Here’s To Exposing My Readers

Welcome everyone. Welcome to the very first day of the “In My Cluttered Attic” bloggers convention! A celebration of those madcap bloggers who crowd into my attic on a regular basis making them the envy of insane asylum inmates everywhere.

(Imagine the applause coming from those padded cells)

I’d like to welcome all of you to the fabulous Caesars Palace here in Las Vegas, Nevada! But I can’t.

BET you didn’t see that one coming?

Yet, thanks to the world of virtual reality (and your imaginations), I can still give you the illusion of being here in Vegas. Just without the fabulous resort hotels, pools, casinos, shows, entertainers, delicious food, and luxury suites that make Vegas…well…Vegas. Otherwise… your practically here!

Now this probably leaves you with a few questions. Like, why am I here? What will I tell my boss when he finds out? Does my family know I’m here? And most of all; is it true what they say, that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?

Well not to worry as none of this is real—at least, not as far as you know. It’s all in your mind, I mean… my mind, or up in my cluttered attic where there appears to be no apparent exits. Not for five days, anyway. Making this… sort of a virtual reality bloggers convention getaway.

Now I realize that for many of you this is probably your first virtual reality trip, and you’re probably thinking to yourself…

“What in the world was I smoking that brought me to this, and how the hell do I get outta of here?”

Ignoring your concerns completely, I’d like to kick off this virtual reality convention by saying—as I look out onto your lovely faces, most of whom are reflecting a look of apoplexy at the moment—thanks to all of you, I actually have a reason to write and do a post today. So let me begin by just saying… thank you.

Now if I could direct your attention over to the gentleman in the second row about five seats in, we’ll get this imaginary convention underway.

You sir, yes you, the one with the bag over your head. That’s right. I singled you out to start this convention, because you’re the only one with a bag for a face.



We’re all about humor here, and…

Bun? Bun Karyudo, is that you? Ladies and gentleman, a nice round of applause if you will for the one, the only… Bun Karyudo!

If only Bun could hear you applauding right now, then we’d all be here for real. But since we aren’t, Bun has to be wondering what that ringing is in his ears.

Bun hails from over at, and regularly engages me in hilarious banter that always leaves you and myself in stitches. Which ridiculously explains my rising medical insurance.

And there—sitting virtually next to Bun—is Allen Colane of the, whose comical insights also frequently leave me rolling in the aisle. Allen, if you would please, help me back up and onto the stage since it’s your fault that I am occasionally on all fours.

Oh look! Taking up the entire first row with all her amazing cats, is my long devoted good blogging buddy, Kate Crimmins, who has been visiting my blog almost from the beginning.

Her blog, is a potpourri of humorous takes on contemporary retired life, consisting of trips to Starbucks, backyard adventures, and how her cats and their distinct personalities impact her and her husband, and their daily life.

And I just have to give a big shout out to the three distinguished looking gentleman in sombreros back there, who are signing autographs. I call them, The Three Amigos.

All three gentleman have made regular pilgrimages to my cluttered attic, and offered kind commentary, right from my very first post on! Yes, I worry for their sanity, too. Still, I can’t thank them enough.

Thank you, thank you, thank you…

Mr. GP Cox at, who nobly reminds us of the sacrifices our men and women in uniform have made on our behalf.

Charles French, who is a voracious, reader, writer, and teacher and who consistently touches on a variety of interesting subject matter.

And my friend actor, comedian, director, and humble god-loving gentleman, Mitch Teemley, who can be found at,

All three gentleman help make writing my posts very enjoyable… and non-profitable.

But they’re not alone responsible for my impoverished state. That’s why, starting tomorrow, I’m thinking of offering merchandise at the door for day two of the In My Cluttered Attic virtual reality convention.

Just think of it. Not only will I continue to recognize and salute more of you on Tuesday (for your regular visits to my blog), but I might even be able to fleece and take advantage of your wallets, credit cards, and life savings, too. That is, if I can get the card skimmers hooked up in time.









A Dear Death Experience


Memo to the collections department. Attention Grim Reaper.

It has recently been brought to my attention—a little bird told me, I believe it was a Raven— that someone has been falling down on their job lately. Care to venture a guess who that might be?comical death

Inasmuch as your job description simply states “Death” I want you to know there’s a little bit more to it than that.

We have a little system of checks and balances around here. After all—we’re the after-life and I believe that’s your department.

For instance: People die—then you go get em. Now what could be simpler than that, right?

Statistics suggested deaths were up last year, yet souls were down. And healthcare cost were on the rise, but souls were not and therein, I believe, lies the crux of our problem.

Now I don’t like to complain, however you have and have been doing quite a lot of it of late. Or so I’ve been told.

What is all this wailing I’ve been hearing about, about you feeling that you have a dead-end job?

May I remind you sir that when the position first became available you leaped at the opportunity, “Finally, a chance to travel and see the world!” I believe you said.

Now I’m hearing that you feel the health benefits package I provided for you actually sucks. You get to live forever, and have buku power, so what more could you possibly want?

And another thing: What’s all this talk about retirement?

Didn’t I explain to you at the outset that the job entailed a demanding schedule of 24/7 at 365 days a year. People would kill to have your job.

Then there was this business last year where I covered for you so that you could have a few days off in Vegas. Your behavior at the “Hard Rock Cafe” was unseemly at best.

There were those photos of you at the pool wearing nothing more than a pair of sunglasses, and red polka dotted white swimming trunks! For god sakes man, what were you thinking? Sorry, but I just don’t think you have the body for that and definitely not under the hot Las Vegas sun—and in the dead of August no less!

Talk about getting burned. People were saying you looked like death warmed over, and still you were trying to be the life of the party.

Then there’s this recent obsession over peanut butter?

deat nad peanut butterEver since that movie about you, you’ve had this unhealthy obsession with consuming PB&J’s. Don’t you know that eating that much peanut butter can kill you? I don’t care how much you wanna be like Brad Pitt, peanut butter is not the answer son.

Have you gone all Hollywood on me or what?

Have you forgot the time that you begged me to let you star in that Ingmar Bergman film “The 7th Seal” just so you could go play chess with your idol, Max Von Sydow, while lounging about on a beach.

Sure, I said go ahead go do it if it makes you happy, but I didn’t expect you to go join actors equity afterwards either!

7th sealListen, you’re the “Angel of Death” a sentient-being, start acting like it and do your job. You’ve been absolutely awful at it ever since you started carrying around that silly looking scythe.

And if you must carry it about, then at least try not to let it look like some sort of security blanket, okay? Creates a bad image, like you have no confidence in what you do.

Come on now, this job is what you make it. Take a walk among the tombstones—things will look up. Lets lay this whole thing to rest shall we?

Remember, April’s just around the corner, and you know how well you and taxes go together. So buck up and stop your whining.

Sincerely: The Big Guy