Thursday, July 31, 2003

We Interrupt this Blog for a Guest Writer...the Boss

My wife had this dream last night and was kind enough to write it up for me:

You invited me for a romantic evening in the country. We (with Noah)
drove out to a firing range operated by the U.S. military. There were no
checkpoints, just an abandoned sand pit on top of a bluff. You uncovered
what looked like a pile of brush to expose the ICBM. "Watch this!" you
exclaimed with glee. Turning a key, you released the missile. It spun
around to the left, then the right, circling an Amish village below. It
was very quiet; I remarked that Noah wasn't bothered by the noise. After
a while, it sputtered to the ground, releasing a parachute.

You giggled as the townspeople came out of their houses to see what had
happened. It was clear that this was not the first time a missile had
gone through their village. They sent search parties into the hills to
find out where it had gone. One search party found us, two men and two
women. The women could not speak English, but I gathered from their
questions that they were more interested in the silk of the parachute
than the missile itself. They used the silk to line the men's hats. You
seemed incredulous at this, but I patiently explained, "it is the second
best natural insulator, Tony!" We didn't tell them where the missile was
or that we had released it. They left, frustrated.

Rachel came out of the woods behind us, carrying two backpacks and a
Coleman stove and offered to escort us to safety. "There is a shortcut
over the fields!" She carried Noah and I carried the packs and stove.
You carried nothing. We scrambled down the hill of pines and then over
the farm garden fields, jumping short fences (only 2 feet tall) as we
went. We ended up in the parking lot of a college dorm, hiding behind
the cars as security went by. Choosing a red truck, Rachel told us to
"get in!" The keys were in the ignition (she didn't know why) and we
drove out of the lot to another dorm. Then we waited in the lobby as
half-naked coeds went from room to room. There was another woman with an
18-month old girl who was walking. Rachel was jealous. Then we left the
dorm and drove the truck over an embankment onto the main road.

That's when I woke up.

Wednesday, July 30, 2003

More Star Wars stuff

Ran across an auction on E-Bay today for a chunk of the original Death Star model used in A New Hope for 'round 5 Gs.

Okay...throw in the Wampa Snow Creature's severed right arm prop, a section of bar from the Cantina scene, Max Rebo's Keyboard and Uncle Owen's sweaty tunic and they'll have themselves a bidder.


(and maybe Jabba's frog bowl...that'd look purty on the mantle)

Tuesday, July 29, 2003

Episode V and Gagging:

My recent 'Waiting for Lobot' bit got me interested in watching The Empire Strikes Back again (for the first time in a year or so*). Thus, the resident Knit-Mistress and I hunkered down in the living room after dinner (with Roger the English Bulldog snoring and snorting away in a fashion distinctly of his ancestry) to enjoy a couple hours of Lucas Goodness**.

I learned a couple things about my viewing companion (of the human variety) while the film was rolling:

She gagged audibly during the 'Wampa-chewing-on-a-chunk-o-Luke's-Tauntaun' bit***


gagged when Han splits his recently demised Tauntaun open as a warm slimy shelter for Luke


gagged when Roger passed gas whilst napping at her feet

The mutilation of the (fictitious) wildlife of Hoth and the (very Real) flatulence of a 5 1/2 year old English Bulldog are related in her mind and cause a Physical reaction on her part--a retching Throaty reaction, at that.

More study is needed to answer this head-scratcher.

I wonder if she'll react the same way to the Rancor Monster chomping on a Gamorrean Guard, the Sarlacc Pit swallowing Boba Fett, or the choking tail-rattlin' death o' Mister Hutt if we were to watch ROTJ together?

Stay Tuned.

**AND the on-going flashbacks I was having to the first time I saw the film on opening day in 1980 in all my tuddly glory.
***But not when Luke 'disarms' the Wampa snow creature. Hmmm.

Monday, July 28, 2003

My Brother-in-Law's Babysitting Story

Many years ago, my bro-n-law, Jon, had the opportunity (kaff) of babysitting the child of Christian Scientist parents. At some point during Jon's 'wardenship' the child cut his/her/its self. Unable to locate any bandaids in their home Jon called the parents. They replied:

"We don't believe in them. Make sure the cut is clean, tell the child 'Jesus Loves you' and that should take care of it."



