So there I was, ordering an extravagant gourmet meal from the Taco Bell in South Haven, Michigan, when the nice young man timidly asked me a question. He had been looking my way for a few minutes, and as I think back on the encounter I realized that the t-shirt I was wearing had him a bit perplexed. Here’s a picture of what I was wearing. Does the guy on the shirt look familiar to any of you? Well if he does, you might be old like me.
Anyway, the gentleman handed me my order and said, “What is Shemp??” I replied, “He’s one of The Three Stooges. He was Moe and Curly’s brother, and when Curly died he took Curly’s place.” The farther I went into the explanation the more apparent it became that this dude was not following. “You ever heard of The Three Stooges?” I queried. “I think so…” he answered, still visibly puzzled. So I finished up with “Go to YouTube and do a search on The Three Stooges. They did a bunch of funny short movies back in the 1930s through the 1950s.” Don’t think he was too fired up about that idea, but one never knows.
I have no idea where I got the t-shirt, but I’ve always considered the play on words and the image to be quite funny. There was a time in my life where dope (hemp) was very important to me, and I dreamed of when it might be legal some day. But I’ve been clean and sober for 36 years now so I don’t partake of such things anymore. And no, I don’t wear that shirt when I go to “those meetings,” but every now and again I put it on for the fun of it. Even though dope is legal in Michigan now, I still find the shirt amusing.
Shemp has been gone for a long time. He passed in 1955 when I was the ripe old age of one. So yes, that makes me 71 now!! Holy Frabblezackens!! During my childhood the TV was on pretty much all the time, so we got to enjoy lots of old movies. Then came the variety shows with my favorite popular music and comedy acts. Many of the performers I watched and loved have gone to the Great Beyond. Guess that means maybe I’m getting old!! Do I have an expiration date?? I just don’t know!! All I do know is that I’ve lost touch with which musicians, actors, etc. the young people are enjoying these days. I mean, we have this guy who goes by Bad Bunny getting ready to play at the Super Bowl, and until very recently I had absolutely no clue who he was. Saw him on Saturday Night Live the other night though, seems like a pretty good guy.
Losing touch ain’t so bad. I stay current enough… for me. Actually I have a pretty big boat load of gratitude for having lived in a time when I could enjoy the old and the new. Some of the music, in particular, doesn’t really rock my socks, if you know what I mean. But there’s lots of new music that is really great, I just have to go looking for it.
OK so Shemp has always been legal, but now he’s dead. Let’s enjoy some of his talent that has been preserved for us on the interwebs.
I’d like to assure all of you that although I often times write very silly things, I do not want anyone to be mentally or emotionally harmed by trying to glean some real meaning from what your eyeballs are smelling. I have waxed nonsensical for much of my life…. Early in life it was a coping mechanism that was very helpful for dealing with a rather challenging home environment. Now that I’ve worked through that stuff, I still enjoy nonsense for the pure fun of it.
With that in mind…
I’m telling you right now, I just have been sick up and fed lately and nobody can help it but me. The space between my ears has been clouded with moldy plum sugar, and my eyes have twitched radically while small animals sing “On Top of Old Smokey.” What I’m trying to say is, events of the world have weighed heavily on my pizza pans, and in my professional opinion, nothing cures a good ham like nonsensical pine with gently simmered nuclear fossil wagons.
As the bugmonsters utter new and exciting versions of the Spar Strangled Banana. Now that lumps of freshly scented soap have been discovered in Pilmus, New Voolia, we can all rest assured that nothing useful is being done to increase the life cycle of the lowly portable tuba wrench. After all, when I have a burrito for lunch and my coworkers run in fear for their noses, well, that’s a very special time indeed. Often, my dog has brought nose pollution to the home. I believe this is a direct result of the Double Barf Burger with cheese I bought for him at the drive up window at 7:37 p.m. We never commend him for producing brown air, but instead we scream and spray 89% Freshener Surprise into the neighboring air molecules.
So my friends, only so much nimble doony can be flung through the doors of coagulation at any given time. I will leave you now with the best philosophical happy time thought I can muster under such extreme duress. WHAT’S FIXIN’ TO FOLLOW THIS IS NOT FICTION OR NONSENSE, BUT A REAL-LIFE EXPERIENCE I HAD WHILE WATCHING TV MANY YARGONS AGO. If I cling to this attitude, I know nothing can get me down, for although I cry and whine at times, I REALLY AM GREATFUL FOR LIFE, THE UNIVERSE, AND EVERYTHING.
OK then, on with the phisopholy: there I was, minding my own business, watching the TV, when the Little Rascals came on and Pappy was assuming the role of school teacher for all the Gang at the Boarding School. He asked many of the class various important questions, which they answered in a most delightful manner. One of the kid’s name was Uh-Huh, and he was asked to use a sentence with the word “isthmus” in it. His answer is the best possible attitude I can carry with me at any given time:
“Isthmus be my lucky day!”
