Butterfly Dreams (3)

(A sequel to The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray.)

They had died when helping thwart a plan to undermine the government of the United States. Now Ben and Susan have returned from the dead and they must bring that government down. Standing in their way are Michael Black and Michelle Gray, the bodies of whom they now occupy.

-(The Story begins HERE)-

The Dying Daylights
His mouth agape, O'Day could manage only a few guttural sounds. Unblinking and wide in disbelief, his eyes darted from the laptop to us and back again. A finger extended from his trembling fist grazed the surface of the screen.

The grizzled policeman may have thought he was seeing ghosts, but as for Michelle and myself, we knew we were not looking upon an image of evanescent spirits. They were of flesh and blood and as real as the woman they'd taken from the nursing home.

All Brock O'Day knew was that he was looking upon the faces of his deceased friend Ben Bering and his young paramour Susan Parsons, the wakes and subsequent burials of whom he'd attended the previous year. What he didn't know was that Michelle and I were looking upon the bodies in which our souls had once resided.

The image on the screen suddenly vanished. "Damn!" Michelle exclaimed, "We've lost the connection."

It was obvious that O'Day was taken aback by our insouciant demeanor when he barked, "What's the matter with you two? How can you be so calm? Didn't you see their faces? It was Ben and Susan!"

Occupied by her laptop Michelle offered me a cursory nod, thus throwing the ball into my court. "Brock," I replied in admonishment, "Ben and Susan are dead. You saw their bodies."

Michelle looked up from the keyboard to make eye contact with him. Before turning away she spoke but one word, "Doppelgangers."

"Doubles?" he uttered. "Who would go to all that trouble to find doubles for two dead people? And why abduct Rosie? I don't get it ..." The contorted features of his face relaxed somewhat as a measure of realization struck him.

"Hold that thought," I said as I reached for the vibrating cell phone at my hip. I glanced at the screen and read a brief text message on the small screen. After showing the display to Michelle I turned the device toward O'Day.

3 suits. Made copy. Gotta run. - T.T.

"Suits?" the officer gasped. "The Feds? We shut down their operation ... didn't we?" He groaned in exasperation when there was no response forthcoming from Michelle or myself.


Five minutes later the helicopter touched down upon an empty lot next to the nursing home. Ducking to avoid the rotor blades we scrambled across the lot toward the main entrance of the building.

While O'Day questioned the two nurses at the front desk Michelle and I made our way to Rosie's room. Along the way we were joined by the young man who'd transmitted the security footage to the laptop.

"David, good work," I said patting him on the back. "Are the Feds still here?"

He shook his head, "No. They slipped out the back when they heard your chopper approaching. They drove off in a black SUV while you were landing."

Michelle moved next to him and said, "We lost the transmission. From the security tape were you able to see where they ... those two took my ... uh ... where they took Rosie?"

"Yeah, they left through the service door in the basement next to the loading dock. I think that's how they got inside the building. No one saw them."

The echoes of O'Day's footfalls on the corridor floors signaled his approach. "Damn it," he shouted, "where are those Feds? The bastards confiscated the security tapes." Spotting David at our side he grinned, "David? Well I'll be. I presume it was you who sent that video to Michelle's computer."

David, who'd also sent the cryptic text message using the initials of his screen name Tsunami Tommy, nodded and shook O'Day's extended hand. "Yes, Sergeant O'Day, it was I."

The formal amenities aside and with his dutiful police mentality taking over, he queried, "Besides the security tape, is there anything you can tell us about what happened here? Did you see or hear anything?"

Lowering his head he replied, "No, sir. Nothing." He turned to face me and uttered, "I'm ... I'm sorry, Mr. Black. I've let you down."

Placing her hand on his shoulder Michelle said, "No, David, you didn't let us down. There was nothing you could have done."

Flipping the page of the small notebook in his hand O'Day addressed the man, "I've spoken to everyone on duty this morning except for ... Clara Mason. In all the confusion, no one can remember seeing her since the morning rounds. Miss Ames at the main nursing station said she was in charge of material disposal ..."

"Oh, no," David uttered in alarm. "The haz-mat storage facility ... that's how they got in!" With the three of us close behind he began to sprint toward the east wing of the building.

"Haz-mat?" O'Day mumbled. "What hazardous materials would they have here?"

"Come on, Brock. This is a nursing home," Michelle chided. "You know, things like needles, bandages, soiled and bloodied wrappings and linens ..."

"Yeah, yeah," he retorted, "I wasn't thinking."

David led us through a door and into a dark dank stairwell. "Once a week a contracted outfit picks up our hazardous waste," David declared. "They usually arrive in the afternoon. Clara must have let them in."

"Except, they weren't who she thought they were," Brock reasoned aloud.

At the foot of the stairs the young man hurriedly punched in a series of numbers on an electronic key pad. With a click of the release mechanism the door swung open to reveal the massive expanse beneath the nursing home.

As we made our away to the far end of the basement David turned to us and said, "When I saw their faces on the security tape I couldn't believe my eyes. Frankly it scared the living daylights out of me!"

"Hold it," Brock warned raising his hand to stop us in our tracks. He unsnapped his holster and gripped the butt of his service revolver. "Don't move."

He knelt beside the unmoving form lying prone on the cold concrete floor. His finger against the woman's lifeless neck he uttered, "It would appear that Clara Mason has had the dying daylights scared out of her."

(To be continued Friday 2/19, with ...

The Mind of the Matter)
№ 1910

Nanook: Revisited

While the "truck" in the photo isn't really my truck, that's what it will look like during Wednesday!

(The truck is actually a snow sculpture!)

I suppose I could dread and complain about the snow storm we are expected to get on Wednesday through Thursday morning ... but I won't!

Here in the Boston area, we've been fairly lucky this winter when it comes to snowfall - only 23 inches so far for the season. The areas of Baltimore and Washington D.C. received more than that in one snowfall last week. If that wasn't bad enough for them, there going to get more with the latest storm. By the time anyone is reading this on Wednesday morning they will have already accumulated more of the white stuff.

Here, they have predicted 9-16 inches to be dumped between 10:30 AM through the wee hours of Thursday. For most people here in New England: "It's a mere inconvenience!"

As for me: It's a royal pain in the ass!"

They were born and raised here - I've only been up here since I was discharged from active duty in the U.S. Navy in December of 1971. I know that's 39 years, but I still have not got used to the winters in the Boston area! I don't like the snow and I can't stand the cold! I am a winter wimp!

When I retire in three years or so, I have my sights on somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon Line. But where? I don't like Florida - too damn hot! I used to think that Charlotte, North Carolina would be nice ... but they've been getting winters as bad or worse than here!

