4.3.2016
One of the all-time best parental robotic emails: (to be read in a soft, Mississippi male accent)
If you don't want more attention (a nice word for ass chewings) than you ever had in your entire life combined at once, do not ever, walk your dog to a US Post Office full of seniors on a hot afternoon in So. Fla. and leave the dog panting outside the front door. I had to mail a document to Capt Rongaus, "Mam", guarding our country for the next 2 weeks out at Langley AFB, Va. I heard the dog breathing before I walked around the corner but I couldn't tell what the noise was. Well, it was a small to medium sized black pug/bulldog mix on a leash, in the shade. Those dogs naturally snort when breathing and "Buddy" was snorting like a freight train and panting. Buddy's human was a
decent looking young man, late 30's I'd guess, standing in line inside. Big judgmental error for that lad to leave Buddy outside the front door. The senior women were on him, each and every one of them. "Why would you do that to your dog? Mam, we just walked 2 miles - walked to the P.O., he's OK" That answer got him nowhere. "I want to see the Post Master" demanded one lady. "It isn't in my jurisdiction and as far as I can tell, the dog's OK and it isn't against the law" the PM said. She should have known better. (How many times have we heard "If it isn't in your jurisdiction, or against
the law, it should be.")
The ole crapola really hit the fan when a late arriving protagonist pointed out that Buddy had a bloody left front paw. Meanwhile Madam PM is pointing out that only seeing eye dogs are allowed inside the PO (that answer got her no where, but she should have learned a lesson from corporate America and sent out the public relations officer to catch the spears) and Buddy's human is still getting more attention than he every wanted. "The ASPCA will hear about this!"
One senior male, big guy, alleged that he had raised champion dogs all his life and he'd never seen anything like this. Mind you, these folks were not whispering. Me, I'm number 3 in the express line and praying that the clerks keep working and don't get embroiled in the fracas. The male senior was prepared to challenge the owner guy to a duel. I really start praying real hard now that I get out of Dodge before really serious stuff happens.
I got to the window, had the exact change ready and conducted my business in a split second. However, in that short time a miracle not unlike the fishes and the loaves had occurred. Out of nowhere Buddy's paw had been professionally bandaged and more ice and bottled water had appeared out of Lincoln Towncars and Cadillacs than Safeway stores carry.
As I burned rubber out of the parking lot the crowd was still gathered, accusations about the guy's ancestors were being hurled by the seniors - some of the seniors allowed as how the guy was related to Buddy's mother. I'll let you know if more serious mayhem happened.
LESSON LEARNED: If you've got to go to the Post Office, leave your dog at home.
Tonight - Latin American Club (Piñata enjoyment, at it's finest!!)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 21, 2016
Thursday, April 14, 2016
Skeezix (REDUX)
4.2.2016 (first published this week 2002)
What the hell is the deal with the Calvin and Hobbes? Why is it the artist couldn’t draw Hobbes to look the same from panel to panel? One minute he’s going nuts and jawing away with that little scoundrel Calvin, then the next he’s kinda lifeless: Mute and well, stuffed-looking. Like a taxidermist just got through with him. And what the hell kinda dog is he supposed to be anyway? He’s the wackiest looking dog I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen plenty.
The thing that’s got me thinking about Calvin and Hobbes in the first place is that I’ve been seeing that Calvin all over the place these days. Of course he’s all over the place doing the same thing: Peeing on things. Mostly he’s a stencil on some fella’s Ford, peeing on a Chevy logo. Fine. Calvin has a healthy disdain for Chevys. He chooses to show his contempt in a way befitting his rapscallionish nature, you ask me. That’s fine, Cal peeing on a Chevy logo, but down the block I see a Chevy truck, and who’s stenciled on the back window, peeing on a Ford logo? Cal! Has Cal jumped ship to the enemy, a la Jason Giambi? Maybe, maybe not. Later Cal is observed taking a whizz on a Honda logo, a Subaru logo, and a Toyota logo. He’s draining the main vein on a Dodge, letting fly on a Peterbuilt and watering a GMC. Okay, so the little scalawag hates all cars. Fine. So do I.