And you know, I’m a pretty fortunate bilge flattener. I need to try to stay positive, and focus on gratitude as my attitude. This and some requests for a little help from my friends will get me through these dark purple animal cracker explosions.
I must now shout that I’m grateful that you are just being who you are. I’m very glad that you are, because if you weren’t, I wouldn’t know you, and holy moly you are important to me. Whoever you are…
Please, always remember that it’s better to be you than for you to be me; and although you can count to it, eight is a word.
Thank you, and good night Melvin!!
One way I might feel better is to make a little bird house in my soul…
What the HECK is going on here?? I mean, the day before yesterday it was Memorial Day; and now it’s almost October awreddy and I’m just now getting ready to put garlic in the garden!! I’m sorry but time seems to be flying faster than ever, and I really don’t think it’s fair! I’m thinking there must be some type of time warp going on…
Our daughter will be 48 this year!! And our son is already 43!! Sheesh!! And our daughter and her awesome husband have two boys who are 16 and 12 years old. They were babies just a few weeks ago!! WHAT IS GOING ON??? Very soon after our daughter and son-in-law had their first kid, I warned them that they will soon notice something very strange: time will vanish much more quickly with each passing day.
Or at least it sure seems to go fast. As a friend of mine once told me, “You know what the frogs say… ‘time’s fun when you’re having flies!!’ “
Well this time zooming stuff is exactly what happening to me these days. Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m getting older; and for that very reason I treasure each day I am on the planet. I kinda like it here! I’m not worried about what comes next; I’m pretty much convinced that cool stuff awaits us in the Great Beyond. But hey, let’s not rush things. I’m here now and loving life. And Holy Cow, I’m a grandparent!! I mean, hey, my wife and I were just dating a couple years ago!!
OK, it’s like this, awright?? I remember vividly when the Beatles first came to America on the Mayflower like 5 or 6 years ago! Or something… Anyway, I really do remember sitting in my grandparents’ apartment in Brooklyn, NY when I was just short of 10 years old. My 8 transistor radio was glued to my ear while the Fab Four disembarked at JFK airport; with all the media of the day interviewing them every step of the way through the crowd of screaming fans. I even jokingly mentioned, “Hey Dad!! The Beatles just landed at JFK! We could go over there to see ‘em!!” “Yeah right!!” he retorted.
I’m not 10 anymore. I’m 71 !! How is this possible?? I remember not to long ago I was lusting to retire at age 66. When you were a kid, do you ever remember wanting to be 66? Well I’ve been there, man!! So glad to be done with this working stuff. Yes, money is smaller now. But being an old fart isn’t so bad… I get to be a grandpa!
One cool thing about being a grandpa is that you get to reflect on all the changes that have happened over the years. Any of you who are old like me understand that life is exactly the same as when we were younger, only completely different. With technology alone, things have changed just a wee bit.
Picture this, kiddies. When I was born in 1954, commercial TV had only been rockin’ for about 13 years. Most stuff on TV was live broadcasts. If you had the TV on too early, you’d see a test pattern. If you had it on too late, you’d see a flag waving in the breeze while the national anthem was playing just prior to the station shutting down for the night. Although TV was on the rise, there were still dramas and comedies being made for and played on the radio. And when you turned on either a radio or a TV, you had to wait a few minutes for them to warm up. That’s because the tubes and their associated circuits had to stabilize. Tubes?? Say what?? Yes, tubes. And even after the radio or TV warmed up you often had to mess with the fine tuning to keep your signals coming in clearly. When you dialed a phone, you literally used a dial on the phone. None of the phones took batteries in those days. No fancy ring tones, just a bell. I know that some of you readers out there can outdo me on the dinosaur technology memories; but you get my drift.
Although I’m retired now, I do remember those “good old days” of work I also remember some “black holes” where a time warp knocked me in the head when I least expected it. For example: I’d scurry to get ready for work in the morning. Most of this zaniness was self inflicted, because I’d sleep till the last minute and then play fireman to get ready for the ride to work. We heat with sticks (we have wood heat), so in the colder months it’s my job to get the fires going. One is downstairs in the old part of the house, one upstairs in the addition. I’d start the furnace downstairs and then grab an armload of wood to feed the wood eater upstairs.
Next, I’d yank open the fridge and grab my lunch; shove it into the fancy Igloo cooler my friend Jeff got me for two bucks at a yard sale.
Pour the coffee into the travel mug, grab the cell phone, and head for the garage at precisely 6:54 a.m.
Situate my lunch on the passenger seat, stick my coffee mug into the cup holder, come around to the driver’s seat and turn on the car.
