Well This Is It—Time To Say Goodbye

It’s been fun. But you know, it’s always sad when we have to say goodbye… except when it’s goodbye to pollution, terrorist, and bad writers. I wonder why that is?

Anyway, I wanted to say what a pleasure it has been doing this blog for all of you. I always tried to give you a good belly laugh. Remember that one, and what a belly laugh it was? At least a few of you got it. As for the rest of you, sorry about the dysentery.

But, here I am, writing to all of you one last time to let you know that the world is coming to an end tonight and that this will probably be my last post and testament.

The religious communities have been talking about it for months. I did my best to ignore it in hopes that the rumors of our demise were untrue. But, sadly, my wife went out and emptied our bank account, so the world must be ending.

She did it so that we could eat out in style one last time at McDonalds. Thanks to the value meals we’ll be going out with change to spare.

Ominously, all of this coincides with the arrival of a ‘Blood Moon’ signaling the end of the world as we know it. And let me tell you, this time the end of the world is going to be much worse than the last time the world ended.

Remember the end of the world the last time? What a huge disappointment that one was?

But, I think this end of the world is really going to make up for the last one. This time the end of the world comes during a lunar eclipse of a ‘Blood Moon’ and that simultaneously corresponds with a supermoon!

(It was here that the sound of crickets then filled the air. Chirp chirp… chirp chirp).

And no, I wasn’t at the gathering where when dreamed this one up—but it must be true. Do you know that some of the faithful are actually running out to grab all the food they can get just so they can survive the long haul?

Maybe they’re the other faithful… the ones that think god might not be on their side?

And since NASA say’s that this unusual eclipse is going to be visible to North America, Europe, and Africa I’m pretty sure most of us are gonna be pushing up daisies by Monday morning. With so many bogus prophets saying this is gospel, how can they go wrong?

I wonder how all of this managed to escape the Pope’s notice? 

Anyway, months of fruitful work of setting up, planning, and securing a theme for my blog have all been wasted.

Not to mention finding my voice and then purchasing a distinct comedy style of writing from another internet site that deals in that sort of thing.

And all for a modest fee—their words not mine.

The site guaranteed that their list of 500 comedy styling’s was completely original. I haven’t quite been able to to confirm that one yet, as they haven’t returned any of my emails or phone calls.

And to think I endured all those WordPress changes. And all for what? Just so we can meet our maker?

They say he’s this hotshot big wig guy out of Detroit, or if you will as someone else once said, a big pink pixie in the sky.

But either way, I don’t care if he is dressed in pink, and flying first class. and carrying a wand of destruction.

Because, as far as I’m concerned, this only proves what I’ve been saying all along; that the TSA is not doing their job! I mean, letting a guy like that get on a commercial flight to nowhere. What were they thinking?

So, I thought I should say goodbye to you all now, before the NFL Sunday Ticket starts. God knows I won’t have time later.

I’ll be too busy collecting my winnings, because I paid some guy to tell me what teams are going to win in every game this week.

I even got this etched in stone, stone cold lock of the week—for free!

So, buh bye… for now.

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Well, It Happened Just Like This Your Honor…

Before the bench

I was driving down the freeway, and yes…I’m fully qualified to operate a motorized vehicle. I obtained my Disneyland Autopia License at the age of eight, and I have never had an accident in my life. 

Anyway, I suddenly realized that there were white squiggly marks on the passenger windows in the back seat of my car.

Whats that? How fast was I going while looking at the back windows? Oh, no more than 85… tops!

So, I immediately pulled over and off to the side of the freeway and got out to have a look. There appeared to be quite a few squiggly lines on both my windows, but none on the rear window.

It wasn’t long before this nice highway patrol officer here, pulled up behind me and got out to see what the problem was. He came over and asked, “Flat tire?”

I replied to him calmly, “No.” So then he says to me…

“Oh, engine trouble, huh?” I just had to shake my head in disbelief your honor. I mean, we haven’t had any Indian problems for years—with the possible exception of the Washington Redskins of late. Well, not since the days of the Stanford Indians respectfully changing their name to the Stanford Cardinal. 

So I asked your officer, politely of course, “Are you out of your mind? I have no reservations about Indians? That’s NFL owner, Daniel Snyder’s problem!”

I was met with a quizzical look from your officer. I mean, talk about being out of touch. You folks are obviously overworking your people. Your officer apparently has had very little time to read the papers, or watch the news while consuming his daily supply of donuts and coffee.

Anyway, he then asked me, “Well then, whats the emergency?”

Taking into consideration that the poor man has been terribly overworked, I pointed to my rear side windows and said, “Look at that.” he turned to look at my side windows. Then, with this blank expression on his face, he looked back at me and replied…”So?”

