Saturday, September 30, 2006
As September succumbs, October begins to accost
Mother Nature as she weeps for her fine greenery;
Her tears, once sweet dew, will soon turn to frost
And Her garden will be one of cold white scenery.
Pity the fruits of Her work, pine for all the flowers;
Remember birds serenading days that were sunny
While nestled in trees nurtured by gentle showers
O'er the fields of nectar that bees made into honey.
Cool breezes caress the leaves as they are falling,
Undressing the trees, save those that are evergreen.
The birds, now a-wing, to answer a silent calling,
Are forsaking Her for warmer climes as yet unseen.
She dries a tear which produces one more rainbow
To assure Her children with a bright colorful smile,
That the tapestry of Her art might change and glow,
But She'll be still working Her magic all the while.
She spreads Her arms pouring love from Her breast;
She bids adieu to that season ending in September,
And a Mother's lips kiss all the faces of those at rest
As if to say "I won't forget you, I'll always remember.
(An original poem by Mike Ashley, 9/30/06)
I waxed poetic today when it dawned upon me that the summer is really over. Where has all the time gone? October means bare trees and cooler days. It means baseball playoffs and football in its infancy. It means raking. It means stowing summer clothes in favor of warmer ones. It means cornstalks and Halloween, and shorter days and longer nights. I shudder to think that winter isn't far behind.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Fast food - the rabbit that got away.
Bipolar - when those big white bears go either way.
Eskimo Pie - what an Aleutian leaves behind when a bipolar bear winks at him.
Superbowl - what you might need if you order super size at Chili-rama.
Retrofitting - trying to get an ass too big into jeans too small.
One size fits all - false claim by manufacturer that leads to retrofitting.
Scrutinize - undress a woman with one's eyes.
Election - what oriental man gets when he scrutinizes.
Titular - kind of srutinizing that gives man an election.
Dictator - what Mr. Potato Head becomes when he scrutinizes
Assuade - to walk in water not quite waist deep.
Kumquat - meaning unkown, but it sounds dirty.
Limpid - a man's deflated ego.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
First girl: What are you doing tonight?
Second girl: I'm going to pick up some fat bastard and then go to bed.
First woman: How was your weekend?
Second woman: Great! I spent it at the lake with a fat bastard.
Chiropractor: How's your sore back?
Female patient: It feels good. I spent the evening in the jacuzzi with a fat bastard.
Handsome man in bar: How about dinner at my place?
Pretty girl at bar: No thanks, I would rather go home with some fat bastard.
? ? ?
Father to his college daughter: So what do you do when you're not studying?
Daughter: I snuggle up in my bed with a fat bastard.
I know the times are a-changing, but have I been out of the loop that long? It's been a while since I have been a part of the dating scene, but surely things haven't changed that much.
....Women now prefer fat men? They don't want hunks? They want fat ... bastards no less? You mean to tell me that all of these years I've been trying to stay slim and in shape - for nothing?
The conversations above are actually lines from a commercial. It turns out I have been out of the loop more that I realized. I have not kept up with the recent trends in the field of libations. How was I supposed to know that there is actually a line of wines called ... Fat Bastard?
They are even selling shirts and baseball caps bearing the product's name! Can you believe it? The logo is a hippopotamus no less.
Okay, so I haven't managed to keep my body in shape! I can take solace in the fact that I'm not a fat bastard though.
I have to admit that until I heard these commercials on the radio today, I had never heard of Fat Bastard Wines. I toured their website, here , and sure enough it's a legitimate winery.
So ladies, I apologize for implying you like your men to be fat bastards. Now I know that if you tell me you are staying home with the fat bastard, you're talking about a bottle of wine.
Sign me: An out of the loop skinny bastard.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Today I had to run an errand into downtown Boston, and rather than drive I chose to take public transportation. I haven't ridden on a bus or taken the subway in quite a few years. I had forgotten how much of a hassel it can be.
The commute into Bean Town from my house consists of a bus ride for four and a half miles before switching to a train for the remaining three miles. Under ideal conditions, this trek usually only takes about twenty to thirty minutes. That is to say, under ideal conditions.
My timing wasn't impeccable however, and I had a twenty minute wait before the bus was due. I hadn't been sitting on the bench long when I saw an elderly lady approaching. I guessed she was probably in her late sixties or early seventies. One thing was immediately certain, this lady wasn't on her way to anyplace with any semblance of a dress code. I'd describe her appearance as early bag lady, circa 1965.
She was ... slovenly, just to be kind. I'd say that she was at least two weeks on either side of her monthly bath. She was wearing a pair of black pants that came to just below her knees. Above an exposed wrinkled stomach she had on a lime green sweatshirt turned inside out. The sleeves had been cut off at the shoulders and into a deep vee on the sides. Do people, excepting this woman, really still wear inside out sweatshirts?
When she sat down, a large breast slipped out from beneath the sweatshirt. If you have ever seen a lava lamp, then you can imagine this mass of flesh oozing slowly and almost without form down her torso. It was not a pretty sight! Yet, I was momentarily transfixed on the spectacle. Hey, I'll admit to being a breast man, but I am no fanatic, especially at that moment. I turned my head post haste!
She lit up one of those little cigars that look like cigarettes. I glanced at her as drew in a drag. She nodded and extended the pack toward me and asked, "Would you like one?"
....I shook my head, "No, thank you."
....She must have noticed just then how exposed she was, because she began to pull at her sweatshirt. "Damned tit," she blurted out suddenly. Looking me in the face she said, "The f**king thing has a mind of its own!"
....She didn't know me from Adam, so she couldn't possibly have known that I would take the ball and run with it. "It must be heading South for the winter, huh?" I said. Hey, when someone gives me an opening like that, I take it.
....She broke into a hearty guffaw. "Ain't that the truth!" She then lifted the breast from her body and added, "This tittie has been going south for the better part of forty years, son." She then patted a flattened area of her chest and said, "The other one used to follow this one. Damned doctors lopped it off - said I had cancer."
....I felt bad for my joke of moments earlier. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I muttered.
....She just waved her hand to dismiss my appology. She was still holding it in her other hand. I couldn't help it, but I was reminded of pizza dough. It seemed to be trying to flow over and between her fingers. I think it'll be a few days before I feel like having pizza again!
Mercifully, the bus appeared down the street. She took her place near the middle of the bus. I grabbed a single seat near the front. The rest of my commute went without any incident of note. It was a quiet trip the rest of the way into town and I began to remember just why I don't miss public transportation!
....By the time I had changed over to the train, I had already come up with a working title for a post that I knew would be forthcoming. Yes, I stole the idea from the movie, Das Boot (The Boat). If the boob shifts ... er, if the boot fits ...