THE CLOCK NOW SAYS 7:03 A.M. FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!! There is NO WAY it takes me 9 minutes to walk from my back door to the garage. And yes, the car’s clock is correct; just like the clock inside. I’m pretty anal about that.
Time warp I tell ya!!
If you are old enough to remember the Rocky Horror Picture Show… I mean really remember, meaning you were old enough to enjoy it when it first came on the scene… well then you and I really are in a time warp. Aren’t we?
Don’t believe any of this time warp nonsense? Well all I can say is: I bet you don’t have kids. Even if you don’t, you’re gonna get old like me some day.
Good evening ladles and jellyspoons! In light of the current news whirlwind, my serious and saddened me thought seriously about being very solemn with this week’s “Happy Friday!!!” installment. However, my childlike, hopeful me thought it might be better to dig a happy story out of the dust closet (archives) for what I hope will be a catalyst for all of you to take a break from the news and maybe even smile a tiny bit.
So here’s a nice memory from way back in 2016. Our grandsons were much tinier back then… Oliver had just hit the ripe old age of 7, and Gabe was well on his way to enjoying his 3rd trip around the sun. Without any further ado, here’s a little story about…
What Matters Most
Three of the biggest kids in our family stayed up way too late watching cartoons again tonight. Our two grandsons and I were having a grand old time with Marvin The Martian, Heckle and Jeckle, The Tazmanian Devil, and some newer, computer animated cartoons we’d never seen before.
A couple hours before they were playing Star Wars games of some sort. The two brothers took our only small, reasonably kid proof flashlight into the bathroom and closed the door. In Ollie’s imagination, the flashlight served a dual purpose: illumination device and light saber.
Nini and I were on the couch and listened carefully, then I raised my voice a bit and asked what they were doing in there. No reply. I asked again, a little more loudly. “We’re just playing…” the response was audible at first and tapered off, which kicked in our Parent Spidey Senses. My magnifying mind had them mixing nail polish with toothpaste or something. These boys are the ripe old ages of 7 and 3 so there’s no telling what they’re gonna do.
I raised my voice a little more and bellowed, “open the door.” They were simply enjoying the fun a flashlight brings on the mirror and other shiny surfaces. Gabe, the 3 year old, came up to me with wide eyes and a very serious tone and said, “I need to go to the force!!” Apparently, “the force” was in the dark bathroom with the door closed.
“You need the force? I’ll make a big force!!,” I said. Then I got up and turned all the lights off; making the entire back of the house a dark force dwelling. That satisfied both of them; but one problem remained. There was only ONE flashlight.A quick trip to the store would solve that. “Make sure they are the same,” Nini urged. “Oh yes,” I replied.
I mean hey, I’m not as dumb as I look.
After the force was with them for a half hour or so, it was getting close to bed time. At our house, that means cartoons. It’s become a tradition: Nini (Granny) hits the hay earlier than us boys. She stretched out on the other couch and nodded off a couple times. After announcing once or twice, “I’m falling asleep,” she got up and kissed us all goodnight.
We watched a few funny animal videos, then switched to cartoons. As their normal bed time became a thing in the distant past, Ollie uttered his normal stalling sentence. “Just one more cartoon Papa. Please?”
OK. One more. And one more after that, and of course one last “one more.”
By this time it was very close to 10 PM, and both were so tired their brain waves where getting pretty wonky. Nice thing about them being dog tired though, is that neither of them fought when I tucked them in; and just a few microseconds after I said “good night,” they were out.
Nini and I are both very aware that our “rock star” status won’t last forever. As they mature, their friends will get much more of their free time than we will; so we’ve learned to stop everything in our world for what matters most.
We’re loving every minute of it.
As I mentioned earlier, we watched some of the “traditional” cartoons… like the kind Nini and I watched while we were growing up. Here’s a newer one we found that was pretty entertaining.
Because I’m old enough to remember when the Beatles came to the U.S. on the Mayflower, I’m also able to remember that 1969 was a pretty big year. So many really BIG things in the news! As with any other year, some of the news was pretty horrible. I’d rather not mention those stories if you don’t mind; these days I really need to maintain a positive attitude. Instead, some of the more positive stories were things like the Apollo 11 moon landing, and the New York Mets winning the World Series. Oh and yeah, and there was a pretty big music festival called Woodstock.
During that summer I was 15, and of
course I was paying close attention to the counterculture and the
world of popular music. My interest in all such happenings actually
sprouted several years earlier, when my grandparents gave me an 8
transistor radio for my 8th birthday (1962). Radio
provided a gateway to the world at large; and I kept that thing on
with great regularity. God bless our mother, she always made sure I
had a working 9 volt battery.
