They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, and as much as I dislike admitting it, I’m getting old. I think. I’m 71. Is that old? Maybe for some of you, but maybe not for others. Anyway I learned a new word recently. I’m counting that as a new trick this old dog has learned. Hey, I’ll take it wherever I can get it!
So my new word is: dendrolatry. It’s pronounced den-DROL-a-tree and it refers to the worship of trees. I don’t hear it used much. Well OK I don’t hear it used at all, but since I’ve considered myself a tree hugger for many decades I can honestly say that I’ve found trees to be very, very special in our universe. I mean, who doesn’t like trees, am I right?
Perhaps it’s a bit of a stretch for some folks, but I’ve considered my tree hugging ways to be a peaceful and subtle form of protest. I love to grow food, and I do my best to grow with Mother Nature’s help. That of course means no chemical anything is added to my soil or sprayed on my plants. The only thing I buy for the garden is seeds; and I often save my own. I like to think of it as my contribution to the reduction of carbon emissions for this poor warming planet.
My professional opinion is that actions can be a form of protest. Besides voting at the ballot box, spending choices can also make a positive impact. For example, I’ve decided to boycott Amazon. Jeff Bezos has way too much money and he treats his employees like garbage. Additionally, he and his billionaire cronies are wielding way too much power over goings on in Washington. So Amazon won’t get my money anymore.
Other ways to do good with my bucks are to donate to the ACLU, Public Broadcasting, independent news sources like The Guardian and The Associated Press; and of course I do my best to help those less fortunate than me by donating to the local rescue mission.
Unless you live under a rock, you’ve probably heard that there will be big “No Kings” protests tomorrow (October 18). Some politicians (and others) are trying to disparage the protesters by saying things like the “No Kings” protests are actually “We Hate America” rallies.
Well as Tricky Dick (Richard Nixon) used to utter, “Let me say this about that.”
When I was much younger we protested against corruption. We protested against racial injustice. We protested against war. We protested against gender inequality. We protested against the poisoning of Mother Nature. Yet here we are again. I’m not foolish enough to suggest that these crimes against humanity and Mother Nature can be rectified quickly. It will take constant effort; and yes, most likely, more protests. But protests are empty actions if we sit on our laurels and watch the yelling from afar. At the very least, all of us must VOTE, both at the ballot box and with our money. And of course, all of us must treat everyone we meet with respect.
Every day.
We can do this. We must do this. Otherwise, we’ll just end up sad, frightened, frustrated and exhausted.
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.
So there I was, all those not too many years ago, attempting to retrieve silly inspirational announcements from our grandsons for the purpose of overcooking a new “Happy Friday:” but this time it came at some cost, as they were unable to flagellate any wrought iron waffle cones unless I bribbled and houted first and in the beginning. I hovered under their small socks and urged them to spill forth silly things; and found myself being again the Leader Of The Weird Hello.
Therefore, it is with great indecency that I send these words to your eyes. Some of the text may have been the result of speaking gibberish into the Texting Microphone Thing (TMT) on my phone, and the result was (of course) bleeding aquamarine crayon sauce. So without any further doodley-doo, here are the silly exclamations that were harvested from the Nonsensical Neon Lantern Salad during that very uneventful prodding pudding proclamation period.
The smeckle smabbajoos are hunting the wild kielbasa for dinner. While they hunted they snacked on rancid chicken nuggets and drank jars of mayonnaise. Grasshopper grinned while eating drywall. The drywall tasted like rancid Snargonian Strawberries with bug Jell-O. Some of my favorite warm sauce was made of oatmeal that slept in the sewer for 14 days.
“But where did you sleep in the sewers?” they asked.
Well everybody knows that oatmeal sleeps in the light fixtures that are broken in the sewers, and when the sewer elves come to repair the damage, they go into the closest dollar store to buy delicious stink free nibblings. They especially like the stink free nibble snacks because whenever they strike a match to light a candle to fix the oatmeal lights if the nibble snacks smell bad they might cause an explosion.
Sometimes the smeckle smabbajoos sneak up on the sewer elves and throw bug Jell-O at them. When the elves turn their heads they get an earful. And then all they can hear is the munch munch munch of the grinning grasshopper as he mistakes the elves’ hats for drywall.
“Do you still happen to have those donuts?” they asked.
