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!

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.


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.


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


I’m Going To Be Moving Up The Literary Ladder

Okay, so maybe I do ask for your undivided attention … while you’re asleep. And yes, you might want to erect a statue to me … for no apparent reason. And no, I will not discourage you from bowing down to me when you hear about my latest plan for moving up the literary ladder.

And why is it that I have these ridiculously high expectations from all of you?

Well, it’s because I’ve decided to become a big name writer.

Paul, you a big name writer, you ask? But, how could you ever hope to compete with the likes of Carlo Alessandro Agostino of Milwaukee, who writes about his obsession with the Wienerschnitzel down the street? Or Helga Smitzer Schulz of Rome, who writes volumes about her Italian heritage?

And how could you ever hope to be mentioned in the same breath as Melvin Elimelech Swimmell of Japan, who writes Greek mystery novels in Yiddish?

Well, actually, I can’t. After all, those are pretty big names.

Then again, I could possibly be mentioned with some of the smaller named writers. Like Agatha Christie, Mark Twain, or John Updike.

Or, maybe even some moneymaking novelists like James Patterson, J. K. Rowling, and John Grisham.

I wouldn’t mind being in the company of their money.

Sure, I know I don’t always press the publish button for many of my writings. But, hey, not even Jane Austin could say that!

So, take that all you big name authors who only publish your books every other year or so. And you call yourself writers?

So, what do I write about, exactly?

Well, many things. For one, I write our youngest son’s name on his lunch bag every single day—including Saturdays and Sundays. Then there’s the grocery lists I write down for my wife—including items my wife always seems to forget—like beer and chips.

Also, I scribble love notes of sweet nothings to my wife, which I lovingly leave under her pillow at night. Wonder why she never says anything about them in the mornings? Oh well.

Then there are all those angry letters I anonymously pen to the power company, whereby I complain about how they spelled my last name wrong—and yet they still want me to pay them! I think they have me confused with some other writer … customer.

Now I realize that many a big-name author might well claim that, unlike me, they all get paid to write and that they have me over a barrel with that one.

But, I’m happy to report that I also get paid to write. Yes, that’s right. I get paid to write, too!

See, all I do, is I write certain folks about something I might have seen them do that maybe they shouldn’t have done. And, bingo, they send me money!

Someone told me it’s called extortion, blackmail, or something like that. But who cares what kind of writing it’s called, as long as it pays, right?

And you know what else?

If given enough time, I bet this this sort of gig could land me a long term contract with one of the big publishing houses like Random House, the Big House, or some place like that.

What a sentence that would be to write, huh?

Is It Still Friday The 13th?

What a day I’ve been having. I’ve been diligently working on fixing a special project of mine, but not my “Clutterland” amusement park idea.

According to my wife, that projects done. Something about our house already having become “Clutterland” and that I had a lot to do with it? Funny… I don’t recall building the park yet—or even starting it!

Frankly, I think she’s gone back to sniffing glue and hallucinating again, but that’s a story for another time.

Yet, all the same I figured if my “Clutterland” amusement park idea was indeed truly finished, then I had time to explore my other big idea. That of making… a time machine. At the moment a project I’m urgently trying to fix.

Now I know what you’re probably thinking. You’re thinking, “Paul, couldn’t you have gone and invented something less ridiculous than a time machine?” I did! I created this blog and that’s only slightly less ridiculous, wouldn’t you say?

Anyway, you’ll never guess what the biggest problem is in making a time machine? Finding the time to make it. Fortunately, I own a watch and what’s a time machine without a way to tell time, right?

So with the key ingredient for making a time machine already on hand (so to speak), I found the rest of the pieces just fell into place.

I won’t bore you with the details except to say, that with only 24 hours in a day to work on a project—and my working 8 of those for people with absolutely no interest in making a time machine that left me with only 16 hours to eat, sleep, and do my business…

And my wife informed me that she didn’t want me doing my business anywhere… but in the bathroom. Well that made perfect sense.

However, building a time machine has left me precious little time for anything else—particularly overdue projects my wife expected me to do. And what’s more; I’ve been wrestling with where I might go once this time machine was finished.

My wife had a suggestion where I might go, but that meant building a heat shield for the trip.

Her suggestion was not for a real popular destination anyway… too much fire and brimstone down there. Besides, I hear the place is full of undesirables with one fellow who likes to carry a pitchfork.

