An ill-advised foray into cartooning on Tuesday (after my being away for three days) apparently proved catastrophic. It seems that by abandoning my posts for a few day’s of rest, resulted in an irresponsible cartoonist trying his hand at drawing a comic in my place. This caused a mass exodus from my blog—by all two of you.
Of course, I don’t blame you, you my readers, who have stuck with me through thick and thin. You were merely mislead. However, the person responsible for this act was caught, and will be dealt with… harshly.
Therefore; today’s post is for the birds.
That’s right, the birds, those very same birds who attack our freshly cleaned cars on a daily basis. Oh sure I realize at first glance that this appears as nothing more than a lame attempt, on my part, to try and distract whats left of my devoted readership from the real issue at hand, a bad comic strip attempt..
And, that might be just the sort of thing you would expect, from some unethical blogger.
But not me. I know you would never expect me to stoop to such a disreputable tactic in order to keep you, my readers, from evacuating my blog—the final hope for all mankind.
I think San Francisco should have been our first clue, don’t you? All those seagulls. But, now the coming bird apocalypse is upon us.
And, if you’re not wearing a cap, you’ll be wearing something worse. How long will it be before these seagulls decide eating leftover hotdogs is simply not enough?
Ever since that movie “The Birds” the bird brains from Alcatraz have been calling the town of Bodega Bay home. On our drive out there this past weekend, we saw one bird after another, on a wire. And whaddya wanna bet they won’t soon wanna make a movie about that!
We even saw birds sitting on playground structures, and chasing kids down a hill from the old Bodega school house. In fact, this heavyset bald man was attacked with bird droppings. I offer this untouched photo as proof (however, to protect the poor mans identity, I put his features in shadow). But, this all happened. just as I said. Would I lie to you?
On the contrary, I recognize a pigeon… ah, concerned reader, when I see one. And you my dear friends, know the truth when you hear it. And so, you know I’m not lying when I tell you…
Seagulls… say “Mine, mine, mine” and quite a lot. Yes, I was shocked to hear it too! But, pictures don’t lie! Okay, so these are Pixar gulls, but does it really matter what breed of gull they are? I should think not, as a gull is a gull, animated or otherwise.
“Feed the birds, tuppence a bag” my ass. Buy food, just so they can #%@* all over us?
And, if you’re worried about that irresponsible comic, you know, the would be artist who tried to take over my blog during my absence…well, he’ll give you no more bad comics to read, I can assure you of that. From now on, I’ll be doing them instead, thus; insuring a higher quality product.
Oh, about that rank amateur would be comic/artist who took over my blog while I was away. He was promptly, and unceremoniously, executed upon my return today!
Here’s the photo of the execution by computer. Warning… it’s quite graphic. Let this be a warning to other would be cartoonist, trying to take over my blog.
‘Ready! Aim! Unfriend!’
As much as I luv to right words, an believe me I due, I love playing with them moore. An yet, although I have a weigh with them, I still tend two Ms. them from time too thyme.
However, I have ben taking note that more, and moore lately, eye am forgetting to put words into my sentences. Then win I go back to read I discover words our missing wear they should bee. It is becoming very frustrating.
Sometimes when I go back to read what I rote I’ll feel like I come off sounding like anne Indian, or a caveman. This is because I forgot, or thought, or wrote two fast, thus, omitting a word wear it should have been.
Now it is true, eye don’t pay much attention too grammer, as those last two words I used will attest to. Or four that matter, the way I puntuate what i right. This is likely do to the fact that I right pourly, ore was poor inn English win in school.
And the more eye think about it, the moore I understand the reason why my English teacher probably through me out of her class. She was probably afraid that I wood taint the rest of her class with my vocabulary.
Butt, excluding a word or too, or fore, from a sentence suggest that won; eye don’t proofread ore edit my work, an or too; I somehow just don’t sea the word eye skipped. Try the following sentence fore and example…
I love write blog.
Sea what eye did. Now if I had added the word to after the word love, and if I had put an A after the word write, I wood have sounded less caveman like, thus…
I love to write a blog. Sounds so less caveman like, doesn’t it? Anyway, I haven’t been doing that so playing with words inn my writing has had a horrible affect on the way I right.
