Perhaps Fame Is Relative

When you pose with a celebrity,            

a celebrity you yourself will be.

For when you pose with a celebrity,

people ask them who you are, you see?

 

People of note are people,

people like you and me,

They have wives and they have children,

and perhaps pocket money like 80 “G.”

 

Plus luminary’s and sports stars, 

may always put on a show,

But them and us are no different,

in bathrooms we all must go.

 

The hotshots may have personality,

and we may treat them all as gods,

Yet while we dwell in obscurity,

Occasionally they act like clods.

 

So one day you meet a celebrity,

a pen they ask as they greet you,

Remember this small poem and sign,

and to whom do I autograph this to?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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We’re Doomed…Well Guess We Better Move Then

Well, my wife and I have begun house hunting, no doubt like the rest of you. With the news this week—as reported ever so ominously, from AOL news, that physicists have discovered our universe will “cosmologically collapse” inward, SOONER rather than later—we thought we’d better get a move on.

Not that I was expecting anything at all mind you, and especially an event laced with so much urgency. But you have to pay attention these days, particularly when AOL reports news with phrases like…

“Telling find may surprise you” meaning it won’t even startle you. And, “Huge secret you’ll never believe” meaning you could care less about it. Or, “Stunning fact that will shock you” meaning that if it were in fact a fact, you’d only be shocked if you were a moron.

Nevertheless, since physicists say we only have a few tens of billions of years left here in our old universe, we’re just going to have to move to another one I guess.

So my wife and I have decided to get cracking on this moving thing, as we would like to at least live long enough to see our social security checks kick in.

I hate packing up to move, don’t you? There is only one thing I hate more (relatively speaking that is—as I actually hate a lot more than one thing, but we don’t have time to go there now), and that’s unpacking.

Guys, have you ever noticed how everything always just sits in your garage after a move—waiting to be unpacked. That’s because we’re waiting for our wives to tell us to go do it, which she eventually will do.

Psst! FYI usually this sort of thing only happens during something like… the Super Bowl. So be prepared.

It’s always difficult to move anyway—particularly into a new universe. There’s always so much planning involved when you move to a new area. Initially you feel alien to your new surroundings, not to mention your new neighbors, and vice-versa.

Also, getting your kids registered for school, hoping they fit in with all the new classmates. Likewise you’ll have new neighbors coming over to meet and eat (I mean), greet you.

And then there’s all the arrangements needed for making the move.

Like setting up a time with the movers (NASA) for carefully loading the rental rocket so that none of your valuables get broke during the move—however; this does not exclude you from going broke. Let’s face it, this kind of move can’t be cheap.

I only hope (as you probably do) that we’ll have enough time for the move, what with (checking my watch), ONLY a few billions of years before the great collapse.

Thanks AOL News for your timely (and ominous) warning.

Integrity Blogging—Well Sort Of

This originally was to be a blog committed to one purpose and one purpose only … making money. But after a HUGE reality check (that’s a check without money) I have since had to assign a reluctantly different goal to my blog—laughter?

As with MOST of us who blog for a living, we soon discover that the two words living and blog don’t really belong together in the same sentence. I just had another epiphany … my blog will not only be working without dollars now, but also with an economy of words—although that will no doubt be a plus for all of you.

Still, my blog needn’t be short-changed.

Verbose as I am, less is going to have to be more. I also wanted to be original, but I soon discovered originality had already been tried. In point of fact; being the SAME has even been done—to death!

And then there was my concern over what kind of content would be in my blog. Trying to bring a unique and fresh approach to a blog can be like trying to bring an extraordinary, yet contemporary advance to dealing with sewage. Could it be done?

Who cares—I just want to do a blog. But, as you can see, the reasons for doing a blog are shrinking by the paragraph.

Yikes, this means my blog will not include making money, originality or sameness, say nothing of fame without my name—And I think I’ll hold out for fame with my name thank you very much.

Also, did I mention that I’m technologically challenged? If I did … then that was the end of the accomplishment part of this post. Mastering anything when it comes to WordPress is going to be a distant SECOND to navigating the computer for me.

