Breaking News: Llama Exclusive!

Ever since yesterday, reporters have been trying to get the real story about the two llamas who were on the lam’ in Sun City Arizona. Well this morning, a FORMER reporter from, “In My Cluttered Attic” got an exclusive, it was actually three llamas, and one was “Batboy!”

The two llamas; the white one, Kanita, and the black one, her daughter Lainey (alias “Thelma and Louise”) were actually accompanied by, what was thought to be at the time, a third llama.

Turns out, the third llama was not a llama at all, but “Batboy” of the now defunct “The Weekly World News” tabloid.

How in the world did this famous ghoul find himself in the middle of a shaggy llama story?

Well this morning we were granted an interview with “Batboy” while he was awaiting bail in the Sun City County jail.

He was at first, very reluctant to comment on the details of the experience, as he had not talked to his attorney yet. Nor had he had the chance to take a tinkle in the bathroom, after having spent the night in a hot llama suit.

But he did tell us—off the record—that he is the real owner of the two llamas, and that when he heard about the possibility that the two might make a break for it, he felt he had to get involved.

He said he had paid a facility to care for the two llamas but that, night before last he caught wind of a possible break out.

He smuggled himself into the containment center on Wednesday night, dressed in a llama suit. “I had hoped to convince the two not to attempt a run for freedom on Thursday. They were to be taken to a senior retirement community.” he said.

And at one point felt he had actually talked them out of it, that is until the moment the trailer stopped.

“We were speaking in Alpaca, when suddenly they panicked,” he said, “and then took flight.”

“Well, you know the rest.” he said.

That is until this morning, when one of the officers went to the cell and discovered the two llamas, and a third llama, but with the head of the third llama having been removed and revealing it to be, the one and only, “Batboy.”

He told us that initially the officer screamed, but then calmed down after he recognized him, and then asked for an autograph.

When informed that two other llamas in Vancouver, Washington also had attempted an escape, “Batboy” declined comment saying that, “I’m taking the fifth”—and then grabbed the bottle and promptly drank it all, saying—”I wish to speak to my attorney.”

Obviously, we will be hearing more about this in the tabloids.

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A Linear A Letter

Dear Plato:

Hey Plate, long time no hear from. its been a while. Anyway I am in receipt of your parchment, dated 385 B.C. Well you know the mail these days, with postal rates always going up and all.

And then there was all that talk a while back of eliminating weekend deliveries, well you catch my drift.

I realize your fellow countryman Herodotus helped inspire the motto “Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds” when he wrote of Persia and their early version of our “Pony Express.”

But I bet after the Christmas debacle by UPS (United Parcel Service) year before last, you probably wished they invested in a fleet of flying Pegasus’ huh?

Anyway, I had a little trouble deciphering your handwriting. With people so dependent on email and text-messaging these days, practically anything someone writes and sends always looks … all Greek to me.

So I see you’ve inherited a little peace of land outside of Athens, and you want to build a school on it?

I have to say—tuition’s being what they are these days—you could become the new King Midas.

But given that Greece and its current economy resembles a bank full of funny money (because of having paid so much to host an event you guys created in the first place—a little something called the Olympic games) you may want to hold off on that—heavy taxes you know.

Have you chosen a name for the school yet? If I may, why not try something simple like, “The Academy.” Its still in keeping with other institutes of higher learning, but direct and to the point.

You may not want to invest in other teachers as of yet either, being that you will want to start small and keep your cost down. College professors these days make so much, and then there are the unions, and tenure, and—not that I’m slamming education mind you, but who can afford it, right?

I remember you having a fondness for philosophy. Perhaps teaching what you know so well will serve you best at first. Then later you could expand your curriculum to include a study of mathematics and science. Those particular subjects get the short-shrift over here, so you would already be a leg up on us.

I recall you saying once that you felt a classical approach to teaching—instructing others to question and think for themselves—being preferable to learning by rote, a method we in America are quite fond of.

Its not all bad, but there is something to be said for your method, as I usually tend to do what I’m told, especially when my wife tells me too.

Well I better end this before I find myself submitting it to “Doubleday Press” for publishing. Lets do lunch the next time you’re in town. We can grab a Greek salad, or yogurt or something.

