I'm telling ya'll -- being afflicted with a summer cold saps all the energy out of a person.George, but I don't even know if Terri Schiavo is still "technically" among the living or not. In any real logical sense of the term, she ain't been included in such category for years and years and years already. Ain't that such a sad situation?
In other news, it seems that I have promised to install a Poker Buddies Blogroll on Read My Lips in the very near future. Among the BE poker playing bunch, it seems that where blogs are concerned, I am the Big Dog on the Block. As such, they are all after me, clamoring for a link on my blog. I never heard so much gushing over my being a Large Mammal in a long long time. Of course, that might be because I have been a Large Mammal for a long long time. In fact, I might just be the only Large Mammal who has remained among such ranks on a thoroughly consistent basis without being on the Alliance listing. Being on that list alone probably buys a blogger 50 links. Just how is that war going anyway? Who won: Glenn Reynolds or the IMAO group? I suspect the real winners are those hapless bloggers who jumped several levels in the Blogosphere Ecosystem merely by signing up with the Alliance. I guess I still ought to feel really proud to have been the first declared neutral in that inane blogger war. That's a strange stance for the Blogosphere's most renown Snarky Inaniac™ to take, I know, but that's just the sort of guy I am.
My navel was seeking to join the Navel
Naval Alliance, but found that its lack of status as an independent country* and its similar lack of the requisite fleet of ships** disqualified it from membership. I am sure, if it had a heart, it would be heartbroken. However, it does not take one long to learn that my navel is completely heartless. Otherwise, why would it treat me the way it does? My momma*** always told me to never trust a sailor.**** End of report.
*It is a staunch dependent of any Buddha Belly stupid enough to give it a place to rest.
**It does, however, own a couple of bars of Ivory® bath soap, which floats.
***It was not really my momma. It was Alice the Goon.
****This statement was only made in jest and is no way intended to portray sailors in any worse light than they already deserve. ;)
My creativity curve has hit a flat spot without any means of navigation through the chaos that is my imagination. Akin to sailors adrift in the doldrums somewhere off the coast of Chile, my mind languors. Alas, I beg your forgiveness. I do promise that when I receive the very first indication of a cool breeze blowing my way, I give ya'll a shout out. Is that OK?
My navel is busting at the seams to tell ya'll a new joke it heard, but that's gonna have to await its learning to type for itself or my caring to assist it in getting it here for ya'll to see. End of report.
*That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Well, if you missed the big wave in December, you'd better grab your board now. Another is likely coming your way.
The earthquake, centered just off the coast of Sumatra registered 8.2, according to the U.S. Geological Survey, and prompted several countries in the region to issue tsunami warnings. Residents of Banda Aceh, on Sumatra fled their homes in panic. - full storySeriously, folks, if you are anywhere near a coast of the Indian Ocean, find high ground right now. Don't wait ... don't become a statistic.
Red River bridge just north of Gainsville, Texas on Friday night seems to be hanging around. First of all, there has been no recollection of that epitomic epiphany by myself or my road trip companion.* Secondly, I dumped $10K in imaginary money at the poker table this morning in a very short span of time. It seems I was holding a full house, Kings over Aces, against a four King hand. I was so sure that the odds of my opponent having that fourth King in his hand were so phenomenal that I could not stop myself from pushing the whole pile into the pot. Quick as a whistle, my opponent was raking it in.That streak of bad luck that began this side of the
Then, again, maybe this was the luckiest weekend I could have had. It wasn't $10K in real money** as I'd likely have lost if they did play poker in those Oklahoma casinos. It seems I was having a bit of problem of knowing when to hold 'em, knowing when to fold 'em, knowing when to walk away, and knowing when to run. I guess I'm not a real gambler deep at heart.
My navel cheats. It palms aces. End of report.
*Who has promised to come kill me if I call one more time to see if she has remembered anything.
**An amount which I don't have -- putting my kneecaps thereby in peril if there be any truth to what you see on TV.
The theme of today's strip is Men are from Mars and Pickles is from Pluto. However, this author would like to thank Mr. Breathed for the return of Pickles,* appearing today appropriately attired in Princess motif, to the panels of the Opus strip. Someone called Auggie was introduced to play the male antagonist role. I wondered why such role had not been filled by Zeebo until it occurred to me that no son of Steve Dallas could effect the stance of effeminate male as required in today's scenario. I'd suggest that parents of very young children be wary of the flagrant and callous use of the term "tinkle" in the strip.
Frequent reader and rare commenter, Bluto*, asked me the question in the above title via email. I can understand the concern. It does appear that over the last couple of weekends, this supposedly nightly report has not been posted until way into the morning of the next day. I could just screech, Jeez, it's Easter! Give a man a break! but you deserve more than that.
OK, yesterday was a very cold and rainy day. I had zoo duty and was required to drive around five adults and three just barely pre-schoolers around for 3 hours in a open van. It was a miserable experience and I caught a really bad case of the blue flu.** No, not really, but the experience did zap the creativity out of me. About the only smart ass remark I could muster at last evening's Fossil Rim Wildlife Center Docent/Volunteer Banquet, upon noticing that all of the award certificates bore the year 2003, was to remark to the person responsible for printing said certificates aloud for all to hear: "This has to be the best 2003 Awards Banquet, ever!" Since nearly everyone else had received the same sort of mis-dated certificate, the room roared with laughter. The responsible person offered to replace all the certificate, but, being the sort of people we are, we all agreed the mis-dated certificates sufficed.
Of course, to add the cherry to the top of this meek anecdote was that the same responsible party had also invited a professional photographer to the event so as to have shots taken of each docent/volunteer holding up their certificate. She lamented about how that idea was now ruined, but you'll never guess who saved the day by suggesting that everyone just hold up their certificate is such manner that their finger covered the offending "3" in the date? I'll never tell.
My navel pouted because it was not recognized for its efforts by anyone, including myself. I did not think it was all that noteworthy to mention that a dropped piece of animal feed had been caught by said navel during one of my tours last summer when I wore an old T-shirt that was a bit too tight and did not fully conceal my Buddha Belly. My navel may have cried all night. I don't know. I slept soundly. End of report.
*He reads from time to time to keep tabs on Popeye.
**Well, not the traditional police-type blue flu, but the chilling condition where both your nose and toes have turned blue.
I arrived home last evening from my impromptu road trip to Oklahoma raring to post the epitome of epiphanies that popped into my head along my route. It was a million dollar idea. Driving along, of course, I could not write it down, so I asked my companion, whose memory is renown, to remind me of it at a later time. When the time came to regurgitate my bright idea and place it electronically upon these pages for all to see, it had concealed itself in one of the myriad of dark places in my memory banks. My friend, as well, had no inkling of it, either.
I refused to give up and thought if I could only lay back and close my eyes, it would come to me. The Sandman had different ideas. Alas, awakened with a fresh mind, I have no recollection of great parts of yesterday. I doubt I'll ever dredge up whatever it was that I lost.
Of course, the loss of a grand idea was not the extent of my bad luck yesterday. See, the only purpose of the trip was to see Turner Falls.However, road construction and the millions of idiots who fail to understand that racing to the point where you have to merge into the one lane of traffic causes that whole line to stop so that you can squeeze in, slowed the whole process of getting across the Red River on I-35 to a crawl. It took an hour and a half to travel ten miles. By the time we got to Turner Falls, it was much too dark to observe anything but one's hand in front of one's face, despite the full moon. Yep, it seemed the overcast sky took care of that, as well.
Always one to see the silver lining in the cloud, I recalled passing a casino or two, and thought, heck, as long as I am here, I might as well try my hand at some live Texas Holdem and see if I was really as good as I thought I was. Well, I experienced a major run of bad luck where poker was concerned. It seems that they don't play poker in casinos in Oklahoma. One concierge did state that they planned on having it as early as May. I told him we'd likely have gambling in Texas by that time.
There was naught to do but come home with my poker itch unscratched. I guess I'll have to try to drum up another game down in my basement.
My navel really enjoyed the trip to Oklahoma. It is so materialistic that it only desired a souvenir of some sort. I bought it a rubber tomahawk at a Truck Stop. End of report.
A doctor and a lawyer were talking at a party. Their conversation was constantly interrupted by people describing their ailments and asking the doctor for free medical advice.And if you were wanting something just a bit more punny, check out the extended entry:
After an hour of this, the exasperated doctor asked the lawyer, "What do you do to stop people from asking you for legal advice when you're out of the office?"
"I give it to them," replied the lawyer, "and then I send them a bill."
The doctor was shocked, but agreed to give it a try. The next day, still feeling slightly guilty, the doctor prepared the bills. When he went to place them in his mailbox, he found a bill from the lawyer.
A young cowboy asked his father, "Do you think I can make a good living riding wild horses in a rodeo?"
His dad replied, "You should at least get a COUPLE OF BUCKS out of it."
"Well, I reckon you've been a pretty good horse," said the farmer. "You work hard and I ain't had to call the vet on you much. I only wish you pulled the plow a little faster."You do believe in talking horses, don't you, Wilbur? Signed, Mr. Ed.
"NO!" said the horse, "I said 'feedbag' not 'feedback'."
Egads! What a day! Here and there and back again. Interesting speech before a group of Rotarians regarding my publication efforts on the Alien Attitudes.
I hit the city limit signs on the northeast end of this tiny town when I was accosted by several civic dignitaries. Steadily marching toward me, they cornered me and laid down the law. It seems that I am now officially banned from taking part in this year's Easter festivities.
It appears that while readying the meadow used annually for the site of their civic Easter egg hunt, several of the eggs that I had prepared and hidden as a part of last year's egg hunt were just now found. It seems that no one appreciates my unique Easter treasures. Now I am wondering what to do with those hundred and fifty hard-boiled eggs I currently have pickling in jars of vinegar. I mean, who doesn't enjoy a nice pickled Easter egg?
My navel thinks things are better when I'm pickled. End of report.
It is rare that I point back to my old stuff, but someone surfed across this today. I still stick behind these rules on parenting. As my two-year blogoversary is approaching soon (April 4), I might be trolling through my previous postings to find those highly valuable gems strewn throughout.
So, here's the deal. It was Wednesday, all day long and a long day it was. It started early and ended late. I am tired, but then again, I guess I am over the hump of humpday. Friday is Good Friday, and a goodly portion of the population gets that day off. I guess that is good. It seems that some of those people would like to come see me on their day off so I don't have the day off.
Anyway, as I said I am tired. I won't tell you all about my day. I'll only share the high point of the day: Lunch. It seems that a trio of my friends and I decided to go to lunch together so as to discuss some strategy regarding a very interesting case that just fell into my lap. Ethics do not allow me to discuss the issues of the case, but they do not restrict me from talking about lunch.
As things often go, there was some extensive discussion about where we would dine. Despite my objection, the consensus directed us toward Hooter's. One guy ordered a burger and another dined on buffalo wings. One guy ordered a mess of raw oysters. I, myself, had Mexican. Her name was Linda. She was delicious.
My navel has been designated as tonight's Official Wicked Stepmother.* It asks me to remind you to eat your apple. End of report.
