Monday, October 31, 2005

Halloween Costumed Co-Workers: One Postive

I had the rather curious experience of taking a smoke break with a Oz-ian Flying Monkey this morning.

Bumpersticker Math= Unwelcome Personal Declaration

"My 36 Inch Waist + Your 64 Inch Waist = 100% Bouncy Bouncy!"


Thursday, October 27, 2005

One Minnesotan Father's Attempt to Teach his youngling some Geography

Y'see here, Renaldo, think of yer old pappy as our home state, Minnesota (you do know we live in Minnesota, right? Okay, was that a nod yes or your head tremors again? A YES? Good boy). So, I'M Minnesota, the Land of 10000 Lakes (more than that, really...but ya can't question the truth found on License Plates...the DOT knows their shit...hell, you should consider a job with 'em when you come of age...I can totally see you working a tar shovel once you hit your 'strappin lad' years). Now, to MY right (the West of Pa) are the states of both North and South Dakota. Think of South Dakota as my TV Tray here and North Dakota as my trusty spittoon that sits on top of it (HACH-TEW!!! *Ppppp-ting*). Got that? Heh, that's cute when you make spitting noises like your old man...jez don't spit on the floor no more; yer mudder's pissed off enough about your bare-ass-dragging-scoot across the area rug in the foyer. Okay, so I'M Minnesota, North Dakota is my Chaw-Infused-Spittle-Recepticle which rests on the South Dakota TV Tray. So far, so good? All right. Now Wisconsin, to the East of Minnesota (Daddy's left), is your father's Beer Fridge (and, not ironically, where I get most of Suds...that, too, should...and I emphasize ya remember that since I half-ways drunk most of the damn time). Ya still with me? Now, to wrap things up, I'm going to get a lil' International on ya and give you a bonus answer; pretty exciting, eh? Okay, ya know how much daddy likes wearing his sombrero, right? My garish and favored headwear is Canada, our neighbor to the North.


Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Selection from the Horror Novella I'm Not Writing

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Mine dreams, lo this past fortnight, have been haunted...haunted by a spoon. A ghastly piece of silverware stained ebon like a Stygian Night after what one must assume was an eternity steeped in the fiery booya cauldrons of some fell minion of one Dark Lord or another. Or perhaps North End Lawrence's crockpot. Hard to say. But it'd be just like that foul bastard to leave a spoon unwashed for years on end and then turn it unto an object to clutter and stalk my travels in Nod.

This Morpheus-tic spoon perches precariously 'pon the hood of a repossessed Le Car (like a malefic hood ornament of some sort) next to other items as if an impromptu picnic were in the offing (with me as the main course?); this passe' jalopy double-parked on the very banks of the River Styx with Charon the Boatman keeping watch of the proceedings (or possibly eye-balling the bucket of fried chicken? Poling his deathly 'gondola' hither and non must surely work up an appetite...who could blame him for his peckish ogling if that, in fact, is what it is).

This nightmarish flatware will surely spell my doom...but first it will enable me to partake in some of that bitchin' Mephistophelean cole slaw. I won't go down without a nosh...demonic spoon be damned...oh,


Monday, October 24, 2005

A Warning to Anyone Flying Into/Out of the Twin Cities Airport

Don't check your luggage...carry-ons only. My creepy neighbor is a baggage handler there and I strongly suspect that whilst the checked luggage works its way through the system that he 'speed-dates' select pieces.


Thursday, October 20, 2005

TLPHOLG: The Un-Space-Vet

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So this lil' Boxey shite is hemmin' anna hawin' anna pissin' anna moanin' bought how his damn robotically 'clined Daggnabbit's been runnin' a high temp'ture the last coupla weeks and actin' all mopish and shit. Since I ain'ts got no trainin' in droid health I recommended he add a coupla quarts of oil and top off its other which the mop-topped (top-mopped?) stripling goes even more bat-shit...screamin' through mucous-laden tears that this ol' Daggnabbit of his ain't gots no damn dipstick or nothin'...tho' I could swear I once espied the mechanical mutt lickin' his clean one afternoon. But what the fuck do I know? Like I said...I ain'ts no doctor or Scottish engineer or whatever. So, in light of his continued fussin' 'bout this not-animal, I happened to recall a time when Little Joe had to tend to a goat what had taken ill down on the ponderosa. Not a thing any of us coulda done for the goat so we had tah put it down, sad to say. So I shot Boxey through his mess-tressed dome and converted the 'sick' Daggnabbit inta a foot massager...though some be rumor-mongerin' that it looks like I've got my tootsies up a robot-dog's bung... T