“Why yes I do, and I ran them through the toilet tank earlier this morning specially for you.” I screamed. “Oh you can have them then.” they barked. “But I don’t want any, because I haven’t stopped eating toilet snacks long ago,” I sneered. Suddenly, I began to speak without tongues and splashed pure gibberish into my Texting Microphone Thing (TMT).
Smurfs minigame button world will propel eggnog opposite now, and will call number again I must not.
Shambo equity past month slumber Chromeo many eggs are in the book.
That snake worm fastening ears don’t change my name I’ll kick my horse today unless I get caught in which case I will hide behind this large peppermint stick.
Fambo Namaque as probing Elmar will caption a body ache fun Zombo cowboy boots could you make money pouring in Meijer.
Next, a horribly familiar question was stretched out of the frozen toaster and into the known universe.
“But seriously do we still have those donuts?” they honked.
“Yes. They are covered with ashes because I was trying to heat treat them this morning with small pieces of pine to make them fragrant and delicious,” I shrieked. Shortly after the pine heat treatment infusion we stuffed our faces with the remaining donuts.
I commenced one last time with the TMT, but this time with a mouth full of donut molecules.
The result was:
Well from my phone from our horrible with warm mouth for our programmer.
Who/blue marsh replacement working woman Who/blue marsh group lemon working woman.
This caused all 3 both of us to make saturated laughter with great animosity.
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…
Although it is still the dog days of summer, The Labor Day will be one more time coming to visit us, and some schools are even getting ready to start next week awreddy!! Regardless, I have some very important suggestions that are enumerated below (see the BIG words I am using?? This must be important!!); and I will now use my bestest English sentence structure and grandma to present whatever it was I was trying to mention. Since nobody requested any guidance from the likes of me, I will hereby place it in front of your eyes anyway, regardless of your willingness to enjoy and / or utilize what I consider to be the very best methods of succeeding at school; and if you don’t agree with me please just remember that this needlessly long run-on sentence is my proud rendition of very important tips that everyone had just better embrace with great enthusiasm so I don’t have to get Gornok, my very large pet monster, involved for enforcement. You get what I’m sayin’???
This is irreverent to the need for some residual guidelines of good, down-home, school amplification tips. I have decomposed a few of these grid lines, as shown below, which have never helped me use a mirror to look myself in the eye and exclaim, “YOU! You again!! Quit following me!!” Of course, these days I am pretty good friends with me so it’s OK if I follow myself around now.
So, as you approach the school days of your present hello, please remember these simple things, which I’m sure will help you or perhaps your offspring greatly on a daily basis:
1) Wear your socks on your hands and bark at the teachers. This will keep their attention in a very luxurious manner.
2) Sell used insects during and after class. You can increase your earnings by autographing the exoskeletons of these nice little creatures. Very collectible and easy to store.
3) Carry 7 1/2 foot lengths of rusty pipe between classes. People will leave you alone and let you have all the room you need in the halls.
4) Give me lots of money. I like money. This is good, to give it to me. You may hand it to me, or e-mail it to: noway@nuh-uh.com.
5) Trade your pens and pencils for very large crayons and chalk. Use these to do your homework, especially that which MUST be typed. If confronted about your workmanship, tell the teachers that these are the only things your pet hyena will not eat.
6) GET THAT CHICKEN OFF MY SHOULDER!! Huh? It’s a fly? Oh, OK!! Whew!! Sorry…
7) .backwards sentences your all write ,it of fun the for Just .order reverse in words the put just is mean I What .correctly do to difficult very be can This .sometime it Try
8) Mix occasionally in a sentence up the words. English teachers can tested be way this, to see attention if they are paying. Surprised you might be, find to out many how not really teachers reading homework are carefully very.
9) Lern two spel and dew it korrekly at awl thymes. Yoo mossed bee eggstreamly cairfull abowt chekking yor werk.
10) Punctuation! Is very? Important in proper, sentence, structure use it correctly don’t you hate it when people don’t.
Very well then. I’m happy to excrete that you are now prepared for anything that may fall into your potato salad. Enjoy the weekend, and 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, not a number.
OK fine,
Klern Forkstabber
Imitation Education Expert
Bribley Lamp Cord Museum
Room 421
Viffleburp, New Honkney 1020103
And now please to enjoy these two videos of the amazing foot tapping bippity bops of Gracie, George, and Fred.
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.
