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

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.

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

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.

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.

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. 

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'?

Inner Monologue of an English Gentleman sitting in Starbuck's shortly before closing time

(To be voiced in a British accent, slowly and kind of pervy.  But, not Cockney. I hate Cockney.)


 Oh, look at you.

Mmmmph.

Look at you,
look    
at      
you.

Let's have a nice, loooooong look. 

You are a perky little tart, aren't you. 

I'll bet you get lots of attention around the office don't you, dearie?  I hope I'm not being too forward, but I have to say I'd be just chuffed as nuts to come over there and pop you right in my gob.  A little cinnamon for your buns?  Why, I've half a mind to stuff you in my ruck sack and cane back to my flat as fast as my Impreza will carry us.

What's that, love?  Oh, now keep your hair on, no need to throw a wobbly.  Don't let anything an old duffer like me says cheese you off.  Why, it's just that you've got me arse about tit and its been a donkey's year since I've set eyes on anything quite so lovely as yourself.

There that's better, now.  Why I'd have to be a cackhanded, rat-arsed knob to codswallup any tosh on you.  So before you think I've gone off my trolley and you put me on my bike, let me take you out for one night to stone the crows.  We'll get pear-shaped and put some welly into it!  It'll be tickety boo. Oh, muffins and bangers.

Crumpets!


Buzzzzz!

Player one, you've got control of the board.

I'll go with "hungry", Bob.

We'll find out in two minutes.  Stay tuned. We'll be back with more of Great Britain's most popular game show, "Lonely or Hungry", right after this commercial break.

Peter Cook's The Guilty Party

Today's post isn't written by anyone in the Snark Stable- as you'll soon be able to tell by the quality of the writing (if you weren't able to tell by the title above). Peter Cook, the British comic, writer, actor, and leading figure in the absurdist, satirical comedy movement of the 1960s and beyond, wrote this in probably under 5 minutes way back in the late 1950s.

I love clever absurdist humor and this is one of the finest examples that I have ever come across. I still giggle every time I read it.

Guilty Party

(Last Laugh, Cambridge Arts Theatre, 1959)

(A police Constable and a police Inspector are in a police station. There is a knock at the door.)

Inspector: See who that is, will you Constable?

Constable: It’s a Mr. Prone, Inspector.

(Enter Mr. Prone)

Prone: Mr. James Prone, Inspector, of Hawkchurch. I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour.

Inspector: Not at all. Won’t you come in? What can we do for you?

Prone: I’d just like you to ask me a few questions.

Constable: Questions? What about? There’s nothing wrong, is there?

Prone: It’s purely a matter of routine, Inspector. There’s no need for you to feel alarmed, but you are in fact investigating a murder.

Constable: Murder? But this is horrible!

Prone: Yes Constable. Murder is an ugly thing. That is why I should be extremely grateful if you would help me bring the culprit to bear by asking me one or two simple questions.

Inspector: But I don’t understand, Mr. Prone. What kind of questions?

Prone: Like ‘Did I know Mrs. Tallow well?’

Inspector: Only slightly. You used to play bridge together, but you don’t mean to say…

Constable: Is she? She’s not! She can’t be! She isn’t?

Prone: I’m afraid so. She was found stabbed this morning at 11:31 between the third and fourth rib.

Constable: Poor Annie! Why did it have to be her? She never hurt a soul!

Inspector: There, there Constable. You mustn't upset yourself. You must excuse my Constable, Mr. Prone. You see he was much closer to her than I was. But I still don’t see what this horrible thing has got to do with you.

Prone: Where was I this morning between eleven and twelve?

Inspector: You were…you were… now look here Prone, you’re not suggesting…

Prone: I’m not suggesting anything, Inspector. I only want you to get the facts. Now where was I this morning?

Inspector: I expect you were in the garden- gardening the beds.

Prone: And did anybody see me gardening?

Inspector: How the devil should I know? Now see here Prone, I don’t like your tone.

Prone: I’m only trying to do your job, Inspector. It isn't always a very pleasant one.

Inspector: I’m sorry. I’m sorry about that. It’s just that you got me on the raw. Of course we’ll do all we can to help you.

