The Story of Adam & Eve's Pets
Adam and Eve said, 'Lord, when we were in the garden, you walked with us every day. Now we do not see you any more. We are lonesome here, and it is difficult for us to remember how much you love us.'
And God said, I will create a companion for you that will be with you and who will be a reflection of my love for you, so that you will love me even when you cannot see me. Regardless of how selfish or childish or unlovable you may be, this new companion will accept you as you are an d will love you as I do, in spite of yourselves.'
And God created a new animal to be a companion for Adam and Eve.
And it was a good animal
And God was pleased.
And the new animal was pleased to be with Adam and Eve and he wagged his tail .
And Adam said, 'Lord, I have already named all the animals in the Kingdom and I cannot think of a name for this new animal.'
And God said, 'I have created this new animal to be a reflection of my love for you, his name will be a reflection of my own name, and you will call him DOG.'
And Dog lived with Adam and Eve and was a companion to them and loved them.
And they were comforted
And God was pleased.
And Dog was content and wagged his tail.
After a while, it came to pass that an angel came to the Lord a nd said, 'Lord, Adam and Eve have becom e filled with pride. They strut and preen like peacocks and they believe they are worthy of adoration. Dog has indeed taught them that they are loved, but perhaps too well.'
And God said, I will create for them a companion who will be with them and who will see them as they are. The companion will remind them of their limitations, so they will know that they are not always worthy of adoration.'
And God created CAT to be a companion to Adam and Eve.
And Cat would not obey them. And when Adam and Eve gazed into Cat's eyes, they were reminded that they were not the supreme beings.
And Adam and Eve learned humility.
And they were greatly improved.
And God was pleased . . . .
And Dog was happy. . . .
And Cat didn't give a shit one way or the other....
No.1423
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Heavenly Pets
(The following was received in an e-mail from my brother-in-law, Donald. I thought it was cute and funny. - Thanks, Don.)
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Blonded by the Light
A car gets a flat on the interstate one day. The blonde driver eases it over onto the shoulder of the road, carefully steps out of the car and opens the trunk.She takes out two cardboard men, unfolds them and stands them at the rear of the vehicle facing oncoming traffic.
The lifelike cardboard men are in trench coats exposing their nude bodies and private parts to approaching drivers. Not surprisingly, the traffic becomes snarled and backed up.
It isn't very long before a police car arrives. The officer, clearly enraged, approaches the blond of the disabled vehicle yelling, "What's going on here?"
"My car broke down, officer," says the woman calmly.
"Well, what the are these obscene cardboard pictures doing here by the road?" he asks.
"Helllooooooo!!!!" says the blonde. "Those are my emergency flashers!"
Just one of the Bear Naked Ladies
A blonde goes to the doctor and says, "I can't stop singing 'The Green, Green Grass of Home.' "
"That sounds like the 'Tom Jones syndrome,'" the doctor says.
"Is that common?" the blonde asks.
"It's not unusual."
There were three women who were at the gynecologist having pre-natal checkups The doctor asked the first woman "In what position was the baby conceived ?"
"He was on top ", she replied.
"You will have a boy !" the doctor exclaimed.
The second woman was asked the same question.
"I was on top ", was the reply.
"You will have a baby girl. " said the doctor.
With this, the third women, a blonde, burst into tears.
"What's the matter ?" asked the doc.
"Am I going to have puppies ?".....
Rubick's Cube for blondes. Available in six different bright colors.
A blonde calls Jet Star and asks, "Can you tell me
how long it'll take to fly from Sydney to Brisbane?"
The agent replies, "Just a moment, madam."
"Thank you," the blonde says, and hangs up.
Q. What's the difference between a prostitute, a nymphomaniac and a blonde?
The prostitute says, "Aren't you done yet?"
The nymphomania says, "You're done already?"
The blonde says, "Beige ... I think I'll paint the ceiling beige."
... she sent me a fax with a stamp on it.
... she thought a quarterback was a refund.
... she tried to put M&M's in alphabetical order
... she thought Boyz II Men was a day-care center.
... she thought Eartha Kitt was a set of garden tools.
... she thought General Motors was in the Army.
... she thought Meow Mix was a CD for cats.
... she thought TuPac Shakur was a Jewish holiday.
... under "education" on her job application, she put "Hooked On Phonics".
... she tried to drown a fish.
... she tripped over a cordless phone.
... she spent 20 minutes looking at the orange juice can because it
said "concentrate".
... she got stabbed in a shoot-out.
... she told me to meet her at the corner of "WALK" and "DONT WALK".
... they had to burn the school down to get her out of third grade.
... at the bottom of the application where it says "sign here," she put "Sagittarius".
... she asked for a price check at the Dollar Store.
... it takes her two hours to watch "60 Minutes".
... she studied for a blood test-and failed.
... she thought she needed a token to get on "Soul Train".
... she sold the car for gas money.
... when she saw the movie rating "NC-17: under 17 not admitted", she went home and got 16 friends.
... when she heard that 90% of all crimes occur around the home, she moved.
... she thinks Taco Bell is the Mexican phone company.
... when she missed the 44 bus, she took the 22 bus twice instead.
... when she went to the airport and saw a sign that said "Airport Left", she turned around and went home.
... she got locked in a grocery store and starved to death.
No.1422
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
That Silver-Haired Grand Paw of Mine
Sometimes I hearken back to a much simpler time;
Time spent with that silver-haired Grand Paw of mine.
He and Grand Maw, they raised nineteen children in all,
And fed them from a garden and ol' Bessie in a barn stall.
He would get up early before his neighbor Farmer Brewster,
And sometimes he would even wake up that lazy old rooster.
Now on a farm there was a lot that needed to be done
And there wasn't a heck of a lot of time for havin' fun.
Well, he had a whole mess of us grandkids to help out,
And he'd put us to work even when we'd whine and pout.
Some of us would gather eggs, others slopped the hogs;
And for the cooking fire, the oldest chopped some logs.
And there wasn't a heck of a lot of time for havin' fun.
Well, he had a whole mess of us grandkids to help out,
And he'd put us to work even when we'd whine and pout.
Some of us would gather eggs, others slopped the hogs;
And for the cooking fire, the oldest chopped some logs.
When our chores were finished, then we would go play
Until the sun lay low in the sky at the end of the day.
We'd run and race and do things of which we were fond
Like climbing trees and skinny-dipping in the old pond.
Once while we supped on our biscuits and fried chicken,
Grand Paw stated that we was due for some shit-kickin'.
Until the sun lay low in the sky at the end of the day.
We'd run and race and do things of which we were fond
Like climbing trees and skinny-dipping in the old pond.
Once while we supped on our biscuits and fried chicken,
Grand Paw stated that we was due for some shit-kickin'.
So he called up our cousins and uncles from miles around
And in that old barn, we'd all gather for a real hoe-down.
We'd hoot and holler under many bright harvest moons
Keepin' time to washboards, banjos and pairs of spoons.
We'd stomp a lot and we'd square dance and we'd laugh,
And keepin' time was the sad low of Bessie's hungry calf.
And in that old barn, we'd all gather for a real hoe-down.
We'd hoot and holler under many bright harvest moons
Keepin' time to washboards, banjos and pairs of spoons.
We'd stomp a lot and we'd square dance and we'd laugh,
And keepin' time was the sad low of Bessie's hungry calf.
It would not be long before Grand Paw took center stage,
To perform his special talent, which was quite the rage.
His inhibitions low from drinking six fingers of shine,
He turned his back to the crowd and exposed his behind;
Because he could break wind in such a musical manner
The tune was reminiscent of the Star Spangled Banner.
To perform his special talent, which was quite the rage.
His inhibitions low from drinking six fingers of shine,
He turned his back to the crowd and exposed his behind;
Because he could break wind in such a musical manner
The tune was reminiscent of the Star Spangled Banner.
Uncle John was on the squeeze box and he played along
While the rest of us joined in and began to sing the song.
On the "sphincter-chord" he was truly the best of his time
And I was proud of that silver-haired Grand Paw of mine.
And to this very day I will still break out into laughing fits
When I hear his favorite, "Shave and a haircut - two bits!"
While the rest of us joined in and began to sing the song.On the "sphincter-chord" he was truly the best of his time
And I was proud of that silver-haired Grand Paw of mine.
And to this very day I will still break out into laughing fits
When I hear his favorite, "Shave and a haircut - two bits!"
The poetic tribute to my Grandfather above is not quite as far-fetched as it may seem. I doubt that he could have actually "farted" to the tune of The Star Spangled Banner, and if he could have, I never heard it.
I "shit" you not, pardon the pun, but he really was able to "toot" out Shave and a haircut - two bits.