Butt fortunately, ewe canne sea that eye no how two spell correctly, anne that I can tell the difference between what word two use over another.
We’re painting your noses red, we’re painting your noses red, we dare not stop for the ball sits atop, upon your nose that’s red, we’re plopping balls onto them instead… covering your noses red!
Hey you, you without the red nose on. Don’t you know this is a red-letter day… ah… red nose day? Why aren’t you wearing yours, everyone else is?
You don’t see anyone else doing it! What are you, blind?
Take for instance, clowns. Yes, they usually do wear red noses, but especially today. Haven’t you ever heard of Emmet Kelly? Yes, he’s a sad looking clown, but most are, but he still has a bright red nose. Okay, how about Bozo the clown? Alright, he looks weird and has strange looking hair, but he has a red nose too. Oh wait, I got it… Ronald McDonald!
Well of course they look like clowns, that’s because they are! But you don’t see them not wearing their red noses, do you?
And then there are the animals. Notice anything different? They have more fur than humans! Try again; ever heard of a reindeer by the name of, Rudolph? Well, he has a red nose, they even say it glows. What do you mean, I sing outta tune? Boy you’re a tough nut to crack.
Oh, so you’re only going to wear one if celebrities do, huh?
The Muppet’s and Sesame Street are pretty well known. You probably even grew up watching them on television. Remember Animal? He has a red nose too.
Oh… so that’s what it is, you’re afraid you’ll look stupid. Trust me, people already know that about you, so just go with it.
I see, so you wanna look cool, so that’s it.
Why even that blowhard who tried to talk me into buying his worthless book on blogging, Jasper T. Fullofit, is even wearing a red nose today, and boy does it suit him. If his nose gets any bigger, he’ll be Pinocchio!
He’s your brother! Oh ha, ha, ha… sorry.
But hey, I think you’re missing the point here. We’re not wearing the red noses to be proud (although you will be if you do), or to be a clown (although some of us are), or to be funny (because we’re just witty), or even to look cool. No, we’re all wearing them for a good cause.
Nothing could be more important than helping others (okay, in your case, it may be about helping yourself), but when you walk into a Walgreens, and spend a dollar for a red nose today (and a very stylish one at that), you’ll be donating to help 12 different charities lift children out of poverty.
So, when I take the time to point out to you that the NBC network has a star-studded telecast on tonight, just to help raise even more money for these charities, then you’ll know I’m brown nosing you to wear a red nose for a great cause.
Have you ever had an out of body experience? Well I am having one right now, and it’s totally by design. At this very minute, I am looking over your shoulder as you read this post. Don’t be alarmed!
There is no point in you looking back over your shoulder, my body isn’t there. That’s because it’s currently at the physical therapists office getting treatments. More about that later.
You are participating in a experiment (although you didn’t realize it) being conducted by myself, and for the Out of Body Experience Research Foundation, better known as (OBERF). But they don’t know about it either.
You have been selected as my guinea pig—because I like you.
Oh alright, truth be told, you just happened to be available. But don’t let that worry you though, you’ll still be allowed to run on the wheel (you call it a treadmill) all you want, after the experiment is over. You’ll be your old self in no time.
And, all the collected data from my findings—except for the really juicy stuff—will be turned over to (OBERF) at some later date—maybe.
Of course, this rare ability of mine has not come without some consequences. Before I was able to harness my powers of separation between body and soul, there was the infamous after school beating I took from my arch enemy, Gary Hall. Normally, I would have thrashed him but for his gang of 50 bullies.
Yes, it took 51 of them to take me out that day.
Over time though, I started to realize I could use Astral Projection to leave my body, especially in times of beatings. Months later, when I was again cornered by Gary and his minions of evil, I was able to leave my body, just before it was pummeled and left in the fetal position.
However, I may have made a mistake by allowing my inner self (once it removed itself from my body) to yell to the bullies, “Go ahead, knock yourself out dummies!” My body still hasn’t forgiven me that one.
