Sunday, November 30, 2008

Bone of Contention

(I knew I wasn't going to be around for Saturday and Sunday of this weekend so I prepared two posts, one dated 11/29 and the other 11/30, then "published" them and left them in the hands of Blogger's scheduler.

When I got home late Sunday afternoon neither post was on the site. They were still sitting on the blog manager page with red letters "scheduled for 11/29 and 11/30 respectively." I can only assume that Blogger uses a different clock and calendar than the ones I use.
~~~~~In any event I am officially posting them on Sunday 11/30 at 7:30 pm.)


Bone of Contention

I see a lot of those LOL Cats pictures around the web. I used the generator at I Can Has Cheezburger. I thought I'd make one with this picture I found:

funny pictures
moar funny pictures

Three jokes for today:

A Dumb Beach

A blond is showing off her new tattoo of a giant seashell on her inner thigh.

Her friends ask her why she would get such a tattoo and in that location.

She responds, "It's really cool. If you put your ear up against it, you can smell the ocean!"


Anna had lost her husband almost four years ago. Her daughter was constantly calling and urging her to get back into the world.

Finally, Anna said she'd go out, but didn't know anyone.

Her daughter immediately replied, 'Mom I have someone for you to meet.'

Well, it was an immediate hit. They took to one another and after dating for six weeks, he asked her to join him for a weekend in Vermont.

Their first night there, she undressed as he did. There she stood nude, except for a pair of black lacy panties; he was in his birthday suit.

Looking her over, he asked, 'Why the black panties?'

She replied: 'My breasts you can fondle, my body is yours to explore, but down there I am still mourning.' He knew he was not getting lucky that night.

The following night was the same--she stood there wearing the black panties, and he was in his birthday suit--but now he was wearing a black condom.

She looked at him and asked: 'What's with the black condom?'

He replied, 'I want to offer my deepest condolences.'

More Bang For the Buck

A guy goes to the tattoo parlor and offers the tattoo artist
$1,000 to put a $100 bill on his Willie. The artist agrees,
but is curious and asks the man why he wants to do this.

The man replies, " I have my reasons which I would rather not
tell right now".

So, the artist goes ahead and does the job. But, all the while
he is anxious with curiosity over why this man wants a $100 bill
on his penis. So, he tells the man that he really needs to know
the reason why and says that the man can keep the $1000 he would
have paid for the tattoo if he would just tell the reason for
putting a $100 bill on his Willie.

So, the man consents and offers these three reasons:
"First, I like to play with my money.
Second, I like to watch my money grow.
Three, I like how money feels in my hand;
And fourth, and most importantly, the next time my
wife wants to blow $100, she can stay home to do it."


Saturday, November 29, 2008

Dead Is No Way To Live

(I knew I wasn't going to be around for Saturday and Sunday of this weekend so I prepared two posts, one dated 11/29 and the other 11/30, then "published" them and left them in the hands of Blogger's scheduler.

When I got home late Sunday afternoon neither post was on the site. They were still sitting on the blog manager page with red letters "scheduled for 11/29 and 11/30 respectively." I can only assume that Blogger uses a different clock and calendar than the ones I use.
~~~~~In any event I am officially posting them on Sunday 11/30 at 7:30 pm.)


Breakfast Is Served

Chairing the Moment

When will you rag head morons wake up and smell the camel shit that's spread all over those sandlots you call your home countries? Do you honestly believe your acts of terrorism are in the name of your god? (Note that "god" is in lower case.) Do you also believe your god condones those acts? If your acts are justified by your god - then he is surely made up of the same chemical compounds as the aforementioned camel shit.

Before this blog is flagged for containing material offensive to those GOOD people of the Middle East, my rant above is not intended for them. I know there are those over there who do not support those who would kill innocent women and children. All it takes is a few misguided individuals to poison the minds of their followers into committing these heinous acts against humanity. (Adolph Hitler comes to mind.)

The death and destruction wrought by these individuals was in the news again late last week in Mumbai, India. Sure, the terrorists killed innocent people and caused a lot of damage to property there. To what end? Yes, there will be those who must mourn the loss of loved ones. Yes, there was a lot of damage that will cost a lot of money to repair. To this end - the terrorists themselves are dead in honor of a pseudo-god!

Buildings are rebuilt or become shrines. Survivors go on with their lives. The terrorists - they remain dead - forever! Sure, the economy of Dubai will take a hit. Tourists will be fearful to go there. Eventually they will return. The terrorists? They are dead!

You would-be terrorists out there waiting in the wings to follow your predecessors, who are dead by the way, I implore you to reevaluate your blind faith. Instead of you strapping a belt of explosives onto your body, consider asking at least one important question.

That question should be: "Say, why doesn't that asshole Osama bin Laden blow himself up?"

While you're tossing that one around between your ears, why not ask one more question too?

"Why don't any of the Al Queda leaders participate in suicidal acts in the name of their god?"

Because they'd be DEAD! That's why! They KNOW there are no virgins waiting for them on the other side of life. If they were to splatter their body parts all over the place, just who would lead you then? You might as well shove your heads up the asses of your camels - that's the closest you'll ever get to their god.

Believe what you want and follow whom you believe, but believe this - all you'll achieve is a severe case of dead!


Friday, November 28, 2008

The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray

Introducing an original tale that delves into the unexplored realms of the human mind. Hired by her lover to find a raven haired beauty, Benjamin Bering must avoid the local police as well as the agents of a nonexistent government agency who are after him and the woman. There are just two problems. The woman is in a coma and her body has been stolen.


It is but once in a lifetime that the defining story of one's career falls into a newspaperman's lap. It is that one time when he is close to that which he or any journalist for that matter, aspires . How easily those two magical words rolled off my tongue ... Pulitzer Prize!

A week ago there was excitement in the press room. The handshakes and exuberant pats on my back from the paper's owner, the board members and the Editor-in-Chief could not erase the ear-to-ear smile that that was cemented upon my face. We were gathered around the conference table gazing upon the galley proofs less than an hour before the presses were to roll.

It was then that the four men made their unceremonious entrance. Three of them were dressed in black suits and ties. Feds? The fourth was wearing the uniform of a four-star General, his chest bearing the regalia of a highly decorated career.

The seven board members, the owner and the Editor were herded into a nearby office suite. The General followed them, nodded to the three suits, and closed the door behind him. I was left standing by the table, the three men facing me. One of the men produced a headset from his pocket. After donning it, he spoke one word into the device, "Domestics."

Within minutes the place was swarming with dozens of nondescript men and women wearing uniforms bearing emblems which read "Allied Office Cleaners, Inc." They separated into groups; one group rifling through the banks of filing cabinets along the far wall, another ransacking the reporter's desks, and still another skillfully tapping key boards to gain access to the many computers about the newsroom. One individual went around inspecting every scrap of paper in the trash receptacles.

When one pimply-faced young man wearing glasses with coke-bottle lenses took up station at my own desk, I opened to my mouth to protest. The words stuck in my throat when one of the suits raised an index finger and waved it menacingly at me.