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
I don't consider myself to be an advocate for the death penalty. On the other hand, I cannot honestly say that I am opposed to it either. I'm afraid I'm guilty of a being a fence-sitter who sometimes opts to straddle the fence depending on the severity of the crime.
....I do believe, however, that the punishment should fit the crime. If someone commits a heinous crime, especially one of such magnitude as genocide, then the perpetrator should endure a slow and painful execution.
....Consider the punishment that has been doled out for some of the most nefarious evil-doers in history:
O.J. Simpson* was sentenced for life to spend his time on the golf courses of America to find those responsible for his wife's murder.
Bill Clinton* has been doing community service testing cigars to see if they can be used as viable marital devices.
Martha Stewart* served time as a highly sought after model for ankle bracelets.
The improper butchering of the English language landed Barbara Walters* on a program with a bevy of lame bitches.
For the crime of terrible acting on the program "Will & Grace," Megan Mullally* is being punished with a talk show.
So, I ask you, is there really such a thing as justice? Am I the only one who has ever noticed just how curious that word 'justice' is? If you break it down into its two syllabic components, you'll find "just" and "ice." You see, there is more justice in a tavern than there is in our courts.
...."What would you like in your whiskey, sir?"
...."Just ice, thank you."
How cruel a punishment is that Justin Timberlake* gets to serve a sentence wherein people think he has even a small measure of talent? Because of a typographical error on his birth certificate, Justin Timberfake is doomed to suffer the "Tom Arnold Syndrome." While Arnold parlayed a somewhat meager career on the skirt tails of an even less talented Rosanne Barr*, Timberfake will probably never be more than Mr. Diaz.
To use a favorite word of fellow Blogger scribe Monty , I digress.
....I am calling for harsher punishments than those meted out to the above criminals. For this latest atrocity, I want, no I demand the death penalty for a crime that can only be classified as mass murder.
....In Milford, New Hampshire, there is a state of shock and disbelief at the scene of what can only be called a gruesome killing field. The toll is expected to reach 2500 deaths - of trout, that is!
....A clogged drain for a pool at a Fish and Game Department hatchery blocked the flow of oxygen, suffocating the fish. One can only shudder at the thought of the suffering those poor souls had to endure as they were dying.
....State officials have in their custody the alleged diabolical killer. He has been identified as only a Teddy Bear wearing a yellow rain coat and hat. His name is being withheld pending further investigation.
....A person who wished to remain anonymous, said the bear looks like a Vermont Teddy Bear. Another spectator at the scene claims that the perp is none other than Paddington Bear.
....Investigators on the scene were attempting to determine why the bear would crawl into the drainage pipes with the expressed purpose of clogging the system and therefore sending the helpless fish to a watery death.
....The deaths prompted Hatcheries supervisor Robert Fawcett to state that "This is believed to be the first stuffed bear to cause fatalities at the facility." Fawcett was overseeing the placement of signs around the hatchery that read : "RELEASE OF ANY TEDDY BEARS NOT PERMITTED." He urged anyone whose bear ends up in a hatchery pool to find a worker to remove it. "They might save your teddy bear, and keep it from becoming a killer." Alas, it was too little too late of a warning this time.
....(Isn't it rather curious that a man who works with water and drains, would have a last name of 'Fawcett?' )
I cannot with clean conscience, show this dastardly bear even a hint of mercy. I say, "Hang Him High!"
*Some of you will no doubt disagree with my criminal assessment of the above celebrities. As stated in the disclaimer in this Blog's header - too bad! To me, any celebrity is fair game to some bashing. I suppose you can sue me if you like. However, if someone chooses to defend O.J., I reserve the right to sue you!
Monday, September 25, 2006
Growing up Appalachia in the fifties and sixties, I matriculated at the School Of Hard Knocks. Life was simpler then. It was another time. It was an age of innocent ignorance. I like to think that I grew up in a state of boondocks bliss.
....We didn't have a lot. Oh, we had the pot, but with innocent ignorance, we didn't know what we didn't have. We made do with what he had. Our happiness was measured in love and not in amenities. I guess you could say we were the privileged poor.
I have been waxing nostalgic, but I am acutely aware that the School Of Hard Knocks has now a much more difficult curriculum than we had four and five decades ago. In particular, I have been looking at the campus known as New Orleans. It's been over a year since Katrina all but destroyed that city. The city for the most part still lies in shambles. Many of its peoples have left, never to return.
....Yet, tonight there is a festive atmosphere in the city. Why should tonight be cause for celebration? Monday Night Football has put New Orleans back on the map and in the public conscience. Tonight marked the reopening of The Superdome with the New Orleans Saints hosting the Atlanta Falcons. While the Mardi Gras welcomed some tourist trade back to the city, and Bourbon Street has been revitalized, it is the return of football that has lifted the spirits of the city. For the first time in its history, the Saints football team will be playing to a sold-out stadium for an entire season.
....Whether you like football or not, the sport and the team have done more for the spirits of the populace than our government has. Some will ask why the city has rebuilt a sports venue before it has rebuilt the devastated housing. The city realized that it needs to generate income. The return of football, especially on the stage of MNF, is a start.
Miss Cellania has put up a nice posting on the subject of football. As usual, she has some links to some funny and interesting sites regarding the sport.
Now, I have to tie-in the two diverging themes of football and boondocks bliss, don't I? I thought you'd never ask. For those who don't understand the concept of ignorant innocence, I think the following will clarify the idea.
In 1954, a relatively unknown comedian/singer from North Carolina, by the name of Andy Griffith released an album of his own brand of down-home humor. Most of you will be unfamiliar with his work before he became Sheriff Andy Taylor of Mayberry, but his early recordings are classics.
It was back last October, I believe it was. We was going to hold a tent service off at this college town, and we got there about dinner time on Saturday. Different ones of us thought that we ought to get us a mouthful to eat before we set up the tents. So we got off the truck and followed this little bunch of people through this small little bitty patch of woods there, and we came up on a big sign that says, "Get Something To Eat Here."
I don't know, friends, to this day, what it was that they was a doin' down there, but I have studied about it. I think it was that it's some kind of a contest where they see which bunchful of them men can take that pumpkin and run from one end of that cow pasture to the other without gettin' knocked down or steppin' in somethin'.
Well, Blogger friends, that's how I tie-in football and boondocks bliss! Y'all come back, ya hear?
(Oh, by the way, the New Orleans Saints defeated the favored Atlanta Falcons 23-3.)
Sunday, September 24, 2006
In addition to Fantasy Football, I also participate in a season-long pool picking college football games against the spread. (For entertainment purposes only, mind you.) I had a very good week, correctly picking 16 out of 17 games. The only loss was the Florida Gators' game. The Gators won but failed to cover the 25 point handicap.
....While reading the game recap, I noticed a link to a University of Florida website, "The Independent Florida Alligator On-Line." I decided to tour the site out of curiosity and clicked on "Politics." With a Bush in office in the Sunshine State, it was reasonable that I might find something of interest for all my fellow Bush Bashers out there.