My horrorscope did not say I'd be running around like a chicken with its head cut off in a mad desperate search for my glasses for over an hour with no success. Well, now that you know what kind of a day today is turning out the be, I'll leave you to whatever it is you were doing, and I'll go back to what I was doing. Now where did I leave those infernal glasses?
PS - I did check the freezer and they were not in there -- this time.
[UPDATE: Glasses successfully located near where expected to be, however, had been accidentally knocked off the table upon which I had placed them and bounced sufficiently high enough to have become lodged in a box of bric-a-brac, a few feet away along the wall. I won't be committing suicide,* after all.
*I have places that I desperately have to be. Attempting to navigate a large Lincoln Town Car along two-lane highways filled with inattentive elderly blue-haired ladies and crazed youngsters with cell phones pressed against their ear with anything less than clear vision is tantamount to taking one's life in one's own hands without much chance of survival ... hence committing suicide.]
Despite my utmost efforts, I was unable to channel anyone's thoughts or anything as creative as last evening's NNGR™.** Maybe it's all due to today being Tuesday and, having eaten a lot of hamburgers during last week for which I promised to pay for today, I found myself a little
Speaking of wimpy, you ought to see my navel. Have you ever seen a body part so pathetic it would not lift a finger to protect itself? It's disgusting. End of report.
*There will be a prize of some sort or another of absolutely no value whatsoever awarded to anyone who can come forward with any known statement ever made by Alice the Goon.
**I would have linked it, but then it is the post just below this one. I purposely did not post anything so as to allow as many of you to see that particular post as possible. I also requested that Moona not post anything, as well.
Hi. My name is Brian, with an "i." I am 32 years old and am totally alone. I am often surrounded by groups of people who stare at my body but don't see me. I quit "living" that day back in 1977 when my mother accidentally ran over my head with her car. I was four. Despite extensive damage to my brain, my heart and lungs continued to function normally. My poor despondent mother is so racked with guilt over her negligence that she refuses to allow doctors to disengage my feeding tube. Several doctors, priests, family members and friends have urged her to let me die. An equal number, if not more, of them urge her to allow me to live on. I can't speak for myself. I am stuck somewhere between the decaying emaciated worthless body laying on that hospital bed a few feet below and the bright light I can see overhead. I can feel its pull. Joyous music and mirthful laughter beckon. "Momma? I want to go now and play at God's house. Can I? Huh? Huh?"What is that? It was just something that popped out of my head.
I am sure most of you creators know that you sometimes have no control over the flow. I know the seeds of this short piece were planted when someone was asking me to feel a bump on their head. I, of course, being less than expert on the layout of any cranium other than my own, felt nothing out of the ordinary. I then asked them to feel the crown of my head where I have a pronounced Terri Schiaro affair, but does appear to be readily apparent after seeing the completed project.bump, at least to me. No one else ever seems to notice it, so I suppose it is nothing out of the ordinary, as well. I was asked, How'd you get that? Being the smartass that I am, I blurted out, I got it when I was a baby after my head got run over by a car. There was something about that concept that attracted me. I didn't immediately understand it to be connected to the
Oddly, however, I only got a clear picture in my head of what I wanted to write while watching an episode of Psychic Detectives on Court TV. I admit that Brian's words easily flowed onto the electronic page. Could I possibly be channeling someone else's thoughts? Do any of you know this Brian, 32, alone, wanting to die? If you do, pat his hand for me. And, if it is possible to send anything back along the line, to you, Brian: Brian, my brother -- I do feel your
I suspect the reason for writing an actual story is due to discovering that I was not among the three finalists in this month's Blogging for Books contest. I was pretty proud of that entry. I kind of like the little blurb above, too. What do you think?
My navel is claiming to have beamed this whole idea into my head from some ultra-secret location. As if. End of report.
*I have no idea why I typed brown when I was thinking pain, but since we are somewhere out in the Twilight Zone already, I figured I'd share that with you instead of just deleting it.
A couple of hot stories in the news:
Camilla can be Queen. Millions of subjects threaten to emigrate if she should ever ascend to the throne.
Six dead in shooting rampage in Minnesota. Gunman crazed over Terri Schiavo controversy.Hey, now, don't shoot the messenger. I don't make the news, I just make stuff up about the news. ;) [And I am not even Dan Rather]
If a grilled cheese sandwich with a purported "Virgin Mary image" sold for $28,000, perhaps the pet-store owner needs to put this one on E-Bay:
An Indiana pet store owner says he sees the image of Satan on the shell of a turtle that was the only survivor of a store fire in October.Could this have been one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles who lost the battle against evil?
The palm-sized red-eared slider turtle, named Lucky, was the only animal to survive the fire at Dora's A-Dora-ble Pet Shop in nearby Frankfort, about 40 miles northwest of Indianapolis.
Owner Bryan Dora now says he sees Satan's face on the critter's shell. He can spot lips, eyes, a goatee, shoulders and a pair of pointy horns on Lucky's back.
"The marking on the shell was like the devil wanted us to know he was down there," Bryan Dora said. "To me, it's too coincidental that the only thing to come out unscathed would have this image on it."
In animation, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are four wise-cracking, teenaged, pizza-scarfing cartoon turtles who fight the forces of evil from their neighborhood sewer hangout.Or did he make a deal in order to survive the fire?
Conversation overheard between 4-year-old and his 5-year-old sister:
Him: This really sucks.Then there was this ass.
Her: Yes, it sure does.
Mother: Will you two kids please quit playing with that vacuum cleaner?
Do you often worry about exactly what clothes you should wear to church? The Shattered Prayer may have located the perfect church for people like you.
To Terri Schiavo's parents: Losing a child is a devastating and traumatic event in a parent's life, understandably, but let go already. A place in Heaven, next to God, is awaiting Terri. Isn't that thought comfort enough? I bet she can already see it and is wondering what is holding her back from reaching that place. Enough is enough. Let God have her already.
To the Legislative and Executive branches of the Federal government: Just because you can find a way to do so does not necessarily bestow upon you the right to interfere with established due process of law. The system in place works! Doctors have personally examined Terri and, being the persons most properly qualified, according to law, to determine the scope of her medical condition, have testified that her condition will never improve. I am sure the judges did not take lightly their decision to allow the removal of her feeding tube, but both the facts and the law were compelling. Look at her, already, and allow her to die.
*I had tried very very hard not to weigh in on this matter, but when I read that emergency legislation had been passed and signed into law by Dubya to forestall this situation a bit longer, I just could no longer hold my tongue. Please don't hate me because I have to side with the right to die with some small shred of dignity still intact.**
**I wonder how many people realize that the name Terri Schiavo will forever more stand for the proposition that some people will stop at nothing in order to save the life of another, even if that other is a complete vegetable with no quality of life, whatsoever. I just do not believe the woman deserves such legacy.
All weekend, they have been showing what they are calling All-American Comedy on Comedy Central. In accordance to what I have seen, All-American Comedy is anything dealing with the Blue Collar Comedy Tour members. I have to admit that from Jeff Foxworthy all the way down the line to Larry, the Cable Guy, those four guys each, independently or in combination with each other, are capable of evoking involuntary belly laughs from me on a regular occasion. I admire the work of a good stand-up comedian.
I have often wondered how well I would do in front of a large audience like that. From the reactions I get when I try to make people laugh, I seem to be successful more often than not. The audiences, however, do seem to be mostly comprised of one or two personal friends. I feel free in believing that I would make a major impression of one sort or another. I am likely to really really stink or have people rolling in the aisle laughing.
I am, however, unsure of my material. Night after night, in this very column, I have performed a monologue, of sort. I suppose, in a way, that makes me a bona fide sit-down comedian, doesn't it? You do know that if you find yourself sitting there laughing as you read my posts, you are free to shower me with LOLs. Adversely, if it really stinks, you can throw vegetables -- virtual ones, of course.
If you are lucky enough to personally watch me perform and believe that my performance merits such, feel free to select an appropriately soft rotten tomato and take very careful aim at my navel. That will provide you a big round well-padded target area. I am sure you wouldn't want to do any real harm, would you? End of report.*
*What? No footnotes?
I was just noticing that the SiteMeter counter is getting close to hitting that 100K mark, so if you want your 15 nanoseconds of fame for being the entity that conjures up an extra digit -- please send a certified letter containing a confirming screen shot and the keys to a Cooper Mini -- and I'll mention your accomplishment in an upcoming post. We here at Read My Lips take these milestones seriously.
[Addendum: Someone from Texas, Arlington, United States surfed onto tig.mu.nu/archives/016877.html at 07:54:11 PM via c-67-174-163-91.client.comcast.net via a referral from Google to become the 100,000th visitor to Read My Lips as determined by the SiteMeter Counter. The StatCounter count is actually closer to the right number.]
Again, I ask: Where's Pickles?
and then it was really early Sunday morning.
Well blogger bash, Day Two: An Evening at Billy Bob's. With my co-blogger, Moona, in tow, I arrived at Billy Bob's at 8:00 p.m., which was the time I had believed we were all to meet. We searched the assembled throng of patrons on hand for an-hour-and-a-half before we finally located the others. They had only just arrived. I didn't ask why they were late. I didn't really care. I was about a-sheet-and-a-half in the wind already, heading for a new world record for asinine drunkenness. I might have attained the mark, but I don't recall much after the eruptions began. I'd advise you not to concern yourself with the details surrounding those episodes as it was definitely not a pretty sight.
I, myself, was actually prepared for all that occurred, including the violent physical effects of massive alcoholic carbonated beverage ingestion. On the trip up, I had advised Moona that I was planning on drinking a lot of beer and had anointed her as designated driver. She graciously accepted. As none of ya'll really know me, you are likely unaware that I rarely give up that position. It is usually I who lingers on the sidelines of the party drinking Dr. Pepper, straight-up with ice. I long ago decided there always had to be one responsible person in attendance. I could never see why that person should not be me. I have never quite understood why I feel that way, but that is just the sort of guy I am. However, this night, I wanted to join in on the merry-making of the inebriated variety.
Chris Cagle was performing. I didn't and still don't know much about the
I was primarily paying attention to the crowd, especially the lovely young lasses. Amongst the field of pert breasts and rounded derrieres, I caught a brief glimpse at a bare naked navel*** here and there. Despite my inebriation, I suddenly began to feel really old. When I'd flash a smile at some pretty little coquette, the look I'd see on her face served as a constant reminder. I could actually read their thoughts.**** Get lost Grandpa!
I guess I am old. I'll be 50 soon. I'll be eligible to join AARP. I guess I'll have to turn socialist and vote for Hillary. Being old does have its advantages, though. Not, I'm not referring to the discounts you get on meals and such. I'm talking about something much more important.
It seems that, at my advanced age, most of my brain cells have already been killed off. As such, hangovers never seem to be as bad as you expected them to be.
My navel was in attendance, as well. Understanding the oversight, the throng agreed it could come along for the festivities. It didn't drink, either. No beer, soda, or even a drop of water. That a pretty sober navel I have, wouldn't you say? Remarkable! Well, as Snagglepuss was fond of saying ... Exit, stage left.***** End of report.
*See, I really didn't pay any attention. I learned from looking at the posters on the wall that Cooder Graw is the name of a band, so I am not going to make any assumptions about Chris Cagle.
