All That Glitters


Ever since the dawn of man our pursuit for items of value has driven us to acquire and stockpile commodities, currencies, precious metals, and collectibles of every kind.

Assets, that’s the name of the game, folks.

Acquiring as much of as many valuables as we can possibly lay our hands on, that’s what its all about. Trying to obtain anything of value like goods, or property. Is there something we can stake the cash equivalent to—count us in. If old man Midas wants it—we want it too. Capital? You bet!

Now I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking, but Paul, the time when cavemen could afford those kinds of shiny treasures has long since gone the way of the Dodo…

Or to the top one percent in the 2018 tax cut.

And you’d almost be right.

But, hold on for a second.

Any of you happen to know where I could lay my hands on an extinct Dodo? Talk about a golden goose!

No? Oh well … it was worth a try.

Where was I? Oh yeah!

Now it’s said that “THEY” say, “All that glitters is not gold.” But, what are “THEY” truly experts on anyway?

Other than being experts on unsolicited opinions by taxi drivers, or old wives tales—probably nothing.

Especially when it comes to a subject like “All that glitters.”

I, on the other hand, know all there is to know about “All that glitters” and…

A new Dot.Glitter bubble!

Which, makes me about as valuable to you—as an extinct Dodo!

That’s right, there’ll soon be a thing called the Dot.Glitter bubble, and I’m the guy who can get you in on the ground floor of this next big economic boom because I misplaced my keys to the upstairs office—and to the executive washroom as well.

No problem, though, ’cause I know Marty the night watchman upstairs. Meaning, there’ll be no problem when it comes to moving up the ladder—or into the executive washroom for that matter.

I just hope Martys awake when we get there ’cause he’s 93 years old—but he still has a spring in his step.

How do I know that, you ask?

Well the last visitor to go upstairs was vaulted through the ceiling after he stepped on a spring in that step—step-ladder that is.

My head still hurts. You know, it’s amazing I didn’t get get brain-damage?

Anyway, just watch your step when climbing that ladder of his—and hope he remembers which step the spring is on.

Of course, that’s not what this post is all about. This post, is about how to get your hands on all that bling…


Glitter, if you will.

I can understand your being a little skeptical and all. I was too at first. Then came my brain scan, and everything became clear as day—a foggy day.

It was on that foggy day, when while attending class at William McKinley grade school, that Ms. Louisa May Thornapple (my Kindergarten teacher) announced to our class that we were all going to be making Valentine Cards for mommy and daddy that day.

When the other kids began meticulously cutting out paper and using glue on their crayon drawn cards, I got busy emptying a variety of colorful glitter onto my own two cards.

Leaving absolutely no glitter for anyone else.

Ms. Thornapple took one look at my two cards—and the empty glitter containers—and pulled me up out of my chair, and exclaimed to the whole class…

“Children, this stuff is way too valuable to waste like that!”

I knew she had to be talking about the glitter because there was still plenty of Elmer’s Glue-All in a one gallon jug up on the shelf—and a half empty jug still on my desk.

I mean, what else could she have possibly been screaming about, right?

It was then—while I was being dragged down the hallway by my left earlobe to the principal’s office—that I realized I held the key to the next big treasure to explode upon the market.

I figured the jokes on Ms. Thornapple, because while she was going to spend the next several decades teaching 5 year olds, I was going to be making a fortune in the (soon to be) booming Glitter market.

I started out small at first by buying up every single ounce of glitter I could from my fellow classmates—sometimes for as little as pennies on the dollar.

Eventually, though, I suspect the tykes got wise to my short-changing them, because they began demanding I start forking over nickles and dimes for the rest of their stash.

I did so gladly because one day soon I knew I could command as much as $100 or more for an ounce of the stuff.


Over the years I spent hundreds of thousands of dollars for glitter, all while maxing out my high-interest credit cards in the process, because I knew one day I would corner the glitter market.

I even went back years later and bought out Ms. Thornapple’s and her complete classroom supply of the stuff—after I dropped out of school.

She claimed it was all gimcrackery anyway.

I thought, what an ill-informed edumacated person.

So today, I’m prepared to pass on to you (my loyal readers) some inside-trader knowledge about this soon to be Glitter Boom.

I’m prepared to offer to you as many one ounce bottles of this extremely valuable stuff before I go public. And I’m going to do that by giving it all to you at a rock-bottom price of only…

$50 a ounce!

That’s right, only $50 an ounce, and then you all can go turn around and ask $100 or even more for that same ounce—thus, we all get rich together!

It’s okay, there’s no need to thank me—I’m used to being a visionary.

So … how many ounces can I put you down for, eh?









Whatever Happened To…

POOF! And then he was gone.

Have you ever left your blog for a time and wondered if anyone was ever curious about what happened to you?