So I said, “To hell with the idea!” and she said, “Precisely!” You know, I sometimes think she can be really vague?

Anyway, in preparation for this, my very first trip, I watched every time traveler movie and TV show I could get my hands on. And during this preparation I made a startling discovery.

Did you know time travelers usually set their time machines to go back to disastrous events? Well they do.

I guess the idea being; if they set the time machine if they get there before the disastrous event happens, they might alter the outcome.

If only I could do that right now.

You see, long story short; I came in and the bathroom door jammed shut, and the bathroom window is way too small for me to escape through. Now I’m trapped in here.

And my time machine isn’t working.

Every time I set the digital coordinates for yesterday or earlier, it always comes up… Friday the 13th! Don’t suppose my wife could have accidentally preset the date and removed the key?

In any event—I’m not getting out of here anytime soon—and I think there’s a real nasty possibility of my running out of toilet paper.

Lights Out As “The Attic’s” Virtual Reality Convention Comes to An End

I hated that this was the last day of our virtual reality bloggers convention, but what a party!

The shows, the buffets, the getting kicked out of Caesars Palace for not paying.

Where else can you go to get this kind of entertainment without going to Las Vegas? How about a weird, wild, and wacky site called “The Attic?

Take Thursday night for example: we all went over to the Rio to see Penn & Teller. Poor Suze, she was so excited to be here, being that it was her first time visiting one of my conventions.

Didn’t have the heart to tell her—it was everyone’s first time visiting one of my conventions.

Then, she went and got invited up on stage by Penn & Teller, to help out in doing their new vanishing act—no doubt the highlight of her trip.

Had to be disappointing for her when she found she was stepping out of that refrigerator back into her own kitchen. Her trip to Las Vegas, kaput, and her attendance at the convention—sadly over! Oh those crazy guys, is there nothing they won’t do for a laugh?

But at least Suze didn’t have to buy a plane ticket back home.

I was also thrilled that everyone else had a chance to pose for pictures with Penn & Teller in the lobby after the show. Tony Sheila and Barb all wanting to hang out with Elle after the show.

That couldn’t have had anything to do with, Elle, being Teller’s assistant during the goldfish bowl trick (gifts were exchanged, promises made, autographs given), could it? Nah!

I even let Teller and my youngest son pose for a picture with me. They were so thrilled! Why you couldn’t even wipe the smiles from their faces. WP_20140812_053

Later, we ran into Mike Sue and Susannah as they were signing autographs at Starbucks.

Doesn’t everyone?

I got to sign an autograph, too. Used my rubber name stamp on Priceless Joy’s autograph book. Seeing as I didn’t ask for permission to do so, I hope she doesn’t discover it until she gets home.

Later, we ran into Jay Moviejoltz Vinnie and Movierob at the elevator in the hotel lobby, as they were discussing movies they hadn’t seen.

I told them I hadn’t seen Ishtar, and they all laughed and said, “Who has?”

Once upstairs I went next door to wake Beverly before going to bed. I had Beverly check our room for ghost. You can never be too careful.

Then there was yesterday. While mingling on the convention floor, I almost felt like a REAL avatar. Almost.

Until I ran into blogging buddy, Scott and his two boys, Buster and Big Man. After that, I didn’t feel much like a REAL avatar anymore.

REAL avatars don’t feel pain. Have you ever noticed how they’re always getting blown up, cut in half, or shot, and still they get right back up as if nothing ever happened.

Well not me and my avatar.

That slice of watermelon got me right between the eyes. I suppose it could have been worse, though.

It could have been a whole watermelon!

It wasn’t malicious and no melee broke out. Buster, Big Man, Scott and his wife were blameless. But I’m an idiot. Totally clueless as to there even being a watermelon toss at my own convention. I apparently forgot to tell myself about it, and so I walked right into it.


Paul (my Canadian identical twin who looks nothing like me) helped me to my feet—which because of the force of the blow, I got separated from—and he immediately sprinkled salt on me.

I thought it was for luck, but Paul told me it helps make the watermelon taste better. After all, he did bring the beer, pizza, and a moose. So who was I to disagree? Paulo, you’re the best!

By the way, the pizza and beer tasted great. However, the moose took issue with becoming our dinner, so we shipped it back to the Toronto to roam the city. Wild and free, as it should be.