Over time, I’ve have learned that letting my inner self taunt neanderthals is probably not a good idea. But accidents will happen, like last week when I was jaywalking. At the last second, my inner self caught sight of a car coming.
Well, my soul quickly evacuated and in the nick of time—my body wasn’t so lucky… again. Thus, ongoing treatments to my body at the physical therapist office.
But enough about me, lets talk about you.
I’ve been studying you folks, and I have taken note of a few of your out of body experiences. And it is my opinion that harnessing your Astral Projection capabilities can’t help but improve your life.
For you men, your inner self is using only 30 seconds for foreplay and only 3 minutes for sex before exiting your body to sleep. Gentlemen, that’s not going to cut it.
And can we talk bathroom etiquette for a moment. Men, watch that toilet seat!
While your body does what it must, your inner self exits sooner than that in order to get back to the game, forgetting to put the seat back down. So watch that toilet seat, buddy.
Not literally you fool!
And I’ve been watching you ladies too. What’s with your body leaving a nearly empty spool of toilet paper for the guy that follows you, while your inner self is sitting up in bed reading 50 Shades of Grey?
Oh, by the way ladies, just ignore that hot breath you think you might be feeling on the back of your neck while you’re taking a shower. As far as you know, its probably just an open window.
It has recently come to my attention that demand for my new novel, “How to Praise Canadians and Stroke Their Egos-While adding Floridians, who were former Pennsylvanians named, Grammy, to the Title” has reached epic proportions… three people!
I’ve learned to never ignore the masses, or you don’t get paid!
In the past, I’ve had people approach me (usually with stun guns) shouting at me to put down with pen and paper (or was it, “Put down the pen and paper!” I really never could make out what it was they were yelling), about writing a novel, and when was I going to get around to doing it?
As I have no idea how to do an eBook, or how much it would cost me personally to do that (in any event I’m sure I couldn’t afford it), much less how it finds its way into the Amazon (why on earth would any publisher market a book in the jungle?), I continuously begged off on the project.
Perhaps a paperback!
Additionally, I always feared that once a publisher got done with my submission (and sending me the numerous rejection slips), the editor would then demand a re-write.
This, however, would eliminate all the rubbish (or, the best parts!), leaving me to tangle with the grammar police to clean up what was left… a one paragraph novel.
Hardly worth the $49.95, thus forcing you to send me $49.94 which is a penny off the suggested retail price. Better to pay the full price, and get the rubbish at its regular price, you’ll be glad you did.
But with the clamor for my new novel about a lost civilization to the north of us (again, known as Canada), to be written by an American (with no knowledge of their culture) growing louder and louder, I felt I had no choice but to write what will be considered (when finished), the greatest piece of fiction (crap) of all time.
Now I’m not one for shamelessly promoting my own unfinished literary masterpiece. That responsibility belongs to more skilled professionals who know all about shameful plugging—you my readers. No, no, no, no need to thank me for letting you carry the load, it’s my pleasure.
The seeds for my soon to be best seller, came from some back and forth banter between myself and another Paul, who I allowed to participate in this venture (mind you, purely for straight man purposes only) After all, it was his blog that made this all possible.
The inconsequential article that started all the fuss can be found here—on Paul’s blog…
You should really go check it out, there is even an except from the book. Naturally it’s priceless material, because I wrote it. And take time to press Paul’s like button, his site could really use the attention.
And because Paul really is a Canadian (yes, they really do exist), he knows absolutely nothing about Canadian culture, but fortunately neither do I, which makes it perfect that I tell their story—despite massive protest from most Canadians, and Paul.
Yet, their history should be told—although no one else seems to care. I mean come on…its Canada, how much interest can there be?
But I confess to having an interest (albeit a passing one) in these tribal people, and their infatuation with plaid, moose, beer, and a silly game with sticks played on ice. Boy, they must have been wasted the day they came up with that one!
And don’t worry if you see some yahoo’s in red uniforms and funny looking hats called, mounties. They talk funny, but they’re really harmless. There principal job seems to be adding local color, and saving young girls tied to railroad tracks from some imbecile named, Snidley Whiplash. Definitely a Canadian kook.