Friday, July 25, 2003

Waiting for Lobot

Damn sonuva-modified 'droid, my ass. Leave me sitting here like a mynok on an abandoned Corellian Freighter...waitin' for him for what FEELS like an Hour now. Think it's easy running a damn gas mining operation? Do I have time to be sitting 'round like this (least the cape still looks nice). Like to see *him* try it...running a Hovering city. Pfft. He wouldn't even know what to DO with it AND--at the same time--deal with them over-pro-CRE-Active Ugnaughts and their swinish broods (always getting into the pantries and befouling the foodstuffs). Least they're handy with machinery and what-not...kinda like them damn dwarvern Tatooinian scavengers (heh heh
heh...Tat-o-WEENIE-in...heh)--whadda they called again? Jowlers?
Second Pfft. Them brown robes they deck themselves out in got NUTTIN' on my swanky Cape collection. I'd wipe my fine FINE ass with 'em.

Man...and just the MENTION of Corellian Freighters chaffs my aforementioned taut-buttocks something FIERCE! Friggin' swindlin' nerfherdin' cork-snorkler....

(channelling Lando)

Thursday, July 24, 2003

From the Now I've Seen Everything File

Hooked up with a bunch of compadres last night for Mojitos and jawing*. One friend's wife is currently involved in a Conducting Symposium ('Conducting' as in One-involved-in-the-Maestro-y-Arts and not 'Conducting' as in a Casey-Jones-Lifestyle). One of the Tools of the Trade is the Conductor's Baton; looks like a stylized Magician's Wand that a Conductor waves vigorously before the assembled performers in the hope that they will 'get it right' and--thus--entertain the audience.

Fortunately for my friend's wife, a gentleman specializing in the creation of said sticks was on-hand and dispensed with his business card.

It read:

Custom Batons

Wow Oh WOW.

I'd suggest something in ash or teak with lightning bolts etched into 'em; y' make them look 'cool'.


*A fine collision of fun---the enjoyment of which could have only been heightened if one of the bar-jockeys had set a burro-pinata on fire and tossed it in the general direction of the Faux-Mariachis 'entertaining' the masses near the restrooms...come to think of it those may not have been musicians 'sanctioned' by the Watering Hole and, instead, rogue nomadic performers OR an impromptu gathering of drunk and like-minded musically-inclined ne'er-do-wells; any which way, a blazing paper-mache pack animal aimed deliberately at them would have been welcomed none the less. A boy can dream/hallucinate.

Wednesday, July 23, 2003

"Slap him intah the Swiss Cheese Stockade!!!"

Wisconsin Justice circa 1983

Tuesday, July 22, 2003

50 Cent Electronic Dog rescued from School Rummage Sale

A mechanical canine by the handle of (heh) Poo Chi (by Tiger Toys dated 1999) was liberated from a fund-raising rummage sale by an employee of the very school putting it on. When asked by various students and co-workers as to why this item was purchased, said new 'owner' replied:

"It's a robotic DOG!!! It makes noises!!! Look at it! It shits washers, nuts, bolts and molded plastic doo and marks it's territory with battery acid! This is the steal of the year!!! Idn't that right, boy?"

The ensuing cackling (accompanied by electronic 'dog' yipping) were heard from several classrooms away.

No injuries were reported other than a 'marked' desktop and three various bruises caused by overjoyous 'droid rutting.

Monday, July 14, 2003

Road Trip: Small Town Cap Comment

As seen previously, the horseless carriage I was driving home blew a hindleg and left me stranded outside of Fort Morgan, CO. With directions from a State Trooper I drove around looking for a Tire Shop (eventually ending up at Wal-MArt) open of the day after the Fourth.

No dice (and the 20-sided was jinxed, to boot).

I made a quick stop at a Auto Supply Store where I inquired of other places to go. Upon entering the shop and loping up to the counter, the gentleman working there took a long gander at me (sizing me up for a tussle? admiring my gait?) and after an exchange of pleasantries made the following comment:

"We don't get a lot of fellows wearing hats like that around here. I don't know if I should say 'Ciao' or not."

See...the lid atop me dome was an 'old-guy-driving-cap-turned-backwards' and he mistakenly took it to be a beret...and mistakenly thought that Italy was the origininator of said chapeaus. Not being a hat-historian in any sense of the word I let this 'error' pass without comment.