**Although I have some admitted memory lapses with regard to parts of last evening, I can literally admit I was nowhere close to being drunker than ever before. I could tell you stories, but they'd be boring like the rest of this drivel I create.
***I personally think that a navel with attached adornments is less attractive than in its purely natural state.******
****I guess having Brink-o-Link and RJ floating around inside my head has given me a bit of telepathic power.
*****He might have actually said Exit, stage right. I cannot fully recall. I'd ask Boo Boo, but he went off in search of a pic-a-nik basket.
******I also have a personal opinion that there are a lot of navels out there in the world that should never be seen, in public or otherwise. If you've ever been to a NASCAR event, you
might be a redneck know what I'm talking about.*******
*******Participle purposefully left dangling.
[Purposefully dated to remain on top until conclusion of Texas Blogfest 2005. Scroll down for newest entries.]
Yep, it is true. March 18-20, 2005 is the period scheduled for all the bloggers in the Great State of Texas to gather around in Dallas, and parts of Fort Worth, and swap lies and spit or whatever they do at these things. I do suppose that bloggers from Oklahoma here.will be allowed to attend as well, as the City of Dallas is quickly annexing its way up toward Oklahoma City, but that, as they say, is a whole 'nother story. Heck, I'll make ya'll a deal:* bloggers and blogger wannabes from any and every where, except, of course, people currently sitting in the penitentiary,** feel free to attend. Just lie about from whence you come. If they say your accent seems a bit strange, just tell them you are from Corpus Christi. Oh, you do need to RSVP. Need more info? I suspect ya do! You can find it
*Like I have any say so in making these plans. ;)
**It ain't that you ain't welcome ... we just don't want to be responsible for you trying to bust your way out.***
***Seriously, however, if there be any of ya'll blogging from within the State Pen, shout out. It'd be an interesting thing to know.
Oh my oh my. What time is it? Did I ever stay out too late last night!! Having had three drinks over four hours and as well having eaten half a plate of cheese-fries, I left the party a bit after midnight. It was a really dreary long 90-minute drive back to the house. Traffic was light and the raceway was open. I just fell in line with the high-speed convoy that traversed southward on the North Dallas Tollway, then worked my way through the maze of dead downtown Dallas so as to miss the mix-master. South Dallas was dead.
After I passed through the no-man's-land parts of Southwest Dallas and the lack of convenient stops along Hwy. 67, I finally made a stop Love's in Midlothian. All I needed was to fill my cup with fresh DP, as well as disposing of the remains of the last cup in the appropriate manner.
It really is hard to find a good place to relieve oneself right along the side of the road anymore, especially in the urban areas. What might have been a very routine incident got a bit hairy when I was leaving, as I had parked very near two motorcycles. I am acquainted enough with enough middle-aged biker club members to know when I see the real thing. The two guys that were tinkering with their saddle bags were not your average weekend riders. Bandidos.
Anyway, being the savvy Texas sodbuster I am, I knew enough to keep my head down and to avoid eye contact with those modern outlaws. Like three little monkeys rolled into one, I see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.
By the time I rolled in here --- all I was looking for was a tub of hot water in which to soak for a half hour before climbing into a freshly made bed. What I found was the same bed I had crawled out of the previous morning, musty and disheveled. I was too weary to do anything other than to crawl bleary-eyed beneath those two layers of goosedown* to hibernate. And hibernate I did.
Yep, I forgot all about making the Nightly Navel Gazin' Report™ last eve, although that live broadcast I did from the party could have served well as such, if my navel had been allowed to come to the party. You see, it was pouting on the day I decided to RSVP for the party and did not respond if I ask if it wanted to come along for the ride. As such, I did not include it. Not being on the guest list, it was not allowed in the door. I had to leave my navel hidden within a potted plant while I attended the blogger bash. And if you'll buy that ... yada yada .. I'm out.** End of report.
*As spring is officially approaching, I am hopeful one layer can be removed and stored for several months to come.
**Meaning I out of here not I am out of the closet.***
***Which in no way infers that I am in the closet.****
****Of course, that might be exactly where I left that hat for which I have been searching***** all day.
*****Remind me to tell you how I once found my eyeglasses in the freezer.
Well, I am sitting here among a raucous crowd of blogging folks. I am personally over in the corner away from the smokers. Funny, how being a year and change away from being one myself, I found my throat raw from breathing in the second-hand smoke. I am gonna tell ya'll something I found out right away. Bloggers are about the biggest bunch of narcissists you ever saw. No one is interested in anyone else or their blogs. They just want everyone to look at theirs. Guess what? I am not the exception to the rule. I am just likely the only one who whines about it.
OK, before ya get the notion this has anything to do Vonage and the stupid things that people do, it doesn't. At least, it doesn't have anything to do with Vonage, but saying it doesn't have anything to do with stupid people may be a bit untrue. After all, there are those who consider me to be just a few, or maybe more, dependent thereby on the opinion-holder in question, wrinkles short of having a fully stocked mental department in my neighborly cranial cavity. There are some who think I am crazy, others that call me eccentric, and some that wonder from what planet I came. One thing for sure that can be said about me, though, is that I am a finalist in this month's Blogging for Books contest.* Is it OK if I say my woohoo now?
Speaking of books ... it appears that there is a certain 9-year-old who is eager to read my book.** I had submitted it for her review, along with a request that she return the favor and allow me to see the book she is writing about her dog's adventures. Last evening, I got a return letter saying their version of Word was not compatible with the file I sent. I converted it to an earlier version of Word and resent it. I have not gotten any confirmation that it was received.
While we are here, let me bring up a point to all of ya'll. I really cannot understand why everyone prefers MS's Word to Corel's WordPerfect. I can write something in WP12 and open it in WP6 without any difficulty. Any company that can update their product and yet do such so that earlier versions of that same product can utilize any information produced thereon is worthy of popular support. I'm just saying, you know. However, if anyone at Corel wants to thank me, send me a check, or buy me a Cooper Mini, please do feel free to do so. That actually goes for the rest of you, too, especially the part about buying me a Cooper Mini.
*Moona called me a moment ago and when I told her I'd made the cut, said that she wanted to post about it. She said she say:
1. And it came to pass that Tiger was anointed as a Prince in the Kingdom of Zero Boss. 2. And Tiger was exceedingly glad. 3. With bright countenance, he began his journey to the 2005 Texas Blogfest.I, of course, beat her to the punch by posting this.***
**Of course, we are speaking of Alien Attitudes: Alura Allen, Alien at Large. Read the Alien Attitudes™ Archives for more information.
***I was able to mention that I was amenable to receiving gifts****, as well. I am, however, in desperate need of a new Cooper Mini. These gas prices are killing me.
****I failed to mention herein that I was soon heading to the 2005 Texas Blogfest, but I have a few other tasks to which to attend prior to my departure. I was hopeful of making that announcement on a more timely basis. It does, however, enhance the telling of the event to have used her manner of presentation.
A day late and a dollar short:
The reason I'm late with my St. Patrick's Day post is that I've been trying to finish a horribly boring online Defensive Driving Course. [News flash: A pedestrian with a white cane always has the right-of-way.] Wednesday I was going to go straight home and start working on it, but I didn't get home on time. I had gone to a neighboring town for intake assessments on two new Meals on Wheels clients, both of whom were real talkers. One of them whined incessently about all of her problems and showed me all of her scars, and the other wanted to tell me her entire life history. The second lady also told about having ridden to a neighboring town with a 96-year-old acquaintance for a bridge party. She said that when she complained to another friend about how difficult it had been to have this nearly-deaf lady as a partner, the friend's mouth dropped open. "Why, I would have been much more concerned about riding with her. You know, she's blind!"24 Irish Quickies (Short Jokes)
"Why do you Irish always answer a question with a question?" asked President Franklin D. Roosevelt.
"Do we now?" came New York Mayor Al Smith's reply.
His wife had been killed in an accident and the police were questioning Finnegan.
"Did she say anything before she died?" asked the sergeant.
"She spoke without interruption for about forty years," said the Irishman.
What have Irishmen and Jesus Christ got in common?
The both lived with their mother until they were 33 and neither had a job.
How do we know that Christ was Irish?
Because he was 33 still lived at home thought his mother was a virgin and she thought he was the son of God.
Paddy was rather sad after viewing the body of a dead atheist.
"There he was. All dressed up and no place to go."
See extended entry for remaining jokes.
I finally pulled into my garage at 6:30, already tired. Determined to finish the course, I fired up my off-brand computer and connected to the internet via my dial-up service. The pages for the course loaded so slowly that I could surf at least four or five blogs on Blog Explosion between each page. The course was supposed to take six hours, but with the slow-loading pages, by 12:30 at night I was only half finished. I finally quit when one of the videos completely failed to load, and I tried to guess the answer to the question without having seen it. Most of the other questions had been quite obvious, but true to Murphy [an Irishman]'s law, the answer was an obscure statistic that no one would know unless they watched the stupid video.
When I told Tig about my experience the next morning, he suggested that I come over and use his laptop with his DSL connection. He, meanwhile, would play Texas Hold'Em on Blog Explosion. To celebrate St. Patrick's Day, I stopped off at the local grocery on the way in and bought a pint of beer and a bottle of green food coloring. When I arrived, I went straight to the kitchen, poured some beer into a mug, and added added a drop of the potion to turn the beverage into green beer, which I handed to Tig instead of his expected Dr. Pepper.
Later that evening, he wandered into the living room, asking if I wanted to share his bowl of Ramen noodles. He got me back ... Have you ever seen a bowl of green noodles?
Two lawyers standing before an Irish judge got into a fierce argument.
At last one lawyer lost his temper and shouted, "Sir you are the biggest fool that I have set eyes on."
"Order, order," said the Irish judge. "You seem to forget that I am in the room."
"Hey Patrick, do I hear you spitting in the vase on the mantelpiece ?"
"No, Nora, but I'm getting closer all the time !"
Murphy told Quinn that his wife was driving him to drink.
Quinn thinks he's very lucky because his own wife makes him walk !!The Doctor was puzzled "I'm very sorry but I can't diagnose your trouble, Mahoney. I think it must be drink. "
"Don't worry about it Dr. Kelley, I'll come back when you're sober."
Seamus was getting irate and shouted upstairs to his wife," Hurry up or we'll be late."
"Oh, be quiet," replied his wife. "Haven't I been telling you for the last hour that I'll be ready in a minute?"
Mike lay dying on his bed when his wife Brigid came in to him and asked if there was anything he wanted.
Mike said "Brigid, what is that delicious smell coming from the kitchen?"
And Brigid replied "Oh Mike that is a ham I am baking ."
Mike thought, and said "Brigid, as my dying wish I would love to have some of that ham you're cooking."
Then Brigid said "Oh Mike, I'm saving that for the wake !!"
"Did you hear that Flanagan invented an invisible deodorant ?"
"No, what good is it ?"
"Well if you use it, you vanish and no one knows where the smell is coming from !"
An IRA man shows up at the pearly gates and St. Peter comes out to greet him. St. Peter takes one look and says "I don't think you can get in here.
The IRA man says"Who wants in? You've twenty minutes to get the *#!@ out!
"Seamus do you understand French?"
"I do if its spoken in Irish."