But, hiding up there in the cold, white, North American wilderness is a country just waiting to be discovered. And this country is loaded with lovable people who say “eh” a lot. Suggesting, many of them are hard of hearing.
So before you rush out and buy my book—remember its just $49.95—at full price, why not save the penny. Paul insisted on having a large pizza as payment for his participation, but remember he’s Canadian, and probably doesn’t understand the exchange rate.
And if you decide on taking a trip up there, you might want to let them know your coming. You can, and should do this by screaming…
In the beginning (circa 1980), cave dweller, Grog, sent forth his wife to shop for a little T-Rex steak—eventually a 7 ton T-Rex returned, but not the wife. Time passed, future wives would return, but now with T-Bone steaks. This turn of events left Grog wondering…
“How wife evolve better than Grog and—where T-Rex?”
This is the question man has been vexed by ever since the dawn of woman, especially when the woman comes back with an SUV jammed full of food. Now, when I go out to grab the groceries, my family has to call for rescue dogs to find me under the avalanche of food that spills out.
Then my wife proudly announces, “And I stayed under budget!”
At this point all I can think to ask is, “Where did the new SUV come from, she left in a five year old two-door sedan?”
For years I’d given my wife a grocery budget to work with; it’s called my entire paycheck…I have no say in the matter, its an accepted rule. Her rule, my acceptance.
Yet, time and time again, she keeps coming back.
Thus began my campaign to get to the bottom of shoppergate. Every time she grabbed the keys to go out shopping for groceries I’d get on my knees, bring my hands together under my chin, and begin begging her to let me go instead. One day, when the tears began streaming down my cheeks, she asked…
“Why do you want to go grocery shopping so much… you hate lines?” I replied, “Because I’m hungry?”
Finally, I was getting to go grocery shopping—and I was doing it willingly, but for one terrifying moment. I feared my wife (thinking I was running a temperature), might reach for the anal thermometer, fortunately, she fainted instead.
“Wal-Mart has a grocery store?” I screamed, while being revived with smelling salts. My wife said, “Yes. WHERE have you been Grog?”
I was half tempted to say, passed out, but thought better of it, for fear of being called a smart-ass. Thus, I avoided a possible concussion from a frying-pan out of nowhere.
So off we both went to Wal-Mart, like two people having just won a chance to be on the original Supermarket Sweep, but with all the time in the world to fill our carts.
We sailed up and down the isles, grabbing everything in sight. Finally we arrived at a self-checkout stand where my wife insisted I bag, and she scan. At first, nothing could have been easier. Item, after item was ran over the scanner by my wife, and with blinding speed.
All of a sudden there was a beep. I paused for only a second, but then continued packing. Then, two carts later, another beep occurred. This time my curiosity was aroused and I stopped my wife, asking her what the beep was for? Without slowing down for a second, she smiled and said…
As instructed, I did as she said, but another beep stopped me dead in my tracks. When I tried to ask ‘whats up’, she grabbed what was in my hand and said, “Just put it in the bag.” I put the last bag into the second cart and turned to see my wife paying the amount owed; $4.78. “What a steal!” I thought.
I had no idea, that is, until I reached the exit where I was confronted by a kindly old gentleman. My wife continued on out. The old man looked at the receipt, then took one look at both carts, smiled at me, and I at him—and now I’m allowed one phone call.
Boy…has my wife evolved!
Mother in-law problems? Old battle- axe got you down? Oh, it’s the father in-law you say, maybe that’s your problem! That old rough rider. Has he decided he’s going to run rough shod over you? Is that what has you down? Well no worries, fortunately I don’t have any in-laws.
You, on the other hand, you’ve got problems. Ha, ha, ha, ha!
That needn’t be a problem for someone like you though, because I’m an entrepreneur. You probably saw the story in the news last week where this man went gunning for an armadillo, but then wound up bagging his mother in-law instead when the bullet ricocheted?
Well when I read this, I immediately went out of my mind—with ideas of course. I know what your thinking… your thinking, this guy is really going somewhere. Doesn’t it just drive you nuts? Don’t you love the suspense?