Translation?

If this was a marathon … me navigating WordPress probably hit a wall several miles back and is seeking the “Geek Squad” for assistance. I’ll finish the race but in years, not hours. Likely sprawled out on a stretcher—barely cognizant of the internet.

But I don’t care, I still have my integrity … you’ll not see me go chasing after followers by attaching some award to my site just to get noticed. When I read someones blog and like it, I’m going to follow them. And if they check my blog and seem to like it … I’ll lock the doors and keep em as my followers.

I’ll earn my awards the old fashion way—by sending an enormous cash advance to FRESHLY PRESSED (Gee its been awhile—hope they got the check).

Come on now, you have to confess, you and I do a blog because we like to write. That and a private journal or diary comes without a publish button.

Admit it, the idea of creating our own site can be intoxicating because we get to use our (okay … WordPress’) imagination.

And let’s face it, our own blog has not only intrinsic value, but also offers an eclectic and idiosyncratic written work which can entreat many or few, but ostensibly—SOMEONE. Forget the stats, enjoy those followers who discover you by accident—as long as Judas is not among them.

And get this. The Free Dictionary by Farlex, defines an author by saying, “To write or be the author of (a published text)”—so hey, we’re all published authors to boot. Take that big name publishers who are responsible for my ever growing stack of rejection slips!

Yeah alright, I’ll say it, “Show me the money!”

I know, I know Cuba Gooding Jr. said it in Jerry Maguire—but I think it sounds better when you read it in my blog instead of hearing it in that movie.

Babies Hold The Key To My Future Humor Blog

Someday when I get around to writing a real humor blog—this blog only masquerades as one—I intend to write the blog with babies in mind—because babies make the best humor blog audience ever!

Of course, I’ll probably have to depend on you—my semi-loyal adult readers—to read that (new and improved) humor blog to baby. But I assure you, you won’t be disappointed.

Now you might want to read to your OWN baby at first. If—on the other hand—you don’t have a baby of your own, just go and borrow or rent one.

But please… never steal one!

For some reason babies don’t like that very much. No one knows exactly why, but scientist think it has something to do with separation anxiety.

But not to worry, as all this will be for a good cause; that of drawing a future generation to my (cutting edge and perfected) humor blog of tomorrow—in about twenty years.

I suspect you’ve found my last statement rather amusing, seeing as you are currently acquainted with only my  present pedestrian humor. But in time I guarantee you and baby will be singing a different tune—one filled with extreme laughter.

Of course, future exposure to this non-defective kind of humor could prove risky to baby. However, I feel its a risk I’m willing to take on behalf of any ill-informed (anything for a laugh) infant of tomorrow.

And if you happen to still be around in the future, you my readers, will also give way to helpless uncontrollable belly laughs and rolling on the floor hysterics as well, as you watch the infants in your charge laughing themselves silly.

And all this merriment can be yours—if you’re still around in twenty years, as it will likely take me that long to perfect my brand of impossible not to laugh humor.

But this should not be much of a hardship on those of you who are already conditioned to reading my blog—and what now passes for humor on it.

Just think, you and baby could possibly be laughing together for the very first time, and I’ll be responsible for it.

The gift of laughter is only one post away—and another twenty more years—but it will go by in a flash if you’re mind altering taking drugs now.

And as for the newly recruited readers of my captive baby audience, this will probably be excruciatingly painful at first… as most belly laughs are.

But later you’ll thank me for it as you roll around laughing on the floor thinking back to how it all started.

Oh sure babies are cute and cuddly and all, but you should know that today’s scientist think baby brains should be declared disaster areas.

Why you ask?

Because babies find just about anything funny, yet that bodes well for an infinite capacity to laugh at all things banal. Therefore, my future humor blog will be in safe minds.

Why, they’ll suddenly explode with laughter, and for no reason at all when you (and your grandchildren or great grandchildren) read my then (FINALLY) humorous blog to them.

And since my humor blog will contain virtually nothing resembling the humor I write now, a reading from my hilarious future blog will probably set them off causing contagious rounds of explosive laughter.

