This Is One Whale Of A Tale!

Many of you may think you know the true story of Noah and the Ark—it was in all the papers. However, recently a survivor of the voyage—a Dutchman (found in a lifeboat) who’s since taken up flying—has come forward and told a reporter here at “The Attic” a very revealing story about Captain Noah.

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

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

graphics factory

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

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

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

However, Noah’s wife was having none of it and eventually grew weary of Noah’s whining about wanting a bigger boat. So one day she finally told him, “If you want a bigger boat, go talk to the lord?”

Noah took her advice and went and talked to Lord Quinton Hooper Brody, First Lord of the Admiralty of Amity Island about getting a loan for an ark. The Lord told Noah, “Why not just go build one yourself and stock it with one set of male and female animals of every kind?”

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

However, Noah had never built an ark before—in fact, no one had.

This led to Noah having to go down to the local library to get the book “Ark Building for Dummies.” First, though, he had to pay a fine for an overdue book called, “An Idiots Guide to Throwing Chum Overboard into Shark-Filled Waters while Fishing out of a Canoe.”

Copyright, Doubleday Press, 2304 B.C.

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

At first, there was an angry debate over the exact dimensions of a cubit.

The argument came to an abrupt end, however, when Noah’s idea of it being only the size of his middle finger was eventually over-ruled by his two boys Ham, and Yam (both named after their favorite foods), when they produced a tape measure and a ruler from under their tunics.

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

scary for kids

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

But (after 40 days and 40 nights), the ark set ground on the shore of an uncharted desert Turkish mountain named, Gilligan. Eventually, Noah renamed it Mt. Ararat instead—due to possible copyright infringements.

Captain Noah, went on to gain even greater fame though and became a shipping tycoon, realizing his childhood dream of building a fleet of cruise ships. You’ve probably heard of them. Today they’re better known as the “Noahwegian Cruise Line.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Interview With The New York Times

Shildan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, you’re welcome New York Times.

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

SURPRISE WordPress—and you’re welcome too!

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

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

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

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

Reporter: Why not?

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

Reporter: Thank you.

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

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

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

Reporter: How did you know?

Me: Huh?

Reporter: Just kidding.

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

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

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

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

Me: You mean…

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

A Post Found Only… In The Twilight Zone

Popkey

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

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

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

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

Blogging Sensei

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

I know I couldn’t believe it either.

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

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

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

Tap…

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

And now for a word from our sponsor.

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

And now back to our post.

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

Have you tried Plinky.com?

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

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

How about a million dollars… AND A NEW POST?

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

(Sound of the front door closing)

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

Wow, this looks interesting.

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

Why not? I’ll do it! (Click!) POOF!

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

Dailymotion

Now back to our post.

(Sound of the front door opening)

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

Old proverb: Curiosity killed the cat.

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

Perhaps it was a little of both.

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

A Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction

pinterest

pinterest

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Puberty my ass!

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

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

Boing Boing

Boing Boing

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

That’s the stuff mystical manuals are made of!

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

Alright, how about, Bruce Jenner?

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

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

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

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

Anyway, where was I?

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

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

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

Turns out, that was my manifest destiny.

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

Shutterstock.com

Shutterstock.com

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

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

Huh?

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

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

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

Why you ask?

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

Guess they’re waiting for the directors cut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly the epiphany struck…

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

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

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

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

Giphy

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

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

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

Therefore…

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

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

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

Psst… Wanna Hear A Secret?

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

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

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

ONE SECRET.

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

Why… my red nose, silly!

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

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

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

The wife, signing autographs.

The wife, signing autographs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The wife, sunglasses and all!

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

Anyway, I thought, “Sure, why not.”

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

The acorn in her shadow.

The acorn in her shadow.

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

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

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

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

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

2017… Going Where No Man Has Gone Before

Best Animations

Best Animations

Captains Log, Stardate 2017.5. Having just left the Delta quadrant, where we finished off yet another peaceful intervention by destroying a bunch of Klingons and their vessels (because they’re bad, and not in a Michael Jackson way), I retired to my cabin slipping into a deep sleep, and began to dream.