We were definitely a media driven family. By that I mean that the TV was always on; and when it wasn’t, there was the radio. We also had subscriptions to Time and Life magazines; so we had plenty of opportunities to keep up with current events. The 60s saw our country in some upheaval due to numerous protests. Large crowds were marching for causes like peace, civil rights, gender equality, and environmental concerns. Music of the day was evolving from doo wop to rock ‘n roll to psychedelic sounds. My mind was being strongly influenced by all of it.
And I was by no means alone.
From where I and many of my peers
stood, a lot of what the crap that was going on in the world made
absolutely no sense. Pollution was destroying our air, water and
soils. Also, strong dependence on the use of poisonous chemicals
for pest and weed control was harming Mother Nature. War was killing
children and other living things. And to be “successful,” you
needed to be a Caucasian male. So protests and marches were staged
as efforts to raise consciousness and hopefully change things for the
better.
Some progress was made; but
unfortunately greed, ignorance, and intolerance seem to have gained
some ground over the last few years. Mother Nature is still being
treated very badly; and those interested in maintaining the status
quo are sparing no effort to prevent meaningful action that could
save our planet. Racial intolerance and gender inequality still rob
our souls of the peace and love our Creators intended for us.
The media is buzzing with horrible news of yet another assasination and yet another school shooting. Sadly, too much time is spent finger pointing on both sides of the political aisles, with nowhere near enough time being spent on how to prevent such madness.
Remember all that mention of 1969 at the beginning of this story? Well at that music festival called Woodstock, sanitation issues, scarce availability of food and water, and many other difficulties plagued the event; yet no violence erupted, and only 2 people died (one of an overdose, one killed accidentally by a tractor). Nearly a half million people gathered and showed the world that peace and love, in spite of adverse conditions, were indeed possible. There are still many children of the 60’s who cling to the belief that living in peace and love is more than just a dream. It’s a necessity.
We can do it. Together. We must face the fact that we are all children of God and we ALL have a right to be here. If we can embrace that fact, perhaps we can work together to prevent senseless violence, stop the senseless destruction of Mother Nature, and eliminate the utter selfishness that prevents us from doing so.
As Joni Mitchell’s famous song proclaims, “We’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden.”
I was a geek. I cannot help it, this was my lot in life. At least while I was working anyways. I was once a geekling, but then I became a much more proficient geek and so I guess even in retirement one could call me a full fledged geek person; although things are changing rapidly. I worked in computer support. This was the sad fact of life for me.
OK, yes I was very grateful I had a job that provided me with a good living. But sometimes the stress got to me and I tried to use toenail clippers for a shovel. One of my favorite examples of this was when our network croaked or maybe the internet died. Not exactly a happy time for the IT Department, because although things usually worked very wonderfully, things could and DID go wrong. This made the users sad and they called us. Many times. The phone rang a lot. There were several telephone calls. A whole lot of people were calling our phones. Somebody turn that stupid phone off. Is that thing ringing again?? Who the heck is that paging me?
And then there were the normal, every day things like: “Hi Ken, I can’t print. I don’t know how to log in. Is my password still ‘lulubelle’ or is it something else? Where are all my files? Are you guys busy at all?” And of course when I was on call I had to pay attention to e-mails from work and enjoy the happy indivisible dog food reflections. Then I came home and I actually had real life things to do!!
Sheesh!!
Stress would climb in the window and steam my watermelons. You know how it goes, you just get home from a long day at the soup regulator and you find out the dryer is broken. Then you get to eat all the dust inside to try to bring the dead motor out so you can replace it. This is a very happy time for a keyboard monkey, and when the cardboard is creamy enough you can smear light bulbs on the speaker sneakers. I had no problem dealing with stress. Why is my left nostril twitching, you ask? Why do I convulse while smiling? Why do I try to remember what day the lumber salad is due to arrive?? These are questions only a qualified sturgeon may be able to distribute.
“The network is slow.” “I can’t print.” “I’m missing a program.” “My wallpaper is gone.” “My account is locked out.” These were the refrains of all those poor souls who just wanted to get through the day with their computer behaving correctly; without any saturated animal crackers. To all of them I said with no electronic amplification: I am really busy these days weeks months, so I will get to you as quickly as my foot things will let me travel. If that is not acceptable, please feel free to smell my toe jam molecules. I cannot help the fact that our parent company wants you to enjoy asparagus ice cream. While you struggle with the all the computer happiness you are able to ingest, I will practice licking my eyebrows while I color all the walls a pleasant shade of cobble hobby. Now please excuse me, I have to send e-mail to all the nice birdies in the tree over there. They are taking me to lunch today, and I don’t want anyone to try to impede my hamper design activities. Clothes are people too, you know!!