Just think; if munching on a potato chip the wrong way now causes baby to snap with riotous mirth, imagine what will happen when you consume a whole bag by yourself in the future while reading my improved—laugh-a-minute material

Yes, even reading something puzzling that I write then after shooting a quizzical look in baby’s direction, could very well cause an outbreak of uproarious giggling that starts in babies brain and comes out of its mouth—that not even you could recover from.

So just remember to press the like button after such eruptions of contagious laughter from baby when reading my humor blog of the future.

Only then can the babies of today return to my blog for a closer look and ask…

What the hell was so funny?

EEK! We’re Surrounded

We are being buzzed by UFO’s everyday. Why? First let me explain something.

If you swipe an xk823z  Model G Saucer Deluxe, capable of doing 15 yarflaps per hour from Graks, you’d best skedaddle faster than Bipnobs scooting past Tarmipplers.  So Qwauk and Zlonk did just that.

Qwauk and Zlonk have been committing larceny throughout the universe for centuries. Qwauk and Zlonk — long before Han, Luke, and Leia ever faced off with Darth Vador, who as it so happens decided to take out his anger on poor Emperor Palpatine by throwing him down the reactor shaft of the Death Star — have been in the habit of taking anything not nailed down since before the eclipse of the moon Pipnar.

Of course you all know that none of what was just said in that second paragraph ever really happened, except in the movies. On the other hand, Qwauk and Zlonk … they’re real — especially to those of you reading this post.

But back to my original question; Why are we being buzzed by UFO’s practically everyday?

Well, Nathan in the Netherlands, you probably haven’t seen them at all, because you’re smoking that funny stuff all the time anyway. So we can dismiss your accounts.

And no, its not because of the large consumption of alcohol or use of drugs on this planet — although I suspect that could explain more than half the sightings.

And to you, Pepe from El Salvador, who claimed to be abducted by aliens in order to avoid paying a gambling debt. Saying that you begged the aliens to cloud seed over your town to help end the drought there, just might have worked … had it not been for that flood that occurred — which wiped out all the crops. That was probably just bad luck though — at least for you.

But for the record — nobody in town (or anybody else for that matter) believes you now, especially your debtors. Nice try though Pepe.

Nope … the real reason for so many sightings is much simpler.

Qwauk and Zlonk  aroused the wrath of one Porter A. Blyth the 3rd. He (or it, if you’re insane enough to repeat … it) is the second cousin of Nith, who was the sister in-law of Dorthwick’s mother, once twice removed (by force) on her father’s side.

You may remember (before you read that last paragraph) that I did say Qwauk and Zlonk are known for taking anything not nailed down. And as you might have guessed — the xk823z Model G Saucer Deluxe, owned by the Graks — was not nailed down.

So naturally … they took it.

Well, every available Grak with a saucer cruiser capable of multiple yarflaps (average maximum speed per cruiser … 11 yarflaps per hour) lit out (on orders from the king) after them. But, how were Qwauk and Zlonk to know stealing a xk823z Model G Saucer Deluxe would stir up so much trouble — especially since they didn’t know that it was built specifically for the KIng of Graknopolis?

Anyway, now the Warlord King of Graktoplis (Porter A. Blyth, what a coincidence) is by chance …  one ill-tempered goonth — probably because of his name.

And he is packing one carnivorous pet called a Zookwacker, who can devour a whole herd of muddinglers in one snort!

I don’t think I have to tell how bad that can be for anyone hiding those two?

Coincidentally, Qwauk and Zlonk have left a trail a fittonat-wide, while fleeing through the universe at yarflap speed, in fact just missing the Hubble telescope, and leading every saucer through the Rebillgowatt quadrant and right to our little planet. They are all in our orbit at this very minute.

Basically, we’re surrounded!

But don’t panic. You wanted to know why you were seeing so many UFO’s floating around, right? Well there’s your answer. The saucers want to bring Qwauk and Zlonk back to Grak to face injustice.

Its not illegal to steal there.

If any of you happen to see these two renegades, please notify the Graks. You can do this by Emailing a message to …

tuboflardporterablyththe3rd@area51inthenevadadesert.