Two hours later the "domestics" were marching in queue out of the room, maneuvering ahead of them two large hampers containing folders, papers, tapes and discs. Once that group had cleared the premises, the door to the Editor's office swung open. The board of directors, influential men all, filed out of the office, grabbed their hats and coats and without looking back headed directly to the elevators in the hallway.

The owner of the newspaper, in a move I thought curious, shook hands with the General and departed without a word. The three suited men then formed a phalanx between me and the office as the General accompanied the editor to the conference table where I stood.

His countenance pale, his lips quivering, my Editor began reading from a typed memo which no doubt must have been prepared by the General or some member of his staff. All records, all my notes, tapes and correspondence related to the story were to be confiscated. I scarcely heard most of it, save the official governmental cliches; confidential, a matter of National security, etc., blah-blah.

Just like that, the rug was pulled out from under my story. It would not go to the presses. It was not going to hit the newsstands.

A week ago I was on top the world. My story was to be on the front page - four columns - with a byline! Now I now find myself in hiding, a fugitive on the run.

You've Got Mail!

One evening, I believe it was the fifteenth of September at about ten PM, I was checking my e-mail at the office. I was tired and wanted to go home, well, that is, after a few cold ones down at Foley's Tavern.

I was about to close the mail box when the speakers intoned the familiar ding-ding that an e-mail had just arrived. I didn't recognize the address of the sender but the all-caps words in the subject field caught my eye: "URGENT - A SCOOP 4 U." Mind you, if I was to read every bit of e-mail promising me a scoop, I would accomplish little or nothing resembling productivity.

My finger resting on the delete key, the precognitive powers of my mind's eye visualizing an advertisement for Baskin-Robbins, I opted instead to open that most recent of flotsam to land in my mail box. It was that decision that would turn my world into an upside down-inside out madhouse.
Dear Mr. Bering,

I am sending this to you because I think you can help me, and because I have nowhere else to turn. I cannot elaborate the details of my situation, that can only be discussed in person. I assure you that if you agree to see me, it will be worth your while.

If you are interested please call me immediately at 1-888-462-1378. I will only keep that number open until 10:30 pm.

Michelle Grey

P.S. It is imperative that you delete this e-mail as soon as you have read it.
"What the hell?" I thought as I reread the words upon the screen before me. Despite the feeling that it was a bad idea, I have to admit that I was intrigued. I scribbled the phone number onto my desk calendar and promptly deleted the e-mail.

I glanced up at the array of large wall clocks across the room, each one set to the corresponding time zones in the U.S., as well as those of several international cities. It was the one to the far right that displayed the current time of 10:25 pm here on the East Coast. I picked up the handset from my desk phone and punched in the number from the calendar. There was only one ring at the number. A recorded message, a male voice, was launched only a second or two later.
Mr. Bering, please listen carefully. This message will be erased upon its completion. In the time that it takes to leave your office, a taxi will be waiting at the back entrance to your building. You will get into the taxi. The driver has been compensated and will deliver you to a specified destination. En route you will then receive further instructions.
Then there was a dial tone. Dumbfounded I shook my head in disbelief. It was certainly presumptuous of this Michelle and the man behind the recorded voice to think that at the snapping of fingers I would follow their instructions implicitly and solely on blind faith.

Five minutes later I was climbing into the cab, the vehicle starting to move even as I was pulling the door shut.


My attempts to obtain even an iota of information from the cab driver were met with silence. It was curious, I thought, that the driver's hackney license was no where to be seen, the plastic sleeve on the back of the front seat empty. He never turned his head in my direction, thus affording me only his back-turned Red Sox cap as the only identifying feature I am able to recall.

If possible, I found the silence within the cab almost deafening. Missing were both the cacophonous squawking from the radio and the clicking drone of the fare meter. Neither device had been turned on. It was just as well, for it gave me the necessary quietude to try to fathom why I, with little forethought, had placed myself in that situation. I didn't dwell long on that reckless notion however, focusing instead on the unknown that lie ahead. Can it be that dread and anticipation are one and the same?

I stared down at my clasped hands resting in my lap, bemused at my futile attempts to rotate one thumb in a clockwise direction and the other counterclockwise. I've often felt that it was quite impossible based on my own failures to perform the feat. I grew bored of the silly exercise and placed one thumb atop the other to hold it in place.

I looked up in time to see that the cab was about to exit the Thomas P. "Tip" O'Neill Jr. Tunnel northbound onto the Leonard P. Zakim Bunker Hill Memorial Bridge. I permitted myself to smile at the audacious naming practices that Bostonians tended to assign their landmarks. The tunnel and the bridge marked the terminus of the country's largest and most expensive public works project ever, hence the ignominious title, "The Big Dig."

We were crossing the Maurice J. Tobin Bridge, also known as the "Mystic River Bridge," at its highest point of 135 feet above the river when I heard the twitter of a cell phone. The cabbie held the phone above his shoulder, moving it back and forth. Leaning forward I took the phone and raised it to my ear.
Mr. Bering, the taxi in which you are riding will soon be pulling onto the lot of a self-service gas station. Once there, you will get out of the cab whereupon you will transfer to another vehicle. This will be the final time you hear my voice until we meet in person. I apologize in advance for the circuitous route you will have taken before you arrive at my location.
"What vehicle?" I wondered aloud. "How am I supposed to know which vehicle?"

(To be continued Monday, 12/1, with part 2: Further Instructions.)


Thursday, November 27, 2008

Thanksgiving Prayer

I am thankful for the wife who says, "Hot dogs for supper!"
Because she is home with me, not someone else.

I am thankful for the husband who is on the sofa being a couch potato
Because he is home with me and not out at the bars.

I am thankful for the teenager who is complaining about doing dishes
Because she is at home and not out on the streets.

I am thankful for the taxes I pay
Because it means I am employed.

I am thankful for the mess to clean after a party
Because it means I have been surrounded by friends.

I am thankful for the clothes that fit a little too snug
Because it means I have enough to eat.

I am thankful for my shadow that watches me work
Because it means I am out in the sunshine.

I am thankful for a lawn to mow, windows to clean and gutters to fix
Because it means I have a home.

I am thankful for the complaining I hear about the government
Because it means we have freedom of speech.

I am thankful for the parking spot I find at the far end of the parking lot
Because it means I am able to walk and I have been blessed with transportation.

I am thankful for my huge heating bill
Because it means I am warm.

I am thankful for the pile of laundry and ironing
Because it means I have clothes to wear.

I am thankful for weariness and aching muscles at the end of the day
Because it means I have been able to work.

I am thankful for the alarm that rings early in the morning hours
Because it means I am alive.



Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Turkey in the Raw

Syndicated Strip: Bound and Gagged 11-25

Bound and Gagged 11/24

2008, The Year of the Recessionary Thanksgiving

It is no longer a random occurrence. No, it has become the accepted norm. Slowly and inexplicably our holidays are being merged into one mega-holiday.

This year I saw the first of the Halloween paraphernalia appearing next to the back-to-school supplies display in late August. The weekend before the start of school, the books and pencils were moved back into the stationary section. The space vacated by pencils and notebooks was filled by expanding the Halloween goodies. Around the middle of September a few token Thanksgiving items appeared.