Two Irishmen had just won $5000,000 in a lottery. Having a pint in a pub Tim say to Sean, what about all them beggin letters, Sean replies, we'll just keep sending them.
Paddy was walking through a graveyard when de came across a headstone with the inscription "Here lies a politician and an honest man."
"Faith now," exclaimed Paddy, "I wonder how they got the two of them in one grave."
Incomprehensibly, the last coach of the train on a normal route kept getting smashed up by vandals. A porter came up with an idea.
"Why don't we leave the last coach off!"
She followed her husband to the public house. "How can you come here," she said, taking a sip of his pint of Guinness, "and drink that awful stuff?"
"Now!" he cried, "And you always said I was out enjoying meself."
Why does it take five Irishmen to change a lightbulb?
One to change the bulb. Four to remark about how grand the old bulb was.
"I hear Murphy died, " said Pat. "Was he ill long?"
"No," said Mick. "He died in the best of health."
First Irish Farmer: "My cow fell down a hole and I had to shoot it."
Second Irish Farmer: "Did you shoot it in the hole?"
First Irish Farmer: " No, in the head."
O'Connell was staggering home with a small Paddy in his back pocket when he slipped and fell heavily. Struggling to his feet, he felt something wet running down his leg.
"Please, God," he implored, "let it be blood!"
Hillary Clinton was out jogging one morning along the parkway when she tripped, fell over the bridge railing and landed in the creek below. Before the Secret Service guys could get to her, 3 kids who were fishing pulled her out of the water. She was so grateful she offered the kids whatever they wanted.For those of you who failed to see any humor in this joke due to your present political affiliation, feel free to read it again using someone other than Hillary in the lead role. For those of you who would like more, go forth into the extended entry.
The first kid says, "I want to go to Disneyland."
Hillary says, "No problem, I'll take you there on my special Senator's airplane."
The second kid says, "I want a new pair of Nike Air Jordan's.."
Hillary says, "I'll get them for you and even have Michael sign them!!"
The third kid says, "I want a motorized wheelchair with a built in TV and stereo headset!"
Hillary is a little perplexed by this and says, "But you don't look like you're handicapped."
The kid says, "I will be after my dad finds out I saved your ass from drowning.
Sally was driving home from one of her business trips in Northern Arizona when she saw an elderly Navajo woman walking on the side of the road. As the trip was a long and quiet one, she stopped the car and asked the Navajo woman if she would like a ride. With a silent nod of thanks, the woman got into the car.
Resuming the journey, Sally tried in vain to make a bit of small talk with the Navajo woman. The old woman just sat silently, looking intently at everything she saw, studying every little detail, until she noticed a brown bag on the seat next to Sally.
"What's in the bag?" asked the old woman.
Sally looked down at the brown bag and said, "It's a bottle of wine. I got it for my husband."
The Navajo woman was silent for another moment or two. Then speaking with the quiet wisdom of an elder, she said, "Good trade."
I was rudely awakened this morning by both of my dogs barking loudly at something. This is actually not a rare occasion, as I have likely previously reported. The weenie wolf barks almost constantly. I have learned to drown him out. However, Comanche only barks when alarmed, that being when someone or something is in close proximity to the yard surrounding my house.
Since I was still clad in my PJs, I peered out through Venetian blinds to see if I could spot the cause of the alarm. I was unable to find the cause of the alarm nor to spot the location of my dogs. I threw on my robe and ran out the front door, sensing something afoot that required my immediate attention.I found my dogs in the backyard where they had cornered some creature. I ventured closer for a better look. The creature was small and green, very green. Knowing today was St. Patrick's Day, I figured I had, with the assistance of my two valiant dogs, cornered myself a Leprechaun. Supposing what they say is true, I figured on catching the little critter and get that pot of gold.
I reached in and grasped the creature securely around the neck, pulling it near. I found that it was not a Leprechaun I grasped in my hand, but a rabbit. It was green, most likely, because it was sick. It began retching something from its mouth almost immediately and I dropped it to the ground. Laying there by my feet, it writhed and wiggled for a bit as my dogs circled, snarling and barking. I let them have it and retreated to my house to wash off whatever it was that rabbit spewed from my arm.
I went out a bit later for a fresh refill of DP and decided to go back to where I had last seen the rabbit. As chance would have it, I rounded the corner just as it was leaving. No longer green, the rabbit was climbing over the fence clutching something in its hand. It's a bit early for the Easter Bunny, I thought to myself. I was able to pilfer the object just as the rabbit slipped over the fence. I found it to be a box of cereal. Trix, to be particular. Trix are for kids, silly rabbit.
Personally, I don't like Trix. As I stated, Trix are for kids. I like Lucky Charms. They're magically delicious. And they have marshmallows. I like the green clovers the best. Just something about green clover shaped marshmallows that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Instead of pink hearts, however, I think it'd be a bit better if they had pink navels. My belly button thinks so, too. End of report.
A present to the guys from your friend Paul Sepp.
Well, a couple of things became known today. Some of it is good and some of it is bad. Which do you want first?
Good news? Rin-Tin-Tin's worries are at an end. It seems that the jury gave that little boy he used to play with on occasion the Royal OJ treatment today. Kudos for justice. And if he had of been found guilty, I heard his lawyers were all set to claim he committed the crime before he was 18 and therefore couldn't receive the death penalty.
Bad news: Reading ya'll's comments is much more fun than playing poker, but since ya'll ain't commenting, I have been playing poker. Playing poker seems to sap my creativity. I had to get that off of my chest.
Moona is taking defensive driving - ONLINE - over dialup. She says it is slow and ----- boring.
My navel is on probation. It seems the gag order did include it, as well. I only received a stern look but was let off the hook after the judge saw how I had no control over how my navel behaves. I could say the same about my .... oh well, ya'll really don't want to hear about that. After all, this ain't the Nightly Asshole Report. Speaking of assholes, I guess I had better be signing off. End of report.
[ULTRA URGENT ADDENDUM: I felt guilty, like I owed ya'll something. I was trying to think if there was anything to add here about Bobby Blake, other than to remind ya'll that I forgot what his cockatoo was named on Baretta. I'm thinking it was Fred, but I could be wrong. Anyway, thinking about Robert Blake got me to thinking about Bob Conrad, which got me to thinking about Bob Crane. Then I remembered that movie I saw about his extra-curricular activities and how I thought that guy that played him looked a lot like one or both of those guys that played Darrin in Bewitched. I found myself recalling that, even at the tender age I was when Bewitched originally aired, I often wondered if you truly had to be a Dick in order to play a guy that wouldn't allow his wife to work magic so as to make life more enjoyable for everybody. I wanted to share that with ya'll before I forgot it. End of Ultra Urgent Addendum.]
Well, if my dirty shirt bothers you tonight, blame it on the brain flat I have been trying to fix these last few hours. Trying to get my left cortex inflated to the point where I could think clearly again was an excruciating ordeal. You see, I don't simply have book full of these reports somewhere in my library where I can pluck something from the pages and lay it out here for your approval on a nightly basis. Nope, I make this stuff up on the fly.
I often mix a bit of reality into my imagination to come up with some surprising scenarios. Oft I am the one surprised at the reactions I get from these creations. I never expected the amount of concern received today about how my dogs were doing after devouring the UFO pork chop as was described in last night's NNGR™ . I'll admit, right here, that the closest that incident came to actually happening was when I was busily shoveling pork chop pieces into my mouth while watching a documentary on UFOs. UFOs are always described as saucer-shaped or cigar-shaped. I suddenly decided that it would be humorous to write something about pork chop-shaped UFOs. After further contemplation, much of which was done while surrounded by the warm glow of soft candlelight, soaking in a tub of hot water, the seeds of the story took shape. What finally popped out of my head was then edited and reedited and reedited and reedited again until it eventually became last night's report.
Tonight, regrettably, nothing as ingenious as UFO pork chops popped into mind. Stressing about my lack of topic, I strained too hard and blew out my left cortex. I have, as I previously stated, repaired the damage and am now thinking again. I'm just not thinking all that clearly as yet. Such makes this a bad time to have to tell you about the gag order issued against me today.
A judge has enjoined me from mentioning the name of a celebrity who is currently in the news on a daily basis. Despite the fact that the actual reasoning behind the order was suspect, Judge Dredd's countenance, alone, compels my compliance and I sit here in my pajamas unable to tell you of MJ: the magical essence of the House of Noel. I might mention my encounter with the little troll in an attempt to cross the bridge today and the riddle I had to answer in order to get his permission to cross:
What is white that once was black, and sang ABC to you and me?I just cannot give the answer. I could not give it to the troll and I cannot give it to you. I won't bore you with the details of the 40 minute trek to the ferry I had to make so as to get across the river. As it turned out, I was too late to make my tour of Neverland.
This ain't him
Truthfully, I'd love to tell you what I know about that strange looking creature who loves to sleep naked with little boys. Now, though, I'll just have to save all those lies until I'm called to the stand to testify. I'll swear to tell my side of the story and only my side of the story, whether its true or not. Who says you can't learn nothing from listening to John Kerry.
My navel had not climbed on board with regard to this production, at all, until that swipe at John Kerry. In fact, my navel was inattentive to anything going on inside my head for most of today. It was, instead, busily marching around the entire perimeter of my Buddha belly carrying a placard reading Michael Jackson is a pedophile. The gag order does not cover actions concerning my navel. End of report.
I just wish I could get either an agent or a publisher to look as closely as those who just volunteer to read my manuscript and tell me whether they think it is worth reading. Here's what Goldie had to say via email:*
BTW I finished the story! My what wild imagination you have! I hope it gets the recognition it deserves. When should we expect to see parts II and III?*I did request her permission to share these comments with ya'll.
It seems that Blog Explosion now has Texas Hold'em Poker for those of ya'll that might be interested. Beware, however, there are some real sharks prowling those tables. Watch out for some guy named roguegenius, whoever that might be:
I personally witnessed a very unusual event today. It was a bright day full of sunshine and, having heard that cold rainy days are forecast for tomorrow and the next day, I was sitting out on the porch enjoying the warmth while I could. A shadow passed my face and I lifted my eyes to gaze heavenward just in time to observe an unusually fast moving object soaring across the sky. Irregularly shaped, it was not easily identifiable. Just before it collided with my cheekbone, I got a brief clear look at the UFO.It fell to the sidewalk at my feet and I glanced toward where it fell only to watch as my two dogs greedily devoured the object.
From my fleeting glance, I pegged the item as, generally, pork chop shaped. From my dogs' fervor as they scrambled after every morsel, I deduced that it was, indeed, some form of meat. Assuming thereby that it was a pork chop, that still begged an answer to the primary question: from whence had this pork chop originated? Secondarily, of course, we'd have to consider if its identity solely as a
possible probable pork chop deprived it of UFO status.*
As there were no obvious signs that someone had simply tossed a pork chop in my direction, I reflected on possible origins. I first considered my lack of adequate time in which to assess the aerodynamics of this particular pork chop.Being totally unaware of its maximum flight range, I deduced the possibility that the pork chop was launched from some nearby location by person or persons unknown.