....Lo and behold, what do I find under the heading of Student Government? The following was from a post dated October 3, 2005:
"What do George Bush, Albert the Alligator, Donald Duck, "Gengis Kan," Your mom, Derek Zoolander, Urban Meyer and every member of Led Zeppelin have in common?"
"They were all write-in candidates for Student Government Senate seats during last week's first-ever intranet election." The leading write-in vote-getter the previous year was Curious George. (No one can accuse these college students of not taking their politics seriously.)
Further down in the article, it states that Senators are required to be full-time students with at least a 2.0 GPA, be in good standing with the University and live in the voting district they plan to serve as a Senator.
....Well that explains why both Jeb and his brother chose to seek other offices. Like Hillary Clinton did in New York, they could have fudged the residency issue. They might have even been able to hoodwink the staff of the University, after all they did get elected to their respective current offices. The GPA, ah now there's the rub! Because of the stringent grade requirements, by default we have a Governor and a President Bush.
The mention of Albert the Alligator brought to mind the venerable comic strip, Pogo by Walt Kelly. The cigar-chomping gator was long a favorite comic strip character of mine when I was growing up. However, I have to admit that a lot of the political overtures contained in the dialogs were lost on me in those days. (Walt Kelly would have had a lot of fun with Dubya!)
As I was putting this post together, I realized I was incorporating a theme I hadn't intended - alligators. How could I post images of iconic alligators without including Hannah & Barberra's Wally Gator ?
Crikey! How can I ignore the alligator's cousin, the crocodile? When you think crocodile, you cannot help but to conjure images of Steve Irwin, The Crocodile Hunter. If you type in crocodile as the key word on a search browser, you are sure to find many references to the man.
....Nearly three weeks after his death, there is yet a plethora of Blogs and articles paying tribute to him. I am amazed at the amount of adoration for him, especially in America. I don't mean that in a bad way and hold no disdain for him.
It's just that I don't remember Frank Sinatra getting as much attention when he died. I daresay that "Old Blue Eyes" was, in the very least, as popular an icon as Mr. Irwin.
....I guess the definitions of icon and idol have changed. One thing is certain, however, the memories of both will outlive all of us.
Sinatra: I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king;
I've been up and down and over and out and I know one thing;
Each time I find myself layin' flat on my face,
I just pick myself up and get back in the race ...
Irwin: Crikey! Well said, mate !
Saturday, September 23, 2006
My two previous posts centered around "the Revolving Door Affair." For the details and background behind the story, you can catch up by reading The Moral Of The Story.
....It's ironic that sometimes humor can be found in the pain and suffering of others. Indeed, the misfortune of others has been the cornerstone of comedy, especially slap stick comedy, throughout the history of entertainment.
....It's inherently funny to laugh when someone slips on a banana peel, steps on the business end of a rake, or simply becomes the target of a well-aimed pie. Of course, if one is on the receiving end of these unfortunate fates, it isn't quite so laughable.
I suppose it was an involuntary reaction that had caused me to break out in a fit of laughter at the expense of that person trapped in that revolving door, but I couldn't help it.
....Was I laughing because 'her' skirt had been ripped off? Was I laughing because 'she' wasn't wearing any underwear? Maybe I was laughing because the 'she' turned out to a 'he?'
....I most certainly wasn't laughing at his "equipment," so much as I was at his predicament. Knowing how mortified I would have been had I been placed in his position, I found myself wondering just what chain of events in his life had brought him to that moment. (For the record, with or without underwear, I would have never been wearing a wrap-around skirt in the first place; a leather mini with a slit up the side - maybe.) Ahem ... Back to the post....
In the second post, The Rest Of The Story, a trio lovable senior citizens provided me with three different, if not funny far-fetched, reports of what had happened at the UPS office.
....As promised, I managed to procure a copy of the small community newspaper to see how the story was covered. I'm sure you are familiar with the very fitting adage: "If a dog bites a man it's not news, but if a man bites a dog - that's news!" This weekly newspaper subscribed to that philosophy wherein: "If a woman gets trapped in a revolving door it's not news, but if it's a man dressed as a woman, now that's news!"
....So, how did a man wearing a wrap-around skirt sans underwear come to be trapped in a revolving door at the main entrance to an office building? ....And why?
I've decided to have a little fun with this, positively my last post on this matter, and provide you with a little quiz. Seeing how I was given three different versions of the story from the seniors across the street, I'm going to give you some different facts that may or may not have appeared in the newspaper's accounting of the facts. One version will be the truth as reported by the paper, while the rest will be fabrications from the twisted but creative mind of this Blogger.
....Your mission, should you accept it, will to be to determine which scenario is the correct one. (Not to worry, this Blog will neither self-destruct, nor will your actions be disavowed.) I will identify the correct one on the comments section. (No peeking until you have made your selection.)
Scenario I: The man was a college student acting out a prank, which was an initiation challenge for acceptance into a Fraternity.
Scenario II: The man was visiting a doctor's office for consultation on having a sex-change operation.
Scenario III: The man actually worked in the building. For six months, disguised as a woman, he had been employed by a clinic that counselled young women on such issues as promiscuity, STDs, and unwanted pregnancies.
Scenario IV: The man was a professional cross-dresser who moonlights delivering "singing telegrams." He was there to wish someone a Happy Birthday. (I wonder if he was going to sing "Candle In The Wind?")
Scenario V: The man was a pervert who had come there to expose himself to a large public audience. He ended up putting on more of a show than he had anticipated. He was a registered sex offender.
There you have it. Which one of the five scenarios do think is the real one? I tried to make the four fake ones as plausible as possible. You didn't really expect an easy quiz, did you?
Thursday, September 21, 2006
I'm sure that my post yesterday, "The Moral Of The Story" raised some questions in the minds of the handful of those who actually read it.
....That's not surprising. I was there, and I was left with some lingering questions.
It so happens that directly across the street from the office complex that houses the UPS Collection Center, is a building that houses several of my senior citizen clients. I assure you that the excitement and drama of "the Revolving Door Affair" was the hot topic of discussion at the Bingo tables the next day.
....Whether it was "the Little Old Lady From Pasadena" in her Rascal Scooter, "Eugene the Green Hornet" in his motorized wheel chair, or "Beep-Beep Betty" sporting a bicycle horn on her walker, the entire building, it seemed, was abuzz with Tuesday's events across the street. Depending on who you spoke to, you would walk away with a different version of what had happened over there.
Although Doris, aka "the Little Old Lady From Pasadena," has never been on Colorado Boulevard, she is nonetheless the terror of the Saltonstall Building lobby. Woe be the unwary visitors who enter that lobby without eyes in the backs of their heads. Her scooter driving skills aside, she is a sweet and amicable old lady.