Prone: And now the Constable would like to ask me a few questions.

Constable: I… I… Oh dear, I don’t know what to say.

Inspector: Can’t you see the Constable’s overwrought? He’s not himself.

Prone: Let me see your shoe, Constable. Just as I thought. This speck of gravel is identical to the gravel in Mrs. Tallow’s drive. You were there this morning, weren't you? Come clean now, Constable.

Constable: Oh, what’s the use? You’re too clever for me.

Inspector: Is this true, Constable? Why didn't you tell me?

Constable: I thought you’d be angry.

Prone: And what were you doing there?

Inspector: Look here, Mr. Prone- you’re not implying that the Constable is in some way implicated in this affair?

Prone: I am implying that at 11:15 precisely, he looked in through the large bay window and saw the murder done- correct, Constable?

Constable: I’m sorry, Inspector. I couldn't help it.

Prone: Yes, Constable. I’m afraid the game’s up. You looked through that window and saw me stab Mrs. Tallow.

Constable: Yes, yes. I confess.

Prone: In that case, I’m afraid you have no alternative but to arrest me for willful murder, and of course to caution me.

Inspector: But this is absurd, Mr. Prone. We can’t possibly arrest you on such tenuous evidence as that. There’s no proof.

Prone: The Constable saw me do it.

Inspector: I don’t see what that’s got to do with it. He’s not a reliable witness. He’d soon break down under skillful cross examination.

Prone: My fingerprints are all over the murder weapon.

Inspector: But this is all purely circumstantial evidence. Besides, we haven’t found it.

Prone: Look in my pocket.

Inspector: I haven’t a search warrant. No, no. I tell you, Mr. Prone, we haven’t got enough to go on. For instance, what motive did you have?

Prone: Money. She left me all she had. It’s no use Inspector. You must arrest me.

Inspector: Are you threatening me Prone? I warn you, I have influential friends in the force.

Prone: Constable, take me into custody.

Inspector: You’ll never get away with this.

Prone: I’m coming quietly, Inspector. You always get your man in the end.

Inspector: Alright, you devil, Prone. You win. But let us have one last drink before we go. Won’t you join us?

Prone: Not while I’m on duty, thank you. Wait, what were those white crystals you put in those glasses? Give them to me!

Inspector: Too late, Prone. We’ll never live to run you in. You see, that was cyanide we drank.

(The Inspector dies)

Constable: Oh no, Mr. Prone- you’ll never hang.

(The Constable dies)

Prone: Damn, damn, damn. I've slipped through their fingers again. I should never have allowed them that last drink. I thought it was the perfect crime, but like all murderers, I made that one fatal mistake.

Brainstormed Ideas for the New Rascal Scooter Model Name Put in the Maybe Pile

• The Freedom
• The Liberty
• The Dignity
• The False Sense of Independence
• The You Can Take My Driver License But You Can't Take My Rascal (Especially If I Swallow the Key)
• The Yes I Went to My Doctor Appointment, Stop Badgering Me
• The Did I Ever Tell You About the Time...
• The Your Kids Will Remember to Call You on Your Birthday This Year for Sure
• The Large Print Edition
• The I'm Sorry Officer I Thought This Was Street Legal
• The I Thought Retirement Would be Different

My 10 Year Wedding Anniversary

Why yes, I am all ready for Christmas.  Thanks for asking.


My 10 year anniversary is quickly approaching.  I don't remember the exact date, but it is sometime later this month, I'm fairly certain.  What I do remember is every detail of the night I met my wife, and they follow as such:

It was a Thursday evening in September and I was out roaming for shorties.  Naturally, my first stop was a friend's house for a weekly Bible study/hook up mixer.  In the words of Maverick, or maybe it was Goose, those things are what I call "a target-rich environment".