In my dream I was with this beautiful female alien… while shirtless, yet AGAIN. Not that that is important to Starfleet in any way. However, this female alien had this multi-colored face and was wearing what appeared to be some sort of ancient space toga.

Why they never wear a typical space suit is beyond me? Then again, I’m certainly glad she didn’t have 14 arms, 5 claws, and 1 eye with no hair, or I can guarantee you I wouldn’t have shed my shirt… quite as fast.

So I was just about to kiss this female alien when Dr. McCoy summons me to the bridge—DARN!

giphyI arrived on deck just in time to witness Bones (Dr. McCoy) debating with first officer Spock on a rather questionable decision he was making as to where our next adventure should take us.

Bones: Spock, have you taken leave of your senses? Go back to earth to the year 2017? Are you out of your ever loving Vulcan mind?

Spock: On the contrary Doctor, I’m in complete control of my faculties, and it’s imperative we go back to earth now… before the wrath of Negan.

Kirk: Spock… McCoy… what’s… happening?

Bones: Jim, you’re doing it again.

Kirk: What? What am I doing again?

Spock: Pausing between your words captain, a pattern suggestive of Shakespeare, but more likely that of an actor hoping to turn all the attention back onto himself, instead.

Kirk: Star Fleet Academy class of 3054. It’s called modulation, Spock, you should try it.

Spock: That would not be logical captain.

Kirk: Of course not. (deep breath) Why earth, why now?

Bones: He thinks it’s full of ZOMBIES, Jim!

(An answer I hadn’t quite expected, but this being space the final frontier and all, and given what we’ve seen lately, I supposed anything was possible. So I remained calm and asked…)

Kirk: Is that true, Spock?

Spock: I’m afraid so captain.

Kirk: He says its true, Bones.

McCoy: But Jim, do you honestly believe earth has been overrun with… ZOMBIES?

Kirk: I don’t know doctor, but if has, I suspect they’ll be passed your skills as a surgeon.

Pinterest

Pinterest

Spock: Captain I assure you, earth is full of zombies.

Kirk: Of that I have no doubt, Spock, but we’re the U.S.S. Enterprise not the Starship… BIG SURPRISE. It’s true we go where no man has gone before, but don’t you think this is going a bit too far? I mean, I know we’ve had Tribbles before, but this?

Spock: Just back to earth, captain.

Bones: Spock, are you seriously suggesting we ignore Starfleets five year mission for us: to explore strange new worlds, seek out new life forms, new civilizations, and boldly go where no man has gone before? Return to earth to the year 2017 and face THE WALKING DEAD? You can’t be serious?

Spock: Doctor, the needs of the many out way the needs of the few, or even the one—as in your case.

Kirk: Where have I heard that before?

Bones: Why you green blooded, pointy eared…

Kirk: That too.

Spock: Doctor… I have been, and always will be, a fan of The Walking Dead.

Kirk: Now I know I’ve heard that somewhere before, or at least something like it. Bones, can he be fixed?

Bones: Spock?

Kirk: Yes!

Bones: Well I don’t know. I’m a doctor, A DOCTOR,  JIM… NOT A PROCTOLOGIST!

Kirk: Spock, I think Dr. McCoy just called you uh…

Spock: I’m well aware of what the good doctor is implying, captain. But the fact remains, we must change course for earth, before it’s too late.

Kirk: Too late for what, Spock? You mentioned Negan? What’s a Negan

Spock: Not what, captain, who. He walks among The Walking Dead, wrecking havoc.

Kirk: What on earth for?

Tell Tales

Tell Tales

Spock: So he can weaken the series ratings, captain.

Kirk: You mean this Negan is trying to wreck a television series… not earth?

(Just then, I felt myself being shaken awake by…)

Mr. Chekov: Keptan, Keptan, KEPTAN ARE YOU ALRIGHT?

Kirk: Mr. Chekov? Yes, yes I’m fine Mr. Chekov.

Mr. Chekov: Keptan, Mr. Sulu wants to know if we should proceed at warp speed?

Kirk: Warp? Most certainly was.