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

From Last Night's Visit to a Local Watering Hole

In the men's room was a size identifying sticker from a pair of Lee Jeans (size 33 X 30 Regular Fit) stuck to the wall of one of the stalls. It's presence brought to mind two scenarios:

Someone actually changed into a new pair of jeans in the men's room of a fucking bar (for reasons best left to one's imagination...ew)


Someone had missed removing the sticker in the first place and only discovered it while taking a dump/piss


Tuesday, October 18, 2005

How One Slip of the Pen on an order I put in with Linen-N-Things Ruined my Future Post-Bathing Experiences

All I wanted was a dozen or so Monogrammed Towels for my bathroom, y'see...but I fucked up and accidentally wrote MONGORAMMED on the order form.

You don't want to see/ever use those towels. Jesus Christ, they're still moist and I've had 'em for a week now. Mongo-Rammed indeed.


Monday, October 17, 2005

Thir-Team Meeting Part Eight

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Ahem. Mister Jones, might I also add that I, myself, can think of one other Great Thing that starts with the Letter T, hmm? Meet me back at my suite and I'll prove it to you, you fine Southern Gentleman. Now, as to a Not-So-Great-Thing-That-Starts-With-The-Letter-T, this TIP git is a right slanderous malcontent. I've been offended by him at least twice in the past and, due to the depths of these offenses can not, in my right mind, allow him to partake in our merry little group. First, it was his self-published Tract on the so-called 'evils' of Pudding that put me right off my appetite for the better part of a week; entitled as it was, "Pudding: The Vile Humour Tapped from the Brackish Veins of Mephisto a la Sap from Maples." Secondly, his on-going support of the now-ended comic book series CEREBUS. The 300 issues of tripe contained a character based upon myself and was in no way, shape, or form of a flattering nature. "Snatcher?" Indeed! Reprehensible. Repugnant. Unforgivable. With these items in mind I cannot get behind supporting the cur and I would hope that better judgement will arise in the minds of our panel. As a friendly reminder; Mister Jones, my suite number is 1013, oddly enough, and I'll await your arrival clad in the finest of terry-cloth teddies. High Heels and Fishnet can also be on the Agenda, if these are items you find...ahem...arousing.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Thir-Team Meeting Part Seven

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Howdy, y'all. Now, I ain't gonna be commentin' on any of this h'yah steer paddies some of y'all've been dumpin' willsie-dillsie on these proceedings as I haven't the slightest idear what some of it even means...and I'm an edu-muh-cated bid-ness man as you y'all should be able to espy by my--if I may say so--rathah natty threads (learned a thang or two 'bout stylin' dressin' from Deion and Mickey Irvin, see?) and confident, over-bearin' posture (I s'pose my ovah-sized belt buckle with matchin' spurs don't hurt none eithah...less I giddy-ya-up with a poke in the torso if ya mouth off at me...ask Emmitt 'bout the sometime). 'Though I does 'spect that Osmond ain't quite right...somethin' 'bout the shine comin' off her face...'pears it could be plastic or some sortah space age plastic...I got some pardners ovah at NASA, so, if necessary, I could look into this figuh. Wouldn't mine showin' muh fleshy-brand to that Nana neithah...she'd be thankin' me later and callin' me Jerry Bones...haw haw haw...jez like half the cheerleadahs that been under my employ (haw haw haw...gittit? Under!!!). Anyway, back tah the proceedins at hand. 'Bout this kid h'yah. TIP. He and Us gots at least one thang in common...which is why he's afore us for this h'yah vote. And ya know what? H'yah's what I thank. Lotsa great thangs start with the letteh T, y'all catch my tumbleweed? T's usually, in my estimation, signify great thangs; thangs like: Texas. C'mon now. Greatest state in the country AND Home to America's Team. Y'all got that right. Thanksgiving. See, my team plays every goddamn Turkey's a tradition. Maybe 'cept for po-tential tryptophan overdosing...could make a fellow nod off during the game...and that ain't right. Tubs. Whethah they're Hot Tubs or Tubs of Fried Chicken those together with some Triplets...that's a great way to unwind after a long day of making money...and I do make a lot of it. Fact is, I's gots so much scratch that I'm currently wearin' a pair of boxahs tailored togetheh from $2 bills. Afterwards, I can prove this to any y'all be scratchin' your noodles wonderin' if'n I'm tellin' a Tall Tale. You takin' notes, Nana? Topiary. Now who in their right mind don't like ornamental shrubs? Shee-oot. If a man don't care for topiary should stop by my ranch estate and check out my 20 foot topes in the shape of John Wayne wrasslin' Joseph Stalin. And on and on...and I could go on. But why bother? Y'all ain't gonna change mah mind. This kid belongs 'mongst us based solely on his handle.