In the meantime; please try losing the toga. I know it’s more comfortable, but its not a good look for you.

 

Cordially,

Your Student

 

 

 

 

 

SCI—ICS—CIS—SIC—ISC—CSI

In the beginning there was “CSI,” rather “CSI Las Vegas.” Closely followed by “CSI Miami,” “CSI New York,” and soon “CSI Cyber” all on the CBS network. Had CBS stolen two capital letters from the alphabet, leaving only twenty-four capital letters for the other networks to use?

The CBS Network might have recognized that, any combination of capitalized letters C, S, or I, might empower them to strike fear into the hearts of a network competitor.

ABC and NBC both were already missing capitol letters I and S, and quickly complained to the FCC (Federal Communication Commission) about the apparent theft.

It should be noted—stealing capital letters is a capital offense, punishable by being forced to recite the whole alphabet with “Elmo” from “Sesame Street!”

The FCC immediately launched an investigation.

However; blind panic had already ensued over at Fox where all three capital letters C, S, and I, were missing.

Since the CW was already missing a third letter to begin with, the FCC—convinced that the CW was not a real network—never bothered to investigate their alleged theft.

But could CBS (quoting Michael from “ET” in “Yoda’s” voice, make the claim) “Yes, I have absolute power.” Or were they innocent of all allegations?

The FCC determined CBS may have gained an unfair advantage with the extra two capital letters in their possession. But without proof of any theft, no action could be taken against the Tiffany Network.

CBS continued to monopolize television.

Then, suddenly, capital N’s went missing. With NBC in possession of a capital N to begin with, where did the other N’s go?

Meanwhile, the FCC stumbled across Vanna White lying on a floor over at “Wheel Of Fortune.” She had been knocked down during the theft of some N’s, but she was okay. Pat Sajak was questioned about the theft.

Unfortunately Pat Sajak could only offer the FCC a chance to spin the wheel, which they declined to do. After all, without an N, the best anyone could spell was “Wheel Of Fortu e”—hardly worth the effort.

Before long CBS was making use of CSI by simply putting an N in front of the capital letters and then reversing the I and the S . Suddenly a show called “NCIS” became the new number one show on television. Not long after “NCIS, Los Angeles,” then”NCIS New Orleans” followed. A pattern was clearly developing.

I began to ponder the money that could be made from pitching an idea to CBS involving the use of the letters CSI.

One day, while waiting for my directionally challenged son to get out of school, I saw a school custodian stopping to spray off graffiti from a wall. “That’s it!” I thought.

I rushed home to hash out the details. My wife asked where our son was, I responded, “How should I know?”

Apparently—in my haste to get home to write down the details—I had forgotten to pick up our son. Oh well … I’m sure he’ll turn up—someday.

Meanwhile, CBS liked my idea, and coming this fall “CSI Custodial Scene Investigators” joins the CBS Fall lineup.

It’s all about a team of custodians who solve everything from locked empty bathroom stalls to stepped in wet wax.

What a relief though, our wayward son was just spotted…

On the back of a milk carton.

I Wanna Be A Loser!

Whaaaaaaa!!!

I wanna be a loser—in most things in life I usually am but, no one ever gives me anything for it.

Whaaaaaaa!!!

Am I jealous? Well of course I am. Give me money give me gifts, give me anything I want, and even some things I don’t want. Why? Because I’m a loser! I only want my fair share, or my unfair share, or your share, but I want a share, any share, and I want those shares NOW.

sniffle, sniffle…

Now you may be asking yourself, what possibly could have set this big cry-baby off? Why is this loser asking for anything? This guy whines too much.

If he’s this incredible loser—like he say’s—then he’s not entitled to money, gifts or glittering baubles.

Well that’s where your wrong, blogosphere breath!

You see, you don’t have to come in first to come out on top, just ask the “Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences” about that one. It pay’s to lose an Oscar.

At the Academy Awards tonight, of those who have nominations in the major award categories, the winners only get an Oscar.

However the group that does not win gets all the loot! These … are my kind of people. And boy do they make out like bandits.

Johnny … tell em what they’ve won—by way of losing.