What's with the crazy weather - all over the country - the last decade?

The following is from my archives of January, 2005. Originally titled Nanook of the Northeast, my 4th post was the about the first major snow storm I experienced after I started blogging.


The surreal scene before me was one of wonder. Nothing short of awe-inspiring, could it be that I was looking upon a precursor of Armageddon? No, nothing quite so dramatic as the end of civilization. Although the street and surrounding neighborhood were in desolate purgatory, I reminded myself that this is New England.

The snow storm, which had blanketed areas as far west as Chicago, and as far south as West Virginia, had dumped nearly 30 inches at my doorstep. Such snow storms, categorized as blizzards, are not new to the Boston area. The Blizzard of '78 became the benchmark by which future storms would be compared. Watch out '78, you have a challenger!

What began as some auspicious flurries at 3:15 PM on Saturday, the 22nd, had turned into Mother Nature's generous gift for this edition of winter. The 30 inches on the ground is lying in wait for an additional 6 inches by 6 PM tonight. With a projected high temperature of 10 degrees, acompanied by 30+ mph winds gusting upwards to 70 mph, I didn't need to hear the news report that schools would be closed on Monday and posibly on Tuesday as well.

An arduous adventure began when it was discovered that 4 foot wall of drifted snow had barricaded the storm door to our back porch. Without music, the dogs' frenzied dancing was apparent as my wife removed the lower pane of the door. Through this portal she began burrowing out of the house, onto the porch and into the maelstrom of wind and snow. As I was bundling myself into multiple layers, she had managed to get the door open, and had swathed out a narrow path across the porch and to the foot of the stairs.

Those dogs are not stupid by any means, as they, one at a time, ventured into the elements, relieved themselves, and made haste their retreat back into protection of the house. By this time, I was so wrapped up in protective clothing, I was nearly immobile. I hoped that I would not share the same fate that had befallen Ralphie's little brother in the classic film, A Christmas Story.

When I entered the kitchen, there before me, stood none other than Nanook of the NorthEast! My wife, her green hooded coat, spray-painted white by the gale driven snow, gave me proof that it was indeed a blizzard out there. Her demeanor was screaming, "Don't go out there!", went unacknowledged. My resolve was to do the manly thing.

For some strange reason, within my head, I heard the jingle: "Mr. Trouble never hangs around... When he hears this mighty sound." To which I mentally responded "Here I come to save the day!" That recollected vision of Andy Kaufmann and his record player on an SNL skit, quickly evaoprated before my foot touched the porch.

My adventure was a short one, limited to merely fetching the other snow shovels from the garage, and digging a wider path on the stairs and porch. My face stinging, my fingers cold despite the gloves, I feigned success. Thusly, I decided that hibernation was the most obvious course of action.

That returns me to my reverie, looking upon the scene before me. Eventually, when the storm winds down, and driving winds have abated, I will have begin shoveling in earnest. When is the storm supposed to end? 6 PM, you say? Wait just a minute!! The Patriots-Steelers game kicks-off at 6:30! The winner goes to the Super Bowl! I think I will listen to the doctors' warnings about shoveling snow and placing myself at risk for a heart attack. Tomorrow looks ideal for snow removal.

At 6 PM, the ultimate storm adventure will begin with the preparation of chilli, popcorn, and of course harvesting some brewskies from the fridge. By the time the game is underway I will be sweating bullets. For you see, it is labor intensive to watch a football game on a stormy New England day with Nanook of the NorthEast ready to put me on ice.

For everyone in the path of this newest storm, be careful if you have to be out. Take it easy and pace yourself if you have to shovel all that snow.

№ 1909

My Generation?

I tuned in to the Super Bowl halftime show expecting:

Only to find instead:

What a pathetic sight for sore eyes! They weren't too good on the ears either!

Roger Daltrey - walk away from the mike. Pete Townsend - hang up the guitar!

Your former band mates Keith Moon and John Entwistle (may they rest in peace) must have been rolling over in their graves!

Guys, it's time to sign up for social security, or whatever they offer senior citizens in England.

Since your performance was a joke, I think I'll segue into some jokes.
<--- Airport Security:
The drawbacks to full-body scans.

Airport Customs
A beautiful young woman, on an international flight, asked the priest beside her, "Father, may I ask a favor?"

"Of course you may. What can I do for you?" he replied.

"Well, I bought this expensive electronic hair dryer that is well over the Customs limits and I'm afraid that they'll confiscate it from me. Is there anyway that you could carry it through Customs for me? Under your robes perhaps?"

"I would love to help you, dear, but I must warn you, I will not lie," said the priest.

"With your honest face, Father, no one will question you," she said.

When they got to Customs, the young lady let the priest go ahead of her. The Customs Officer asked, "Father, do you have anything to declare?"

"From the top of my head down to my waist, I have nothing to declare."

The Officer thought this answer strange, so he asked, "And what do you have to declare from your waist to the floor?"

"I have a marvelous little instrument designed to be used on a woman, but which is, to date, unused."

Roaring with laughter, the Officer said, "God bless you, Father, go ahead."

Half Off These Tickets
USAir recently introduced a special half fare for wives who accompanied their husbands on business trips. Expecting valuable testimonials, the PR department sent out letters to all the wives of businessmen who had used the special rates, asking how they enjoyed their trip.

Letters are still pouring in asking, "What trip?"

The Affair
A husband suspects his wife is having an affair with a pilot.

She keeps denying it--until finally the husband just knew when his wife said:

"Honey, I've told you once, I've told you twice, I've told you niner thousand times, negative on the affair ..."


I got a new stick deodorant today.
The instructions said: Remove cap and push up bottom.
I can barely walk, but whenever I fart the room smells lovely.

The Hilton at the Dulles Airport was closed Saturday after 120 guests were sickened with a contagious disease. Meanwhile, Paris Hilton remains open.

The Flea and the Stewardess
Two fleas had an arrangement to meet every summer in Miami for a vacation.

Last year when one flea gets to Miami, he’s shivering and shaking. The other flea asks him, “Why are you shaking so badly?”

The first flea says, “I rode down here from New Jersey in the moustache of a guy on Harley.”

The other flea responds saying, “That’s the worst way to travel. Try what I do. Go to the New Jersey airport bar. Have a few drinks. While you are there, look for a nice stewardess. Crawl up her leg and nestle in where it’s warm and cozy. It’s the best way to travel that I can think of.”

The first flea thanks the second flea and says he will give it a try next summer. A year goes by…..

When the first flea shows up in Miami he is shivering and shaking again. The second flea says, “Didn’t you try what I told you?”

“Yes,” says the first flea, “I did exactly as you said. I went to the New Jersey airport bar. I had a few drinks. Finally, this nice young stewardess came in. I crawled right up to her warm cozy spot. It was so nice and warm that I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was back in the moustache of a guy on a Harley.”