....She couldn't motor to the door fast enough when I walked in this morning. She wanted to be the first to tell me about the robbery attempt at UPS. (Robbery?) That was her story and she sticking to it. I listened with fascination as she described in detail how the crook had even taken some poor woman as hostage. Ah, I thought as she explained that the hostage had freed herself by going into the revolving door and then had wedged the door shut with some bundles. She was beaming when she answered the question that she "knew" I was going to ask. Yes, the bad guy was apprehended by a brave Security Guard.
The next "reporter" I spoke to was Betty. Reminiscent of Clarabel the Clown from the old Howdy Doody TV show, she got my attention by squeezing the rubber bulb of her horn several times. I noticed that she had replaced the old yellow tennis balls on the legs of her walker with brand new orange ones. The remnants of her Meals-On-Wheels were stashed in the basket of the walker along with her mail.
....Not unlike a Maestro directing an orchestra, her hands flitted about as she filled me in on the incident across the street. She had my undivided attention as she related the story of a female terrorist who had tried to mail packages full of anthrax to the White House. She said that quick-thinking UPS employees had trapped her in the revolving doors until the authorities had arrived.
Up on the fifth floor I knocked on Eugene Green's door. There was no answer. I was about to punch in his phone number on my cell phone when I heard his wheel chair bearing down on me. He had given himself the nickname Green Hornet after the TV show of the same name. "Where have you been? You're late," he said to me. When I told him that I had been cornered by Doris and Betty in the lobby, he laughed. "What did those biddies want?"
....I told him that they were talking to me about what had happened at the UPS office. He scoffed and said they didn't have a clue. I crossed my arms over my chest and awaited the facts - as only he knew them. He spun the interesting story of a disgruntled former UPS employee who had been fired two months before. The woman was a very disturbed individual who had gone "postal." She went there with enough guns and ammo to kill everyone in the building. Her AK-47 got wedged in the door. Of course, the FBI had been watching her for some time. They were there, disguised as UPS personnel wating for her to make a move.
....I had no idea there was so much intrigue involved in the events surrounding that Tuesday. He then told me that she was originally from Iceland. "You know that all those Islam people come from Iceland, don't you?" he asked me. I thought about it for a moment. It was certainly an interesting observation. Islamic, Icelandic? Oh yes, I had never noticed the connection, or the similarity in the names prior to that moment.
There were other versions recited to me, but none were as "interesting" as these three recapitulations of "the Revolving Door Affair." So I decided to commit them to screen in this forum. I am hopeful that either Paul Harvey or one of his staff members chances upon my Blog. Then who knows, maybe one day I'll hear the him talking about the incident. I'll turn up the radio and wait patiently until after the obligatory commercial break when he says in that distinctive voice of his:
"....And now for the rest of the story."
(Note: I found it quite interesting that not a single person mentioned either a skirt or that it was a man. The incident was not covered in the two major newspapers, but I suspect that the smaller local paper due out once a week every Friday will give the story its just propers. I'll revisit this story when I get a hold of a copy.)
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Still smarting from yesterday's loss, I have licked my wounds and will attempt to pick up the pieces. I was justifiably chastised by both Miss Cellania and Rachael for not posting from a saved document in the first place. Touche', ladies!
"Rushing to finish the post, Hale's server crashed." In the previous sentence you'll note that the subject of the participle verb does not agree with the subject of the sentence. Was Hale rushing or was the server rushing? That's a fitting example of a dangling participle.
Okay, I know what you're thinking! You didn't come here to be insulted with a Grammar 101 lesson. I could respond with a wise remark like: "No? Where do you usually go?" I could, but I won't.
....Why then this discussion of dangling participles? If only in a convoluted way, it serves as an introduction to the events of yesterday, September 19, 2006. Moreover, even the cartoon, in a variation of the theme, could be considered apropos.
....Of course, with all this rambling I am making a short story ... long. I am reminded of a quote by Blaise Pascal: "I have only made this letter rather long because I have not had the time to make it shorter."
Tuesday was primary election day. All day long I had to drive through gauntlet after gauntlet of the sign-bearing minions of political wannabes. The politicians weren't the only hopefuls. Beneath their colorful signs, each face seem to glow with aspirations of grandeur. I imagined that visions of sugar plum jobs danced in their heads.
....Many of those sign-wavers are convinced that if their candidate is elected, they will be awarded with a pat city job. Maybe I was looking at the faces of the next City Dispatcher, Meter Maid, Dog Catcher, or even a Crossing Guard. (Believe it or not, even Crossing Guards are appointed by elected officials in my city.)
....One very animated and boisterous lady in particular caught my attention. She was hailing nearly every vehicle whose drivers had had the misfortune to have chosen to traverse that street that morning. She was at times, inhibiting the passing traffic. (More on her later.)
That afternoon I had to drop off a package at a UPS collection center. When I pulled onto the lot I couldn't help but notice that there was a large crowd gathered at the entrance to the building. I groaned to myself thinking that there was probably some politician who had chosen that office building to garner some votes. He or she must have been shaking any and all hands of everyone who entered or left the building.
....By the time I had maneuvered through the small sea of bodies, I realized there was no politician in sight. This crowd was staring at the entrance. I couldn't believe my eyes when I finally had an unobstructed view of the doors.
....A woman was trapped inside a revolving door! That was the least of her worries. She had been, I repeat had been wearing a wrap-around skirt. Somehow a corner of the skirt had become snagged between the glass and the rubber stripping of the door. As she moved through the door the wrap-around skirt...unwrapped. The bundles in her arms had become wedged against her chin and chest making movement nearly impossible.
....That fact also was the least of her worries! From the visual clues before me, I was able to determine that this poor woman had picked the wrong day to wear no underpants!
....Through all the glass of the entrance I could see a security guard approaching from inside the lobby. Inexplicably, he stopped in his tracks ten feet or so from the door. It was then that I noticed that there was also a crowd gathering in the lobby.
....I ask you, what is this world coming to? Why wasn't anyone trying to help that hapless soul? Was everyone afraid of a lawsuit or something? Was the security guard in danger of being accused of inappropriate contact? I was more perplexed by the fact that none of the women, inside or outside, came to her rescue.
....I realized that I too was being guilty of the mob mentality by standing there gawking at the woman's plight and of course, her bare derriere. I made my way to one of the stationary doors on either side of the revolving door. Once inside, I headed toward the still motionless Rent-A-Cop. My chin must have come within inches of hitting the floor. I stopped, frozen in place.
....She was ... a he!
....Suddenly everything made sense. Every woman there was hesitant to approach a man naked from the waste down, especially in such a public place, even if he was in need of help. For different reasons of his own, the Pseudo Cop wasn't about to take action.