It was also great, trying (breathlessly) to catch up with Van, who as it so happens, never slows down. She was on her way over to greet Donna and Anxious Mom probably to reminisce over some of my older posts.

Hey, I can dream can’t I?

And looking across the convention hall I spied Aquileana, who has a beautiful sight on Greek Mythology and who was holding court with a number of other good folks.

Maja from Jojo and Ally Bean all having a great time.

So I headed over in their direction when out of nowhere, Blair came up and offered me a cup of punch saying “Paul, you’ve gotta taste this stuff!”

I took a sip… and pow! I went down like a ton of bricks.

Staggering to my feet, I was greeted by my friends, John, and Caz, they had been discussing the merits of comics and thought I’d be perfect for being in one.

“Can’t hold your liquor, huh?” They asked.

“I can hold my liquor fine it’s the punch I’m having trouble with. What in the world is in this stuff?” I asked.

That’s when they suggested I check out the punch bowl.

I found more than a few of you lying around there surrounding The Lonely Author who was getting a Birdseye view of the ceiling at Caesars Palace.

Which I found rather odd, since we were all celebrating in the Bellagio.

But there too, lying on the floor, was Erika,  and Maniparna,  along with Masguatsen,

Being me, I naturally asked a silly question…

“Having a good time ladies?” At first, I was met with puzzled looks. Then they turned to one another and smiled—while still laying flat on their backs—and raised their glasses in a toast to me… followed by lots of giggling.

I’d call that a big yes.

Then I got trampled by Peggy from, Jan, Elaine, Juls, and Sandi, as they raced by for that punch bowl.

Leaving me to wonder if I hadn’t started an AA meeting instead of a bloggers convention.

Still, what a hoot! After virtually shaking hands with as many of you as I possibly could (this time), I tripped over the cord to my virtual reality machine, and unplugged the entire convention!

Probably for the better.

Our youngest daughter’s blog has helped to remind me that, not only has my blog become an oversight in the last month, but so have all of yours.

That means, I’ve neglected visiting your blogs, for far too long.

But not for much longer, as the In My Cluttered Attic road tour is about to begin.

So see you soon folks.

Desperate To Come Up With A Post To Retain A Few Readers

Having done only one post for the entire month of April—due mostly to a vacation and one trifle after another—I couldn’t wait to get back to doing what it is I truly love and miss most. Working for a living.


But, I think you’ll understand why I felt that way when I tell you, that upon my return from a recent vacation, I was told by my employers…


Naturally, I agreed with them, because they gave me some hush money.

However, in the weeks since returning home— and falling prey to my employers and their brainwashing tactics, and after washing my mouth out with a high quality bar of soap—I wish to express to you all, that what I honestly loved and missed most, was working on my blog and commenting on your blogs.


Nevertheless, it has occured to me that, maybe some of you were actually GRATEFUL I’d been away, unable to do what it is I truly love and miss most.

Take poor old Herman from Holland, for example; who wrote to tell me how thrilled he was that I was abducted, and never to blog again?

Good old Herman, helped me to realize that maybe I had neglected my blog and all of you, and for far too long. And for what… JUST SO I COULD MAKE SOME MONEY?

Well I felt simply awful, insignificant—and able to pay my bills because of a flush bank account.

Still, horrible thoughts filled my head.

What if Herman (from Holland) wasn’t an isolated case? What if—and I admit it’s only a remote possibility—but what if, there were others who felt the same way about my FORCED absence?

So I immediately began to panic.

Oh I’d had bloggers who abandoned me before, but they were bloggers who had visited my site only ONCE, pressed the like button, only to vanish without ever offering a comment.

Not being one to hold a grudge, I understood these Narcissistic putzes.

Fly by night visitors all. The kind of people who go about reading those lame Huffington Post hyperbole hooks that say something like, “What happens next will terrify you.” Only to click on the site and find themselves staring down the barrel of a Super Soaker.

And this they then proclaim to be… Pulitzer Prize winning material.

Well who needs them! They’re not the kind of visitors I want anyway. Unless, of course, they’re planning on blindly returning to my blog multiple times in the near future.

Then all is forgiven, you fly by night narcissist.

Nevertheless, I was filled with fear and anxiety. The kind of fear and anxiety you feel when you see Dick Cheney walking up your driveway with a rifle wearing a tee-shirt that say’s, “I wanna be your friend.”