We all step away from our blogs from time-to-time with the knowledge that when we return, our blogs will still be there, patiently waiting for us. But, what about our readers, will they?

Did they ask: Whatever happened to what’s-his-name?

Take me for instance: I went missing for nine months. Did anyone wonder if I’d abandoned my blog in favor of working on a new one? Not that I’m sugessting that “Blogger” offered me a fortune to come write for them—but.

Or, were they thinking I left because I had to give someone the slip—maybe the IRS perhaps? May have to wait until April 15th—give or take a day or two—to know for sure.

Then again, maybe my readers were wondering if I was getting paid to write—under an nom de plume—for some legitimate (or even illegitimate) rag? If only I could say, handsomely.

Perhaps they were thinking I’d been abducted by aliens in a UFO for the purpose of being experimented on. Only to be proclaimed their supreme leader!

I declined, by the way.

Of course, there’s always the chance I was ordered to stay off of social media by some well known platform because my writing was nothing short of pure genius, and they were so jealous that they simply couldn’t stand it anymore?

Not that that’s exactly what happened.

There’s another possibility: The possibility that I took up residence at the local cemetery. Hopefully as a caretaker.

So after nine months away from my blog, I became curious about what questions my readers—who were still trapped here—were asking in regards to my whereabouts?

That’s when I broke into a new WordPress statistical page.

So top secret—not even WordPress knows about it yet!

And guess what I discovered?

I discovered that only 30% of you (what a relief) didn’t care where I went. And that another 62% of you had never even heard of me—or my blog.

Which left, the more morbid of you (around 8%), to wonder how I died.

That kind of speculation ran from the basic …”How DID he die?” To, “Was it a gruesome death? Did they mean, as opposed to a more pleasant one?”

One guy, who lives in Columbia, even went so far as to claim I was thrown into an volcano as a human-sacrifice by jungle tribesmen—who were all on the WordPress payroll!

There was this other guy who believed I’d swallowed a whole cow and that that was how I met my demise.

It was a fishstick, Jose, not a whole cow—sorry I disappointed you.

A few of you, though, felt my absence was due to having been worked to death by my employers, who wouldn’t hear of it—even if it were true.

Finally, there was, Eddie (from Wikileaks), who suspected my WordPress account had been hacked … BY WORDPRESS!

6e1fdc84a89f5da1ff66cd57cfac1108Oh sure, I could have admitted that I was abducted by aliens—who then tried to fry my brain.

But, then that would have forced me into having to clear up why I was unable to gain access to their on board computers—all antiquated Texas Instruments TI-99/4’s with dial up—and continue writing my semi-regular posts.

An adventure for another post—one I’m far too lazy to attempt right now.

Anyway, Texas Instruments TI-99/4’s are hardly suitible for sending posts across the galaxy anyway. That’s why decided not to tell you about my abduction by aliens from Gravitar 4—a small, but significant rock located on the outskirts of our solar system.

Bent on earths total destruction.

Which is why such a ridiculous story—no matter how true—simply would not excuse my prolonged absence.

Unless, you felt I could get away it?

All the same, none of you would have believed me anyway, as I haven’t told any whoppers since October of 72 when I told the Air Force all about Billy Preston—my arch enemy from 5th grade—and how he stole one of their top secret plans.

While on a field trip to Area 51.

Nothing more than a prank on my part. But, I never had to deal with Billy again!

In fact, I haven’t seen Billy since—nor has anyone else come to think of it. Wonder what he’s up to these days?

Anyway, the important thing is I’m back to blogging again. And that’s all that really matters.







The Last Word On Famous Last Words


“A few words about words from our beloved CEO in “The Attic”—Those are his words, not ours.” Signed: the employees of “The Attic”

Yes, it’s true, I’ve returned!

See, last May, when I decided to lay down and take a nap, I never dreamed that that nap would turn into a nine month siesta. Instead, I dreamed that it might be a nine month NIGHTMARE away from my blog!

That explains why I’ve decided to make up for my Rip Van Winkle absence—to all three of you—by attempting to write one quality (or one abysmal) post every single Friday.

Or, until WordPress finds out I’m back.

In which case, you’ll likely be spared the irreversible damage done to the retinas that read this exhaustive (less than informative) blog.

So, here goes nothing—but most of you already knew that.

Shall we begin?

Now it’s an acknowledged fact—take my word for it I haven’t done the research yet—that Marc Anthony while he laid dying (having fallen on his sword) yelled out to Cleopatra…


It’s true—if you don’t do any empirical research.

This deeply puzzled Cleopatra because she’d always assumed Anthony was covered by Blue Cross.

Then Cleopatra was bitten by a couple of asps.

That’s when she decided that she wanted to utter a few famous last words of her own— thereby upstaging the ever-theatrical Mark Anthony. And so she screamed—to no one in particular…

“Snakes, why’d it have to be snakes?”