....Have you ever had the uncontrollable urge to laugh at the most inopportune moment? Me neither - well, not until that moment! In only a few seconds I was laughing until my eyes were tearing and my side was beginning to hurt. You know how they say that laughter is contageous? It's true. The security guard told me that the fire department and the police were on their way. Then, even he started to laugh. Before long all those in the lobby were laughing. I looked outside and saw that a wave of laughter had begun to spread out there too.
....If it's true that laughter is the best medicine, our victim was feeling better. He/she was laughing, perhaps nervously, at his/her plight.
....Eventually, after the convoy of police cruisers, firetruck and ambulance had arrived, I completed my errand and left the scene. I can only assume that victim's injuries were only those of pride and dignity.
(Remember the animated lady at the polling station?) I had heard some of the early election returns on the radio and was aware that the candidate she was supporting was losing big time with only about five percent of the votes. I guessed that she'd probably lost most of her enthusiasm as dusk was approaching.
Again, I ask you, what is the world coming to? What price is loyalty? I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised when I saw her. Not only was she still excitedly animated, but she was at a different polling station! She'd switched allegiance. She was carrying the sign of the politician who was defeating her original candidate.
Yes, I learned a few things yesterday.
(1) Always draft and save my blogs as a document.
(2) Always wear underwear in public.
(3) Laugh and the world laughs with you.
(4)Above all, never dangle my participle.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Mangled In Maryland!
Somewhere in Cyberburbia there are the bits and bytes of what was going to be tonight's post. With a flicker of the screen and the blink of an eye it was sent into oblivion.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Cousin Willie wuz caught wiffin his pants down again. It seems dat ol' boy jest cain't stays away from dem porno sites. Well suh, his wife Mabel jest ain't gonna allow such shameful deeds in her house.
....Now that Willie is one slick thinker. He done got hisself outa many fixes jest by usin' that noggin of his. He says to his wife he says, "Tarnation, woman! 'Tweren't no dad-blasted porno site I wuz a viewin!"
....She asked wiffin her fists on her hips, "Den how comes yer a-standin' dare nekkid wiffin your pants down 'round yer ankles?" She had 'em clinched coz she was ready to haul off and bust ol' Willie right smack in the chops.
...."Fer yer information," Willie said, "Before you done come bargin' in here a-snoopin' , I wuz logged onto one of dem dare medical sites. I wuz a-gettin' a complete checkup frum a cyber doctor."
....Well suh, Willie jest looked Mabel straight into her eyeballs and grinned like da cat what dun et the canary and said, "Woman, you oughta knows dat dem doctors is always a-tellin' folks to take off dare clothes and all."
....Mabel had no reason but to agree with Willie's 'sessment of all dem preverted doctors. Day wuz all dirty ol' men what becomes doctors jest so's day can look at women nekkid. She 'spected dat the doctor dat wuz a-checkin' her husband wuz prolly one of dem homeys she read 'bout in Cosmopolitan.
....Willie wuz a-feelin' mighty proud of hisself right 'bout then. So he done went and pressed his luck. Since he wuz still horny from a-lookin' at nekkid girls on dat site what he done convinced his wife wuzn't a porno site, he done took advantage of the situation. He turned 'round and up and flashed his trouser mouse what 'tweren't in no trousers on account his trousers wuz a still down at his ankles.
....Well suh, dat was Willie's one big mistake. Fer you see, when Mabel looked down at dat dare tallywacker of his'n, damned if he 'tweren't a-wearin' a rubber! Now, iffin day wuz any flies on Mabel, I promise you day wud be payin' rent!
....Last I heard, cousin Willie wuz in traction recoverin' from da terrible whuppin' what Mabel done laid upon him.
Howdy, folks! Cletis here! I wuz jest readin' you sum of a letter what I got in da mail frum Cousin Willie. I'm purty sure that y'all out dare are sure to wish Willie a speedy recovery whilst he's a convalescin'.
....Since I knows the trouble one can gets into when it comes to women folk, I done went an' drawed up a chart wiffin' computer words dat 'splain a lot for dem dat don't knows a lot. I'm gonna send a copy of it to Cousin Willie fer da next time he decides to go a-lookin' at nekkid women on dose porno sites. Iffin he learns sum technickel words he jest might stay outa trouble.
....Fer all you folks what are not rednecks, my chart might be a tad too hard fer yer minds to figger out. Alls I can say 'bout dat is too bad. It's not my job to be a-teachin' computers to you Yankee Northers! So you will have to go to your libary to understand stuff what be over your'n heads.
The last time I graced dis Blog, y'all might 'member dat I wuz a runnin' through the hills a-chasin' our durn fool cat what dun got scared coz my wife wuz a wearin' no drawers. Well, we's on speakin' terms now. I say, "Yes, dear" when I open my mouth. Mostly everything she says either starts or ends wiffin a bunch of cuss words what I cain't rightly use here, coz dis is a fam'ly site.
....Since my last visit with y'all, I dun found me a new hobby. I'm a fixin' to become a Country n' Western singer. I jest finished writin' a song what jest might fetch me an invite to the grand Ole Opry!
....Excuse me whilst I go fetch my banjo and wash board. I'm gonna treat y'all to the first live performance. Fer all of you that can carry a tune in a lead bucket, it sorta sounds like the song "Silver Thread and Golden Needles."
She Took My Dog When She Left Me
'Tweren't nary so long ago
That she used to be mine.
I was watchin' the grass grow
When she said to kiss her behind.
I once told her that I love her,
I guess that's what wreck'd it,
Coz I said it when I was above her
And we was wrestlin' butt nekkid.
You can't mend a broken heart
With duct tape and super glue.
I reckon I thought we'd never part,
But stick together thru and thru.
You can't dry your fallin' tears
With burlap or a shammy rag;
I'll drown my sorrow in beers
And be glad she's not here to nag.
Yes, she left me in such a snit;
It hurts to think I'll see her no more.
That doorway with my hand in it,
I cried when she slammed the door.
When she left me in a lurch,
My hound dog followed her trail;
I haven't called off the search,
Hope he comes back waggin' his tail.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
I would like to extend kudos to Monty for putting together a nice mix of music. There's something for just about everyone. If you haven't tuned yet, drop in sometime. The details and links can be found on her web site.
There was a brief conversation in the chat room about the recent ban on pre-packaged spinach.
Popeye the sailor man is mad as hell! How dare anyone take spinach off the shelves! He's on the prowl, looking for Bluto, or Brutus or what ever name he's using these days. He's certain that his old nemesis is behind some dastardly scheme to rid the world of spinach.
....If an Ecoli scare wasn't bad enough, Bluto even tampered with the packages of spinach and put live frogs in them. Check out this picture! If you look closely just beneath the lettering, you'll see one of the hapless amphibians nestled among the spinach leaves.
