What do you want to be when you grow up, Timmy (age 5)?

"I wanna hit people with chocolate!"
"So, uhm...you want to be a Fudg-ilist?"

T

Not Overheard at the Plastic Surgery Clinic

"Doc, is there any way you can make me look like Paul Williams? Y'know, the famous American Entertainer? It'd be a dream come true cuz-- lemme tell ya--I have the singing chops a la Paul and would be damn good duetting with Muppets (I even practiced on the bus on the way here with a sock puppet I bummed off a napping guy). If I looked like him, too, can you imagine the loot I bring in on the Impersonator Circuit? I figure we can start by lopping off portions of my legs; and like the good Boy Scout I aspired (but failed) to be, I brought a bread knife and an ether-soaked hoodie. I also know where I can get a good wig."

T

A Bad Ending to a Bartender's Evening

Time to wrap it up, ya say? Hmm, 'minds me of this time I was wrapped up Tight like a finely crafted burrito. Caught between the refrieds and the tortilla, y'know? I once fought for the honor of a young signorita over a burrito, fifteen pesos, and an acre and a half of scrubland (previously owned, reportedly, by a locally famous fellow with a penchent for wittling his own Holy Divining Sticks, if you catch my leanings, to pawn off to the tourists passing through the burg for a song, a dance, and any stray articles of clothing they could part with; preferably related to the tootsies. Turns out he had a bit of a thing for American-made socks...something to do with sturdier heels and toes in 'em...could take a beating when he'd find himself fleeing the randy Dowager that lived down by the tire fire...and that was often, or so he told me). It was during a period of my life that I was selling brushes south of the border; a proverbial Fuller Bandito, I was...at least according to some of the fellows I holed up with for a spell during a particurlarly bad run of luck in the business (the less said the better, but it had a lil' something to do with a clutch o' brushes and a heavily bearded gentleman lacking limbs). Anyhoo, the dowry was on the line and it was fourth and fifteen. The Outlaw Biker Gang, the Prickley Gila Goldwing Brigade, had set their sights on my gal, my wares, and my genitalia...which they planned to mount on their handlebars as a sick trophy to celibate...celebrate my unplanned membership in the Castrato League; and, believe me, sack or no sack...this boy ain't never gonna be mistaken for a Englebert Humperdump, or whatever. So, I whip up a plot with my squat mate, Bernard, that involved a rigged election, a length of plumbing, and four pounds of freshly rotten plums...If ya squint right you can SEE the cleverness in these peepers of mine, right?

T

Misunder-pant-ing

I learned that one must be very careful in how you reference your pants* in a conversation with those of low/misinformed intellect when I had to make the following correction:

CHINOS are trousers made of chino cloth and NOT Chinese or Hispanic children (at least in MY experiences...I don't claim to be a very Wordly sort...but I DO know my pants, thank you very much).

Glad to have been involved in THAT conversation and correction.

Ahem.

T
*In fact, it might not be a bad idea to NOT talk about pants at all; lump it in with abortion, politics, and religion as things to not bring up in your daily conversations.

Should I Laugh or Cry?
Actual Response to the question of "Where's your significant other?" from last night

"She's guest-thieving for a co-worker's Dungeons and Dragons campaign."

That's right, kids; the missus brought her 4th Level Thief to another D&D adventure in order to assist a band of role-players that were sorely lacking in the Rogue-Department.

T
(is it even worse that she's using my Dice?)

TIP: The People's Noam Chomsky

Tired of using the phrase 'You've got your shit together' as much as I am?
Want to spice up your lexicon with a variation of this expression without losing the scatological slant? Try the following out the next time the situation warrants a response of this nature:

'You've got your poop in a group.'*

T
*A phrase my boss used in our weekly meeting today...No Shit.

An Observation

Remember that little fucker, Nicholas, from TV's EIGHT IS ENOUGH? Y'know...the youngest of the Bradfords (as portrayed by Adam Rich)?

Go here for a pic of Nic

Remember Chaka from TV's LAND OF THE LOST? Y'know...the shaggy bugger that hung out with the Lost Marshall family (as portrayed by Phillip Paley)?

Go here for a pic of the lil' apeboy

It dawned on my today that Adam Rich, back in the day, looked like a Hairless Chaka; either shaved down to the skin or dipped in a cauldron of Nair.

P'raps the two actors were seperated at birth?

T

My Good Deed for the Day

I overheard someone say that they were relieved that Metro Transient workers had ended their strike and that the buses had started running again.

Transients driving Buses?!?

Hunh?

