Only All Of It

Escher The Little Children

2006-07-18T10:03:00.000-05:00

A child, no more than five or six, stares wistfully out the streaming window and says "Daddy. Why does it have to rain?"

"Rain means God is crying," says Daddy.

"But why is God crying?"

"God is crying because it's raining out. Now drink your espresso."

Join us next week when we'll declaim upon God's icy dandruff.

I Recently Purchased Two Display-Model Palindromes

2006-05-17T08:57:00.000-05:00

I paid just 99 cents for the both of 'em:

1. "A man! A plan! A canal! Bensonhurst!"

2. "Madam in Eden, I'm Shecky."

How do you like me now?

2006-05-16T08:21:00.000-05:00

a (re) pose in dribble

by

e.e. coli

"poe a tree is ease (e)

all you need's

is one (

deep-sounding)

sentence broken

up in stu-

pid places,

badly spelt and

punctuatd poorly."

Vote Republican!

Son of Frightfully Poor Titles For Horror Films

2006-05-15T09:37:00.000-05:00

1. Phantom of the Oprah

2. The Thingy

3. The Hills Have School In The Morning

4. The Hunchback of Ipanema

5. The Six Cents

6. The Amityville Chamber of Commerce

7. Children of the Cob

8. I Was a Teenage Flavor Chemist

9. Bram Stoker's Magic Flute

10. Night of the Loving Dad

11. Double Feature: The Diary of Anne Frankenstein/Arthur McBride of Frankenstein

12. House of a Thousand Dalmations

13. The Horse on Haunted Hill

Frightfully Poor Titles for Horror Films

2006-05-01T20:56:00.000-05:00

1. Terrier In the Wax Museum

2. Pete and the Pendulum

3. The House That Dripped Sarcasm

4. The Yodelling

5. Carnival of Seals

6. The Hills Have Feelings Too, You Know

7. Dawn of the Dude

8. Don't Look in the Toilet

9. Thems!

10. (The Strange Case of) Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde the Salami

11. Texas Rickshaw Passenger

12. 'Salems Latte

13. Attack of the Fifty-Foot Thyroid

I Need A Ghostbuster

2006-05-01T04:23:00.000-05:00

Two nights ago I dreamed that, as I lay snoring, my dear departed Grandma appeared before me, cackled "GO BACK TO SLEEP" and then electric-boogalooed right through the wall.

What can this mean?

Support Global Warming

2006-04-29T11:25:00.000-05:00

"Aloha!" to Julie from Reading, PA

2006-04-29T08:32:00.000-05:00

Julie, the one-time accounts-receivable lady from "Ortho of Reading" has moved on, and to Hawaii of all places! I was Julie's account rep here at Rocco's Everything 99 Cents, and, as I have seen not one but two episodes of Hawaii Five-O, and can air-drum the theme song, I thought it only fitting that I offer my pal and colleague Julie some perhaps not unwelcome information. Let us begin.

Although a single state, Hawaii is actually composed of five islands which in turn are made up of several million 'commonwealths,' each consisting of a dense, milk-chocolate nucleus around which orbit one or more electrons. The five Hawaii islands are, Ellis, Rhode, Long, Treasure, and Daktamoreau, which is located west of Tehran.

As near as anyone has been able to ascertain, four of the islands are populated only by the NFL Pro-Bowl and armies of flesh-eating ferns, while the fifth, Ellis, is home only to Don and Chin Ho, Robert Kiyosaki, Kam Fong, and the pre-rescue version of Tom Hanks from the motion picture Castaway (2000, dir. Robert Zemeckis, two thumbs up).

Natives of Hawaii speak, not surprisingly, Hawaiian, a language made up entirely of the single word 'aloha' and it's various anagramatical derivatives. The Hawaiian state flag shows a grinning, flaming skull devouring what looks like all three of the Brady girls. The state song is the beloved "Ahola a shaka goa ah."