No. 1421
Monday, July 28, 2008
Echoes of Eddie -30
Can a dead man reach out from the grave to exact revenge against those responsible for his death? Welcome to the thirtieth installment of a story that explores that possibility. If you've not done so, read the story from the beginning HERE.
Hunter was about to come out of hiding when the figure appeared seemingly out of nowhere. In the dark of the early evening it appeared to be a floating specter bathed in an eerie blue light. So that was the "ghost" of Soddy-Daisy!
When it stopped moving only then could he tell that there was a human form hidden by the azure glow. A sickening feeling suddenly came over him. Why hadn't he thought of it before? His father had once shown that jacket to him, a couple of years before Eddie had died. He had completely forgotten about it. The churning in his stomach grew stronger and he felt like he was about to spill the contents of his stomach.
The fact that his father might have been connected to that man, left him with but one conclusion. His father, directly or indirectly, must have been involved in the deaths of his friends. But why? He couldn't have known anything about that night.
His mind was racing as he tried to make sense of it all. Of course! His father was chummy with the mayor. Alyson must have shown Mindy's diary to him. He placed his fingers against his temples shaking his head. Was the mayor somehow involved too?
He was startled by Agnes Nolan's scream. He looked up in time to see Jack charging at the man. It happened so fast. Stunned and frightened he froze when Jack fell and was impaled upon the pick. He was emotionless when his wife Tiffany ran to Jack's side. Agnes and Jack knew the man. Who was he?
Jack's breathing was becoming labored and erratic. Even though the pain was excruciating he could feel the tender touch of Tiffany's upon his cheek. He could make out the tracks of the tears pouring from her eyes. He was able to twist his lips into a smile knowing that she loved him and him alone. If he was going to die, then at least he could take that knowledge with him.
Catherine and Marjorie knelt on either side of Tiffany. Her hands shaking, Catherine was trying to activate a cell phone to call for help.
The man lunged forth and grabbed the device from her hand. "No phones! There will be no calls," the menacing figure growled.
"He ... He's dying," Marjorie cried out. "We need to get him to the hospital."
"I said no phones. Look at him ... He's a goner anyway," he snarled at her. He spun around to make sure none of the others had any heroic ideas.
"Who are you and why are you doing this to us?" Tiffany implored.
Agnes took a couple of steps closer and said, "Aren't you going to tell them, George, or should I?"
He began to laugh, the action causing him to cough several times. "Any one else care to volunteer?" He looked down at Jack and turned to Sam, "It seems that Jack has nothing to say. How about you, my old friend?" He raised the gun and aimed it at Sam's head. Sam stood still without flinching a muscle.
"Well now, my old nervous friend has grown some nerve. Hardened no doubt by the passing years. No matter, I'm not going to shoot you." He lowered the gun and turned away. He paused for a moment, whirled around and again raised the weapon, "Later, yes ... Not now."
He began waving the gun at everyone there and herded them into a smaller cluster. "Down on the ground, all of you," he ordered. "That's right, Mayor, make yourself comfortable." He noticed that two of them seemed reluctant. The gun was turned on the pair. "Sit down, Steven!" He then looked at the younger man and added, "You too." There was a momentary puzzled look on his face as the pair joined the others on the ground. He thought he knew everyone present, but he didn't know the younger man.
He cleared his throat, "I guess none of you have an affinity for public speaking. It's funny, I don't mind talking, but you see some years ago I had a rather serious neck injury. My larynx was damaged." He made eye contact with both Sam and Agnes, the latter's stare firing bullets at him.
"Get on with it, Nolan. Stop beating around the bush!" Alyson protested.
In one swift motion the man swung the gun in a looping motion, the barrel striking the Mayor across his forehead. "You were always giving your constituents headaches, Mr. Mayor. How does it feel to be on the receiving end?"
His eyes scanned the group before him. He stifled a cough and grinned, "You know, I'd have thought our honorable Mayor would have preferred that I beat around the bush, as he so metaphorically put it. The longer my story, the longer it would be before I got to the parts that include his involvement in the secret underbelly of Soddy-Daisy."
He rubbed his neck and cleared his throat again before continuing, "Most of you were too young or weren't even born yet back when our little town was just like the one in that "Peyton Place" book." He grinned for effect, "...And make no mistake about it, Soddy-Daisy had its own share of desperate housewives. Isn't that right, Agnes?"
"Go to hell, you monster," she replied.
Marjorie was in shock as she tried to speak to her mother, "Mom? What's he saying?"
George began coughing, the need to laugh bringing discomfort to his throat. "Marjorie, my sweet little Marjorie," he spoke before Agnes could open her mouth. 'Don't you even remember how nice I treated you?"
Her face whitened as the long suppressed memory of his brutal attacks resurfaced. She began to break into uncontrolled trembling sobs as Catherine pulled her into her arms to offer a shoulder on which to cry. She looked up at he man with burning hatred etched on her face, but she dared not speak. That evil man, her own father had molested her too.
Steven was growing restless. He'd heard insinuations that his father had molested both Marjorie and Catherine. What he'd been hearing had confirmed it. He didn't need to be hearing him gloating. Indeed, the girls didn't need to be reliving those nightmares. He chanced a glance in Sam's direction. To Sam's left was Charlie. He knew that they were both waiting for the chance to act. From the corner of his eye he could see that David was clinching his fists.
"Damn it, George," the mayor shouted. "Haven't you hurt the girl enough already?"
He glanced at Alyson with a snarl on his lip, "Why you sanctimonious weasel. You dare cast the first stone?" He was liking the power he held over the pathetic little man. "Would you care to tell the fine people assembled here just how many bedroom windows you crawled through in your day?" Alyson shook his head and lowered his eyes to the ground.
"Ha! Little did you know that I was walking right through your front door when you weren't home," he boasted. The mayor didn't look up. George looked up at the rest and said, "That's right, folks. Mrs. Alyson was one of those desperate housewives."
Hunter was confused. All he'd wanted was to keep Steven Cooper quiet. He just wanted the facts surrounding Eddie Nolan's death to remain secret, bound by the pact they'd made that night. He just wanted Steven to go away.
He was trying to put all the pieces together. First that Dobbs character came into town. Then he learned Dobbs was actually Sam Nolan - Eddie's father! Then Steven arrived. There were the reports of a blue ghost. Then his friends starting dying in those horrible accidents. If all that weren't enough, the "ghost" turns out to be George Cooper? George Cooper, who supposedly hanged himself over twenty years ago had returned from the dead?
No one was supposed to have died. Over there lie his father, dead. There was Jack dying. There was George Cooper airing out the town's dirty laundry. After he finished humiliating them, that same man was going to kill them, all of them. He'd made up his mind. He couldn't let that happen.
David was the first to see Hunter running toward them. At that moment George was unaware of the man's approach from his back. He elbowed Steven and nodded in the direction of Sam and Charlie. Hunter's sudden appearance had given them an opportunity to act.
Steve jumped up and shouted, "NO, Hunter! Go back!"
George spun around and reached for his gun. Being the closest to the man, David rushed forward to tackle the man from behind. Steve and Sam were in motion to hit the man from either side. Charlie lagged slightly behind removing his belt to use as a possible garrote.
With a sudden uncanny display of agility for a man his age, George sidestepped David's diving tackle attempt. Steven ended up grabbing nothing but air. Hunter pulled up just missing a collision with Steven. He stumbled forward and fell to the ground just short of the man's feet. Sam slumped to his knees short of his goal.
George shook his head in disbelief at their botched attempt to grab him. It was almost comical. With his gun aimed at Sam's midsection he began to back away from his would-be tacklers. Suddenly Hunter lashed out his arm and grabbed the man's leg. Sam rushed headlong toward the distracted man.
The gun shot shattered the night and it's echo resounded through the trees. George shook off the hand from his ankle and with his other foot kicked Hunter in the face.
Several meters away Sam was slumped onto his knees clutching his abdomen. He stared defiantly into George's eyes. He struggled to keep his eyes open. His head nodded to his chest. There was a guttural gasp. Sam fell forward face first to the ground. He moved no more.
(To be continued... Echoes of Eddie -31)
No.1420
Hunter was about to come out of hiding when the figure appeared seemingly out of nowhere. In the dark of the early evening it appeared to be a floating specter bathed in an eerie blue light. So that was the "ghost" of Soddy-Daisy!When it stopped moving only then could he tell that there was a human form hidden by the azure glow. A sickening feeling suddenly came over him. Why hadn't he thought of it before? His father had once shown that jacket to him, a couple of years before Eddie had died. He had completely forgotten about it. The churning in his stomach grew stronger and he felt like he was about to spill the contents of his stomach.