Thir-Team Meeting Part Six

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Well I've been eternally grateful to the little gadabout after he cleared up the Conspiracy Theory that arose over idle speculation that *I* had Buddy Holly killed over the fact that he stole my ?Cheater Thunder? by donning specs similar to my own signature eyewear for his Rock and Roll image. AS IF!!! Sure, I took issue with Holly and the Crickets?but that involved a backstage spat that occurred between myself and his salacious, slavering, and pawing roadie, Mortley, and NOT over any alleged slight over Bud?s choice in glasses. I found it particularly laughable when said Conspiracy Theorists included the ?fact? that one of my Greek ancestors had invented a Weather Control Gadget that *I* utilized to bring down the plane Holly, the Big Bop, and ol? whatshisname?the La Bamba-Guy?name escapes me?were on. A bit far-fetched and entirely untrue. None of my relations work in the realm of science--fiction or otherwise; so there you go. Most are fishermen and the closest they ever come to fiction of this sort are ?Big Fish? tales and the occasional ?A Mermaid seduced me in a lifeboat? anecdote. This dear fellow that we are considering for membership went on a worldwide anti-NANA-slander campaign to undo the besmirchment my reputation had taken when the aforementioned Conspiracy Theory took hold in the world press. Without him I would have never been elected to parliament and surely my recording sales would have taken a hit. So I say YEA.

Monday, October 10, 2005

Thir-Team Meeting Part Five

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Uhm...guys? I don't think that was really Marie Osmond talking before me. I've done a few tales about doppelgangers and, believe me, that's not a very convincing simulacrum, eh? The costume folk for Doctor Who (or even Kolchak) wouldn't have even approved that cheap shit. We might need to strike 'her' testimonial and vote from the record...although, I do agree with 'her' sentiment about our potential new member (well...not the cute part). That long as he's not the same fellow that used to send his Penthouse Forum-type letters into Surfing Magazine when I was editing it back in the day. If that's the same guy we may want some clarification about what he really meant by 'Corn-Fogging' himself whilst watching a History Channel program on the creation of the Louisville Slugger. The Truth is out know what I mean.

Thir-Team Meeting Part Four

Image hosted by'know how they say I'm a "Little Bit Country" and all that shit? the lyrics *really* meant was Mormonic clan and I were...kinda Globetrotters back in the day...y'know...visiting all the various countries on Earth; not like those Harlem cagers or nothing...although I've got a pretty good low-post game...kinda Rodmanian, if I do say so without as much flash. More like worldwide this Globetrotting of ours...safaris with...uhm...some Missionary work thrown in for good measure. Now...this guy we're here to talk about and vote on...he...*kaff*...he was with us during one of our jaunts through Borneo. Er...he, uh...we were immersing ourselves, Fossey-Style, into an orangutan community...including some very clever costumery--devised by this guy to boot--in order for us to blend in better and get a more of the Tribe (heh). It was soo...uh...'cute' when he mistakenly thought the orangutans scientific name, Pongo Pygmaeus, was actually Pongo Polygamous...but...erm...I blame that on the fact that he'd been essentially living with us Morms for the better part of three months and some of that Joe Smith preachin' is going to...heh...rub off on you when in close don't take that the wrong way or nothing...I swear we didn't 'marry' him off multiple times...though there was one she-orang that took pretty kindly to his attention...purely attention of a researchy...nature though it was. My brothers Donald, Melvin, Merrill, Alan, and Lil' Jimmy thought that was as well. And, you know what? That's exactly what this more Cute. So I for his joining our Cabal.

