Of Posts, Followers, WordPress, And Paper Shredders

 

Yes, it has been a while since I last wrote about something, hasn’t it? So how’s this thing work again? Oh yeah, I remember now.

I write this small (or more likely) tall tale, one which no one else is able to identify with, whereby, I keep changing the direction of the story—something I use as a substitute for a plot twist whenever I work without a plot—which apparently, is all the time.

Then I try to infuse my narration with all kinds of humor—none of which ever passes for humor, but no one ever seems to care about that since after I finish spinning my yarn, it rarely manages to come together anyway.

But hey… I at least wrote another post!

Of course, that’s all that matters—unless you’re a WordPress employee and in charge of making sure none of my post ever make it to the “Discover” page—in which case you’ll be crawling out a window and onto a ledge where you’ll shortly be taking a leap.

“Automattic” (that’s the San Francisco office of WordPress), recently closed their doors. Seems their employees have been working from home so much lately that they don’t need an office anymore.

So unless they live in multi-story apartments, you’ll not likely see any of my posts on the WordPress “Discover” page anytime soon.

Nevertheless, I have had a few comments of late (too few to mention), saying just how much I am missed by my followers and that they hope I will write again soon. At the moment, I am conducting a thorough investigation to see if any of these wonderful folks are on my payroll, which should result in there getting a raise—just as soon as I establish a payroll.

However, if they don’t happen to be on my (non-existant) payroll—and seeing how much of what I write about here (well all of what I write about here) barely passes for little more than a ridiculous take on nothing of consequence—I can only assume these folks have an empty paper shredder in need of something to consume.

Therefore, I think perhaps my followers really do miss me.

Either that, or they have very hungry shredders and I may be the new provider of meals for their shredders come feeding time.

Waiting To Die

Consider this: You’re facing death (total annihilation), its reflection is staring you in the face. In other words; you are about to enter into the after-life.

Meaning? You’re dead, no life.

So you frantically begin to look for a solution to your little problem when all of a sudden, this Jack Kevorkian type comes up to you holding the solution right in the palm of his hand.

Assisted suicide.

At first, you’re terrified of the idea, but that’ll only last until you go into a full blown panic! Now you start to scurry about looking for a possible way out. You look left, you look right, you look up, you look down, you look… totally miserable.

BUT YOU’RE A FLY ON MY WINDOW, so that comes natural.

That’s when fate steps up to lend you a hand and in this case its my hand, and its holding a rolled up magazine. That’s right, I’m your Doctor Kevorkian. I’m your doctor death—AND I’M PACKING.

Face it Mr Fly, you entered my home illegally.

Of course, your first instinct is to buzz around a lot and I can appreciate that—although, it’s totally irrational—but you’re a fly its what you do.

If it were me, I wouldn’t be a fly, and I certainly wouldn’t wanna be in your shoes right now. But your kind don’t wear shoes—so no worries there.

However, I still wouldn’t wanna find myself trapped against that glass door—BUZZING ALL ABOUT. That looks totally stupid—even more so if I were you.

But I’m not you, you’re Mr. Fly (or is it Mrs. Fly?) and you’re trapped against the glass door, my glass door, and now you are DOOMED!

Come to think of it, I’ve never really stopped to find out your exact sex. But, that’s likely because I’ve never had the time to dissect any of you guys afterwards.

You know why? BECAUSE YOU ALL SEEM TO SHOW UP AT DINNER TIME.

Well they’ll be no autopsy for you today either (lucky you), because I hate cold dinners, and it would probably ruin my appetite anyway.

Besides, I don’t have any microscopic Pathology tools on hand—they’re currently on back order from Amazon.

But just you wait (well, not you per se), because when those tools of torture finally do arrive I’ll have a whole new career in front of me… that of… INSECT CORONER.

Second class, of course, after all I’m still a beginner.

It’s a course I’m taking from a big (FOR PROFIT) online college. Their school phamplet says it’s a growing field—probably because there’s plenty of you. So when I get finished with my (12 year) degree, I suspect I’ll be making a killing.

Which should help me pay off about a sixteenth of my new found student loan debt… before I die.

But I don’t have to explain any of this to you do I? No, because YOU, Mr or Mrs fly, you are going to be long gone by then b e c a u s e…  I’m… a b o u t… to… s m a s h… the living daylights out of…

NOOOO… HONEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

“What?”