The first-time visitor to Hawaii will find the following words and simple expressions useful:

Aloha --- "Hello."

Aloha --- "Goodbye."

Aloha --- "Say what?"/"Whassup"/"You da man"/"You don't say"/"Booyah!"/"Sweet!"/"You're fired/hired"/"I'll get back to you"/"Courage."/"Oh! The humanity!"/"Today I consider myself the luckiest man/woman on the face of the earth."

Aloha Allah --- Hello God.

A Ha! --- "Yes! Now I see!"

Alo Ha ha --- "Very funny."

Alo Ha ha ha ha --- "Yes. Very funny indeed. You are most droll and amusing."

Alo Ha ha ha hoo hoo --- "You have a most droll and amusing vagina."

Alo Ho Ho Ho --- "Merry Christmas!"

Alo Ho Ho Ho, Ho --- "Merry Christmas, Ho!"

Hoala Hoal Ha --- "Can you tell me where I may leagally evacuate my poi-bloated bowels?"

Hola hoala hoa loa --- "There? But there I see only flesh-eating ferns!"

Aloha --- "They're eating me alive!"

Hoalla oo ooo oooo --- "What's the frequency Kenneth?"

And there you have it Julie. I hope this (necessarily incomplete) guide will prove beneficial. Adios!

Alternate Openings to Great Movies --- "Goodfellas"

2006-04-28T08:52:00.000-05:00

FADE IN

INT: HENRY'S CAR --- NIGHT

WE SEE HENRY, JIMMY, and TOMMY. HENRY is driving. JIMMY, in the passenger's seat, and TOMMY, in the rear seat, embracing a shovel, are dozing off. The sleepy humming of the wheels is suddenly interupted by a thumping sound. JIMMY Awakens. His eyes are on HENRY. TOMMY leans forward from the rear seat. Silence. Thump! Silence.

TOMMY
What the fuck was that? Jimmy?

HENRY
What's up? Did I hit something?

JIMMY
What the fuck is that?

TOMMY
Maybe you got a flat.

JIMMY
What the fuck? Pull over.

EXT. MERRITT PARKWAY --- NIGHT

Car pulls off the road onto the grass. HENRY, JIMMY and TOMMY, still holding the shovel, get out of the car.

TOMMY (Tries the trunk)
Open it.

HENRY
Uh. Tommy, I ... I don't got the trunk key. I dropped it at your Mom's.

TOMMY (Can't believe his ears)
You fuckin' what? You LOST it?

HENRY
Listen. I'm real sorry.

TOMMY
You miserable prick!

JIMMY (Holds up his hands)
Boys. Boys. Please.
(Takes something from his pocket)
Here. Let me try.

TOMMY
What the fuck is that?

JIMMY (Works at the trunk.)
Slimjim! (The trunk pops open.)

TOMMY
Hey! Jimmy got it!

TOMMY, and HENRY hop up and down like little girls, clapping their hands and repeating "Jimmy got it."

JIMMY (VO)
As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a locksmith.

R.I.P Dr. Remmick C. Mendelsohn

2006-04-27T09:29:00.000-05:00

The world of science and learning has lost one of its true giants.

Dr. Remmick C. Mendelsohn, Ph.D, was born in Nepalana, Indiana on July 2, 1923. After graduating from the St. Georges School for Boys, he attended Princeton University, where he received the first of many academic laurels. Dr. Mendelsohn served in the US Navy in Europe during the second world war, contributing to the design of distributed RADAR installations, and doing ground-breaking work on the emerging field of Fraujallo Matrices. He was the winner of the 32nd Smithinson Medal for outstanding research in the field of particle physics.

After the war he founded the New School for Scientific Research, in Andover, and launched the Journal for Scholastic Methodontrics and the Annals of Investigatory Quantum Mechanics. (In 1982 he relinguished his publishers position to his assistant, Carmichael Fields.) He is a three-time winner of the Science Digest Emminence Award, a twice-recipient of the Sturcher Prize, Germany's oldest and highest honor for scientific scholarship, and he has garnered over three dozen honorary degrees from institutions the world over.

