Saturday, January 31, 2009

The Name's the Same

Smile, You're On Candid Cam

Betty felt wonderful, still wearing an afterglow from the previous night. She had finally given in to her boyfriend Johnny and had gone to bed with him. He swore he'd never tell anyone.

She decided to visit his Web Page and leave an intimate note for him. She was horrified to find that Johnny had secretly video-taped their love making session and had posted it on the web.

It's All In the Name

I can come up with ideas for some of my posts from any number of sources. One source that I tap into sometimes is MAD® Magazine. (Hmmm, maybe that's why some people think I'm twisted.)

A feature in the January 2009 issue caught my attention yesterday as I pored over it. The article: "It's A Good Brand Name ...And A Bad Brand Name".

The premise of the feature was to take a familiar brand name (labeled as a good name) and to show that it would be a bad name for another company in a different line of business. Simple enough, right?

Below, I'll post some of their 'Good Name/Bad Names' with the good name in the left column and the bad name in the right hand column:

Good Name

Bad Name

for insect trapping device

for an actual motel chain

for cough drops, menthol rub

for dog care products

for womens' antiperspirant

erectile dysfunction treatment

for online employment service

for online dating service

for car rental business

for an escort service

for a supermarket chain

for a strip club

for frozen vegetables

for a suppository

for spinach

for contact lenses

for electronic gadgets

for a denture adhesive

for soup

for bottled water

for a toilet cleaner

for prune juice

I decided to try my hand at a few GOOD names / BAD names

for cigarettes

for pregnancy test kits

for a XXX porno movie

for tongue depressors

for baked beans

for a U.S. President

for trash collection

for disposable diapers

for a boxing movie

for a stool softener

for a ticket resale agency

for a prosthesis manufacturer

Can YOU think of any GOOD and BAD names?


Friday, January 30, 2009

The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray (19)

Part 19 of 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. (Part 1 can be found HERE.)

I'm Having a Bad O'Day

What was Brock O'Day doing there? How did he know where to find me? Did he have a warrant for my arrest?

I looked at Susan, still naked and still on her knees where she had been when Michelle had walked in on us. I shook my head and thought, "Talk about getting caught with my pants down." I was hopping about and cursing as I struggled to get into my slacks.

"Ben, don't go. Don't leave me like this," she pleaded looking up at me through her teary puppy-dog eyes. The poor thing was very frustrated and I didn't blame her. I was of the same mindset.

"I have to, Susan. I have to see what he wants," I stated. I stooped down by her and trying to calm her I added, "I'll try to get rid of him." She threw an arm around my neck and pressed her lips against mine. It was with reluctance that I stood up and announced, "If you think for one minute that I'd rather talk to O'Day than to let you make that ... acquaintance, you Susan, are crazy!"

I closed the door behind me to Susan's parting shot, "Don't make me start without you!"

Michelle was pacing back and forth in front of the small bar. Her anguish was obvious as she drained the contents of a drink. She saw me approaching and implored of me, "How could I turn him away, Ben?" She placed the glass on the bar and motioned toward the door, "He's outside the door now."

She pressed the button beneath the counter of the bar that activated the door release and the hulking figure of Brock O'Day entered the apartment. He was out of uniform, wearing Jeans and a heavy leather jacket. He gave "Michael" a cursory nod and offered his hand to me, "Thanks for seeing me, Ben." When I didn't offer my own hand he lowered his arm and said, "Relax Ben, I'm not here to arrest you. I'm off duty."

I lowered my eyebrows and responded in a terse but wary manner, "I'm sure you're not here to talk about the good old days, Break."

He winced at my use of the less than flattering nickname I'd christened him years ago. "Ben," he said with a sigh of sarcasm, "Ben, I know you don't like me. I don't especially like you either. Now that we have reaffirmed our mutual respect for each other, I need to talk to you."

I nodded and asserted, "This talk, it would be unofficial and off the record?"

"Yes, Ben. Off the record," he responded. "Mr. Black, thank you for allowing me to come here," he said to the nervous man who had moved to the other side of the bar. "I wanted to talk to you, also." Seeing his nervous state he added, "Off the record."

"It's a little awkward just standing here eyeballing one another," I said. "Why don't we sit down at the table?" I glanced at Michael and suggested, "Perhaps the officer would like a cup of coffee, or maybe something a little stronger?"

O'Day shrugged, "Sure. I could go for a cup of coffee." He glared at me and said, "...And none of those cops and doughnut shop jokes, thank you."

I spread my hands and said, "No problem. You know I have nothing but the highest respect for Boston's finest."

"Let's cut to the chase, Ben. Our differences aside, I know you well enough to know you are not capable of ... murder. " He grew silent and looked around the apartment as if measuring what to say next. Never known as one to show open compassion, I could detect it in his demeanor when he finally spoke again, "I want the sons-a-bitches who killed Jimmy Coleman. You know how much Jimmy meant to me."

"Yes," I answered sharing his pain for the loss of our mutual friend. "He was a good man ... a man who never bothered anyone." I reached into my pants pocket and held up a set of keys, "I didn't want anyone going into his apartment or messing with his equipment ..." I cleared my throat, "...except for me and you."

"Good man. I was hoping it was you who took the keys," he said. He began rocking back forth in the chair suggesting discomfort in what he was about to say next. "Look, with the entire force looking for you, it's not wise that you and I should be seen in the company of the other." He flashed a grin before continuing, "How's this for irony, I'm thinking we should consider an alliance of sorts."

"I scratch your back and you scratch mine?" I asked and answered at the same time.