As you can see, I was coping really well. Never mind the fact that I could smell strange colors and my ears could see flying pine trees in the pencil sharpener. I even learned to use magazines for socks. I surmised that nail polish would make excellent pudding. I tried to greet everyone I saw with great conflagration, and I often wondered why they stared at me with such flatulent potato modules. Breadsticks were in the bathroom and nobody could tell me why. I desperately needed to get something from somewhere and find out just what the heck it really is.
As I said, I was grateful to have my job. In the interest of career advancement, I decided to start applying my skills to all the want ads that ask for experienced hallucinators or maybe I’d just go to the high level staff meetings and speak in tongues: “Jadies and lentilmen, the Microsoft aversion snibble krammik toe-zaley giboo. Ommma zoggnick, morp crantiss flayben. Yes, absoluteny crantiss flayben.” Participation of this nature would certainly assure my indecency for the donation of my career.
If I had one piece of advice to any of you who were thinking of going into IT as a line of work, it would be this: Change lanes now while you still have the cranberries.
Holy MOLY I’m happy to be retired. However, I still get the “opportunity” to help friends and family, and sometimes even complete strangers (who are no longer strangers) with computer issues.
May I have my dessert now?
Thank you.
With all this AI stuff, I sure hope nobody is too naughty with thieving drones…
Yew no, even inn this day of spell
checkers and grandma checkers, lots of writing is on display awl over
the place that is just plane inn correct. Weather it’s the youse
of the wrong word ore sum thing is spelt badly, computers wheel only
help yew two a certain egg stent, and then hay, ewe gist half two no
how to spell and yews proper grandma. Shore, the spell checker will
help yew often. Butt if you use words that our inn the diction
aerie, and their all sew spelled write, the spell checker thinks
everything is honky donkey.
Oh and hay, don’t four get about punctuation!! Gist ask my family: eye used two get total lee up set when eye saw apostrophes used badly. Yew no, like when sum won uses one to make a word plural; witch is knot watt an apostrophe is four at awl.
Egg sample: “Open 12 – 8 Monday’s
through Friday’s”
Oh golly that makes me crazy. OK maybe craziER. Their should bee know apostrophe inn those words… there is no contraction nor possession.
ANYWAY… enough of such soap boxing (I never really enjoyed boxing soap anyhow). On with the topic at hand, “Sines of the Thymes.,” like the tight AL says. Sum of the sines yew sea these days are gist plane funny. Haven’t seen won in a long while, butt one of my favorites over the years has been:
“BANANAS .49 CENTS PER POUND”
First of all, how can they make any money if they only sell bananas for not quite ½ cent per pound??? Second of all, are the farmers giving away bananas and paying for the freight??? Yes, eye no they are two lay Z right the price correctly. Probably they mean $.49 (49 cents) butt it steel looks pretty funny.
On the other hand, yew have the very expensive beer sines, like:
“BUD LIGHT $1899 A CASE”
Wholly carp eye say two yew, who kin a
ford two bye a case of beer for $1899 or watt ever?? That’s all
most the prize of a cheep car!! Well OK knot much of a car for that
kind of money these daze. Butt yew no what eye mean.
My most favorite egg sample of a goofy sine came to me from Comedy Heaven sum years ago, when I had to go to Plumbs for a few groceries. Thanks two mod urn technology, eye was a bull two get a pretty good pitcher of it sew I could Cher it with awl of yew:
Is that two cool or watt?? Knot only
was cheese on sale for a pretty good price, butt yew kin all sew use
them to patch yore roof!! Eye confess, I’ve never herd of shingles
made of cheese bee four. Their they were though, so I bought one
pack of pepper jack and one pack of Swiss. When I got them home I
figured, watt the heck and I tried some.
THEY TASTED JUST LIKE CHEESE!!! No shingle flavor at all!!!
Knot shore how many rains they could
take though… they looked pretty floppy. Don’t think I could
really walk on them either.
Well, I wheel bee on the lookout for moor funny spellings and word miss usage. Eye reel E love thee ability two snap a photo when eye find a funny sine. And of coarse, I’m steel a bit chagrined when eye sea something in print that I’m pretty shore sum won checked with the spell checker but is steal a mess. Oh well… that’s my anal retentive spelling and grandma snootiness four yew.
In the meantime, pleas have a lovely day and eye shore hope you don’t fall for those $1899 beer “sale” prices or the .49 cents per pound bananas.
Crazy, yes?
Well ’tis that time of year when lots of county fairs are happening. It’s a great tradition and fun for the whole family. My girlfriend and I went to the Berrien County Fair today and I had a deliciously monstrous Italian sausage sandwich with peppers and onions. It was yummy for my mouth but my gut is still not happy with me. Now that the heat has died down, I think we’ll go back and maybe get some more of that County Fair food so I can really mess up my gut.
