The Virtual Reality “In My Cluttered Attic Bloggers Convention” Goes Mobile

So far, we’ve had three wonderful days at the “In My Cluttered Attic” virtual reality convention here in Las Vegas. However, it got a little crowded on Monday at Caesars Palace. Tried to squeeze 3 dozen of us into their tiny 3,500 seat convention hall.

Then security thought my friend, Sarah, and her dog Choppy (a true master of disguise) were trying to crash the party.

Then good old George showed up with a class of second graders—George is a teacher. You see, when I said convention, George just raced right over with class in tow.

He’s suspected for some time now that I might just be a visitor from another planet—another universe, George. Its a long story. Anyway, I guess he didn’t want to miss out on the chance to meet us aliens. Security must have thought they’d put us over capacity.

So that’s why we’re moving… across the street to… The Ballagio!

Well that, and the fact that Caesars asked us to leave.

Apparently, they were expecting us to pay for all those rooms and, not to mention the convention center.

And I want you to know how badly I feel about the forced march up the strip in our PJ’s after our eviction from the Palace—but our departure was rather sudden.

However, thanks to the wonderful help from Caesars security detail—and the Las Vegas police department—we made it.

Thanks fellas… we wouldn’t have done it without ya.

I didn’t worry too much about Susie Lindau making it up the strip. She can probably ride her bike up Mt Everest if she chose to do so. Possibly run all the way to Reno if she had a mind too. I swear, nothing keeps that woman down.

Nor did I worry about Stephanae McCoy not making it up the strip, in spite of being legally blind. Steph can probably see all of us better than we see ourselves. And Tikeetha well she’s tough enough that that big bad trip up the strip presented no real obstacle at all.

I did, however, worry a bit about my friends Jodi and Lynn from, as they had a lot of art, photographs, and food to haul up the strip for us to enjoy.

But that’s who they are!

Anyway folks, I think you’ll find the new accommodations here, more to our liking. This time I made sure of it, because it’s virtually paid for. And the desk clerk did promise to get our clothes back to us by Christmas. So all’s not lost.

Just our money, luggage, and dignity.

Nevertheless, I’m sure Bitter Ben, will let a few bitter comments concerning our ordeal show up in his Friday giftures to help ease our pain.

At least we got to pose for some pictures. Can’t say I enjoyed the profile shot all that much. Got my worst side. So I went with the other photo, although it makes me look like I haven’t shaved or ate in weeks. But it’s all about free publicity! Right?

Still, I think I would have fared better if Cindy Knoke took our pictures.

She has so much experience with taking photos as she travels the world. In fact, her photos are so good, I’d be willing to bet that a photo shoot with her might deemphasize my nose.

Anyway, I hope you all have a chance to check out the fine “In My Cluttered Attic” merchandise, when you enter the hall.

I’m especially fond of the “In My Cluttered Attic” monogrammed caps. Now you too, can have a Cluttered Attic, just like mine!

Bet that put all your minds at ease.

Well, until the next update…”Stay thirsty my friends.”





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!











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

It’z Oktoberfest Wiz Zah K!


Hello! Hello zare! Hi, can you zee me? I am zah von vaving at you! Yah, yah zhat’s me. Hello, and velcome to zah Oktoberfest wiz zah K festival, being held here in zah Kluttered Attic. Today, zah Attic is on zah road in Munich, home of zah world famous annual Oktoberfest, wiz zah K.  stock-vector-a-cartoon-illustration-of-a-german-man-in-lederhosen-waving-230922730

Zare, zare… calm yourzelf zee, becauze you are still invited. Zeeing az you are not wiz me here in zah Munich, vee vill just pretend zhat you are. Zee, zhat vay you vill not miss out on all zah fun.

Now, allow me to introduce myzelf, I am zah sarapist for zah kookie writer of zis klazy blog. Za writer? Vell he is on…zah holiday here… yah, yah, zats it, he is on za holiday!

However, zince he is inebriated and currently incapacitated—too much Good Bavarian beer for him, and maybe not enough schnitzel—I vill be conducting zah virtual tour of our Oktoberfest. Ve like to call it, Oktoberfest with zah K. Zort of a little play on zee American vay of zaying, October wiz zah C…zee?

15400396341_93e157e070_mFirst of all, you should know zhat it is Vunderbar here! Yes, zare are so many vonderful zings to enjoy. For exzample, watching all zah tuba players marching by—oh zah harmony of a finely tuned Tuba is not to be missed. Zis is followed by zah all you can eat zauerkraut. All you could possibly vant, and zen zome.

