Wednesday, February 10, 2021

Man vs Dog

 Me: *pulls into grocery store parking lot, gets out of car*

Dog in car next to me: BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK

Me: Why are you barking at me? I’m not in your car, you can’t possibly think the entire parking lot is yours.

Dog: BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK

Me: Stop it. Stop barking at me! I have a right to be here.

Dog: BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK

Me: Ok, listen. Fine. I don’t have time for this. I have to get beer, jalepeno cheddar poppers, and beer so I’m going to walk into the store. BUT THIS DOESN’T MEAN YOU WIN. I’M ONLY LEAVING BECAUSE I HAVE TO, NOT BECAUSE YOU BARKED AT ME.

Dog: BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK

Monday, January 2, 2017

Roy Nickson: a fairly interesting young man

Ok, look. I'm not going to sit here and deny the fact that British alternative rock/anarchist punk band, Chumbawumba's Tubthumping, was far more commercially successful than their previous endeavor, Swingin' with Raymond, but if you are trying to tell me the cover art is in the same league, this conversation is over.  I'm sorry, but I'm passionate about the band and that is just the way I feel.  Having said that, you can imagine my delight and surprise upon discovering that Chumba's former acoustic guitarist/violinist, Chris Nickson's youngest nephew, Roy, had only recently moved into the duplex right across the street.

If you think that wasn't cause enough for me to grab that bottle of Old Charter I'd been saving for a singular occasion, then you haven't been paying close attention to the narrative.  The titular character proved a gracious host, devoted fan of mid-priced bourbon, and a prolific story teller.  And, oh the stories he told.  Regrettably, very few of said stories were about my third favorite British band, unfortunately.  It seems he had only met his famous uncle on one occasion, and that being before he was old enough to remember, but nonetheless, Roy was kind enough to regale me deep into the night with tales of his childhood in Des Moines, misspent youth in Ames, and countless shenanigans while attending Ellsworth Community College.  Had I not been sworn to secrecy, I would love to expound on the latter.  However, I don't think he would object too strongly to my sharing his draft strategy for his current passion...fantasy football.  While I confessed my ignorance on the subject, he was very insistent that although he employed this often overlooked tactic in his current dynasty league, he believed in its potential for keeper and standard leagues as well.  His conviction is that by spending your first three draft picks on kickers, you are able to corner the market, so to speak, and thus command a premium in trade value as the season wears on.  And, after hearing how he narrowly missed the playoffs again this year by a hair's breadth, I must say I am inclined to agree. 

And with that, I raise a red Solo in salute to my new friend, Roy.  Welcome to the neighborhood, my friend.

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

Open Letter to Mr. or Mrs. McSweeney

Dear Sir/Madam, (I'd wager madams rarely frequent the room where this missive finds you.)

Although in the past you have always kindly apologized to me in your rejection responses to my hopeful submissions to your website, today I would like to formally apologize to you.  And, I would also like to take this opportunity to announce that you will no longer be bothered by said submissions.  You see, I am sincerely sorry for subjecting you to the drudgery that was involved with reading my clumsily constructed narratives and ham-fisted attempts at comedy.

I'm serious, don't laugh.  At least not now at any rate.  It has come to my attention after numerous rejections that the time has come to give up on my dream.  And I'm not talking about the one where I'm falling out of bed, but never quite hit the floor.  I mean the one where you reply to one of my stories with at least some type of positive feedback.  Because it may have taken a long time to sink in, but now I can honestly say that I get it.  I finally understand what the universe has been trying to tell me for years, and just like the seatbelt that I couldn't figure out...until it clicked,  I am NOT funny.  But, do you know what?

That's ok.

It really is.  Because I'm good at other things...things you probably don't even know anything about, and these next sentences will detail some of those exact things that I was just writing about earlier in this sentence.

--When was the last time you ran a trot line?

--Do you always signal before changing lanes?  I usually do.

--Just the other day, I paid for a coworkers lunch because I'm pretty sure I make more money than her, even though we started at roughly the same time.  And, she isn't even one of the pretty ones.

--Also, American Express refers to me as a valued customer. You make people feel far from valued.  While we are on the subject of credit cards, how is your credit?  The fine folks at FICO tell me mine is just grand, to the tune of 813 to be exact.  Why I doubt you know the difference between a FICO score and a...
Damn.