Then, again, I concluded that such could also be a pork chop of alien origins, purposefully piloted in such manner so as to be devoured by earthly canines. The intestinal tracts of canines are likely the default location for incubating eggs until they hatch into alien creatures bent on conquering the Earth. Recall, if you will, the plot of Dreamcatcher which I personally watched only a day or so ago. With such scenario still fresh in my mind, you can bet that I'm not going outside tonight except in the case of extreme emergency. And should such an emergency arise, I'll emerge fully armed with a 12-gauge double-barrel shotgun and a full fireplace lighter. If either of my dogs erupts into a shower of tiny worms with large, gaping, sharp-teeth-filled mouths, I am gonna be blowing and going.**
No belly buttons, alien or otherwise, were harmed in the creation of this report. End of report.
*It also begs the answer to the question of whether a UFO remains a UFO after it is eaten by snarling hounds.
**which is Texanese for "going forth in a decidedly-hurried fashion while shooting everything in your way without question."
Verbal Jazz is the proud owner of a glass house. His hobbies include throwing stones and keeping the local glass repair shop on speed dial.
I cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg. The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid. Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm.Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. Amzanig huh? Yaeh, and I awlyas thought slpeling was ipmorantt. -- from Kenneth
Called as a couple with apostolic leadership, Bishop and Pastor Hornbuckle serve as Southwest Regional Overseers of Kingdom Dominion Network, founded by Bishop Harold Ray of West Palm Beach, Florida. Their involvement extends beyond the boundaries of the spiritual community. Bishop Terry Hornbuckle is currently the Spiritual Advisor to the Dallas Cowboys. Pastor Renee' owns and operates Women of Influence, Inc.-- a ministry catering to women from all walks of life.
While it was being so quiet, of late, my navel was hatching an egg of some type. In its own immutable way, during my regularly scheduled gazing adventure, it disclosed the plot to a new sit-com it had developed and was planning to pitch to CBS. The current working title is "I Love Juicy." It's the story of a Cuban nightclub performer in Miami and her Puerto Rican husband, Miguel "Mickey" Mercado," an out-of-work drug runner who runs an exclusive Jewish delicatessen out on the back of a '72 Ford Pinto. Joining in on the televised festivities will be close neighbors and friends, Burt and Ernest Hertz, whose marriage is only recognized in Massachusetts. My navel has put a lot of thought into this show and I was very impressed with the script for the pilot episode. The part where Juicy walks in on a naked Ernest performing the Heimlich maneuver on her naked husband was pure genius. I guess it's safe to say that I am quite proud of my navel and hope that you are impressed, as well.
On the other hand, if my navel is going to be going behind my back and using portions of my own brain, I prefer that it'd, at least, be going into the empty parts. Its newly created sit-com is now housed where I used to store my recipes. I'd had long envisioned a time when I might grow famous by changing my name to Amos and marketing bags of delicious cookies produced from recipes I'd secretly stolen from Betty Crocker's grandmother. Well, never you mind about any of that because that plan is really out the window now. It did really have potential, though, didn't it? Drats! End of report.
I was just watching a show on the history channel about cannibalism. One paleontologist stated that not a single paleontologist was on record as having personally witnessed any acts of cannibalism. I suspect that to actually mean that none have lived to tell about it.
These definitions are provided courtesy of Ain't It Amazing.
- Coffee (n.), a person who is coughed upon.
- Flabbergasted (adj.), appalled over how much weight you have gained.
- Abdicate (v.),to give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.
- Esplanade (v.), to attempt an explanation while drunk.
- Willy-nilly (adj.), impotent.
- Negligent (adj.), describes a condition in which you absentmindedly answer the door in your nightgown.
- Lymph (v.), to walk with a lisp.
- Gargoyle (n.), an olive-flavored mouthwash.
- Flatulence (n.) the emergency vehicle that picks you up after you are run over by a steamroller.
- Balderdash (n.), a rapidly receding hairline.
- Testicle (n.), a humorous question on an exam.
- Rectitude (n.), the formal, dignified demeanor assumed by a proctologist immediately before he examines you.
- Oyster (n.), a person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddish expressions.
- Pokemon (n), A Jamaican proctologist.
- Frisbeetarianism (n.), The belief that, when you die, your soul goes up on the roof and gets stuck there.
- Circumvent (n.), the opening in the front of boxer shorts.
Today's strip centered on the confrontation between traditional press and bloggers. The press is be clamoring at Opus' door to discuss the truthfulness of his recent statements on blobbyblog[*]???? His excuse that he can say anything he wants so long as it is craftily created is vintage Tig. I'm flattered. Indeed. Where is Pickles, away in a search for her long lost father, Cutter John?
[*Opus was supposedly blogging on blobbyblog.com ... if you click the link, you will find this to be untrue.
footnote added following publication to satisfy question as to why I posted the link.]
OMG! I just saw the blurb for "The Passion: Re-Cut." This one ends differently. Jesus gets eaten by a T-Rex.
This month's Blogging for Books exercise turned out to be quite a strenuous ordeal for me. The scenario was to write about an event in one's life in the style of your favorite author. I do not like any of them enough to choose one over the other, except .. well, of course, The Word of God. Then there is the part about sharing details about events in one's life. I seem to have too few that are remarkable enough to discuss that are not also too embarrassing to publicly share. [*]
I finally settled on the following. It is a short description of my arrest while in college written in the style of The Bible, King James Version:
Book of Tiger, Chapter 3*If it had not been out of respect for the recent dead, I would have written about my dog taking a dump in the style of Hunter S. Thompson.
12. And it came to pass that Tiger left his father's house to go forth in search of a wife. 13. And, in the land of Arlington, during the reign of Reagan, Tiger dwelt in the House of Noel. 14. In the grand temples of knowledge by day and in the marketplace in the evening, Tiger grew to be a man. 15. Then, one evening, upon returning from market, a visitor appeared at the door and asked comfort to await the arrival of a friend.
16. Tiger allowed this visitor into the House of Noel. 17. And the stranger spoke with Tiger. He offered a strange wrapped incense to Tiger. 18. And then he bade Tiger to burn the stick. The stranger spoke, Inhale its vapors deeply. 19. And Tiger inhaled. His spirits lifted and his vision cleared.
20. And soldiers had followed the stranger to the House of Noel. Soldiers entered to arrest Tiger and his visitor. 21. Intoxicating incense was banned in the region. The stranger was shown to be a smuggler of the substance and, had hidden a large cache within the House of Noel. 22. A stern magistrate confronted Tiger with serious charges.
23. And Tiger trembled and prayed. Another magistrate intervened and spoke kindly. 24. Go forth with my servant and learn from his guidance. Come not before me again. 25. Tiger dreampt often of the intoxicating incense of the House of Noel.
Well, if it was not for Google searches, we might not have had hardly any visitors of any kind. For some odd reason, and, as it turned out, not fate, I decided to take a road trip and go see my brother and his family. I arrived and there is no sign of him or any of his brood. Oh well, as I have previously said, as I never take the time to call ahead, I am never disappointed if no one is home. I thereafter drove around a few hours, checking out my old childhood haunts. Nothing looks the same and, more than anything, I felt lost. I am afraid my school years are definitely too far behind me to remember at this late point of my life.
I drove back by my brother's house to check for sign's of life. Again, there was no answer to my knock and I did not observe anyone trying to peek through the venetian blinds in order to see who was disturbing their peace and quiet. I scribbled a short note on a Post-it Note®* and affixed such to the door. I left to gas up and was planning to stop on my way out of Abilene to get a bite to eat.
I remembered that my dad had always thought the Tye Truck Stop Cafe had the best food in town and, as that was where I was going to fill up my car, since it is also usually, according to my best belief, the place in Texas with the most often lowest priced gas you can find, I decided to dine at the Truck Stop. I thought how that would also keep me in the local area until about 9:00 pm. I'd drive by, once more, at that hour, and, if there was still no one at home, I felt safe in concluding that a couple with two children under 5, if they were going to come home at all, would be home by such time.
I dined, drove by once again, and still no luck. Nothing left to do but face the long drive back home. I was so tired. My eyes were glassy. I saw imaginary creatures scurrying across the road. However, ever vigilant I remained as there were too many "jumping deer" signs around. I have an extreme fear of deer jumping into the road. Oh wait ... that's SpongeBob ... I have an irrational fear of SpongeBob jumping into the road. Now I am going to have nightmares.
My navel was oblivious to the happenings of the day until "jumping deer" was mentioned. It seems my navel now has an unquenchable desire to see a jumping deer. Help. I'm tired. Can anyone find my navel a picture of a jumping deer ---- PLEASE?????? End of
Well, can ya, punk? Now ask yourself, does he really have anything to say? What can he say that he has not said before?
feardotcom sucks. There - I said it and that really needed* to be said.
Now, having said that, let me say this: I'm tired. My navel is tired. My computer is tired. I think I'll put all three of us to bed.
Lame report, I know, but what can I say? It's not like you haven't heard it all before, is it?
Well, don't just stand there with your mouth open. Say something, already. End of report.
*But then again, maybe it had been already said [see 91].
After dining in Chinatown, does an unfortunate man receive a fortune cookie without a fortune?
A burglar broke into a house one night. He shined his flashlight around, looking for valuables, and when he picked up a CD player to place in his sack, a strange, disembodied voice echoed from the dark saying "Jesus is watching you." He nearly jumped out of his skin, clicked his flashlight out and froze.By the way, since the average litter of Rottweilers is 8, and the average litter for rats is 12 - 24, maybe these pups were Rat-weillers.
When he heard nothing more after a bit, he shook his head, clicked the light back on and began searching for more valuables. Just as he pulled the stereo out so he could disconnect the wires, clear as a bell he heard, "Jesus is watching you." Freaked out, he shone his light around frantically, looking for the source of the voice. Finally, in the corner of the room, his flashlight beam came to rest on a parrot.
"Did you say that?" he hissed at the parrot.
"Yep," the parrot confessed, "I'm just trying to warn you."
The burglar relaxed. "Warn me, huh? Who the hell are you?"
"Moses," replied the bird.
"Moses" the burglar laughed. "What kind of stupid people would name a parrot Moses?"
"Probably the same kind of people that would name a rotweiller Jesus," the bird answered.
Do you suppose it also be staffed with clowns?
A woman wants the inside of her house painted and she calls a contractor in to help her. They wander around the house, and she points out the colors she wants. She says, "Now, in the living room, I'd like to have a neutral beige, very soft and warm."
The contractor nods, pulls out his pad of paper and writes on it. Then he goes to the window, leans out and yells, "Green side up!"
The woman is most perplexed but she lets it slide. They wander into the next room. She says, "In the dining room I'd like a light white, not stark, but very bright and airy."
The contractor nods, pulls out his pad of paper and writes on it. Then he goes to the window, leans out, and yells "Green side up!" The woman is even more perplexed but still lets it slide.
They wander further into the next room. She says, "In the bedroom, I'd like blue. Restful, peaceful, cool blue."
The contractor nods, pulls out his pad of paper and writes on it. Then once more he goes to the window, leans out and yells "Green side up"!
This is too much. The woman has to ask. So she says, "Every time I tell you a color, you write it down, but then you yell out the window 'Green side up.' What on earth does that mean?"