In 1984 he was named by then-president Ronald Reagan to head the American Science Council. He has been a technical consultant on many radio, television and motion picture productions. In his final decades he was a guest lecturer at conferences and symposia in North America, Europe and Asia.

He died on the toilet last night at 11:09PM.

Dr. Mendelsohn is survived by his sixth wife, his health club membership, half a parrot, two "leather daddies," and a sort of half boy/half lemur thing found cowering behind the smaller spit-sink. In lieu of a religious service, his widow has requested that everyone just "get on with their stinking lives and leave me the f**k alone!"

Authorities are still searching for the body.

Horrible Titles For Blues Songs

2006-04-26T10:59:00.000-05:00

1. I'm Your Hoochie Coochie Server This Evening

2. Mannish Boyish Love Association Blues

3. Dust My Wet-Vac

4. I Can't Quit You Bub. Get Me?

5. Walkin' Quadraplegic Blues

6. Hellhound On My Couch

7. Don't Let Your Deal Go Too Egregiously Beyond Deadline

8. Travellin' Riverside Strangler Blues

9. I'm Your Backdoor Mensch

10. Mummy! I've Made It Into Exeter Blues

Save The Planet

2006-04-26T09:54:00.000-05:00

The worst thing about global warming? It makes the snowmen cry.

Awful Titles for Westerns

2006-04-26T03:37:00.000-05:00

1. The Odious Ones

2. Covered Vegan

3. The Raffleman

4. High Noun

5. Whole Grains Drifter

6. Tru-Grout

7. Food Fight at the A-OK Corral

8. Bunches Gone Wild

9. Waggin' Train

10. Cat Ballet

11. Billy I Shrunk the Kid

12. Little Big Toe

13. Plums Along the Mohawk

14. Peas! Peas! Peas!

15. Pet Ferret and Billy the Cod

16. Duel at Strumpet's Crevice

17. Horse, Interupted

18. A Cyst Full of Dollars

19. Alias Al Roker

20. il operini del horsi

Terrible Names For Bluesmen

2006-04-25T08:03:00.000-05:00

1. Mute Lemon Jefferson

2. Blond Goy Fuller

3. Johnny "Didgeridoo" Watson

4. Kurt Godel

5. Ululatin' Wolfe

6. Ku Klux Klooney

7. John Moe

8. Audit Trail McCoy

9. Elizabeth Cotton Dockers

10. Howlin' Rosenthal

UpLift!

2006-04-19T13:42:00.000-05:00

"I complained I had too many shoes, until I met a man who had too many feet. I burned him, his horse, and the entire village. Why take a chance with stuff like that?"

I’m not a Journalist/Artist/Writer/Success, but I play one on my Blog.

2005-05-07T21:11:00.000-05:00

1---I read once that the Catholic Church, back in Medieval days, excommunicated this one heretic not once, but twice. Isn’t excommunication the worst thing you could possibly do to someone? Why do it twice? Where’s the added horror? Maybe when you get to hell they take away your driver’s license.

2---A sure sign that life's gotten off to a bad start: having to wear dentures in nursery school.

3---Full disclosure: I used to be afraid of black people. I thought they’d beat me up and take my big wheel. (This was in law school.) It became a real problem, almost a phobia. So finally some of my friends did an "intervention." They invited me over, sat me down, and told me in no uncertain terms, “Bill, you don’t have a big wheel.” And you know what? They were right. I can see that now.

