would benefit all of mankind. You have just had an epiphany. There should be some magazines in there somewhere. Most desirable would be a section from a newspaper, as it has more absorbent properties and is more malleable. A page from a Readers Digest would work, not the shiny pages, but one or two of the pulp ones. Once again your hopes are dashed. There is not a single magazine to be had. What kind of library is it that has no reading material, you think.

The dilemma you are facing is worsened by the fact that you are not in your own home. This is not your throne room. If you were at home, it would be an easy obstacle to overcome. You would simply hike your pants up partway and then penguin waddle out of the bathroom. You could even grab a napkin from the table if you wanted. You could make a beeline for the nearest box of facial tissue. Kleenex! You grapple behind you, there must be something serviceable on top of the tank lid! Once again you strike out, for save a couple of hair brushes, nothing is there. Nah! There is no way you are going to consider one of those brushes.

You are starting to wonder how long you have been taking up residence in your hosts' toilet. It wouldn't be long before they sent out a search party, or worse yet, someone else would want to use the facilities. Desperation is beginning to set in. Once again you are considering the face cloth. Your business had been finished for several minutes. Hardly a piece of artwork is it that you have left, but even artists have to clean up after their masterpieces have been completed. The aroma, which has become increasingly unpleasant, has began wafting around the small confines in which you are imprisoned.

You are about to resort to the Final Option. You will have to pull up your underpants and give yourself a wedgie before pulling up your outer pants. You are committed and start to rise, when there is a knock at the door. It must be an advance scout for the main body of the search party. "Just a minute. I'll be right out. Sorry," You manage to reply.

The voice on the other side announces, "I just realized that we forgot to replace the toilet paper in there." A second load has been removed, this time from your shoulders. You respond as if in surprise, "Oh? Oh yes, I see. I didn't notice there wasn't any. I wasn't ready for it yet." Whether he believed you or not wasn't important. You release a sigh of gratitude as he says, "I'll set it on the floor next to the door. You can reach out for it."

Although you had received salvation, you think about the not so pleasant bouquet that will invade the next person's olfactory senses when they enter that bathroom. Aha! Sure enough there is a can of air freshener on a shelf. Dumbfounded, you stare at the rectangular container next to the spray. It is a full box of facial tissues. It had been there all the time, out of your direct line of sight, but there just the same. Your ordeal is almost over as your start to use the air freshener - nothing happens! The damn thing is empty! You do the only thing you know, you stroll out leaving the door slightly ajar. With a little luck, it will have all dissipated by the time another visitor enters.

Now it is time for your just desserts. You have successfully managed to create quite a vacancy. It wouldn't be long before Mr. Apple Pie and his friend Ala Mode would be checking out the accommodations.


The moral of the story: On Thanksgiving Day eat all you want, but always remember to first check the dispenser for toilet paper!

(The previous has been reprinted with the permission of the original author - myself!)

No.808

Tom Turkey*

*(With apologies to The Kingston Trio)

Spoken Intro:
Throughout history there have been many songs about the Human Appetite. This next one tells the story of a husband, a beautiful wife, and a condemned bird named Tom Turkey. When the sun rises tomorrow, Tom Turkey must cook.

Chorus
Hang down your head, Tom Turkey
Hang down your head and cry.
Hang down your head, Tom Turkey
Poor bird, you're going to die.

I met them at the farm stand, there they fed me bread.
Met them at the farm stand, looks like I'll lose my head.

Chorus

This time tomorrow, reckon where I'll be;
Hadn't been for Thanksgiving, I'd a been still free.

Chorus

Chorus Repeat - (Everybody sing along!)

This time tomorrow, reckon where I'll be led,
Down in some broilin' oven, stuffed with bread.

Chorus

Chorus finale
Hang down your head (your head!), Tom Turkey
Hang down your head and cry.
Hang down your head (your head!), Tom Turkey
Poor bird you're going to ... die.