Mr. Chekov: What’s that Keptan?

Kirk: Oh nothing. Yes, uh, tell Mr Sulu warp factor six. The sooner I’m out of this nightmare the better. I really gotta stop drinking that Romulan ale!

Breaking Fake News: The Election Is Over!

Good Guys To Know

Good Guys To Know

As you know I’ve been in seclusion for a while, just had to get away. That’s because there was an election last month and well… it got pretty ugly.

Now I’m not one to whine about election results—ESPECIALLY AN ELECTION WHERE I LOST! No, I’m one to whine because my opponent—one slimy, funny looking guy named, BOB—won!

GQ.com

GQ.com

Naturally there were a lot of rumors flying around the office after the election (which was for Commanding Editor and Chief of this particular blog) that the whole election was rigged.

I know… ’cause I started those rumors.

As you know, I don’t like name-calling. But don’t let that stop all of you (my followers) from doing it!

In fact (according to Wikileaks), some of you already have taken to calling BOB (a former third rate hack from down in the basement) A MEDIA WHORE—their words not mine!

Bob, was a (basement cubical) employee of mine with some wealth (who probably embezzled most of my money), and an apprentice to an assistant apprentice, who was the apprentice to the head of my Media Department’s apprentice, who was in charge of promoting my blog as a guest on a show about apprentices’sss!

Consequently—because of this BOB guy—I now find myself being the former Commanding Editor and Chief of, In My Cluttered Attic.

The Independant

The Independant

You may recall in a post, which I wrote (several months back, that this BOB guy was trying to discredit me while I was away—in sunny San Diego… recovering from pneumonia.

Okay, so I turned up at Comic-Con in costume as Dr. Strange. I can’t explain how I got there—selective amnesia? But I ask you, knowing me as you all do, is that so strange?

Besides, I was there on business—I SWEAR!

But that’s not what’s important here. What’s important here is that while I was away one of my posts got hacked! Probably by some guy laying in a bed who weighed over 400 lbs—LIKE BOB!

You know what else, I’d be willing to bet that my former unscrupulous underling (BOB), may have had some extra added assistance from a little guy from the Russian government, who just so happens to be going bald.

Apparently BOB invited this little Russian guy into my blog’s offices while I was away.

Huffington Post

Huffington Post

I know this, because my former employees told me that the reason there was so much horse**** on the floor of my office, was because of a little balding Russian man (who wore no shirt and RODE A HORSE) yelling…

“Welcome to the new Russian Federation of blogs, comrades!”

Naturally my staff didn’t understand what comrade meant… because none of them speak Russian.

Meanwhile… way, way, way downstairs my more menial employees—chained to desks in tiny cubicles—were toiling away (night and day) to provide all of you with semi-quality content from this blog.

Dedicated employees, who were BEING MISLED BY BOB… and a tiny but, balding Russian minion.

I only wish I hadn’t been so sick with pneumonia… down in balmy San Diego… ON IMPORTANT BUSINESS.

Had I not been there, SLAVING AWAY, I might have been able to have prevented the devious machinations that were being hatched down in the boiler room, as I would have likely been up, up, up in my golden palatial penthouse tower—where my spies would have informed me.

I DON’T EVEN OWN A DR STRANGE COSTUME—HONEST!

And to think that my poor (former disgruntled) staff people was down there, having their ears tickled with pie crust promises by that evil BOB—and a small Russian minion of an assistant—all while I was out with pneumonia!

Oh its too much to bear. Had to be the fever, only explanation for my being at Comic-Con. I DON’T EVEN OWN A COMIC BOOK!

And that wicked old BOB, down there offering them jobs that paid (why this blog hasn’t paid anyone in years), and a new healthcare plan to boot!

I offered a health plan once, but it gradually became a shell of my original healthcare plan—dismantled piece-by-piece by my unscrupulous Human Resources Department!

That’s right, my very own despicable HR people rode BOB’s coattails to victory, too—and quite possibly on the same nag that that little shirtless, balding Russian dude rode in on. Now they’ll all likely find themselves located upstairs behind closed doors, somewhere in Russia.