Cleopatra’s last words were thought to have been lost to all of history. Until one day, the great film adventurer and archaeologist, Indiana Jones, excavated her last words from one of her tomb’s bathroom walls where they had sat—scribbled in permanent marker—for centuries.

The story goes that Jones discovered the wall while searching for a magical lamp—one modeled after a woman’s leg topped by a lampshade.

Suggesting the dig for the lamp took place somewhere near the ancient city of—Cleveland, Ohio.

Indy, later went on to adopt Cleopatra’s famous last words as something of a catch phrase for himself. This resulted in a rather nasty lawsuit—brought against him by Cleopatra’s estate.

The whole thing was eventually settled out of court, but, not before Jones paid an expensive licensing fee for the use of Cleo’s famous last words.

And what became of the dubious estate attorneys who brought this frivolous lawsuit? They’ve not be seen or heard from since …except on afternoon talk shows—like Dr. Phil.

It’s all a matter of public record, you can request a copy of the records if you’d like? But, why bother—since I’ve already provided them for you right here.

And for free!

Except for a one time payment of $39.95 (plus shipping and handling) for my new (complete, unabridged, soon to be written) book entitled…

“All the Famous Last Words Ever Spoken … As Far as You Know”

In it, you’ll find some of the greatest famous last words ever spoken. Take for example: Julius Caesar’s.

Bet you didn’t know Julius Caesar’s famous last words were phrased in the form of a question? Oh hush up and stop taking credit for it, Richard Edes…

Everyone already knows he was auditioning for the game show, “Jeopardy” at the time.

Also it appears he kept a journal (discovered in his palace by the FBI while searching for clues to his murder) where he’d apparently been experimenting for months in search of just the right words to say—just in case he were to meet with an unexpected death.

Yet, it seems he was only able to come up with that perplexing question of, “Et tu, Brute.” Which, when translated (by me) to read, “You too, Brutus?”

Naturally, this incriminated Brutus, who as it turns out, actually took a stab at answering Caesar’s perplexing question—with the help of a few friends.

Then, there was Ramses the II.

Now, it’s not well known but while he was gaining on Moses and the Israelites in that great chariot race to the Red Sea … he somehow lost the keys to his chariot and it stalled out.

Not having pit crews back in those days, Ramses the II (fearing once he’d located his keys he might have to give chase into the sea after Moses himself) turned to Marvin, his second in command, and said…

“Hey Marvin, be so kind as to give chase after Moses into the Red Sea for me, won’t you? Seems, I’ve lost the keys to my chariot back in the desert somewhere, and now I’m gonna have to return home to get my other set of keys.”

They were probably in his other pair of trousers.

Anyway, the point is, it wasn’t Ramses the II who uttered those famous last words, “Oh crap!” at the Red Sea when it closed up over his army, as initially thought, but poor old Marvin instead.

However, I’d say his last words seem quite apropos, wouldn’t you? Particularly, since it was Marvin’s last assignment.

In my book, I also take you way back to the beginning and the very first famous last words ever spoken. Remember Abel, of Cain and Abel fame? His famous last words were…

“Hey, I’ve been shot!”

Of course, ballistics being what they were then—and Cain being a believer in the Second Amendment as well as knowing his Miranda Rights—means that we’ll probably never know what kind of gun Cain used in the commission of the crime.

All the same, Abel’s famous last words were likely dead on.

Now I can’t speak to the many NOT SO FAMOUS last words uttered by other folks.

With the exception of a few last words from, Herbert the Expert Marksman of “Herbert the Expert Marksman’s Archery Shop” who said…

“Ouch, that hurts!”

This was back in 1548, when Herbert the Expert Marksman suddenly died in a tragic bow and arrow accident.

Or so, Jerry the Nave, (his assistant) claimed.

It was afterward that, Jerry the Nave, wound up inheriting Herbert’s wife “Errolyn the Beautiful” who went (reluctantly) to Jerry the Nave as part of Herbert’s inheritance.

Along with all of Herbert the Expert Marksman’s Fortune 500 shop.

Earl, Jerry the Nave’s brother, was the sitting judge at the hearing and he ruled Herbert’s death a suicide—by bow and arrow.

Uh … Herbert’s bow and arrow.

Can you believe that? Well I certainly hope so, as it will go a long way towards the sale of my (soon to be written) book.

By the way, all the details about Herbert’s demise were revealed to me in a letter written by Herbert himself, posthumously—after his death.

I don’t know how that’s possible?

All I know is the letter was addressed to me with specific instructions that I not open its contents—until after I was born.

Naturally, I agreed.

I can only surmise, that he met with Nostradmus, who then alerted him to my book, which was to be written in the future. Obviously, the poor guy wanted to be included in a #1 Best Seller!

How could I say no to him—I’d never met the guy!