Where You Flyin' To?
Two women, one from the one from the south, are seated next to one another on a plane.

"Where you flyin' to?" says the southern woman.

The northern woman turns up her nose and says, "Don't you know you should NEVER end a sentence with a preposition?"

The southern woman thinks about this for a second and replies, "Where you flyin' to, bitch?"

Out To Pasture
A group of Americans wes traveling by tour bus through Holland. As they stopped at a cheese farm, a young guide led them through the process of cheese making, explaining that goat's milk was used. She showed the group a lovely hillside where many goats were grazing.

"These," she explained, "Are the older goats put out to pasture when they no longer produce."

She then asked, "What do you do in America with your old goats?"

A spry old gentleman answered, "They send us on bus tours!"

№ 1908

When the Saints Go Marching In

Congratulations New Orleans Saints
What more can I say? If ever a city and its people were more deserving - it was New Orleans!

Hey, Peyton Manning, what do Tom Brady and Ringling Brothers Barnum & Bailey Circus have in common?

- They both have two more rings than you!

№ 1907

Political Soap Operas

As Obama's Cookie
This week's episode: Aunt-icipation

The first paragraph of a Friday, Feb. 5, 2010 Boston Herald story by Laurel J. Sweet:

"From the designer sunglasses to the security entourage in gray suits and ear-pieces, it was evident yesterday the towering 6-feet-plus-tall Zeituni Polly Onyango is no garden-variety illegal alien."

Boston Herald Staff Photo by John Wilcox -->

From the photograph, it would appear that Onyango is no stranger to Mickey D's value meals, shakes and super-sized french fries. It also seems that life in public housing at the expense of Boston taxpayers is agreeable to her.

She is the half-sister of President Obama's late father. Defying deportation orders several years ago, she has been living in a subsidized housing project in South Boston ever since. She must have figured that if her brother's kid could become President of the richest, most-powerful nation on earth, then surely she could live in the U.S. of A. without paying her dues.

A month after Obama took the oath of Presidency, the court agreed to reopen her case and let her stay as a guest of the taxpayers until the matter was resolved. I find it interesting that her identity and relationship to our Commander-In-Chief was not revealed publicly until after he was installed into the office.

I also find it interesting that Obama claimed he was unaware that she was in this country illegally. He stopped short of saying he didn't even know she was in the country. I know that he is eloquent, but bullshit spread with eloquence is still bullshit!

Embracing his father's Muslim faith, I find it difficult to believe that he had never made any attempt to track down or know the whereabouts or status of his Kenyan family. Even if he himself didn't take the initiative, his political machine would have looked into this issue lest it became a potential campaign issue.

Although the details were not divulged, Onyango is fighting deportation while seeking political asylum. Is she seeking asylum because as the aunt of the American President she would be at risk? Or is there some darker reason?

I think Obama should take her aside and say, "Auntie, why don't you apply for f**king citizenship and stop trying to mooch off the taxpayers?"

I cannot speak with the eloquence of our President, but I do know that an illegal alien, no matter who he or she knows, is still an illegal alien! ... And illegal aliens should NOT be afforded any of the benefits as those of a citizen.

As Camelot
This week's episode: Patches

Even as Republican Scott Brown's defeat of Democrat Martha Coakley for deceased Edward M. Kennedy's Senate seat marked the end of the Camelot era, the Senator's son, Patrick, finds himself facing the boot. Backed by the strategists of Scott Brown, Republican State Representative John J. Loughlin II has announced his candidacy for Kennedy's Rhode Island seat.

With a disapproval rating of 59% within his district and 62% statewide, Patches' fate would appear to sealed. He might be smelling the smoke from the possible firestorm ignited by Scott Brown's stunning victory. That same smoke just might have other incumbents across the country shaking in their boots and wiping their sweaty brows.

Patrick's biggest problem is that he doesn't have the clout and the history of his father, Uncles Jack and Bobby and grandpa Joe. He has no ties to a Marilyn Monroe, a Mary Jo Kopechne, or the woman with a blue dot. He doesn't have the athletic skills displayed by a cousin who could ski and play chicken with a tree while passing a football on the slopes.

Something tells me that our country will survive without a Kennedy in an elected office.

№ 1906

Butterfly Dreams (2)

(A sequel to The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray.)

They had died when helping thwart a plan to undermine the government of the United States. Now Ben and Susan have returned from the dead and they must bring that government down. Standing in their way are Michael Black and Michelle Gray, the bodies of whom they now occupy.

-(The Story begins HERE)-

We Were There, But We Weren't
Despite taking back roads, the morning rush hour traffic found us getting nowhere fast. According to the radio reports a rash of accidents on the expressway and several main arteries had forced many of the commuters to seek alternate routes.

It was the gridlock caused by those desperate commuters that had left us in the middle of a line of vehicles stretching as far as the eyes could see in both directions. In the rear view mirror the distinctive skyline of downtown Boston was still visible despite the fact that we'd left there nearly an hour before.

It was was not a stretch for me to know what thoughts were running through Michelle's mind. Likewise, she knew that I was sharing those same thoughts. While our thoughts were centered upon the inexplicable disappearance of Rosie Gates from her nursing home room, we were both wrestling with the implications of that disappearance.

The events of the previous two years had steeled us, prepared us to face the inevitable. While our efforts and our sacrifices had appeared to derail the covert research, we'd known that setback would be short-lived.

Our thoughts were interrupted by the pulsing tones emanating from the car phone. From the passenger seat Michelle noted the caller ID display and announced, "It's Brock O'Day."

I depressed the speaker button and said, "Officer O'Day. I think I know why you are calling."

"Hello, Michael and Michelle," he responded. "Faye just called me from Franklin and told me what happened at the nursing home. She's quite upset."

"That's understandable," Michelle chimed in. "We're on our way there now, but the traffic is absolutely horrendous!"

"No shit. You won't believe all the accident reports I'm picking up on the radio. There's a gasoline tanker on its side at the North Quincy exit heading south. In Newton some knucklehead going the wrong way north on the Expressway has caused a seven car pileup. There's a burning car at the China Town ramp to the Turnpike. There's an upside down taxicab ..."

"Good grief!" I exclaimed. "What in the hell is going on, Brock?"

"You tell me," he quipped. "It's not even nine AM yet, so I think we can rule out a full moon." There was a moment of static before he spoke again, "Hold on, I'm getting another call."

"Michael," Michelle tapped my shoulder and whispered, "Doesn't it strike you as odd that all of these accidents are south of Boston?"

"...And in our path," I nodded.