Well, there’s a box of luxury condoms for $56 and no, I’m not kidding. Then we have a hormone shot (would I lie, and again, no I’m not) called O-shot—only … $5ooo. But wait, we have more—as if you ever doubted me—a vibrator made by Afterglow for $250, no wonder they call it afterglow.

But what I’m really after is the acne treatment they get from Coral Active, a $50 value yours, for only—FREE!

No wonder they call these … “Swag Bags” if I received one of these bags for losing—street value a paltry $165,000—I’d be walking with swagger too!

Luxury camping trips, gold bikes, luxury train rides, a 3 day stay at a luxury resort in Tuscany, I mean, this is just the tip of the luxury you find when you go digging into one of these little bags. Digging through my wife’s purse should be so much fun—its Christmas!

For crying out loud movie studios, “Stop campaigning to win—you dummies—start your film campaign’s with a goal towards losing.”

Then when you get angry after being defeated, you’ll throw out the leftovers from the bag’s, and then after doing a little dumpster diving, I can turn around and sell those LUXURY items for a tidy profit on eBay. “Hooray for Hollywood!”

How I Woke Up With A Face Tattoo

I woke up this morning with the face of a Chinese Shar-Pei! Now that I have a dog face, I wonder if I shouldn’t march down to my local recruiters office and join up? However my wife thinks my appearance has improved.

Have you ever woke up with a face looking like an accordion because you slept too hard on your bedding. If you have, then you know where I’m coming from. And if you haven’t … “then why the hell not?” Sorry, sorry …  its just that I’m not used to waking up looking like Emperor Palpatine from “Star Wars.”

My son even asked for my autograph! My wife wanted me to pose with him for a picture. I told her I charge for those.

Did you know that sebum on our epidermis prevents skin wrinkles when submerged in water, unless your in for an extended period of time. You know what that means—Aquaman’s skin must contain sebum enough to cover the pores of every single person on the planet, because he never has wrinkles.

Okay class, that’s enough science for today.

But imagine waking up looking like this and having to be somewhere at a specific time. Then picture yourself walking around Beverly Hills with your wife—where everyone is beautiful—and getting pulled over by animal control.

The officer say’s to my wife, “Maam, don’t you realize you need a license and a leash if you’re gonna walk your dog in public?” Everyone’s a straight-man.

Without batting an eyelash my wife pulled the mocha down from her lips (took a breath as if she was about to defend my honor) and say’s, “Thank you officer—then took another sip and responded—I will.”

My mouth hung open so wide, I thought my tongue fell out. After my youngest picked it up I was certain it did.

What can I say … people love their animals.

After today I have come to think of skin creases like tattoos, only without the ink. Who needs a tattoo parlor, all I ever really needed was a good nights sleep in a soft comfy bed, and some big plush pillows.

Quite by accident, I think I’ve discovered a whole new art form. No need for the needles anymore, and best of all, no pain.

I slept so hard on my face, the imprints from the sheets and pillow cases left me looking like a crumpled-up newspaper. The elephant man without the trunk, “I’m not an animal … I’m a prune!”

I thought about how people in this town get plastic surgery just to justify a plastic surgeons higher tax bracket, simply because they can afford it.

Most people worry about having crows feet and those lines that develop along there forehead. Not me, I’m worried that I’ll be confused with “The Mummy.”

A guy in the lobby even asked me, “What’s the name of your plastic surgeon so I know who NOT to call.”

Sleep wrinkles, what a concept.

A Dear Death Experience

Memo to the collections department. Attention Grim Reaper.

It has recently been brought to my attention—a little bird told me, I believe it was a Raven— that someone has been falling down on their job lately. Care to venture a guess who that might be?

Inasmuch as your job description simply states “Death” I want you to know there’s a little bit more to it than that.

We have a little system of checks and balances around here. After all—we’re the after-life and I believe that’s your department.

For instance: People die—then you go get em. Now what could be simpler than that, right?

Statistics suggested deaths were up last year, yet souls were down. And healthcare cost were on the rise, but souls were not and therein, I believe, lies the crux of our problem.