My opponent even had the nerve to claim that my trip to recuperate from pneumonia (that’s my story and I’m sticking to it) was nothing more than a lame excuse to buy me more time, so that I might prepare myself for the debates over the issues of blog management.

Hand adding another brick to a wall made from colored blocks

These issues, however, never got discussed as BOB was way too busy calling me names. Names like, Little Paulo and Crooked Paulie, all the while babbling on about building some wall (which he claimed) would keep out aliens—no doubt, for when Mars attacks!

I just can’t explain how I lost this ridiculous election to some funny looking guy named BOB, especially when I have more followers than he does?

His followers are now asserting (with lots of unnecessary profanity) that being more popular is not the way to get elected, that you have to have more electors.

HUH?

Sounds to me like they’re just deflecting the truth by attempting to delegitimize my claim to blog ownership, while talking in circles boldly grabbing my power to do as they wish, in hopes of bringing down this shinning beacon of a blog to the vast world of WordPress readers.

Not only that, but they also want me to get over myself and just accept BOB as… the boss!

Well… I have news for all of them. I’m still here and there’s only one boss—AND HE’S BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN—so take that, BOB! Oh… and minion.

Open All Night

Open All Night

Albert And Frank Enstein: A True Fabricated Story

Freaking News

Freaking News

Albert and Frank Einstein tells the incredibly weird but fabricated (almost true) story of twin brothers, whose similarities are uncannily indistinguishable, and yet totally opposite.

They were born sixty-one years apart in a century far far away, entirely removed from our own century—give or take a couple hundred years.

Older brother Frank, was given life in a dark dank castle located in Gernsheim, Germany in the year 1814. However, it took another four years (until 1818) for him to take his first breath. Which might explain why he remained green faced the rest of his life.

In spite of the fact that his face was described in another book as being yellowish in color.

Now being that this other book was a work of science fiction by someone other than myself—who by the way, was pretending to be an anonymous male at the time, but who in actuality was a female—I think we can safely discount the yellowish colored face description as being totally bogus. Don’t you?

But yet… it’s all totally true!

Younger brother Albert, on the other hand, was born in Baden-Wurttemburg, Germany to a completely normal couple, not singular male parents like those who fostered Frank. Yet it all took place in Germany, just as I’ve said.

Both were men of science, too. Albert explored science, while poor Frank was just a victim of it.

Did I mention that both of the boy’s dads were heavily into electricity? Well they were, and it’s all documented, too.

Would I lie to you?

Frankenseinia

Frankenseinia

Frank stood a monstrous 8′ 2′ tall, while Albert was a more diminutive 5′ 9′ minus in platform boots. Also, both appeared to have suffered from chronic bad hair days.

Mount Holyoke College

Mount Holyoke College

Albert experienced a wild and unruly uncombed fuzz on the top of his head.

This might have been due to him putting one of his fingers into an electrical socket (no doubt, in the name of science) to experience the after-effects of direct current on a persons hair?

Frank, on the other hand, tolerated a more flat-topped angular look.

Scientist still speculate as to how Frank could have maintained such an unusual look, particularly since he had a fondness for wearing metal bolts on both sides of his neck (apparently a fad of the time) which had a tendency to attract lightning bolts.

Could it have been a birth defect passed on down from his father’s fondness for playing with electricity? I tried to talk to some experts at Supercuts about this abnormality, but they appeared to be at a loss as to how to explain this rare phenomenon.

I know this to be true, as my question about Franks bolt defects (both of them) was met with blank stares from said Supercuts experts.

I guess this means we may never truly know the truth about the bolts on Franks neck, or about either of the twins weird hairdos.

However the brothers did share many other similar traits that were not even remotely close to being the same.

For example: Albert’s penchant for talking over peoples heads. Of course Frank did the same thing, but being that he was 8′ 2′ and a bit more basic, his conversations probably bordered on being less intelligent in nature. Likely due to a speech impediment which forced him to communicate only in grunts and groans.

Some other comparisons are made with reference to their brains, too.