On October the 30th a smattering of Christmas stuff were being introduced. On the morning of Halloween the masks and bags of candies were being moved to the 20% off display. By noon time of the same day the trick-or-treat items were reduced by 40%. By sunset, while the costumed kiddies were out plying their trade, the remainder of the Halloween goodies were 50% off.

On the first of November the Halloween items were reduced further to a 70% discount. A few more token items for Turkey Day appeared but only if shelf room remained while the Christmas material was being placed on display. Thanksgiving sales of gift items are negligible; that holiday is obviously most profitable to food stores.

Before the calendar reads December 25, there is a slow influx of Valentine's Day products. We will have barely enough time to dodge Cupid's arrows when the Easter Bunny will hopping down the bunny trail and leprechauns will be hiding their pots of gold.

Soon after that there comes Memorial Day, Mothers and Fathers Day and the 4th of July! In about a month and a half after the fireworks displays and the flag waving, the back-to-school supplies are being priced and shelved.

So it is we will have come full circle - the cycle of life in a year of our lives.

With Thanksgiving Day only 48 hours from now, should we or shouldn't we be thankful for the concept of free enterprise born from our democratic and capitalistic manifesto? What of the original inhabitants of this continent, the Native Americans. What have they to be thankful for? That we allowed what remains of them to stay and to become citizens? That we allowed them to become one of us?

I wonder, had the Native Americans the chance to do it all over again, would they have greeted the Pilgrims with open arms? Would they have shared in repast with them on that first Thanksgiving? Or would they smacked them up the side of their heads with that Plymouth rock?

I trust and hope that each and everyone of you out there will have a wonderful and bountiful Thanksgiving.

№ 1537

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

What? No HBO?

Bethlehem a small middle eastern town, which prior to this night was known only for its export of the popular toy, the Camel Pie Frisbee, was on the thresh hold of becoming the center of the world's great religions. It also happened to be the collection center of Caesar's Internal Revenue Service and all across the land there was a pilgrimage of people to the town to pay their taxes.

Among those converging on the small town were Joseph and his expectant virgin wife Mary to fulfill a greater destiny. Another couple, thinking they faced the same destiny because of a clerical error, Marty and Josephine were also en route. The events leading up that storied night were chronicled in the previous installment, What In the Hell is Myrrh?

"Marty, did you remember to put the cat out? Did you leave a note for the milkman? Did you remember to bring in the laundry?"

"Yes, dear. Yep. Uh-huh, of course I did!" Marty shook his head trying to stave off an inevitable migraine headache. She'd been nagging incessantly like that for the last forty miles. There was one thing he had forgotten though - a roll of duct tape! He sighed in exasperation, only a four-inch strip of the stuff would be all he'd need to keep her lips sealed.

Far to east a camel bearing a man and his wife were nearing the city of Baghdad. They came to a rise in a dune. "Golda," the man said to his wife. "Look, down there. It's a caravan and they are heading in the same direction."

He kicked the camel into a higher gear and they trotted off down the slope of the dune toward what appeared to be nine other couples on camel back. The couple on the lead camel saw them coming and waved for those behind to stop. Minutes later the camel bearing Golda and her husband Abe pulled up beside the couple on the lead camel.

Golda said, "Abe look. It's the Rabinowitzes." She turned and looked at the faces of those behind the leader. "And look, the Feinbergs are here too ... And the Schultzes ... And the Gooldbergs ..."

Abe nodded to their former neighbors. He said, "It looks like we're all heading to the same place - Baghdad? Mind if we join you?"

Saul Rabinowitz nodded in affirmation. He pointed to the rear of the caravan and said, "Sure thing. Just slip in the backdoor, good buddy. It looks like we've got ourselves a convoy!"

Marty and Josephine were among the first to enter the streets of Bethlehem. There was an air of excitement in the small town. They passed under a banner stretched across the street bearing the message: Welcome Messiah.

After parking the camel they entered the main lobby of the inn and approached the desk. Marty said to the clerk behind the counter, "Hello. We're the party you've been expecting. I'm Marty and this is Josephine and she is with child."

The clerk leaned over the counter and looked down to the left and to the right. He stood up and said, "Where? I don't see any child."

Marty frowned and pointed to Josephine's protruding stomach, "In here. You know, like a 'bun in the oven' child?"

Fifteen minutes later they walked into their room at the recently renovated Comfort Inn. Marty proudly shook the hand of the concierge who had extended it to him palms up, "Thank you, sir." He then closed the door in the chagrined man's face.

Josephine was lying on her back on the plush bed. She said to Marty, "You know, this immaculate conception stuff is pretty neat. Just look at this fancy room and this magnificent bed! We sure are lucky!"

"I'll say," Marty replied. "Think about it. I got the last camel at used 'beast' lot. Then we got the last parking space in town. This room - it was the last vacancy in the whole town!" He walked over to the balcony and looked upon the street below. "I'm sure glad you noticed the spelling error on the reservation down at the desk."

She sat up and said, "Yeah. That was kind of weird, wasn't it? They had the names Mary and Joseph. I wonder who screwed that one up?" There was a sudden boom of thunder.

Behind him Josephine was fumbling with an old TV set. "What? No HBO? Bummer."

Marty watched in silence as a couple appeared on the street below. A woman, obviously about to have a baby was sitting side saddle on a donkey which was being pulled by a man. He felt sorry for them as they were turned away because there were was no room at the inn. The woman, in spite of her delicate condition seemed unfazed by the rejection and looked up to the balcony where he stood. She smiled as they moved on and out of his line of sight. There was something about them ...

Josephine awoke to loud noises coming from outside. She shook Marty but he wouldn't budge. He had a curious grin on his face and she noticed that his hands were busy beneath the blanket. She sighed and thought that it would be nice if he paid as much attention to her. She rolled out of bed and walked over to the balcony.

There was a strange star in the sky, the light from it shining upon a small stable down the street. People were cheering and celebrating something. There was a throng of people pushing and shoving near the stable. There was music playing somewhere, no everywhere. She snapped her finger and said, "Damn. A concert." No had told them there was going to be a show. "I wonder who's playing?" she muttered.

She looked up into the sky and there was a flock of angels hovering above the scene. Their band was playing brass horns and golden harps. She could make the sound of an instrument that sounded like a kazoo. She scanned the sky and found the individual wielding it. She gasped in disbelief as he turned his head in her direction. He waved to her and winked. It was Archie! He really was an angel. She tried to ignore him but could not. She raised her arm and flipped him the bird.

She lowered her head in both disappointment and praise. She realized what the fuss was all bout - the Messiah had been born in that stable. Someone had beat her to it. She looked down at her raised stomach and felt the movement of life within her. Suddenly she was wracked with unbearable pain. "Great. Just great. My baby is coming - NOW!"

Two days later she finally felt like traveling. It was time for them to go home; her Marty and their new son Leroy. She really would have liked to have stayed another day, but Marty kept telling they had to leave as soon as possible. He would give her no reason as to why the hectic rush.

Finally after they passed the outskirts of town on the way home he told her that their child was in danger. She trembled when he told her of Herod's edict that all males born two nights ago on the 25th were to be put to death. It seemed that Herod was trying to kill the Messiah child by killing all the male births.