Or the kind of fear and anxiety that fills you with dread when you think; what if Donald Trump really does become President of the United States?

And the same kind of fear and anxiety which drove poor old Herman (from Holland) into hiding…

When he suddenly discovered I’d sent Navy Seals to find him.

Thanks for the horrible postcard, Herman!

Live long and prosper, you dunce. You can run in those clogs of yours—but not very far!

But, back to my immediate problem; What to write about?

I mentioned to my youngest son that I was thinking about doing a post about bloggers who are loyal to a fault.

He responded, “Well dad, I doubt any of you’re readers would want to read about bloggers loyal to something responsible for earthquakes.”

I’ve since decided against asking my youngest son about ANYTHING ELSE. Especially opinions on what to write about—as it is likely to be a total waste of time.

That’s when I had this epiphany—and I’m not even Catholic!

What if I were to do a post on bloggers who continue to ignore the American Medical Associations advice—not to read material found in my attic, as it’s been known to cause irreversible brain damage—and yet they (inexplicably) go on to read my posts, anyway?

Yes, it was a brilliant idea.

Until the heavens opened up, rays of light descended upon me, and I was caught up in the rapture.

Or so I thought, when in fact… I had been abducted by E.T. instead. Thus, ruining a pure moment of blissful genius on my part, and successfully returning me back to my faculties.

And I’m not even a college professor!

Anyway, all of this is just my way of trying to say; that beginning tomorrow—or sometime this year—I’m gonna start gossiping about all of you.

Yeah,and there’s no need to thank me for it—with financial compensation.

And, I’m not going to be gossiping negatively about you, like I have in the past—when I was spreading those horrible lies about you guys.

Nope, no more rumors and innuendos. No more whispering about you guys in the back alley’s, and behind closed doors.

No… I’m going to turn over a new leaf. Hell, I might even start collecting stamps.

And yet, I won’t allow any of that to change my wanting to talk about all of you, in a more positive way.

Now I realize that this move sounds like some kind of bribe on my part. One being attempted by a poor despicable writer, whose blog has only achieved a moderate amount of undue success.

And again you’d be right.

Because this revelation will likely send many of you running out to seek immediate help through electric shock treatments and 12 step programs, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Particularly if it means exposing (I mean exploring) all your wonderful sites.

So just you wait until this weekend folks… because I can’t do anything about it until I get back in town… because my employers have me on a leash.

If only I hadn’t accepted their promise of a steady paycheck. Then I might have tried this act of desperation a little sooner!











My Picture Should Have Been On The Back Of A Milk Carton

I’m back!

Cue the crickets—chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp…etc.

Well as you probably know by now, I’ve been missing for the better part of the last two weeks, but it’s not my fault. I was abducted, lured away—clawing and scratching—out of my attic… by my wife.

“Snookums,” I said “we can’t go on vacation now. What about my blog, my readers?”

“Well, what about em?” she asked, innocently enough.

“They’re going to abandoned me like the plague!” I replied. “You don’t know these people like I do. They’re all about quality writing, and all I have to offer them is this absurd and ridiculous blog. I realize that’s a lousy option, but if you take me away, who will they turn to instead?”

Her response?

“Relax, they’ll barely notice you’re gone. Besides, you know what they say… absence makes the heart grow fonder.” That’s when I knew she was out of touch with reality—because you guys barely tolerate me as it is!

“You don’t understand,” I pleaded, “I have my stats to consider. Why, if it weren’t for that amateur course in hypnotism—the I took for no apparent reason other than to have something to write about for this paragraph—I fear my followers (all of whom can’t explain their love for me) would have left my blog in cobwebs months ago.”

Funny Looooooool, Misha Gif, Boys Gif, Gif It S, Funnt Posts, Candy Hypnosis, Gif Form

Funny Looooooool, Misha Gif, Boys Gif, Gif It S, Funnt Posts, Candy Hypnosis, Gif Form

However, between you and me; I don’t obsess over such things—for more than 14 hours a day anyway—because that would be shallow.

Instead, I protested… and vigorously. “Dumpling, we can’t leave for vacation, not during the height of the WordPress blogging season! Are you mad?”

Okay, so I twisted the truth about the WordPress blogging season—that’s not until next month—but remember, I was doing it for you guys.

