Midget Monkey Pirate Clown

I realize I'm getting older, just as I realize we're ALL getting older.  I just didn't think I was getting, you know, OLD.


So I'm sitting in front of the television, not watching.  A commercial is on.  I am not watching the commercial, and, considering how my mind works, I am not hearing it, because I am not watching it.  My mind is not stupid, however, so when My Darling Wife calls to me from the other room, her particular frequency is detected, identified, and a response quickly prepared.


"Hey is that a commercial?"


"Yes"


"What commercial is that?  That's the Buzzcocks."  She's a fan. 


"Hold on." 


Now I focused my attention on the commercial.  Now it was a problem to be solved.  Only, once I solved it, I didn't want the answer I found.  I knew she wouldn't want to hear the answer either.


That's right.  I couldn't believe it.  And you know who was on the first page of their website?  (well, probably, since you should have just clicked on it)


THIS guy:




Do you remember when he was cool?  Yeah, it was a while ago.  That was when the Buzzcocks released that song.  So, for those of you playing at home,  which of these guys represented a musical revolution, kicking the dust of the Sixties and the glitter of disco off their pointy shoes?  Which one wrote songs to make young girls cry?  Which ones look like they could be friends with your dad?    ONE  TWO  THREE or FOUR? 


Discuss.



Best,


Mr. P.

I try not to believe anything as outlandish as this until sources are confirmed, but: 

PORTLAND, Ore. (AP) -- An 84-year-old woman accused of attempted rape involving an 11-year-old boy in her foster care has pleaded guilty to a lesser charge after confessing to having sex with the child, prosecutors said Thursday.

Geez.  Would anyone care to give this story a punchline? 

Best,
Mr. P.

  A story I stumbled across today surprised even the cynical Mr. P.  Hypocritical arrogance is boundless it seems.  J'Accuse!:

OFFICIALS from the Government agency championing the fight against climate chaos have taken 60 gas-guzzling domestic flights in the last year.

Environment Agency Wales (EAW) have been sending its staff on an air trip less than every two weeks - at the same time as urging everyone else to use other means of transport.

and later in the same article:

But short-haul flights are the most polluting way to travel, emitting three times more carbon dioxide than trains. Every one of the eight known destinations EAW's staff have flown to since September 2005 can be easily reached by rail.

There's no limit to what behaviors people who think they know more than you will forgive themselves for. 

I've done a few more 100words, too.  Here's the most recent.  The theme is optimist.

Okay, a conference call on paperwork is calling me.

Happy Friday.

Best,
Mr. P.

We will not be hosting a New Year's Eve party this year.  With the Mrs. out of town for so long just recently, we just don't have it in us.  I can hear the livers weeping all over this fair city.  Sorry. 

My Darling Wife has sent her book off to the copyright place, which means the re-writes are done.  Please congratulate her on two-plus years of effort.  As good as it is, I don't expect to retire until we sell the movie rights.  First novels don't pay too much, I hear.  Keep those fingers crossed, though, as there's a lot of sitting around I have planned for the future.

She's at the airport now, picking up Superspy Nick Ryan, and we'll be off to Moon River shortly.  I've written the End-of-the-Year toast, which I'll post after it's delivered.  Or not at all.  Who knows.

Best to you and yours.  Stay off the streets this weekend.  Ooh, she's home.  See you at the bar.

Best,
Mr. P.

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: His Most Serene Highness Lord Parx the Abstemious of London by the Bow Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

Abstemious is not a word generally associated with me. 

Had some big fun last night with the brother-in-law and Doc Holloway.  After a few tipples at Moon River, we sallied forth to the Rail for darts, Guinness, and free peanuts.  Home before midnight, Mr. Holloway didn't trust himself to drive, and elected to recuperate in our spare room.  However, he was still full of joy from his eight Beam-and-Gingers, and kept the Mrs. up with the chatting and the music making until 3:00am, while I dozed on the couch, awaiting the end of the evening.  Now it's 11:00, he's still asleep, My Darling Wife arose an hour ago, but is now snoozing on the same couch.  I have some Christmas shopping to do, so I wish he'd wake up.

Best,
Mr. P.

Good news, My Darling Wife's grandfather is home and well.  He lasted lying around on the couch for about half a day before he got stir crazy and started in on the errands and projects. 

Better news, the Mrs. will be home tomorrow night, and will be off work all next week.  Hopefully, I will too, but I may have to go in at least one day.

Worser news, I have to clean the house.  It has been a holiday season full of social engagements I forgot about until the last minute, and have kept putting things off to go to them. 

Worst news - I will be taking call for at least part of Christmas day.  I'm sure no one will become suicidal on Christmas, right? 