WHY’D YOU OPEN THE SLIDING GLASS DOOR? YOU LET THE STUPID FLY OUT! I HAD HIM RIGHT IN MY SIGHTS TOO!

“Well maybe I opened it because I was trying to figure out why my idiot husband was conducting a monologue with me through a sliding glass door? How was I suppose to know you were attempting to talk a fly to death.”

OH.

“Skills stupid, skills! Now go get a fly swatter—AND FINISH THE JOB!”

Pinterest

YES DEAR.

 

 

 

How I Beat Bobby Fischer At His Own Game… And Other Confessions Of Note

Popkey.co

Oh, oh have I got big confessions for you guys!

Now a lot of these humongous (but slightly exaggerated) confessions of mine are actually genuine admissions of truth—otherwise I’d have to be a downright liar.

That means, you can count on these revelations to be absolutely plausible—if not destined to soon be found on the cover of a grocery store tabloid.

For example: bet you didn’t know that chess-master Bobby Fischer’s REAL GAME was actually checkers?

I ran into Bobby (total strangers, and even friends, were allowed to call him by his first name) sitting at this table in a little shop in Raykjvak.

He was dressed in multiple layers of yak fur and an earmuff cap challenging all comers to a game of checkers.

I accepted his challenge and proceeded to checkmate his kings 42 consecutive times!

That’s when Bobby asked me if I’d rather play chess, instead?

I replied, “Why would I wanna do that when I just proved I can checkmate your kings in checkers?”

I heard later Bobby had started challenging horses to tiddlywinks. Probably felt that would be a more successful venture.

Apparently it wasn’t.

ChessBase

Then there was the time I was asked by Richard Nixon if I wouldn’t be interested in becoming his running mate?

He was right… I wasn’t interested.

Hey… I discovered the true definition of… covfefe!

WHO KNEW?

Remember the most interesting man in the world? He found me equally interesting as well—that revelation came to him during a chat we had over several cases of Dos Equis.

I confess that I was once the lead singer for the Spice Girls, but then I had this unexpected bout with puberty and had to give up singing… except for when I’m in the shower—and my wife is still trying to get me to give that up!

Oh… here’s something I bet you didn’t know… I’M BATMAN, but I can’t show you the Bat Cave. It’s in a secret location—I accidentally broke my GPS.

I’m also close friends with a guy in the witness protection program. His name is John Smith, I know this because it says that on his drivers license. It has his picture on it and everything, so its just gotta be true!

Did you know that I was once invited to The White House for dinner? It was the house on the corner just down the street. Was, because after that dinner the occupants vanished—house and all! Real paranormal stuff!

Bet you don’t know Marvin like I know Marvin? In fact, I don’t think Marvin knows that I know Marvin like I do. That’s what identity theft can do for you. I really gotta get around to returning Marvin’s mailbox key to him someday.

Okay, now here’s a real big confession. My wife, she actually thinks she’s the boss around here—ha, ha, ha, ha—but I don’t have the heart (or the courage) to tell her that it’s really me.

Uh, maybe we better keep that little confession just between us. You never know WHO might be reading this stuff.

Yes, Tom Hanks Is My Brother

I

Pinterest

I know, kind of blows your mind doesn’t it? But yes, Tom Hanks is my brother. Yeah… THAT Tom Hanks!

THUD!

Wow, you hit that floor like a tub of Bubba Gump Shrimp. You alright? I’d give you more smelling salts but after seeing what the ammonia and spirit of hartshorn did to your nose-hairs, I’d say your nose has had enough.

I just figured you guys already knew.

Some of my regular readers have known for some time now that Tommy and I are related—relatives are allowed to call him, Tommy—BECAUSE HE HATES BEING CALLED, TOMMY. Hee, hee, hee. Sorry, Tom.

Anyway, it seems that after stumbling across this relative obscure fact, an unscrupulous semi-regular reader of my blog decided that he, or she, had better go broadcast it to a few more people. And then they went and told a few more people, and so on, and so on until…

Well… Tommy called me and asked if I might not address the issue. I guess a little backstory is called for here, huh?

You see, Tom and I grew up in and around the San Francisco Bay Area, a place I still call home. Tom, on the other hand, has since moved to South America—choosing to live in some remote place called… Los Angeles.

