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After a moment of reflection I remembered something my father told me many years ago; “Ask not for whom the bridge tolls, for it tolls for thee.”

Sector Q Counterinsurgency Task Force – Alpha Group 

Dateline Yemen:

Corpsman: The combatants have dug in at the oasis just beyond the mirage.

Captain: Good work soldier. We need to know their numbers. How many enemy Yemeni are there?

Corpsman: Iraq my brain and I still don’t know how many enemy Yemeni.

Captain: This is really what I’m asking you.

Corpsman: What Israeli?

Captain: Oh, please be Syrias. We’ll need our face masks for the firefight. Where are they?

Corpsman: I am being serious. Damascus on the table. They were very expensive.  

Captain: Yeah the masks were expensive; Egypt us.

Corpsman: Who jipped us?

Captain: No. Who, is the guy on first base.

Corpsman: What about that Jew on second?

Captain: Lowenstein is not a Jew. That Israeli true. Ikanstan this anymore. I’m too old and my knees hurt. And no matter how much they hurt – you can’t Sudanese.

Corpsman: Oman. That is really true.You can’t sue the knees but you can Suez.

Captain: That Israeli true. Tell me about it. In fact Tel Aviv.

Corpsman: OK. Hey Aviv. Do you know how many enemy Yemeni are at the oasis?

Aviv: No, the whole thing’s a mirage. Fallujah, didn’t I?

Shoo fly shoo!

 

Flies in the buttermilk

Shoo fly shoo!

 

Flies in the buttermilk

Shoo fly shoo!

 

Skip to my Lou my darling

This traditional children’s nursery rhyme seemed innocent enough until the flies made a federal case out of it. Few realized then that Flies v. Old MacDonald would become a rigorous litmus test for future Supreme Court nominees. Offshore Law Review Quarterly has published a summary of the case, and, with their implied verbal permission, I’ve reprinted it below. Read the rest of this entry »

The Immaculate Conception may be the most mysterious explanation a wife ever gave a husband for carrying someone else’s baby. But when God comes-a-knockin’, what are you supposed to say, “Not tonight Lord, I’m shampooing.” His will be done. If he can make the the Mississippi River and the Rocky Mountains, he can certainly make this serenely humble peasant from Nazareth. To those who dismissively say, “The Immaculate Conception is inconceivable,” I say go choke on your contradiction in terms. I mean you’ll doubt the Immaculate Conception, but you’ll fully embrace Pringle’s and OctoMom. What is wrong with you people?

Let the skeptics chortle in smug elitism at the improbability of the Immaculate Conception. My truth is in possessing a strong affinity for Nativity scenes. I’m drawn to them like a vegaholic to a salad bar. I’ve always been this way. Maybe it’s because I was born in a Bingo Parlor. Maybe it’s because my favorite hat is a crown of thorns. But for whatever reason, frankincense and myrrh were at the top of my Christmas list. Mom never new quite what to do with them so for about a month after Christmas she’d make us frankincense and myrrh sandwiches for our school lunches or F&Ms as we called them. My attraction to mangers is so compelling that to this day I sleep on a bed of straw. It’s very transformative. In fact I used to sleep in a chilly barn, but mother made me stop because I kept waking up a little hoarse. Read the rest of this entry »

With tender apologies to all who’ve been devastated by the obscenity of suicide, I offer an irreverent antidote to this sorrowing scourge. Yes, a light-hearted look at a different way of dying. Can it be done? Well, I’ll try to walk this tightrope with the same delicacy as the late aerialist Karl Wallenda did. Mr. Wallenda, you’ll recall, died doing what he loved most – plummeting to earth at terminal velocity.  And in the spirit of Mel Brooks embracing the brutal outrage of Nazis in “The Producers”, I endeavor to do the same with the sad barbarity of suicide. But whereas Mr. Brooks had talent, I can only offer chutzpah. I really hope you like this piece, because if you don’t I swear I’ll kill myself.

Few things are as ugly and sobering as suicide. Among the infernal competition of berserk human expressions, suicide always medals. It’s a depressing subject that usually isn’t discussed much or written about; and I know what you’re thinking – Why did it take so damn long for someone to develop luggage with wheels on it. My God, it was like dragging an 80lb. headstone through the airport sometimes. Wouldn’t it be easier to, oh I don’t know, put some wheels on this manhole cover.                               You were thinking that weren’t you? Read the rest of this entry »

I’m drawn to North Korea in the same way my morbid interests are drawn to the wreckage of a spectacular car crash. As I squeamishly peer through minimally separated fingers at this twisted hulk of a country, I can almost write the accident report myself:

It appears a hereditary Communist personality cult doing about 160 kmh purposely swerved into the High Occupancy Human lane and careened into a swarming mass of faceless people doing absolutely nothing. This collision of irresistible forces and listless masses resulted in a catastrophe of unspeakable ideological carnage, otherwise known as North Korea. Please note: This report to remain confidential pending the notification of next of Kim.