Anyhow, after her face reached a bright crimson color—which was immediately followed by steam escaping from her ears—I decided I’d better move onto my next argument… forcefully.

“Dumpling, precious, sweetheart, cupcake… only a blogger with followers numbering in the millions—and capable of producing better material than myself—would ever consider going on a vacation at this time of the year!”

She was having none of it. I was about to be taken—AGAINST MY WILL—to some horribly comfortable resort… complete with swaying palm trees. Dragged there by some 110-pound petite brute.

You can imagine my terror.

“Help me, help me please!” I screamed as she pulled me across the busy airport terminal floor by my ankles onto an awaiting flight. “My wife is taking me away from my readers to go on a vacation.” I screamed, “FOR TWO WHOLE WEEKS!”

Nothing. Absolutely no one, not one single person (nor married couple) stepped out of any of those LONG TSA lines.

Thus, I became just another missing person.

It was then I realized—to my horror—that settling for that coach ticket instead of first class—probably did nothing to prevent my abduction to some far off place.

I should have known better. After all, the heavy chain—the one I latched to myself and my laptop—hadn’t work either.

If only I hadn’t left those bolt cutters out—and in plain sight.

Nope, I was doomed. Doomed to go to a place where—despite my vigorous (albeit, impassive) protest—I was forced to lay around a pool like a beached whale. Waited on hand and foot, while powerless to do absolutely nothing but eat, sleep, and go to shows.

It was all I could do to escape my captivity—which happened when the hotel told me that our two-week stay in paradise was over. That is when I learned that my picture had never made it onto the back of a milk carton.

Leaving me to assume that they felt my rather large nose would only serve to distract from the truth of my absence.

Naturally, I couldn’t believe how the milk companies could leave you—my loyal and faithful readers—sitting there in the dark about my sudden disappearance.

So this post about my abduction became necessary.

Oh, but anyway, Toto, we’re home—home! And this is my blog—and you’re all here (well two or three of you anyway—and I’m not going to ever leave here again (unless I’m offered a seven-figure contract)—because I love you all (except for those of you who failed to return)—And… Oh, Auntie Em, there’s no blog like my own!

My apologies to The Wizard of Oz. Which reminds me… did I tell you how this huge tornado came down and swept me up to this land they call Oz?

Well you see, it all started when I encountered this witch… and well…

And The Winner Is?

So far, it has been one wild party leading up to this years award show. Let’s take a look at some of the performances given by our (HOPEFUL) nominees.

Actor Ben Carson:

His performance in “Ben Carson: The Force Awakens” showcases him as an accomplished retired neurosurgeon who writes books about himself.

He barely awakens one day to discover that he himself has become the star of a made for television movie.

Frustrated—because it stars Cuba Gooding Jr, and not him—Carson decides to sleep walk through Goodings’ performance playing a former angry ill-tempered child, who one minute claims he attempted to hit his mother over the head with a hammer, and the next, stabbing a friend for changing the channel on a radio.

Sounds like Presidential material to us.

Unfortunately, he can’t get anyone to believe his claims. This is surprising, seeing as it comes from a supposed politician—and they always tell the truth. Just ask George Washington.

Anyway, his character finally has a chance to boycott the presidential race (which would be very white of him given this years diversity issue, as he is the only person of color running for President), but he refuses to pull out of the race, causing the entire audience to snooze.

This film is only rated G—for suggested (but not real) violence. But, he could be the sleeper of the year—literally!

Actor Marco Rubio:

Rubio plays an (supposedly) attractive, yet unsympathetic character who gets excited at the idea of finishing in second or even third place, but who can’t seem to stop repeating himself in…

“Mad Marco: Fury Road.”

His character eventually goes into denial, unable to admit that he may not even be very popular in Florida—the state where he hails from. Here, he begins to feel irritated that he might never finish in first place—no matter what it is he decides to try.

The film concludes with him resorting to name calling, and referring to his enemy as a con-man.

He begins unraveling, ranting and raving angrily on a news program, flashing a fake smile when the interviewer thanks him for his angry tirade at the end of the interview.

Rubio’s performance ultimately reminds us, that childish behavior (no matter how old you are) is still not becoming of a leader who tries doing stand-up by shouting over his opponent. A good temper tantrum not withstanding.