No.807

Dead Turkeys Walking

"Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. President," said the Secretary of State.
...."Bah drumstick!" replied George W. Bush.
....He just didn't get it. Why did everyone want to embrace a day of feasting? What was so happy about it anyway?
....How could the American people possibly find anything to be thankful for? Hadn't he done enough to make their lives miserable? Was he going to have to step up the troop deployment in that litter box of a country, Iraq? Maybe he should really piss everyone off by sending a few battalions to kick some Irani ass too.
....The ungrateful bastards, didn't they know he was helping the economy? So what if the price of crude oil was at an all-time high! It was doing a job at filling the Bush coffers, it wasn't like the profits were going to waste. Let them get second and third jobs or put their kids and parents to work! Everyone's got to pull their own weight.
...."You're a real Scrooge today, Mr. President," said the Secretary.
...."Scrooge? You mean like Energizer Scrooge?"
...."Energizer?" replied the Secretary. "That's a battery."
...."Oh yeah, heh heh. I always get the names mixed up. I was thinking of the Ebenezer Bunny."
...."Uh .. It is late, Mr. President. Maybe you should turn in."
...."Yeah, you're right, Condi," he said. He walked a piece down the corridor and turned back to her, "Oh! I get it! You meant Ebenezer Scrooge! That miser guy in that book by Charles Darwin."
....There was only a blank stare as a response from Rice.
...."I really like that story. I almost felt sorry for that Bob Crotchet fellow .. walking around with that cane and not knowing he was going to die."
...."Uh, Mr. President," she managed to say, "I think you mean Tiny Tim."
...."Now there was a cool song. Ahem ... Tiptoe through the tulips.. .. ahem .. my falsetto is improving. Don't you think?"
...."Yes, yes it is," she said dumbfounded. "..And Mr. President, I wasn't referring to that Scrooge."
...."Oh? Who then?"
....As she was walking away she said over her shoulder, "$crooge McDuck!"

As he lay on his pillow staring at the ceiling, he thought how curious it was that Condi would compare him to Uncle $crooge. He'd heard that before from others. Perhaps there was a family resemblance? Nah, they were all jealous because he had a few bucks - okay a few kazillion bucks!
....He drifted off to sleep and began to dream. He dreamt he was in a vast vault overflowing with money. He was diving from atop a filing cabinet into a mound of hundred dollar bills. Swimming in money, it just didn't get any better than that!
...."George ... George ... George..."
....The voice seemed to be a hundred miles away.
...."George Walker Bush !"
....The voice was there in his bedroom. He bolted upright and cried, "Mommy, I don't wanna go to school."
....He looked around but no one was there. There was a rustling sound next to his bed. He looked around and suddenly turned pale. There before him was what appeared to be a ghost ... of a ... turkey! The spectre was pacing, strutting back and forth on the floor next to the bed.
...."I gotta stop having those midnight turkey sandwiches!" he said aloud.
...."You are what you eat, George", the gossamer bird said.
...."This must be some kind of terrorist plot," said the President pulling the sheets over his head. "That's it! That's where the WMD are! It's a sign! The WMD are in Turkey! We gotta get our troops to invade Turkey!"
...."No, George. You're wrong as usual," said the turkey vision. "My presence here tonight is more important than nonexistent WMD."
...."More important than the WMD?" said Bush growing calm. "I know! You're here to tell me that there is a loophole that will allow me to run for a third term?"
...."Get real, George," said the ghostly figure. "I am the ghost of Thanksgiving turkeys past."
...."Eh? You mean like in that Charles Darwin book?"
...."Dickens, dumdum."
...."Ooh. Ooh. 'I'm Dickens, He's Fenster,' that used to be my favorite TV program."
...."Why does that not surprise me?"
...."Wait. You mean to tell me that you are the first of three turkey ghosts who'll be paying me a visit tonight?" asked Bush.
...."Does that disturb you, George?"
...."Hell no! I gotta run to the kitchen and grab a loaf of bread and some mayonnaise. All this talk of turkeys has given me a powerful appetite!"

The President awoke the next morning to the sound of a voice telling him that it was time to get out of bed. "...And just who do you think you are calling me a turkey?" Laura said angrily.
....As he was sitting up he watched her pick up the empty bread wrapper and mayonnaise jar. "Honestly, George," she chided, "Must you eat in bed? ...And what's with all these feathers?"