"I was thinking that if you need to see me ... or if I need to see you, what better place for some private exchange of information could we find than Jimmy's place?"

"...And who gets to sweet talk Rosie into acting as our go-between?"

He laughed heartily, "I've already got her on the clock! It's good to see we're on the same page."

"Besides, affirming our mutual desire to avenge Jimmy, I'm sure that's not the only reason you risked being seen coming here. If not to arrest me, then you must be ready for us to start imparting information?"

I wasn't certain if he was holding back anything, but I found myself compelled to agree with him. Working both sides of the fence we each had our own unique connections, as well as our own ways of skirting that fence. The police and the Press are not always, if ever, willing to work together, and I could detect a bit of hesitation on his part.

"The way I see it, those reports are trumped up charges," he paused to study my face. Detecting no physical reaction to his statement he leaned forward on his elbows, "Why are you being set up, Ben? Whose feathers did you ruffle anyway?"

"I'm forced to thank you for giving me the benefit of a doubt, Brock. I know you well enough to know that you exercise your job with due diligence." He turned his head and scratched at the top of his head. Brock O'Day was not one who relished platitudes about his work ethics. "Having said that, I trust you have realized or at least have suspected that there are higher forces in play."

He confirmed my trust by nodding and snorted, "Yeah, this whole thing reeks of the Feds. The chief, even the Mayor for Christ sake, have been bypassing standard operating procedures." He seemed mesmerized by the swirl of cream set in motion by his spoon as he lifted it from the cup. He held the spoon in his hand, its business end pointed in my direction and continued, "When the D.A. holds a press conference and throws out information and evidence that we street-pounders haven't yet uncovered, I have to ask myself, "Who's the birdie?"

"Birdie?" Michael asked.

O'Day eyed Michael for a moment, "It's what some of the detectives call an informant. You know, like a little birdie told me. Some of them sing in exchange for a break, and others, well they seem to have ulterior motives." He took a sip of the coffee, his eyes still trained on Michael across the rim of the cup.

I piped up, "Brock, it's obvious that you've had a high profile birdie, namely a general, who went to an awful lot of trouble to finger our Mr. Black here. Then you got that call to drop the charges and to let him go. If you ask me, that sure smells of an ulterior motive."

"That's the way I figured it. As for the ulterior motive," O'Day responded, "my guess would be that a message was being sent." He glanced at his watch and peered at me for a few moments and said, "I think that message was for anyone recognizing it for what it is - a warning."

"Brock," I said with a solemn undertone, "I assume that you are the only one on the force not out to make a name for themselves by arresting me and the girl." Though I had expected a nod of affirmation, I was nonetheless dismayed. "Of course," I continued, "you do have your own ulterior motive, don't you?"

"Right again, Sherlock," he replied. "In five years I'm up for retirement and a nice cushy pension. I don't want my record sullied. I don't like what's going down on my watch. I don't like it one bit, but my hands are tied. You on the other hand, are free to snoop around."

"Free to snoop around am I? In case you've forgotten, Sergeant, I happen to be a wanted man," I snapped at him.

"Don't you find it odd," he offered, "that the Feds haven't bagged you yet? If I was able to find you so easily, surely they could have. That smacks of an ulterior motive, don't you think? I'm thinking they want you free to move about. They want something or are looking for something or someone. Could it be that they are hoping you lead them to it?"

Brock's supposition was probably true. That thought had already occurred to me. "Could be," I answered. "That leaves me another question, just how long of a leash are they giving me?"

He steepled his fingers in front of his chin and answered, "I don't know. I do know that having the entire Boston police force after you is a handicap, but I respect your nose for the news, as they say in your profession. I feel that your skill and experience as an investigative reporter is an ace up my sleeve."

"Of course, you would disavow any knowledge of my actions. We wouldn't want you to be charged with aiding and abetting a fugitive, now would we?"

He didn't respond verbally but his smug smile confirmed my remark. He glanced again at his watch and reached into his jacket pocket. He produced a folded piece of ledger paper and handed it to me. "This is a list of addresses we have been instructed to avoid in our investigations. The Feds have them under surveillance and they want no interference from us that might hinder their own investigations. They were even kind enough to indicate how many men and what kinds of equipment they would be using at each site."

I let go a low whistle, "Nice. If I happen to be seen or caught at any of these venues, it would be naturally attributed to my investigate skills, eh?"

"Of course," he retorted and then shrugged his shoulders, "How else could you have possibly known about any one of those places?" He stood up and straightened his jacket and said, "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to be late for supper. My wife doesn't like it when I'm late."

"No she doesn't," I stated in a knowing manner. "Don't forget to hang up your jacket either."

One hand on the door handle he raised the other with an extended middle finger, thus bidding me adieu. Michelle pressed the button to release the lock. I shook my head as he disappeared in the hall as the door was closing. "There goes one of Boston's finest," I uttered in welcome relief of his departure.

Michelle who had been quiet during most of my exchange with O'Day finally spoke, "That went rather well, didn't it?" She noticed the big shit-eating grin on my face and noted, "I take it that the two of you don't share the same sentiments of your ex-wife, Ben."

"Quite the contrary, Michelle. It's just taking him longer to realize it. There's just no pleasing that woman."

"Ben," she said tapping me on the shoulder, "What about you? "Shouldn't you be thinking about pleasing a woman?"

"Oh shit!" I exclaimed in alarm. "Susan!"

(To be continued in part 20, Monday 2/2, with How Do You Spell Relief?)