The contractor shakes his head and says, "I have four blondes laying sod across the street."
last night's production. To witness the lack
of utter adulation notice given to my efforts really dulls my chi, if a chi is what I think it is. A dull chi produces dull reports. Oh well, at least I have a funny joke for the Friday Joke Funny™ for tomorrow, so be sure to drop in sometime tomorrow so as to begin your weekend with a chuckle.
Oh, and feel free to add your comments, as often as you'd like. It's surely better than getting shot by your cat? I'm not joking, here. I am Tiger, after all, and being a very large cat, I have some sway over the smaller kitties of the domestic variety. In a recent well-attended global summit conference, it was decided that some of us cats are not getting our fair share of attention. itchy trigger claw. My advice: if you are in front of a computer, be reading Read My Lips. Comment! Beware the cats ... they are watching you. End of report.As one of the largest and, if I may speak freely, smartest cats in attendance, I made provisions that extra special attention would be paid to my particular problem: Attention Deficit Disorder, i.e., an extreme lack of proper attention from you. An understanding was reached. Things have got to change. Start watching the news for bizarre stories involving people and their cats. People will be quite surprised when they start getting offed by their own cats, I tell you. Mark my word, friends ... the plan's already in effect. Every cat in every corner of the world has agreed to take part in the movement. Blog reading habits are going to be monitored a bit more closely. Special emphasis is being given to make sure Read My Lips gets a "sufficient amount of your attention." The actual parameters of sufficient amount of attention are a little vague. Some of the really frisky kitties did appear to have an extremely
Found on Eschhaton blog -- The Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington (CREW) released a report today called Addicted to Porn: Members of Congress Accept Political Contributions from Porn Purveyors.
The report details how 15 Members of Congress, including 11 Representatives and four Senators, all of whom revile pornography, have accepted campaign contributions from corporations and executives who derive substantial profits from selling pornography. ...
Some of the findings of the report: Kansas Senator Sam Brownback - who equivocates pornography with crack cocaine - accepted $17,000 from porn peddlers.
Connecticut Senator Joe Lieberman - who has long campaigned against the growing coarseness of our culture -- along with renown gambling addict William Bennet, handed out "Silver Sewer" awards to those who made immoral videos, and who has criticized MTV for having porn stars on the air, accepted over $16,000.
Cong. Fred Upton, who leads the charge against indecency, accepted over $56,000. Arizona Senator John McCain, who claimed to be the "anti-porn" presidential candidate in ads that ran prior to the South Carolina primary, pocketed $46,000 from corporations and executives who profit from porn.
Melanie Sloan, CREW's executive director referred to Rep. Heather Wilson (R-NM) as "the biggest hypocrite of all" for having written a letter to former Vice President Al Gore demanding that he return a contribution from an adult entertainment web site and for sanctimoniously ranting at Viacom executives that they cared more about profits than morality, despite accepting $47,000 in porn profits.
Him: You know what I'm saying, because I was all "you know what I'm saying", you know what I'm saying?
Her: I have no idea what you're trying to say.
--Sea Thai Bistro, Williamsburg, from Overheard in New York
If you'd like to plan a trendy funeral, your cosmopolitan loved one will be eulogized with a Continental flair with one of these songs, according to Reuters:
Robbie Williams has topped the UK funeral music chart, leaving Mozart trailing in his wake, according to a survey Thursday.There are other ways, of course, to make this a decidedly upscale event. For instance,
Williams' "Angels" was the record most Britons would like played at their funeral, with Mozart's "Requiem" coming in at five in digital broadcaster Music Choice's poll of top 10 British funeral songs.
Frank Sinatra's "My Way" was second, just ahead of Monty Python's "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life."
The rest of Europe favored a more soft rock approach.
Queen's "The Show Must Go On" topped the European chart, with Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" and AC/DC's "Highway to Hell" in second and third place.
The prominent funeral director of Gregory W. Spencer Funeral Directors was known for his stylish funerals that featured poetic obituaries, elaborate floral arrangements and Spencer's signature white, horse-drawn carriage that led the funeral processions.But don't get me started ...
George Atkinson, the entrepreneur who opened the first video rental store in Los Angeles, California, died on March 3rd at age 69. Back in 1977, it was much more expensive to rent a video tape.
Atkinson charged $50 for an annual membership and $100 for a lifetime membership. Members could rent movies on Betamax* or VHS for $10 a day.*Betamax -- if you remember that, you probably also had eight-track tapes for your stereo!
From his initial storefront on Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles, Atkinson went on to organize the opening of more than 600 Video Station affiliates nationwide. He retired from Video Station in 1997.
To start his rental business, Mr. Atkinson bought 50 movies that had recently been made available on video, including 'The French Connection,' 'The Sound of Music' and 'Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.' He then advertised their availability for rental in a one-inch ad in The Los Angeles Times. Customers arrived in droves and willingly paid the $10-a-day rental fee. (Only the wealthy could afford the $1,000 that VCR's cost then.)"Now, Blockbuster Video has even made it into the Guiness Book of World Records
Of course, back in those days most of the studios were embroiled in a lawsuit against Sony for selling VCRs, which they viewed as tools for infringement, and they were all swearing up and down that they would never release their movies on video. it took brains and guts to open a video store that rented out Hollywood movies at a time when Hollywood was swearing enmity to the VCR and proposing to have it banned by law.
Blockbuster is the world's largest video retailer with a 30% market share. The first store opened in Dallas, Texas, USA, in October 1985 and the company now operates 4,438 stores in the US and 2,005 international outlets in 26 other countries. Each store offers between 70,000 and 10,000 different titles. Although no one denies that renting movies on video tapes or DVD's is much less expensive now, Blockbuster's advertising of "no more late fees" is being tauted as fraudulent:
"Blockbuster boldly announced its 'No More Late Fees' policy, but has not told customers about the big fees they are charged if they keep videos or games for more than a week after they are due," Attorney General Harvey said. "Blockbuster's ads are fraudulent and deceptive. They lead people to believe that an overdue rental will cost them absolutely nothing when, in fact, customers are being ambushed with
- late fees in some stores
- so-called 'restock fees,' and
- credit card or membership account charges equal to the purchase price of the video."
CHEYENNE, Wyoming (AP) -- Chris LeDoux, a former world champion bareback rider who parlayed songs about the rodeo life into a successful country music career, died Wednesday from complications of liver cancer. He was 56. - sourceSadly, although I always loved his music, I never found an opportunity to witness a live performance. Rest in Peace, Chris. May your musical legacy find air time for years and years to come.
The other day, I was watching that movie, Dreamcatcher. I loved how they kept showing that one character walking around inside his brain, doing this and that, like it was a library. I can easily imagine someone's brain envisioned as such, but not in such a clear-cut form. I can also peer into my brain. On those frequent occasions when I do so, I do not find my visions to be so vivid. My mind, first of all, is not very well organized. Secondly, my navel, which is the best portal I have found into my mental processes, is no longer top-of-the-line. It oft presents a distorted picture of what I am trying to recall.
Unlike the neat boxes full of properly-filed papers inside of Jonesy's head, my own head is filled with assorted scraps of knowledge and bits of memory strewn here and there. My earliest life was recorded in crayon and those memories are long since crumbled to dust.My public school years are a myriad of faded mimeograph pages and cursive writing on blue-lined two-hole notebook paper. Only faded carbons remain of my undergrad years. The ones that are still comprehensible are of less importance than originally believed. Here and there, I can still spot a pile of cheap tractor-fed computer paper full of characters printed on my 9-pin Okidata dot matrix printer from my law school years. Beyond that point, my life sped up and became entrenched in the information age. Magnetic data formats of every kind full of all sorts of important facts, happy memories, and inane trivia are laid anywhere a flat spot can be found. Only recently have I allowed my brain to enter into the digital age. Now, with recent memories mostly neatly compartmentalized and categorized, I oft easily find exactly what I want to locate without much thought. Of course, like any rule, there are exceptions and errant thinking sometimes causes some little bit to float out and mix into the morass of forgotten memories. When that occurs, it requires a bit of concentrated thinking so as to dredge my recollection in hopes of relocating my lost thought.
Ironically, just such a catastrophe befell me this evening. I was relaxed, lazily gazing at my navel, and swimming through the assorted mass of information stored within my gray matter. I found myself putting a few scattered pieces together and, before I knew it, I was on the verge of discovering the meaning of life. As I was turning the equation over in my mind so as to look at it from another angle, it slipped from my grasp and slid into the darkness.
I discovered a few scattered remnants of my vision between "tripods for ipods" and "topical bottoms," but my earth-shattering epiphany had been shredded. Those parts that were salvaged were of little use. [NOTE TO SELF: buy a mental thumb drive. 2 gigs worth of storage space ought to hold all the really important stuff.]
I didn't need this. I wasn't looking for trouble. I guess I wasn't watching for it either. However, I have recently discovered that trouble is keepin' an eye on me. That's it for this time around, but personally, it doesn't end here. I'll most likely be stoically ensconced in navel contemplation for a few more hours before I learn exactly what any of this means. End of report.
From now on, I advise that you only use change when buying food at McDonald's, because you can bet that Peoria is not the only place where they hire idiots to work behind the counter.
Big Mac awarded to Jeff Trigg.
Halfpolak comes this comment from California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger:From
Some of the districts look like they were drawn by a drunk with an etch-a-sketch.More wisdom from the mouth of Martha Stewart:
Pride in homekeeping creates serenity and pleasure. I even experienced it standing around the microwave in the place where I was staying.She also astutely observed:
During the last five months, I've had the privilege to meet an incredible cross section of people.Still another interesting quotation from Dan Rather:
"People have approached me about putting them in a book and offered more money than it's worth. I grew up around people who talked that way, and I try to use colorful language. Some of them I make up and some I've heard before." -- Outgoing CBS anchorman DAN RATHER on his folksy "Ratherism," quoted in the Austin American-Statesman.
Well, I almost was not around tonight to make this report. No, I did not have a near-death experience, I just feel asleep in my chair watching TV. I'd have likely slept straight through until the roosters crow tomorrow if I hadn't had a most horrendous nightmare.
Now this certain dream didn't begin as a nightmare. In fact, it had a quite pleasant beginning. It involved my having a chance encounter with Renee Zellwegger. We began chatting and hit it off fabulously. She appeared to have fun and laughed pleasantly at all of my jokes, even those few ghastly puns that passed across my lips. Finally, our mutual physical attraction grew too strong and we searched wildly for some private place to waltz the sensual peccadillo, if you catch my drift. So as to enhance our encounter, Renee suggested that I swallow a certain pharmaceutical product regularly advertised on television.
Needless to say, the experience was delightful. We swapped fluids and sustained our passion for an extended period of time. After four hours of such, my brain suddenly recalled the warning and I became concerned about my continued rigidity. Is there a doctor in the house? We are, after all, discussing a very important part of my person and personality. The matter involves a body part which I cherish almost as much as my own navel.
The hour had grown late and the only place to locate a doctor was at the local emergency room. I bade Renee a fond farewell and asked her to call me tomorrow. I remain hopeful that she will. I scurried on down to the emergency room, only to find myself behind a long line of other men. It seems that those side effects might not be as rare as advertised, as it was quite obvious to me why all of those other men were present.