You might get a big piece of chocolate pie if you do … just before all of us get gobbled up by a pet Zookwacker named … Burp!

 

My Wife: Genius!

The genius, my wife.

After many years of marriage I’m all too aware that my wife is a genius. But for some reason I feel my wife doesn’t see my particular genius at all.

Now I confess to not understanding how her genius works, but it does. She can fix practically anything. Okay… EVERYTHING, and never touch a single item she fixes. She’s absolutely AMAZING! Must have learned from the great Houdini.

Now at first, none of us in the family recognized her genius. Maybe that’s because we’re not very observant. Alright… its definitely because we’re not very observant. In fact, we’re virtually blind when it comes to being very observant.

The kids and I would be doing something when all of a sudden, we’d encounter a problem—which is practically every minute of every day.

Enter the genius—my wife—cape, mask and… sunglasses?

Here’s an example:

Once I was packing the back of our Ford Sport Explorer for a trip—Ford can thank me for this free advertisement later—by sending money… and lots of it.

I was having trouble getting everything to fit into the back of it.

“Honey… the box won’t fit!—I’m known in these parts as vehicularly challenged, especially when it comes to packing.

When all of a sudden…POOF!

In a flash… my wife comes out of nowhere (she’s very stealthy) and in the beat of an eyelash has diagnosed the problem, and quickly imparted the appropriate verbal calculations…

“The suitcase goes 2 degrees to the left dear, and the small briefcase needs to be turned 360 degrees to the right. Then I’d like you to place the baguette on top. Be careful not to tip the duffel bag over onto my pumps on your right, as I would like to wear those later. Girls… please help your father maneuver the luggage, won’t you.”

They all smiled and did as instructed while my lower jaw dropped—to the pavement. She then sipped her coffee and with a smile, magically slid herself into the passenger seat.

Our boys?

Well our boys did what our boys usually do—they followed my lead and dropped their jaws too, while our girls did what they always do…giggle at us males.

As the years have passed everyone in our family has come to appreciate my wife and her peculiar brand of genius.

Our daughters can’t find their tap-shoes

Enter my wife. She looks under the bed, ask “Then what are these?” and proceeds to miraculously produce three pairs of tap shoes and then vanishes back to where she came from—probably to produce another miracle somewhere else in the house.

Makes no difference what it is we’re whining about the resident genius works her magic.

TV remote not working, the car won’t start, piano sounds out of tune, or a laptop has downloaded a virus… no problem.

She has the answer… just stare at it.

And viola! All is right with the world again and not a finger lifted to repair, pull, maneuver, or dig out anything. Its just magically taken care of.

GENIUS!

Of course the rest of us look and feel absolutely stupid. Leaving us to ask; how does she do it? Who cares, right? Just as long as whatever it is that’s not right gets fixed, found, or working again.

But now, I’ve hatched this little plan to demonstrate to her… MY PARTICULAR BRAND OF GENIUS. Oh yes—in spite of what our kids might tell you—I’m a genius, too.

First of all, I recognize that up to now every one of us have been my wife’s Svengali. Okay, so we look a little strange, but hey, weird looking eyes are probably a by-product of being a Svengali.

That, or possibly a result of not knowing what to do when something is broken, or otherwise not working.

I think doctors have a technical term for this. They call it: Deer in the headlights syndrome.

But no matter, we all know that if we don’t whine about something… she won’t be able to work her magic.

So I’ve come up with this little plan, see.

Come this weekend, I’m gonna complain that I haven’t been able to pick the winning numbers for the lottery. And when she has to come over to fix it… faster than you can say “Bob’s your rich long lost uncle” POOF!

I’m going to be busy counting millions of dollars.

Now whose a genius?

What’s In A Line? Me!

“Whose Line is it Anyway?” Mine, and I’m standing in it! Makes no difference where I go, there I am—in some line. Bet you’re like that too. Why, at this very minute—you yourself are ON line (yeah, its a line). And if your server was slow, you saw spinning wheels going round and round while you waited to get on.