Ever the do-gooder, I quickly pointed out that it was Metro TRANSIT employees that had ended their walkout and that, luckily, the local Bum community was still 'walking the picket line' in a manner of speaking.

Glad that I cleared that up; I couldn't leave 'em thinking that our area's hoboes were all suddenly back to work and not continuing their contributions to our fair city by NOT working...like amassing our lost change, playing upturned trashcans as bongos in exchange for sandwiches, drinking our inexpensive malt beverages in public locations, et cetera.

Imagine the pandemonium!!!

T
(bows)

Recent Awards filling my Trophy Case

4th Place Plaque in the Pierce the Clown Javellin Competition

Last Place Token Certificate for my rendition of KARL'S BLESSED BLEAT in the North American Sheepherder 'Shep-Heard Round the World' Baa-Off


Recent Addition to my Criminal File

Took the rap for an acquaintance that had 'accidentally' disrobed and, subsequently, 'befouled' a bushel of sweet corn at the Farmer's Market; forever leaving my with the alias 'Cob Slob' on the Police Blotter.

T

The Numbers for April 18th, 2004


9 AM Masonic Temple Pancake Breakfast for Charity
2 flapjacks
4 sausages
3 inquiries if bacon is available to a young lad running about the Lodge
5 cups of coffee
11 AM arrival back home
3 episodes from the first season of Mr. Show viewed
1 friend, well-versed in gadgetry, fetched for assisting in a large electronic purchase
85 Degrees outside at 4 PM
1 new Television Set
3 cajun sausages with rice and beans for dinner (for a total of 7 sausages in a 10 hour period)
X number of tornado watch/warnings broadcast between 6 and 8PM
1 missed episode of The Sopranos due to severe weather rendering friend's Direct TV useless
5 seperate puddles of English Bulldog puke to welcome us home
3 rags
1 Bottle of Rug Cleaner
7 gags as wife unit forces back her own inclination to vomit due to aroma of English Bulldog's stomach contents strewn about the living room
12 Midnight and I'm still up...

T

One Woman Transforms her Body-is-a-Temple to Body-is-an-Ethnic-Pride-Meat-Canvas-Declaration

On the one year anniversary of this blog I'd like to share with you my lil' encounter while getting my locks shorn.

As I sat in the waiting area of my favored Tress-Trimming salon I took note of a gal in a belly-bearing tee-shirt (ill-advised fashion choice, in this case, as she possessed a gut that would put a blush on the ruddy cheeks of Fry Cooks around the globe, proud in the results of their greasy handywork) with some, at first, indecipherable script tattooed across the upper lip of her engorged stomach (I should also add that there is the slightest of possibilities that she was pregnant...but I highly doubt it; the belly had more of a four-helpings-are-a-way/weigh-of-life-look about it). Curiosity killed the cat (and fed it to her, no doubt) and I took it upon myself to figure out-- with the utmost of subtlety-- what in the name of Chef Tell was etched onto her upper-gullet-roll.

Utilizing a squint from my good eye (she was, fortunately/unfortunately, on my left handside...which is the Non-Lazy Eye side) I began the decoding process; it progressed in the following manner:

Nostradamus?
Nosey Frogs?
Crazy Narwals?
Cozy Nostrils?

Oh SHIT!

La Cosa Nostra!!!

That was it, all right.

For those of you unfamiliar with this phrase, it means, 'Our Thing' in Italian and is the term the Mafia used to refer to themselves and their business concerns (I was raised by a Sicilian father and took several years of Italian in College...so I have a mild background).

O Mio Dio!!!

It was confirmed when I overheard her speaking to an employee of the Hair Salon about her Sicilian Ancestry (the employee had inquired about the well-exposed tat).

Isn't that lovely?

A lil' Ethnic-Flavored-Branding on a Wop-ess' Spicy Meat-Ball-esque Sausage Buffet...throw in a pinch/fistfull of No Shame and, VOILA...a huge plate of Horror for the viewing public.

T
[Oh...as it turns out...she also admitted to having a BOY TOY tattoo somewhere on her body (I'm going to guess it's on her Ass...what the Hell) which went unseen by your's truly but, I suspect, must be her way to extoll the virtues of being a whore and/or a Madonna fan (also a Dago)]

Night Mare

What was that dream all about? Was I being hit with a stringed instrument? Battered senseless with a ukelele? Or was it a viola with a spike driven through it? Naw...it was bigger than that, nothing sharp poking out of it, strictly a lambasting. A guitar? Yes, a guitar. Some bipedal creature weilding a six-string like a cudgel, striking me repeatedly over the head and bellowing some sort of War Cry. It was in a foreign dialect, if I recall correctly. Esperanta? That seems a wee bit unlikely...a more common language...Spanish? Yeah, that's it. Spanish. So, whilst in the Land of Nod, I was pummelled with a guitar by a bilingual humanoid beast. And I think it was wearing a costume of some sort. A cape and mask combo. Something akin to the one George Hamiton sported in that Gay Blade film from long ago...but that was a parody of...oh shit.