I’ve seen the Cal showing his feelings for more than just cars and trucks lately too. Cal doesn’t like the bin Laden, the Detroit RockCity Redwings or Kodak. Kodak? What the hell is that about? Someone got stock in FujiFilm? I haven’t, however, seen Cal peeing on a Chicago Cubs logo, or tonight’s venue:
Tempest (by request - we've never visited there as a group)
Last Week’s Contest Results: Alan correctly identified the reference as the SF PD’s non-emergency number. Mr. D. Hindley also found the reference and noted how “expletively easy” the contest was. As you can see, Mr. Hindley, the contest must be made easy at times for some contestants (think “A.C.”) to win.
Tonight’s Dramatic Reenactment: Coppertone. Suntan glop. You know it, I’m sure, if you’ve ever been anywhere outside SF where you can get some sun. Well there’s a little picture on the bottle of a little girl sunbather holding a bottle of Coppertone. She’s in some distress because there’s a mangy dog about to tear here swim trunk bottoms off for her. Scandal on the Beach!! Our players: Ced plays the little girl; Tama plays the bottle of Coppertone, Alan plays the bad dog and (nameless) plays the swimt runks.
Porn Title of the Week: The Slutty Professor
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
What the hell is the deal with the Calvin and Hobbes? Why is it the artist couldn’t draw Hobbes to look the same from panel to panel? One minute he’s going nuts and jawing away with that little scoundrel Calvin, then the next he’s kinda lifeless: Mute and well, stuffed-looking. Like a taxidermist just got through with him. And what the hell kinda dog is he supposed to be anyway? He’s the wackiest looking dog I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen plenty.
The thing that’s got me thinking about Calvin and Hobbes in the first place is that I’ve been seeing that Calvin all over the place these days. Of course he’s all over the place doing the same thing: Peeing on things. Mostly he’s a stencil on some fella’s Ford, peeing on a Chevy logo. Fine. Calvin has a healthy disdain for Chevys. He chooses to show his contempt in a way befitting his rapscallionish nature, you ask me. That’s fine, Cal peeing on a Chevy logo, but down the block I see a Chevy truck, and who’s stenciled on the back window, peeing on a Ford logo? Cal! Has Cal jumped ship to the enemy, a la Jason Giambi? Maybe, maybe not. Later Cal is observed taking a whizz on a Honda logo, a Subaru logo, and a Toyota logo. He’s draining the main vein on a Dodge, letting fly on a Peterbuilt and watering a GMC. Okay, so the little scalawag hates all cars. Fine. So do I.
I’ve seen the Cal showing his feelings for more than just cars and trucks lately too. Cal doesn’t like the bin Laden, the Detroit RockCity Redwings or Kodak. Kodak? What the hell is that about? Someone got stock in FujiFilm? I haven’t, however, seen Cal peeing on a Chicago Cubs logo, or tonight’s venue:
Tempest (by request - we've never visited there as a group)
Last Week’s Contest Results: Alan correctly identified the reference as the SF PD’s non-emergency number. Mr. D. Hindley also found the reference and noted how “expletively easy” the contest was. As you can see, Mr. Hindley, the contest must be made easy at times for some contestants (think “A.C.”) to win.
Tonight’s Dramatic Reenactment: Coppertone. Suntan glop. You know it, I’m sure, if you’ve ever been anywhere outside SF where you can get some sun. Well there’s a little picture on the bottle of a little girl sunbather holding a bottle of Coppertone. She’s in some distress because there’s a mangy dog about to tear here swim trunk bottoms off for her. Scandal on the Beach!! Our players: Ced plays the little girl; Tama plays the bottle of Coppertone, Alan plays the bad dog and (nameless) plays the swimt runks.