"Jesus Christ!" O'Day's voice boomed over the speaker. "Now there's a bomb threat at the JFK Library!"

We looked at each other stone-faced but said nothing. Although we couldn't read each others minds, we found ourselves on the same wavelength. We were thinking the same thing. Was it possible that all of the accidents weren't coincidental? Could it be that they were staged accidents?

Anguished but not verbalizing her thoughts Michelle uttered, "Why is all this happening now?"

"I don't know," I replied shaking my head. "I'm not so sure I want to know, but I do know we have to find a way out of this traffic."

"Leave that to me," belched O'Day's voice from the speaker. I had forgotten that our call had not been disconnected. There was a sudden wail of a siren somewhere behind us. A quick glance in the passenger side mirror revealed a police cruiser racing our way in the emergency breakdown lane. "The exit to the JFK Library is just a mile and a half ahead. Fall in behind me and I'll clear us a path."

As I veered into the cleared lane behind him I said, "Lucky for us you happened to be on the same stretch of highway."

"No luck, Michael, just good detective work. I've been tracking you," he announced.

"Tracking us?" queried Michelle. "How?"

He laughed, "I pulled a few strings and had your Lojack system activated." His brake lights visible ahead of us, I slowed down as we turned onto the looping exit ramp. "As it turned out I was only about a dozen car lengths behind your location when I received Faye's call."

"Brock, as we speak Michelle is on her cell phone dispatching the corporate chopper to the Library. By air we should make it to the Nursing home in about, oh, twenty minutes. I'll call you from there when we know ... something."

We turned onto the library property and pulled into a spot at the far end of the parking lot. A phalanx of emergency vehicles, their lights flashing like beacons, were amassed near the library's main entrance. An army of emergency personnel were moving about in choreographed chaos.

O'Day sprinted across the lot and disappeared amidst the sea of the emergency crew members. Ten minutes later he reappeared and hurried to our location. He peered into the driver's side window, "It appears to be crank call. They have the situation under control, so I won't be needed." He glanced skyward in the direction of the approaching helicopter.

I grinned and said to him, "There's room for another passenger if you'd like to come along."


Once airborne I instructed the pilot to tune the radio onto the police and emergency bands. O'Day nodded, grateful to be listening to the reports coming over the airwaves. Michelle and I were no less interested to hear them. We kept our suspicions to ourselves however, not wanting to share them with our passenger until we were certain that the pattern of events were more than coincidental.

Our resolve for secrecy was put to the test when a policeman's voice squawked from the radio, "The driver of the tanker has been shot. Judging from a bullet hole in the windshield, we are operating under the assumption that we have a sniper."

"What the hell?" O'Day roared. I turned to face him and was greeted by a stunned look upon his face. "What in the hell is going on? Every one of these reports ... the accidents ... the bomb scare ... they all took place within a five minute time span."

I glanced at Michelle and then back at O'Day. He studied my grim countenance for a moment and said, "You're holding out on me, aren't you? You think these accidents have something to do with Rosie's disappearance."

With a slow nod of my head I replied, "The thought had occurred to us, yes."

"We didn't want to think it," Michelle jumped in, "but it would appear that someone has gone to extraordinary lengths to impede our arrival at the nursing home."

"You're suggesting that Rosie was taken ... kidnapped, aren't you?" O'Day queried.

Before another word could be uttered the twitter of Michelle's cell phone interrupted the awkward moment. "Hello?" she said into the device. "What's that? Wonderful! Give me a moment to transmit the address." She turned her attention to a laptop computer and as her fingers danced across the keys she announced, "It would appear that we have a computer geek at the nursing home."

Leaning forward O'Day said, "What's this geek have to offer?"

Michelle looked back at him and said, "How about a video feed from the security cameras at the nursing home?" She returned her attention to the computer and added, "I'm requesting a time frame of a half hour on either side of the time that she Rosie was reported missing."

Brock O'Day whistled in exasperation, "I'm glad someone understands all these technological things. I have enough trouble trying to program my alarm clock!"

Moments later the computer screen came to life with the transmitted video. The three of us grew quiet and watched the recorded images from the security cameras located in the hallways and parking lot of the nursing home.

Three minutes into the video stream three figures appeared in the hallway leaving Rosie Gate's room. A man and a woman were walking abreast of Rosie, each holding onto her arms.

"Michelle," I said, "Can you freeze the frame and zoom in on them?"

She complied and although the image was grainy, the features of the three individuals became discernible. In unison we gasped as we gazed upon the all too familiar faces.

"Impossible!" O'Day yelped. "It isn't possible!"

Our faces ashen, Michelle and I shuddered as we stared at the haunting visages looking back at us. It was if we were looking two ways into our very souls.

There was no denying it, but Rosie had been taken from the nursing home by none other than Benjamin Bering and Susan Parsons.

( To be continued in Part 3 on Friday 2/12, with ...

"The Dying Daylights" )
№ 1905

Hyper Bowl Hyperbole

So Wednesday night I was watching a special on the all-time best Super Bowl ads ... when several times it was interrupted by ... commercials! Good grief!

I was thinking ... isn't this overkill? It seemed almost sacrilegious.

The Super Bowl is the most watched televised sporting event in the world. Isn't it interesting that the next day after the game, there is more talk about the advertisements that aired that the game itself?

There will be three ads featuring people in their underwear. We can only hope this won't set a precedent. The image (right) is from a commercial by CareerBuilder.com with a "casual Friday" at the office theme.

I predict that when the topic of SB XLIV ads comes up at the water cooler, that commercial will be among the first to be discussed. Then there will be the token overweight guy with the ponch overhanging his belt who will look at the shapely bosomed office siren and say, "We should do that in this office on Fridays."

The image of that guy ogling her and she being repulsed by the thought of him in his briefs is leaving an indelible image in my brain.

We would hope that on such an occasion, everyone would remember to wear clean drawers. I suppose there would still be those who show up with stains and tread marks.

This does give rise to the idea that Homeland Security should consider implementing a similar practice for passengers on incoming international flights to the U.S. Of course, it would have to be put into effect for all flights, not just those on Fridays.

In flight movies would no longer be needed. After all the passengers' need for entertainment would be found no farther than the passengers sitting near them. Then again calling it entertainment might be a stretch. There would be no guarantee that the ladies will be seated next to a well sculpted Adonis anymore that the men will be next to a beautiful woman.

This would pose serious problems for those terrorists with bombs hidden in their underwear.

Stewardess: Pardon me, sir. Is that a bomb you have in your underwear, or are you just glad to see me?"

Two elderly members of the Taliban meet in the desert one day.

"Abdul, how are you?" greets the first one.

"I am well," replies the second man.

They talk for a while about each other's wealth and wives until the subject of children comes up.

