A Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction

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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 his way, it became clear what he was supposed to do. But how?

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

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

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

Also—as a man who has never read the book, because 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 I naturally went and did it.

That’s why you’ll never convince me that 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 that he’s meant to do… even when it defies all logic—LIKE ATTEMPTING TO JUMP OVER A PICKET FENCE LIKE AN IMBECILE!

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

Boing Boing

Boing Boing

Fabio! Now here’s a guy who seems to have been born to look into mirrors… and occasionally do commercials.

That’s the stuff mystical manuals are made of!

You want yet 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 later came along 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. But hey, it’s up to you guys to follow those 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 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.

Now, what does A Man’s Mystical Manual of Instruction really tell us about a man and his thinking?

That perhaps a man is not perfect because of his mystical manual of instruction. As you see, it does let him down and appears to be defective.

Therefore…

Maybe we shouldn’t be blaming the man for all those occasional lapses in logical thinking, but instead, blame his DEFECTIVE MANual!

Right?

For the record… my wife says “That’s a bunch of poppycock.”

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

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