Actor John Kasich:

John Kasich plays a once abrasive Governor, but who now tries out a more optimistic, upbeat snowball throwing, kind of persona. Only to discover that the real John Kasich is only hiding underneath the facade in…

“The Hunger Games: Mocking John Part-2”

Actor Ted Cruz:

In “Straight Out Of Canada” Ted Cruz, plays a Canadian Texan who passes himself off as an American Hispanic, and whose dad was supposedly from Cuba. The high point of the film comes when it’s demanded that he show proof that he’s an American citizen, and he responds… “Eh?” Will this be his Waterloo?

Some have suggested this is the part Ted was born to play. But, why not? He’s from Calgary, Alberta, Canada.


Actor Donald Trump:

In his long and varied career “The Donald” has never been more popular than he is right now.

But, is this matinee idols (in his own mind of course) performance enough to help him finally win? All critics will say is, “Cool Hair!”

After all, only Leonardo DiCaprio has waited longer for such recognition.

Trump, plays a successful business man who tries to alienate practically everyone in his bizarre attempt to  rise to power. He refuses to let immigrants, NBC, Macy’s, NASCAR, Great Britain, Muslims, John McCain, and even his own party stand in his way.

Not to mention Megyn Kelly in a surprise cameo!

Hated by virtually everyone on the planet, Trump— desperate to avoid discussing real issues (since no one else is either)—decides to appeal to the ignorant…

The Republican voters who he calls, “The poor and uneducated.”

When reports surface to support this assertion, he decides to go for broke and threatens to leave his own party to become king of America in…

“Mission Impossible-Rogue Nation”

Any one of these actors might tell you, “It’s just an honor to be nominated.” But don’t you believe it. Because, isn’t winning what this is really all about?

So enjoy the show, it’s only entertainment. This can’t be real politics…right?


The Amazing World Of—Toilet Paper!

Most of your are well acquainted with the fabulous product known as, toilet paper. For those of you who are not, you might want to turn over a new leaf.

Aside from its most obvious use—that of TP-ing your enemies house before a rainstorm—there are plenty of other uses for this marvelous product.

For example: I remember this little snot who used to bully me at school. One day he ran out of Kleenex and I knew this would lead him—and his runny nose—racing for the nearest bathroom

With my usual foresight, I saw fit to un-spool all the toilet paper into the toilet bowls, thus leaving him with none to use. However—uncouth scamp that he was—he chose to wipe his nose on my sweater, instead. Not only did this leave me with a silver slick up my sleeve; it also left me with a lot of explaining to do—to the school custodian.

In time, I moved on and discovered some other practical uses for toilet paper. For instance; spitballing can be an enjoyable way to pass time while sitting in the stall of a school  bathroom. Simply wet the tissue and launch it upward. It’s truly amazing how well it sticks to the ceiling.

Did you know that you can cover an entire ceiling with the stuff? Not to mention how it can lead you and the principal to getting better acquainted with one another while sitting together in his office.

Over the years creativity set in. Once, I was chewing some gum while sitting in a stall of the office bathroom—a place I had grown quite familiar with—when all of a sudden, I had an epiphany. Fortunately I was on my meds at the time—but that didn’t stop me from getting an idea, too.

I thought; why not attach the gum to a piece of toilet paper and place it on the floor in the next stall?

It worked to near perfection. Eventually some stooge came in and sat down. When he got up to leave, he stepped right on my little trap and off he went. It was too easy. All I had to do now was follow the toilet paper attached to the knuckleheads shoe. Out of the main office I went, through the halls, to the playground, in and out of several classrooms…

Eventually arriving back in the school principal’s…office!

Apparently, I had made one tiny mistake. That of leaving some gum on the floor in my stall, too. My shoe had stepped on the end of the toilet paper I was using. This made it very easy for his bloodhounds—(the very mean) Mrs. Montrose and her maniacal henchman, Mr. Bentley, to track me down.

Thus proving, they weren’t really trackers after all. Just a couple of lucky teachers—leaving me terribly unlucky.

None of my ingenious lies seemed to sway the principal from his decision to put me in solitary, thus forcing me to do hard time in (the truly evil) Mrs. Montrose class—while having to stay after school. Six months of that can have a profound affect on you. It caused me to go straight. Straight back to the bathroom. Where I discovered another amazing use for toilet paper.