Porn Title of the Week: The Slutty Professor
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 07, 2016
Bluejay Way
4.1.2016
My kid loves to watch movie trailers. The Apple TV dingus has a channel ... or app or whatever ... called "Trailers." At least it did before the Apple TV 2 came out and shit all over what we were used to and started over. Anyway, we used to spin up the Trailers channel and watch Disney movie trailers, Pixar trailers, Dreamworks trailers ... everything new and old and kid-friendly.
Ez (my kid, duh) loves ninjas. I showed him the trailer for "You Only Live Twice," the 007 James Bond film that has a boatload of ninjas in it. We then watched a compilation of Bond trailers. Good machine-gunning, stunt-driving, Bond girl-kissing (Ez said, "ew") and general fun and mayhem.
Early the next morning we woke to find a fog upon LA. Ez was fascinated by it and so I spun up the Trailers channel on the Apple TV and I showed him the trailer for The Fog. It wasn't the best idea I've had. Ez got scared of the killer ghost lepers that killed people with gaffing hooks. He didn't watch much, cuz I turned it off as soon as I saw that he didn't dig it.
Later I found my wife was not happy when she found out. She found out at bedtime a few nights later when Mr. Memory said he was scared of the fog and ratted me out for showing him the trailer. I said I'd take care of it.
I said I was sorry to him over cereal the next morning. Then I told him that most movies - especially scary movies - had a lesson to teach the audience. I then told him the lesson of the fog in two ways.
1. Don't trick a boatload of diseased people to their doom with a fake lighthouse or their ghosts might fuck your descendants up.
2. Lesson 1 distilled is: Be kind and generous to people who need help.
Tonight - Orbit Room (by divine intervention)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
My kid loves to watch movie trailers. The Apple TV dingus has a channel ... or app or whatever ... called "Trailers." At least it did before the Apple TV 2 came out and shit all over what we were used to and started over. Anyway, we used to spin up the Trailers channel and watch Disney movie trailers, Pixar trailers, Dreamworks trailers ... everything new and old and kid-friendly.
Ez (my kid, duh) loves ninjas. I showed him the trailer for "You Only Live Twice," the 007 James Bond film that has a boatload of ninjas in it. We then watched a compilation of Bond trailers. Good machine-gunning, stunt-driving, Bond girl-kissing (Ez said, "ew") and general fun and mayhem.
Early the next morning we woke to find a fog upon LA. Ez was fascinated by it and so I spun up the Trailers channel on the Apple TV and I showed him the trailer for The Fog. It wasn't the best idea I've had. Ez got scared of the killer ghost lepers that killed people with gaffing hooks. He didn't watch much, cuz I turned it off as soon as I saw that he didn't dig it.
Later I found my wife was not happy when she found out. She found out at bedtime a few nights later when Mr. Memory said he was scared of the fog and ratted me out for showing him the trailer. I said I'd take care of it.
I said I was sorry to him over cereal the next morning. Then I told him that most movies - especially scary movies - had a lesson to teach the audience. I then told him the lesson of the fog in two ways.
1. Don't trick a boatload of diseased people to their doom with a fake lighthouse or their ghosts might fuck your descendants up.
2. Lesson 1 distilled is: Be kind and generous to people who need help.
Tonight - Orbit Room (by divine intervention)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, March 31, 2016
Mexicali Beer Run
3.5.2016
I was chatting with a work pal about the breadcrumbs in the shared butter tub. I found her buttering toast as I had a half-hour before and asked her if she dodged the already-there crumbs as I just done. She said she was dodging them, and while we agreed that it was kinda rude to leave a bunch of bread crumbs in the butter tub, it wasn't that big of a deal. It wasn't that icky. It was just toast.
She's a clever gal and she said that her next emo band's name was going to be "Bread Crumbs in the Butter Tub." I thought that was a great name and I told her the name of my future punk band (which you've heard before): "The Mexicali Beer Run Teens."