It’z a good zing too, I hate za stuff.

And ven you are done doing all zat, you can vash it all down with a big frothy stein of zah liquid gold. You may have heard of zah zong zah “Beer Barrel Polka.” Vell, ve roll out zah barrels and you do zah beer barrel polka vile dodging zem, az ve drink all zah beer.

Ha, ha, ha, but zhats Bavaria for you. Ve haz a great sense of zah humor wiz zah best beer in zah vworld. Oh…and be sure to vear your Lederhosen wiz zah funny little Alpine hat, because you never knoz vhen ve might invite you to drink from Das Boot. Yah, yah… zah boot!beer-boot

Zorry zhat my English vas not zo good, but zat happens even vhen I’m zober. I bet your German is probably not zo good eizha zoe after drinking zah beer, right?

Minolta DSC

Minolta DSC

Well, I haz to go vake up zah sleeping beauty blogger from zis nap. It’s time for zah nightlife, and zare is still zo much to do. Did you know, zhat zis kookie guy hazn’t even zeen zah parade, nor rode zah rides, or visited all zah tents wiz zah pretzels and all zah tasty bratwurst yet? No vonder he’s in zah sarapy sessions vith me!

Zoe, he still needs lotz of zah help vile on zah couch in my office.

But, az I have told him many times before, zah artificial cure is zah beer, and zhat vill do for now, until he can zit back on zah couch, come zah Monday. Good zing he’s a cash cow. Zhat means lotz more Euro’s for me.

It Was All A Big Mistake!


Whoops! Apparently a former employee of ours from, “In My Cluttered Attic” (going by the name of Bob), went and hijacked my blog yesterday (without my notice), and then proceeded to go about telling the world that it was going to end.

He even tried to create AN EVEN GREATER STIR, by telling the worlds populace that my blog “In My Cluttered Attic” was also coming to an end!

Well, you’ll all be happy to know that this bounder and cad has been apprehended by this sites secret police. He is being held in a secluded maximum security prison where some inhuman experiments are now being conducted on him. He’ll trouble you no more.

Normally I would not divulge the nature of these inhuman experiments, but in this case—and as a warning to others who would dare to overthrow and use this site for anything else, but humor and gaiety—I am going to let you all in on the cruel treatment he is currently undergoing.

First of all, upon his incarceration, former SS officers (who had been hiding out in Brazil) were brought in (don’t worry, we here at ‘The Attic’ paid them the proper American minimum wage) to do a thorough interrogation. At first, they were not as excited about the work as we had hoped.

Naturally, we showed little patience with our interrogators (its the American way) as many of them are not only long out of practice, but also hobbled and crippled by age. But, our use of the finest whips money can buy eventually compelled them to do our bidding. We find this works quite well, except for when a certain number of these slackers die on us.

That’s when we really had to crack down on them. Thus, the need for a new time clock where they have to punch in before they can conduct their inhuman experiments. Now they can’t wait to get to work. However, they still hate that time clock..

But back to our prisoner.

The torture for his crimes have been hideous, but no more than he deserves. First they took away his half eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich… and under no circumstances was he permitted to have a glass of milk. NO MILK FOR HIM! He’s also forbidden to watch ‘Dancng with the Stars’ (we discovered that he secretly worships Tom Bergeron).  tombergeron

And lastly, he was asked to take down his posters of Caitlyn Jenner from his cell walls, and replace them with Bruce Jenner’s posters.

cheneyhuntingNow, some of you may find this kind of treatment harsh and uncivilized. We here at ‘The Attic’ get that. But, we also feel the punishment should fit the crime. After all, we were no less harsh with former Vice President (god I love saying that), Dick Cheney, when we took away his rifle after his famous misfire.

Or when we took away President Obama’s birth certificate for naming his dog Bo. Of course at the time we had no idea that the Donald would have a field day with that one. But, our reluctance to let anyone off the hook knows no bounds.

Especially when it comes to former employee, Bob.

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

Friends, Would You Like Your Bank Account Cleaned Out By Me?

101884312 dirty

Well I can. Hey friends, Paul here. Let me ask you something, how clean is your money? Does George Washington’s wig look like it’s in need of a dry cleaning; is the outside of the Capitol Rotunda in need of a scrub; or the White House like, covered with graffiti and autographs by people you don’t even know?

And what about all that change you carry around? Does Woodrow Wilson look like he was lying face down in a pile of dirt dating back to the Neolithic time period; and what about Abe Lincoln’s appearance, does he look like he hasn’t bothered to bathe in more than four score and seven years ago?