Okay, okay, okay… here it is.
Suppose someone with a brilliant mind, say someone like me for instance, were to come up with this idea, whereby; I create accidents that happen to difficult in-laws, then I sell them to you? Now lets say, I sell you this foolproof idea, and you run with it.
Mind you now, these would just be accidents, you’d never do anything deliberate! A deliberate ACCIDENT, yes… but never a premeditated accident, no. You’re not an assassin or anything like that, your names not Vinnie, Vito, or Rocco is it? Of course not!
Especially if you were a woman, I mean… that would be totally ridiculous! Your not a woman going by any of those names… are you?
But imagine the accident possibilities, why… they’re practically endless.
Say for example, you have this father in-law—your married, so of course you do. And this father in-law of yours, he’s this crotchety old geezer that never liked you, because you married his daughter. Lets just say, I know where I can lay my hands on this death ray machine.
Now, if this father in-law of yours were a hunter, but unfortunately became the hunted, and went and got himself zapped by, say a death ray… well… you could say, “it must have been aliens!” No one would be the wiser, and you’d be in the clear. And besides, if you were found out, so a couple of aliens got framed… so what! Who likes aliens, right?
Okay, wait, here’s another one. Say your nagging mother in-law is in the market for a new house. You lure her to this demolition sight, see? After the deed is done… she just becomes part of the foundation. That’s how we did it with Jimmy Hoffa, I mean, they… how they did it to Jimmy Hoffa… whoever THEY (not me) are.
Hey… never mind that… remember, this is about your wicked and evil in-laws. Like the father in-law who loves yachting. I know this old guy named Fritz. He lives in South America and happens to own this old U-boat. He still thinks its World War II. Anyway, you could suggest to him that the allies are shipping supplies by yachts… well you get the idea.
And should you ever get caught for trying to off any of your in-laws, I offer a special Monopoly money back guarantee. After all, your not a homicidal maniac, just an in-law, about to become an outlaw. What do you mean, how does that help you? What, tell the authorities that I put you up to it? Me? They’d see right through that, they’d think you were being silly. Why, I hardly know you.
I suppose it was inevitable, that someday I’d have to write this post, as opposed to dictating it to some secretary I can’t afford to give a bonus to, for not being there in the first place. But, someone recently wrote to tell me that they felt I had been taking my readers for granite.
As a result, I’ve been forced to give the matter a little thought. At first, I was not quite sure how to take this accusation. I mean me, the guy who always writes, responds, and follows no more than 1% of his readers? Take my readers for granite? Never!
Were they expecting me to take my readers out to a rock quarry for an outing? Did they feel my many readers were nothing more than sculptures made out of stone, marble, or alabaster? Or were they just trying to insult me, by suggesting that my readers were all stoned, because they were following me!
Nevertheless, this was an ominous warning to be sure, one I couldn’t take lightly. Although, I do realize my readers accept me as a professional humorist (isn’t hypnotism great?) I’ve always taken my readers seriously, because they can’t help it.
I’ve never blamed them for lacking a sense of humor, even though they do. I mean, I understand. Its not their fault they were born without one funny bone in their entire body.
But hey, that’s why they come to me, right? My readers expect me to fill they’re semi-daily doctor’s prescriptions for their inability to make others laugh. It’s alright, it’s just another affliction my readers are cursed with. Why make fun of them for their failure to produce a daily knee-slapper, like I do?
But for me to take my readers for granite! Come on, not all of their little hearts are made of stone.
Oh sure, the latest stats I received about my readership suggest that 94% of their hearts are. But lets be honest, those statistics come from WordPress. I’m almost certain that number is no larger than 92% at best. Besides, you all know how WordPress tends to over-inflate other blogs numbers, instead of mine.
Sure, I count director Oliver Stone, actress’s Emma and Sharon Stone, news anchor Stone Phillips, actor Dwayne (The Rock) Johnson, the band Sly and the Family Stone, and Kid Rock among my many followers here.
But I would never refer to them as readers I take for granite. Celebrities made of quartz, feldspar, and mica perhaps, but never granite.