Not that.

Not him

What the hell does that mean? I'm not sure I want to know so I'll pass consulting with a dream translator and/or an equestrian.

T

Pondering the lack of Nuts in PEANUTS


Fellow 1: Do you s'pose Snoopy was fixed? The reason I ask is we know he's a dude but he ain't sportin' any tackle in any strip I ever pee-rused.

Fellow 2: Erm...I don't think that's the sort of thing you can...er...render in a comic strip; particularly one that's going to appear in a newspaper.

F1: Sure, sure...but d'yah thing, then, that there's any strips, unpublished-like, that Chaz drew 'em with a three-piece set? Maybe for his own personal pleasure?

F2: Are you suggesting that the late Charles Schulz drew his own comic porn? I sure hope you don't lose sleep over things like this.

F1: Nah..I don't dream 'bout no Dog Stones...mostly guns and NASCAR.

T

Rejected THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST product tie-ins

Christ's Sake

Not a fan of typical Western Alcoholic Beverages AND believe in the All-MIghty? You'll think it's a Modern Day Miracle when you Chug your first glass/mug/goblet/bowl/bucket of this special Christian-Friendly fermented Rice beverage!

Atonement in a bottle! Time to get deisui!

Each bottle comes with a tiny Jesus Christ swizzlestick with Peek-A-Boo hands.

Also available: Vials of Saint Peter's Saltpeter...an Apostle-licious blend of potassium nitrate guaranteed to keep your Ardorous Inner Demons suppressed or your money back.

T

A Public Service Announcement courtesy of that Fellow over there
(who may or may not be talking to you or simply muttering to himself or, an even more unsettling thought, Jesus Christ)

"T'ain't easy, mind...if you can get past the blood curdlin' screechin' AND the hip bone, eatin' a whole spider monkey can be damn fortifying. Once, Giblet Spools and I lasted on one o' them suckers for a fortnight encamped, as we wuz, 'neath an underpass...an underpass o' love...heh hehKAFF...love and eats; or--as we usetah calls it--the Grab and Grub. That's really all there is in dis here dirty ol' unkind world, dig? Monkey Tartar and a nonchalant clinch from your squat mate...and I don't means 'squat' as in petite or altitudinally-challenged, eh?"

T
(gotta learn to STOP listening to the Public Babblers...they're starting to infect my bbllrrgghh...er...blog)

Sausage Buffet Week comes to an End as we present this Actual Conversation from Last Night


Setting: Local Restaurant/bar

Participants: Army Reserve Guy on leave from Iraq, E., and myself:


Me: Did you lose any buddies in Iraq?

Army Reservist: My unit only lost one guy over there...but not from the conflict; he had brain cancer.

E (who had not been paying close attention): What? Break-Dancing?!?


T

Undesired Weenie Christening

Dear Abby,

For whatever reason, my friends have taken to calling me 'Sausage Buffet' and it really irritates me. There isn't a thing that I've done IN MY LIFE that would warrant them picking this handle for me; heck, I don't even like sausages, weiners or any other kind of meat tube. Is there a way that I can make them stop calling me 'Sausage Buffet' without losing them as friends? Maybe I could suggest a new nickname like 'Orang-u-Tom' or something?
MISNAMED IN MISSOURI

Dear MISNAMED IN MISSOURI/SAUSAGE BUFFET,

I would really like to help you out with some sage Van Buren-ian advice but, unfortunately, your missive was delivered in error to an ARBY'S in Poughkeepsie that I manage. However, since I feel your pain (my 'friends' used to call me hateful things like 'Assback McGhee and his Danger Trousers,' 'Gravy-Tits,' and 'Fudge Knuckle' for reasons I was never able to fathom) and I am generally a helpful sort, I will endeavor to advise you the best that I am able.

My gut reaction is that 'Sausage Buffet' is a product of you being overweight. Sure, we've never met nor did you include a photo of yourself with your letter...but this is my best guess.