Initially, we were raised in Concord, California. It’s still located in the East Bay—despite all the earthquakes.

What a pair we were… a pair of eyes, a pair of ears, a pair of arms, legs, and feet. But, after all these years, we’re still a pair. A pair of glasses, a pair of gloves, a pair of pants and shoes, but not one pair of socks between us.

Seems getting a complete pair of socks out of a washer is beyond us—and perhaps a few other people.

WikipediaWhat with having two eyes, two ears, two arms, two legs, and two feet… you might say we were a pair. In fact, Tommy and I still have a pair of everything to go with our glasses, pants, shoes, and gloves—but for some reason, we still can’t retrieve a complete pair of socks out of a washer.

Oh, I probably should mention here that although we weren’t the most popular kids in school, we were still pretty good boys—just ask the police.

Not being Tom’s immediate brother or even half-brother, but actually, his quarter brother (don’t ask, it’s an impossible math equation) nobody ever seemed to make the connection that we were somehow related—but I think that’s because my nose is more attractive than his.

Over the years, being his older (quarter) brother, I’ve managed to keep a very close eye on Tommy—the binoculars have helped.

After graduation, I decided on stable employment and pursued my childhood dream of becoming a blogger. But, for some odd reason, none of my counselors had a clue what the hell that was—they thought I was nuts!

Tommy, on the other hand, became infatuated with this mermaid and went out and bought a fixer upper. Then a series of odd jobs soon followed.

He joined the police department and became a detective’s sidekick. Became a drunken manager of an all woman’s baseball team. And then took a job as an adolescent man-child. Uh, Tommy, how does a person get a job like that? Just asking?

The Odyssey Online

Then NASA hired him as an astronaut (with very little experience) and tried to send him to the moon—which ended predictably by the way. However, an opportunity to become a puppet cowboy sheriff has provided him some regular part-time work, but that’s about it.

Obviously, these jobs have taken a toll on Tom, because he ultimately went to Seattle to get some rest. Soon afterward, he went to the air terminal to catch a flight back home, but the plane crashed into the ocean and he was stranded on an island for a few years, where he formed this unhealthy attachment with a volleyball named, Wilson—AND THEY CALLED ME NUTS?

Then, when they finally let him out of the hospital… he thought he was Walt Disney!

The whole experience left him wanting to learn how to fly again, but that resulted in his crash landing on the Hudson River!

The poor man just can’t seem to hold a job, and yet I can’t help but feel that my quarter brother somehow is in denial and looks up to me as a celebrity. Probably because of my status as a pseudo emeritus blogger par excellence, who happens to work for free at WordPress.

So folks, as a favor to me, and in spite of Tommy’s claim that he’s financially stable, won’t you please embrace him as I do, as my loyal and envious quarter brother? Apparently, it would mean a great deal to him.

I have to go now. My two assistants have arrived to help me slip on my new sleeveless jacket.

“Hi fellas, can we go outside and play today? These four padded walls feel like they’re just closing in on me? Gee, those are a couple of nice looking white jackets you fellas have on.”

This Is One Whale Of A Tale!

No doubt, many of you think you know the true story of Noah and the Ark—it was in all the papers. However, recently a survivor of the voyage—a mysterious Dutchman (found floating in a lifeboat) who has since taken up flying—has come forward and told a reporter )our only reporter) here at “The Attic” a very revealing story about Captain Noah.

Did you know—Of course, you couldn’t have as I’ve only just leaked it to “The National Enquirer”—that Noah was actually a halibut fisherman from Norway? It’s true!

Apparently, Noah was really BIG into boats—probably because he had a sweet tooth. Anyway, one day after eating a whole box of chocolates, he went out fishing in the Norwegian fjords in his canoe, the Jonah. Sadly, he and his canoe were swallowed whole by a great white whale named, Moby.

graphics factory

Hard to swallow I know, I mean who names their whale, Moby, right? But it’s gospel I swear, just not during this post—because the Pope reads this blog.

This incident gave Noah a life-long irrational fear of sharks (which, by the way, were completely exonerated of all guilt in the attack by the Gorton’s Fisherman of Gloucester), and this inevitably led Noah to repeatedly tell his wife…

“I think I’m going to need a bigger boat.”