Albert’s brain was removed and put into a jar for future study, and by experts. Not like Frank’s abnormal one which was put into his skull prior to electric shock treatments—something I wouldn’t advise.

It was a highly questionable operation, performed by a medical scientist of some repute. Seems he favored the assistants of hunchbacks, and with none of the training in the art of modern brain installing techniques.

In the end, Albert Enstein apparently discovered his regrettable relationship to Frank.

The family had been using a silent E in the front of their last name and Albert obviously sought to distance himself from Frank, and so he took to adding an i behind the E in an attempt to change his last name to that of… Einstein—avoiding the obvious phonetic implications.

Later the i came to stand for… INTELLECTUAL, thus forever separating the brothers…Enstein, forever.

keldavanpatten.com

keldavanpatten.comforever separating the brother’s Enstein, by his adopting a new spelling of their last name so that it now became…

This completely factual account about the brothers historical connection to one another—these rare photos serving as absolute proof that what I’m telling you is true, or may this post end with a sales pitch!—is soon to be a number one best selling novel.

Just as soon as I can get around to writing it.

So naturally you should send me $49.95 (a possible suggested retail price) in advance, and as soon as possible. You see, I need the proper motivation to write it.

That way you won’t miss out on getting your own (rubber stamped autographed) copy from Barnes and Noble, before they sell out of my books entire first edition.

Otherwise, you just might have to settle for a cheaper looking $12.95 paperback.

Trust me, it won’t look nearly as sophisticated—or even contain my fancy rubber stamped autograph—sitting down there on that dusty bottom shelf of yours.

WE’RE WITH STUPID

The Big Lead

The Big Lead

SHOCK, SURPRISE… and may all crystal balls be damned! What have we done? Welcome to the new… DIVIDED STATES of AMERICA! Vladimir Puten couldn’t be happier—unless perhaps he was FBI director James Comey?

Thus ends election night 2016 to be forever referred to now as… “The Nightmare Before Christmas.”

Our nation was told—and by “So Called” experts—that the toss up states of Florida, Michigan, and the new founded state of DONALDSOTA would likely vote Clinton.

But as the night wore on, and EVERY toss up state began creeping into Donald Trump’s victory column, Hillary Clinton voters all but disappeared, and not just in one or two key states—BUT IN EACH AND EVERY ONE OF THEM! Did they all forget to go to the polls?

AMAZING? Try SUSPICIOUS.

Now we’d all had been warned that possible tampering with the Presidential election might be attempted by outside cyber attacks, but that we Americans shouldn’t worry, that our crack security experts were on top of it.

Psst…Edward Snowden knows all about them too.

Is it possible the experts forgot to mention that little warning to Vladimir Putin, ISIS, Al-Qaeda, or maybe even Kim Jong- Un?

All I know is, now it seems those (so called) know-it-all’s all seem to be at a loss as to how to explain this totally unreasonable, illogical, and absolutely ridiculous outcome.

And what will ever become of our good neighbors to the north, the Canadians, what with their immigration site crashing?

Will they ever be able to erect A WALL in time to keep out all those American refugees?  I mean… THAT’S HALF A DAMN NATION COMING THEIR WAY!

Or is it… a damned nation?

This morning half of America awoke to being known as something called, TRUMPICANS.

For some crazy reason the word RIGGED keeps ringing in my ears—only now the shoe appears to be on the other foot. So many prognosticators GOT IT WRONG, dare we say… ALL OF THEM!

Will Hillary Clinton be the first person—in the world’s newest third world country—to be put before America’s new WALL to face a firing squad? Will Hillary grace the cover of Time Magazine standing in front of Donald’s wall, wearing a bandana with a cigarette dangling from her lower lip, as an ARA backed firing squad takes aim?

And what of CHANGE, what’s that?

Seems most of the incumbents remain in place. The obstructionist—better known as the do nothing congress—not only remain in power… BUT APPEAR TO HAVE BECOME EVEN MORE POWERFUL!

The Republicans not only control the Presidency, but also the House and Senate too! Dare we expect anything other than a new supreme court justice (supposedly a non-political position) leaning Republican as well?