"How is your son? I haven't seen him around lately," says the first.

"He has passed on in glory. He blew up an enemy embassy," he answered pulling a photograph from his pocket.

The other looked at the picture, shook his head and lamented, "They sure blow up fast these days, don't they?"

№ 1904

Groundhog Day

Some days my mind is as blank as the monitor screen before the computer has been fired up. The image at the left, from Mike Baldwin's comic strip, Cornered , illustrates that.

Then sometimes salvation comes from the least likely of sources! With impeccable timing they've crawled out from under some rock to rear their heads filled with another hair-brained outcry!

PETA (People Eating Tasty Animals) ... oops! People for Ethical Treatment of Animals have forced themselves into the headlines again!

PUNXSUTAWNEY, Pa. — An animal-rights group wants organizers of Pennsylvania's Groundhog Day festival to replace Punxsutawney Phil with a robotic stand-in.

People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals says it's unfair to keep the animal in captivity and subject him to the huge crowds and bright lights that accompany tens of thousands of revelers each Feb. 2 in Punxsutawney, a tiny borough about 65 miles northeast of Pittsburgh. PETA is suggesting the use of an animatronic model.

But William Deeley, president of the Inner Circle of the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club, says the animal is "being treated better than the average child in Pennsylvania." The groundhog is kept in a climate-controlled environment and is inspected annually by the state Department of Agriculture.

Deeley says PETA isn't interested in Phil from Feb. 2 on and is looking for publicity.

Apparently Punxsutawney Phil himself feels the same way. The angry celebrated star of the traditional Groundhog Day festivites has even taken up arms and has threatened to defend his job to the death if necessary.

When learning that an animatronic gopher who starred in the movie Caddyshack had applied for his job, Phil claimed he was locked and loaded.

He was quoted as saying, "I'll blast that thing into a pile of nuts and bolts. Besides he's not even a groundhog. He's nothing but a f**kin' toy gopher!"

Meanwhile, Phil's wife, Phylis has announced that she's standing by her man. "It's his livelihood," she exclaimed to reporters. "Who are these people and what gives them the right? Not one of those PETA people talked to us. Not one of them asked how we felt about this?"

"I like my job," stated Phil, "and my record speaks for itself."

After checking historical records it was learned:

Of 112 predictions on record so far, Punxsutawney Phil has predicted an early spring 14 times (13%). As to his accuracy, according to the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club Inner Circle, he is 100% accurate.

When shown a report generated by the StormFax Weather Almanac, which claims that since 1887 Phil's predictions have been correct just 39% of the time, Phil was quick to dismiss its records. He claimed that PETA must have bribed them to falsify the report.

Phil then puffed out his chest and proclaimed, "Who knows what the weather will be?" He then revealed a poster that supplied the answer:

At least we can take comfort in the fact that another of PETA's misguided efforts will fail.

On the second day of February, whether a shadow is or is not visible, there will be a real groundhog making that observation.

Now that I have come up with a post for Tuesday, I sit with a blank mind staring at a blank screen wondering what I can post on Wednesday!

№ 1903

Breakfast at Tiffany's

Cletis Clyde here comin' atcha. Whilst Hale McKay is busy consecratin' on a-nudder one of his friction stories, I figgered I wud step in fer a spell. I reckon those of y'all who wastes yer time readin' this blog, knows who I be. Anyhow, I stop by from time to time to share wiffin' you folks some nekkid oats of the things what happens to me.

They's two things I knows a lot about. They is foods and womens. Yep, I knows my away 'round a table of food. They's been sayin' fer a long time that the way to a man's heart is thru his stomach. I guess that must be true, coz when I et some of the food cooked up by some of the gals in these here parts, I sure got some nasty heartburn.

My pappy once told me that when a gal cooked up some vittles, I should look at the food and then take a good look at her. His advice was to go fer the one what looked the best. It was mighty good advice too. It's like this, a lot the womens in the hills and hollers in the Appalachians ain't none too purty. You wudn't wanna be going ten toes down and ten toes up on an empty stomach wiffin them.

But they's always septshuns. They wuz this one gal what always looked better than the food she put on the table. Even though she wuz a purty thing, her cookin' gave roadkill a bad name! Her old hound dawg wudn't even eat what wuz leftover. I heared tell that the pigs out back of her paw's barn turned up their noses when slopped them leftovers. But that didn't stop me from callin' on her at breakfast time one day. Of course, I knowed fer a fact that her paw never got outta bed until after noon time.

Tiffany Biggins wuz jest 'bout the purtiest gal I ever knowed. And they ain't nobody I know that ever had a brick outhouse what wuz bilt better'n her. Yep, that's her pitcher yonder and I reckon you can tell that her last name was 'propriate enuff.

I'm sure that when you took a gander at her pitcher, you musta seen that she wuz a blonde! I always figgered that all them blonde jokes was bein' told by people what must have knowed her.

Bye and bye one day, to test my theery I came up wiffin' an idea to get me a peek at that Biggins gal's biggens. So I made a bet of five dollars wiff her that my titties wuz bigger'n hers. Well, she laffed and said I wuz stoopid coz boys don't have 'natomies like that of a girl. Shucks, she played right into my plan. So I said to her she wuz stallin' coz she wuz 'fraid a-losin' the bet.

I'm a-tellin' you, she wuz bound and 'termined to win that bet. She slapped down a five dollar bill on the table and lifted up the bottom of her tank top. Now whilst I wuz gettin' eyefuls of them, I swear my jaw bounced offin that table!

Real deliberate like I opened up my shirt. I said to her that she won the bet. I picked up the five dollar bill and handed it to her. I decided to high-tail it outta there a-fore she figgered out I tricked her and gave her back her own five dollars. She never let me forget the day she won that there bet!

As much as I knowed 'bout courtin' and spoonin' I thought the only way I wuz gonna get in her pants wuz fer me to steal them offin the clothes line and put 'em on and wear 'em myself. Well, the next time I went for breakfast at Tiffany's I had done come up with a nudder plan.

I wuz a sittin' at the table bidin' my time a-chewin' and a-chewin' on what wuz 'sposed to be bacon, but I 'spect it mighta been a piece of an old inner tube. Later on I realized it was in fact bacon, coz rubber ain't that hard to chaw upon.

Like I said a-fore, she wuz one of them gals what wuz better lookin' than the food she cooked. So I worked up the gumption to ask her a question what wuz on my mind. I asked her if she wuz a real blonde! Of course, I wuz a figgerin' I cud get her to prove it.

Tarnation, iffin she didn't cross me up and said I must be color blind. She said anyone could see that her hair was a yeller color. So I said I would rephrase the question. I decided to get all cycle-logical and told her I was wonderin' if her carpet wuz a match fer her curtains.