On the road away from town they found a shepherd weeping by the side of the road. He told them that Herod had killed the males born that night to the shepherds in all the pastures around. So it was that several hundred male lambs were put to death. Marty and Josephine decided not to lay too much pity on the sheep herders.

A week later, fully recovered, Josephine bathed herself and then rubbed her body with scented oils. She had tried to find a rose bush to collect the petals to spread onto their bed, but she found none. She opted to pull apart an artichoke and then dipped those petals in red paint to spread on the bed. They weren't too comfortable but she relented. Not bothering to dress, she lie down on the bed in the most provocative of positions she could imagine and called out to Marty.

He walked into the room and stood by the door gazing at her naked body. "Yes? What is it, Josie?"

"Oh...M-aaarty," she cooed. "... Tonight's the night. You can do anything you want."

"T-t-tonight?" he stammered.

"Yes ..." she purred. "Toniiiight."

"Anything? Anything I want?"

"Yes. Anything your wildest imagination can think of..."

"You won't try to stop me? You won't interfere?" He stripped naked. That one part of him was proud and was bouncing in rabid anticipation.

She stared in awe at him. She began to writhe and to moan. She wanted him so badly she felt she would soon explode if his weapon wasn't brought to bear ... and soon. "NO. I won't stop you. Please do it! DO IT NOW!"

He quickly took a cold shoulder. He emerged and dried himself. She looked in shock at the no longer erect manhood by then reduced to a hanging dangling pendulum. Then he began getting dressed.

"Marty? What are you doing?"

He reached under the bed and produced a large heavy bag. He put on a green tam topped with a red pom-pom. "You don't know how long I've been waiting for this!" he exclaimed.

"I .. I .. don't understand."

"I'm off to play a couple of rounds of golf with the boys. And when I get back ..."

Her disappointment was eased a bit. She realized that he would "take care" of her needs later. "Yes. Yes! I'll be ready!"

"Good. I'll be wanting a big slab of beef for supper. See ya later honey."

Marty and Josephine would always remember being there when the Messiah was born. What they didn't know was just how important a role they played in the drama. It is with pride that I've had the singular honor of finally letting the world know the true story ... the story behind the story.

This was the 5th and concluding installment that began with Marty & Josephine.

№ 1536

Monday, November 24, 2008

What In the Hell Is Myrrh?

Two couples are about to set out on their fateful journeys to the small town of Bethlehem. Gathering in the heavens is a host on high preparing to spread comfort and joy across the land. Marty and Josephine are about to become key players in the drama because of a clerical error. How they came to be involved in the holiest of nights is chronicled in the previous installment: I'll Be Me Damned!

Josephine was sitting against a tree watching the sun slowly sink beyond the mountains to the west. Soon the light would yield to the blackness of night and the stars would appear as miniature jewels above the Earth. Had it really been almost eight months ago that she had stared up at those same stars? It was on that night that Archie the Fisherman had stood over her, gazing at her naked body. Then he was upon her, helping himself to her - four times!

She muttered to herself, "He doesn't call ... He doesn't write ... Not even a postcard!" She looked down at her child-laden stomach and added, "The bastard!"

She closed her eyes momentarily ... Two hands slipped underneath her bodice and cupped her breasts. A pair of thumbs and forefingers tweaked her sensitive nipples. She bolted upright and slapped his hands away. "Marty, cut it out!"

"Damn it Josie," the discouraged man said. "You are my wife."

"Marty, you know the prophesy. A woman untouched by a man shall give birth to a child...," she responded to his unwanted caresses.

"Yeah, yeah. ...And He shall be a King ... the Savior of Mankind. I'm happy for mankind, but what about me?"

Some miles away a similar scene was being played out by another couple. The young woman, heavy with child bent over to pick a flower. Suddenly the back of her dress was yanked up and a man moved his pelvis against her exposed charms. His hands reached around and captured her breasts in his greedy palms.

She turned and shoved him away. "...But you are my wife!" he muttered crestfallen.

"Remember the prophesy. ...A woman ..." she said admonishing her husband.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied. "How can I forget it? You've only been reminding me day in and day out for past eight months!"

Across the land the scene was being played out in other households with nine other couples.
High above the firmament, The Old Man slammed his fist on the desk and turned away from the bank of monitors. "Me damn it, Gabriel! I suppose you have a Me damned explanation for this?"

The Angel shrugged his shoulders and said, "Hey! Do You have any idea just how many You damned Marys and Josephs there are down there?" He glanced at the Boss and grimaced, "Heh-heh. Of course You would know."

The Old Man shook His head and said, "...And I suppose every single one of those couples think they are going to be the parents of the Messiah?" He crossed His arms across His chest and raised His eyebrows and said, "...And they are all going to be converging on Bethlehem in 34 days?"

"Well, not exactly," he answered with a grin on his face. "You see, those women aren't going to give birth to sons - and they are not going to Bethlehem."

The Boss rolled His eyes and said, "Well ... I'm waiting."

"I decided to have some fun with Your competition. I sent them to Baghdad!"

For three straight days the people of Earth looked up into the sky and trembled in fear as they listened to the loud roars of thunder above. No mere mortal would have dared to think that He was ROTFLHHAO.
Ten days had passed when Marty stormed into the house and slammed the parchment document onto the table in front of Josephine. "What is it? What's wrong?" she implored of him.

"Can you believe this? Caesar just raised our taxes again! If we don't show up in Bethlehem in 24 days with the money - we will be arrested. Does he think I'm made of Shekels?"

Josephine thought for a moment, smiled and said, "Perfect. That's when the baby is due."

"Huh? Are you crazy?" he asked incredulously. When he saw the look on her face he nodded, "Oh yeah, the prophesy."

"Marty," she said with a worried look on her face, "Did you ever get down to the Used Beast of Burden dealership to buy us transportation for the trip?"

He nodded, "Of course I did! I got the last camel on the lot. All he has left now are donkeys."

"Good. Camels give a better ride and get better mileage per gallon of water."
A poor carpenter holding onto the reins of a donkey turns onto the beaten path leading to his house. He is met by his wife, great with child. He sadly tells her that there were no camels. He had to take the animal he has in tow. The woman speaks not but nods in humble gratitude. He helps her onto the beast and gathers up a small bag of their belongings. He pulls on the reins and they begin their trek to the west.
In the distant East three travelers have stopped at the last gift shop within 200 miles. After having consulted the Registry for the baby shower gifts, two of the men are holding the gifts they will purchase. One had chosen Gold, while the other had decided on the Frankincense. The third is standing by a monitor and scratching his head, obviously confused. He turned to his companions and asked, "What in the hell is Myrrh?"
So it began, three journeys that would forever change the world and the fate of mankind. Traveling to the Southwest to Bethlehem are Marty and Josephine by camel. Also on a route to Bethlehem are Mary astride a lowly donkey being led by Joseph. Following a guiding star the Magi are traveling from their Eastern lands.

Perhaps conveniently omitted from Biblical documents by the scholars and historians of the day, there were ten other journeys. Forgotten documents would show evidence that on the 25th of December on that same night, the population of Baghdad increased by thirty.
(To be continued in part 5, the conclusion of this epic story as revealed in: What? No HBO?