Thursday, January 29, 2009

A Feel Good Story


In a supermarket, Kurtis the stock boy, was busily working when a new voice came over the loud speaker asking for a carry out at register 4. Kurtis was almost finished, and wanted to get some fresh air, and decided to answer the call. As he approached the check-out stand a distant smile caught his eye, the new check-out girl was beautiful. She was an older woman (maybe 26, and he was only 22) and he fell in love.

Later that day, after his shift was over, he waited by the punch clock to find out her name. She came into the break room, smiled softly at him, took her card and punched out, then left. He looked at her card, BRENDA. He walked out only to see her start walking up the road. Next day, he waited outside as she left the supermarket, and offered her a ride home. He looked harmless enough, and she accepted. When he dropped her off, he asked if maybe he could see her again, outside of work. She simply said it wasn't possible.

He pressed and she explained she had two children and she couldn't afford a baby-sitter, so he offered to pay for the baby-sitter. Reluctantly she accepted his offer for a date for the following Saturday. That Saturday night he arrived at her door only to have her tell him that she was unable to go with him. The baby-sitter had called and canceled. To which Kurtis simply said, "Well, let's take the kids with us."

She tried to explain that taking the children was not an option, but again not taking no for an answer, he pressed. Finally Brenda, brought him inside to meet her children. She had an older daughter who was just as cute as a bug, Kurtis thought, then Brenda brought out her son, in a wheelchair. He was born a paraplegic with Down Syndrome.

Kurtis asked Brenda, "I still don't understand why the kids can't come with us?" Brenda was amazed. Most men would run away from a woman with two kids, especially if one had disabilities - just like her first husband and father of her children had done. Kurtis was not ordinary - - - he had a different mindset.

That evening Kurtis and Brenda loaded up the kids, went to dinner and the movies. When her son needed anything Kurtis would take care of him. When he needed to use the restroom, he picked him up out of his wheelchair, took him and brought him back. The kids loved Kurtis. At the end of the evening, Brenda knew this was the man she was going to marry and spend t he rest of her life with.

A year later, they were married and Kurtis adopted both of her children. Since then they have added two more kids.

So what happened to Kurtis the stock boy and Brenda the check-out girl? Well, Mr. & Mrs. Kurt Warner now live inArizona , where he is currently employed as the quarterback of the National Football League Arizona Cardinals and has his Cardinals in the hunt for a possible championship in this year's Super Bowl this coming Sunday vs the Pittsburgh Steelers.

It should be noted that he also quarterbacked the Rams in two Super Bowls. He has also been the NLF's Most Valuable Player twice and the Super Bowl's Most Valuable Player.

I received this in an e-mail and in light of this weekend's Super Bowl, I thought I'd post it for those unfamiliar with their story. The story was originally published and circulated during the St. Louis Rams run as the "Greatest Show on Turf."

Although the Steelers are favored, I will be rooting for the underdog Cardinals.


Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Mathematical Assault

There was a time when the Slide Rule ruled supreme. It's heyday was long before the Personal Computer. It even preceded the pocket calculator. Today, it is an all but forgotten relic of the 50s and 60s.

The nerds of that era not only sported pocket protectors, but few were those who would be caught without a slide rule holster hanging from their belts.

Not being particularly proficient in mathematics, I struggled with square roots, I never really learned how to use a slide rule. In high school I took only the math classes required in order to graduate, thus avoiding Algebra, Geometry, Physics and (gasp) Calculus.

Students today are not only allowed to have calculators in the classroom (we were not) they are indeed required. Scarce among today's students are those who even know what a slide rule is, much less know how to use one.

A while back I found the following composition while surfing humor sites. I copied it and filed it away for future use, although I doubted at the time that I'd ever use it.

I'll go out on a limb and say that the author (no credit was given) of this piece probably would know how to use a slide rule, and is more than likely quite proficient at it.

I thought I was going to need an unabridged dictionary at hand when I started reading it, but quickly realized it was unnecessary. The author's clever use of mathematical and scientific verbiage in the place where more "colorful" words would be expected, lends itself to an easy read. Even if you don't know a cosine from a tangent, you should it find enjoyable and simple enough to extrapolate.

Polygon of Womanly Virtue

Wherein it is related how that Polygon of Womanly Virtue, young Polly Nomial (our heroine) is accosted by that Notorious Villian Curly PI, and factored (oh horrors!).

Once upon a time (1/T) Pretty Polly Nomial was strolling across a field of vectors when she came to the boundary of a singularly large matrix. Now Polly was convergent and her mother had made it an absolute condition that she never enter such an array without her brackets on.

Polly, however, who had changed her variables that morning and was feeling particularly badly behaved, ignored this condition on the basis that it was insufficient, and made her way amongst the complex elements. Rows and columns closed in from all sides. Tangents approached her surface. She became tensor and tensor. Quite suddenly, two branches of a hyperbola touched her at a single point. She oscillated violently, lost all sense of directrix, and went completely divergent. As she reached a turning point, she tripped over a square root that was protruding from the erf and plunged headlong down a steep gradient. When she rounded off once more, she found herself inverted, apparently alone, in a non-euclidean space.

She was being watched, however. That smooth operator, Curly Pi, was lurking innerproduct. As his eyes devoured her curvilinear coordinates, a singular expression crossed his face. He wondered, was she still convergent? He decided to integrate improperly at once.

Hearing a common fraction behind her, Polly rotated and saw Curly Pi approaching with his power series extrapolated. She could see at once by his degenerate conic and dissipative terms that he was bent on no good.