It seems that a good story, especially a classic, is lost on some people. Some people have been known to change their ways after spectral visitations. Alas, this was not that Scrooge!

No.806

The Real First Thanksgiving!

Part 1: White Trash Boat People

...The weather started getting rough,
the ship was tossed.
...If not for the courage of the fearless crew,
the Mayflower would be lost..
the Mayflower would be lost.

The history of the first Thanksgiving that we learned in school was actually a revisionist account. Even then, publishers knew that they had to "spice" up the events if they were to sell any books.
....Where should we begin? Why at the beginning, of course. First of all, they weren't pilgrims. They wouldn't be referred to as such until 300 years later, when John Wayne coined the word in one of his movies. Secondly, they didn't flee England in pursuit of freedom of worship. Indeed, they had set out on a three-hour tour to Monaco. They were gamblers and their ship was on a course beyond the 12-mile limit to international waters.

Caught in a maelstrom, the drunken Captain Standish missed the cutoff to Gibraltar and turned due West instead of North. Despite the passage of time, the crew and passengers weren't concerned, if aware at all. There was much gambling, drinking and debauchery going on below decks for them to worry about being a few thousand miles off course. Little did they know that they would soon land on the shores of a land of opportunity.
....Being legless on dry land is one thing, but on a small ship in rough seas is quite another. It didn't take them long to learn that it was not a good idea to be down ship and downwind of someone hurling over the side. The same logic held true if someone was taking a leak!

When they ultimately reached land, it wasn't a wilderness they'd found. They had run aground on a quaint piece of beachfront property. (Even sober, Standish left much to be desired as a seaman.) Overlooking the beach was a modest mansion with a large expanse of unkempt lawn. Several pink flamingos flanked a dandelion garden. Next to the structure there sat a '49 Plymouth without tires on a large rock. Yes, that was the original Plymouth Rock before it would be romanticized by historians!
....Though they couldn't read the native language at the time, they would later learn that a sign that greeted them before the lawn, read: "Sailors Keep Off The Grass."
....Their arrival had not gone unnoticed. The old man shook his head as the group disembarked from the crude little ship. "There goes the neighborhood," he muttered. "The next thing you know, the French and the Spaniards will be moving in." The last thing the New World needed was the influx of these white trash boat-people.
....After securing his house, hiding the silverware, his Kate Smith music collection and other valuables, he reluctantly greeted the wayfarers. He introduced himself as Chief Hobomok, the first of the Mohicans.
....The man whom Hobomok assumed must have been their leader, called himself Miles Long Standish. It was a strange name for a man who was barely able to stand at all! The man said to him, "You must be an Indian?"
....He grimaced at the mention of that name. "No," he answered, "they live in Cleveland."
....Just then a lovely young woman walked into the reception room. Standish was immediately smitten. The Chief introduced them to his daughter, Dances Scary Polka. Because of the language barrier and the poor job of translation by some inept linguist, it was she who would come to be known as Pocahontas. (One can only assume that they thought the name meant "her polka haunts us.")
....A brief and unconsummated courtship followed between Standish and the Indian princess. Apparently Pocahontas had invited him to the lake to watch the Indian version of submarine races. A curious passage would be discovered years later in her personal journal: Him not Miles Long!