Danged iffin she didn't start laffin' and callin' me stoopid again. She asked why would she want a sheer rug or a braided curtain. She said it didn't make any sense a-tall.

Well, she left me with no recourse but to 'splain what I wuz a-gettin' at. I told her that real blondes has hair in both places that is yeller. I said the color of head hair should match the other hair down yonder, ceptin' I referred to down yonder wiffin a word more 'splicit.

A few days later I came a-callin' again at breakfast time. I wuz a feelin' good too, thinkin' she was gonna show me that she wuz a real blonde. Y'all ain't gonna believe what I saw when I came into her kitchen. Tarnation, iffin' that cat of hers what used to be black all over wuz bleached yeller all over!

Well after that day I gave up on courtin' Tiffany. I figgered any gal what wuz that dumb wuzn't worth gettin' indigestion or food poison over.

I did run into her a few years later. Gettin' as far as the ninth grade by the time she wuz twenty-three, she decided to use her schoolin' to go into bizness fer herself. She opened up a diner of all things. Wudn't y'all know it, there I wuz one mornin' stoppin' to have breakfast at Tiffany's again.

I asked her how her diner bizness wuz goin'. She said it wuzn't goin' none too good. She said she wuz changin' the menu all the time coz the customers didn't seem to like what she wuz a-servin' up. I wuzn't surprised, but to be friendly and all, I pertended to be and asked what she wuz puttin' on the menu.

She said she tried a lot of dif'rent things. One time she offered Bagels and Lox, but the first customer who tried to eat one broke two of his teeth when he bit into it. She said she lost money coz she had to throw away a heap of padlocks and combination locks. She said her Paw told her to sell poached eggs, but she refused to sell anything what wuz stolen from someone's hen house.

Then a cuzzin of hers who once visited England told her about somethin' called Bangers that they et over there. She said she figgered they must served flambay-like, so she lit 'em. She shook her head and said I wudn't believe what a firecracker goin' off in someone's mouth did to that one feller who ordered some of them bangers.

One lady complained about her soup special. She said they wuz more water than beans and there shud be more beans. Well, Tiffany counted 'one-two-three' right in front of the old gal and said she got what she ordered when she asked fer Three Bean Soup.

She said she thought 'bout addin' Pigs in a Blanket to the menu, but she didn't have a fryin' pan big enuff fer a whole pig and she figgered them quilted blankets might catch on fire.

She said that same cuzzin what had been to England also told her about a dessert what they like to eat over yonder. She said she ain't ever seen one and hoped she never did see one, but they was no way in hell she was gonna serve Spotted Dick.

When I asked her what her most pop'lar menu item wuz she said it wuz Fried Dough. I said that was a good thing to be on a menu. She shrugged her shoulders and said that even though it wuz her biggest seller at 49 cents, she wuz a losin' money on it.

I was curious and asked how wuz it that she wuz losin' money sellin' Fried Dough. She said she first noticed it when she run outta one dollar bills and had to start usin' fives. She saw me a-scratchin' my head. So she begin to 'splain how she wud dip a dollar bill in the batter, then drop it in a fryin' pan of grease and then serve it to a customer. She shook her head and said she cudn't figger out how at the end of the day when she counted the money in her register she always ended up wiffin less than when she opened up the diner.

I walked to the door and a'fore I left I said to her, "Tiffany, ater all this time a-knowin' you, I've come to the 'clusion fer sure that yer a REAL blonde!"

№ 1902

Butterfly Dreams

(A sequel to The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray.)

They had died when helping thwart a plan to undermine the government of the United States. Now Ben and Susan have returned from the dead and they must bring that government down. Standing in their way are Michael Black and Michelle Gray, the bodies of whom they now occupy.

Prologue
In a desperate attempt to save their lives, the minds of clinically dead Ben Bering and Susan Parsons had been transferred respectively into the bodies of Michael Black and Michelle Gray. That sacrifice would not come without a price.

The transformation should have heralded a long and happy life together for Ben and Susan. As they would soon discover however, life can sometimes get in the way.

Adapting to life in their new bodies had been an intense study in perseverance for the couple. In their minds, behind their eyes they were still very much Ben Bering and Susan Parsons. On the other hand, standing before a mirror those same eyes were greeted by reflections not of themselves but of those of Michael Black and Michelle Gray.

Accepting their composite existences had been one thing, but actually becoming the other persons had proven to be the most challenging part of their new leases on life. Fearful of losing their own true identities, they'd had to learn to emulate the personalities, mannerisms and idiosyncrasies of the former occupants of their bodies. Ben and Susan had to become Michael and Michelle, the inheritors of the vast empire of the deceased Bishop King.

Dealing with that duality had been necessary in order for them to maintain a public presence, but in private moments it had begun to drive a wedge between them. Although deeply in love, they had not been able to willingly allow themselves to be held in the arms of one whose physical appearance was that of a stranger. Hoping that time might dissolve their mutual rejections, in the end they had made a pact to stay under the same roof but to sleep in separate bedrooms.

Both Ben and Susan had come to the realization that if they were ever to become intimate with one another, they had to first become more comfortable and familiar with their own respective bodies. The fires of love and desire still burned within their souls and they were determined not to allow their emotions to become dying embers.

Susan stood naked before the full length mirror and studied her reflection. She had to admit that Michelle had bequeathed to her one fantastic body. She stepped closer to the mirror and twisted at the waist to better admire her breasts which were a full cup larger than those of her former body. The long raven black hair cascading onto her shoulders was in sharp contrast to the short sandy hair she'd always known. She retired to the bed and allowed her hands to seek out those newer areas most sensitive to touch.

In his own private moments Ben had also been posing before a mirror. Michael had been six inches taller to support a more youthful and muscular frame. Of course, Ben was fifteen years the other man's senior. Where Ben had once fretted over a receding hairline, Michael sported the full crop of thick hair through which Ben's fingers now frequently coursed. The transformation had also provided a significant boost to his libido, thanks to the obvious increase of endowment.

There had been numerous failed interludes during the initial twelve months following their "funeral services," but none of that sexual friction had resulted in consummation. Ostensibly their mutual rejections of each other had led to frustration and short tempered arguments. At one point their breakup had become imminent.

It had taken but one moment in which they had found themselves frozen in the mid-act of physical violence that cooler heads had finally prevailed. Susan, a meat cleaver poised above her head, and Ben, his fist clinched ready to strike; they stood staring at the last persons in the world they would ever want to harm.

Acquiescing that their stubborn refusals to sit down and talk had to cease, Ben and Susan embraced one another for several tearful moments. If they were truly in love and if they wanted to share their lives together, they knew that they had to share their fears as well as their love.