The fact that his father might have been connected to that man, left him with but one conclusion. His father, directly or indirectly, must have been involved in the deaths of his friends. But why? He couldn't have known anything about that night.
His mind was racing as he tried to make sense of it all. Of course! His father was chummy with the mayor. Alyson must have shown Mindy's diary to him. He placed his fingers against his temples shaking his head. Was the mayor somehow involved too?
He was startled by Agnes Nolan's scream. He looked up in time to see Jack charging at the man. It happened so fast. Stunned and frightened he froze when Jack fell and was impaled upon the pick. He was emotionless when his wife Tiffany ran to Jack's side. Agnes and Jack knew the man. Who was he?
Jack's breathing was becoming labored and erratic. Even though the pain was excruciating he could feel the tender touch of Tiffany's upon his cheek. He could make out the tracks of the tears pouring from her eyes. He was able to twist his lips into a smile knowing that she loved him and him alone. If he was going to die, then at least he could take that knowledge with him.
Catherine and Marjorie knelt on either side of Tiffany. Her hands shaking, Catherine was trying to activate a cell phone to call for help.
The man lunged forth and grabbed the device from her hand. "No phones! There will be no calls," the menacing figure growled.
"He ... He's dying," Marjorie cried out. "We need to get him to the hospital."
"I said no phones. Look at him ... He's a goner anyway," he snarled at her. He spun around to make sure none of the others had any heroic ideas.
"Who are you and why are you doing this to us?" Tiffany implored.
Agnes took a couple of steps closer and said, "Aren't you going to tell them, George, or should I?"
He began to laugh, the action causing him to cough several times. "Any one else care to volunteer?" He looked down at Jack and turned to Sam, "It seems that Jack has nothing to say. How about you, my old friend?" He raised the gun and aimed it at Sam's head. Sam stood still without flinching a muscle.
"Well now, my old nervous friend has grown some nerve. Hardened no doubt by the passing years. No matter, I'm not going to shoot you." He lowered the gun and turned away. He paused for a moment, whirled around and again raised the weapon, "Later, yes ... Not now."
He began waving the gun at everyone there and herded them into a smaller cluster. "Down on the ground, all of you," he ordered. "That's right, Mayor, make yourself comfortable." He noticed that two of them seemed reluctant. The gun was turned on the pair. "Sit down, Steven!" He then looked at the younger man and added, "You too." There was a momentary puzzled look on his face as the pair joined the others on the ground. He thought he knew everyone present, but he didn't know the younger man.
He cleared his throat, "I guess none of you have an affinity for public speaking. It's funny, I don't mind talking, but you see some years ago I had a rather serious neck injury. My larynx was damaged." He made eye contact with both Sam and Agnes, the latter's stare firing bullets at him.
"Get on with it, Nolan. Stop beating around the bush!" Alyson protested.
In one swift motion the man swung the gun in a looping motion, the barrel striking the Mayor across his forehead. "You were always giving your constituents headaches, Mr. Mayor. How does it feel to be on the receiving end?"
His eyes scanned the group before him. He stifled a cough and grinned, "You know, I'd have thought our honorable Mayor would have preferred that I beat around the bush, as he so metaphorically put it. The longer my story, the longer it would be before I got to the parts that include his involvement in the secret underbelly of Soddy-Daisy."
He rubbed his neck and cleared his throat again before continuing, "Most of you were too young or weren't even born yet back when our little town was just like the one in that "Peyton Place" book." He grinned for effect, "...And make no mistake about it, Soddy-Daisy had its own share of desperate housewives. Isn't that right, Agnes?"
"Go to hell, you monster," she replied.
Marjorie was in shock as she tried to speak to her mother, "Mom? What's he saying?"
George began coughing, the need to laugh bringing discomfort to his throat. "Marjorie, my sweet little Marjorie," he spoke before Agnes could open her mouth. 'Don't you even remember how nice I treated you?"
Her face whitened as the long suppressed memory of his brutal attacks resurfaced. She began to break into uncontrolled trembling sobs as Catherine pulled her into her arms to offer a shoulder on which to cry. She looked up at he man with burning hatred etched on her face, but she dared not speak. That evil man, her own father had molested her too.
Steven was growing restless. He'd heard insinuations that his father had molested both Marjorie and Catherine. What he'd been hearing had confirmed it. He didn't need to be hearing him gloating. Indeed, the girls didn't need to be reliving those nightmares. He chanced a glance in Sam's direction. To Sam's left was Charlie. He knew that they were both waiting for the chance to act. From the corner of his eye he could see that David was clinching his fists.
"Damn it, George," the mayor shouted. "Haven't you hurt the girl enough already?"
He glanced at Alyson with a snarl on his lip, "Why you sanctimonious weasel. You dare cast the first stone?" He was liking the power he held over the pathetic little man. "Would you care to tell the fine people assembled here just how many bedroom windows you crawled through in your day?" Alyson shook his head and lowered his eyes to the ground.
"Ha! Little did you know that I was walking right through your front door when you weren't home," he boasted. The mayor didn't look up. George looked up at the rest and said, "That's right, folks. Mrs. Alyson was one of those desperate housewives."
Hunter was confused. All he'd wanted was to keep Steven Cooper quiet. He just wanted the facts surrounding Eddie Nolan's death to remain secret, bound by the pact they'd made that night. He just wanted Steven to go away.
He was trying to put all the pieces together. First that Dobbs character came into town. Then he learned Dobbs was actually Sam Nolan - Eddie's father! Then Steven arrived. There were the reports of a blue ghost. Then his friends starting dying in those horrible accidents. If all that weren't enough, the "ghost" turns out to be George Cooper? George Cooper, who supposedly hanged himself over twenty years ago had returned from the dead?
No one was supposed to have died. Over there lie his father, dead. There was Jack dying. There was George Cooper airing out the town's dirty laundry. After he finished humiliating them, that same man was going to kill them, all of them. He'd made up his mind. He couldn't let that happen.
David was the first to see Hunter running toward them. At that moment George was unaware of the man's approach from his back. He elbowed Steven and nodded in the direction of Sam and Charlie. Hunter's sudden appearance had given them an opportunity to act.
Steve jumped up and shouted, "NO, Hunter! Go back!"
George spun around and reached for his gun. Being the closest to the man, David rushed forward to tackle the man from behind. Steve and Sam were in motion to hit the man from either side. Charlie lagged slightly behind removing his belt to use as a possible garrote.
With a sudden uncanny display of agility for a man his age, George sidestepped David's diving tackle attempt. Steven ended up grabbing nothing but air. Hunter pulled up just missing a collision with Steven. He stumbled forward and fell to the ground just short of the man's feet. Sam slumped to his knees short of his goal.
George shook his head in disbelief at their botched attempt to grab him. It was almost comical. With his gun aimed at Sam's midsection he began to back away from his would-be tacklers. Suddenly Hunter lashed out his arm and grabbed the man's leg. Sam rushed headlong toward the distracted man.
The gun shot shattered the night and it's echo resounded through the trees. George shook off the hand from his ankle and with his other foot kicked Hunter in the face.
Several meters away Sam was slumped onto his knees clutching his abdomen. He stared defiantly into George's eyes. He struggled to keep his eyes open. His head nodded to his chest. There was a guttural gasp. Sam fell forward face first to the ground. He moved no more.
(To be continued... Echoes of Eddie -31)
No.1420
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Double Dipping
Saturday POODLE DOODLES
Like Snoopy
Life in the Fast Lane
Sunday POODLE DOODLES
Rough Neighborhood
Fresh Air
I went to bed Friday night thinking I had "published" the post for that day. On Saturday morning I discovered I had not - it was still in draft status. I left Friday's date on it and published Dipping Pens in Company Ink on Saturday.
With an otherwise busy schedule on Saturday, a half a day of work, the need to shop for a new cell phone and to work on the next chapter of my short story Echoes of Eddie, I was unable to come up with an idea for a Saturday post. I figured it was no big deal since blog readership and hits diminish on the weekends anyway. (Some people actually have a life on the weekends?)
For the past two and a half months I been posting two sets of panels of my original comic strip, Poodle Doodles, on both Saturday and Sunday. With no post on Saturday, I had to "double-dip" and scanned four sets to be published in this Sunday post. If you haven't seen the previous posts of Poodle Doodles, you'll find links to all the strips published to date on my sidebar under the title "Previous Toons."
Sometimes I drew other cartoons:
Before Photoshop, there was the original cut & paste method:
And sometimes my drawings were more of an adult nature ...