Part 2: A Historic Gamble

....At first, Hobomok had been concerned that the strange visitors would tax their already weak economy. His fears were abated when he observed them playing Sussex Hold'em one night. He realized that just maybe these people dressed like dapper penguins would be a boon instead.
....It just so happened that in addition to being Chief of his tribe, he was also the owner, proprietor, and the CEO of the Mohican Moon Gambling Club and Emporium. (In later years the establishment would be restructured into the current Mohegan Sun Casino.)
....If the lure of gambling wasn't enough to get the boat people into his casino, it also featured live entertainment. The featured attraction was that of Pocahontas herself, performing the very erotic Moon Bath routine.
....It wasn't long before Hobomok's casino was filled virtually every night. One of the men, however, never sat down at the tables. Every night he would take the closest seat to the stage to watch the Indian Princess' act. The man who called himself John Smith and Pocahontas seemed to be attracted to each other, the Chief noted. He decided to keep a close watch on the man. He found it hard to trust a white man who used the name Smith.
....In only a couple of months, the casino had taken practically every penny from his new found customers. This was a heap of big trouble for Hobomok. The only thing worse than white trash, was white trash with no money! He would've thrown the lot of them out on their white asses, but he hadn't been made Chief for acting brashly.
....He had no recourse but to hire them so that they could earn their keep. He couldn't have them sleeping just anywhere, and that meant he would have to provide shelter for them. Using a cart from their ship, he had temporary housing hauled to a spot just on the outskirts of the Indian village. He couldn't have known, but he'd built the first trailer park.
....As it turned out, Pocahontas wasn't the only woman who could put on a show. Priscilla Mullens debuted on stage one night with a lively dance wearing only a skimpy breech cloth and some well-positioned wampum beads. She was a big hit. Of course her act caught the attention of Miles Standish. As it turned out he had made acquaintance with Priscilla's stage manager, John Alden. Barely five tall to Standish's six feet, Little John Alden was confronted by the taller man with a request to be fixed up with the woman. Having been rejected once by Pocahontas, he'd decided to use a go-between.
....Priscilla agreed to meet Alden's friend and after her performance, she went to a quiet wooded spot to meet him. She was taking part in the America's first recorded blind date.
....(The historians almost got this part right.) After about ten minutes of groping each other in the dark, Priscilla rejected Miles' advancements saying to him, "You sir, are not miles long!" Later there was that fateful moment with Alden, "Speak for yourself, John Alden." In the same wooded spot, Priscilla accepted the advancements of Alden. You see, Little John Alden wasn't so little after all. Eventually they would marry and live a happy life together. As for Standish, he had his name legally changed, dropping the middle name.

Part 3: They Gave Us The Bird!

The peaceful existence between the Indians and the whites was soon brought to a test. Inexplicably, Pocahontas had put on some considerable weight. Hobomok's wife, Swings Heavy Skillet went through the roof of their teepee. The Chief had gotten too many bumps on the noggin in the past to ignore his wife. He'd been right all along in not trusting a white man named Smith!
....So it came to pass that with a band of his braves, he captured John Smith. Unlike the courts of the future, he was adjudicated guilty the same night. He was sentenced to be put to death by clubbing.
....In the nick of time, Pocahontas threw her herself across Smith's body to prevent the club from striking his head. She pleaded for his life and admitted that Smith was not the father of her baby. She told them that Smith didn't love her anyway. She told her father that Smith had a thing for the braves, especially young Hung Like Pony.
....Outraged, and seeing his wife standing nearby with skillet in hand, he released Smith and then demanded the name of the father! Pocahontas stood and motioned for another white man to step forth. It was John Rolfe. Still one unhappy warrior, Hobomok grabbed his daughter's pet turkey by the neck and threatened to chop off it's head.
...."Hobomok tired of eating crow. Tonight Hobomok eat turkey!" He looked at Rolfe and Pocahontas. "Give me a reason not to eat this bird."
...."John Rolfe and I will get married if you spare my bird," she cried. "Right, John?" She noticed that Rolfe wasn't showing the same enthusiasm as she. She kicked him in the shin and said again, "Right, John?"
...."Sure thing, toots," he answered quickly with a yelp. (Though not recorded in the annals of history, Rolfe was probably one of the first chauvinists.)
...."All is good," said Hobomok with a smile of accomplishment. "Soon it will be time for the fall harvest. We will have a large feast to celebrate the wedding of my daughter and the arrival of my first grandchild." He looked around at all the happy faces, but he could only shake his head when he saw Smith and the young brave holding hands at the back of the crowd.