Lines are everywhere, like the ones on our face; “Try Cindy Crawford’s new anti-aging skin cream “Meaningful Beauty,” or on TV, “What’s my Line?” and even waiting on line “Please wait for the next available representative, your call really matters to us” —that’s why we’ve put you on hold for the last 12 years!

Sometimes, we are already in a line only to be told; “The line starts over there buddy.”

And then there’s always the wise guy who say’s, “Don’t get out of line.” Only, I think he means it!

And then there is Disneyland (even with a fast pass!), the Post Office (where everyone wonders why people go postal?), or waiting in lines to use a restroom at sporting events and concerts (and if you’re a woman, you entered that line maybe as an acne-faced teenager, but you left the restroom as someones grandmother). And that’s only if you made it to the restroom at all.

Why, you might even have tried to sneak into the men’s room. But forget sneaking; why not just boldly walk in as my wife did—she was that desperate folks!

Even at home you hear; “Will you hurry up and get out of the bathroom—and give someone else a chance!” As you prance around like you were practicing to be on “Dancing with the Stars.”

You know, it must have all started back in school.

The P.E. teacher would put us in a line and pick two people (usually two neanderthals) to choose sides for games. If you were like me (the scrawny kid) you were always the last in line to be picked…only you weren’t picked, you were… just left…and you didn’t have a name either.

“You, skinny kid, the one no one wants, get over here. But don’t think you’re gonna play, you’re not gonna hurt our chances to win. So we are putting you in right field, no one will ever hit anything to you there.” Then everybody proceeds to hit everything there—even you, after the game…because you made so many errors and thus; cost your team the game.

Time for lunch (yes another line) and the same neanderthal you were bequeathed to during P.E. class now cuts in front of you. And worse, he demands a dollar from you for the privileged to now be—last in line. You pay. Why? Because you like living…and apparently being the last in line.

Now you finally make it into the school cafeteria (5 minutes before the ending bell), only to make it to the counter just as they run out of pizza (your favorite lunch at school). That leaves you in line to become the recipient of the original cold WET and SOGGY sandwich—its a leftover. No doubt it was tucked into the freezer way back in the 17th Century—and quite possibly by the Earl himself.

Drama class. Your moment comes, your up stage, its your big scene, the one you’ve rehearsed a billion times (a billion and one, if mom had anything to say about it), the spotlight hits you, and you freeze. Looking offstage, in a blind panic, you scream—”LINE PLEASE?”

After a rough week in school you’ve finally made it to the weekend. So you head off to the theater (with what few friends you have left) to see “Blazing Saddles” and there, Hedley Lamarr (Harvey Korman), says to a big guy standing in line, “Chewing gum in line…hope you brought enough for everybody?” Of course you didn’t.

Oh this is not going to end well.

But oh boy… you’re getting your drivers permit!

Well, you may have been fifteen when you got in the DMV line. However, when you leave, you are a little old gray haired man, hunched over a steering-wheel with everyone honking at you because—you are doing fifteen miles an hour…in the fast lane!

Yes, you are that guy. Way to go fella you have created a back-up (another line) in the evening commute. All because you’ve spent sixty-years (in one day) at the DMV…in another LONG line. Nothing like being a new driver.

You hate lines, and you wanna get even for having spent a lifetime in them. But how?

Go shopping. “But Paul,” you say “that means one more line!”

Well try this then. When you get in the never ending check out line, pull out a folding chair and a bell. Whip out a book, and begin reading. Upon reaching the register, tap the bell (Ping!). Close the book and lay this line on the unsuspecting checker…

“I never dreamed I’d ever be able to start and finish “Tolstoy’s “War and Peace” while waiting in line at the grocery store. Thanks for proving me wrong.”

I Worry About Our Generous Friends

“Make yourself comfortable…what’s mine is yours.” I must admit this phrase over the years has managed to leave my wife and I set for life. The first time we heard it was when we were invited to spend the night with some friends. I remember at the time whispering to my wife, “Our friends must be loaded to be so generous.”