Until I started posting my Poodle Doodles comic strip ten weeks ago, I really hadn't done much drawing in nearly thirty years. Now that I am able to scan my drawings - (Why did I wait so long to get a scanner?) - I have regained a desire to draw again. I am posting "Poodles" every Saturday and Sunday. From time to time I will post some new cartoons like those above.
Someone suggested that I should start a new blog exclusively for my drawings and cartoons and use this for my writing. That is something I might consider in the future.
No.1419
Sunday POODLE DOODLES
I went to bed Friday night thinking I had "published" the post for that day. On Saturday morning I discovered I had not - it was still in draft status. I left Friday's date on it and published Dipping Pens in Company Ink on Saturday.
With an otherwise busy schedule on Saturday, a half a day of work, the need to shop for a new cell phone and to work on the next chapter of my short story Echoes of Eddie, I was unable to come up with an idea for a Saturday post. I figured it was no big deal since blog readership and hits diminish on the weekends anyway. (Some people actually have a life on the weekends?)
For the past two and a half months I been posting two sets of panels of my original comic strip, Poodle Doodles, on both Saturday and Sunday. With no post on Saturday, I had to "double-dip" and scanned four sets to be published in this Sunday post. If you haven't seen the previous posts of Poodle Doodles, you'll find links to all the strips published to date on my sidebar under the title "Previous Toons."
Sometimes I drew other cartoons:
Before Photoshop, there was the original cut & paste method:
And sometimes my drawings were more of an adult nature ...
Until I started posting my Poodle Doodles comic strip ten weeks ago, I really hadn't done much drawing in nearly thirty years. Now that I am able to scan my drawings - (Why did I wait so long to get a scanner?) - I have regained a desire to draw again. I am posting "Poodles" every Saturday and Sunday. From time to time I will post some new cartoons like those above.
Someone suggested that I should start a new blog exclusively for my drawings and cartoons and use this for my writing. That is something I might consider in the future.
No.1419
Friday, July 25, 2008
Dipping Pens in Company Ink
I've missed out on a lot of things over the course of my existence. If it wasn't for bad timing, it was just my dumb luck. For example, I missed any chance to see Babe Ruth play baseball because he up and died before I was born.
I missed out on taking the hottest girl in my class to the Senior Prom because she turned me down. Because I went to a different party after the prom, I missed out on being there when the hottest girl in my class got plastered and took on all the guys present.
I missed making the varsity baseball team because I swung at and missed a pitch high and inside on the day of final cuts. I missed making the honor roll because of Algebra.
I missed out on having valuable sets of baseball cards and comic books because of a flood while I was away at college. I once threw a tomato at Ted Kennedy ... and missed! I missed Woodstock because I was a sailor overseas serving my country.
I missed out on trying to become an artist or a cartoonist because no one told me I could draw.I missed out on trying to become a Journalist or a writer because no one told me I could write.
I guess, what it all comes down to is Karma or fate. Somethings just aren't meant to be! It's all in the hand you are dealt. Would I, had I the chance, trade any of the things I didn't miss for some of those I never attained? Of course with hindsight that question would be easy to answer.
If myself and a friend hadn't stopped at a gas station to use the facilities, we might have arrived 15 minutes earlier and been crossing the Silver Bridge over the Ohio River at Gallopolis when it collapsed. If I hadn't once stopped in a bank doorway to light a cigarette, that 200 pound flower pot that fell ten stories and smashed on the sidewalk would have surely killed me. If I hadn't taken the wrong wing at Chicago's Ohare, I would not have missed a flight that crashed two hours later.
If I hadn't heard One Less Bell to Answer by the Fifth Dimension on the radio, I would not have called a girl I had broken up with two months earlier. I was on my way to the airport, leaving Boston to return to West Virginia. That girl and I have now been married 36 years.
Most recently, I just missed hitting the lottery by six of the seven numbers!
There is most definitely one thing that I missed and I am glad that I did. It was the arrival of the storm clouds heralding the PC revolution. (That's "P" as in political and "C" as in correctness.) For the record, that time was also before the appearance of personal computers in the homes.
It has been 16 years since I worked in an office environment. There have been a lot of changes in that passage of time, not the least of which was the introduction (or permeation) of the aforementioned PC.
Don't get me wrong, I do not and never did practice or condone sexual harassment. As for the title of this post, I never practiced or condoned "dipping one's pen in company ink" either. I have heard of company policies that discourage employee fraternization, some with the penalty of dismissal for the failure to comply.
I worked in an office of 30 people, all of whom were employed there for 10 or more years. In a sense we grew together in the company. We were all friends. We worked together. We lunched together. We drank together. (And ... yes, I suppose some slept together too. )
Above all, as far as our jobs were concerned, we were all very professional. Amongst ourselves however, our interactions with one one another were often interspersed with innuendos:
"Ah Sue, are you glad to see me or did someone put the AC on high again?"Nearly all of us, men and women, were married and had been before we began working there. Most of us even knew each other's significant others from company parties and outings. Many of us even held or attended cook outs at our homes with invitations to our fellow workers. We played on a co-ed softball team and formed a husbands-wives bowling league.
"Joe, are you going to ask me to lunch, or did you just forget to zip up your fly?"
There were three women in particular who were Dolly Parton-esque, if you get my drift, and they were often subjected to mammary references. The three of them were sitting together in the lunch room one day when I came in:
I looked at them and said, "Why do I have this sudden urge to go mountain climbing?"
To which Linda looked down at herself, arched her back and without batting an eyelash answered, "You know, Mike, to go mountain climbing you need specialized equipment. Are you sure you have the necessary equipment?"
Points scored by Linda.
I'm sure that there are many who would find that kind of behavior and interaction between male and female office workers unacceptable and offensive. They no doubt would not want to work in such an environment.As I stated above, the men and women in our office had worked together for a lot of years and we developed that overly casual worker-friend/friend-worker atmosphere over time. Not once did we ever hear of complaints within or without our department about our actions and interplay.
Perhaps our closeness, looseness and little or no regard for etiquette in such manners was an aberration. One thing though is certain. We would have never been able to interact in such a way in today's world where political correctness has run amok.
For all the regret and disappointment that I have known in my life for the things I have missed, working in an office where I have to watch everything I say and do is not one of them.
From time to time I have run into some of those women. We still exchange pleasantries with statements like:
"Hello, Linda. Oh wow! I didn't realize it was that cold in here."It feels good to know that fellow workers can still loosen the noose of inhibitions and still be friends without getting caught up in the creeping tendrils of the PC Police.
"Mike if you're planning on doing any mountain climbing, I got to see if you ever got the proper equipment."
"Damn if you don't still look good. You look good enough to eat and I forgot to bring a bib."
"If I'd known you were hungry, I would have left my underwear at home today."
No.1418
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo & Obama Too
& Traveling Magic Show
"Hey Iraqi, watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat."
"Oops! Wrong hat!"
Put 'em together and what have you got?
Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo.
Salagadoola menchickaboola,
Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo.
I'll do magic believe it or not,
Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo.
The Joker is still on the loose.
In the Middle East Obama draws upon his experiences from playing Stratego and the card games like War to impress the Generals in Afghanistan and Iraq.
Later when Senator Obama was addressing the troops there was some confusion. Thinking there was a heckler in the crowd, security discovered that one soldier had smuggled a pet duck into the proceedings. (The following is part of a transcript of his speech including the interruptions by the duck.)
"Hello dudes and dudettes of the armed forces. I'm (AFLAC!) Obama. I am here to praise your jobs in (AFLAC!) and in (AFLAC!)-istan. I admire your resolve, even when under mortar (AFLAC!) by enemy insurgents. We are fortunate that Hillary and Chelsea stayed home - there has been no sniper fire.
I thought this trip was going to be like a picnic at the biv(AFLAC!). I even brought some peanuts and Cr(AFLAC!)er J(AFLAC!)s for us to (AFLAC!) on.
(Obama's intended words in order: Barack, Iraq, Afghan, attack, bivouac, Cracker, Jacks and snack.)
There are Weapons of Mass Destruction over there:
No.1417
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Acrimonious Acronyms
There is no pleasure in having nothing to do; the fun is having lots to do and not doing it. - Anonymous
Blind Mans' Bluff
or
One Day At the Beach
Acronyms have been with us for a long time. Reducing words or phrases to their initials became popular in World War II. Here is a list of the most common acronyms which have remained a part of our vocabulary and were used mostly by the enlisted men of our armed forces:
In some circles sensitive to indecent language, the word "Fouled" would be substituted for the undesired word.
Today acronyms can be found in all facets of our lives such as the computer industry, law, government, education, etc. Nowhere can the use of acronyms be as prevalent as on the Internet. Whether in chat rooms, forums, e-mail, or Instant messaging, acronyms and their use have evolved into a virtual language of its own.