Other news:  My 100words entry from the previous post was selected and moved to the front page.  That's an honor I hadn't achieved before, but now I've had it bestowed upon me twice in a week.

Could just be due to fewer overall submissions.  Or, maybe these two were really coooooool. 

Work has been delightfully calm this week, but we will very likely be increasing business two or three-fold in the upcoming year.  That's. Just. Great.  I have new addition to my men's group this afternoon, who I guess is hoping to learn how not to punch and choke his girlfriend. I wonder what I'll come up with. 

Happiest of holiday wishes, to my eight readers.  We'll get the cult up and running next year, I promise.  Get your sandals polished.

Best,
Mr. P.

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 172 days since my last posting. As I type this, I am awaiting six developmentally disabled, schizophrenic people to come in for assessments. They should have been here nine minutes ago, so they're probably not coming. That gives me quite a bit of free time, today.

Speaking of which, one of my favorite websites has returned. 100 Words or Les Nessman is now 100WordStories. This is my first submission since the resurrection. Today's theme is

"There is a fat man in your bathtub."

In other news, My Darling Wife is out of town, visiting her Grandfather, drinking his homemade hooch, and sharing the last few smokes before his surgery. He is the living proof of that old adage, "If you smoke cigarettes every day for seventy years, you'll live to a ripe old age." Send him some good thoughts, as he is a total badass. The Mrs. was telling me yesterday how he was driving her to the liquor store, showing her how fast his car could go. Eighty three years young, in a tight white T-shirt, jeans, and mechanic's jacket.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I have another doctor's appointment this afternoon, wherein I expect to be admonished for gaining weight and still getting no exercise.

A lot has happened in 172 days. To me and to the world. So much so, that I think I'll skip most of it, and start with today (or thereabouts).  For your viewing pleasure, here is a heartwarming video of an enormous shark playing with his friend, a seal.


Best,
Mr. P.

Some gems here.  All need jokes or headlines to go with them. 

Marezy Doats, Demoted Goats

Just a quote for this one:

The driver was not hurt. The pelican needed surgery for a broken foot, and also had a gash on its pouch.


And finally, "Artificial External Abdominal Incubation?  Well I'll Be!"

Oh, wait.  This one, too:

PETALUMA, Calif. - Animal control officers confiscated about 1,000 rats from the home of a 67-year-old man who they said was living in filthy conditions with the animals.

and the article closes with

In 2001, police arrested the Petaluma "cat woman," a former San Francisco real estate agent who was found with hundreds of cats crowded into a house she owned.

That sounds like a match made in heaven.  They should rename that town to Pet-A-Rama.  Or PetaLoona

Actually, there are even MORE weird animal stories.

There's a reason the trees are not full of cat skeletons.  You don't have to rescue 'em.  Although that guy should thank his lucky stars he wasn't rescued by this guy.

Here's the one I need some help with.  What's the joke?  And is there a better headline than:

Canine, Craving Crullers, Creates Costly Catastrophe.

This one's only about hot dogs.  We'll never catch the Japanese at this rate.

And another weiner tale.  In the interest of taste, or, uh, decorum, I wil leave the MANY jokes here to your imagination.  I already thought of 20 or so. 


That's probably plenty.  Let's stop there.

Best,
Mr. P.

Blogging the play-by-play of the PokerStars blogger Tournament - If you don't want to read about my poker exploits, skip this post.

Oh, the ironey!

But wait, there's more.  Be sure to read the last paragraph.

Uh, apple, peach, blueberry, coconut cream, chocolate cream, banana cream, mud, shoo-fly, um, that's about it.

Jeeps are tricky to break in to, unless you know how to work a zipper.  Keeping valuables inside is ill-advised.

This one needs a better headline.

But let's make this one a contest:

Junker told the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel he volunteered to join the German Waffen-SS, Hitler's feared special police, in 1940 and served in Russia. He came to the United States in 1955 and worked as a janitor in Chicago. He bought 120 acres in Walworth County 43 years ago to farm.

He set up the shrine to correct what he called inaccuracies about the war and Hitler's role in it. He told the newspaper he doesn't believe Hitler was to blame for starting the global conflict, in which 50 million people died, including some 6 million Jews in the Holocaust.

What's funny about this to me is that he isn't a holocaust denier, he just differs as to WHO STARTED IT.  Write the perfect headline or punchline, and I'll send you a fabulous prize Once Owned By, But No Longer Desired By, Mr. Parx.  All entries become the property of MiMoPiCloInc.

Okay, poker and boxing tonight at the Parxes.  Stop on by.

Best,
Mr. P.