However, Noah’s wife was having none of it and eventually grew weary of Noah’s whining about his needing a new yacht. One day she finally said to Noah, “If you want a bigger boat, go talk to the lord?”

Noah took her advice and went to the only lord he knew, one Lord Quinton Hooper Brody, First Lord of the Admiralty of Amity Island and ask him about a loan for building an ark. The Lord told Noah, “Why not go build one yourself and while you’re at it, try stocking it with a whole bunch of animals!”

Noah, a simple man not recognizing sarcasm when he heard it, immediately set about rounding up all the male and female animals of the world by two. This ridiculous business took him away from his wife and family for years at a time—400 years to be precise, give or take a year or two—and his wife was forever grateful.

But Noah—having never built an ark before—decided he needed some instruction.

This led him to the local library to get the book “Ark Building for Dummies.” However, he first had to pay a late fee on an overdue book called, “An Idiots Guide to Throwing Chum Overboard into Shark-Filled Waters while Fishing out of a Canoe.”

Copyright, Doubleday Press, 2304 B.C.

Another little known fact came out during our interview with the Dutchman. Seems Noah also created the first press gang when he enlisted his sons to assist him with the building of the ark.

At first, he and his sons got into an angry debate over what the exact dimensions of a cubit might be.

Apparently, Noah thought a cubit was the size of his middle finger because he kept holding his middle finger up throughout the argument? Eventually, though, he was overruled by two of his boys Ham and Yam (both named after their favorite foods) when they produced a tape measure and a ruler from under their tunics.

The ship then set sail for a three-hour tour. But the weather started getting rough (thanks to some rather torrential rains, which the national weather service failed to predict) and the ark started getting tossed, and if not for the courage of its fearless crew, Noah’s Ark would be lost.

scary for kids

Also, according to the Dutchman, the ark (which was on its maiden voyage at the time) narrowly averted a collision with an iceberg—hence the Dutchman went overboard in a lifeboat.

After 40 days and 40 nights the ark set ground on the shore of an uncharted desert Turkish mountain named, Gilligan. Eventually, Noah renamed it Mt. Ararat—possibly out of fear of being sued for copyright infringement.

Captain Noah, eventually went on to even greater fame when he became a shipping tycoon, realizing his childhood dream of building a fleet of cruise ships. Perhaps you’ve heard of the… “Noahwegian Cruise Line?”

My Interview With The New York Times

Shildan

Ever since the news got out about an interview I recently did with the New York Times, many of you (one and a half people) repeatedly (never) asked if I might (not) share that interview with all of you. Being as I’ve been absent a lot of late, I completely understand.

However, I feared your (non-existent) request for me to post the interview was likely due to some kind of brain damage you may have suffered as a result of a blog reading incident—ironically a condition which afflicts many of my readers.

So, that’s why I’ve decided to post the interview, anyway.

Incidentally, I recently discovered that a significant number of you (a number that rhymes with the word hero) also wanted to know more about me. So all is forgiven (in advance) if you thought the interview would be an in-depth one—as I am way too shallow for that.

In any case, let me just say (and I’m probably going to lie here), the thought of posting this interview just to suck in more readers to pad my stats never once (but multiple times) crossed my mind. In fact, I only thought about it every waking minute of every single day.

I should also mention that I never once broke out in a cold sweat over the idea of posting the interview—unless you count the two or three dozen times I hyperventilated over WordPress possibly not posting the interview in their Discover section—I suppose they feel that section is reserved for their more sophisticated readers.

But as you know, a large number of their readers could actually care less about being found in the WordPress Discover section—I only wished that I was one of them, but let’s not get into a discussion about a particular kind of bitter fruit right now.

Likewise, not being one of those people who would ever stoop to using sensational headlines to draw attention to my blog (as far as you know), except for on those rare occasions (which is every chance I get), I’ve decided to honor your request (begging really) to post only a fragment of the interview.

I say a fragment because posting the whole interview would take up way too much space—and possibly would become required reading for future high school students.

Since my blog already alienates lovers of good writing anyway—and to spare future generations such an agony in school—that’s another reason why I decided to post only a small portion of my interview, thus sending readers racing to the Times to read the whole thing in its entirety.

Yeah, you’re welcome New York Times.