If you haven’t been to one, please go. This week’s cartoon shows exactly what the fair is all about.
I had a blast from the past clunk me in the eyeballs the other day. I saw a woman at the grocery store wearing a Hooters t-shirt. Maybe I’m a prude, but I am not the kind of guy who thinks Hooters is in any way complimentary to women.
For those of you who live in a cave with no contact to the outside world, Hooters is a franchise-type bar that serves food. Like Chucky Cheese, the Hard Rock Cafe, Planet Hollywood, and other places; Hooters has a “theme.” The “theme” is, to put it bluntly, breast meat. And we ain’t talkin’ chicken here. Even if chicken WAS what Kathy (a.k.a. Mrs. Wifeyperson), our Brother From Another Mother, Mike, and I had to eat there several years ago.
Sure, they try to hide the fact that they are marketing the female anatomy by using an owl as a logo. But unless you’re blind, one step inside and it’s pretty obvious what the deal is. Now, before you call me Mr. Prevert or Kenny Krumbum, let me say this about that: IT WASN’T MY IDEA.
Ya, right…
No, really!! My wife was the lovely person who thought up the whole cockamamie scheme. She paid the bill and everything! Tip and all!! She was strangely curious about the place, but I suspect her curiosity was primarily focused on how she assumed Mike and I would react. I think Kathy wanted to snicker at us when our lower jaws hit the table and the tongues rolled out three feet. Her favorite quip weeks before we went was, “I wanna watch you guys drool.”
I can’t speak for Mikey, but I distinctly remember that the ladies didn’t have much effect on my salivary output. Neither did the food. Nor did the drunks sitting a few tables down, who were obviously shared a different paradigm than Mike and I. Sure, the gals were pretty, and were dressed in little Hooter suits which might be nice for fancy pajamas, but weren’t really practical for much more. Didn’t even show any cleavage! The sad reality was that the food wasn’t very good, and the atmosphere was blatantly exploitative.
I’ll never go to another Hooters, thank you very much.
And then there’s the REALLY sad part: the owners are getting filthy rich!! But so are the folks who own Chucky Cheese and Planet Hollywood. Of course, my warped brain just HAD to come up with some franchise names of my own. So here they are, first the names, then the description…
HEATERS: Trained personnel cook your food at your table on a hot plate while climate control sales staff try to sell you a new furnace.
HONKERS: A prerequisite for staff members is that they have very large noses. Also, horns of all types are sounded when you arrive; as well as on the half hour.
HOOKERS: You pay enormous prices for very small, poorly cooked portions. However, for an extra large tip the waitress or waiter will go home with you.
HITTERS: Flies are raised in great numbers because the kitchen waste is kept in a large wooden vat in the back room. Guests are issued flyswatters at the door, and whoever hits over 50 flies in 30 minutes gets dinner for free.
HECKLERS: Known for excellent food, but this restaurant chain is not for those with low self-esteem. Specially trained staff yell insults at you from across the room while you dine.
HOOPERS: This is for the basketball fans. Your food is pleasantly slam-dunked through strategically placed nets at each table. If the servers miss, you may try to take the rebound and get free dessert.
HOPPERS: Guests are required to adopt bunnies and other abandoned or injured wildlife. Sit back and enjoy the fun while the extra large screens display Bugs Bunny, Roger Rabbit, and Energizer Bunny videos.
HAMMERS: Don’t put your hands on that counter! HA HA! Too late!! Free icebags to go.
HINTERS: Can you guess what’s on the menu tonight?? Sly and sneaky staff play 20 questions with you to see if you can guess what’s for dinner: “Ok, settle down Mr. Krumplemeyer… now let’s start from the beginning. Smaller than a breadbox… yes, it’s animal…”
HELPERS: Excessively helpful staff swarm about you as soon as you’re in the parking lot. Comments like, “No, sir! I insist you allow me to feed you!” are all too common. Guests often ask to stay overnight, but are “helped” out by muscular hunks with names like Vinnie, Rocco, and Lars.
HOWLERS: Home of the famous “Canine Chorus.” Dogs are trained to sit at your table and yodel during your meal. Forget about “doggie bags.” Simply place your plates on the floor when you’re finished, or earlier if you get tired of the dog noise.
HAMPERS: The only food available is chips and dip, fruit plates, and other appetizers; but regular patrons acquire the privilege to dump dirty clothes in personalized hampers. Laundry is done on Tuesdays.
Well, I could continue, but that’s probably more than enough. If any of you want to invest in one of these truly interesting ventures, send me lots of money and I’ll make sure it is put to good use as a supplement to my retirement.
Thank you.