At Net Lingo, a run through their list of Internet jargon presents one with a seemingly endless list of these "acrimonious" acronyms. (I doubt very much if I knew even 10% of those listed.)
AAAAA
American Association Against Acronym Abuse
If the AAAAA was a real entity, I would join and pay union dues if required. Of course belonging to this entity probably wouldn't stop many of us from making up our own acronyms. That includes me.
What if a company or corporation, with its name turned into an acronym, also used that abbreviation as the ticker symbol for its publicly traded shares of stock? What slogan might they use?
This post was brought to you by:
No.1416
or
One Day At the Beach
Acronyms have been with us for a long time. Reducing words or phrases to their initials became popular in World War II. Here is a list of the most common acronyms which have remained a part of our vocabulary and were used mostly by the enlisted men of our armed forces:
- FIDO - Forget It-Drive On
- FUBAR - Fucked Up Beyond All Repair/Recognition
- FUBB - Fucked Up Beyond Belief
- FUMTU - Fucked Up More Than Usual
- JANFU - Joint Army-Navy Fuck Up
- TARFU - Things Are Really Fucked Up
- SNAFU - Situation Normal: All Fucked Up
- SNAFUBAR - Situation Normal: All Fucked Up Beyond All Repair/Recognition
- FUBAB - Fucked Up Beyond All Belief
- SOL - Shit Out of Luck
In some circles sensitive to indecent language, the word "Fouled" would be substituted for the undesired word.
Today acronyms can be found in all facets of our lives such as the computer industry, law, government, education, etc. Nowhere can the use of acronyms be as prevalent as on the Internet. Whether in chat rooms, forums, e-mail, or Instant messaging, acronyms and their use have evolved into a virtual language of its own.
At Net Lingo, a run through their list of Internet jargon presents one with a seemingly endless list of these "acrimonious" acronyms. (I doubt very much if I knew even 10% of those listed.)
If the AAAAA was a real entity, I would join and pay union dues if required. Of course belonging to this entity probably wouldn't stop many of us from making up our own acronyms. That includes me.
What if a company or corporation, with its name turned into an acronym, also used that abbreviation as the ticker symbol for its publicly traded shares of stock? What slogan might they use?
1.) Allied Seat Systems - A.S.S. makes the best seat.
2.) Sandusky Hydraulics and Inertial Technologies - S.H.I.T. helps to keep America Moving
3.) Carbon Recovery And Production - C.R.A.P. fills your life.
4.) Pittsburgh Integrated Seed Syndicate - P.I.S.S. in your yard for a beautiful lawn.
This post was brought to you by:
No.1416
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Hand Over the Money
This image just about sums up the contents of my mind tonight.It's not the first time, and I'm certain that it won't be the last time that I'll experience
Sometimes I'll surf around for some pictures or cartoons and make up some nonsensical caption or write an equally lame comment about the image. Well - I know, it's a deep subject for a shallow mind - I'm afraid that well was dry.
Finally inspiration, actually more of an idea out of desperation, came to me from the TV set in the next room. It was a local news story about a not so bright bank robber in a Boston suburb.
The young man walked into a bank and handed the teller a note demanding all the money in her drawer. The note stated that he had a gun and was not afraid to use it.
The teller emptied the contents of her drawer and handed the robber the money. She waited until he had exited the bank before she sounded the alarm.
When the police arrived the teller showed the note to the officers. Five minutes later they drove to a certain address and parked on the street. They waited for the thief to arrive at the address and promptly arrested him.
It seems our hero had written his demands on the back of a check. It was his own personal check, which conveniently had printed upon it his name and address!
A Thief's Day in CourtAfter a laborious two-week criminal trial in a very high profile bank robbery case, the jury finally ended its 14 hours of deliberations and entered the courtroom to deliver its verdict to the judge. The judge turns to the jury foreman and asks, "Has the jury reached a verdict in this case?"
"Yes we have, your honor," the foreman responded.
"Would you please pass it to me,"
The judge declared, as he motioned for the bailiff to retrieve the verdict slip from the foreman and deliver it to him.
After the judge reads the verdict himself, he delivers the verdict slip back to his bailiff to be returned to the foreman and instructs the foreman, "Please read your verdict to the court."
"We find the defendant NOT GUILTY of all four counts of bank robbery," stated the foreman.
The family and friends of the defendant jump for joy at the sound of the "not guilty" verdict and hug each other as they shout expressions of divine gratitude. The defendant's attorney turns to his client and asks,
"So, what do you think about that?"
The defendant looks around the courtroom slowly with a bewildered look on his face and then turns to his defense attorney and says,
"I'm real confused here. Does this mean that I have to give all the money back?"
It Comes Down ToOnce inside the bank shortly after midnight, their efforts at disabling the internal security system got underway immediately. The robbers, who expected to find one or two large safes filled with cash and valuables, were surprised to see hundreds of smaller safes scattered throughout the bank.
The robbers cracked the first safe's combination, and inside they found Only a bowl of vanilla pudding. As recorded on the bank's audio-tape system, one said, "At least we'll get a bit to eat,"
The robbers opened up a second safe, and it also contained nothing but vanilla pudding. The process continued until all the safes were opened.
They found not one pound sterling, a diamond, or an ounce of gold. Instead, all the safes contained covered bowls of pudding.
Disappointed, the robbers made a quiet exit, each leaving with nothing more than a queasy, uncomfortably full stomach.
The newspaper headline read:
IRELAND'S LARGEST SPERM BANK ROBBED EARLY THIS MORNING.
The Head TellerA man wearing a mask bursts into a sperm bank with a shot gun. "Open the safe!" he yells at the girl behind the counter.
"But we're not a real bank" replies the girl. "This is a sperm bank, we don't hold money".
"Don't argue just open the safe or I'll blow your head off!" She obliges and opens the safe door.
"Take one of the bottles and drink it!"
"But it's full of sperm" the girl replies nervously.
"Don't argue, just drink it" he says.
She prys off the cap and gulps it down.
"Take out another one and drink it too!" he demands.
The girl drinks another one.
Suddenly the guy pulls off the mask and to the girl's amazement it's her husband.......
"Not that damn difficult, is it?" he says.
No.1415
Monday, July 21, 2008
Echoes of Eddie -29
Can a dead man reach out from the grave to exact revenge against those responsible for his death? Welcome to the twenty-ninth installment of a story that explores that possibility. If you've not done so, read the story from the beginning HERE.
Despite the chill of the night air heavy droplets of perspiration were visible upon Mayor Alyson's forehead. "What in the hell have you gotten us into?" he roared poking his finger against Sam's chest.
Sam grabbed the man's finger and bent it backwards forcing the man to wince in pain. "Hold on there, your honor," he said with an apparent tone of sarcasm. "Let us not forget your part in all of this." He let go of his finger and stared into the man's face.
"Okay. I admit responsibility for ordering the investigation. It's no secret," the Mayor answered reverting to the politician that he was. "The people of Soddy-Daisy would expect no less from its mayor."
"Alyson, get off your high horse!" Sam countered. "You know I'm not referring to the accidents and the deaths of those kids." He inhaled long and deep and continued his discourse after exhaling, "Look, I'm sorry your daughter was one of those who died. Investigations into highway deaths are standard procedure. Don't sugarcoat your actions, not now."
Tiffany Blake had been listening intently to the exchange between Sam and the Mayor. If anyone there had anything to lose by having their secrets exposed, it was her. To learn that the honorable Mayor had secrets of his own related to all that had been happening, intrigued her. She was not one to cast stones, but she couldn't remain silent.
"Sam, just what are you saying? If it isn't about the accidents, what else is there?" she asked of him.
Sam grinned at the irony of the girl's resolve. She was no angel, but that wasn't about to stop her from deflecting attention from herself by honing in on another's transgressions. No, her hands weren't clean, but maybe the Mayor's paws were dirtier?
Steve stepped forward, his movements pulling Jack with him. "Mr. Mayor," he said in anger, "Are Jack and I under arrest? If so, what are the charges?"
Alyson nodded to the policeman, "Charlie, you can remove the cuffs from the Cooper boys. There are no charges."
Charlie inserted the key into lock of the handcuffs and removed them from their wrists. He looked them both in the eyes and said, "It was for your protection." He saw that Jack was about to protest but held up a hand and added, "When that shot was fired, I wasn't sure who was the intended target - me or one of you." He rubbed his neck where the bullet had grazed him.
He had been hiding behind a large tree for what seemed like an eternity. He couldn't believe how many people were there. The meeting he had arranged had been intended only for those who had been there that night, or least those who were still alive. He counted the heads and shook his head in anger.