4---If you think about it, everything’s a sugar substitute. Sand? A sugar substitute! Stir some into your coffee. Aluminum siding? Yes! It is! Your cornflakes won't taste very good, and you'll spill all of the milk onto the floor of your cardboard box, but you most certainly could choose to add aluminum siding to your cereal, and to your grapefruit, instead of sugar, and therefore the siding is a sugar substitute. What about ducks? Little fluffy, quacking greenishy-pooping sugar substitutes! In fact ducks, when sprinkled liberally over fresh strawberries, will within moments reduce you to tears and vomiting and hoarse cries of "Dear God what have I done!"

And When I Die ...

2005-03-13T21:17:00.000-05:00

Burial or cremation?

Expiring minds want to know, and so I'll tell: neither. No chimney for me, and no "cold, cold clay." When I die I'm having myself canned. My will stipulates that my earthly remains are to be chopped up into five-ounce, eight-ounce, and fifteen-and-a-half-ounce portions and then interred in the required number of vacuum-sealed aluminum containers.

Photographs of me taken during my youth will adorn the smaller cans. More recent photos will cover the family-size and economy-sized vessels. All labels will carry the relevant stats: birth, death, that time I had sex, etc.

I have named an executor and will charge him, or his sponsor, with the disposition of my estate—three sets of jumper cables, half a Trojan, $1.80 in euros and some banjo picks. Said executor shall also mop the produce aisle and assist with bagging during heavy-traffic hours. Once each year he (or his psychiatrist) will mail coupons to my survivors. Entrance to my crypt will be via two steel and glass doors which will woosh inward whenever a "mourner" breaks the invisible beam. My divers sarcophagi will stand in a pyramid-shaped display; I will spend my eternity at the end of the aisle, forever On Sale.

I'll be low-carb.

Tapeworm Blogging

2005-02-24T01:53:00.000-05:00

Hello world!

I'm a tapeworm-American. You might know me as Taenia Sagineta, but my real name is 'Stretch.' Well, not really. Stretch is the name I gave to myself. My real real name is Cleanth, but Cleanth sounds sort of faggy. Hence Stretch. Sounds cool, non? Bill hasn't made my acquaintance yet, so he doesn't realize he's "eating for two" now. He believes his sudden weight loss and mental/bodily torpor are because he's "cleansing" after having given up processed foods! Well, let him dream. I'll introduce myself in good time. Maybe the next time he goes to floss I'll pop on up and request a little oral hygiene for myself---I do have these six rows of pearly whites after all.

I tell you though, it's good to be able to poke my little crown out of Billy-boy's innards and take a look-see around this big, oddly-furnished world. He's a mouth-breather, which me permits me egress, and that cherry Nyquil he drinks means he nods out frequently. Gives me some bloggin' time. This Toshiba Satellite's a breeze to operate. Nice soft, bouncy keys that hardly even bruise my little rostellum. I'll probably be sore in the morning; all this whipping myself at the keyboard can't be good for my spine. Wait, I don't have a spine! Pretty cool. Anyhoo, here I am, in all my literary glory, and I'm proud to be a new member of the blogging community. I'm also glad that Blogger and Google have made available to me a platform on which to cut my (aforementioned) six rows of teeth.

More as Bill's sleeping habits permit.

UPDATE: Apparently I have the same self-satisfied, smart-ass "comedy" style as my host. This is just a coincidence.

You're Welcome

2005-02-11T10:05:00.000-05:00

The following is an unpaid Public Service Announcement from There's Only All Of It:

If you must drink and drive, please, wear a condom.

In Reverse

2005-02-09T23:24:00.000-05:00

#1 I have a sister who practices speech therapy---she teaches people to talk, which is a terrific contribution to them and to the world. I once asked her if anyone in her field was researching techniques whereby people might learn to shut up. She cast a withering eye upon me for half a minute then said dryly: "obviously not," and walked away. Message received, and it's still a funny question, and I'm glad I asked it.

UPDATE: After further review, I'm not sure that one can say something 'dryly' while at the same time casting a 'withering eye.'

