Archive for the ‘Ditties’ Category

Red Loin Hotels: Championing Gay Geriatric Sexuality for almost 2 weeks (In other words, we’re trying to increase our occupancy rate)

No matter how old you are, age is something you always have.  And as you approach your twilight years Red Loin Hotel chain recognizes the special needs homosexuals of a certain age may require. And that’s why not only are we gay-friendly, but we’re also LGBT-compliant even though we have no idea what the B or the T stand for. Our marketing department can worry about that. We simply want to get the message out to people who enjoy similarly equipped people, that we’ve taken concrete steps to ensure your stay with us is both memorable and unforgettable; even though memorable and unforgettable both mean the same thing. Our marketing department can worry about that. We had earlier taken wooden steps to ensure your stay with us was memorable, but we found the concrete steps were more enduring and so will you.

Therefore it is with great pleasure we present Red Loin’s gay-friendly amenities:  Read the rest of this entry »

Zen and the Art of Nothing.

I know what I want to say I just don’t know how to say it. So in this case we’ll just let nature adore a vacuum. And don’t bother depressing the Read the rest of the entry>> link below – it’s depressed enough.

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My Gym is great, but the basketballs are way to small.

Perspective

The 2016 Apple iCar. Think differently. Way, way differently. Way, way, way differently..

Apple Corporation whose Midas touch has yielded an unbroken string of innovative and advanced products has whiffed mightily on its latest venture: the Apple iCar. I’m sad to report this Apple is a lemon. Although the iCar was Voted Car of the Year for 2015, what Apple failed to mention is that it was voted car of the year by the National Towing Association.  

As expected Apple has made the shopping experience unique. Instead of buying the car, you “bob” for it. The company announced a hybrid model whose gasoline engine is supplememted by the buyers own sense of self-importance. The iCar comes in two versions prompting one marijuana-dazed customer to comment, “Wow man. It comes in 2 virgins. That’s frickin’ amazing. How’d they get it to do that?”   

Each iCar contains an authenticated tear-stained note from a desperate Foxconn worker who helped build it in China. These workers are constantly reminded that Apple means Jobs. This wordplay confused the workers causing one to remark, “Of course Apple means Jobs. But is it Steven or the actual job?”

A test drive revealed the Apple iCar  possesses crisp handling, but is decidedly low-tech. Evidently engineers let one of the cars ferment. And that’s how one bad car spoiled the whole bunch of them. The vehicle does, however, come with a touch screen that allows for “good touches.” Or for an extra fee you can get a touch screen that allows for “bad touches.”  The new iCar is powered by a search engine that doesn’t seem to know where it’s going. As if it’s always looking for something. Apple says the car should be parked in a cool, dry cellar. If it’s left outside too long it tends to get mealy.

One bright spot for Apple is the iCar’s crashworthiness. The car is dent-resistant, although it does bruise rather easily. To restore the finish to its usual luster just fog it with your breath and buff it out. If you’re offered one (especially by a saleslady named Eve), you’d better think twice about sinking your teeth into it. 

I hope you find these apple metaphors a-peeling.

Better luck on their next venture – the iCondom. Supposedly this one also comes in 2 models…I mean, if you’re lucky.

I get it. Thumbs up.

The theme of this piece is me. How appropriate. Theme, the me, me. It’s all one idea in 5 letters. I can’t remember a time when it wasn’t about me. But how did I, David Nostradamus, get discovered at the advanced age of 55? I would never have predicted it. 55 is a time when men of a certain ­­­­­­age are coping with their wife’s menopause. Not me. Instead I became incrementally famous – not virally, but larvally.

With so much noise in the channel how does a Baby Boomer compete with InstaBook and FaceChat? The answer is, you don’t compete. You transcend. I didn’t so much go viral as I went larval. You see I’m a slow burn. Some might even say I’m an acquired taste and now that I’m well-aged and have developed complex flavonoids, I’m very tasty indeed. And this is not just wishful thinking; it’s an empirical judgment. For example, at a recent barrel tasting of my work at the offices of New Yorker Magazine in Altoona, PA, all agreed my latest think piece on Monica Lewinsky went down very easy. And even though it’s a stale topic and a cheap joke it was unable to mask the superb notes of organic brilliance and herbaceous luminosity in each sampled sentence. These palette pleasing phrases indicated the indigenous soil from which the story sprang was not only incredibly fertile, but also really dirty. And I had no trouble dishing the dirt. Read the rest of this entry »

Early DC. Virginia eventually reclaimed its unused gift west of the Potomac.