....The picture was "borrowed" from that sweetheart Jules who posted it just recently on her site.
This just in: Study Raises The Bar: Drinkers Make More $
Did you know that joining your colleagues after work for a few drinks could help you financially?
....A new study says there's a correlation between alcohol and income - and those who imbibe tend to make more money than teetotalers. (Now they tell me this?)
....The report titled: "No Booze? You May lose. Why drinkers earn more money than nondrinkers," was co-authored by Edward Stringham, an associate economics professor at San Jose State University. (Who am I to question a college professor?)
....According to the study, males who belt a few earn about 10 percent more than non drinking men, while women who drink make 14 percent than non drinking women. The study added that men who go to bars at least once a month also end up making an additional 7 percent more than those who don't drink. (All those evenings in those bars after work, and I was supposed to get a raise?)
Woe to the victims of the genocide - those brain cells that were sacrificed for the advancements that were never forthcoming! I know that I'll never be able to recoup the moneys from the raises I was never given, but maybe I should eulogize the dearly departed.
Show until then, (hic) let me toasht Monty again for a good show (hic) with all the good mushic tonight. Well done, Shweetheart! I am shacrificing a few more brain schells in your honor! Don't worry, I'll shave a few for next Shunday!
Saturday, September 16, 2006
If imitation is the highest form of flattery, then Bloggers should have a Hall of Fame. Okay, maybe it should be a small room with a porcelain alter!
While there are writers who blog, Bloggers ... well, blog. There are Bloggers who are good writers, just as there are writers who are good Bloggers. The only difference lies in the medium they use to ply their skills. Both, however, are capable of producing so much crap.
When it comes to crap, the writer has a distinct advantage. If his or her output is unacceptable and thus rejected, there remains a usable commodity - paper. This paper can be used wisely making the writer worthy of accolades from the EPA. The paper can be used to line a bird cage, or spread on the floor to train a new puppy.
....Writers have been known to develop highly specialized athletic skills. Many "solo basketball" superstars were once writers who honed their abilities with many hours of practice by tossing wads of paper at trash cans.
....To find out if you have the talent to be a solo basketball player, you can try out by clicking here . Pay attention to the fan!
....If times are rough for the aspiring writer, that manuscript can also be used as an efficient, if uncomfortable, substitute for toilet paper.
On the other hand, the Blogger's unacceptable work does not make a good substitute for toilet paper. Indeed, any attempts to use it as such would leave one with a disgustingly filthy screen. Most monitors make poor linings in bird cages. They are not particularly well known as good absorption agents for puppy piss either.
....Bloggers are more environmentally accepted than writers when it comes to the Conservationists. A Blogger generates no paper waste. Bloggers do not make good solo basketball players and have no need to create paper wads. No rejection, or blank screen due to writer's block, ends up being flushed into a sewer. Of course this also helps to conserve water.
When it comes to imitation, both the writer and the Blogger are subject to the laws that govern plagiarism. The writer can be punished severely for the practice, but the Blogger usually only suffers mild chastisement. (The only real question is who copied what from whom first?)
Flattery is welcome in both camps! What writer doesn't want glittering reviews? What aspiring writer doesn't dream of being listed on The New York Times best seller list? (I doubt that many serious writers want to be on Oprah's list.)
....What do Bloggers want? A lot of readers and a lot of flattering comments, thank you very much!
....I know what this Blogger needs. After writing this crap, I need to run to the store for some toilet paper. (The screen is dirty enough.)
Friday, September 15, 2006
I'm reminded of the classic logic riddle: If an airplane carrying American passengers crashes in Canada, where do you bury the survivors?
When faced with the riddle for the first time, nearly eighty percent are misdirected by the nationality of the passengers and the location of the crash site. The remaining twenty percent point out that survivors are not buried.
Like the observer in Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken," I'm going to take the road least traveled. There comes a time when survivors should be buried. Call me heartless, but the interment should be performed without ceremony, without eulogy and without a single tear shed for the departed.
....Dig a hole! Bulldoze the earth over the remains! Place no markers over that worthless pit!
Of course, I'm wishing a painful death to the rediculous Survivor and the myriad of cheap clones that have been cluttering the air waves for far too long! It came as no surprise to me to learn that there is "Survivor Sucks" web site.
....Now CBS producers have crawled out from not under a rock, but rather from beneath a NYC sewer manhole cover to give us "Survivor: Cook Islands."
....The "unscripted" premise this time has excited only sick bastards like white supremacists. Twenty "castaways" will be split into four tribes along racial lines - white, black, Asian and Hispanic.
....When a major corporation such as General Motors refuses to air its commercials on a program, that speaks volumes! One would think! CBS, unfazed by the harsh criticism being levied at this program, is not backing down.
....How does it feel viewers? They don't give a shit what you or I think! They know there are enough simple-minded suckers out there who will tune in to another sampling of this Survivor garbage.
....CBS said that a certain amount of editting was necessary to avoid outcries over some racially-charged scenes. "Unscripted?" To me, the magic of deleting and adding scenes allowed them to edit as they recorded and thus create a script in the process.
....Several groups have threatened to boycott the program by refusing to buy or use any product that assiciates itself with Survivor: Cook Islands." If more potential sponsors followed GM's lead, CBS would maybe get the message. We, the viewing audience are sick and tired of this mindless clap-trap they call reality programming.
Wouldn't it be sweet if only one sponsor stayed on board? It would be poetic justice if that sole sponsor was Enzyte! Imagine every commercial break unleashing Smiling Bob with that ear-to-ear grin. Would I be the only one who would be thinking that this man looks like he has overdosed on the stuff?
....Ladies, do you suppose that the producers of the advertisement might pan the camera down when he climbs out of the pool sans his swimming trunks? Ladies, would you really want them too? I say send him home to that happy wife waiting for him at the door. What's with that silly grin frozen on her face? She must have used the Super Glue again instead of her Polident!
I cannot help but wonder what theme Survivor might come up with next season. Jews vs. Germans? Gays vs. straights? Vegans vs. meat eaters? Management vs. staff?Husbands vs. wives? Ooh-ooh! I've got it - wives vs. mistresses!
Thursday, September 14, 2006
A young Jewish couple had only recently set up housekeeping when an unfortunate incident occurred. Early one morning, the wife, drowsy from bed, went to the toilet to pee and neglected to notice that the seat was up. When she sat, she kept going!
She was just the right size and shape so that she became jammed into the toilet past her waist with her legs sticking straight up in front of her. She cried for her husband, who rushed in, and for the next hour tried desperately to free her.
In this process, they removed her sleeping gown, but this only left her naked and still stuck, with a particular part of her anatomy prominently visible between her splayed legs. Finally, the couple resolved to call a plumber, despite the embarrassing nature of their problem.