North Korea is not dysfunctional. Lindsay Lohan is dysfunctional. North Korea is a bizarre celebration of national dystrophy. It’s Disneyland in reverse – It’s the unhappiest place on earth. Even though the Korean War scarred the country immeasurably, it’s people are not suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. They’re suffering from Current Traumatic Stress Disorder. It’s citizens would be convulsing in disbelief had they not been placed in a government-induced coma that shields them from the gravity of their illness. After the war North Korea circled the wagons, hunkered down and guillotined anyone who refused to participate in mass gymnastics events. I mean their three branches of government are Threats, Reprisals and Amputations. North Korea is the worst case of Plan Continuation Bias since New Coke was brought to market. Read the rest of this entry »

*we’re just choosing to be straight

 Note to readers: The opinions expressed are not necessarily the author’s even though he wrote every word and there are no other sources.

 

 Preamble

We hold this truth to be self-evident. That nothing is always and forever. Institutions once considered permanent have come and gone. All My Children, Leif Garrett and Spirograph come to mind. Not that I considered them permanent, they just come to mind. Everything we celebrate or deprecate will disappear eventually which is OK for Rap music and Velveeta, but not so good for friends and lovers. Where it all goes to I have my own giddy inklings. But for today I’m not here to pull back the curtain and reveal what’s behind it (Wish I could?). Today I’m here to focus on one sliver of God’s creation – homosexuality. We owe homosexuality a great debt. The peerless Leonardo da Vinci’s was très gay. Without him the Renaissance would’ve taken place 100 years later and Apple would still be apple. How would we survive in the 21st century without our Swiss Army iPhones? Of course there are problems which continue to hector mankind. My problem is trying to keep Nathan Hale, Ethan Allen and Nathan Lane straight. Especially that Nathan Lane. Read the rest of this entry »

 

Sculptress Gretel Muffet lived in an artists loft in the NoHo section of New York City; an area so named for its complete lack of prostitution. An ardent soul possessing more self-confidence than she really needed, Gretel usually looked to her grandfather Peter Muffet for guidance. Peter was one of those proud old WWII veterans who refused to discuss his war time experiences even though he merely served stateside as a baker. With this kind of role model it’s easy to account for her occasional absurdity. She was crazy about the old coot and whenever anyone asked why she revered her grandfather she’d sigh, “Oh for the love of Pete.”

Gretel was the first to admit she wasn’t very tightly wrapped. After all, she believed restrooms should be segregated not by gender, but by the concavity of one’s belly button. In her world all restroom doors would be marked either Innie or Outie. “Compliance,” Gretel averred, “would be verified with electronic navel readers so you’re either in or you’re out.” Her friends quietly agreed with her while smugly thinking, “Doesn’t this whack job know that nature has already predetermined who’s an Innie and who’s an Outie?”

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Toyota Motors Corporation, makers of the landmark Prius, has unveiled game changing technology with the rollout of their triumphant new model, the Toyota Coitus. In a press release today Toyota confirmed what had long been whispered – that engineers had outfitted stock hybrid Prius models with Regenerative Vaginas® transforming them from plain Jane eco-drudges to sleek, high-performance runway models. The Regenerative Vagina works similarly to the regenerative brakes on the Prius, but ‘vive la différence.‘ How does it work? Well, simply put, these eco-friendly regenerative dynamos miraculously harness the electrical power of each outbound stroke and feed the juice right back into her power grid. Simply amazing – you “drive it home” and the synergies you share with your Coitus actually creates more energy than it uses. You’ll bond instantly with this model. And because it’s equipped with a Catalytic Contraceptive Converter, the only thing to come out of the tailpipe is just a little appreciation. The engine employs decidedly primitive, but historically popular 2 stroke technology inspired by the same classic maneuver practiced by Adam & Eve long before the dawn of assembly lines.

 

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The Sutcliffes were a closely knit English family of homebodies. War bride Astrid was a stay at home mom. Her husband Stuart telecommuted to work and the children were all home schooled. One of the children even stayed in his room and telecommuted to home school. Every summer they’d take a 2 week staycation right there in the house. When they dined out it was always drive-thru so they could all eat together in their ’55 Vauxhall Velox.

The Sutcliffes were a tightly woven group consisting of two heterosexual parents and four very talented lads (Jon, Bongo, Peter and Gordon). Although living in a 900 square foot council house in Sussex they neither suffered from cabin fever nor tired of each other’s company. The two younger boys, Peter and Gordon, lived in the basement or Cavern as they called it. And things went along swimmingly until they took in an Asian exchange student named Yuki who appealed to the avant garde Jon. Thus were the seeds of the family’s dissolution sown. Despite two more years of chart success the family broke apart and each of the sons launched solo careers.

Bongo went on to do great things; if you consider creating an adult board game called “Shoots-n-Cleavage” a public good. The game left most couples well bonded but a little messy.

Gordon went to Oklahoma looking for enlightenment but found only Enid. He thought its capitol an OK City.

The sweetly disposed Peter became a vegetarian though from time to time he would nibble on his wife’s ear.

The darkly utopian Jon and Yuki opened a string of rope shops and soon tied the knot. For a time they were the most fascinating couple in the world.

Just another old yarn about the unraveling of a closely knit family. They never reunited rendering their legacy all the more poignant.