Wednesday, July 09, 2003

Road Trip: The Voyage Home

Unfortunately my version of the Voyage Home did not involve transporting Whales from the past into future Kirkian times; at least then it would have been an adventure to which I could have gleaned a minor amount of enjoyment (and would have been able to exploit my Shatner-Girdle to any and all that would have wanted to get me into a wrestling clinch...heh...a boy can dream of corsetted corpulence and the sweaty embraces of space aliens out to Off me or smother me with otherworldly affection).


I had to have me a Tire Blowout in the eastern environs of Colorado.


Most folk, when hearing mention of this particular state, envision the entirety of it comprised of mountainous terrain. Surely, a great portion of Colorado *is* just that...the rest of it that is *not* can be safely referred to as an extension of the boredom that is Nebraska's landscape; flat ass nada.

It was in these surroundings on a stretch of I-76 that a tire on my vehicle decided it was well past its time to explode...and throw a monkey wrench into my plans of getting home in a timely manner (in fact, not only was there a metaphoric monkey wrench thrown...there was also a Literal Monkey-like fellow wrenched AND thrown about the interior of the vehicle when things went 'soft' in the rear driver-side tire).

Due to the extensive Damage done to the tire (holes in both the tread *and* the sidewall (the latter the size of a chimpanzee's fist...from what I can tell when I'm squinting at the Primate House from a distance of 20 feet, that is...what do I look like? Jane Goodall? Well...maybe from a distance of 20 feet I might appear to resemble the famous Monkey Lady...but let's end this digression before y'all go...heh...Ape) AND the fact that most Automobile Companies have sworn off Full-Sized spares for the glory and stupidity that are Donut-Spares, I had No Choice but to find a place-- any damn place-- that could replace the tire itself (thankfully the Rim was intact).


And so another of my Records bit the dust.

The record in question was that, in my entire lifetime, I had never set foot inside a Wal-Mart and had plans to keep it that way.

Until this fateful day when *all* the tire shops in loverly Fort Morgan, Colorado decided that the day after the Fourth of July was a damn fine day to take off and stick it to me and my record.

Ho Ho Ho.

Having No other choice (and a burning desire to get myself home) it was with great internal turmoil that I trod into said store and put the order in for a new tire.

Informed that it would take about an hour and a half (they were extremely busy...probably because of all the other tire and auto places being Closed on this particular Saturday) the Clerk pointed out that there was a Snack Bar near the front of the (enormous) store and that, if it were to my liking, I could bide my time there...p'raps enjoying a cold beverage or a roller-heated weiner.


Leaving the clerk behind I made a bee-line for the front doors in order to have a smoke to help 'calm' my rattled (and monkey-jostled) nerves. This route took me past the infamous Wal-Mart Greeter-Brigade and their faux-smarmy-Hey-Hos (reminding me of a horde of hopped up elderly orangs waiting to fling well-aimed feces in my general direction...a Pongo Pygmaeus 'Howdy-Doo' as it were).

Tossing "G'days" my way I ducked *and* ducked out without returning the Farewells and Waves of the 'friendly' gaggle of oldsters as I knew I was going to be coming right back through as soon as I had some sooty goodness choked down.

As it turns out--after several trips in and out of the store-- these Greeters do not appreciate being snubbed (probably a provision of their contracts and/or a trait looked for in the Wal-Mart hiring process) and quickly changed their tune in regards to the scowling and tobacco-stinking lout storming in and out of *their* store. Out went the pleasantries and In came the Eye-Javellins...inexpertly chucked at my trundling if they'd never experienced a fellow that didn't acknowledge their forced friendliness (this could very well be the case in a town the size of Fort Morgan...snide City Boy that I be).

This made my day *and* my first visit to Wal-Mart all the More enjoyable...even if I ended up losing Three Hours of travel time.


Sunday, July 06, 2003

Road Trip Quote: Part One

Sarah: man is an Island.
Tony: I'm an atoll!!!

(which is only funny if you say 'atoll' in the manner of a hearing impaired person saying 'asshole'...which is only funny if you consider the speech-patterns of the hard of hearing should stop now)