№ 1535

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Countdown To Turkey Day


Under the Table

After a week of below freezing temperatures with wind chill factors below zero during the daylight hours, next week promises to be "blistering" in the 40s. There will be a trade off as several upcoming days will feature heavy rains with the possibility of changeovers to some snow.

Alas, it's that time of year. Can you believe it? Thanksgiving is just four days off? One of these years I'll remember to take the Friday after Turkey Day off!

A turkey farmer was always experimenting with breeding to perfect a better turkey. His family was fond of the leg portion for dinner and there were never enough legs for everyone. After many frustrating attempts, the farmer was relating the results of his efforts to his friends at the general store get together.

"Well I finally did it! I bred a turkey that has 6 legs!"

They all asked the farmer how it tasted.

"I don't know" said the farmer. "I never could catch the damned thing!"
I found this on one of those open forums, so supposedly it is true. In any event, it's funny.
Last year at Thanksgiving, my mom went to my sister's house for the traditional feast. Knowing how gullible my sister is, my mom decided to play a trick. She told my sister that she needed something from the store.

When my sister left, my mom took the turkey out of the oven, removed the stuffing, stuffed a Cornish hen, and inserted it into the turkey, and re-stuffed the turkey. She then placed the bird(s) back in the oven.

When it was time for dinner, my sister pulled the turkey out of the oven and proceeded to remove the stuffing. When her serving spoon hit something, she reached in and pulled out the little bird.

With a look of total shock on her face, my mother exclaimed, "Darci, you've cooked a pregnant bird!"

At the reality of this horrifying news, my sister started to cry. It took the family two hours to convince her that turkeys lay eggs!

Yep..................SHE'S A BLONDE!

A Woman goes into a tattoo parlor and tells the tattoo artist that she wants a tattoo of a turkey on her right thigh right up just below her bikini line. She also wants him to put "Happy Thanksgiving" under the turkey.

So the guy does it and it comes out looking real good. The woman then instructs him to put a Santa Claus with "Merry Christmas" up on her left thigh. So the guy does it and it comes out looking good too.

As the woman is getting dressed to leave, the tattoo artist says "if you don't mind, could you tell me why you had me put such unusal tattoos on your thighs?"

She says "I'm sick and tired of my husband complaining all the time that there's nothing good to eat between Thanksgiving and Christmas."
Tomorrow's post will continue the epic revisionist history of Christmas with part four entitled, "What In the Hell Is Myrrh?"

If you haven't read the previous installments you can do so with part one at this link: Marty & Josephine . (Each installment links directly to the next.)
№ 1534

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Where Were You?

Forty-five years ago I was a tenth grader seated at my desk in Mr. Ryan's World History class. We were covering the period of history surrounding the Holy Roman Empire.

He had just uttered, "The Holy Roman Empire was no empire. It wasn't Roman. And there was nothing holy about it."

Just then the door to the classroom burst open. From the hallway entered Eddie Owens, a senior. He made the terse but sad announcement, "Mr. Ryan, President Kennedy has been shot. He's dead!"

There was stunned silence in the classroom as the door closed and Eddie disappeared.

Mr. Ryan was visibly disturbed. He spoke not another word but began closing his books and piling them in a neat stack at the corner of his desk. He bent down and picked up his briefcase. He opened it and picked up a stack of papers that were earmarked to be a test he was going to give us that afternoon. He placed them in the open case and then next placed his books on top of them. He closed it and returned it to the floor next to his desk.

He touched his fingers together in front of his chest and started to say something. I guess the words got stuck because no words came forth. His hands appeared to be shaking. His jaw was trembling. He turned, looked up at the clock on the wall and walked to the door.

He made no verbal attempt to excuse himself and walked out of the classroom. When the door closed behind him, myself and my classmates were in open mouth shock. We each looked at one another, hoping someone would have the proper thing to say. Only Beverly Miller next to me broke the silence when she cried out, "Oh my God!"

Handkerchiefs and tissues were produced and handed around. In nearly every pair of eyes there was a display of corner tears. Even the guys who aren't supposed to cry, especially in the line of sight of others, were weepy.

We, all twenty of us, sat there in morbid silence. None of us ventured from our respective chairs - not until the class bell rang twenty minutes later.

The halls of the school were like so many morgues. If ever total silence could make a sound, so it was it was deafening that afternoon. Lockers when opened and closed were done so in calculated gentle efforts. None were slammed, none were kicked shut. As we piled out of the school to the awaiting buses that would transport us to our homes, it was done so in an orderly fashion as if choreographed. The steps of every individual, some 250 strong, were carefully placed as if there were only eggshells instead of tile covered concrete to support us.

That's the way it was, that afternoon of the 22nd of November, 1963.

We didn't have cell phones in 1963. There was no Internet. We had to wait until we got home to watch in black and white an obviously devastated Walter Cronkite as he related what few details there were available. There was no CNN in the sixties, no Fox news, only three networks. Updates were slow in coming. Cable television was a fantastic idea yet to be realized.

There are certain events in all of our lives in which we can remember where we were and what we were doing at the time. Most of such memories for me usually revolved around births, weddings and funerals of loved ones. Of course, there were some sporting events of the sixties I can remember - Roger Maris' 61st home run; Cassius Clay knocking out Sonny Liston; Ted Williams batting .406, to name a few.

In more modern times I can remember where I was when Greg Phelan caught the Hail-Mary pass that would give Doug Flutie the Heisman Trophy. There was the shock and the thrill when after 86 years the Boston Red Sox finally won the World Series again.

It isn't only sports that I remember so vividly. There was the day I graduated from high school, the day I was discharged from the U.S. Navy, the day I was married, and the day my daughter was born. Those events were certainly more important than so many others.

However, it is the date of 11/22/63, above all others, that I can remember even the most insignificant detail of the day. I remember:
the clothes I wore; having my first ever drag from a cigarette in the boys room and coughing my head off until I threw up; necking with Cathy behind the field house and then sitting with Sandy at lunch in the cafeteria; trading a bologna sandwich for a pb&j sandwich; scoring 16 of the 20 points for my team in an intramural basketball game; acing an English Lit test on "The Lord of the Flies"; and in the same class made to recite from memory "Trees" by Joyce Kilmer as punishment for drawing an unflattering cartoon of a classmate; a ballpoint pen leaking and leaving a large blot in the pocket of my favorite shirt; taking a leak on the tires of the car belonging to the Chemistry teacher who gave me a "D" the previous semester;

and then there was Mr. Ryan's World History class ...
Where were you? What were you doing?

(I chose not to post a Poodle Doodles cartoon or inject any humor today. It didn't seem proper or fitting for this date.)

№ 1533

Friday, November 21, 2008

I'll Be Me Damned!

Thinking they were the chosen ones destined to fulfill an old prophesy, Marty and Josephine ran away together to prepare for the fate that awaits them. The day will come that they must prepare for a long and arduous journey. How they arrived at this point in their lives is chronicled in the previous installment: Angel With Good Tidings.

"Archie" stood still his head hanging down. He was getting his ass reamed out big time! As it was he only had another century left on his present period of probation.