....It's not known if that feast was actually held on the third Thursday of November, but it is more important to know how and why it occurred in the first place. Don't you find it interesting to know that the first Thanksgiving was actually a combined Buck & Squaw wedding and baby shower?
....After the huge feast, Pocahontas went looking for her pet turkey, but she would never find it. For the remaining days of her life she would think that it had just run away.
....As for Chief Hobomok, let's just say that he did not eat crow that day!

Revisionist history be damned! I prefer my history to be told as it really happened. Don't you?

No.805

Pop Goes The Turkey

The Turkey Popped Out of the Oven*

The Turkey popped out of the oven
and rocketed in to the air;

It knocked every plate off the table
and partly demolished a chair.

It ricocheted into a corner
and burst with a deafening boom,

Then splattered all over the kitchen,
completely obscuring the room.

It stuck to the walls and the windows,
it totally coated the floor,

There was turkey attached to the ceiling,
where there had never been turkey before..

It blanketed every appliance,
it smeared every saucer and bowl;

There wasn't a way I could stop it;
that turkey was out of control.

I scraped and I scraped with displeasure
and thought with chagrin as I mopped,

That I would never again stuff a turkey
with popcorn that hadn't been popped.

-(written by Jack Prelutsky; lifted from *From: Humor Matters
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No Halloween or Thanksgiving in Arkansas*

The state of Arkansas recenetly annouced that Halloween and
Thanksgiving will no longer be state holidays.

The witch left for New York,and took the turkey with her.
*from: Joke Center
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Shooting the Thanksgiving Turkey*

Last year I had my chance to do the traditional thing of
shooting my own turkey for Thanksgiving . . .

you should have seen the people scatter in the meat department.
*from: Joke Center
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I guess that's enough turkey for one day from this turkey.

No.804

Redneck Turkey Day

You might have had a Redneck Thanksgiving if..

You've ever had Thanksgiving dinner on a Ping-Pong table.

Thanksgiving dinner is squirrel and dumplings.

You've ever re-used a paper plate.

If you have a complete set of salad bowls and they all say Cool Whip on the side.

If you've ever used your ironing board as a buffet table.

On Thanksgiving Day you have to decide which pet to eat.

Your turkey platter is an old hub cap.

Your best dishes have Dixie printed on them.

Your stuffings secret ingredient comes from the bait shop.

Your only condiment on the dining room table is ketchup.

Side dishes include beef jerky and Moon Pies.

You have to go outside to get something out of the 'fridge.

The directions to your house include "turn off the paved road".

You consider pork and beans to be a gourmet food.

You have an Elvis Jell-o mold.

Your secret family recipe is illegal.

You serve Vienna Sausage as an appetizer.

And now, some Thanksgiving jokes:

Stuffed Turkey

Young Billy Bob was sitting in his grandmother's kitchen,
watching her prepare the Thanksgiving meal.
...."What are you doing?" Bruno asked.
"Oh, I'm just stuffing the turkey," his grandmother replied.
...."That's cool!" Billy Bob said. "Are you going to hang it next to the deer?"

Bigger Bird

A lady was picking through the frozen turkeys at the grocery store, but couldn't find one big enough for her family.
....She asked the stock boy, "Do these turkeys get any bigger?"
The stock boy answered, "No ma'am, they're dead."

Thanksgiving Divorce

A man in Phoenix calls his son in New York the day before Thanksgiving and says,"I hate to ruin your day, but I have to tell you that your mother and I are divorcing; forty-five years of misery is enough."
...."Pop, what are you talking about?" the son screams.
"We can't stand the sight of each other any longer," the father says. "We're sick of each other, and I'm sick of talking about this, so you call your sister in Chicago and tell her."
....Frantic, the son calls his sister, who explodes on the phone. "Like hell they're getting divorced," she shouts, "I'll take care of this!"
....She calls Phoenix immediately, and screams at her father, "You are NOT getting divorced. Don't do a single thing until I get there. I'm calling my brother back, and we'll both be there tomorrow. Until then, don't do a thing, DO YOU HEAR ME?" and hangs up.
....The old man hangs up his phone and turns to his wife. "Okay," he says, "they're coming for Thanksgiving and paying their own way."

No.803