Maybe writing isn't my thing.  I guess this letter proves I'm not funny, and I am sorry about the extra work I put you through.  One time I thought about burying a gay sex scene in the middle of one of my submissions to your site, just to make sure you were really reading the entire thing before rejecting it.  You know, like Johnny Damon and Ben Aflac did with the Goodwill Hunting screenplays that they mailed to studio executives.  But, I don't even know if I could write a convincing sex scene, gay or regular.  And, I don't want to offend anyone.  That type of writing should be tasteful.  And also hot.

Anyway, I guess I just wanted to say thanks for reading my stuff and shooting me straight.  I can tell you gave me a fair shake, because your critiques were so specific.  You never would have said that making fun of rednecks is too passe and that calling hippies names is just mean if you hadn't performed the due diligence.  However, as to "J.R.R. Tollkitten", "Hunter S. Thomcat", and "Fleador Suess Geisel" not being pawsetively the funniest celebrity cat names in the history of the genre, well...agree to disagree.

Parting shot.  So, while we may not see eye to eye on what's funny or spelled correctly, I take solace in the fact that it was one heck of a ride, partner.  And hey, now that I'm giving up on this crazy dream of mine and stepping away from my proverbial keyboard, I guess I'll have more time to devote to the ones that matter most to me.

You hear that, LaVar Purrton and Sheddie Vedder?  Daddy's coming home.


So...thanks, I guess.  And, adios.

Stately-Wayne





Wednesday, August 26, 2015

What to do in a bear attack

  • Never turn your back on a bear. They are all malicious gossips and will pounce on the opportunity to talk about you behind your back to the other bears.
  • Try not to smell like bear food. Bears love bear food so it helps if you smell like bear poison, which they don't like.
  • Don't run because honestly you look kind of silly when you run.
  • Keep your distance. Physically but also emotionally. Bears can be unexpectedly cruel in relationships. It’s just their way.
  • Especially Greg. That bear sucks.
  • Wear bear bells so you don't catch a bear unawares. If you do catch a bear unawares though don’t shout “Bear unawares! Bear unawares!” because bears think that’s annoying.
  • If you do come upon a bear you should consider checking its paw for a thorn. If there is a thorn, remove it and you'll likely get to experience a lifelong friendship with the bear (hopefully not Greg). If it doesn't have a thorn though you shouldn't have done that.
  • Nuclear weapons have shown promise in recent bear prevention trials.
  • Additionally if you have the ability to fly, teleport, blast fire from your hands, or turn into a considerably larger bear then it is recommended you do so.

Friday, February 20, 2015

The Tedium Before the Storm

Mary Goodnight: Good afternoon James.

James Bond: Hello love. Any news? No don’t answer that. I know there isn’t any bloody news.

Goodnight: You’re in a mood today.

Bond: Well of course I am. There hasn’t been an assignment for the 00s in 18 months. I’m bored to tears.

008: James, you’re back from lunch! Did you drink it or smoke it today?

Bond: Both and I still don’t feel any better.

008: Well good news. Word is that Ernst Blofeld is alive after all- and rampaging through downtown Buenos Aires.

Bond: What the bloody hell? That’s impossible!

008: Ha, yes, you idiot, it is impossible.

Bond: Dammit Bill, I hate you so much.

008: You sound just like my first and third wives.

Goodnight: Really now, why can’t you two get along? Why not go down to the shooting range and practice with your new Walther?

008: You know we can’t do that Mary- M took our guns away after last week’s game of “Shoot the hat off of Q while he begs you, for the love of God, to stop”.

Goodnight: Right, that bit. Well maybe you should go see how Q is doing after his three consecutive heart attacks?

Bond: I don’t think that’s a good idea. As I understand it, Q has devised several booby traps in the guise of ordinary objects in case we come round again.

008: Right then.

Bond: Right.


Several minutes pass as the sound of Mary Goodnight’s typing, the coffee percolating, and muted traffic noise begin to give way to a thick but dull hum.


Bond: Did you say something?

008: What’s that?

Bond: I said, ‘Did you say something?’

008: I just said ‘What’s that?’

Bond: No, I mean…never mind.


More minutes pass


008: I don’t have a wine-rack.

Bond: Hmm?

008: I don’t really like wine, it just seems one should have a wine rack.

Bond: Rather.


More minutes pass


Bond: Did you say something?

008: Me?

Bond: Something about wine?

008: No, I don’t think so.

Bond: Right then.

008: Rut.

Bond: Did you just say rut?

008: No, I said right.

Bond: I think you said rut.

008: Go to hell James.


More minutes


008: Want to go to Blades for some bridge?

Bond: No, last time I was there I was very, very drunk and hit on Basildon’s niece.