When the plumber arrived, the young man let him in, but as they were walking to the bathroom, the young man realized that his wife was exposed in a very compromising and humiliating way. Thinking fast, he ran ahead of the plumber and placed the first thing he could think of, his yarmulke skull cap, over his wife's exposed privates.
The plumber walked into the bathroom, took one long look, and commented: "Well, I think I can save your wife, buddy, but the Rabbi's a goner."
The Sea Gull
A blonde, a brunette and a redhead were walking along the beach. A seagull flies over and craps all over the blonde.
The brunette says in a disgusted voice, "Hang on the bathroom is just up the hill, I'll go get some toilet paper."
After she leaves the blonde begins to laugh.
The redhead says, "What's so funny?"
The blonde says, "Well, blondes are supposed to be so dumb and look at her. By the time she gets back with that toilet paper that seagull will be miles away!"
How To Clean Your Toilet - The Fun Way
Instructions on how to clean your toilet. Follow these instructions exactly!
1. Put both lids of the toilet up and add 1/8 cup of pet shampoo to the water in the bowl.
2. Pick up the cat and soothe him while you carry him towards the bathroom.
3. In one smooth movement, put the cat in the toilet and close both lids. You may need to stand on the lid.
4. The cat will self agitate and make ample suds. Never mind the noises that come from the toilet, the cat is actually enjoying this.
5. Flush the toilet three or four times. This provides a "power-wash" and rinse".
6. Have someone open the front door of your home. Be sure that there are no people between the bathroom and the front door.
7. Stand behind the toilet as far as you can, and quickly lift both lids.
8. The cat will rocket out of the toilet, streak through the bathroom, and run outside where he will dry himself off.
9. Both the commode and the cat will be sparkling clean.
A drunk gets up from the bar and heads for the bathroom. A few minutes later, a loud, blood-curdling scream is heard coming from the bathroom.
A few minutes after that, another loud scream reverberates through the bar.
The bartender goes into the bathroom to investigate what the drunk is screaming about.
"What's all the screaming about in there? You're scaring my customers!"
"I'm just sitting here on the toilet and every time I try to flush, something comes up and squeezes the hell out of my balls."
With that, the bartender opens the door, looks in and says, "You idiot! You're sitting on the mop bucket!!!"
Men Never Listen
On a flight to Chicago, a gentleman had made several attempts to get into the men's restroom, but it had always been occupied. The flight attendant noticed his predicament.
Sir, she said, "You may use the ladies room if you promise not to touch any of the buttons on the wall."
He did what he needed to, and as he sat there he noticed the buttons he had promised not to touch. Each button was identified by letters: WW, WA, PP, and a red one labeled ATR. Who would know if he touched them? He couldn't resist. He pushed WW. Warm water was sprayed gently upon his bottom. What a nice feeling, he thought. Men's restrooms don't have nice things like this. Anticipating great pleasure, he pushed the WA button. Warm air replaced the warm water, gently drying his underside. When this stopped, He pushed the PP button. A large powder puff caressed his bottom adding a fragile scent of spring flowers to this unbelievable pleasure. The ladies restroom was more than a restroom, it is tender loving pleasure. When the powder puff completed its pleasure, he couldn't wait to push the ATR button which he knew would be supreme ecstasy. Next thing he knew he was in a hospital as soon as he opened his eyes. A nurse was staring down at him with a smirk on her face.
What happened?" he exclaimed. "You pushed too many buttons," replied the nurse. "The last button marked ATR was an Automatic Tampon Remover. Your penis is under your pillow."
Men Never Listen.
How many men does it take to change a roll of toilet paper? - We don't know, it's never happened.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
THE YEAR'S BEST [actual] HEADLINES OF 2005:
Something Went Wrong in Jet Crash, Expert Says
Police Begin Campaign to Run Down Jaywalkers
[ That'll stop 'em. ]
Panda Mating Fails; Veterinarian Takes Over
[What a guy!! ]
Miners Refuse to Work after Death
[No-good-for-nothing lazy so-and-so's!]
Juvenile Court to Try Shooting Defendant
[See if that works any better than a fair trial!]
War Dims Hope for Peace
[I can see where it might have that effect!]
If Strike Isn't Settled Quickly, It May Last Awhile
Cold Wave Linked to Temperatures
[Who would have thought!]
Enfield (London) Couple Slain; Police Suspect Homicide
[They may be on to something!] Are these the same police who suspected homicide when the guy was found in a trash bag in the trunk of an abandon car in KC ?
Red Tape Holds Up New Bridges!
[You mean there's something stronger than duct tape?]
Man Struck By Lightning: Faces Battery Charge
[He probably IS the battery charge!]
New Study of Obesity Looks for Larger Test Group
[Weren't they fat enough?!]
Astronaut Takes Blame for Gas in Spacecraft
[That's what he gets for eating those beans!]
Kids Make Nutritious Snacks
[Taste like chicken?]
Local High School Dropouts Cut In Half
[Chainsaw Massacre all over again!]
Hospitals are Sued by 7 Foot Doctors
[Boy, are they tall!]
And the winner is....
Typhoon Rips Through Cemetery; Hundreds Dead
[What a way to die ... again!]
(And this I received from my brother-in-law...)
Try not to send this to anyone it might offend. :)
Beautiful Blonde Pole Dancer
If you should find it too offensive,
please advise, and I will remove your name
promptly from these type of emails!
Please scroll on Down.......
You were expecting something more like this?
Sorry to disappoint you!
Monday, September 11, 2006
"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to think "profiling" is worse than the slaughter of innocent people...." - (In memoriam, 9-11-2001; from the Millard Fillmore comic strip by Bruce Tinsley, 9-11-2006)
I lost no one for whom to offer a solemn requiem;
I wasn't there that day, but I was there with them.
I wasn't hurt, or knew any of the dead or those injured;
I'll never know the sorrow or pain some have endured.
But I knew what I was feeling about what I was seeing;
And I was thinking, "What kind of kind of human being,
What kind of coward could justify such an onslaught,
And praise their God for the evil they had wrought?"
No, I wasn't there that day. But America was under attack.
I wondered when, how soon it'd be that we'd strike back.
-Michael Ashley, 9-11-2001
The poem above was scribbled down on a couple of napkins that afternoon following the attack on The World Trade Center. It was never finished. When I was preparing this post I thought that I should try to finish it.
In the end however, I decided to leave it as it was. It's like a "snapshot" of my thoughts on that terrible day. Besides, I don't think I could have recaptured the thoughts of confusion, fear and anger that tormented me five years ago today.
I was putting on my shoes, the finishing touches on getting dressed for work, when the news broke. I burned myself that morning. So frozen was I with the TV images that a cigarette burned down to the filter between my fingers. When the second plane struck, I thought it was the end of the world. Surely I had just seen the attack that would send us into World War Three!