"Arcsinh!" she gasped..

"Ho, Ho," he said. "What a symmetric little asymptote you have. I can see your angles have lots of secs."

"Oh, Sir," she protested, "keep away from me. I haven't got my brackets on."

"Calm yourself, my dear," said our suave operator. "Your fears are purely imaginary."

"i, i," she thought. "Perhaps he's not normal, but homologous."

"What order are you?" the brute demanded.

"Seventeen," replied Polly.

Curly leered, "I suppose you've never been operated on."

"Of course not," Polly replied quite properly, "I'm absolutely convergent!"

"Come, come," said Curly. "Let's off to a decimal place I know and I'll take you to the limit."

"Never!" gasped Polly.

"Abscissa!!!" he swore, using the vilest oath he knew. His patience was gone. Coshing her over the coefficient with a natural log until she was powerless, Curly removed her discontinuities. He stared at her significant places, and began smoothing out her points of inflection. Poor Polly. The algoritmic method was now her only hope. She felt his hand tending toward her asymptotic limit. Her convergence would soon be gone forever.

There was no mercy, for Curly was a heavyside operator. Curly's radius squared itself; Polly's locii quivered. He integrated her by parts. He integrated her by fractions. After he cofactored, he performed Runge-Cutta on her. The complex beast even went all the way around and did a contour integration. Curly went on operating until he had satisfied her hypothesis. Then, he exponentiated and became completely orthogonal.

When Polly got home that night, her mother noticed that she was no longer piecewise continuous, but had been truncated in several places. But, it was too late to differentiate now. As the months went by, Polly's denominator increased monotonically. Finally, she went to L'Hopital and generated a small but pathological function which left surds all over the place and drove Polly to deviation.

The moral of the sad story is this:

"If you want to keep your expressions convergent, never allow them a single degree of freedom."


Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Laughter: the Best Medicine

Statistics Don't Lie

There are 700,000 doctors in the U.S.
Doctors cause 120,000 accidental deaths each year.
That works out to 0.171 deaths per physician (U.S. Department of Health & Human Services.)
There are 80,000,000 gun owners in the U.S.
There are 1,500 accidental gun deaths per year.
That works out to 0.0000188 accidental deaths per gun owner.
Statistically doctors are approximately 9,000 times more dangerous than gun owners.

You Must Be a Dentist

A guy and a girl met at a bar. They started getting along really well they decide to go to the girl's place for a drink.

A few drinks later, the guy took off his shirt and washed his hands. He then took off his socks and washed his hands. The girl was observing this and says, "You must be a dentist!"

Flabbergasted, the guy responded "Yes. That's amazing how did you figure that out ?"

The girl said, "Easy .... you keep washing your hands."

One thing led to another, they migrated to the bed and things became more passionate. After they were done, the girl said, "You must be a GREAT dentist!"

The dentist said, "Yes, I sure am a great dentist. How did you figure that out?"

The girl said, "Easy, I didn't feel a thing."

American Technology

A group of doctors were at a convention in Switzerland.The topic of discussion was the new medical technology from their countries.

"In my country," a German doctor said, "medicine is so advanced, we can perform heart surgery on a person on Monday, and have him back to work in 2 weeks."

"That's nothing," a Japanese doctor said. "We can perform an appendectomy on a person on Tuesday, and have him back in work by Saturday."

"That's nothing!" said an American doctor. "We can take an asshole from Texas, put him in the White House and half the country is out of work the next day!"

Nurse Nancy

Two doctors in practice in a small country clinic had to hire a new nurse when the one they had won the lottery and quit.

They interviewed Nurse Nancy and decided to hire her. She had only worked two days when one doctor called the other to his office and said that they would have to let Nurse Nancy go.

"Why, we just hired her?"

"Well, I think she is dyslexic and gets thing backward. I told her to give Mr. Smith two shots of morphine every 24 four hours, but she gave him 24 shots in two hours and it almost killed him. I told her to give Mrs. Jones an enema every twelve hours and she gave her twelve in one hour."

The doctor had barely finished his reasons when the other doctor rushed out of the room.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" the doctor asked.

"To find Nancy, I just instructed her to prick Mr. Hill`s Boil!"


Monday, January 26, 2009

The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray (18)

Part 18 of 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. (Part 1 can be found HERE.)

We Interrupt This Sex ...

I stared hungrily at her body as she moved in wanton abandon upon the bed. I knew she wanted me and heaven knows I wanted her. Her arms were outstretched, reaching out to receive me. I could feel the surge of blood within my loins.

I placed my hands on her knees and felt her body tense at my touch. I gently pushed on her legs and then turned her over onto her stomach. Anticipating my next move she elevated her derriere and cooed, "Yes ... Ben, I so need you."

I leaned forward and placed my lips upon an upturned cheek and then pulled away making a loud smacking sound. By stubborn will power alone I turned away and moved over to the dresser. I watched her through the mirror, her reflection mimicking the surprised look upon her face as she rolled onto her side.

Puzzled, she was looking at me, fully dressed. She asked, "Why did you do that?"

I took in a deep exasperated gulp of air, exhaled and replied, "Susan, I fear that you are soon going to tell me to 'kiss your ass.' When you do, I'll be able to say 'I already have.' You know ... been there, done that."

"I don't understand. Why would I tell you to kiss my ass?"

"Susan, I have a story very similar to yours. I met a girl one night. Her hair was darker and little longer. We danced and had a great time. Then we had sex - great sex - the best sex I've ever had! I never called her. I never saw her again."