008: What was she doing at Blades?

Bond: I think it would be more appropriate for you to ask, ‘Oh, does Basildon have a niece?’ and upon finding out that 'No, Basildon does not have a niece' to ask ‘Oh, were you so drunk that you mistook one of the potted plants near the dining room, inexplicably, for Basildon’s fictional niece and then vigorously make love to that same plant on the very table where Basildon was lunching?' and upon being answered in the affirmative you should then ask ‘Did you happen to realize your mistake about halfway through the act but then decide to press on because James Bond never quits on a job?'. Finally you should follow up with ‘Did you then take Basildon, at gunpoint mind you, into the lavatory and force him to watch you cry for 45 minutes, vomit, cry for several minutes longer, vomit once more, dry heave and fall asleep?'. Because the answer is yes.

008: Oh.

Goodnight: Please excuse me. I think I’ll head home early.




Friday, February 13, 2015

INXSive

(downtown office of Punch McGarnicle: businessman)

Ok.  Well, thank you for coming in to interview today, Mr. Van Huesen was it?

Van Halen.  Steve Van Halen and thank you for seeing me.  My condolences for the recent passing of your brother, Ditch, was it? Anyhow, I just stopped by to drop off my resume and completed application, so I really didn't expect anyone to be available for an interview.  I'm sorry I'm not dressed more formally.

Oh, not at all.  Let's just call it a little "get to know you session".  Why don't we start with some of your interests.  By the way, I think you have a little something on your shirt there.  There's a box of tissues on the desk behind you there.

Ahhh...that is so embarrassing.  I had the top down on the drive over and a flock of birds got me at a red light.  Seagulls I think.

Hmm.  Don't see many of those here in Austin.  Wait.  Just wait a minute.  Did you say...your last name is Van Halen and you are claiming a Flock of Seagulls attached you on the way over here?  I've got a bad feeling about where this interview is headed.

U2, huh?  You know I couldn't put my Badfinger on it, but when I walked in I had a Bon Jovi of a time just finding my way to the personnel department. 

That isn't even a phrase.  And, it's lazy writing.

A-ha!  Boy George, you got me there.  Guilty as charged.  Heh heh.  Don't call the cops on me!

Did you mean to say The Police?

Oh, J. Geils!  That would have been even better.  Oh well, I only Human League, and feeling a little under the weather at that...can't think of how to work The Cure into this sentence.

Good day, Mr. Van Halen.  

I thank you for The Time, and we salute you. 


Wednesday, February 11, 2015

My House. Eight O'Clock in the P.M. Every Ding-Dang Night.


Let it gooo. Let it go. I am one with the wind and sky.  Let it...Oh, hey Dad, just belting out some of the classics.  Mmm, she said she needed some "alone time".  I'm good.  Doing good, how 'bout you?  Good...uh, I was kinda watchin' that before...Ok then, and where are we going in such a...alrighty upstairs it is.  Oh, that's ok we don't...No, I already brushed my teeth, so we can just...I'll go turn my show back on and...Why are you looking at me like that exactly?  Hey, c'mon.  I mean I'm almost six years old, so I don't think I would actually forget to brush my teeth at this...Are you feeling the toothbrush?  I don't know why it's dry.  I mean, I mean I'm not a toothbrush scientist here.  I mean what am I a...one of those lab assistants here, a uh, a toothbrush technician, if you will?  I mean come on now, we're both adults and...Are you seriously sticking that toothbrush in my mouth with nothing on it but toothpaste?  Come on, man, a little water on the bristles please.  We've been through this.  I thought we were friends here...Whoah, sorry about your shoe.  No, I was, I was.  I said I was!  I don't know what happened, I was aiming for the sink, you bumped my elbow, a little water on your shoe...no biggie, right...Hey!  Hey, hey, hey, whoah, it is not time yet.  No, no, no, no... look the sun is still out!  Come on, man, that is not from the street light, it looks like high noon in the Sahara out there, Dad.  I just...I just...ok here it is...I just want something else to eat, ok?  I'm...very hungry, and I thought I had more time, so...I don't know what I want.  What do we have?  Yikes, ok...easy there old timer, I'm going, and I can do without the pushing, please.  I don't know, I think it was down stairs.  I had it while I was watching tv.  Well of course I need it, how would you like to sleep without a pillow...Don't get angry at me!  I'll be happy to go get...Ok, I'll wait here with Elsa and my water bottle.

Well, thank you, it would have been a long night without...Oh that?  It's probably just some spilled water.  Hey, how are you and Mom doin'?