I walked in and all eyes were on me as I strolled over to hors d'oeuvres (thank you spell check), and began to survey the scene.  It was a big night in my buddy's living room.  I must have been approached by two, maybe three cuties.  You start to lose count after a while.  But, the one I couldn't get out of my mind, I think she was girl number two maybe, happened to be the one that would become the future, Mrs. Scott Hoffmore-Mellencamp Roberson.  I was immediately arrested by her beautiful eyes, her winning smile, and her wonderful pair of...mismatched socks.  That's right, her socks didn't match.  I didn't know if she was just quirky, color-blind, or a serial killer, but I had to find out.  What would cause someone to leave the house with socks that don't match when everyone knows laundry day is not until Sunday.  No matter, she was my Cinderella, and I her Prince.  The charming one, not the Purple Rain one.  This is the part of the story where I try to make an analogy about returning her missing sock like a glass slipper, but the comparison falls apart fairly quickly.

Anyway, a lot has happened since that night and we have been through many highs and lows together, but two things that are still the same are the way I look and my love for my wife.

Happy 10th anniversary, Mrs. Roberson.  I wouldn't change a thing.

Famous Last Words

"If you miss, make sure you miss high."

"Well, then you hold the flashlight and I'll go in."

"Did that guy just flip me off?"

"Malik should have been back by now.  I'll go outside and take a look."

"Yeah, I need two Meximelts, one Chipotle Ranch Chicken Nacho Griller, and two Crunchwrap Supremes...oh and a large Vanilla Dr. Pepper Freeze.  Can I get chipotle in that?"

"We're gunna be on Tosh.O"

"They don't bite.  Here, I'll show you."

"Yeah, maybe you're right.  I'll get that checked out tomorrow."

"Beer after liquor, never sicker.  Liquor after beer, never fear...wait, that's not right."

"You got a problem, Chief?"

"Remember to jump out, not up.  Like this."

"I'll have a Red Bull mixed with ____."

"Is it recording yet?"

"Why don't you just come on over here and make me, Big Man?"

"Just grab it by the tail and pull straight up.  That way it can't reach you."

"Hold my beer..."

"Let's get Doritos Locos up in here!"

"These razzleberries taste kind of sour."

"Start off at about 20 and if I hold up one finger, speed up, but if I hold up two..."

Alternate Versions of the Hit Cartoon "Muppet Babies" That Didn't Get Picked Up by a Major Network

• Al Qaeda Babies
• Holocaust-Denier Babies
• The Cast and Crew from Alien Vs Predator Babies
• Your Recurring Night Terrors Concerning Mortality Babies
• Rigid Fundamentalism Babies
• The Wolf of Wall Street Babies
• The Guy That Refills the Toner in Your Office Copier Babies
• The Iran-Contra Affair Babies

Vacation Adventure

We are never going back there again.

I just think that maybe, you’re overreacting.

That’s easy for you to say. I don’t recall you almost being lowered into a vat of acid.

Oh please. It’s not like it was boiling acid.

Acid doesn’t have to be hot you idiot, it’s acid. It can peel your skin off at room temperature.

I don’t think name calling is really appropriate.

Name calling isn’t appropriate but almost getting lowered into acid is just fine?

Listen you didn’t get lowered into acid after all did you? So the bottom line is that today, just like every day, you didn’t get lowered into acid. That’s really not so hard to deal with. In fact, I get not lowered into acid all the time. I’m being not lowered into acid this very minute actually, as are you. There’s really nothing to complain about.

I think you’re severely underestimating the impact of the threat of being lowered into acid.

Fine, whatever. I just wish you could at least pretend you enjoyed our safari vacation with an impromptu visit to an aboriginal headhunter village.

I want a divorce.

Austin Chronicle, pg 26: Missed Connections

me: male caucasian, mid forties, at Chuck E. Cheese on East Riverside Saturday evening 5:00-close, standing next to the ball pit (whackin' those moles), white sleeveless "I'm a Pepper" t-shirt under a powder-blue J.C. Penny private label button-down oxford with collar popped (also sleeveless), burgundy Haggar cotton twill comfort slacks with relaxi-fit waistband, aviator sunglasses with matching Fossil belt and wallet set, cologne: Axe Dark Temptation, body spray: Axe Harmony mixed with mail-order pheromone, hair: touch of grey and parted on the left (your right), one ear bud with i-shuffle set to loop The Crash Test Dummies' grammy award winning God Shuffled His Feet and seminal effort The Ghosts that Haunt Me

you: female or male of slight build, wearing "Vote for Pedro" t-shirt over faded blue Rocky Mountain jeans, blond or brunette (possibly a redhead), sitting near the Jasper T. Jowls side of the keyboard stage left