It was Susan who spoke first. "You have to believe me, I love you with all my heart. I never knew love could be so wonderful. When I look at you ... I don't see Ben. It's Michael standing before me. Yes, I know that it's Ben in there, but it's almost like I would be ... cheating on the man I love," she said as tears cascaded down her cheeks. "There are other times when I look at you ... I want that man standing there. It's like I'm fantasizing and desiring another man! I feel so guilty and ashamed."

Ben touched her arm with one hand while handing a tissue to her with the other. He cleared his throat and said, "I've never doubted that you love me. I assure you that I truly love you too. I cannot imagine the thought of not spending the rest of my life with you." He leaned closer and kissed her cheek. Touching his head against hers he continued, "I have to admit that I was going through the same thing you were. The male animal in me wanted you and Michelle, but it was tearing me apart that I was losing sight of which was which, and who I desired the most."

It finally happened one night that their hearts, minds and bodies came together as one. Physically, the union had been an intense soiree that had fulfilled their pent up carnal needs in ways they had never imagined. In matters of the heart, their love had been cemented in an unbreakable bond. No less important, their minds had come to grips with the enigmatic duality that had threatened to tear them apart.

The unlikely events of a year ago had resurrected four lives and had coalesced them into two composite entities. Ben and Michael had become one. Susan and Michelle had become one. It was only inevitable that Ben would propose and that Susan would accept, even though it would be Michael and Michelle who would walk down the aisle.


Wings in the Wind
I was awakened by her restless tossing and turning next to me, her cries of anguish ringing in my ears. I gently shook her shoulder and called her name. Her eyes wide and her body trembling she bolted upright.

"That same dream again, sweetheart?" I whispered.

She moved into my arms and laid her head upon my chest. She nodded and replied, "Yes. I'm standing naked in the street. Behind me is the same motel somewhere on Route 66. I'm cold and I'm confused. I don't know how I got there. There are those same blue fluorescent butterflies swarming all around me! Next there's the wind, and it scatters them off into the night. I'm standing there alone ... so alone!"

"I know you don't want to talk about it," I whispered in her ear, "but we can't ignore the fact that there are others out there with access to the technology."

She nodded, "I know. It's just that my head is messed up enough, what with Michelle's trace memories and my own that I've lost. I don't need to be worrying whether or not someone is trying to get into my head."

I touched my finger upon her lips and said, "I understand, but surely you can see the significance of the butterflies."

She sat upright and with her arms folded about them pulled her knees up against her bare breasts. "Of course I do! How could I not?" She twisted her head until she was looking over her shoulder at me and added, "This butterfly tattoo ... down there where the sun never shines ... I might not be able to see it, but I know it's there!"

"Yeah. I envy it, always so close to the nectar," I muttered with a lighthearted repartee.

"Oh, please!" she exclaimed looking up to the ceiling.

I placed my hand on her back and with a finger traced a path to the base of her spine. "I'm sorry, honey ..."

She bolted from the bed and glared at me. "How would you feel if they'd tattooed a butterfly on your ... your balls?" She grinned in mock satisfaction when without hesitation my hands covered that same exposed area of my anatomy.

"Your point is well taken," I replied in sheepish resignation.

It was at the moment that telephone on the nightstand interrupted our exchange with its rousing rendition of the William Tell Overture.

"You and your Lone Ranger ring tone!" she said as she picked up the receiver. She hit the speaker button and voiced, "Hello?"

" Michelle!" cried the woman on the other end. "It's Rosie! She's gone!"

"What? What do you mean ... she's gone!"

I scrambled out of the bed and launched myself into a frantic search for my clothes which had been thrown hither and yon in lieu of the heated interlude we'd enjoyed the previous night.

She hung up the phone, "That was Betty, the nurse on duty. She went in to check on my mother and the bed was empty. Her wheel chair was still there next to the bed."


( To be continued in Part 2 on Friday 2/5/10 with ...

"We Were There, But We Weren't" )
№ 1901

And the Survey Says ...

Here's a collection of actual faux pas answers given by contestants on the game show The Family Feud.



Something you remove before having sex

Banana Peeling

Name something that has edible skin

Banana

A part of the body beginning with the letter N

Knee

An occupation starting with "J"

Jackhammerer

A question you don't like to be asked

"Are those real?"

A measurement of liquid

Paint

An animal used as a form of transportation

Turtle

Something you'd feel bad if you broke it

Wind

An occupation where you need a flashlight

Burglar

Something that flies that doesn't have an engine

Dishes

Something that you buy and then have to take good care of it

An infant

An invention that has replaced stairs

Wheel

Something you often misplace in your car

Steering wheel

Something made of leather that a cowboy uses

Purse

One of Santa's reindeer

Nixon

Something you should do in moderation or you'll be sorry later

Sex

Something that falls from the trees

Bird shit

Something you have that you wish worked better

Spouse

I don't know about you, but I'm still trying to figure out the first one. Banana peeling?

№ 1900

Late Night With Statler & Waldorf

What if Statler & Waldorf were late night talk show hosts?

Statler: Did you hear about all that money they gave Conan O'Brien to walk away?
Waldorf: Hey, they had to shut him up somehow.
Statler: You mean to stop talking about his contract?
Waldorf: No, his monologues.

Statler: Well, they finally filled Ted Kennedy's Senate seat.
Waldorf: Yeah, with a lot room left over in that chair.
Statler: What's worse than a Senatorial session without Ted Kennedy actually being in it?
Waldorf: How about a session WITH him in it?
Statler: They called him the Liberal Lion.
Waldorf: Yep, his lyin' was liberal!

Waldorf: Did you see our guest acts rehearsing?
Statler: They aren’t half bad. *
Waldorf: Nope, they’re ALL bad!
Statler: What’s all the commotion backstage about?
Waldorf: That dancing dog ran away.
Statler: Well, you know what that makes him?*
BOTH: Smarter than us!

Statler: What's with the tomatoes?
Waldorf: They're for our first guest.
Statler: That bad, huh?
Waldorf: Yep. It's someone they didn't want on the Tonight Show?
Statler: Oh? Who is it?
Waldorf: Jay Leno!
Statler: Ho! Ho! We're gonna need some more tomatoes!

Waldorf: I hear Leno's gonna be off the air until after the Winter Olympics in Vancouver.
Statler: Is he going there to watch them?
Waldorf: No. They're gonna use his chin as a ski run.
Statler: Ho! Ho! Does that means he's a mogul?

Statler: How do think we'll do going up against that other late night host?
Waldorf: What host is that?
Statler: You know, the one who sounds like he works for the post office?
Waldorf: You mean Letterman?
Statler: Yeah, the one with the gap-toothed smile.
Waldorf: At least he has teeth!