She shrugged her shoulders, "Okay. We both met a great person. We both got lucky. Boy and girl meet each other ... Boy and girl screw each other ... Boy and girl lose each other. It happens all the time."

I sighed and asked, "What about the part where boy and girl find each other again?"

She was starting to become agitated and that tone was in her voice, "Sure, it's possible, but if you ask me, that's the stuff that happens in fairy tales."

I laughed and said, "Once upon a time ... eight years ago ... a beautiful Princess named Imogene met a handsome Prince named Ball ..."

"No way!" she shrieked. "That was you?" She sprung from the bed and stood before me. She was studying my face and rubbed her fingers across my upper lip and chin and said, "You had a moustache and a beard ..."

I grinned and replied, "Yeah, a Van Dyke. My hair was fuller then and a truckload of beer has added a little more ... circumference to my girth since that night." I placed my hands on her bare shoulders and moved her back until she was arms length distant. I moved my eyes from her head to her toes and back again and noted, "Your hair was longer and it was dark brown."

She giggled, "You men are all the same. You made it a point that night, that the carpet didn't match the drapes." She ran her hands down her bare abdomen until they were framing the sandy tinted patch of carpet. "How about now?"

I traced a path with my fingers down her rib cage, "I can't believe it, after all these years ..."

Abruptly she pushed my hands away and returned to the bed. The glow that had dominated her face only a few moments before was gone, replaced with a sullen frown. She brought her knees up to her chest and crossed her arms about them. "Tell me, Ben, or is it Ball? Why didn't you ever call me?" She shook her head as I tried to speak. "Let me guess, you got what you wanted ... and then you left ... without even a goodbye." She was staring at her knees, "I thought you were different, not like the others."

"I was ... I'm not," I stammered. "Look, I was going through a divorce at the time. We were going to court the following week. I couldn't risk anyone, my wife or her lawyer, finding your telephone number or your address ... I threw the piece of paper away." I turned my back to her, hoping to find it easier to talk to her reflection. "I did go looking for you ... the next night ... and the next. I climbed into the dumpster in an alley where I'd tossed your number trying to find it. I even placed an ad in the personals!"

She shifted her legs until her feet were touching the floor, "You did all that? Really?"

I winced and looked into her eyes in the mirror, "Well, I ... uh ... lied about the dumpster." I turned to face her and grinned, "The part about the ad ... that's true." I reached into my wallet and fumbled through the card pockets. I raised my hand and waved a bit of paper pinched between my thumb and index finger. "Here it is. I cut it out of the paper the first day it appeared. Would you like to see it?"

"No ... Yes! Yes, I would," she conveyed extending her hand. I stood still by the dresser which forced her to come for it. I raised my arm high just beyond her reach. "Gimme," she begged. When her breasts touched my shirt I pulled her tight into my arms. She struggled for only a moment as I pressed my lips against hers. The kiss was long and our tongues wrestled, one trying to pin the other.

"Damn," I whispered, "I'd almost forgotten how great of a kisser you were ... and you still are." I raised my hand and touched the piece of paper against the tip of her nose.

She shook her head, "I don't need to read it." She kissed the fingers holding the the folded paper, "Besides, only a sincere man would admit to going through all that trouble to find a girl. I guess you're not at all like the others."

I cupped her buttocks and pulled her tight against me, "Don't be so sure about that. Right now I've got only one thing on my mind." I released my hold on her and before I backed away I pressed the paper into her hand. "Would you mind terribly," I said to her, "if I got out of these clothes and slipped into something more comfortable - like my birthday suit?"

She jumped onto the bed and made that tiger-like growl again, "Mind if I watch?"

I sighed as I began unbuttoning my shirt and asked, "Say, what was with that Imogene name you were using that night anyway? Me, I used my middle name."

She grimaced and replied, "Awful, isn't it? I hardly ever use it. My full name is Imogene Susanne Powers. I don't like Susanne either! I prefer Susan." She glared at me for a moment as I stood there only halfway undressed. She pointed at me and commanded, "Get out of those pants!"

I quickly worked the belt buckle and the waist snap of my pants and gave my own order, "Susan, or would you prefer I call you Imogene?" She was glaring again and I lowered my voice, "Susan, read the ad!"

"Oh, okay. If you insist." She unfolded the piece of newsprint and held up to her face. She scanned it slowly and a smile raised the corners of her mouth. She glanced at me and then began to read it aloud.
"Imogene, this fool lost your number. This fool is desperate. This fool wants to see you again. This fool will remain a fool until he finds you. A fool, Ball."
She lowered the ad and said, "Aw, that's sweet. You really did want to see me again." She giggled and said, "Ben, did you really think the average girl would answer an ad like that?" She watched me blush and look away and then declared, "I'm not an average girl and had I seen the ad ... I would have answered it."

I tossed my trousers on the floor and approached her clad in only my undershorts. "Are going to hit the shower to freshen up?" I asked half in jest.

"Uh-uh," shaking her head. "No way! Every time I take a shower and come out, you are either gone or turning me away. Not this time. If I go into the shower, you're coming with me!"

I thought for a moment of that prospect and replied, "That's doable!"

She slid from the bed onto her knees in front of me. "First things first," she announced looking up at me. She was looking straight ahead when she maneuvered her fingers into the waistband of my shorts. "First, there's an acquaintance I wish to make."

I took a deep breath and turned my eyes to the ceiling as her lips brushed against the hairs below my navel, all the while I could feel the shorts slipping down my hips.

"Oh my," she said. "What a big bulge you have."