Someone had talked about the meeting, but who? Was it Steve Cooper? Had his guilt gotten the better of him? His eyes fell on Tiffany. She must have told Jack and then Jack must have told his sister Catherine. From there it must have been like the domino principle. Great, just great he thought, it was a wonder the whole damned town wasn't up there.
He was about to come out of hiding until he heard the prevalent conversation among the group. The truth he'd worked so hard to keep secret for all those years was about to be brought out into the open. Their pact was meaningless.
He was still looking at Tiffany. His marriage was meaningless also. At one time he had reveled in the praise given him; that he was a good kid, a good kid doing the right thing. He knew Billy wasn't his. He'd known all along. Their marriage was a joke on two fronts. Tiffany had wanted her baby to have a name. He, however, had wanted acceptance from his father. He'd hoped that by giving him a grandson his old man would have embraced his newly extended family.
He glanced beyond the group standing by the grave. The lifeless body that lie there only solidified the fact that any acceptance would not be forthcoming. He felt a slight tinge of remorse, but it passed in a trice.
He once again focused his attention on Tiffany. There was Jack standing close behind her. He sneered at the thought of them being together. Did the two of them think of him as being that stupid? Did they honestly think he didn't know about their trysts? He wasn't so much angry about their affair itself, but that they thought they were pulling the wool over his eyes.
A smug grin crept onto his face. It was his affair that Tiffany didn't suspect! She hadn't had a clue. No one had a clue! She had been so busy keeping her affair a secret, that she'd had no idea what he'd been doing or whom he might have been seeing.
"Well, Mr. Mayor," Sam said, "Shall I give some measure of satisfaction to Tiffany's question, or do you want the honors?"
Alyson cleared his throat and replied, "They say confession is good for the soul, don't they? By the time this night is over, the truth will come out." He glanced in turn at six of the pairs of eyes trained upon him. He avoided direct contact with a seventh pair, those of Agnes Nolan. He began to pace, a nervous gait in his steps.
"When Eddie Nolan's body was found that morning at the bottom of the quarry, I stepped in and put a gag order into effect concerning the investigation." He noticed that Agnes had turned her head away from him. He couldn't be certain if she was crying or trying to stifle pent up angry feelings.
"There were rumors," he continued, "mostly hearsay that a group of high school seniors had gathered up here to plan for a ... a dance, I believe. Since there were sons and daughters of some our, how should I say, ah ... influential citizens among that group, I determined it was unnecessary to publicly mention their names."
Alice rushed forward and stood defiantly before the mayor. "Why? To protect their reputations, their good names? Well, God damn them. God damn their good names!"
Nonplussed, the Mayor spoke again, "Please understand that at the time it seemed the right thing to do. We questioned those kids one by one and they each said they weren't at the quarry that night. They claimed they had changed their plans and met somewhere else. To a person, none of them had seen Eddie that night."
He loosed his necktie and tried to gain some semblance of composure before continuing, "Since there were no signs of foul play, we had no reason to doubt the students' alibis. It was determined and confirmed in the autopsy that Eddie Nolan must have jumped from the edge of the quarry ... to his death. It was a clear case of suicide. As such, I ordered the case closed."
Still standing in front of him Agnes said, "A clear case of suicide? Tell me, Mr. Alyson, did those ... influential citizens show you their appreciation for handling the case ... so delicately?"
So focused upon the mayor and his confession, they failed to see the figure emerge from the shadows. Holding a gun pointed at the crowd, his stealth-like approach was not detected until he was a mere ten feet from them.
His voice was a graveled one, "Yes, the good Mayor is known for his delicate handling of such matters. Am I right, Mr. Mayor?"
"YOU!" Agnes screeched.
Jack rushed headlong toward the man and shouted, "You son of a bitch!"
The two wrestled in a violent thrashing of legs and arms. The gun fell to the ground at their shuffling feet. Then in one surge of adrenaline charged muscle the man grabbed Jack's shoulders and thrust him aside. The man knelt retrieving his gun and once again pointed it at the stunned group. They froze at the sound of the weapon being cocked.
In response to his baleful moans Tiffany rushed to Jack's side. She screamed in horror. "Jack! No!"
Jack had fallen backward to the ground next to the grave. The spiked end of a pick axe was protruding from his chest. Blood was freely flowing from the wound.
(To be continued ... Echoes of Eddie-30.)
No.1414
Despite the chill of the night air heavy droplets of perspiration were visible upon Mayor Alyson's forehead. "What in the hell have you gotten us into?" he roared poking his finger against Sam's chest.Sam grabbed the man's finger and bent it backwards forcing the man to wince in pain. "Hold on there, your honor," he said with an apparent tone of sarcasm. "Let us not forget your part in all of this." He let go of his finger and stared into the man's face.
"Okay. I admit responsibility for ordering the investigation. It's no secret," the Mayor answered reverting to the politician that he was. "The people of Soddy-Daisy would expect no less from its mayor."
"Alyson, get off your high horse!" Sam countered. "You know I'm not referring to the accidents and the deaths of those kids." He inhaled long and deep and continued his discourse after exhaling, "Look, I'm sorry your daughter was one of those who died. Investigations into highway deaths are standard procedure. Don't sugarcoat your actions, not now."
Tiffany Blake had been listening intently to the exchange between Sam and the Mayor. If anyone there had anything to lose by having their secrets exposed, it was her. To learn that the honorable Mayor had secrets of his own related to all that had been happening, intrigued her. She was not one to cast stones, but she couldn't remain silent.
"Sam, just what are you saying? If it isn't about the accidents, what else is there?" she asked of him.
Sam grinned at the irony of the girl's resolve. She was no angel, but that wasn't about to stop her from deflecting attention from herself by honing in on another's transgressions. No, her hands weren't clean, but maybe the Mayor's paws were dirtier?
Steve stepped forward, his movements pulling Jack with him. "Mr. Mayor," he said in anger, "Are Jack and I under arrest? If so, what are the charges?"
Alyson nodded to the policeman, "Charlie, you can remove the cuffs from the Cooper boys. There are no charges."
Charlie inserted the key into lock of the handcuffs and removed them from their wrists. He looked them both in the eyes and said, "It was for your protection." He saw that Jack was about to protest but held up a hand and added, "When that shot was fired, I wasn't sure who was the intended target - me or one of you." He rubbed his neck where the bullet had grazed him.
He had been hiding behind a large tree for what seemed like an eternity. He couldn't believe how many people were there. The meeting he had arranged had been intended only for those who had been there that night, or least those who were still alive. He counted the heads and shook his head in anger.
Someone had talked about the meeting, but who? Was it Steve Cooper? Had his guilt gotten the better of him? His eyes fell on Tiffany. She must have told Jack and then Jack must have told his sister Catherine. From there it must have been like the domino principle. Great, just great he thought, it was a wonder the whole damned town wasn't up there.
He was about to come out of hiding until he heard the prevalent conversation among the group. The truth he'd worked so hard to keep secret for all those years was about to be brought out into the open. Their pact was meaningless.
He was still looking at Tiffany. His marriage was meaningless also. At one time he had reveled in the praise given him; that he was a good kid, a good kid doing the right thing. He knew Billy wasn't his. He'd known all along. Their marriage was a joke on two fronts. Tiffany had wanted her baby to have a name. He, however, had wanted acceptance from his father. He'd hoped that by giving him a grandson his old man would have embraced his newly extended family.
He glanced beyond the group standing by the grave. The lifeless body that lie there only solidified the fact that any acceptance would not be forthcoming. He felt a slight tinge of remorse, but it passed in a trice.
He once again focused his attention on Tiffany. There was Jack standing close behind her. He sneered at the thought of them being together. Did the two of them think of him as being that stupid? Did they honestly think he didn't know about their trysts? He wasn't so much angry about their affair itself, but that they thought they were pulling the wool over his eyes.
A smug grin crept onto his face. It was his affair that Tiffany didn't suspect! She hadn't had a clue. No one had a clue! She had been so busy keeping her affair a secret, that she'd had no idea what he'd been doing or whom he might have been seeing.
"Well, Mr. Mayor," Sam said, "Shall I give some measure of satisfaction to Tiffany's question, or do you want the honors?"
Alyson cleared his throat and replied, "They say confession is good for the soul, don't they? By the time this night is over, the truth will come out." He glanced in turn at six of the pairs of eyes trained upon him. He avoided direct contact with a seventh pair, those of Agnes Nolan. He began to pace, a nervous gait in his steps.
"When Eddie Nolan's body was found that morning at the bottom of the quarry, I stepped in and put a gag order into effect concerning the investigation." He noticed that Agnes had turned her head away from him. He couldn't be certain if she was crying or trying to stifle pent up angry feelings.