Now I don’t like to complain, however you have and have been doing quite a lot of it of late. Or so I’ve been told.

What is all this wailing I’ve been hearing about, about you feeling that you have a dead-end job?

May I remind you sir that when the position first became available you leaped at the opportunity, “Finally, a chance to travel and see the world!” I believe you said.

Now I’m hearing that you feel the health benefits package I provided for you actually sucks. You get to live forever, and have buku power, so what more could you possibly want?

And another thing: What’s all this talk about retirement?

Didn’t I explain to you at the outset that the job entailed a demanding schedule of 24/7 at 365 days a year. People would kill to have your job.

Then there was this business last year where I covered for you so that you could have a few days off in Vegas. Your behavior at the “Hard Rock Cafe” was unseemly at best.

There were those photos of you at the pool wearing nothing more than a pair of sunglasses, and red polka dotted white swimming trunks! For god sakes man, what were you thinking? Sorry, but I just don’t think you have the body for that and definitely not under the hot Las Vegas sun—and in the dead of August no less!

Talk about getting burned. People were saying you looked like death warmed over, and still you were trying to be the life of the party.

Then there’s this recent obsession over peanut butter?

Ever since that movie about you, you’ve had this unhealthy obsession with consuming PB&J’s. Don’t you know that eating that much peanut butter can kill you? I don’t care how much you wanna be like Brad Pitt, peanut butter is not the answer son.

Have you gone all Hollywood on me or what?

Have you forgot the time that you begged me to let you star in that Ingmar Bergman film “The 7th Seal” just so you could go play chess with your idol, Max Von Sydow, while lounging about on a beach.

Sure, I said go ahead go do it if it makes you happy, but I didn’t expect you to go join actors equity afterwards either!

Listen, you’re the “Angel of Death” a sentient-being, start acting like it and do your job. You’ve been absolutely awful at it ever since you started carrying around that silly looking scythe.

And if you must carry it about, then at least try not to let it look like some sort of security blanket, okay? Creates a bad image, like you have no confidence in what you do.

Come on now, this job is what you make it. Take a walk among the tombstones—things will look up. Lets lay this whole thing to rest shall we?

Remember, April’s just around the corner, and you know how well you and taxes go together. So buck up and stop your whining.

Sincerely: The Big Guy

The Oscars: 16 Years Is A Long Time To Hold A Grudge

This Sunday is the Oscar telecast, and like hundreds of other SAG (Screen Actors Guild) members I’ll not be attending. That’s because I was not invited—again!

I know the drill by now rejection is a part of all Oscar ceremonies. For every gold statue that goes to someone (and the Oscar goes to…) four other performers get nothing, nada, zilch. That list has grown if you are in the “Best Picture” category.

Then there is the seating dilemma at the “Dolby Theater.” So many famous and not so famous butts, and even fewer stalls to park them in. I know, because my ass failed to get one again!

Year after year plucked from the ever growing pool of reluctant performers to host the show, has come this array of actors who look completely disinterested in hosting the proceedings—James Franco for one comes to mind—but I’m not one of them… “Me, Me!”

Over the years I have been passed over for hosting duties on several occasions (or is it just ignored), and for the likes of folks named Rock, Crystal, and Whoopee! No, that’s not a hoot of celebration etched in stone that you hear, those are real people.

I can hear it now, “Who is he, and he said what last night at the Oscars!” Tell me ABC wouldn’t be thrilled with a little bit of drama? And I can provide it.

In years past there was Hope, this year we only have Doogie.

Now Neil Patrick Harris is a very nice guy, plenty of experience hosting award shows—a real improvement for the show.

Unless of course the Academy were to choose me.

Throw me a crumb for god sakes instead of calling me one! However, I would have settled for writing jokes again, but that’s the problem isn’t it?

Could it also be my application “Has wrote for the likes of Leno, Letterman and Ferguson.” I can’t imagine how that failed to impress?

But we both know what the real issue is don’t we, Cheryl—Academy Board President, Cheryl Boone Isaacs. It was Oprah… or was it Uma?

So David Letterman had one bad year hosting the show, but that was sixteen years ago! Hey, its not my fault his delivery was off that night. Blame the messenger, not the writer, or rather, the guy who suggested the joke—namely moi.