The Old Man paced in front of his bejeweled throne which was encrusted in opulent gems. His long white hair and white beard stood out in stark contrast to the long flowing gold trimmed robe.

"I'll be Me damned!* Good help is almost impossible to find. So help Me Me, Gabriel, I should suspend you without pay for a Me damned eon! What in the name of Me were you thinking?"

He chanced to look up at his Boss, "But I was only following the instructions on the work order You issued to me. Perhaps it was a typo?"

"Me damn it! I don't make mistakes, especially one as Me damned screwed up as this. You sure made a Me damned mess of a Me damned simple assignment. How hard is it to deliver a Me damned singing telegram with a Host for accompaniment and for you to plant one Me damned Holy seed?"

Gabriel shook the wings on his back and stammered, "Maybe on that day Your orders were typed out by Your office clerk. If I remember correctly, You were off creating some You damned new universe."

The Old Man scratched his beard and said, "Moses? Was that the day I left Moses in charge? No wonder I didn't allow him to enter the Me damned Promised Land! The old coot never was any good at following a few Me damned instructions."

His thunderous voice boomed so loud that thunder was heard down on Earth. "MOSES! Get your Me damned wrinkled ass in here this Me damned moment!"

The famous man who had led the Israelites out of Egyptian bondage shuffled into the throne room. He bowed and said, "What You damned thing did I do wrong now?"

Gabriel handed the folded work order to Moses. He scanned it for a moment and said, "Yeah? What about it? I don't see a Him damned thing wrong with it!"

The Old Man pointed to the names printed upon the parchment. "These are not the names I told you to put in the blanks marked "the party of the first part" and "the party of the second part!"

Moses' countenance grew stern, "My You, You explicitly told me to write in the names of Mary and Joseph." He pointed to the names on the parchment document and said, "And it clearly says ... What the Hell? Marty and Josephine? Oh my You!" He turned to Gabriel and with an accusing finger tapping against the Angel's chest exclaimed, "You Him damned moron, why didn't you catch this?"

"Hey! I'm not a Him damned proofreader. It's not in my Him damned job description. Don't shoot the Him damned messenger, Mosey!"

"Enough of the Me damned passing the buck!" The Heavenly Honcho was pacing back and forth in front of His throne. He stopped in his tracks. "I have an idea," he said snapping his fingers. There was a sudden arc of electricity that shot forth and struck Moses where his mother never kissed him.

He was rolling and writhing on the floor curled into the fetal position clutching the smoking area. "You damn it that smarts!"

His booming voice echoed about the throne room, "Oops! My bad."

Archie, trying not to laugh said to Moses, "Why don't you turn your "staff" into a serpent like you did in front of Ramses."


A large fanged snake suddenly appeared. It coiled itself and sprang forward, its fangs latching onto Archie in the same place Moses had been electrified.

The Boss shook His head as he watched the two Him damned idiots fighting like children. "Time out!" He bellowed. Moses raised his hands and the serpent vanished. Archie stood still except for rubbing the area that had been bitten. Moses parted the water in a nearby glass, half of it he poured down the front of his pants and the other half he drank.

"Listen up," He said. "I have one Me damned great idea that will fix the Me damned mess down there. Gabriel, I'm going to give you another chance. If you screw this one up, you lose your wings!" He watched as His Chief Angel bowed his head and nodded.

The two men, one fricasseed and the other snake bitten, listened intently to His instructions. Gabriel would return to Earth to seek out a woman named Mary and a man named Joseph who together ran a donkey ride attraction in a traveling carnival show. The Angel would then approach the woman in her sleep.

The Boss noticed a grin forming on Gabriel's lips. "Gabriel, the woman must be pure. You are not to touch her. You will keep it in your My damned pants this time. You will tell her that she is blessed with child, a child who will be My Son. He will be born on the 25th of December on a midnight clear."

Gabriel (Archie) said, "But if I'm not to touch her, how will she become knocked up?"

He smiled at the winged one and answered, "It is already done. The seed has already been planted." He held up what looked like a TV remote and added, "I clicked the button labeled impregnate virgin and it was so."

Moses had been standing quiet but he had a worried look on his face. He finally spoke, "Hey, Boss. The 25th of December is only 34 days away Earth time. The human gestation period is nine months. I hate to rain on Your parade, but there just isn't enough time."

The Boss appeared peeved at the old geezer's nerve of once again questioning His judgment. "This is a Me damned Holy remote. I preset the delivery date for 34 days from this date down there. Not to worry. I have everything under control." He walked over to Gabriel and slapped him hard on the ass and said to him, "Now be off. You have a job to do ... And don't screw it up!"

As the Angel took flight Moses said to The Boss, "What is it You require of me?"

He patted the old man on the shoulder and replied, "You are in charge of the invitations."

"Invitations? How many and to whom?" Moses said quizzically.

"Don't you mean to who?" the bossed asked.

"Oh no. When used as the object of a sentence, the correct usage is whom."

"Whatever! Here's a list. And be sure not to forget those magicians from the East ... What do they call themselves ... Ah. The Magi." He looked thoughtful for a moment and started to snap his finger but stopped at the last moment, much to the relief of Moses. "A most important detail, Moses. Make sure you make reservations for a room at the inn. We wouldn't want our weary travelers sleep in a stable, now would we?"

"No, Sir! I'll get right on it." Moses started to walk away but stopped and turned to face The Boss. "Uh ... What should I use for the invitations? Blue parchment for a boy?"

"No parchment for this special announcement. I want them inscribed on miniature stone tablets," He answered. "...And Moses, don't break the Me damned things this time!"

(To be continued Monday 11/24, in part 4: "What In the Hell is Myrrh?".)

*Editors Note: To avoid being called blasphemous or being accused of using the name of the Lord in vain, a pronoun has been substituted every time the name of The Boss occurs in the above text.

№ 1532

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Angel With Good Tidings

Tempted by the forbidden fruits of carnal desire, a young Jewish couple in the ancient Roman occupied city of Nazareth, were last seen about to do the dirty deed. The events leading up to this sinful game of hide-the-wienie are chronicled in the first installment of the story, the title bearing their names: Marty & Josephine.

The rays of the warm sun rising in the east played upon the naked bodies of the young couple. She was lying by the edge of the nearby river, an empty wine bottle clutched against her breast and another standing against that point where her legs met.

Josephine was the first to stir as dreamlike memories of the night before replayed in her mind. Her angel hovered over her, his lips and tongue playing homage to her neck, her breasts and below. What were those romantic words he uttered as he took her again and again? Oh yes, he said that "In all his years of fishing he had never used his rod at a better fishing hole." She felt the hardness of that which was touching her in that private spot. She wanted to pull it inside of her. She reached down to touch it.

The young man lie flat on his back in the back of a stolen chariot, a part of him standing like a flag-less flagpole to greet the new day. His breathing was uneven as he remembered feeling her tongue upon him. Her movements had been relentless, her moist tongue lapping and grazing every inch of him. He was beginning to awaken and he was pleased to feel her performing that same act. He could think of no better way to be aroused from sleep. He reached down to touch her hair and to hold her head in place.

They both awoke at the same instance and in unison they both cried out in shock. She at the riverbank bolted upright clutching an empty bottle. He pushed himself backward away from some shepherd's stray sheep which had apparently mistaken him for a salt lick.