It must have been fairly obvious to the doctor why they were all there, as well. He simply walked down the line, saying to each, "OK, I know why you're here." He did this with each man in line until he came to me, last in line. To me, he said, "Hey, are you glad to see me, or is that a gherkin in your pocket?" After that point, the next thing I remember was awakening in my chair screaming in embarrassment.
I was only able to post this embarrassing dream episode because my navel is off visiting a sick friend. It seems he has become quite acquainted with a neighborhood chimney that has the flue. In my dream, Renee laughed at that. Maybe I'll go back to sleep. End of report.
A perfect gift for the geek who has everything: a non-functioning time machine.*
Where's the beef? Dave's
*I know what some of ya'll are thinking, but it ain't a busted clock.
No, they have not discovered evidence showing how he couldn't have possibly been responsible for Nicole's death, but scientists have finally resolved the question of whether or not King Tut was murdered. How Tut's leg became fractured remains a mystery, however, but sources close to the story report that authorities are questioning Tonya Harding about the matter.
One of the biggest local controversies in my local area concerns this building:
This picture* does not do justice to the florescence of the orange coating or that of the lime green trim. Despite having yet opened, those I have overheard already discussing the establishment consider the new business to be an eye-sore. I, in my unique way of looking at things, can only assess the building's landmark value. On a popular scenic alternative route between the DFW Metroplex and Hill County, a regular multitude of travelers stream through our little town without realizing that actual dinosaur tracks exist here to be seen, that a nuclear power plant exists just a short way away, or that the local area has a quite colorful past. Hopefully, however, though, they'll soon be gossiping about the little town with the florescent orange and lime green Mexican restaurant. Although the sign is not yet in place and the business' name is unknown, could anything have gotten them more attention than a thoroughly atrocious paint job?
*Poor quality is because I used the camera on my cell phone to take the picture.
Today, I received yet another rejection letter from a publisher to which I had submitted my book manuscript. The message was short and sweet and devoid of professionalism. That, in itself, appeared strange, and yet, on this very same day,I received a craftily composed letter from a Dorrance Publications author-representative. It was, however, someone other than the author-representative with whom I had previously communicated. Those two pieces seem to fit together well to create a dreadful edifice.
I am unfamiliar with the particular celebrity of Paul Sepp and unsure if he truly is my friend, but the guy he pictured in this post is as in touch with his navel as any person I have previously observed, be it live or Memorex®. Despite the seeming differences between these pieces, they construct a pleasing scenario wherein maybe -- just maybe -- Paul Sepp really is my friend.
I'll email him my PayPal account info for conformation of that fact.
My own navel, having learned of the comments to last night's NNGR™, is pouting. Sadly, therefore, I am out of touch with my own navel. End of report.
A California lawyer and rancher has taken up the cause of "tail docking." In a guest editorial in the New York Times, Nicolette Niman states,
I noticed that the cows' tails had been cut off and I asked [the dairyman's wife] why. "Well, it's just easier to milk them without their tails," she explained, adding, "My husband didn't like the idea, so I did it while he was away fishing for the weekend." I felt a warm rush of affection for her husband.Do you suppose that the dairyman's wife took advice from a bogus guru? Or might there be a humanitarian purpose for amputating cows' tails? Then again, perhaps it was just a method to distinguish her cows from those of the neighboring dairy:
A cow without a tail, you see, is a sad sight. If you live in New York City, as I used to, you probably haven't been around a cow lately and therefore might not be able to picture just how odd a cow looks without her tail. So, try to imagine a golden retriever, a tiger cat, or a horse with its tail lopped off. Sad, right? At our cattle ranch, where the cows have their tails intact - the older cows' tails just reaching the blades of grass - I have even found myself admiring the beauty and grace of the cow's tail as she swishes it around.
'No! That would hurt your cow!' said Matt, 'I'll cut my cow's tail, and you keep your cow's tail long.'
'No, no!' shouted Mike,' cows need their tails long for swatting flies!'
'I know!' exclaimed Matt, 'Branding! I'll put a big 'X' on the rear of my cow, and you put a big 'Y' on the front of your cow.'
'No, no, no! My cow is too beautiful to mark up like that!' yelled Mike.
'I've got it!' Matt said. 'You take the black one, I'll take the white one!'
Post at your own risk? I ran across an article this morning. The piece points out that
Currently, some 27 percent of online U.S. adults read blogs, and 7 percent pen them, according to The Pew Internet and American Life Project.Those of you who are more experienced at blogging than I am are probably already aware that there is even a term for getting fired for blogging -- dooced. In fact, I was surprised to find numerous blogs addressing the subject of dooce dodging.
However, it further notes that companies have had some problems in developing specific policies related to blogging.
Christopher Cobey, an employment lawyer at the Littler Mendelson law firm's Silicon Valley office, said publicity over recent blog-related firings has prompted increased inquiries from companies about developing policies.Also of interest are articles and programs about blogger freedom. It's something to think about -- and, of course, to post about, right?
But some experts question whether a separate blogging policy is needed at all, given more general employment guidelines and common sense.
Anil Dash, vice president at blog software developer Six Apart Ltd., said publicized firings have been generally not over blogging but over other violations that happened to be done through blogging.
Mark Dichter, chairman of labor and employment at the law firm Morgan, Lewis & Bockius LLP, said policies can tie the hands of employers.
"It requires you to anticipate and draw lines," he said, "and once you set policies then you get into litigation into which side of the line it fell."
References continue to be made to this famous battle cry, some appropriate: (Click on pictures to enlarge.)
As governor of Texas, Bush installed a portrait of Sam Houston, commander of the Texas forces at San Jacinto and then President of the Republic of Texas, clad in the costume of the Roman consul Gaius Marius, in his office in the state capitol. At Cooperstown, when Bush was asked about Nolan Ryan’s pummelling of Robin Ventura, the first words out of his mouth were “Remember the Alamo!”... and some not so appropriate:
[Later, when Bush was President,] the captain of the American Ryder Cup team, Ben Crenshaw, of Austin, Texas, was another athlete hero-friend of Bush’s, and he had asked Bush to come to Brookline to give the U.S. Ryder Cup team a pep talk if necessary. ... On the eve of the last day of the match, Bush came into the room where the team was gathered and, by prearrangement with Crenshaw, recited the text of William Barret Travis’s letter from the Alamo. ... In Boston, the day after hearing from Bush, the American team staged a remarkable comeback and won the Ryder Cup. -- Source
Lew Rockwell column. Imagine the rage and determination, to oust the occupiers, from the residents who once lived there, and you can picture the force behind Sam Houston's victory long ago in Texas--together with the war cry: "Remember The Alamo!" -- Source.At right, the ruins of Fallujah, from the excellent
I began, earlier today, to try once again to create my 100 Things About Me. I do not know why I find this so very very hard to do, as I am seldom less than open and honest about every mundane matter dealing with myself. So, excruciatingly,
I would have less trouble producing that 100 item list if my navel was not the editor in chief for the project. It's really hard to work for such a harsh taskmaster. I have to beg askance for everything I want to say. Will I ever complete this project? Begging helps. Jes' sayin', ya know? End of report.
Confronted with a recent past filled with decadent behavior, Opus stands, in the end, along side his best friend. Shades of Midnight Cowboy. Ratso performance by Bill the Cat. According to The Powers That Be: Dan Rather's cat smells, or so they said.
OK, OK, so there was no posting of any kind yesterday, not counting the early morning wee hour posting of the NNGR™ from Friday. Sorry about that. I was entertaining. Martha Stewart just got released from prison and I had her over for some tea and crumpets. Afterward, she began cleaning and redecorating my house and before I knew it, the day was gone.
No, seriously, I was entertaining. It just wasn't Martha Stewart. It was Patrick Stewart. He was pushing Borg stocks.
I did write a new short story yesterday. It contains some racy language so I have banned it to the extended entry. If you are old enough and otherwise inclined, please feel free to have a look. My most ardent fan* hated it. End of report.
*No, it wasn't my navel. It, along with all other parts of me, absolutely loves the story.
a short story by Terence A. (Tiger) Russell
“Well, so you don’t love me?” she asked.
“Shit, no, bitch! Where’d you get that idea?” he replied.
“Well, we have been doing the nasty every day or so. I been fucking your regularly for the last few weeks, ain’t I?”
“So?” she responded quizzically. “Then what you’re saying is that I wasn’t nuthin’ more to you than your fuck buddy?”
“Bitch? Get on out of here. You ain’t my fuck buddy. Woman -- I was just playing the part of your boy toy out of mercy.”
Such was the last word out of Ricky’s mouth. His jaw dropped as he watched Lucy pull the Colt 45 from her waistband. She dropped him with one clean round through the forehead at close range.
2005 Texas Blogger Bash. I'd gone all through the Fry's Friday flyer and they had just what I needed for a bargain price. However, they had very little else to offer without which, at the current price, I felt I could not live. I discovered the camera also needed some fresh AA batteries. I need 4 and had one. I'd also want to purchase a large surplus supply of such. I have several electronic devices that drain AA batteries quickly. I embarked upon the 90 minute journey from my house to Fry's parking lot in Arlington. A third of the way along my route, I stopped in at Taco Bueno for an early evening's repast of excellent Tex-Mex, portions of which continue to bubble deep within my digestive system.Just a bit ago, I walked in from a spontaneous shopping trip. I wanted to get a what-cha-ma-call-it media card for my Kodak digital camera in preparation of the
When I walked out of the restaurant, for some odd reason, I stared across the parking lot at the big Wal-Mart sign and thought to myself that I ought to check the current availability and price of the items I planned to drive another hour to purchase. I discovered that I was going to save $8.00. Counting round-trip time, I was going to drive an additional 2 hours just to save $8.00. It didn't seem right, especially given that, given the current price of gas, My old Lincoln would use $8.00 in gas in driving that extra 100 or so miles. While I was in Wal-Mart, however, I also made a impulsively chose a few other items to add to my current pile of clutter. When the total was announced, I found myself slightly short of the needed amount of cash. I, of course, had my trusty credit card and deftly whipped it out of my wallet. I attempted to hand it to the clerk, who likely thought I was the dumbest country bumpkin she ever saw. She had to direct me through the function of sliding my card through the machine, explain which buttons to push, and show me how to affix my signature, electronically. As, you likely can tell, I rarely use a credit card for such types of purchases, this was an actual new experience for me.
Upon returning home, as most of us serious bloggers are wont to do, I immediately checked my comments. Lo and behold,* Scott of Versus Blog had dropped in and left some kindly words behind. I quickly recalled that I had yet partaken of today's Versus contest. I clicked on through, as I am also want to do, to find the bout of Conan O'Brien versus Conan the Barbarian. I'd never have picked Conan O'Brien to take this match. I was, however, highly unfamiliar with the particular powers of some particular masturbating bear, I felt some research was in order. Again, as I am wont to do, I plugged the term: masturbating bear into ixquick and found this link to a video of the logical masturbating bear reference. I am hopeful that it was not this link to A hairy gay bear man posing. I didn't open that particular Pandora's Box as I am utterly fearful of what I might find there. Would I find a hairy gay bear or a hairy gay man? Was it not likely that each would be posing bare? Can't you imagine that the very last thing I wanted to see was the sight of a hairy gay man posing bare? I could stand the sight of a hairy gay bear posing bare -- unless of course, he was masturbating.