I've noticed that a lot of corpulent people have rolls on the backs of their necks that resemble a package of hot dogs. If you are the pudge that I suspect you are there is a strong possibility that this is the reason behind your unwanted 'Sausage Buffet' persona. When folk catch a glimpse of those fleshy lumps they think you're a Hot Diggity Hot Dog Vendor or some other nomadic Sausage Provider; hence, 'Sausage Buffet.' It might be time to cut down on the food intake and hit the gym. I betcha 'Sausage Buffet' will disappear with your extra girth (and folds).

Finally, suggesting a new nickname will never work as it is a well-known fact that no one is allowed to chose their own (I learned this the hard way when I suggested 'Leo-Gnarly' to my peers).

Stick with the weight-loss and this problem of yours should vanish.

Leonard T. Gravis
Arby's Manager
Poughkeepsie, NY

PS: I would have included some free coupons for our roast beef sandwiches but considering your circumstances that would not have been a wise thing to do.


T

Clarification of Terms

Fellow: Excuse me, there seems to be some problems with the billing for my room here at your hotel.

Front Desk Clerk: Yes?

Fellow: Well, under incidentals, I have a 20 dollar charge for a 'Spanish Hooker' and, I can assure you, I had no visitors to my room last night nor 'rented' a prostitute of any ethnic group.

Front Desk Clerk: Ah...yes, yes...we get that all the time. 'Spanish Hooker' is actually the cover we use for the Playstation games ordered by our guests from their room's television menu. Gives a much less geeky and far more studly Rudy Valentino-esque vibe that way, wouldn't you agree?

Fellow: Yes. Yes it does. Hunh. Okay, so what does 'Sausage Buffet' mean?

Front Desk Clerk: That's the cover term for a certain type of pay-per-view movie channel that you watched after your 'Spanish Hooker.'

Fellow: Erm...heh...here's my credit card so I can settle up.

Fellow Desk Clerk: So you don't need me to tell you what the 'Hirsute Mud Flaps' and 'Samoan Dynamite' incidental charges actually are?

Fellow: No...kaff...I'm good.

T

One answer to the Question of How to Piss off/Flummox Fan's of They Might Be Giants

Replace 'Purple Toupee' in the lyrics to the same-titled song with 'Sausage Buffet.'

For example:
Sausage Buffet will show the way when summer brings you down

and so on.

Utterly Baffling and sure to irk!

T

Notes from the biography of 'Sausage Buffet' Jones

Gunter 'Sausage Buffet' Jones wasn't much of a talker, preferring to let his modified mostly pork-products speak for him* from the display cases of his meat market. Other than the time that the 'People's Butcher' had to talk the Widow of Jasper Unkroot down from an unattended meat hook she had strung herself up on after delusionally 'seeing' her late husband's visage in a steaming plate of kielbasas,** he was rarely known to utter a single word whilst plying his trade. This trait was especially appreciated by the large Mute community of East Trundletown and, upon his passing from this Mortal Coil in the fall of 1953, their gratitude to his years of stoic sausage services was reflected in the monument they erected in town square (the funds to do so were, naturally, raised through a well-attended meat raffle/weenie roast shortly after his wake); aptly titled 'The Taciturn Sau-Sage.'

T

*Not like a puppet or ventriloquist's dummy...sausage puppetry was one European trend that went unembraced (yowza) in America but is rumored to still be practiced in so-called 'sausage cults' strewn about the continental United States. Practitioners profess that by speaking through the 'meat-man' they are becoming one with Wise-Wurst, the Weiner Uber-God, and, in a secondary manner, entertaining their peers and ceremonial attendees. The puppets are then consumed and, thus, passed through the 'Inner Sausage' of each feaster.

**The family physician/psychiatrist/cobbler of the Unkroot's later determined that the scent of the kielbasas had triggered memories of the Widow's late husband as he was reknowned for his chug-a-lunching said sausages four links at a time and, therefore, usually lurked in a smell-cloud only a loving wife could endure.

An Entry from the Tome of Least Expected Braggadocio

You think it's easy spinning plates for a living? I ain't talkin' pottery here, fool. I'm talking SPINNING PLATES as a sideshow performer. Oh, laugh it up, but it ain't a career choice for any run-of-the-mill-street-performin' scalawag; you needs the Skills and the deftness only the finest Agilist this town's ever peeped to draw the crowds, garner the accolades and pull down big ching. Check it...look at these wrists! You looking? Never seen wrists like this before, have ya? It's in the genes, man. Teddy Roosevelt once told my old man's old man that he had wrists that'd make Barnum soil the Center Ring.

You heard me.

T