Embarrassed by their predicaments the couple felt the need to cover their nakedness. Avoiding eye contact with the other they scrambled to find their clothing which had been thrown carelessly onto the ground the night before. They next found spots, out of each other's sight, to hastily don their clothing.

Finally they emerged from their hiding places now fully dressed and smiled in modest but nervous comfort at their respective lover. For a few moments they stared at the ground before looking at one another. Grins turned into smiles and giggles turned into hearty laughs.

Marty was the first to speak, "Say, what were you planning on doing with that bottle anyway?"

She didn't think he'd seen that and she glared at him, "Was that sheep an ex-girl friend of yours?"

She sat down next to him and gave him a gentle hug and a peck on the cheek. She purred, "I had a wonderful night, Angel. You sure know how to fish!" As she tried to visualize the night before she suddenly grew pale.

He placed his arm around her and said, "Me too. It was great! I remember I was out of breath trying to keep up with you." He too was wearing a worried look on his face as the events of the previous night became clearer.
Both of them remembered that he was struggling to open the condom package before he finally tore the foil down one side. They were giggling as she playfully read the directions on the back of the package. "Place the condom on the head and pull down until it is fully unrolled. Avoid punctures."

She had lie down on her back and steepled her knees to position herself for him. Then he was gasping. He was frantically flailing his arms about, unable to breathe. She looked up to see that he had stretched the condom over the head on his shoulders and had pulled it all the way down to his neck! She jumped up and used a fingernail to puncture the elastic over his gaping mouth. When he collapsed onto the back of the chariot she yelled at him, "Are you that stupid, numbnuts?"

He looked up at her and replied weakly, "Yes, they are numb!" He then passed out. That was the extent of Marty's memory until he awoke to a wool job.

Josephine shook him but he wouldn't awaken. She glanced forlornly at his by then useless appendage. Still naked she strolled down to the river to splash water on her face but fell weakly backward. She lie there staring up at the stars. She had no recourse but to relieve the pent up desire still raging within her.

Then the face of a man, almost transparent in appearance appeared looking down upon her. Odd, she thought, that she wasn't afraid. The face's mouth opened and a comforting voice spoke to her saying, "In all my years of fishing I have never used my rod at a better fishing hole." He laughed and then said, "It looks like I'm going to be lucky tonight. What a catch!"

He consummated his conquest three more times. Just before she fell into a contented deep sleep she heard him say, "I'm Gabriel Angel. My friends call me Archie. Tonight I went fishing to fulfill a prophesy, as was my charge. Good tidings to you. You are blessed." He then held his hand next to his ear with the thumb and pinkie finger extended and said, "Call me."
Marty listened as she finished her account of what had happened during the night. He was angry and it showed in his words to her, "My God! You were raped! Who was this 'Archie' character. You must report this. That man deserves to be locked up or worse yet, stoned."

"No, Marty. I cannot report this. Everyone will say I led him on and that I have sinned." She then arose and walked over to the river's edge where she'd awakened and bent over to pick up something. She returned to Marty's side and handed it to him saying, "He left his card."

Marty read the words printed upon the card. "What the hell? That man was no fisherman! I'll bet he had this printed over at Abdul's Kosher Mart. Anyone can go to the K-Mart and have just about anything printed on a cup, or a shirt, and on a phony business card."

Josephine started to sob uncontrollably. She looked at him and with tears streaming down her cheeks she cried, "It's all your fault. If you had known how to put on a condom in the first place ... None of this would have happened!"

He glared menacingly at her and said, "To have fallen for that guy's phony lines of camel shit, you are one dumb bimbo! I should have stretched that condom over your head!"

She bolted upright and slapped him hard across the face. "You donkey's ass! I'm going to tell everyone it was you who raped me!" She turned and stormed away in the direction of town leaving him alone with his thoughts.

He noticed something shiny on the ground next to his foot. He leaned forward to pick it up. It was the discarded wrapper to the condom that been wasted the night before.

He was about to wad it into a ball when he noticed something curious about it. His eyes followed the jagged edges where it had been torn open. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes and studied it once more. Initially he thought he was letting his imagination run wild. He drew in his breath and realized he wasn't sure of what to believe. The tear had curiously obliterated the letters "TRA."

He jumped to his feet and read what was left of the red lettering, "Immaculate Conception..." He glanced up at the sky and said, "My God, this can't be happening!"
We all know where this is heading now, don't we?
(To be continued in part 3: I'll Be Me Damned.)

№ 1531

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Marty & Josephine

When Marty overheard a couple of the Roman soldiers talking about the big Bacchanalian party over at the Magistrate's house, his curiosity had gotten the better of him. He crept up to the fence surrounding the Magistrate's property and listened to the laughing, screaming and moaning taking place inside. Luckily he had found a knothole in the fence and it afforded him an excellent view of a rousing wanton orgy.

Marty had been squinting through the knothole in the fence surrounding the Magistrate's house for over an hour. He had seen things he had never imagined before. The naked men and women were engaged in strange acts and positions. Their arms and legs were wrapped, bent and contorted in ways that must have been painful judging from the screams and moans of the participants. At one point he thought a large breasted woman was trying to kill one of the men; she was straddling him in such a way as if to suffocate the poor man!

Ever since his voice had changed five years ago he had been feeling changes within his own body. Although the temperatures in Nazareth never dipped below 50 degrees in the summer he would often wake up with a certain part of his body frozen solid. He soon found that he could "thaw" it by vigorously rubbing and manipulating it, and it felt good despite the ensuing mess.

He noticed too that the girls his age seemed to be different. This was apparent when he used to sneak through the bulrushes down by the river and watch the girls bathing in the water by the banks. He had begun to put it all together when he realized that "freezing" process would occur while he was involved in his acts of voyeurism. It happened one day while watching the girls bathe and simultaneously thawing himself that he had had an epiphany. The birds were singing in the trees above, bees were buzzing around him and himself defrosted - that's when he developed his 'birds and bees' theory of life.

So it was that night he walked bow-legged away from the Magistrate's property and knocked on the bedroom window of the fair Josephine. He had been attracted to her for some time and even though she'd often smiled and winked at him, he'd never had the nerve to ask her out.

They slipped over to the Magistrate's home and he showed her the knothole. Her face flushed and she giggled as she partook of the debauchery beyond the fence. She told him he could kiss her if he wanted as long as it was just a peck. Their lips brushed and then she suddenly grabbed his head and held him tight. The next thing he knew her tongue was seemingly trying to wash his tonsils.

Words were not needed by that time. He grabbed her hand and they tiptoed past a pair of stallions connected to a parked chariot. Nearby lie a Centurion passed out, several bottles of wine on the ground beside him. They grabbed some of the wine, hopped onto the back of the chariot and rode off into the night.

After a mile or so he said, "You're not going to believe this, but we're out of grass." She looked at him confused and he said, "The horses need to graze, you know, to build up energy."

She smiled and picked up a couple of the bottles of wine and said, "Maybe we should build up some energy too."

Soon, by the light of a full moon they were making out heavily. Touching became groping and it wasn't long before their articles of clothing were strewn about. He crawled over her and started to ease himself down when she cried out, "STOP!"