Above-Average Clean Duck Joke

2005-02-07T17:13:00.000-05:00

Q: How do you turn a duck into a soul singer?
A: Put it in the microwave until its Bill Withers.

Profound Incites --- #2

2005-02-07T17:12:00.000-05:00

The average man leads a life of quiet desperation.
The key word here is 'quiet.'
Support your local police.

Profound Incites

2005-02-07T17:02:00.000-05:00

"There's more than one way to skin a cat, but only one way is UL approved."

--The Electric Circus Geek, 1961

Uplift On A Shoestring --- #2

2005-02-07T16:51:00.000-05:00

I complained I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet. I pretended to be his friend and in exchange he agreed to complain I had no shoes. This freed up a block of time which I now use to complain I have no real friends, only footless false ones. My new false friend tried to kick me, but fell down.

Congratulations Philadelphia Eagles!

2005-02-06T19:22:00.000-05:00

Please join me in extending the heartiest of Congrats! to the Philadelphia Eagles on their stunning victory tonight in Super Bowl XXXIX. For awhile it was touch and go. The big coin spun and spun and seemed to just hang in mid air. Time stood still, as did the beating of over 950 million hearts. But then it was all over, the special disc was on the turf, and it was ... tails! And the Eagles were the new NFL champs.

There was also this one hilarious commercial wherein Burt Reynolds got kicked in the groin by a talking bear. All in all, a memorable Super Bowl Sunday!

UPDATE: After further review it seems that the two teams will need to actually perform the football game. I apologize for any misunderstanding.

Raining On My Own Parade

2005-02-04T16:36:00.000-05:00

Or: How to Choose A Single, Vigorous Heading and Let It Stand On Its Own.

I declare February the fourth to be Ingrates Day. (You get to declare things like this when you have a blog; you aren't allowed to 'hereby' declare stuff---for that you need certification---but 'declare' stuff? Definitely.) (And I like the way the date sounds. 'February the fourth.' Rather regal, yes? Can we rename the months to things like 'Henry,' and 'Louis,' and 'Loudon Wainwright?' Wouldn't it be cool to have been born on 'Louis the fourteenth?' or 'Henry the eighth?')

Back to the topic: Today is Ingrates Day, where any- and everyone gets to rain on his/her own parade(s). It's fun, and free, and because we do it every day anyway it requires neither costly retraining nor the purchase of new clothes. I'll get you started with a couple of my own. I went into my bank on fifth avenue just moments ago. The smiling young woman in the lobby held out a red plastic basket brimming with what appeared to be candy. Indeed it was candy, but not "good candy," that is, not fun size Snickers or Milky Ways or Almond Joys. No, these were mere hard candies, tiny, wrapped in a specially designed promotional labels bearing the name of the bank. I took half a dozen alright, but I first made sure to register my disappointment with the candy-girl.

One more and then you can try it yourself. I'm ordinarilly in the office until 5:30, but because today is Friday, I get out at 5:00. Happy? Ha! "Why not 4:30?" I whine (to myself); or 3:00 like the other businesses do?" I wonder how I'd react if my best friend won the lottery and wrote me a check for $1,000. I'd probably thank him with great fulsomeness, and under my gorge-coated breath I'd b*tch up a storm of sparks and enamel shavings. ("You win 50 million, 50 million, and you give me a measely grand? You cheap. sunuva. ..." And so on, ad hilarium.

And there you have it, and may keep it. Have A Great Ingrates Day! and please feel free to celebrate by complaining about this post to all of your friends and to your heart's content!

The Daily Kus

2005-02-04T15:21:00.000-05:00

Blog-Ku #3

my new screen saver

was unable to save the screen

that fell in the tub

Ground Blog Day

2005-02-02T12:40:00.000-05:00

Punxsutawney Phil (just "Phil", or "Winter Boy" to his friends) saw his shadow today, so we're going to have six more weeks of Jungian Psychology. Had he seen his Anima we could all look forward to better-than-average lawns this summer or something.