And seeing as I’ve been using the WordPress platform for years now—apparently without their knowledge—this should help the folks at WordPress as well… not to mention myself. Okay, so I mentioned myself.

SURPRISE WordPress—and you’re welcome too!

Now, no doubt, you’ve heard the New York Times famous slogan… “All the News That’s Fit to Print” and are probably wondering why such a reputable organization (except in the eyes of one, Donald Trump) would ever consider conducting an interview with someone who has never posted anything on his blog that was ever fit to print?

I can’t honestly answer that… unless I tell you the truth—so what can I say but that I must make for some great copy!

And for those of you who felt I was only an infamous infrequent blogger of nonsense, you’re absolutely right and without further ado, allow me to present the abbreviated version of my New York Times interview.

Me: I can’t tell you what a delight it is to be featured in your newspaper.

Reporter: Why not?

Me: What? Oh, I get it. Very funny.

Reporter: Thank you.

Me: But I have to ask you, though, how did you folks ever select me for an interview?

Reporter: Well our editor has been wanting to do a feature on blogging for our SundayStyles section for some time now, and seeing that you regard your blog as being a humor blog, he thought it would be fun to use you.

Me: Wow! I mean what did he do, toss a list of blog titles into a hat and reach in and pick out mine?

Reporter: How did you know?

Me: Huh?

Reporter: Just kidding.

Me: Oh thank goodness. For a minute there I thought you were serious.

Reporter: (Laughter) Nah, of course not. We’d never do anything like that.

Me: Yeah, I know what you mean. Who pulls stuff out of a hat anymore, right?

Reporter: No, I meant that we at the Times would never do a SundayStyles feature with a blogger on blogging, especially with one where we pulled his name out of a hat.

Me: You mean…

Reporter: Yeah. You’ve been had fella, and so have the rest of you… APRIL FOOLS!

A Post Found Only… In The Twilight Zone

Popkey

You unlock this door with the key to exaggeration. You’re about to embark on a wondrous journey—if you’re still smoking that stuff—of neither sight nor sound, and whose boundaries are that of imagination—albeit one gone stagnant. That’s the signpost up ahead, your next stop… The Twilight Zone.

Tap, tap, tap… tap, tap, tap. Click, click, click… Thump!

Meet Rufus T. Dingledosh a fictional blogger. What you’re reading above is the sound of his fingers feverishly striking keys on a keyboard in the creation of his next brilliant post.

Rufus T. Dingledosh, extraordinary blogger and fictional character who has absolutely nothing to do with the rest of this post, because this blog doesn’t belong to him.

Blogging Sensei

Instead, this blog post belongs to a man who has neglected to post very little on his blog of late that he might meet the demands of another humorous creative writing job—one which paid him.

I know I couldn’t believe it either.

Thus, he was off all last week. Last week? Let’s make that, THE LAST MONTH AND A HALF—just so he could make some money.

Makes you wonder what in the world was going through this guy’s head—not to mention into his bank account, doesn’t it? Well not to worry, I’ll leave that to your imaginations.

Anyway, when he finished that assignment, his desire for rest and relaxation resulted in his catching a malady known as… writer’s block.

Tap…

But in a minute all of that will change as this blogger will discover a site sure to arouse his curiosity—LIKE THAT COULD EVER HAPPEN—a site not found on any browser known to man. A site found only… in The Twilight Zone.

And now for a word from our sponsor.

BUY… buy items from any sponsor of this blog, which at the moment appears to be no one. So become the first, won’t you? After all, wouldn’t you like to be responsible for my getting paid by the click? Why of course, you would.

And now back to our post.

Tap… tap… tap. Honey, I can’t think of a single thing to write about. I’ve already written about multiple things, so that subject is totally out of the question.

Have you tried Plinky.com?

I’d try Plinky, Winky, and Nod if I thought it would help. Wait a minute! How is it you know about Plinky? I mean you don’t even own a blog much less read anything on WordPress.

Sweetie, I’ve told you before… I know everything. I’m going out to the store, you want anything?

How about a million dollars… AND A NEW POST?

I’ll see what I can do. Bye sweetheart.

(Sound of the front door closing)

Oh, what I wouldn’t give to have an idea for a post right now. Guess I’m just going to have to check out Google. (Click!)

Wow, this looks interesting.