I asked her if she had ever done a teenage beer run and she hadn't. I told her the story of my most memorable one.
Sherri, Veronica and Rebecca and I were out late one Arizona night some time in the late 80s. Why it was just the four of us and not the two dozen or so of our other pals I don't know, but we were having a great time going from office park to office park and swimming in their courtyard fountains. (It wasn't really swimming per se, rather, "splashing about like idiots.") It was spontaneous fountain-hopping that night, and none of the gals or I had swim trunks, but no matter. I had shorts that did the trick and they had bras under their T shirts.
Some time later, one of us suggested a beer run. In these days of yore, a beer run meant walking into a mini-mart, grabbing a 12-pack or two and running out as fast as one could. Three soaking wet teenage girls in bras and shorts - one behind the wheel - and I pulled in to a Circle K parking lot. Sherri and Veronica got out and went in. Rebecca pointed the car toward the exit and was jittery and ready to go. Sherri and Veronica calmly walked out of the mart with two or three 12 packs in hand and Rebecca hardly waited for them to get in before she gunned the motor and blew wheels out of there. Sherri and Veronica (Veronica being partially dragged before getting all the way in) were yelling, "He let us! He let us! Don't worry!" But Rebecca didn't clearly hear it until we were a few blocks away.
When Rebecca calmed down and said, "What did you say?" Sherri said, "we walked in and the geek behind the counter stared at us. Two soaking wet teenage girls with only bras on. We sorted him out and said, 'We're taking this beer,' and he said, 'uh, oh-okay' and gaped." We just took it and walked!"
We weren't in Mexicali, but we were beer run teens, for sure.
Tonight - The Homestead
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I was chatting with a work pal about the breadcrumbs in the shared butter tub. I found her buttering toast as I had a half-hour before and asked her if she dodged the already-there crumbs as I just done. She said she was dodging them, and while we agreed that it was kinda rude to leave a bunch of bread crumbs in the butter tub, it wasn't that big of a deal. It wasn't that icky. It was just toast.
She's a clever gal and she said that her next emo band's name was going to be "Bread Crumbs in the Butter Tub." I thought that was a great name and I told her the name of my future punk band (which you've heard before): "The Mexicali Beer Run Teens."
I asked her if she had ever done a teenage beer run and she hadn't. I told her the story of my most memorable one.
Sherri, Veronica and Rebecca and I were out late one Arizona night some time in the late 80s. Why it was just the four of us and not the two dozen or so of our other pals I don't know, but we were having a great time going from office park to office park and swimming in their courtyard fountains. (It wasn't really swimming per se, rather, "splashing about like idiots.") It was spontaneous fountain-hopping that night, and none of the gals or I had swim trunks, but no matter. I had shorts that did the trick and they had bras under their T shirts.
Some time later, one of us suggested a beer run. In these days of yore, a beer run meant walking into a mini-mart, grabbing a 12-pack or two and running out as fast as one could. Three soaking wet teenage girls in bras and shorts - one behind the wheel - and I pulled in to a Circle K parking lot. Sherri and Veronica got out and went in. Rebecca pointed the car toward the exit and was jittery and ready to go. Sherri and Veronica calmly walked out of the mart with two or three 12 packs in hand and Rebecca hardly waited for them to get in before she gunned the motor and blew wheels out of there. Sherri and Veronica (Veronica being partially dragged before getting all the way in) were yelling, "He let us! He let us! Don't worry!" But Rebecca didn't clearly hear it until we were a few blocks away.
When Rebecca calmed down and said, "What did you say?" Sherri said, "we walked in and the geek behind the counter stared at us. Two soaking wet teenage girls with only bras on. We sorted him out and said, 'We're taking this beer,' and he said, 'uh, oh-okay' and gaped." We just took it and walked!"
We weren't in Mexicali, but we were beer run teens, for sure.
Tonight - The Homestead
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
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