Called, wiping your…

Who said school wasn’t educational?






The Trick Of Eating Treats—Filled With Halloween Woe

black cat

Imagine if you will; it’s just past midnight on Halloween and the little ghost and goblins have completely avoided your house again… for the umpteenth year. You start upstairs—candle in hand—munching on all those leftover sweets.

But, as you are about to drift off to sleep suddenly, A GHASTLY TALE OF WOE begins to emerge from the darkened shadows of your cluttered attic—yes, we’re talking about your mind… it’s alive… it’s Alive… IT’S  A-L-I-V-E! Too dramatic?

ghostAlright, but lying there for centuries—just gathering dust—was this idea for a ghostly story, and now IT SEIZES upon your imagination. (achoo!)

Okay granted… perhaps your attic’s not all that old, gray, and dusty (like mine), but trust me it sounds creepier that way.

And guess what? As luck would have it—while I was rummaging about the cobwebs of my own cluttered attic—I just happened to stumble across such a manuscript.

Hmm, how do you suppose that got there—you wonder? Ahem.

Yes, I know. But, who else do you know goes stumbling about in the darker recesses of their own mind looking for ghost stories—with only a candle and a completely eaten bowl of candy? Exactly… so I don’t know why you’re so surprised?

Why did I stumble over it? Because its dark up there that’s why! No, I don’t remember why I was carrying a candle around inside my head instead of a flashlight, but that’s not important.

What is important, is the fact that I didn’t drop the candle. Because then… POOF! And up I’d go in spontaneous human combustion. I can just see myself trying to explain that to the coroner during the autopsy.   human combustion

Anyway, as I said, I found this tale of woe. Are you scared yet? Okay… well whatever you do… don’t move. I’ll be right back with the smelling salts.

Here, take a whiff… feel any better? Okay, well I’m sorry you’re scared of me and not my post. But, you’re laying there now, so you might as well hear the whole story.

From here on out it just gets weird.

Whad’ya mean it’s been pretty weird up to now? I told you, the weird part hasn’t come yet. Here, you better take another whiff of smelling salts… I don’t think you’re all there. Any improvement? No? Well, I don’t have any sleeping pills, and no… you’re not going to get out of this that easily.

So, do you remember Walt Disney’s, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow? Good, because this has nothing to do with it.

sleepy hollowUnless; you can remember the end of the story with the voice of Bing Crosby (as the voice of Brom Bones) weaving a tale of terror concerning The Legend of Sleepy Hollow in song? Then you might want to sing along.

Shall we begin? Well too bad, were going to begin anyway…

You squirm in bed and hallucinate, about what’s in your closet when it gets late. Come about midnight the ghost and banshees, gather in their nighties and their bed time jammies. They’re not in costume, but they let out big cries, about the clothes in your closet and their humongous size.

They call you fat saying you’re not thin, and that you’re overly stretching out your skin! Ha, ha I’m telling you dude avoid the light, cause’ you won’t fit your costume come Halloween night.

Your costumes a tight fit on Halloween night! (ignore them… they’re just a ghostly chorus dressed up as sheep)

And when the girls have a jamma’ party on All Hollows Eve, they’ll all consume and eat lots of candy. Yeah ghost are bad but you’re the worst, especially if the headless horseman drives your hearse.

He drives a hearse on Halloween night??? (again… that’s just the ghostly chorus if you happen to be singing along)  horse drawn hearse

Now go a joggin’ across the land and drop those pounds off if you can. Then you’ll confront those demons and moan… I’M LOOKING IN THE MIRROR MY HOW I’VE GROWN!

Beware, be scared, its too late. You ate all the candy in exchange for weight! (clever chorus, huh?)

Yes the Horseman’s out for a spin… trying to see who he can drag in. Now don’t be like him and lose your head, stop eating so much before going to bed.

They say he’s tired of the whole lot, particularly those who eat lollipops. So he trick or treats one night a year, driving that hearse while striking fear.

He hates weight watchers and folks too thin, FOLLOWERS OF JENNY CRAIG who don’t food binge. Don’t try to hide if you pounds to shed, the Headless Horseman seeks a fat head.


So dip into your dip and chompity-chomp, keep on consuming all that soda pop. If you lose your figure not eating bran, it’s for you he comes—that headless man.