“Are you a blogger who’s run out of ideas? Wanna write about topics no one else has ever dared dream of? Have I peaked your interest yet? Still curious? Well, why not bare your soul and write like the Devil. Click on this icon and get under way right now. Discover blogging that’s out of this world! After all, what have you got to lose?”

Why not? I’ll do it! (Click!) POOF!

Back to our sponsor. Have you committed yet? Ad space is still available. “You have my word on it.”

Dailymotion

Now back to our post.

(Sound of the front door opening)

Honey, I forgot my keys. Sweetheart? Honey? HEY, WHERE IN THE HELL ARE YOU?

Old proverb: Curiosity killed the cat.

A blogger has gone missing. A search is being conducted even as we speak. Was he the victim of pushing the panic button out of curiosity, or simply of writer’s block?

Perhaps it was a little of both.

But you and I know he’s still present and accounted for, filed away in another location. Filed away and listed as missing…  in The Twilight Zone.

A Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction

pinterest

pinterest

He knew the instant he slid his butt into the chair that it was meant to be. After all, how could anyone sit in front of a computer without a chair? With this perfunctory action comfortably out of the way, it became clear what he was supposed to do. But how?

Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction, that’s how. And exactly what is A Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction, you ask?

A cryptic book providing guidance for any man when in doubt as to what it is he should be doing. All men are equipped with one—at least as far as I know.

It’s a fact (well, NOW IT IS) that a man should subscribe all of his unconscious thoughts to this book—that is, when the television isn’t on which as any wife will tell you is the true source of all man’s knowledge. Well, my wife will swear by that anyway.

Also—as a man who has never read the book—it’s internal—I noticed that it states on page 6 section 12 paragraph C…

“Occasionally it is good for a man to have an idea and go do something about it—so that his wife will know he’s still breathing.”

I guess that’s why they call it A Man’s Mystical MANual of Instruction because without it males would probably go out and do something absolutely stupid—and ironically we sometimes still do.

Like the time when I was a boy of eight and (foolishly) tried to go jump a picket fence, but it was in the manual so naturally I went and did it.

You’ll never convince me the reason I had a high pitched soprano voice for the next twenty-five years, was because of some adolescent hormonal change.

Puberty my ass!

Nevertheless, that’s what A Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction does for you. It tells a man what it is he’s supposed to do… even when it defies all logic—LIKE ATTEMPTING TO JUMP OVER A PICKET FENCE LIKE AN IMBECILE!

You want an example, huh? Alright, let me think of one… I’ve got it!

Boing Boing

Boing Boing

Fabio! Now there’s a guy who was born to look into mirrors… and occasionally do commercials.

That’s the stuff mystical manuals are made of!

You say you want another example? Jeez, you’re a demanding group of readers. Hmm…

Alright, how about, Bruce Jenner?

Now there’s a guy who went on to win the men’s decathlon. Of course, Caitlyn Jenner came along later and changed everything and I do mean… EVERYTHING!

Naturally, after that, Bruce was immediately bounced from the man rolls and given his walking papers, never to subconsciously consult A Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction ever again. But rules are rules.

Hey, don’t blame me it’s not my fault. I didn’t create the Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction—only the rules found in it. It’s up to you guys to follow the rules.

Just remember, though, I’m not the guy who was a guy who became the woman who changed the guy into a woman… LITERALLY!

Anyway, where was I?

Oh yeah… so back to the guy sitting in a chair in front of his computer. Now this guy, his thing, the thing he was born to do (as recorded in… the Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction), turns out it was his destiny.

And it’s a good thing too, because imagine if he wasn’t meant to do it? That means some other poor sap would have gotten stuck with that fate. Why this guy might still have been sitting in front of his television (snoring) if he hadn’t discovered his true manifest destiny?

That’s right, you heard me correctly—and if you did, you’ve really got great ears because I only wrote that part—IT WAS HIS MANIFEST DESTINY! Uh… accompanied by an epiphany, which we’ll get to later.

Turns out, that was my manifest destiny.

Now I know all this is hard for you to believe, but there it is in black and white on page 4,234,592,001,632, section 7, paragraph D of my personal copy of A Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction and it states, and I’m quoting…

Shutterstock.com

Shutterstock.com

“The guy in the chair in front of his computer—that would be me—as listed in the “In My Cluttered Attics” blog post dated Monday, January 30, 2017—will discover his manifest destiny and this will lead to his having an epiphany—which might have to be removed later by means of brain surgery.”