Statler: The network gave us our own show - so why did they leave us up here in this balcony?
Waldorf: So they could hide the puppeteers.
Statler: What puppeteers?
Waldorf: The ones with their arms up our asses!
Statler: Oh! ...And all this time I thought I was gonna need a stronger physic!

Statler: Whoa! That was a moving experience!
Waldorf: You liked that act that much?
Statler: No, the puppeteer just opened and closed his fist!

Statler: You know, I think my puppeteer forgot to remove his watch.
Waldorf: Why do say that?
Statler: Coz I just had my best movement in a long time.
Waldorf: Well, he is out of practice.
Statler: Pardon the pun, but what's he been up to?
Waldorf: He was unemployed.
Statler: Another victim of the economy, eh? What did he do?
Waldorf: He was a proctologist.

Waldorf: Statler, wake up. It's time for the next act.
Statler: (YAWN!) What act is it?
Waldorf: It's the HOOTERS finalists for their national bikini contest.
Statler: Oh boy! Let's synchronize our pace makers! *
Waldorf: Hooters are owls. I find it disturbing they call a woman's breasts that.
Statler: Yeah. WHO's gonna look at 'em anyway?
BOTH: WE are!

Waldorf: Help! Help! Statler just fell out of the balcony!
Statler: (From below) I'm okay! One of the Hooters girls caught me!

Waldorf: I thought you were okay. You've got two black eyes!
Statler: (Back in the balcony) It only hurts when I blink.
Waldorf: What happened?
Statler: I thought I'd give that puppeteering thing a try.
Waldorf: You didn't! You tried to put your hand up her ...?
Statler: She didn't believe me when I said I wanted to be a proctologist.
Waldorf: (Staring at co-host in silence)
Statler: Ouch! (Rubs eyes) I blinked.

Statler: I really liked that last act. Didn't you?
Waldorf: What? What did you say?
Statler: Turn your hearing aid on!
Waldorf: Uh-oh. I think the battery is dead.
Statler: I said I liked that last act. The one with the street gang playing the steel drums.
Waldorf: What?
Statler: THE GANG'S STEEL DRUMS! *
Waldorf: I believe it. They'll take anything that's not bolted down.

Statler: I feel like singing a song for the audience.
Waldorf: Can you sing tenor?
Statler: Sure. Why do you ask?
Waldorf: Wait until I'm ten or eleven miles away before you start singing. *

Statler: Waldorf, look at this note the producer just handed me.
Waldorf: Who's it from?
Statler: It's from that Hooters girl!
Waldorf: Really? What's it say?
Statler: It's her phone number. She wants me to call her.
Waldorf: (Snatches note) You old fool! It's not addressed to you.
Statler: It's not?
Waldorf: No. It's for your puppeteer.
Statler: Ouch!
Waldorf: Did you blink again?
Statler: No. It's worse than that.
Waldorf: Your lumbago acting up?
Statler: It's worse than that too. Ouch!
Waldorf: Are you having chest pains? Should I call a doctor?
Statler: Heavens, no. It's much worse than that!
Waldorf: What is it? What's wrong with you?
Statler: I've got a very big pain in my ass!

* (Lines indicated with the red asterisk were actual gags aired on the Muppet Show.)

№ 1899

Thinking: A Terrible Waste of a Mind

Sometimes I find myself wasting my time ... thinking. I don't mean thinking in general, I mean wasting my mind thinking about something ... general!

Now if that made sense, I would click on that publish button and call this a post. Of course, if I did that, I'd be accused of not thinking ... period.

I'm referring to banality, wasting my mind and time thinking about things trivial. As I see it, there is trivia and then there is the trivial. I love trivia and all things nostalgic, especially when it comes to music, movies and TV shows of the 50's and the 60's.

Nostalgia is like a grammar lesson: you find the present tense, but the past perfect! - Source Obscure

I take pride in remembering that the Skipper's name on "Gilligan's Island" was Jonas Grunby and that the full name of Wrangler Jane on "F Troop" was Jane Angelica Thrift. I know that Buck was the name of horse ridden by both Ben Cartwright on "Bonanza" and Matt Dillon on "Gunsmoke." I could go on and on with such trivia, but to me it's entertainment and not trivial.

To me, the trivial matters that waste my mind and my time are nonsensical and cannot be answered with logic or fact. To wit:

Christopher Columbus
How was an Italian able to convince Queen Isabella of Spain to finance what was then a half-baked idea to sail west for a short cut to China in the east?

What did she get in return to seal the deal? Since the consensus back then was that the world was flat and that ships would fall over the edge, surely she would want at least a show of (ahem) faith. Perhaps she thought it was true what they say about Latin lovers?

See what I mean about trivial matters? It was a complete waste of mind thinking about it! ... And yet, the accompanying picture above got me to thinking if that might not have been the way that moment in history went down. After all, aren't many present day deals made in the same manner? Oh, the sacrifice old Chris might have made!

The world was made round so that we would never be able to see too far down the road. - Anonymous

Turning the Tables
I once wasted my mind and time wondering why nude artists never paint fully clothed models.

Would the artist become distracted trying to imagine what was beneath the model's clothing? Would it then be the model who would get distracted by wondering how the artist would look wearing clothes?

Would I find it more comfortable fully clothed in front of a naked artist, or bare-ass in front of a dressed artist?

Why is it that most nudists are people you don't want to see naked?

Semantics?
Here's something that I've wasted mind and time thinking about:

I've seen a lot of those commercials on TV by auto dealerships that set my mind to wasteful thinking. It may be a matter of semantics but it's trivial nonetheless.

How come I cannot buy a used car anymore? It seems that dealerships are only selling previously owned vehicles nowadays. Now if that isn't perplexing enough, they are advertising that their automobiles and trucks are certified!

I need certification that someone else once owned the car? That one has a sign that says 'low mileage.' Let's see, the odometer reads '89,000 miles.' Unless they've been driving the thing around on the lot, I'd take a wild guess that it's not a brand new set of wheels.

Wait! I see what they are up to! They are rolling the odometer forward in order to pass it off as used previously owned. Hey, they'll have to get up awfully late in the day to fool me!

Using their logic, would a woman married for the second time be considered used or previously married? Would a man under the same circumstances be deemed used or previously henpecked? Under those scenarios, would they be certified?

Closing Wasted Thoughts
Ever notice that people who spend money on beer, cigarettes, and lottery tickets are always complaining about being broke and not feeling well?

The next time you feel like complaining remember: Your garbage disposal probably eats better than thirty percent of the people in this world.

How come we choose from just two people for president and 50 for Miss America?

№ 1898