Our country's naivete' has been shattered forever. Innocence and security will no longer be taken for granted. May we be ever vigilant that such a tragedy never happens again. May we never forget those who were taken from us so needlessly. May those left behind be remembered as well.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
....I know I bastardized a famous war quote, but really, this time of the year the remote is all the ammo I need. In reply to another "war" quote, I'm ready for some football!
For thirty-four years I have tried to live by the vows my wife and I exchanged at the altar. Spelling aside, that area of the church is aptly named. Does that day forever alter one's life, or what?
We took each other and promised to love, honor and obey our betrothed till death do us part. We've never had any problem with the loving, honoring or obeying part. Well, I guess we both push the envelope a bit when it comes to that obeying thing.
....I do wince some when it comes to that "till death do us part" piece of the marriage equation. I mean death is kind of final isn't it? It's like forever, but with an escape clause.
To have managed a successful marriage, we've each had to attach a few riders to the contract. You could call them "give and take" bylaws. Unlike some marriages amongst baby boomers, we have remained together in part because of those riders.
....When we tied the knot, prenuptial arrangements were unheard of and would have been viewed as preposterous. We got married under the presumption that we would stay married.
That brings me to the football season. Admittedly, most of the aforementioned riders that have been enacted have been in my wife's favor. However, I'm no fool. For the most part I have reserved my riders for "special" things, like football. From September through January, Sundays are set aside for football. No plans or chores will be scheduled on the Sabbath. The Sabbath is for football! The first Sunday of the season is the Holy of the Holies!
....Do you take this woman to be your wedded wife, for better or for worse, through good times and bad, and through sickness and in health? Do you promise to love, honor and obey her? Will you honor her mother, take her to chick-flicks, take out the trash, and put the toilet seat down? (Whoa, momma never told me that marriage was going to be so demanding!)
....Do you take this man to be your wedded husband, for better or for worse, through good times and bad, and through sickness and in health? Do you promise to love, honor and obey him? Will you honor his mother, go with him to the hardware store, prepare his favorite meals, and keep Holy football Sunday? (Mom said to cross my fingers at this part.)
So you see, a successful marriage is a series of compromises (riders) and counter-compromises (over rides) which make it a democratic institution. Of course, there can be some heated lobbying at times.
Here it is, Sunday, football Sunday. It is first down and three games to go until ...
Monday Night Football!
Saturday, September 09, 2006
One man comes up with practical and sensible ideas, which seems to impress the boss. Having easy to use navigational tools on one's site is desirable of course, but it's so ... vanilla!
....Sometimes you feel like chocolate, or strawberry, or Cherry Garcia!
The other man provides the commercials' comic relief. I'm not sure there is much of a demand for a window washer to drop down from the ceiling to clean the screen on your monitor. I doubt that many men would care for a visor with a vanity mirror mounted above their screens, although some women might wish to freshen up if they are using live web cams.
....I suppose if you were a video-gamer, a steering wheel instead of a mouse might be useful, and using the horn to navigate through links might actually be fun to some. I think if I had such a horn, I would substitute the "beep-beep" with an old fashioned "ah-ooga."
One idea, however, shows some promise to this Blogger. Obviously I wouldn't limit a scent application to only that of the smell of a new car. The possibilities here are endless. Can it be that "Smell-a-Vision" has been reincarnated as Smell-a-Blog?
....Imagine a Blogger posting a piece about horticulture,where with just a click of the mouse the reader would be rewarded with the aroma of roses or lilacs. There would be no need to stop at flowers either. One could have perfumes and colognes wafting from their sites. Like to read about food and recipes? How pleasing to the nose, taste buds and stomach would the smells of a pot roast, a turkey in the oven, or a steak on the grill be to a visitor to your site?
Of course, some Bloggers like Hoss would find innovative ways to put such technology to use. Just think how realistic they would be if smell accompanied his posts, especially those tributes he lovingly gives to the dung beetle.
....Let us not forget about his war on "butt cracks!" He could "reward" us the next time he writes about that subject with the smell of ... ahem ... well ... butt cracks!
Smell-a-Blog would be a precursor to more technology based on the senses. You didn't think I would fail to mention "Scratch n' Sniff," did you? Rather than clicking on a picture, you would scratch it on your screen to smell flowers or food. Of course, this technology would be quickly adopted by the porn sites to provide the smell of ...ahem ... well ... butt cracks!
....Should I draw the line there, or do I dare promote "Scratch n' Taste?"
Thursday, September 07, 2006
(pra-sew-poe-pea-uh) - a figure of speech in which an absent or dead or imaginary person or character is speaking; personification.
Thesaurus Rex, pictured at the right, has been trying to comprehend another gargantuan beast: the English language. So without further adieu, and before he becomes extinct, won't you please welcome our guest blogger for this Blog-lecture, Thesaurus Rex.
Thank you, Hale. Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Before I start, I'd like to let you know that all of you are welcome to my room for refreshments after the lecture. I'd love to have each of you for dinner.
Your English language is crazy! Take the weather for example. How can it be hot as hell one day and cold as hell the next? Think about it, there is no butter in buttermilk, no egg in eggplant, no grape in grapefruit. There are neither worms nor wood in wormwood, neither pine nor apple in pineapple, and there is no ham in hamburger!
Why is it that when the sun, moon or stars are out, they are visible, and yet when the lights are out they are invisible? Why is that if you wind up your watches, you start them, but when I wind up this lecture, I will end it? If button and unbutton are opposites, why are loosen and unloosen the same?
I swear, if that meteor hadn't wiped out my fellow Saurians sixty-five million years ago, surely trying to learn your English would have caused our mass extinction. You need to look at it from my point of view, I think you English speakers should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane.
It drives me crazy that you people recite at a play and play at a recital. If my arms weren't so short, you'd see me scratching my head when I hear that you drive on a parkway, but park in a driveway! Why is that you must first chop a tree down before you can chop it up? You fill in a form by filling out a form, now how crazy sounding is that?
If those examples that I have cited so far aren't enough to confuse the peanut-sized brain of a simple carnivore like myself, you throw oxymorons at me! Do you realize that the word 'oxymoron' is an oxymoron itself. It's formed from two Greek roots: oxys - 'sharp and keen'; and moros - 'foolish.' I'll cite a few like: plastic silverware, freezer burn, old news, jumbo shrimp, living end, recorded live, etc. I ask you, how is that you mammals have survived this long?
In closing, I'll leave you this thought: "Who named one of this planet's creatures a titmouse? It is no rodent and it has no mammaries!"
Thank you, Thesaraus Rex for that thought provoking dissertation. There will be no snacking on the audience! Those of you in the front row - Look out! Ouch, that's gotta smart! Who's going to clean up that mess? Why are you looking at me like that? I'm just skin and bones......
(Some of the above is excerpted from the book "Crazy English" by Richard Lederer.)