And what exactly was my manifest destiny—excluding the epiphany? It was for me to become one of the early pioneers responsible for the expansion of America—by way of the information highway.

Huh?

Okay, so I missed the appointment with manifest destiny by over a hundred years.

That’s a good thing, though, because it also meant that I avoided the challenging—if not virtually impossible—journey to expand 19th century America by way of the, as yet, unpaved information highway.

Now I know what you’re thinking here, you’re thinking: “Please no more I can’t take it!” But we all have to press on… there’s no turning back now!

Why you ask?

Well, what else would you have me do, refer you all to the National Hieroglyphics Channel on the subject? You know they did a special on this topic back in 69 B.C. However, oddly enough, they never ran the episode again? Also, the DVD hasn’t come out on Amazon yet either?

Guess they’re waiting for the directors cut.

So… we have no choice but to press on… TOGETHER… because I don’t wanna have to recount this whole affair all by myself.

Anyway it’s just as well,. You see A Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction has never recommended a National Hieroglyphics Channel episode ever.

Well… not one originating in my unconscious thought process, anyway.

And what about those episodes originating in my conscious thoughts, you ask?

That’s one I’m too afraid to think about.

All the same, I haven’t finished my post here yet, and I’ve established a quota of about thousand words, which should leave me about three hundred more to go. So just wait where you are folks, we’re almost there, and then you can go to the bathroom and tinkle.

Now cutting to the epiphany part of the manual—it’s listed in the bibliography section.

So this guy (Moi), suddenly comes to realize that his manifest destiny of expanding 19th century America (through the information highway) has passed him by. That’s when I decided to get on the internet and head out west.

Then I discovered that the early pioneers stopped expanding westward when they hit the Pacific Ocean—imagine that, who knew—probably because their Conestoga wagons weren’t water-proof.

Suddenly the epiphany struck…

“I realized I didn’t need a water-proof Conestoga wagon to expand 19th century America. All I really needed was Google Maps… well, and Minecraft!

That’s right… with Google Maps and Minecraft I could set out to blaze a whole new trail.

So I started (and ended) by extending the old Oregon Trail to a point out in the Pacific Ocean 40 degrees North Latitude by 130 degrees West Longitude, where the Feds finally caught up with me for loitering on (my now derelict) oil platform.

They ordered me to cease and desist (can you believe it?) in the telling of this tall tale which for some reason has resulted in my growing a rather long nose?

Giphy

GiphyAlright, so Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction can sometimes lead you astray—like out into the middle of the Pacific Ocean.It ain’t perfect.

So, what does A Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction tell us about man and his occasional lapses in thinking?

That perhaps man is not perfect after all, and all because of his inner mystical manual of instruction… BEING OBVIOUSLY DEFECTIVE!

Therefore…

Maybe we shouldn’t blame man—who is a marvelous creature (sometimes) for all of his illogical thinking, but instead, blame his DEFECTIVE AND BROKEN MANual!

Just for the record… my wife says that last part is just a whole bunch of poppycock.

See, what did I tell you? GOTTA BE THE MANUALS FAULT.

Psst… Wanna Hear A Secret?

So have you figured it out yet? You know… my secret? Did you catch all the clues I left you? Alright then, did you catch just a few of the clues I left you? None of the clues I left you? Have you even bothered to review all the clues I left you?

Well why not? Oh I see, you’ve just been reviewing all the clues I left you. And you still came back? Are you sure you’re alright? I mean, maybe you outta sit down?

Okay, so you’re alright? Phew had me worried there for a minute, especially since I haven’t really left any clues. But I do have a secret.

ONE SECRET.

Well actually I have more than one secret, however, that ONE SECRET if I were to tell you that one secret, might eliminate the need for my disguise. What disguise?

Why… my red nose, silly!

Anyway, that means my one secret is gonna have to remain a secret. Not that I’m a huge celebrity, I’m a skinny one… with a slightly expanding waistline.

Besides I couldn’t pose for a photograph with any of you much less sign an autograph, because I don’t think that’s possible on this blog.

Now on the other hand, I could tell you about my wife’s BIG SECRET. The one about her BEING A CELEBRITY who occasionally gets recognized when we go out.