Now for the video hooting cartoon…
I had a blast from the past clunk me in the eyeballs the other day. I saw a woman at the grocery store wearing a Hooters t-shirt. Maybe I’m a prude, but I am not the kind of guy who thinks Hooters is in any way complimentary to women.
For those of you who live in a cave with no contact to the outside world, Hooters is a franchise-type bar that serves food. Like Chucky Cheese, the Hard Rock Cafe, Planet Hollywood, and other places; Hooters has a “theme.” The “theme” is, to put it bluntly, breast meat. And we ain’t talkin’ chicken here. Even if chicken WAS what Kathy (a.k.a. Mrs. Wifeyperson), our Brother From Another Mother, Mike, and I had to eat there several years ago.
Sure, they try to hide the fact that they are marketing the female anatomy by using an owl as a logo. But unless you’re blind, one step inside and it’s pretty obvious what the deal is. Now, before you call me Mr. Prevert or Kenny Krumbum, let me say this about that: IT WASN’T MY IDEA.
Ya, right…
No, really!! My wife was the lovely person who thought up the whole cockamamie scheme. She paid the bill and everything! Tip and all!! She was strangely curious
about the place, but I suspect her curiosity was primarily focused on how she assumed Mike and I would react. I think Kathy wanted to snicker at us when our lower jaws hit the table and the tongues rolled out three feet. Her favorite quip weeks before we went was, “I wanna watch you guys drool.”
I can’t speak for Mikey, but the ladies didn’t have much effect on my salivary output. Neither did the food. Nor did the drunks sitting a few tables down, who were obviously shared a different paradigm than Mike and I. Sure, the gals were pretty, and were dressed in little Hooter suits which might be nice for fancy pajamas, but weren’t really practical for much more. Didn’t even show any cleavage! The sad reality was that the food wasn’t very good, and the atmosphere was blatanly exploitative.
I’ll never go to another Hooters, thank you very much.
And then there’s the REALLY sad part: the owners are getting filthy rich!! But so are the folks who own Chucky Cheese and Planet Hollywood. Of course, my warped brain just HAD to come up with some franchise names of my own. So here
HEATERS: Trained personnel cook your food at your table on a hot plate while climate control sales staff try to sell you a new furnace.
HONKERS: A prerequisite for staff members is that they have very large noses. Also, horns of all types are sounded when you arrive; as well as on the half hour.
HOOKERS: You pay enormous prices for very small, poorly cooked portions. However, for an extra large tip the waitress or waiter will go home with you.
HITTERS: Flies are raised in great numbers because the kitchen waste is kept in a large wooden vat in the back room. Guests are issued flyswatters at the door, and whoever hits over 50 flies in 30 minutes gets dinner for free.
HECKLERS: Known for excellent food, but this restaurant chain is not for those with low self-esteem. Specially trained staff yell insults at you from across the room while you dine.
HOOPERS: This is for the basketball fans. Your food is pleasantly slam-dunked through strategically placed nets at each table. If the servers miss, you may try to take the rebound and get free dessert.
HOPPERS: Guests are required to adopt bunnies and other abandoned or injured wildlife. Sit back and enjoy the fun while the extra large screens display Bugs Bunny, Roger Rabbit, and Energizer Bunny videos.
HAMMERS: Don’t put your hands on that counter! HA HA! Too late!! Free icebags to go.
HINTERS: Can you guess what’s on the menu tonight?? Sly and sneaky staff play 20 questions with you to see if you can guess what’s for dinner: “Ok, settle down Mr. Krumplemeyer… now let’s start from the beginning. Smaller than a breadbox… yes, it’s animal…”
HELPERS: Excessively helpful staff swarm about you as soon as you’re in the parking lot. Comments like, “No, sir! I insist you allow me to feed you!” are all too common. Guests often ask to stay overnight, but are “helped” out by muscular hunks with names like Vinnie, Rocco, and Lars.
HOWLERS: Home of the famous “Canine Chorus.” Dogs are trained to sit at your table and yodel during your meal. Forget about “doggie bags.” Simply place your plates on the floor when you’re finished, or earlier if you get tired of the dog noise.
HAMPERS: The only food available is chips and dip, fruit plates, and other appetizers; but regular patrons acquire the privilege to dump dirty clothes in personalized hampers. Laundry is done on Tuesdays.
Well, I could continue, but that’s probably more than enough. If any of you want to invest in one of these truly interesting ventures, send me lots of money and I’ll make sure it is put to good use as a supplement to my retirement.
Thank you.
Here’s an oldie but a goodie… we ALL should really give a hoot.
Upon first glance, the title of this week’s blog entry might seem a bit naughty. Well please allow me to reassure you: words like sexagenarianism and mastication are just as natural as a deep fried cabbage omelette hovering over a frolicking herd of buffalo wings during the Great Snorkeling Festival..