I went along with her playful remark and said, "The better to..."

Michelle's voice bellowed from beyond the door, "Benjamin!" She was then banging upon the door. "Ben! There's someone here. He wants to see you!"

"NO!" Susan screeched. She wrapped her arms around my legs, determined not to let go.

The door burst open and Michelle froze in step. "Oh dear. I'm so sorry to interrupt!" She turned away from our obvious intimate postures.

I slipped away from Susan's arms and roared in frustration, "Who in the hell is it?"

She backed away pulling the door closed and answered, "It's a cop. He said he was Sergeant O'Day."

(To be continued in part 19, Friday 1/30, with I'm Having A Bad O'Day.)

Sunday, January 25, 2009

The Good Old Days

(I received the following in an e-mail from my brother-in-law. It's interesting to see how values have changed in about only 70 years.) - Thanks, Don.
From the comments, it appears most everyone could NOT see the images. I did a screen shot for the post. If you cannot see the images, scroll down and I have posted them as individual pic images.

Oh, the good old days...

Here are some ads from the 1930's



Okay everyone, let's all go on the tapeworm diet!

Have A Great Day

The above images may not appear on certain browsers, maybe Internet Explorer for example. If you cannot see the above images, I have posted them below as individual pic images. Click on the images to enlarge.


Saturday, January 24, 2009

News You Might Have Missed

US AirWays Flight 1549

Cause of crash in Hudson River Revealed

Afghanistan Terrorists Flee Giant Eagle

U.S. Soldiers Paint Job on an Mi-24 Helicopter

Wal-Mart Smiley Fired

For Inappropriate Contact With Female Customer

(Look Closely at Woman's Backside.)

Government Plan

To Save the Financial Institutions

Electronic Crime Hits the Streets


Friday, January 23, 2009

The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray (17)

Part 17 of 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. (Part 1 can be found HERE.)

A Dark Reunion

"If you don't mind, Ben, I'll sit with her for a while," Susan said to me.

"Sure. That's a good idea," I said. "I need to make a couple of calls anyway."

She rose from the sofa still wearing only a towel and I watched the sway of her body beneath the terry cloth as moved across the room. I let out a low wolf whistle.

She looked back for a moment, winked and closed the door to Michelle's bedroom behind her.

I was concerned about Michelle's remarks that we needed to view the other discs, but more so that she'd insisted on Susan seeing them too. Why then, after viewing them would she ask us to reserve judgment until she had a chance to explain?

Lifting the book in my hand to eye level, I read aloud the title, "I Am, Therefore I'm Not." I grinned and chuckled to myself. The "book" was a reminder of the novel that I had never written. With my thumb I triggered a hidden spring-loaded panel on the leather covered spine. It sprang open to reveal a hollow compartment in which there rested three discs, the other discs to which Michelle had been referring.

For a moment I considered viewing the discs without Susan's presence. Having done so, would I then have to decide whether or not I wanted her to see what was upon them? Then again, who was I to make that decision to go against Michelle's instructions?

I snapped the cover shut and set the book down onto an end table next to the sofa. Producing the cell phone I'd purchased earlier, I sat down and punched in 4-1-1. I listened to the prerecorded message, "What city or town?", and requested, "Greater Boston." The message responded, "What listing?". I glanced at a note I'd scribbled on a pad of paper and said, "Allied Office Cleaners, Inc."

A live operator came on the line and said, "Sir, I do show a listing for Allied Office Cleaners, Inc., but it is an unpublished number for a Government agency. I can give you the address if you'd like." I replied that I would and wrote it down as she stated, "That address is 44 Portland Street, Boston." I thanked her and ended the call.

I had expected it be a government listing, and I wasn't surprised that the number would be unpublished. Portland Street was over by North Station in an area featuring several old ware houses. No doubt number 44 was unoccupied two or three months ago. I was sure that the fact that it was within three blocks of the Mass General Hospital was no accident. If it had been seen at all, no one would have thought it unusual for an ambulance to be in that area in the evening after business hours.

I might have solved one problem, but there was still all of those seemingly unrelated and yet coincidental events that troubled me. Of course, there were those damned butterfly tattoos. I had passed it off as a coincidence then, but was there significance to the fact that Susan had been humming the melody to "He Ain't Heavy" not long after I had been thinking of the words to that very song? There was something else eating at my thoughts about that song, but I couldn't grasp what it might be.

I stuffed the phone and note pad in my shirt pocket and glanced at my book on the table next to me. I figured it was as good a time as any for us to see what Michelle felt was so important on those discs. I got up and walked over to the bedroom to fetch Susan.

When I opened the door I froze in shock. Susan, sans the towel, was astraddle Michelle's lower torso. She looked up to see me standing in the doorway and gasped, "Ben? Oh dear," she uttered. "It's not what it looks ..."

"There's no need to explain," I declared. "You're both consenting adults." I turned away and closed the door. I didn't know if I should have been insulted, angry or jealous. The scene was not something I'd expected.

I heard the door swing open and the shuffle of bare feet upon the carpeted floor behind me. Susan approached me holding the towel in front of her. "Ben, nothing happened. I assure you that nothing would've happened. Nothing could've happened!"

I crossed my arms across my chest and looked into her alarmed face, "Susan, go put some clothes on!"

Tears began to well up in her eyes and she began to whimper. "You ... You don't believe me, do you?" When I didn't answer and turned my head, she snarled, "Well ... F**k you!" Then she bolted past me, her exposed dimpled buttocks jiggling as she ran for the far bedroom.