Yes my friends, I think it’s safe to say that you have dirty, filthy, money, and I’m here to take it off your hands. Just think of all the germs! But, with my new money laundering service, you’ll never again have to worry about ever having your bank account cleaned out, because I can do it for you.

No, no it’ll be my pleasure.

laundry-thumbRecently I acquired a little laundromat. However, it wasn’t pulling in the kind cash I thought it would. Instead, people were bringing in their grungy, stinky, dirty clothes, and then washing them in my new machines. I didn’t mind it at first, but I felt I was only getting chump change in return on my investment.

Enter Pedro and Emiliano my new found friends and investors. One night they came in (from Columbia), and asked me if I’d be interested in operating a real money laundering service? I told them that I thought I was! They laughed, and then helped me replace bags of dirty clothes with sacks of cash.

And all tax free!

Well, I’m all for making a pretty penny, aren’t you? So, I said yes to their proposition and today my dryers are rolling in dough, and yours can be in there too. Granted, when their representatives first started bringing in cash for distribution to other countries, I assumed they wanted me to have it laundered first.

Whoa, big mistake! Santiago (that’s Pedro’s number two guy), he explained to me—you know, he carry’s a machete, showed me how sharp it was too by cutting Emiliano for not telling me he didn’t want the money washed—that they only wanted their money laundered through other countries, not my machines.

He did say, however, that if I wanted to wash my own cash in the machines—and that of my blogger friends—that that was fine with him and my fellow investors. They just want to use my laundromat as a front he said, for laundering their own cash through other countries.

Naturally I said that was fine, especially since they compensate me very well. You know, since I bought into their idea of letting them invest in my laundromat I have a new house, several new cars, a yacht in Monaco (you see that real big one in the photo, yep, its mine), and a flush bank account too—with plenty of clean money I might add. But best of all… Luxury-mega-yacht-SEA-HAWK-project-in-Monaco

No more dirty clothes in my new washer and dryers.

So friends, let Pedro, Santiago (Emiliano’s untimely demise left room for a new partner), and myself, help clean your bank accounts out too. I promise they’ll be as clean as a whistle!

Incidentally, I’m not entirely sure about this, but I think Emiliano losing his head the way he did, might possibly have coined that phrase—clean as a whistle. But if any of you would like to look it up and get back to me, just to let me know for sure, I’d appreciate it.

You see, I’m a little busy pulling my cash out of the dryer right now, and I still have to wrap and stack it. Because, with Emiliano’s sudden departure, he left me with a big bloody mess, and now I have to rewash all that blood money.

Well, It Happened Just Like This Your Honor…

Before the bench

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.  autopia license

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…

helmet“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.  indians

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”  simonize

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.”

stock-photo-unhappy-motorist-forced-to-take-a-field-sobriety-test-by-an-angry-police-officer-13686847I 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.  judge

A Top Secret Post For The Best Blog Readers…In My Price Range

Highly confidential stuff.

Highly confidential stuff.

The following is a top secret post, visible only to “Attic” readers using the secret decoder ring hidden in my last post.


This post is visible to EVERYONE, even to the dummy who wrote it. And no, he didn’t include a secret decoder ring in his last post—otherwise we’d have one too, along with the last golden ticket from Willy Wonka! We realize this was a horrible thing to wake-up to, but it couldn’t be helped, because it went totally viral!

Anyway, we now return you to this dummy and his ridiculous post.


Welcome readers to the first “In My Cluttered Attic” super secret meeting of the (cluttered) mind. As you know by now, I struggle (every other day or so) to write a post in a timely manner. Say nothing of reading, commenting, and pressing blogger friends buttons (Uh, LIKE buttons) in an expedient fashion.

For my friends who blog about poetry, writing, art, photography, or making money—obviously this blog is not about any of those themes, or I’d have a bank account loaded with cash by now—this post is for you.

I wrote this post, to say thanks to all of you for reading my award winning humor—unworthy of a paying publication. rejected

I am aware that some of you—like my friend Donna over at have followers numbering in the hundreds, unlike myself (as I have depleted my bank account in an attempt to bribe you into following me). But there is a very good reason why Donna has so many followers. She offers insightful writing——while I continue to scribble…lots of drivel.

Still, I’m grateful to all of you who follow me, whether hundreds are following you or just dozens, possibly explaining why fewer of you are following me—but that could lend an air of truth to MY slogan, “The most impossible to find blog on the entire internet.”