Thir-Team Meeting Part Three

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(mmmmm muh mmmm mm mmmm!!!) *skrtch* *skrtch* *skrtch* *thump* *thump* *skrtch* (mmm mmm hmmm!!! muh mmm)

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Unfortinate Lake Names in Minnesota: Part One

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Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Thir-Team Meeting Part Two

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Nance, I could give a rat's ass if this fruitbat gave his flippin' large intestine to a Double-Dutch team if they were one jump rope short of a good time...he's been harassin' me for the better part of two damn decades. Here...let me read you a little something from this 'fan letter' he sent me: "If you could autograph the bowl I've enclosed with this note it would make this Niners fan eternally grateful." Listen, people...first off he ain't no damn Niners fan...and secondly it was no damn BOWL he sent to me to was a freakin' codpiece. And check this bit out from the same letter: "The bowl will gain a place of honor in my home and, besides being a kickass memento, it will also pull double-duty as the vessel in which I serve my homemade French Onion Dip when I have dinner parties." The fuck is this shit? French Onion Dip served out of a codpiece? Larry Blackmon hopped up on goofballs wouldn't ever pull something as weird as this shit...and that guy knows his way around codpieces. This so-called 'fan' even telegrammed my agent (that's right...flippin' Western Union) wondering if I "taste better after a game," implying that my sweat would make an outstanding seasoning and, if in fact I *did* have an improved flavor, would I consider selling it during games for fans to salt their 'wieners' with. My agent and I were convinced he meant 'wieners' euphemistically...dirty fucker. Ergo: No fucking way is this guy getting a nod from me. T

Thir-Team Meeting Part One

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Look, you know how I feel about the guy. I mean...after the 'Incident' he was nice enough to offer to lop off his own leg and GIVE IT TO ME so I could continue to compete. He didn't even care that medical science was not advanced enough to successfully graft an entire leg to another person and have it work properly (not to mention the fact that, even if it had been possible, that I would have been woefully lop-sided--as I have about a foot *heh* on this charitable lout--and would have required a modified ice-skate to even me out on the rink. Fortunately I wasn't as injured as originally thought and he still has both his own pegs to totter about on...and considering his nickname that's a lot of tottering. It's the thought that counts, really. How many people do you know that have offered extremities to you to replace your own injured/maimed/missing ones? Word has it that he was in the process of Priority Mailing one of his own peepers (the non-lazy one) to Peter Falk before ol' Columbo's lawyers stopped the procedure from going forward. Astounding really...I mean...he was okay with the notion of an eyepatch...even rabidly so...something about a Pirate-Fixation...or maybe a James Joyce fanaticism...I dunno. But an empty ocular socket didn't even phase him. Hell, he probably would have suggested handing over his own head to the bean-less torso of John the Baptist himself if someone...maybe Jesus or some other miracleworker...would have been capable of fusing it to the unoccupied neck-hole. These failed 'donations'--real or imagined--alone speak volumes for the fellow and I vote YEA to electing him to our little Cabal. I'm even overlooking the fact that he did suggest at one time that I should have my teeth filed down to lessen my, as he put it, 'Equine Grimace.' T

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Mo Modern Day Omens

A lost homemade Captain America-style shield constructed of cardboard, Crayolas, and the blood, sweat, and tears of a trundling middle-aged fanboy lodged in your rain gutters strongly indicates that an imagined epic battle took place near your home between a fellow with delusions of being the Star-Spangled Avenger and your roof (which said 'hero' mistook for the French Villain, Batroc the Leaper). What this means for your future is the possibility of your being enlisted as Cap's sidekick, Bucky (complete with costume and mask and unsolicited rabid pawing/caressing/groping), OR that you'll be moving to a new home.


Monday, October 03, 2005

The Problem of Migrating Hyphens


1. A fellow worker; a colleague.


1. One who orks bovines; Mork's sexual leanings post-Happy Days, Pre-Mindy