Of course we were young and just starting out in life, so we had many needs at the time. Seeing as we didn’t want to come across as too desperate to our friends, we were content to pack up only a couple of nice towels that we thought might look great in our new bathroom.

But we thought to ourselves, “How nice of Jim and Margaret to let us take what we needed.” Sure we could have probably taken more, but the suitcase was already full as we had just returned from our honeymoon, and had already squeezed a couple of robes from the hotel into our suitcase.

Unfortunately, for some reason, we grew apart from Jim and Margaret. We never figured out why?

Yet we will always be grateful to them for introducing us to that wonderful phrase, “Whats mine is yours.” It has allowed us to  accumulate a rather nice stash over the years.

I remember the time we were able to do some house sitting for our neighbors while they went on a cruise. They said to us, “Make yourself at home, if you need anything, anything at all…” and then they spread their arms wide and said (with a smile) those magical words, “What’s ours is yours.” Well, as you might imagine, we couldn’t believe our ears, I mean how lucky can you get, right?

It’s amazing how generous our (former) friends have been to us over the years.

Once, we were asked by some other (former) friends of ours, who were going on a vacation to Europe, if we wouldn’t mind looking after their pets. “Sure, no problem” we said.

At the time our clunker was spending more time in our driveway than on the road. Again, my wife and I couldn’t believe our ears when just before they left they said, “If you need anything while we’re gone, just help yourself—what’s ours is yours.” Well at the time we really needed a car.

After they left we entered their garage, and in our wildest dreams we never expected to be greeted with—a choice… Jaguar or  BMW?

We settled for the BMW, but in the years since, I wished we had taken the Jag instead (love Jags). Seems that when they came back from vacation, someone had stolen one of their cars, and they asked us if we had seen anything suspicious?

Since we were in and out so much of course we hadn’t we hadn’t. Plus, now that we were the owners of the Bimmer, we knew it had to have been their Jag that got lifted by those awful crooks

Worse…the police never caught the dirty bastards!

Yet, as our good fortune continues to this day, it seems many of our (former) friends are having bad experiences concerning theft.

Talk about your reversal of fortunes. Over the years, as our own financial circumstances have flourished, many of our (former) friends fortunes have continued to spiral downward. We simply can’t understand it.

This has left my wife and I at a loss for words—but fortunately for us, not at a loss when it comes to acquiring valuable merchandise. And we owe it all to our many (former) friends who taught us all about generosity through those magical words, “What’s ours is yours.”

Its National Visit MY Blog Day!

No it’s not a typo.

And no not type O either…like in blood type. Also you can forget… “Its National Visit A Blog Day.”

Nope… this is…”Its National Visit MY Blog Day”

“Note the blue neon sign…see the white letters form the words “VISIT MY BLOG”—and let it entrance you…listen to the sound of my voice (doesn’t it sound like Matthew MacConaughey in one of those Lincoln commercials), isn’t that soothing?

Alright then—so you say you can’t hear my voice? Then never mind that part.

Just skip to the next part…

“Observe the warm, neon blue colored background (especially those of you who live in the snow-covered east)…doesn’t this remind you of what the skies true color really is—the blue that has been missing since well… missing since B.C.E?”

Okay, so the hypnotism thing doesn’t work in this medium. But do you want babies growing up reading books instead of MY blog?

Of course you don’t.

That’s why we do everything we can to get people (and animals—if it will improve MY stats) to find and read, MY blog.

Think of the things we can do to attract readers to MY blog. We can’t be bothered about content—well I certainly can’t.

That would mean an attempt on MY part at good writing (god knows that would be suicide for me), which in turn requires deep thought (something I’m thoroughly incapable of) and still leads to—MY suicide.

Quality writing? Ha…you want me to check the punctuation, spelling, and then edit too? Who has the time—please don’t all check your watches at the same time.

You and I have to work for a living…well okay you do.

So do I…

…all day…every day…on MY blog…morning, noon, and night…and twice on Sunday’s—and the other eight day’s out of the week too! For some reason my wife still thinks there’s seven, funny girl.