Some of my former readers strayed from the light known as “My Attic” (almost immediately), at the possible risk of being contaminated. Take my friend Stephanie for example over at who apparently felt making scads of money in her spare time, was infinitely superior to making no money from reading my blog.

I know, go figure, right?

Of course, she’s brilliant and that’s why I find reading her writing not only enlightening, but entertaining too. Not to mention that by reading what she has to say, I may yet learn the art of closing the deal.

parisAlso, I go to great lengths to respond to my readers who take the time to comment on my blog. Once, I even tried consulting the DMV in an attempt to reach one of my many fans, Paris Hilton (well that’s who she said she was). And for that the FBI issued me a cease and desist order?

I am all too aware of the daily risk that threaten to push our love of writing onto a back burner. Why at this very minute, some sadistic fiend out there, is likely cooking up some similar (hairbrained) scheme for my site to meet a similar fate—in hopes that this blog will somehow go up in flames!

To that I say… does anyone hear sirens?  smoke

Some folks have asked me, “Paul (because that’s my name and I don’t answer to Jack) how do you keep bloggers on your payroll…uh…blogroll?”

Well I’ll tell you. Simple… I click follow.

Take for instance, my friend, Susannah from she offers daily insights on events she see’s happening in the Big Apple, and then there’s my friend, Kate at who not only loves her cats, but who I also suspect believes I’m on something.

Thank goodness, neither of these fine ladies have ever been able to prove that—YET.

Likewise, there’s my Canadian partner (currently on summer camp assignment—no doubt with some moose), Paul residing over at and my other good pal, George who is not from Canada, but who I enjoy all the same at (they complete one half of the group known as “The Beatles”  although, neither of them have a Beatles haircut) nevertheless, both of them have hung on my every word, and because of it… could lose their grip on reality any day now.

This should clearly demonstrate (to skeptics and anyone named,Thomas) my undeniable appeal to the rich and famous.

However, it is virtually impossible to list all the bloggers whose writing, comments, and photos would add joy to anyone’s day, say nothing of my own. Yet, you just knew I was gonna try (Inhale).

Other visiting friends to my outpost on the WordPress prairie, have even been known to occasionally contribute (occasionally?) witty comments or humorous banter to my blog, and include in no particular order;

Jan at a skilled writer and friend, or my extremely talented pal, Jodi at and further artistry comes from that far out there, Sarah at and then there’s the hilariously gifted, Allen at or the extremely fun and skilled  Johanna at and don’t forget another friend, Sarah from and all these folks offer their own special brand of humor and artistic skills—for the enjoyment of others.

I still benefit though—in spite of that.

Did I mention the amazing, Susie (and she truly is) at who will certainly keep you busy and inspired by her energy, and zest for life? Or how about my ever tortured friend, Sandi at who puts up with me. I have another friend (oh yes!), John at who helps me with my seriously lacking artistic endeavors. Also, another dear (Canadian) friend, Dale at who reminds me of what we can lose, and still we can carry on with hope. There’s my Lily (hi Lil!) at who has lavished me with high praise which I can’t resist soaking up. And one horrible omission on my part (at least initially, but in serious need of inclusion, as he has been with me from the very beginning), Occraz who just happens to be very funny in his own right. And GP Cox who not only helps us remember all those who have served, but who have sacrificed for our freedom. Thank you GP.

No, of course I’m not done yet. I have to tell you about Sarah (Yes another Sarah. What, you got a problem with that name? Well I should say not, or you’ll face the wrath of Choppy…who is totally harmless) at and then there’s, Jay whose fabulous movie reviews (don’t leave for the theater without them) will leave you ready for the multiplex at and the beautiful Melanie from who never gives up on life, and my friend, Tessa at both these ladies always press relentlessly forward.

There is the very funny (okay, bitter) Ben at and noted comic writer, Austin from who inspires me. And my delightful friend, Juls at who happens to be Irish like me, but who is actually from the UK.

I have sensitive, but no less important friends who visit me. For instance, Elle at and a wonderful poet, who I prefer to call, Chocolate at and another couple of friends who also write great poetry, Barrira at and Kritika at at  and simply must mention,Tricia and Ben at who demonstrate real fortitude in life. Scott at with his fantastic flair for family humor will leave you in stitches—and he’s not even a surgeon!

I have intellectual bloggers too who I can’t leave out of “My Attic” like Joseph at or the lovely Aquileana from and the equally lovely and funny, Mindy at and of course I claim another math wiz (like Joseph) a WordPress favorite of mine… who impresses me no end.