"There were rumors," he continued, "mostly hearsay that a group of high school seniors had gathered up here to plan for a ... a dance, I believe. Since there were sons and daughters of some our, how should I say, ah ... influential citizens among that group, I determined it was unnecessary to publicly mention their names."
Alice rushed forward and stood defiantly before the mayor. "Why? To protect their reputations, their good names? Well, God damn them. God damn their good names!"
Nonplussed, the Mayor spoke again, "Please understand that at the time it seemed the right thing to do. We questioned those kids one by one and they each said they weren't at the quarry that night. They claimed they had changed their plans and met somewhere else. To a person, none of them had seen Eddie that night."
He loosed his necktie and tried to gain some semblance of composure before continuing, "Since there were no signs of foul play, we had no reason to doubt the students' alibis. It was determined and confirmed in the autopsy that Eddie Nolan must have jumped from the edge of the quarry ... to his death. It was a clear case of suicide. As such, I ordered the case closed."
Still standing in front of him Agnes said, "A clear case of suicide? Tell me, Mr. Alyson, did those ... influential citizens show you their appreciation for handling the case ... so delicately?"
So focused upon the mayor and his confession, they failed to see the figure emerge from the shadows. Holding a gun pointed at the crowd, his stealth-like approach was not detected until he was a mere ten feet from them.
His voice was a graveled one, "Yes, the good Mayor is known for his delicate handling of such matters. Am I right, Mr. Mayor?"
"YOU!" Agnes screeched.
Jack rushed headlong toward the man and shouted, "You son of a bitch!"
The two wrestled in a violent thrashing of legs and arms. The gun fell to the ground at their shuffling feet. Then in one surge of adrenaline charged muscle the man grabbed Jack's shoulders and thrust him aside. The man knelt retrieving his gun and once again pointed it at the stunned group. They froze at the sound of the weapon being cocked.
In response to his baleful moans Tiffany rushed to Jack's side. She screamed in horror. "Jack! No!"
Jack had fallen backward to the ground next to the grave. The spiked end of a pick axe was protruding from his chest. Blood was freely flowing from the wound.
(To be continued ... Echoes of Eddie-30.)
No.1414
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Buzzard Blog
Sunday POODLE DOODLES
Morning Coffee
A Tiger in the Bowl
During my woodworking and crafting phase, I often reproduced images of cartoon characters onto wood, slate and other surfaces. I sold a few of these pieces to some local business owners. For example, a sign with an image of Betty Boop holding a bouquet of roses went to a florist. A framed black & white drawing of Edward Scissorhands once hung above the cash register in a barber shop.
The image below was painted with acrylics onto a 12x6 piece of slate. It sold at a craft show for $35. I don't remember exactly what colors were used on the piece, so I enlarged the original sketch and added color using colored pencils before scanning it today.
Six months after the piece was sold I learned from a friend that he had seen it on the door of a coffee shop. Someone had added some lettering to it. I thought the words were clever.
Feeling GOOFY Before Your Morning Coffee? 
We Have A Fresh Pot Made Especially For You!
About three months after that I saw the image reproduced in a local newspaper as an advertisement for the coffee shop. I visited the coffee shop and identified myself as the artist and gave the owner a business card. I told him if he ever wanted any similar work in the future he could give me a call. He informed me that he had bought the piece from a young woman who claimed it was her work. He had paid her $50!
From that point in time on, I began to sign my name on the backs of the pieces and gave out my business card with every sale. I also either signed or added my initials to my original drawings. (There was an exception of course. I would have never signed my name on a reproduction of Goofy or any other character copyright protected.)
Buzzard Blog
I guess I should tie in the title of this post now with a visual assist from Beaky Buzzard. Why use a buzzard? Well, apparently I am one, an old one. At least this what a young girl at Dunkin' Donuts must have thought, because that's what called me this morning.
Some time ago, I swore off Dunkin' Donuts. Not long after that, I made the same vow again after my first ever and only visit to a Starbucks. As such as our economy has become, I have accepted the fact that franchise donut and coffee establishments routinely practice:
Although it strengthens my resolve not to be ripped off, the prices weren't the deciding factor preventing my shadow from being cast upon the entrances to these places. It was due to the ineptitude of the hired helpless.
While out for the Sunday paper I had a sudden craving for one of those over-sized honey rolls. Since I only had a $20 bill, I figured I'd get a half dozen donuts for the house and I reluctantly opted to get also get a small cup of coffee. I ordered the extra stuff because I am loathe to see the hired helpless struggle to make change. As it is, they have enough on their plates dealing with the English language.
I first requested the coffee roll, their present name for what used to be called a honey roll. She reached instead for a coffee cake muffin. I told her, "No, no. Coffee roll, not a muffin." She looked like she was glaring as she put the muffin back. Then she said in her best Yoda impression, "What it is you want?" I glanced at the door over my left shoulder. I still had a chance to get out of there in one piece.
The coffee roll safely secured in a bag, I asked for the six donuts, "I'll have 2 each of the jelly, apple-filled and powdered cinnamon."
She returned to the counter with six white powdered donuts! "No, no," I said. "I didn't ask for six of the same thing." We both exhibited exasperation, although I was the only one who should have been. She, not so cheerfully, returned the donuts back to the basket bins. I held up two fingers and ordered the specific donuts I wanted in three steps. "Two jelly donuts. Two apple-filled. And two cinnamon powdered."
Alas, two out of three ain't bad. Damned if she didn't grab not the two cinnamon, but two white powdered! She raised her voice and said, "You say two powdered." I shook my head and countered, "I said cinnamon ... powdered."
Finally, we were making progress. Pardon the pun, but we were on a roll! I glanced at my watch and noted that I had only been there 15 minutes. There was only the matter of a small cup of coffee left to be subjected to debate.
I spoke slowly, deliberately, almost one syllable at a time, "I'd ... like a ... small cof...fee." I paused to make sure that the size of the cup would not become a bone of contention. "With ... milk ... on the light side." I paused again and watched as she promptly began tapping on the plunger of the container labeled cream.
While she was dumping the cup and starting over, I looked around. When I had entered the place I was the only customer. There stood four ladies in line behind me. They were all glaring, not at the hired helpless, but I believe, at me!
She was standing there holding the cup and asked, "Milk in your coffee?" I nodded. She started to put the lid on the cup. "Sugar. I want sugar too. Just a level teaspoon." She spooned out a heaping spoonful. I quickly said, "Better make that a half teaspoon." She was looking at me and I reluctantly used a word that I wasn't sure she'd ever heard, "Please."
I noticed as she was putting the lid on the finished masterpiece, the color of the liquid inside was dark. I decided it would be pointless to ask her to pour out some the coffee and add some more milk.
I turned to the women behind me and held up the twenty and announced, "...And now for the grand finale. She gets to make change!"
I guess the girl didn't appreciate my public announcement very much. "You mean. You give hard time to me. You mean old buzzard!"
Funny, but I thought I was being very patient. Mean? A mean ... old buzzard? I thought to myself, "Hell honey, if I was your boss you'd probably be fired."
"Seven dollar eighteen," she said taking the twenty. She looked first at the twenty, then at the register, at me and then back at the twenty again. "You have change?" she then asked. I shook my head, "No change, just the twenty."
Suddenly she said, "I make mistake. No eighteen. Only seven dollar." She handed me $13 as change. I could clearly see the numbers on the register: $7.18.
I turned to leave, still a little miffed that she called me a buzzard, and a mean old one at that. I thought to myself that she was lucky I wasn't a temperamental old ape! Alas, if were an ape I'd probably still be as patient and gentle as Magilla Gorilla.
Not wanting her to feel victorious with her quick thinking and sacrifice of 18 cents, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a dollar bill. I handed her the bill and said, "Here's a tip for you. Use this to put toward some English lessons."
I nodded to the ladies in line and said to them, "Good luck and have fun. I hope none of you have appointments within the next hour."
When the door closed behind me, I could have sworn that I heard a female voice say something that sounded like: You master, gun on a beach!
No.1413
During my woodworking and crafting phase, I often reproduced images of cartoon characters onto wood, slate and other surfaces. I sold a few of these pieces to some local business owners. For example, a sign with an image of Betty Boop holding a bouquet of roses went to a florist. A framed black & white drawing of Edward Scissorhands once hung above the cash register in a barber shop.
The image below was painted with acrylics onto a 12x6 piece of slate. It sold at a craft show for $35. I don't remember exactly what colors were used on the piece, so I enlarged the original sketch and added color using colored pencils before scanning it today.