We locked eyes for what I felt was a longer than average time in between Mr. Munch's drum break and Pasquale's solo.  Connection?  If you agree or just want to see where this ride might take us, I'll be at the Bass Concert Hall every night this week during Broadway Across America's almost tony nomination  considered production of Ditch McGarnicle's bluesy one man show: A Summer Evening with Ditch.  Check the balcony first, but sometimes I move down to orchestra level if any seats are open after intermission.

Track me down!

Somewhere in Hollywood

Julian, the big-shot Hollywood producer, sits in his office talking to his top screenwriter, Carl. Julian is wearing white linen pants with expensive sandals, a blue dress shirt and a white sport coat. His hair is slicked back, you can tell he uses an expensive pomade that smells like sandalwood, and although he is inside he continues to wear sunglasses. 

Carl is much more blue-collar but Hollywood-blue collar so I guess picture an upper-middle-class on the weekend type outfit.

Carl: Listen Julian, I know you said that you didn’t want to see anymore drafts of buddy-cop movies and, to be frank, I don’t know how to write any other kind of movie so I tweaked the latest one I’ve been working on. Here’s a quick run-down of the key scenes. What do you think?

Julian: Well let’s take a look. Let me put down my large cigar that I was casually smoking indoors, in today’s day and age no less.

Scene opens in a small office in the corner of the bullpen. Chief, at his desk, talks to the new recruit, Evans:

Alright Evans, have a seat. Your sweep scores were great and you passed every chemical cleaner test with flying colors. But you’ve got a real attitude. I’m reluctant to do this but I think you’re ready. You’re going out in the field today so congratulations. Don’t prove me wrong.

Your partner is gonna be Ditch McGarnicle. He’s got 30 years on the force and you could learn a thing or two from him. Now grab your standard issue mop, bucket, off-brand glass cleaner and get out there.

Evans meets his new partner, Ditch, who wastes no time in showing him the ropes:

Listen to me you little punk. You may think you’re hot crap but I’ll show you hot crap. Stall three- get to work.

Several weeks in, Ditch continues to ride the young cadet:

Hurry-up kid, we got a hot mess on the fourth floor. Some sorry copy-jockey horked all over his desk, his co-worker’s desk and his supervisor. You got enough sawdust to take care of that disaster? What does your fancy Custodial Engineer Handbook say to do now rookie?

As the story unfolds, their relationship begins to deepen:

You know why I’m hard on you, do you? It’s because I know you can be the best. And because I love you dammit. You’re my son and I love you. Aw, you look just like your mother. She had eyes that looked like old mop water after cleaning a dive bar bathroom. Her hair smelled like the best urinal cake you can imagine. She was beautiful kid and I miss her every time I look at you. Come here son and hug your old man.

Finally, in the climatic bathroom show-down Ditch is gravely wounded:

Go on without me kid. I’m not gonna make it. Just promise me one thing- clean up the mess I’m about to leave right here at the foot of this old urinal…clean it good kid.

Julian: Carl, you magnificent bastard. You just made us millionaires! Again! Well me at least, you’ll probably continue to be upper-middle class or so.

Album Release Announcement

Bro Country Records is excited to announce the release of the debut album from our newest artist, Rodney Greg!

The record includes the title track, 'It's Beer-30 Where I'm From' and nine other new songs.

The full track listing is as follows:

1. Old Party Truck
2. It's Beer-30 Where I'm From
3. Drinkin' Boots
4. The Tailgate Works Just Fine
5. I Know A Country Girl When I See One
6. Budweiser and Church (with Connor Steve from Jade Diamond)
7. Hotter On the River
8. Them Girls
9. Gotta Be the Party (featuring Nelly)
10. I'll Probably Regret This Later

Tour dates across the Carolinas and Georgia will be announced later this month.

Mr. Greg is buying everyone back at Joe's bar a beer and a whiskey in celebration.

Try me...I'll make you famous.