Reminds me of a time when I was still working. We had a pot luck; and one nice man said he was bringing “a cabbage salad.” Although there is probably no such thing as a vegetable will not eat, I took the smart alec approach and blurted out, “I can’t eat that, I’m a sexagenarian!!” I went on to explain that my Beautiful Wife (God rest her soul) and I did a stint of several years as vegetarians (we excluded meats but ate dairy and eggs). We’ve eaten pretty much every vegetable you can think of, and I’ve also grown quite a few. At first, Mr. Cabbage Salad gave a confused grin, then he said, “Wait a minute… isn’t that a person who’s in their sixties??”
Yes, by golly that’s right. A sexagenarian is a person whose age is from 60 to 69 years old. Ha ha on you if you thought otherwise!! Of course, I no longer fit in that category because I’m 71 now; but see how naughty I am?? Maybe I fooled you!! And maybe I didn’t!! And if I didn’t, ha ha on me!! And also, I’m using way too many exclamation points again!! Ha ha!!!
Anyway, back to the fun at the potluck. I got a nice helping of the guy’s cabbage salad, then I sat there and masticated right in front of God and everybody!! Again with the exclamation points!! And again I am using words that are in no way naughty, but kinda sound like they might be!! I mean, if I’m masticating in front of God and everybody, doesn’t that make me a public masticator?? Oh Holy Mackerel and pickled foghorns!! That guy is masticating!! In front of God and everybody!! Wait, what?? To masticate means to chew? As in chewing food?? So a public masticator is a person who chews his or her food in front of God and everybody??
Yes. Please don’t clunk me for being so almost naughty with you.
So… I didn’t forget; there’s still this business about the underwear test. Well I read about it in the Old Farmers Almanac a while back. I’m sure all of you have heard of soiled underwear; and maybe you’ve even soiled a pair or two of undies in your lifetime. One thing I was neveraware of: according to one gardener who wrote in to the Almanac, you can actually test your garden soil with a pair of white cotton undies!!
Yes!! All you need to do is bury the briefs 6 or 8 inches in the soil; then dig them back up again a couple months later. Supposedly, if the underwear decompose (with the exception of the elastic), then your soil is rich with microorganisms and such. In other words, your soil is healthy.
Ummm… well that’s all well and good, but I don’t think I’ll be burying my undies any time soon. With my luck (and partly because I’m now a septuagenarian), I’ll forget where they were buried. Then I’ll plant potatoes on top of them and have a very interesting masticastion experience when some of the elastic gets lodged inside one of my potatoes.
No thanks. I’ll keep my undies on my hiney and out of the soil, thank you very much.
Well this week’s video has nothing to do with the story, but since I’m now a septuagenarian I’ve had the privilege of growing up watching some of the masters of comedy. And this, in my professional opinion, is one of their funniest short films. Without any further ado…
Meteors will be zooming about in large numbers toward the end of July and into August. Please, if you go out between midnight and during a meteor shower, wear a heat resistant head bone protector. A nice metal bucket will work well, or of course you could go for better coverage and just carry a large hunk of sheet metal over head as you walk outside. If you’re adventurous, you could also wear a pair of steel reinforced oven mitts and try to catch some as they come zooming toward you. And of course there’s the old silly trick of deflecting some of them with a specially made tennis racquet.
That’s right friends, we’re gonna get some free fireworks this summer. The Delta Aquarids meteor shower will peak on July 29 and 30. Best time to watch the Delta Aquarids is late evening until dawn, with peak viewing around 2 AM. The Perseids meteor shower brings peak viewing on August 12 and 13, beginning at 11 PM until dawn. Both meteor showers are already in progress, and will last until about August 24.
Hopefully The Weather Peoples will cooperate and keep the sky free of clouds so we can all enjoy this summer spectacular. If you plan to stay up late enough to enjoy the show, try to situate yourself in an area where there are few city lights. If you can see all 7 stars in the Big Dipper then you should be able to see lots of meteors. Those who can’t escape the lights of the city will probably still see some shooting stars, but not nearly as many as those who enjoy a dark night sky.
All these meteors are from debris scattered about from a couple of comets. This year, Earth began passing through the comets’ debris fields beginning around July 12 and will finish up around August 24; so you may see shooting stars well before the peak time; which varies a bit each year.
So, get a nice lawn chair; sit somewhere dark; look into the northeast sky, and enjoy the show. And again, don’t forget to have some fun with it all… have your Heat-Away Meteor Resistant Oven Mitts ready to catch one as it plummets to Earth. Wear your Captain Zognord Protective Meteor Helmet. And of course be ready with your Deluxe Vector Brand Cosmic Comet Dust Bonking Racquet.
And above all, don’t listen to any of my silliness about protective gear and racquets and such. Just enjoy the cool show please.