Now sometimes we don’t even know what we’re going to write about. We need something interesting in order to attract readers.I don’t care to explain (but I will) just how hard it was for me to write that (most interesting) post at the end of 2014 entitled “Blah, Blah, Blah.” You know the one where I used 438 words to tell a story—and each of those words was spelled with the same four letters, B, L, A, and H.

And someone misspelled.

Worse, I borrowed that post from somebody else in order to look like a proper writer—only to find out later—they misspelled Blah with two A’s as in … Blaa!

The lone person who did comment on that post said, “Learn how to spell, idiot!”

I thought to myself—”Now why in the world would I want to learn how to spell idiot?”

But I digress. We were talking about how to attract more people to MY blog.

So, do we want to keep pressing the “like” button on every blog we come across just to get someone to take notice of us even on say—Kanye West’s blog? Yeah he has one!

Or continue typing out responses to other blogs to people you could care less about like a—Vladimir Putin. Yep he has a blog too (but not nearly as much fun as mine). In fact, he’s learning to type out his blog on his new tablet (and with a great deal of long-suffering assistance). But you have to type your responses to Vlad in Russian.

Anyone here know what key to press to get the Russian alphabet to come up on your keyboard?

So, short of buying a banner, or renting a plane to promote and get people to read MY blog, take a look at this post of mine.Think how we all can attract more people to MY blog, and then make suggestions here.

I MIGHT even put in a good word for your blog—well maybe. (This has been a subliminal message for—MY blog)

?’s ?’s ?’s ?’s

Do you have questions, questions that start with words like, who, what, when, where, why or how? Can you think of questions that don’t involve those words? For example; Are you a smart-ass? Did you note none of the six words above were used in that question?

Do you talk to yourself? Do you ask yourself questions? Does yourself, ask you questions back? Do you get answers back that you yourself didn’t expect? If you do—do you know you’re crazy?

Have you lost track of time? Have you tried looking at your watch or cellphone? Are you tired because you lost track of time? Did you lose track of time because you were told to move your clock ahead one hour for Daylight Saving Time? Did you move your clock ahead one hour for Daylight Saving Time? Why did you move your clock ahead one hour for Daylight Saving Time?

Do you always do what others tell you to do…without questioning, why? Do you know you’re weird if you do?

Did you try to be clever and avoid moving your clock one hour ahead—by moving to Spain? But did you forget that by thinking ahead and moving to Spain—it took more than an hour to move to Spain? You do know, that you lost that hour in the move to Spain right?

Are you someone who thinks you’re always so clever that you know everything? If you are someone who thinks you know everything, would you take the time and tell us how you know everything? Did you know, that took less time than you expected?

Can you explain—why you’re delusional?

Do you feel like you’re just not yourself these days?

Who do you think you are? Are you sure? Did you know that neither do you look like Brad Pitt, or Angelina Jolie? Do you feel you’re somebody else then? Do you think you have multiple personality disorder?

If you are somebody else, are you Warren Buffet? If you are Warren Buffet did you know that I sent you lots of letter’s, asking for lots and lots of money all last year…why didn’t you reply Warren? Why do you want to deny that you are Warren Buffet? Do you know that you are not fooling anyone?

Did you know inquiring minds want to know? Why not?

When children ask you why…all the time…do you answer them with “Why not? Or do you answer them with “Shut up?”

Do you find yourself getting angry over little things, big things, or no-things?

Are you depressed? Do you live where its cold and snowy? Does that sound like why you’re so depressed? Does this make you… not want to pet a polar bear, or perhaps throw a snowball at one? You do understand that’s dangerous, right?

Do you cry for no reason at all? Have you talked to a doctor about it? Did you get a bill afterwards? Is that what made you start crying—uncontrollably?

When you think about Congress do you suddenly start thinking about brain damaged human-beings? Bet you didn’t know, that this was a question that you won’t have to ask—why?

Did you know that there is a saying that goes, “answers make you wise, but questions make you human”?

Are you human?

So you think you are wise? Well then—why aren’t you human?

Have you ever been asked so many questions in all your life, especially while reading a blog post?

No?

Question?

Why do you think people have so little curiosity about you then?