I looked up to see Michelle standing in the doorway to her room. "What have you got to say for yourself?" I queried with a sarcastic sneer.

"Give her a break, Benjamin. She told you the truth. Nothing could've happened," she admonished. She didn't wait for me to respond, "I guess I'll have spell it out for you. As I told you before, my mind and my thoughts might be in Michael's body ... But I have no control over much of this body's functions, especially those controlled by ... a libido."

"I see," I muttered, "Then what was Susan doing on top of you ... and why?"

She lowered her head, "I'm ashamed to admit it, but I asked her." She raised her hand to silence me and continued, "Don't think of me as perverted, Ben. I told her about my condition, about how I have thoughts of sex and that I have been unable to arouse my ... Michael's penis."

"So, she was just trying to help you achieve an erection?"

"I asked her to use her hands on me but it didn't help. It was her idea to crawl on top of me. She thought it might do the trick. If it had worked," she seemed to momentarily blush as she spoke, "then I would have, if you'll pardon the expression, taken matters into my own hands."

I was looking down at the floor unable to look Michelle in the face, "And how do I reward for her good deed? What an ass I am!"

Michelle smiled and whispered to me, "Go to her."

A few moments later I stood outside the door trying to formulate what I should say to Susan. I knocked on the door and called her name, "Susan? Can I come in. I'm sorry." There was no answer. I turned the door knob and stepped through the thresh hold.

She was standing by the drawn blinds of the window. Her naked body, a silhouette against the sun filtering in from outside, was a breathtaking sight to behold. I couldn't help but think that it was a vision that at that moment, I didn't deserve to see.

"Ben, despite what you may think of me, I'm not an over-sexed bimbo. I don't make it a habit of sleeping around with just anyone," she said.

"I never thought that, Susan," I stated. "Michelle told me what happened. It was wrong of me ..."

If she'd heard my words she didn't respond but continued with a speech that I reasoned was something she wanted to get off her chest. "I'm not sure what is happening to me or why, but there was only one other time that I felt this attracted to a man. Then like now, I can sense that that man is attracted to me also." She paused as she bent some of the blind slats to look outside which allowed a narrow mask of sunlight to illuminate her eyes. Her head turned in my direction, "Was I being too forward and reckless eight years ago when I slept with him on the same night we met? Am I being too forward and reckless wanting to sleep with you?"

"Yes and no," I espoused without hesitation. "Yes, I am attracted to you. No, you are not being too forward or reckless." I didn't want to spoil the moment, but I had to know, "What happened with the other man, Susan?"

I saw her head lower as she spoke, "I don't know. I never saw him again. He slipped away while I was sleeping. I never heard from him after that night." She moved away from the window and disappeared in the shadows of the dark room. Then she whispered from some point close to me, "You wouldn't make it with me and then just walk away, Ben?" She began humming a familiar song and then vocalized a few of its words, "I want to make it with you ... I really think that we can make it..."

I groped the wall for the light switch and then threw the room into brightness. She was lying on the bed, having assumed a sensual and provocative pose. Her eyes were closed. She was caressing her breasts. Her hips were writhing. Her lips were moving with the words of the soft ballad.

It was the same song that had been whispered in my ear eight years ago ...

(To be continued Monday, 1/26, in part 18, We Interrupt This Sex....)


Thursday, January 22, 2009

The Party's Over

"Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America."

-President Barack Obama from his Inauguration speech, Jan. 20, 2009.

To me, the above sentence from President Obama's speech yesterday should be the one most cited in the years to come.

In any event it is the one sentence that most defines the arduous tasks that face our new President and our nation.

His speech was the only thing that interested me about the whole day affair yesterday in the streets of our nation's capital. I don't care about the church services, the processions from the Capitol to the White House, the parades, and the Inaugural Balls. Beyond the speech, everything is just so much fluff and pomp and circumstance.

Too much importance has been and continues to be placed upon the fact that Barack Obama is the first black President of the United States. We know that. He was black when he threw his hat in the ring. He was black when we won the Democratic nomination. He was black when he was elected President. He'll still be black tomorrow. Let's move on away from race and give the man the support he's going to need if he's to succeed.

There were two topics of discussion that I heard on the news last night, read on the Internet and heard again this morning on the news that proves just how trivial people and the journalists who report to the people can be. There were positive and negative reactions to both - articles of fashion.

File this one under: "What was she thinking?"

I have to agree with the dissenters on this one. Aretha Franklin get's no R-E-S-P-E-C-T from me for whatever that thing on her head was supposed to be.

The wardrobe department for Barnum & Bailey's clown troupe must have picked that hat!

The other fashion debate was over the First Lady's Inaugural Ball dress.

I'm reminded of Carol Burnett's spoof skit of Gone With the Wind in which she comes down a flight of stairs wearing drapes. She said when asked about the 'dress' - "It's just something I saw in a window."

Her dress looks like it was made from the same material as the chenille curtains and drapes my grandmother used to hang in her bedroom windows. (Now, the outfit she wore in the parade - looked great!)

I don't normally comment on women's tastes or lack thereof when it comes to fashion, but I threw it in today just because of the enormous amount of posts and discussions about "the hat" and "the dress." I don't know what the numbers are, but it seemed like the two received mostly thumbs-down reviews.

It was cold in Washington D.C., and my hat's off to those millions of people who braved the elements to be there.

Weather wise Wednesday was a curious one on the Eastern seaboard today. It was 32 degrees in Orlando, Florida and 52 in Presque Isle, Maine. Did someone turn the weather maps upside down? Do you know how we New Englanders can tell how intense our snowstorms are going to be?