I neglected to mention my navel's minor fire emergency at my point of entry into the Wal-Mart this evening. It seems that Buddha Belly negligently collided with the lit end of a cigarette in the hand of a store employee on break. That hot coal of burning tobacco became lodged in the front of my shirt along the button line just at the point of my navel. The excessive heat alarmed my navel and an alarm raced down my nervous system to the central process and control center, which dispatched Right Index Finger to tackle the emergency. Arriving johnny-on-the-spot, said Finger deftly flicked away the offending cherry, and my navel lived happily ever after, or until tomorrow night, whichever comes first. End of report.
*Ah, the archaic cliches of the English language!
Well, for two days, my co-blogger Moona has been working on the post below, but as anal as I am, she knows I will redesign her stuff to make it fit with my overall desire to make this site the most beautiful male-dominated blog in the whole world that is not produced by a gay man. As such, if you have been watching, you will notice I changed out two of her pictures, as well as moved them here and there for the last three quarters of an hour until I am finally and totally pleased with the appearance. It probably still looks like monkey ca-ca in 800x600 resolution, but if you are still viewing stuff in 800x600, you are likely still using IE3 on a Wang and you sadly need to update your equipment and get with it. Of course, I need to get with it and buy me an iPod so I can start podcasting -- whatever that is.
The king of computer software Bill Gates has received an honorary knighthood from the Queen.What comes to most of our minds when we think of Bill Gates is not nobility, but rather wealth and success. However, Gates does use his wealth for many projects which do have global significance. However, not everyone agrees with the appropriateness of this award.Mr Gates, 48, the world's wealthiest man, said it was "a great honour" to be recognised for his business skills and for his work on poverty reduction.
Bill's Mug Shots
The Queen had spoken to him about using computers, he said after a private audience with her. As an American citizen he cannot use the title "Sir" but will be entitled to put the letters KBE after his name. -- Source.According to the UK Foreign & Commonwealth Office, the honorary knighthood recognizes Gates’ contributions to improving health and reducing poverty in parts of the Commonwealth and elsewhere in the developing world. Gates also was recognized for his contribution to enterprise, employment, education and the voluntary sector in the United Kingdom. Source.
The mission statement of Microsoft appears to be noble:
At Microsoft, we work to help people and businesses throughout the world realize their full potential. This is our mission. Everything we do reflects this mission and the values that make it possible.
It's really exciting for me to be here and talk about some of the things Microsoft is doing with governments using the advances in IT technology. As I looked over the attendees for this meeting, I was very impressed at the group we've gotten together here, and I think as much as the value of my presentations and others is, I'm sure that networking between all of you in terms of projects that are working well or that you're looking at or some guidance for the future will probably be as big a value out of this conference as anything.Microsoft has also assisted in research on AIDS:
Microsoft Research is working with leading doctors and scientists to use advanced computer science techniques in the fight to slow or stop the HIV/AIDS pandemic. Microsoft researchers are applying software algorithms similar to those used on computing challenges such as managing computer databases, compressing digital files or blocking spam e-mail to overcome roadblocks in the hunt for an HIV vaccine.In We're All Swimming in the Same Pool, Bill Gates noted:
Satirist Ambrose Bierce described the future as "that period of time in which our affairs prosper, our friends are true, and our happiness is assured." I hope that turns out to be true, but mostly I take a more realistic view of the future because no fundamental change comes without its own set of problems. As more and more people store personal information on the Internet, how will we ensure that information is kept secure? As our economy becomes more dependent on bits than on atoms, how will we protect these resources from being damaged or devalued by hackers? As the barriers to information come down, how will we protect our children from negative and predatory influences? And as the Internet dissolves national borders, how will we help indigenous cultures coexist with an increasingly homogenous global culture?
I want my children to grow up in a world where technology is a profoundly empowering tool. I want technology to enrich their learning and improve their quality of life. I'm totally committed to making this happen, both through Microsoft and through my own giving efforts, and in many ways it's more challenging than the hardest software problem. You can't just throw technology, or even money, at problems and make them go away--you have to think hard about how you can have the greatest and most beneficial effect, and then take a long-term approach to making substantial, tangible change.
The award, for "his outstanding contribution to enterprise," was actually announced -- and criticised -- last year, but many readers still had plenty of spleen left to vent today.So the question is, does Bill Gates possess knightly virtues?
Perhaps she should have sent him to the Tower instead: Microsoft is a convicted monopolist, as software engineer Chris Rankin pointed out: "Bill Gates' business practices have violated antitrust laws in both Europe and the US. This is not something for which he should be honoured in any shape or form." An anonymous reader added "Bill Gates should be imprisoned for Microsoft's business practices, not knighted."
No, tell us what you really mean… "Microsoft has done more than any other company to hold back the development of IT solutions the world over," said Matt Webber. "They have clearly shown with their Internet Explorer software that their aim is to extinguish competition, then drip-feed product updates from their monopoly to the world charging them for the privilege every time. And how did they extinguish competition? By the use of illegal business practices." -- Source.
Walking along the beach, John tripped over a half buried kerosene lantern. He rubbed its side and sure enough, a genie materialized.Oh, what the heck ... added bonus joke for ya'll in the extended entry.
"I can't grant your wishes," explained the genie, "But I'll give you three gifts for releasing me: a potion to cure ill health, a very large diamond, and a dinner date with a famous movie star. By tomorrow afternoon, you will have received all these gifts."
When John returned home from work the next evening, he excitedly asked his mother if anything had been delivered.
"Yes," she replied. "It's been an unusual day. At 2 pm, a 55-gallon drum of chicken soup arrived. About a half-hour later, a telegram came saying that a long-lost relative had left you a minor-league baseball stadium. Ten minutes ago, MGM called, inviting you to dinner with Lassie tonight."
When the company president learned that his employees were tanking up on no-trace vodka martinis during their lunch hours, he issued the following memo:To all employees; If you must drink during you lunch hours, please drink whiskey. It is better for our customers to know you're drunk than to think you're stupid.
If happiness came in a bottle, it should be sold in a single life-time supply unit and distributed one to a customer. One lifetime's worth of happiness should satisfy anyone, even those perfectly perpendicular people who seem to find displeasure in everything. Of course, knowing my luck, I'd likely drop mine on the way home. But that'd be OK, wouldn't it? I mean, just think, all my happiness would just be surrounding everyone else. I'd just as soon sacrifice my happiness for the sake of others. I always have. That makes me a putz. Oh well.
I never thought I'd reach the point in life where I'd have hardly any interest in something new and hot, but I really have no inclination of ever getting an iPod. Or I didn't. I mean, I thought it was basically a digital music player, next generation walk-man. There must me more. Just what is a podcast?
I'm sitting here in a dark room where the only light is coming from the monitor. My navel is basking in resplendent glory in the soft glow that washes across my Buddha belly. I can now, at least, go to bed with a clear mind. End of report.
When you bite the bullet, do you take it out of the gun first?
I just received the following to my inquiry on Jan. 27, 2005 via email.
March 3, 2005George, ain't this growing into a large frustrating pile of excrement.
Dear Terence Russell:
Thank you so much for sending me your query.
Although your novel sounds intriguing, I'm sorry to say that I don't believe I am the right agent for you.
You deserve an enthusiastic[*] representative, so I recommend that you pursue other agents. After all, it just takes one "yes" and with so many different opinions out there, you could easily find the right match.
Good luck with all your publishing endeavors.
Nelson Literary Agency, LLC
*I initially wrote to this particular person, if you'll remember, because she seemed to me to be very enthusiastic. She now, by her own admission, has shown herself to be less than such.
*See the extended entry for my results in that quiz.
I just can't figure out how they figured out that I picked my nose.
Nightly Navel Gazin' Report™ Archive, this is likely one you should just breeze on past. In fact, almost the whole rest of you should likely move on at this point. Not Vickie, though. She should remain behind to read between the lines and discover the truth of the matter. And, Agent Victoria, if you and your team should choose to accept this mission, please report your findings to me as soon as possible, aka Official Read My Lips Acronym™ No. 3229: ASAP, or, as we around here call it: ORMLA#3229. Ya'll don't even want to know what we call the Nightly Navel Gazin' Report™ after the hired hands go for the day. I've got a secret. End of report.I do not know from where that title came, but I can tell you I am glad it is out of the box. This post ain't likely to be anywhere near the best of my stuff, so it might as well have a lame title like that to not draw* any readers. If you are skimming the
*We'll** be immensely lucky if we don't drive two out of three of them away.
**This, of course, not being that royal we, as I have a mouse in my pocket.
Shhh! Don't tell anyone.
Yesterday I went to the monthly luncheon of a ladies' club to which I belong. The woman across the table from me had taken a special tour of the Baker Hotel in Mineral Wells over the weekend, a fund-raiser to assist with the renovation of the hotel which has been closed since 1970. This hotel was once a popular place.
Many celebrities visited or performed at the Baker, according to old hotel registers. The Baker hosted the Three Stooges, Clarke Gable, Judy Garland, Will Rogers, Marlene Dietrich, General Pershing, L.B.J., Jean Harlow, Sammy Kaye, Jack Dempsey, Sam Rayburn, Helen Keller, Ronald Reagan and Mary Martin, just to name a few.
My friend, who is the head of Career Services at the local university, told me that she and the coworker who accompanied her had both been skeptical concerning the ghost stories that they had heard about this deserted building. However, after taking the tour, they felt that some of what they had experienced could not be explained through mere logic. For instance, they took a photograph of a dark room; however, the resulting picture showed orbs of light. Even more frightening to them was the tape that they recorded in a room in which the two of them were the only occupants. The recording revealed moaning sounds which unnerved them so much that they immediately threw the tape away.
Do you think that the Texas Supreme Court would have ruled this way?
This morning I heard a man who called in to a radio talk show tell about how a 13-year-old shot his sister. He watched his sister suffer for twelve days before she died. During his trial, the boy said that the crime gave him "a rush."
It appears that gang leaders will be recruiting more under-eighteen "children" to do their dirty work. After all, they're not really responsible, are they?
What kind of day did you have? Hopefully, it was better than mine. I just had a long day of driving here and there, doing this and that, and finding very little enjoyment with any of it. The low level migraine headache that plagued me throughout the day did not assist in any way. I knew it was going to be that sort of a day, however ... yesterday. I was unaware I'd be under the spell of the vise which clamped down on my head or plagued by the tickling fingers of nausea that teased my stomach. Tomorrow will hopefully be better.
The best thing that happened to me today was meeting Spider-Man. He put on a great show of web shooting and wall crawling in three-year-old imagination format.
I peeked at the star of the show but it was not forthcoming with any earth-shaking revelations. It was not even forthcoming with any salt-shaking revelations. It simply peppered me with frustrations. End of report.
Here's something you might find of interest, that being those of you whose lives are influenced by Jupiter and Venus.*
*part of line in Road to Morocco, playing in background while I was blog surfing.
Your Tuesday, March 1, 2005 Horoscope Taurus!
Comfort can be found at home. The outside world is a slightly aggressive place today. Your usual social skills will be out of synch with the pace of things. The familiar offers respite.