“Oprah…Uma. Uma…Oprah,” still funny… right? Well I guess you had to be there.

I was—ONCE!

Okay, YES, I recently failed in my attempt to write jokes for the “Once Upon Your Prime” blog written by Stephanie Lewis, at “The Huffington Post” but it wasn’t my fault. The sun was in my eyes when I dotted that T and crossed that I.

So come Sunday, when families gather around the TV back on the East coast—IN ALL THAT SNOW—I’ll be stuck out here going to the beach laying under the palms in glorious sunny California (poor me).

So I’m pleading my case with AMPAS—American Motion Picture Academy of Arts and Sciences, again. Please let me write for, or possibly host, The Oscars, next year!

I swear I’ll never tell another Oprah, Uma joke ever again!

“Sleep-Works” by Ryan Seacrest

Insomniacs the world over are going to rejoice tonight. Ryan Seacrest, that man who is everywhere and anywhere all the time, is revealing how he does it. Its all in his new book, “Ryan Seacrest-Sleep Works”

And boy is it riveting stuff!

Seacrest helps people understand, who for years, have wondered how he does it. The host of “American Idol,” “New Year’s Rockin’ Eve,” and “American Top 40,” just to name a few, and that’s just on this planet, holds nothing back.

He tells us in the first chapter that it all began just after meeting Albert Einstein—yeah thee Einstein of E=mc2!

Seacrest describes in vivid detail how Einstein sat down on Ryan’s bed (five years before Seacrest was even born) back in 1969, and took 14 year’s explaining to Seacrest the “Space-Time Continuum” theory. Ryan say’s, “From that point forward, I went backwards.”

From there to the middle part of the book, Seacrest takes time to regale us with his amazing insights on how he once slammed a door on his 1973 Plymouth Duster (which he purchased back in 1953 at a used car lot), and how the spark from that door slamming, sent him hurtling through a wormhole.

He tells how the experience gave him his deathly fear of worms that has lasted to this very day, but that it was well worth it because he suddenly found himself standing on stage with his good friend Dick Clark, who at the time was hosting “American Bandstand” back in 1963!

Skeptics were struck dumbfounded, when the author revealed actual photographs of each and every experience. Ryan said the camera was a gift from Polaroid from when he went back to the mid 1960’s, and showed them what they were about to create.

The dumbfounded critics are still in an insane asylum. Seacrest regrets ever showing the photos to the critics, and say’s, “I doubt they will ever recover to sing on “American Idol.” He insist that it’s a pity too stating that, “Dr. Citircs,” of the Netherlands, “had a voice like Simon Cowell, singing in a shower.”

He even describes the time he ate a bad corn-dog and woke up in the middle of a speech gone wrong being delivered by none other than Nero himself, “Nero looked stunned to see me just laying there” Seacrest say’s.

Ryan continues, “but not nearly as surprised as I was, when the emperor suddenly leaned over, helped me to my feet, and then while smiling at me, began doing the moonwalk. Well, it brought the whole house down, not to mention the rest of Rome, when he accidentally backed into a flaming cauldron.”

He finishes by relating that he caught the whole thing on videotape, and that the “Smithsonian Institute” has it now.

The book has a whole chapter devoted to how he developed his incredible technique whereby—he actually sleep-works with full consciousness in four different dimensions… simultaneously!

Ryan Seacrest, when asked to comment on the new book said, “I know nothing of the book.” but this was back in 1999. And it should be pointed out, the book will not be written until 2022 during a garbage strike in New York. Still we can’t wait.

An Open Letter To Experimental Drug Companies

Yo…drug companies, I’m in search of drugs, so be warned!

For the record (that would be medical, and please don’t lose them), I have had a little itis of late which has become a real pain in my butt—among other areas.

Now I’ve seen more than enough television in my time—curious about that, what qualifies as enough—anyway, enough to know that you guys run quite a few ads for new drugs that cure everything. Even some ailments that haven’t come along yet.

And I might add (since it is the only math computation I’m really capable of) most of the drug ads you see and hear on television, occur primarily during early morning programming, which is geared to attract the attention of those who are housebound or octogenarians.