Now if your not one who’s in the know, take a tip from me, you were thinner one year ago. But you avoided the mirror and failed to look, and now my friend YOUR GOOSE IS COOKED!.

If you cross his hearse come round the bend, don’t pretend it’s not the end. It’s not a black and white but it’s cursed, with the headless horseman driving in first.

Now, while you eat your candies with delight, remember you’re in for quite a fright. You should keep a look out—and beware—the horseman comes for more than just hair.


So dip into your dip and chompity-chomp, keep on consuming all that soda pop. If you lose your figure not eating bran, it’s for you he comes—that   H-E-A-D-L-E-S-S   M-A-N! (and fade out) headless hession

“The Headless Horseman” was written by Don Rage and Gene De Paul for the film, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and performed by Bing Crosby and the Rythmaires. Not in this post of course, that would just be too weird-er.

I seriously doubt, however, that they would have ever wanted to take credit for my horrific spin on their Halloween masterpiece. But, I think November 1st is about to become a new getting in shape day.

BOO!  boo hoo

All About What’s Going On Up There!


You know, every once in awhile I’ll get a comment or two from people. Oh yeah… but that’s the price you pay for only having ‘the happiest most IMPOSSIBLE to find blog on the entire internet.’ And, one or two folks have even gone so far as to tell me that they love my poetry—which I find strangely odd—since I don’t write poetry.

However, I do confess that at one time, I did consider having the EASIEST to find blog on the entire internet. But, then it occurred to me that Vito and Vinnie might find me. So, I’ve since reconsidered that idea, and I’m going to continue lying low for a while longer. Sorry boy’s, thank Mario for the nice offer, but I don’t think I’d like sleeping with the fishy’s.

Anyway, recently a woman named, Helen—from New Jersey—after having read my blog, asked me this question, “What goes on in that mind of yours, is there any possibility of you donating your brain to science—perhaps while your still alive?”

Touched as I was by her desire to learn the INGENUOUS way in which my mind works, I felt that I had to remind her that a GENIUS has so much more to offer the world without donating my mind to science while I’m still alive. There will be plenty of time to do that… long after I’m dead.

Helen, who is from some place called, Princeton replied; “Don’t kid yourself BROTHER.”

Helen, dear lady, I don’t think I have a sister in New Jersey, but I do think there is an easy way to find out if we’re related.

We need only to have your blood drawn to test and see if you are from the AMA. It’s a great way to find out if you’ve ever belonged to the American Medical Association. It’s better than messing with the DNA, and then we’ll know if we’re a match.

But personally, I’m pretty sure I’ve never worked for the AMA. So, I seriously doubt if we can relate to each other.

Still, some folks have pressed me for more details about what goes on up inside my head—and let me just say; those waterboard sessions were the worst! Yes, I’ve even told readers that they could read what’s “In My Cluttered Attic” to find out what’s going on up there, but I guess they wanted a second by second account.

And so, for the very first time in—In My Cluttered Attic’s—history, I am going to give you—my reader’s— a chance to experience the wonder that is… my brain. Hold on tight now…this could get a little intense, but please, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Alright, here we go…

………..Okay…….I’m getting an image now……..Yes……….I’m seeing a cheese steak sandwich……..but I can’t eat it yet…………..DARN!…………. because it’s only in my mind………………………but boy does that sound good right now!……………….. SEX!……………..But, I better wait for lunch……………….. SEX!…………………But, I’m hungry now!………………….SEX!………………Wait a minute!………………I gotta tinkle…………………….I’ll be right back………………………………………oh my wife is going to kill me………….because I left the toilet seat up again!……………. …………………..SEX!…………..Oh wait!……..I have another thought coming in……………………………………………..never mind……………’s gone…………………..oh……. Oh………OH wait………..SEX!………..Woohoo!…………………lost it there for a moment………sorry………… it lunch yet?……………..Oh for crying out loud………………SEX!……………….Now focus stupid………….stop and concentrate…………………..on SEX!………………….oh, for the love of………SEX!……………stop and think about…………………….SEX!………………Gee whiz……………..I mean, I know that being a man means we think about………SEX!………… a lot…………….but every seven seconds?……….Come on!……….. SEX……………… wonder it takes me so long to do a post!………SEX!………Oh this is terrible this is!……SEX!!!  4433318601_80d12e0efb