"Service" Oxymorons

I have often been confused when I was hearing the following terms with reference to the word service.
Internal Revenue Service
U.S. Postal Service
Telephone Service
Cable Service
Civil Service
Customer Service
State, City & County Public Service
But one day, I overheard two farmers talking and one of them said he had hired a bull to "service" his cows.

Then it hit me ... It all came into focus. Now I understand why they are called service agencies.


Wednesday, January 21, 2009

It's So Hot, I'm Freezing!

Hey, Al Gore! You gonna give back that Nobel Prize?
Or are we gonna have to take it from you?

The same goes for that Oscar!

Hey, Al. I am looking for the DVD copy of your movie.
It's buried under two feet of snow!

I'd be remiss not to give you some credit.

Thank you for the Internet!

Winter in Oz

It was April, and the Aboriginals in a remote part of South Australia had asked their new elder if the coming winter was going to be cold or mild. Since he was an elder in a modern community he had never been taught the old secrets. When he looked at the sky he couldn't tell what the winter was going to be like.

Nevertheless, to be on the safe side, he told his tribe that the winter was indeed going to be cold and that the members of the tribe should collect firewood to be prepared.

But, being a practical leader, after several days had passed he had an idea. He walked out to the telephone booth on the highway, called the Weather Bureau, and asked, "Is the coming winter in this area going to be cold?"

The meteorologist responded, "It looks like this winter is going to be quite cold." So the elder went back to his people and told them to collect even more wood in order to be prepared.

Two weeks later the elder called the Weather Bureau again. "Are you absolutely sure that the winter is going to be very cold?"

"Absolutely," the man replied. "It's looking more like it is going to be one of the coldest winters ever."

"How can you be so sure?" the elder inquired.

The weatherman replied, "There are reports that the Aboriginals are collecting firewood like crazy, and that's always a sure sign."

Snow Emergency Parking

Bob and his wife live in Toledo, Ohio. One winter morning while listening to the radio, they hear the announcer say, "We are going to have 8 to 10 inches of snow today. You must park your car on the even numbered side of the street, so the snowplow can get through." Bob's wife goes out and moves her car.

A week later while they are eating breakfast, the radio announcer says, "We are expecting 10 to 12 inches of snow today. You must park your car on the odd numbered side of the street, so the snowplow can get through."

Bob's wife goes out and moves her car again.

The next week they are having breakfast again, when the radio announcer says "We are expecting 12 to 14 inches of snow today. You must park..........." then the electric power goes out.

Bob's wife is very upset, and with a worried look on her face she says, "Honey, I don't know what to do." Which side of the street do I need to park on so the snowplow can get through?

With the love and understanding in his voice like all men who are married to Blondes exhibit, Bob says, "Why don't you just leave it in the garage this time?"


Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Four Years!


Don't you just hate it when someone steals your thunder?

I had no desire to rain on his parade.

So why did what's-his-name have to pick the 20th of January to cause traffic jams in Washington, D.C. of all places?

Look at him in this press release photo! Why so smug?

What's with this aligning himself with Luther's birthday? Everyone knows that Luther is Superman's deadliest enemy.

I wish to put everything into its proper perspective, folks. Today, January 20, 2009, AD, marks a personal milestone for me. It is the fourth anniversary of my entry into the world of Blogging. Four years ago today, It Occurred To Me was brought forth unto the Blogosphere .

During those four years, 1461 days, I have calloused my fingers on an HP keyboard to produce 1586 posts! I have sacrificed the time I could have been sitting on my gluteous maximus in front of the television set to watch its entertaining fare. I passed up on watching must-see-TV programs such as Beauty and the Geek, The Celebrity Apprentice, and A Shot at Love.

This will probably come as a shock to many of the readers out there, and I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I even chose to forgo watching Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie in their smash hit, The Simple Life.

The fact is, I have enjoyed those four years of Blogging. I enjoy the challenge of posting humorous original, and yes 'borrowed' material. I'm much appreciative of those who give up their own televisions to read those posts. I also enjoy reading the Blogs they post.

One benefit of Blogging, probably the best reward of all, is the wealth of friends I have found in Blogtopia. They are people I could pass on the street and not know, but yet there is certain kinship there. That is far more entertaining than anything I have yet to find on the boob tube!

Now ... back to that interloper!

Everyone is anticipating his Inaugural speech today. As eloquent a speaker he is, I'm sure it will probably be a fine speech in that distinguished monotone drone of his. I won't be watching or listening to his oratory any more than I will be lending an ear to the countless nasally analyses of it by the stuffy broadcast journalists.

However, I will read the transcript of his pontification online this evening to digest what he has said. I'll follow that up by re-reading it the next day in the newspaper.

I'm not at all surprised by the large number of people expected in our nation's capital to witness and to be a part of this historic event.

Their trek from all over the country to D.C. conjures up images in my mind of Islamic pilgrims on a hajj to Mecca. The previous sentence in no way is intended to poke fun at his Muslim background; okay, yes it is. (As for me, I wouldn't walk across the street from my house to be there.)

Now, here's something that I might find my self anticipating:

In exchange for her public and blatant endorsement of him and his candidacy, our new President has agreed to co-star in Oprah Winfrey's next attempt to direct and to appear in a big screen feature film.

Her Lardness has already declared it the next summer blockbuster hit worthy of Oscar consideration.

Before closing this post - did I mention that today is my 4th anniversary of Blogging?
Now you know. Thanks in advance for the accolades to come.