No, I don't know why I wrote that, but I can tell you why old Carl insisted on pronouncing his name 'Yooong.' Seems that Carl couldn't play guitar to save his life, so Malcolm and Angus finally kicked him out of their band.

Entropy Blogging

2005-02-01T00:32:00.000-05:00

I don't think I've ever had a better day! I've got money in my pockets and money in the bank. Kimmie, my girl, is an absolute beauty and more than I could hope for in every way. My life is more than I could hope for. It's sunny out, and not too cold. My friends all love me. This laptop is really humming along with me, tracking my every thought.

Actually, now that I notice, the light could be just a tad brighter, so why don't I just tilt the screen a bit. Oops. Left a bit of a smudge on the old display. No matter. I'll just go get me a damp rag and wipe the little spot. Now the screen feels loose. Not bad. I should probably just tighten up this little doo-hickey here. Damn! Screwdriver slipped. F***er went right into the webbing between the thumb and index finger. Oh Heck. No big deal. I'll put a Band Aid on it. Now the phone's ringing. Machine'll get it.

It's Kimmie and sounds really, really pissed about something. She says she's leaving me! Why? She didn't say. I can't believe this. I'll call her in a minute. It's probably just a stupid misunderstanding or something. At least the bleeding stopped. But I can't move my fingers. My whole arm feels numb.

I'll have` to finish typing thios post`with one handb. Not too hard. HGotta bit of bloodf on the keyboardh., Just`wipe this o ff as ... damn shft keys just came loose. when it rains it pours i guess. ... and it is raining i see. really coming downn out there. hey. got an instant message. cool. the landlord/ oh f88k1 i've been evicted1 and it's snowing out1 looks like about two, three feet of the stuff. this can'tt be happening. get out of my room111 i'm going1 i'm going1 you didn't have
to call the g8dd811mned cops1

so cold so cold and look at all the bodies11
piles and piles of them

the sun just went out and i'm blogging now from
inside an enormous lake of fire ...

update; i gotta say i've had better days

Stalker Blogging

2005-01-28T05:35:00.000-05:00

I'm blogging from your closet right now. The one just off the kitchen, to the right of the refrigerator. It's cramped in here, and 3-in-1 oil is dripping onto my keyboard and onto that old Apple printer you obviously cannot seem to part with. But on the plus side this wireless card works great! The battery on my Toshiba Satellite is running low now, so please forgive me if I unplug your fridge. By the way: do you really need to save every single grocery bag?

UPDATE: You snore.

Johnny Carson--R.I.P

2005-01-23T20:07:00.000-05:00

We've lost a legend, as by this time you undoubtedly know.

The man invented the Late Night 'talk show.' I know he followed Steve Allen and Jack Parr, I do know that. And I assert that were you to ask 10,000 people, including Jay Leno, Conan O'Brien and David Letterman, "who invented the Late Night talk show?" 9,992 of them would tell you: Johnny Carson. He could connect with Americans in a way that, I think, only Conan O'Brien stands a chance of equalling.

Johnny had every gift an entertainer, especially a comic entertainer, could ever ask for. His taste in material was impeccable. His manner, at once disarming and bemused, was the perfect front behind which to launch comedic surprises. He was magic with his guests, and he was sorely missed on those nights when others sat at his desk. And saying that his timing was impeccable is like saying, well, like saying the truth. Because Johnny Carson's timing was impeccable, in his jokes and in his career.

He left at the top of his game. He went out with an industry, and a nation begging him to just stay on, just one more season, just one or two nights a week. Please. His farewell show was as tasteful as the man himself. Nothing maudlin. No endless 'farewell tour.' He said goodbye to his fans and friends and left Late Night in capable hands.

He will be missed. The world is a little colder with Johnny Carson gone.

Nicknames

2005-01-22T18:16:00.000-05:00

Do guys named Nick get to have nicknames, or is that redundant? Do guys named Bill get to rip off George Carlin, and is that redundant?