The wife, signing autographs.

The wife, signing autographs.

Then again, she made me swear never to tell you that secret… even in hushed tones.

Probably because she really does sign autographs for people and pose for pictures with them.

But she doesn’t have a blog—I got her there!

Still, I probably stand a better chance of getting into a photo only if I photo-bomb someone else’s photo op, so she actually has the edge there. You might say I’m an acorn in my wife’s shadow.

Here I’ll give you an example of what I mean, and this actually happened.

Once we were on this Monorail (I’ll let you guess where), and this family recognized my wife—yeah, sunglasses and all!

The wife, sunglasses and all!

They asked her if she wouldn’t mind posing with them for a photo. I was asked to pose, too. No doubt, an afterthought.

Anyway, I thought, “Sure, why not.”

Except, I made the mistake of stepping off of the monorail—thinking that my wife was right behind me—and then the monorail doors closed BEHIND ME. I gotta get the name of that joker.

The acorn in her shadow.

The acorn in her shadow.

Anyway, as the monorail left the station I was left thinking about what might have been, as my wife remained on board with the family and posed for pictures with her fans.

Naturally this left me (the acorn) standing there with nothing but egg on my face—and a red nose.

True story and no longer a secret as everyone at the monorail station—who were all laughing—will attest.

But hey, that’s what we comedians do we make people laugh—even when we don’t get paid for it!

You know, now that I think about it, maybe I should have kept this… A SECRET.

Sherlock: It’s “The Final Problem”

Rebloggy

Rebloggy

Don’t Get Murdered While You’re Wearing an Alarming Shade of Pink. SH

I love this show so much, and obviously, a great many of you probably do as well.

That’s why I had to take a moment to recognize another blogger who frequently comments on Sherlock, and who also has a magnificent gift for insight. She truly offers a unique perspective on a variety of shows and movies.

Sherlock happens to be one of them.

First of all, you are probably aware that tonight’s two-hour episode of “Sherlock” may not only be the season final, but perhaps the series final.

Sure, the series may have run its course, but when it was good it was very good, and if this is the end I think we all hope it offers a satisfying conclusion.

Pinterest

Pinterest

Back in 2010 “Sherlock” made superstars out of its leads Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman, both of whom are practically everywhere now, and largely the reason for such speculation.

Rebloggy.com

Rebloggy.comwriting crisp and clever, jammed with so much material, it was amazing writer’s, Mark Gattis (who also plays Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s older brother) and Steven Moffat were even able to cram in so much minutiae.

Each episode features marvelous deduction sequences which often move so fast, it requires repeat viewings to catch all the crucial and important details.

With two years in-between each series, fans have plenty of time to review each episode!

Mind you, not every episode has been pure genius.

Sometimes the writing for the show has been a little cluttered—like in my attic—but it consistently offers plenty of twist and turns to keep the show refreshing and entertaining.

And unlike my attic writing, the writing on Sherlock actually offer stories which lead to rational conclusions!

However, I’ll continue to work on solving that little problem—but don’t hold your breath.

But back to the blogger whose talent I wish to recognize.

Her name is Andrea, and her blog is named “Crime and Relative Dimension in Space” and here’s the link to it  https://crimeandrelativedimensioninspace.com/2017/01/14/a-few-subjective-truths-about-sherlock-series-4/

Andrea offers some of the best in-depth writing on shows and movies I’ve ever read.

The writing on Sherlock offers truly OUTSTANDING material to review. Not only does her writing uncover a wonderful range of emotions in the characters, but her writing also presents what might be going on inside their heads.

All this she beautifully expounds on while touching on each of the characters true motivations. She expresses their sense of humor, devoted friendship, and of course… that cool sound deductive reasoning Sherlock dishes out per each episode.

She writes as if she were actually in the minds of Mark Gattis and Steven Moffat when they were scripting the material for the show. She’s that good!

Although, Sherlock may be coming to an unbearable end tonight (hopefully a special movie now an then would be nice), I’m hoping Andrea’s comprehensive writing will not, as it offers comprehensive background to Sherlock and other shows.

Her blog also provides insights into novels, soundtracks, games and movies, each with plenty of thoughtful information to critically digest on those subjects.

So again, please check out her blog…

A Few (Subjective) Truths about Sherlock, Series 4

I really think you’ll enjoy it.