So I took time to explain to him, very slowly I might add, so that he would understand every word I said…

“Look, I just cleaned the entire car two days ago. Inside and out. I vacuumed, I scrubbed, and I wiped down both sides of the windows… I even Simonized my car.  And now this” 

I then pointed at my windows again.

Still, your officer seemed out of touch and with a face that could only come from someone having had a full frontal lobotomy he responded to me with, “I don’t see the problem.”

I then took out my cell phone—he then pulled out his gun— and I then called my wife. The officer sarcastically asked, “Calling your attorney?” I told him “No, my wife.” With a smile he nodded his head up and down and jokingly said, “Is she an attorney?” Again I said, “No.” Then he looked down and said…

“Oh… that’s too bad.”

When my wife answered the phone I began to describe to her how the back seat windows looked like they had squiggly lines all across them, even though I had just cleaned the car two days ago.

Naturally, I asked her how that could be?

She laughed and told us, your officer and I, how yesterday she had put our youngest daughter’s dog—his name is Simon—in the back seat of our car so that she could take him to the dog run. She concluded by suggesting that Simon must have ran his nose along the windows while he was looking outside.

I then smiled at your officer, sheepishly of course, and joked “I guess you could say our daughter’s dog…  Simonosed my car.”

He didn’t seem to be too amused and that’s why I’m standing here before you now, judge. Hey, I don’t suppose you guys could loosen the handcuffs a little bit? You know, they feel awfully tight. 

Footballgate: All The Commissioners Men

The parking garage was very dark, but behind the light of the lit cigarette, I could just make out the silhouette of a man of stocky build in a hoody.

When we first received the call at the offices of “My Cluttered Attic”  which is actually nothing more than a desk in a corner, we surmised that the voice on the other end of the phone was that of a chronic mumbler.

I thoughtlessly asked the voice how he got our number, “Speed Dialer” was his terse response.

He went on to say, that he had read where I had suggested the New England Patriots had deflated footballs for the AFC Championship game. We agreed to meet at a parking garage just outside of Boston. I was instructed not to call the Washington Post, or Bob Woodward.

It was then that I realized that my investigation had only scratched the service. Obviously this story went higher than someone as important as say, the President of the United States. If all the dots were connected, it could quite possibly lead all the way up to the offices of the NFL!

When we met in that cold, dark, and damp parking garage, the man in the hoody, tried desperately to disguise his voice to sound like that of actor Hal Holbrook, but all that came out were mumbles.

He started by asking, “You don’t know what you have here, do you?” Then he coughed after he had inhaled and continued, “By the way, I don’t smoke, or as far as you know I don’t, got that? I replied, “Okay.”

He asked me if I had bothered to look at the laundry hamper in the Patriots locker room after the game? I said, “Why, was I suppose to, besides I couldn’t get a media-pass last Sunday?”

He responded by saying, “What do I have to do here, spell it out for you?” He must have taken the stupid look on my face to mean yes.

He proceeded to describe an elaborate plot whereby, NFL officials had rigged the game on Sunday by deflating—by 16 ounces—all of the balls used by the Patriots. The officials then made sure that the Indianapolis Colts had footballs filled to regulation.

After doing this, the officials (who suspiciously checked every ball during the game), then dumped all the needles, under the Patriots dirty uniforms, which were in that hamper.

I asked why would they do a thing like that?

He became incredulous and said, “Look, even a dull bulb like you should be able to read between the lines. The NFL wanted a true East/West contest, for better ratings. And in any event, the Patriots playing Seattle in the Super Bowl, would be a far more attractive match-up, as opposed to the Colts and Seahawks.”

He concluded, “The lopsided score tells you all you need to know.” So I asked, “Who would orchestrate such a thing?” His answer, “Follow the money. Only one man has the power to pull off a stunt like this, and make it look like the Patriots were behind it all.”

A phone rang in the offices of the NFL. They went into to wake the Commissioner, and found him fast asleep on his mattress filled with millions of dollars. They carefully shook his pillow-cases, stuffed with tens and twenty’s, and informed him the press had a few question for him.

Bleary eyed, he responded, we did an in-house investigation and found the Patriots guilty of tampering, as of now the investigation is on-going.

However despite the findings, we will only slap them with a measly $25,000 dollar fine. In any event, this will not prevent them from playing in the Super Bowl, as corruption…I mean games, are settled on the field.

When last seen the Commissioner had turned to wave to all his supporters, all 7 of them, while standing on the top stair before entering his helicopter.

As to the identity of “Deep Mumbles” know one knows.