Not that I have a problem with either group, but Mr. Harris, my octogenarian neighbor, always seems to move faster to his front door when I try to say hi to him, this in spite of the fact that he uses a walker. My wife say’s its just that he’s hard of hearing… but I wonder.

Anyway I belong to neither of those groups; therefore, I need to have you run more ads in the evening when I might be home in order to find the one that will cure me.

You know the kind of ads I mean, ads where you folks quickly minimize the danger of the side effects that might accompany a particular drug. The kind of side effects that MIGHT be worse than the ailment itself. But don’t worry, I understand why you do this. Mums the word.

I understand modern medicine can do remarkable things…but for a price—and usually at a price most of us cannot afford. Now, I’m not concerned about one of your experimental drugs because I know you already tried them on the wealthy—seeing that they are the only ones who can afford them in the first place.

Not that I’m complaining mind you, I know you have to make a profit off the backs of the extremely wealthy, even if it means that a few of the filthy rich will be sacrificed in the process. But these are  acceptable losses I can live with (literally), while you companies make the profits you need.

So I’ll send you the name of my itus, and when you folks find the cure to it, just send me the hectrocycoline, bromioproxidol, robliotuda, or whatever mide you happen to come up with, and I’ll arrange to make the payments.

I look forward to hearing from you.

 

 

 

So I Took A Day Off—Is That Nuts?

Fig. 1www.gezondheidplaatjes.nl

I took a day off yesterday, or at least I thought I did? “No”, I told myself “I’m not gonna get all paranoid about this.” Perhaps a little suspicious, but never paranoid.

I spent the day with my wife doing wonderful things for her, it was our day—or was it her day? Nevertheless I was not paranoid, a little obsessed perhaps, but not paranoid.

After all, it’s was our special day, one that requires we both be selfless. And boy was I feeling selfless!

But I was refusing to be paranoid, it wasn’t really work anyway… or was it? “Lets not be unreasonable.” I reasoned.

Hey… I had to get out of bed… and yes that requires some effort, but I’d do that anyway, except for when I wanna stay in bed—like yesterday.

I had to get up, though, because nature was calling. When you gotta go, you gotta go… right?

But wait a minute. What if she was already awake? What if she was just pretending to be asleep, and then just laid there until I had no choice but to finally run, NOT WALK, to the potty room? Oh that’s just silly, she’d never do that… or would she?

But I’m not paranoid, just a teensy-weensy distrustful, that’s all.

Anyway, everyone else was asleep and the dog was scratching at the door, and had to go out. Somebody had to walk her. If I’m up, I might as well walk her. Or was everyone hoping I’d see it that way, and just go ahead and do it myself? Snoring filled the house, or was it exaggerated snoring?

Now is that acting paranoid?

No… my family is not that devious, or are they? Why was everyone still in bed after I came back from walking the dog? Did they all take sleeping pills? I doubt it, and you do too, don’t deny it!

I mean, I made more than enough noise when I flushed the toilet, brushed my teeth, and washed my face. A bear in hibernation would have woken up!

Okay, so I’m a tiny bit fearful, but not paranoid.

And what about when I opened our bedroom door and had to search all over the house for the leash in order to walk the dog? And then there was me opening and closing the front door to take the dog in and out? I ask you, “Is that paranoid… sure you could say unreasonable… but never paranoid.”

And still everyone’s asleep? Later, they all were claiming I was a lunatic. But they couldn’t call ME PARANOID, no sir!

Then I thought, might as well make breakfast. So, I got the pots and pans out and started the bacon, eggs, potatoes, and got to brewing an espresso. Suddenly—the whole country shows up in our kitchen,

I tell you doc, the only people missing were the census takers! And then they called me nuts. So that’s why I called you this morning, and why I’m here now, on your couch.

“Zo zat is vy you callz me on za Zunzay morning? Cuz you sink za family is in za cahoots to makes you work on za day off? Uoont you sink zay sink you haz za paranoid”?

“Ah… yeah… so whadya think doc”?

“Vell you notz za paranoid, yooza cured of zat.”

“Yes?”

“Ah yes. Instead yooza clazy”!