The title of this entry is borrowed from a good friend of mine.  Maybe you've heard of him.  His name is The Undertaker.  That's right, four time WWE Heavyweight Champion.  The Deadman.  The Phenom.  The American Badass.

And I don't think he would mind my borrowing his phrase to make a point, as I am somewhat of a man to be reckoned with myself.  What's a little plagiarism among friends.  Heck, maybe even best friends.  Why does our society have to label everything?  Anyway, my point is as follows:

It all started in the summer of my second senior year in college, while on a trip home to solicit more money for tuition related expenses.  I was meeting my dad in my hometown's most upscale tavern and bowling alley, and arrived a few minutes prior to said pater familias.  I walked in wearing my new Hobie Cat t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and my best Sunday jorts.  After assuring the server I did not need access to the receiving dock in the alley behind the building, I was shown to a table located delightfully near to the mensroom.  I ordered a High Life that arrived from under the counter at almost one degree cooler than room temperature.  A moment later, my dad walked in, sneered at my choice of tables, and held up an index finger to the waitress.  She promptly nodded and ducked into the kitchen only to return a minute later with an identical High Life to mine, except for the bits of ice clinging to the cap, frosted label, and unexpired expiration date.

That was a real 'Tony Robbins" moment for me.  That was the day I decided to stop being a slapnuts.  I started grabbing life by the coin purse and shaking until I got every last bit of loose change and respect I deserved.

Oh, I still wear shirts with cut off sleeves into restaurants, but now those sleeves are hemmed and they have a little something extra in the form of a logo on the chest. Like a Polo insignia or a "C" for Champion, which is what I am.  Oh, and those jorts?  Let's just say the ladies like them creased, light starch.

Take it easy, brothers.

Dr. Nathan Fard’s acceptance of the AABP’s Animal Psychologist of the Year award

Thank you. Thank you. No, please. This is too much. Thank you...Thank you. I'd like to say thank you to the Association of Animal Behavior Professionals for the honor of this award. This is truly humbling. I’d also like to thank my wife Stephanie for her unwavering support despite the many, many, uhhh... psychiatrists naysayers who have tried to convince her that her husband is a "delusional paranoid schizophrenic.” Lastly, to see so many of my former patients here tonight just confirms what I know in my heart – that I am making a difference. The cold glow of your glassy eyes tells me than words ever could. To quote the  bard---

Sir...Sir...Sir!! Please put that down and leave the store now.

Excuse me?! I'll have you know, this is a very prestigious award.

It’s a 2 pound gummy bear. Also, where did you get that? We don’t even sell those. 

It was awarded to me by a jury of my professional colleagues.

Sir, this is a Build-A-Bear Workshop. There are no---wait, why are you wearing a trench coat in June?

I was told this would be a black-tie affair.

You're not wearing a tie.

Not on my neck, i'm not...

Oh, you get the hell out!!

Pure Country

You're listening to "Hey, cat!  Get down out of that tree."  on K-LVIS Redneck Radio.  We'll return after this word from our sponsor.

Howdy, Friends!

Uncle Folksy here to tell you about our newest product addition here in the Folksy family, Uncle Folksy's Pure-Mash Ethyl Alcohol Soppin' Gravy and Household Disinfectant.  That's right our newest addition to the product line is down-home, old-fashioned, homey, folksy, pure and natural.  So stop off at the Five and Dime on your way home today and pick some up.  Or, better yet, give the Mrs. some foldin' money and send her on into town for a bottle of Uncle Folksy's Ethyl Soppin' Sauce...whatever I called it earlier.

Look, I really just bought this air time for a chance to talk to you, the listener, about some things that we as a country are facing today.   If you are like me and have an inherent distrust of foreigners, misgivings about women who vote, and aren't afraid to state the obvious; all Canadians smell funny, then I hope you'll help spread the word and support my ideals by shopping locally with genuine Uncle Folksy certified products.  Now with longer words on the labels so the lady of the house doesn't get any ideas about readin'.

Time to get back to the program, but pick up some of my soppin' alcohol today for all your soppin' needs!  Vote straight-party ticket and don't pick up hippies on the side of the road!