Then there is the real deal (no not in poker), Mitch from the well written Mike at and the equally well written Charles from plus the erudite Eric at or the wonderful Raymond from and the not to be missed or the never to be forgot—my idol and mentor—the great Paul Johnson, whose alter I worship, at which I’m certain is located somewhere in, China.

weekendThis could have taken you all weekend to read, and I knew you didn’t have time for that. But, I hope you’ll see what I was trying to say to all of you wonderful people—many of whom I failed to mention because if I’d tried, I might still be here until 2096!

But, for those of you whom I didn’t mention—because some of you who I read, don’t even try to read my blog, or even care that I write—please know that you never go unnoticed by me for taking that precious amount time out of your very busy day—in order to make my day better.

And for those of you who do read my blog, I can’t thank you enough for ignoring actor Steve Martins Blog in favor of mine —he’s so jealous.

I wanted to let all of you know how much I wish I could read each and every post you publish, followed by me pressing the like button on your various posts after commenting on them. Unfortunately, this is not humanly possible. Which is also why I have applied for super hero status to be granted to me.

I know you crawl around “In My Cluttered Attic” in hopes of finding something entertaining to read, and all I do is reciprocate with silliness. So, I feel this thank you is hardly adequate for all the knee problems you’ve suffered on my account. However, I’m very popular with orthopedic surgeons!

You certainly deserved an honorable mention here, but I hope you’ll all settle (out of court) for this incredibly shrinking list of survivors from my blog instead. These are only some of the folks who have visited my blog on multiple occasions (and perhaps numerous mental health professionals as a result), and are now counted among the walking dead. As more of you are discovered I will add you to the list. Believe me when I say, I was once wracked with enormous guilt:…/https:

Now, would someone please be kind enough to call an ambulance…I think there is a good chance I should go to the hospital for being so long-winded! (and…exhale).

Why I Have So Little Time To Blog (and other great mysteries in my life you won’t care about)


I fear time is not on my side. I wonder if that’s because I stand on the left, and I’m not in my right…?

Anyway, maybe you’ve noticed how everything TAKES time, and have you also noticed…no ransom demand from EVERYTHING yet? Just thought I’d point that out. But, there never seems to be enough time, (And isn’t that just like money, there’s never enough of that either) to do everything we want to do.

The frustrating thing about time is that it can become an enemy. Some quick calculations have told me what I feared to think about when it comes to time (because thinking hurts my brain). One: that blogging and reading the blogs of others must be a figment of my imagination, as time is short. And two: … I’m thinking, I’m thinking…  post

… Oh I remember… why time is short—at least in my case.

And why are these people masquerading as sheep in my dream?

And why are these people masquerading as sheep in my dream?

First of all, there is only 24 hours in a day…I’ve never really bothered to count how many hours in a night (that might be because I’m too busy counting sheep, or people pretending to be sheep). But, I can tell you that practically all the hours in my day (especially the good ones) are all spoken for long before I ever reach my keyboard to work on my blog.

And I believe none of this will help the time/space continuum thing either—not that that is relevant. But those of you who blog here at WordPress, might want to help the rest of us poor saps tell WordPress “To stop mucking around and making a mess of things!” And I think that’s relevant.

Okay, I’m down with it, and off my soapbox. And no, I’m not off my rocker, Ed with no last name from Plainview, Texas! You and I can meet in a dark alley later, Ed.

Anyway, back to my calculations. Now this may be fuzzy math to you (forget logic), but I figure 8 hours of sleep (on a good night, and 30 seconds on a bad nap, but that’s just me). An hour to get ready for work (and I don’t even put makeup on… some days). And an hour to relax when I come home from work (in my dreams).

Then there’s walk the dog, walk the wife, and walk the self just to recover from those walks, and that’s a dead man walking. Help cook dinner (after I wash the morning dishes and last nights left over pots), another hour there, and that’s only if I remembered to let them soak first.

Which I didn’t. DARN!

Help the child with the homework—15 hours! Oh, then there is the nightly budget discussion—but what budget? Heck, I can’t even budget the hours I have in a day (seeing as I don’t have enough hours to work with in the first place, not to mention any grey matter left), much less find time to work on the monetary financial report for the family.

Now that leaves just enough time for…(zzz). Oh, my wife is snoring…again “Honey…honey…oh well, must be another headache night. That makes the 31st time this month, just like last month—only there were 30 days last month!

Let’s see…there are 365 days in a year, and how many times did we…? Well never mind. wife

So where was I? Oh, hours left in a day. According to my calculations (new math, which by now must be old math) that would leave me with… no time for blogging!

I’m going to have to post on this subject tomorrow, because I just ran out of time again.