I've been researching the origins of the term 'nickname,' and what I've discovered is both fictitious and fascinating. The word 'nickname' traces its roots to a nineteenth century mining camp in the black hills of Dakota. The cook, Stumpy Nick, wanted to know why all the other miners insisted on calling him by the sobriquet 'Robert Thomas Carson.' None of the other men knew why they did it, but all agreed to continue the custom of aggravating someone by forcing him to answer to an inauthentic name. Thus did Skeech, the tansman, become 'Albert Rondollier;' did Ole Chancre Back, who kept the horses, become 'Samuel M. Addison;' and did One Eye Muackey The Groin, who worked in Human Resources, morph into 'Daniel Patrick Chambers.' (The custom survives. In the late 1970's, American pop music fans took one look at Brittish singer/bassist Sting and immediately began calling him 'Gordon Sumner.')

After some months, the hardy miners grew weary of referring to their practice as "aggravating someone by forcing him to answer to an inauthentic name," and they decided ... Sorry. Check that. It's beards. They grew beards, undoubtedly after growing weary of shaving themselves with beaver femurs and aggravating their facial mange. One star-crossed miner grew so weary he took to drink! He memorialized his harrowing, life-changing odyssey in song, penning the timeless: "Dear God I Really Did It With My Mule." He died of apoplexy at a church picnic attempting to sing the italics in 'mule.'

And there, I'm sorry to say, you have it, no doubt wishing that, having had it, you could only give it back.

Uplift On A Shoestring

2005-01-20T19:14:00.000-05:00

I complained I had no shoes until I met a man who complained that I "complained too g_dd_mn much!" and took a bolt cutter to my feet. Now I complain about tetanus, and my lack of custom-designed orthopaedic footware.

Upstick Job Asswards:

2005-01-20T19:08:00.000-05:00

Note left by telegram writer upon walking off the job.

Comments? Complaints? Talk To The Spud

2005-01-18T09:07:00.000-05:00

I found a potato this morning, my second free spud in six weeks. S/he was reclining under a truck on Madison avenue between 38th and 39th streets. S/he bears a small wound, a one-inch lateral cut from extending from the right second dorsal treofage halfway to the lower frendulum. Or something like that—it all tastes the same. The spud doesn't appear, at this time, to have been $exua11y abused, but I make no promises.

Until my apetite returns, the spud will be supporting various departments here at the office(s), and will eventually become the new omspudsman.

Personal ad ...

2005-01-18T01:27:00.000-05:00

How do you think this would go over?

"Asymmetrical, low-status male, suffers from third degree tacky-sack and makes a poor, poor living. Soap? Don't make me laugh! Enjoys long walks, harmless joshing and 'hitting people with his elbow.' (This last from the parole report.) Seeks tri-racial beige divorcee with sparkling personality and extra long 'bird' finger. Will explain later. YOU MUST SIGN A PRE-NUP!!"

No smokers.

Welcome To My Very First Post!

2005-01-16T23:43:00.000-05:00

OK. Not the cracklingest of entrances, I'll admit, but it'll do (wacka due). My sainted Grandma, Granny Guana, used to say "Give the wacka his due." To this day I have no fri**in' idea what she might have been trying to tell me, and, as Robert Frost would doubtless agree: "that has made all the difference."

And yet ... and yet. I have always striven, indeed have been driven, in large things and in small: to give the Wacka his due. Alright, maybe something less than his full due. I may have kept, you know, a taste, for myself, of that which was due the Wacka. Big deal. Like the Wacka's gonna know. Like the Wacka has time to, like, audit his due. I don't think so.

You don't think so, right? Guys?
Where did everybody go?

Update (4/30/06): Sweet! Soldering! Moses! Does this post ever suck. But I'm keeping it alive anyway out of a misplaced, and possibly criminal, sentimentality.