"What's wrong?" he asked her in frustration. "Aren't we going to do it?"

She looked down at his "frozen" condition and nodded, "Yes, but not without protection. You do have some ... uh ... protection don't you?"

"Of course I do," he replied cheerfully.

He reached into his shirt and pulled out a small foil package and held it up for her to see. "I never leave home without it."

She watched as he struggled to open the package and said, "Tell me, Marty, just how long have you been carrying that thing around in your pocket?"

"I just got it today," he lied for he'd taken from his father's drawer over a year before. Not wanting to sound too self-assured he added, "Just in case we ... You know."
Can you guess where this heading?
(To be continued in part 2: Angel With Good Tidings .

№ 1530

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Water Cooler Whatta-Ya-Knows

According to the U.S. Census Bureau:
9,374 people are having sex at this very moment,
2,130 are kissing,
834 are receiving oral sex,
...And you are sitting there reading this blog. (Me too.)

If you yelled for 8 years, 7 months and 6 days you would have produced enough energy to heat a cup of coffee. (At that rate, my wife will put Starbucks out of business sometime next week.)*

Due to the angle at which the optic nerve enters the brain, staring at a blue surface during sex increases the intensity of orgasms. (Would this color blue match the window treatments in the bedroom?)

There are men in Guam whose full-time job is to travel the countryside and deflower young virgins, who pay them for the privilege of having sex for the first time. Reason: under Guam law, it is expressly forbidden for virgins to marry. (I wonder, are they hiring?)

Sex is biochemically no different from eating large quantities of chocolate. (No wonder she calls those candy bars, "darling.")

Males, on average, think about sex every 7 seconds. (2...3...4...)

The word “gymnasium” comes from the Greek word gymnazein which means “to exercise naked.” (There's nothing like a good workout. The more reps the better.)

Sex burns 360 calories per hour! (Let's double up those reps!)

For every ‘normal’ webpage, there are five porn pages. (Exercise manuals.)

Turkeys can reproduce without having sex. It’s called parthenogenesis. (So that's what quitting "cold turkey" means.)

Humans and dolphins are the only species that have sex for pleasure. (Just call me Flipper.)

The first couple to be shown in bed together on prime time television were: Fred and Wilma Flintstone. (Yabba-dabba-doo!)

Silly Putty was "discovered" as the residue left behind after the first latex condoms were produced. (It's no fun being malleable.)

Sex is the safest tranquilizer in the world. It is 10 times more effective than Valium! (Take me and call me in the morning.)

I wonder ... what happened on TV the most - James T. Kirk bedding some alien female or Jack Bauer killing someone?

*(Just kidding, snookums!)

№ 1529

Monday, November 17, 2008

Pilgrim Phil and the Sauna

(PSST!) Over Here!

Say, aren't you Tom Turkey?

(Shhh!) Not so loud.

Say, aren't you Tom Turkey?

I changed my name. I'm Pilgrim Phil.

You look like a turkey!

Of course I do. I am a turkey.

I meant, you look like a turkey in that outfit... Uh, no offense intended.

None taken. I'm incognito.

How come? You didn't fool me.

Of course not. You're writing this Blog, numb nuts. Uh, no offense intended.

Yeah, sure. But why as a pilgrim?

When in Plymouth you don't drive a Ford.

(???) O-o-okay! Let me see if I got this straight. If you dress like a pilgrim you'll blend in with everyone and no one will recognize that you're a turkey.

I am blinded by the brilliance before me.

(Ahem!) So what's the point? Are you ashamed to be a turkey?

Aren't you ashamed to be a blogger? Don't you have a life?

Hey! I'm the interviewer here. You're the interviewee.

Look, it's like this ... Next week is Thanksgiving! If you'd spend less time on your computer and more time in the real world, you'd have known that.

But I do know Thanksgiving is coming up. So?

I'll tell you. Read my lips ...

Turkeys don't have lips!

(Groan!) No, but I do have a big pecker. Can you say the same?

Yeah, but at least I don't go sticking it where it doesn't belong.


I don't think I'd be talking about anatomy if I were you.

What's anatomy?

You know ... legs, wings, breast ... dark meat and white meat. Yum yum!

(Gasp!) You cannibalistic barbarian! That's what I'm talking about!

Just look at those gorgeous drumsticks ... er legs and that full breast ... That tight outfit makes you look ... fat ...fatter!

(Gulp!) You are a nasty axe murderer.

Relax, Tom. You're too uptight. You know what's good for that? A nice hot soothing sauna!

(Whew!) You had me worried there for a moment. I take back everything I said about bloggers. A hot sauna, eh? You'd do that for me?

*(With apologies to The Kingston Trio)

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

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

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


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


Chorus Repeat - (Everybody sing along!)

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


Chorus finale
Hang down your head (your head!), Tom Turkey
Hang down your head and cry.
Hang down your head (your head!), Tom Turkey
Poor bird you're going to ... die.
The previous parody of "Tom Dooley" is from my Nov.'06 archives.

The image above of "Pilgrim Phil" was scanned from a wood cutout I made several years ago. It was hand drawn and hand painted onto a 10"x7" piece of 3/4 pine which I cut on a scroll saw to its shape.
Anyone interested in slightly used Pilgrim suit?

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Sunday, November 16, 2008

Give Me a Brrr-eak!


Trash Talk

ώhατ α ḋεɾεṉсε α ḋαÿ ṃαќεṡ...

Yesterday it was 65 and mild. Today it was 45 with a wind chill factor of 37. Adding wind speeds of 23 to 37 mph with gusts up to 50 to the mix made today feel more seasonal. Brrrrrr ...

Today I was playing around with the titles of Christmas carols, looking for some ideas for potential parodies. I wanted to come up with some new titles as opposed to tapping into my archives. To start I parodied some titles and categorized them.

In tribute to our President elect, Barack Obama, I came up with these possibilities:
Obama Tree (O Christmas Tree) - I'm not sold on this one.

Obama Baby (Santa Baby) - This one has potential.

Barack Obama Is Coming To Town (Santa Claus Is Coming To Town) - He's making a list for cabinet positions.

Over Congress and Through the House (Over the River and Through the Woods) - Passing or not passing bills.
Then there are a few miscellaneous subjects:
The Little Dumber Boy (Little Drummer Boy) - Goodbye to Dubya.

Little Plumber Boy (Ditto) - Joe the plumber.

I Saw These Hips (I Saw Three Ships) - Gaining weight over the holidays.

Away in a Stranger (Away in a Manger) - Bill Clinton's anthem.

I'm Dreaming of a Dry Mattress (White Christmas) - A bed wetter's lament.
I'm Dreaming of a Dry Mattress (White Christmas) - A couple decide who gets the 'wet' spot.

The Friendly Beasts (The Friendly Beasts) - A New Zealand Christmas carol.

Chet's Nuts Roasting On an Open Fire (The Christmas Song) - Hannibal Lechter invites a friend over for the holidays.

Me Lay a Kinky Mama (Mele Kalikimaka) - A street gang member looking for a MILF.
Those ought to keep me busy between now and Christmas!

Any requests?

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