Hard to imagine this was what the American voter meant when they said they wanted CHECKS AND BALANCES. Maybe the voters were kidding?

Is there a great hatred in the underbelly of this country? Probably. A less than HIDDEN racial divide? No doubt. Possibly NO NATIONAL HEALTHCARE? Go to Vegas and bet on it!

It’s entirely possible that the servitude of the poor to the rich is about to become even greater now. See working three jobs to makes ends meet may not be enough now folks. Do I hear four jobs?

But don’t worry, there’s a silver lining. Now you’ll get to move up into a new tax bracket—and still not make ends meet!

Getting out the vote doesn’t appear to have worked for the MAJORITY of most Americans? After all, Clinton lost in the Electoral College, but carried the popular vote. Minority rules? That’s just wrong. (Sound familiar? Reference Al Gore)

Donald Trump as President? Would you want someone doing your taxes who’s hadn’t trained for doing your taxes—say nothing of not having reported any.? Yet, that sounds awfully similar to what has happened here. So what do we do now?

HOPE… that’s what. HOPE… that last allie of the HOPELESS.

HOPE TO GOD the aliens—or whatever powers that be—knew exactly what they were doing when they put “The Donald” into the most powerful office in all the land.

Because as a nation, there’s no way we could have possibly been stupid enough to have done this to ourselves, right?

If so… WE MIGHT JUST BE ONE VERY SAD STUPID GROUP OF PEOPLE.

Then again… “The  Donald” did give a very gracious acceptance speech, right?

Still one wonders… like Robert Redford’s character did right after he won the election at the end of the film, “The Candidate”…

Hands On

Hands On

BOO… HOO?

Tumblr

Tumblr

Monday October 31 had been a very long day. The doctor was locking up, but as he turned to switch off the lights he detected a Ghoulish presence in the room. No, not me, another ghastly figure. One wearing nothing more than a torn and tattered cloak.

I myself own a $9.99 windbreaker from Walmart.

“Can I help you?” the doctor asked. “No, I’m beyond help.” replied a depressed voice from the dark.

“Surely it’s not that bad.” replied the doctor to the voice. Gradually, the entity came into view. He set his scythe in the corner and began to pace (well… float actually) back and forth across the room. His head remained bowed as his bony fingers twitched. A deeply troubled soul.

“Would you have a seat or perhaps you’d like to lay on the sofa?” The psychiatrist asked.

“Lying on the sofa will do, thank you.” the Reaper replied “You see, in my line of work it’s usually the other away around.”

“Oh I see.” said the doctor knowingly.

“Do you really?” asked the Grim Reaper.”You have no idea what a joy it is to hear you say that doctor. It’s a terrible cross I bear. I run an unlicensed escort service, where all I do is collect souls day and night.”

“I can’t imagine.” said the doctor.

“Perhaps that’s because you have a license doctor. Hee, hee, hee” quipped Death. Then Death continued…

“Another thing doctor, I have no say in the matter either, I just go where he tells me when HE tells me. Ever try waking the dead doctor?”

The doctor shook his head no.

“Well just try waking up a teenager for school sometime. Same difference.”

“What about the working conditions, are they bad?” asked the doctor.

Pumpkin-Bumpker

Pumpkin-Bumpker

“The worst.” replied the wraith “I have to work in all kinds of weather, and with only this ridiculous robe for protection. Because, and I’m quoting—it’s expected of me!”

“I roam cold damp cemetery’s… usually in the dark. It’s amazing I haven’t caught my death of cold already, and me with no healthcare!  The post office has nothing on me let me tell ya doctor.”

“How DO you do it?” the good doctor asked.

“Well you see, I fly… all the time. Fly all over the world. 24/7/365 days a year… no days off! Every time I step into an airport I attract the attention of the TSA. Being on time for a cadaver collection has become nearly impossible for me. So… I’ve put the TSA on borrowed time. And further more… ”

“Speaking of borrowed time Mr. Death, we’re on it right now. I’m afraid I’ll have to schedule you for another day. I’ll have my secretary set you up with another appointment. Shall we say… next Halloween?”