Six months after the piece was sold I learned from a friend that he had seen it on the door of a coffee shop. Someone had added some lettering to it. I thought the words were clever.
About three months after that I saw the image reproduced in a local newspaper as an advertisement for the coffee shop. I visited the coffee shop and identified myself as the artist and gave the owner a business card. I told him if he ever wanted any similar work in the future he could give me a call. He informed me that he had bought the piece from a young woman who claimed it was her work. He had paid her $50!
From that point in time on, I began to sign my name on the backs of the pieces and gave out my business card with every sale. I also either signed or added my initials to my original drawings. (There was an exception of course. I would have never signed my name on a reproduction of Goofy or any other character copyright protected.)
I guess I should tie in the title of this post now with a visual assist from Beaky Buzzard. Why use a buzzard? Well, apparently I am one, an old one. At least this what a young girl at Dunkin' Donuts must have thought, because that's what called me this morning.
Some time ago, I swore off Dunkin' Donuts. Not long after that, I made the same vow again after my first ever and only visit to a Starbucks. As such as our economy has become, I have accepted the fact that franchise donut and coffee establishments routinely practice:
"charge-the-suckers-double-or-triple-what-the-product-is-worth"because they'll pay it anyway. (A $1.59 small cup of coffee will only half-fill the mug I use at home.)
Although it strengthens my resolve not to be ripped off, the prices weren't the deciding factor preventing my shadow from being cast upon the entrances to these places. It was due to the ineptitude of the hired help
While out for the Sunday paper I had a sudden craving for one of those over-sized honey rolls. Since I only had a $20 bill, I figured I'd get a half dozen donuts for the house and I reluctantly opted to get also get a small cup of coffee. I ordered the extra stuff because I am loathe to see the hired help
I first requested the coffee roll, their present name for what used to be called a honey roll. She reached instead for a coffee cake muffin. I told her, "No, no. Coffee roll, not a muffin." She looked like she was glaring as she put the muffin back. Then she said in her best Yoda impression, "What it is you want?" I glanced at the door over my left shoulder. I still had a chance to get out of there in one piece.
The coffee roll safely secured in a bag, I asked for the six donuts, "I'll have 2 each of the jelly, apple-filled and powdered cinnamon."
She returned to the counter with six white powdered donuts! "No, no," I said. "I didn't ask for six of the same thing." We both exhibited exasperation, although I was the only one who should have been. She, not so cheerfully, returned the donuts back to the basket bins. I held up two fingers and ordered the specific donuts I wanted in three steps. "Two jelly donuts. Two apple-filled. And two cinnamon powdered."
Alas, two out of three ain't bad. Damned if she didn't grab not the two cinnamon, but two white powdered! She raised her voice and said, "You say two powdered." I shook my head and countered, "I said cinnamon ... powdered."
Finally, we were making progress. Pardon the pun, but we were on a roll! I glanced at my watch and noted that I had only been there 15 minutes. There was only the matter of a small cup of coffee left to be subjected to debate.
I spoke slowly, deliberately, almost one syllable at a time, "I'd ... like a ... small cof...fee." I paused to make sure that the size of the cup would not become a bone of contention. "With ... milk ... on the light side." I paused again and watched as she promptly began tapping on the plunger of the container labeled cream.
While she was dumping the cup and starting over, I looked around. When I had entered the place I was the only customer. There stood four ladies in line behind me. They were all glaring, not at the hired help
She was standing there holding the cup and asked, "Milk in your coffee?" I nodded. She started to put the lid on the cup. "Sugar. I want sugar too. Just a level teaspoon." She spooned out a heaping spoonful. I quickly said, "Better make that a half teaspoon." She was looking at me and I reluctantly used a word that I wasn't sure she'd ever heard, "Please."
I noticed as she was putting the lid on the finished masterpiece, the color of the liquid inside was dark. I decided it would be pointless to ask her to pour out some the coffee and add some more milk.
I turned to the women behind me and held up the twenty and announced, "...And now for the grand finale. She gets to make change!"
I guess the girl didn't appreciate my public announcement very much. "You mean. You give hard time to me. You mean old buzzard!"
Funny, but I thought I was being very patient. Mean? A mean ... old buzzard? I thought to myself, "Hell honey, if I was your boss you'd probably be fired."
"Seven dollar eighteen," she said taking the twenty. She looked first at the twenty, then at the register, at me and then back at the twenty again. "You have change?" she then asked. I shook my head, "No change, just the twenty."
Suddenly she said, "I make mistake. No eighteen. Only seven dollar." She handed me $13 as change. I could clearly see the numbers on the register: $7.18.
I turned to leave, still a little miffed that she called me a buzzard, and a mean old one at that. I thought to myself that she was lucky I wasn't a temperamental old ape! Alas, if were an ape I'd probably still be as patient and gentle as Magilla Gorilla.
Not wanting her to feel victorious with her quick thinking and sacrifice of 18 cents, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a dollar bill. I handed her the bill and said, "Here's a tip for you. Use this to put toward some English lessons."
I nodded to the ladies in line and said to them, "Good luck and have fun. I hope none of you have appointments within the next hour."
When the door closed behind me, I could have sworn that I heard a female voice say something that sounded like: You master, gun on a beach!
No.1413
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Flippity-Floppity
Saturday - Poodle Doodles
Eat Cake
Leftovers
NEW PRODUCT:
What can be more comfortable on a hot day than a pair of flip flops? (Please, under no circumstances are flip flops to be worn with stockings or socks.)
Just in time for the Democratic Convention, you can support your Democratic candidate in style with the official:
OBAMA Flip Flops
Walk around with pride displaying your dirty feet and toe jam. Flip Flops are the preferred foot wear for wannabe Muslims everywhere.
Flip Flops can be found in fine Dollar Stores every where. Be the first in your city and neighborhood to wear the shoe that Obama wears.
Mrs. Obama has purchased several dozen pairs of Lady Flip Flops, opting for the high-heel style. A spokesman for the Obama party said that her purchase of the large number of Flip Flops are insurance against those moments when she sticks her foot in her mouth.
Flip Flops come in an exciting array of styles and colors.
And if you ever get in over your head like Obama, Flip Flops even float.
The man who was barely able to beat a woman in the primaries to become the presumptive candidate for the Democratic Party, will now be able to strut proudly with that familiar "flip-flop" sound announcing his approach. As he begins his run for the White House, the voters only need to listen to his footsteps to know where he stands on all the important issues.
THE OBAMA MOBILE
Under the guise of supposedly gaining diplomatic skills, learning the art of foreign affairs and matters of National security, Barack Obama has flown to the Middle East.
He is currently visiting friends and relatives in Afghanistan and Iraq and as a smoke screen to his intentions will also visit a few other nations.
Not to be outdone by the Pope, Obama will be traveling in comfort and safety in his new security vehicle. His wife will accompany him if for no other reason than to make sure he puts the seat down. Dubbed the Democrap Mobile, it will allow the Presidential hopeful to navigate Middle Eastern streets without worry of stepping in camel pies.
No.1412
NEW PRODUCT:
What can be more comfortable on a hot day than a pair of flip flops? (Please, under no circumstances are flip flops to be worn with stockings or socks.)
Just in time for the Democratic Convention, you can support your Democratic candidate in style with the official:
Walk around with pride displaying your dirty feet and toe jam. Flip Flops are the preferred foot wear for wannabe Muslims everywhere.
Flip Flops can be found in fine Dollar Stores every where. Be the first in your city and neighborhood to wear the shoe that Obama wears.Mrs. Obama has purchased several dozen pairs of Lady Flip Flops, opting for the high-heel style. A spokesman for the Obama party said that her purchase of the large number of Flip Flops are insurance against those moments when she sticks her foot in her mouth.
Flip Flops come in an exciting array of styles and colors.And if you ever get in over your head like Obama, Flip Flops even float.
The man who was barely able to beat a woman in the primaries to become the presumptive candidate for the Democratic Party, will now be able to strut proudly with that familiar "flip-flop" sound announcing his approach. As he begins his run for the White House, the voters only need to listen to his footsteps to know where he stands on all the important issues.
Under the guise of supposedly gaining diplomatic skills, learning the art of foreign affairs and matters of National security, Barack Obama has flown to the Middle East.He is currently visiting friends and relatives in Afghanistan and Iraq and as a smoke screen to his intentions will also visit a few other nations.
Not to be outdone by the Pope, Obama will be traveling in comfort and safety in his new security vehicle. His wife will accompany him if for no other reason than to make sure he puts the seat down. Dubbed the Democrap Mobile, it will allow the Presidential hopeful to navigate Middle Eastern streets without worry of stepping in camel pies.
No.1412
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