Dear Maria,

Good evening and hello. We’ll just assume it’s evening. It reads better that way. It appears your next adventure in this journey we call “life” remands you to the District of Columbia (originally a 10 mile square tilted cube until 1846 when Virginia retroceded its portion back into the state leaving Maryland’s cession as the location of present day DC.). You are both fortunate and burdened to have your intellectual capacities exercised to the degreee they will be in DC (The extra e in degreee was intentional, although it serves no purpose, in much the same way long parenthetical entries are more confusing than enlightening – agreed? Agreed!). Yes Maria, your lot in life will soon revolve around DuPont Circle (formerly DuPont Square, but numerous revolutions have rounded its corners rendering it DuPont Circle). Read the rest of this entry »

Give us this day our daily kitty, as we would give kitties unto others.

I’m so crazy-go-nuts for our rescue cat. I spend way too much time nuzzling her. She’s smusher-dependent and I’m smusher-codependent, so we’re very compatible. I enable her cuddlemorphic binges by making sure her furry ears are properly smushed every 30 minutes. She in turn uses her little sandpaper tongue to keep my eyebrows sparklingly groomed – like they’ve been threaded or something. She is like a cuddly drug that’s good for what ails you.

Her formal name is Joan. Yes. Joan the cat. Her nickname is Midge, but I usually end up calling her BubBay or if I’m feeling a little frisky I may resort to BooBay or (if I’ve eaten too much of her Science Diet) BooBooheimer. As in “How’s daddy’s little BooBooheimer today.” And she understands everything I say. It’s so rewarding to be fully understood when you make baby talk.

Here are some snatches of dialogue I lapse into whenever I get near her. It’s not really dialogue because that would suggest 2 people are talking. And even if she only says, “Meow,” I hear her loud and clear:

“Who’s the best kitty in the world? It’s you isn’t it? Well yes it is. You’re a ThunderKitty with superpowers and when they make a Superhero movie based on your superior fluffiness, I’ll be your agent and make sure you get a Cat Trailer filled with aged mice.” Read the rest of this entry »

Way too soon and with a thousand apologies I submit the newest marketing slogans for Malaysia Airlines:

• We’re still the safest airline in the world. Based in Malaysia 
• Now selling half-way tickets.
• The only airline with odds.
• If you’re flying another airline all we can say is, “Chicken!”

• Proving that what goes up doesn’t necessarily come down.
• We must be safer now. All our bad luck has been used up.
• Win-Win. You either arrive safely or rest assured your loved ones will receive a handsome insurance settlement.
• Statistically we’re still safer than jumping into an active volcano.
• We recognize that man’s ultimate destination is God’s Kingdom. We just try to get you there faster.

What Steve Martin looks like in a photograph. He’s actually much bigger.

Selfie taken at 4:30 a.m. I’m the one in the glasses. “Does Steve even know I exist?”

Dear Mr. Martin,

First of all please recognize this communication as the least creepiest form of stalking ever devised. Nonetheless do recognize it as at least some form of stalking. Second of all, I don’t have a “second of all.” May this most attenuated of warnings be a motivator for you to either Like, Nudge or Poke me (depending on the form of social media you employ). I request this not to feed my outsized sense of entitlement, but to feed something very similar to it. Again, some might call this stalking, but you and I know better due to our connection which you’ll shortly establish with me.

I was going to signal my willingness to receive your acknowledgement by writing a screenplay entitled Being Steve Martin, but Charlie Kaufman beat me to that entrée. Besides being alive on the planet simultaneously, you and I have much in common; and I’m not just referring to our love of chutneys. No, Mr. Martin (May I call you Steve?). Thank you. No Steve, besides the fact that we have both “hung out” with Edie Brickell’s husband Paul Simon (You at his house, and me at a concert he performed recently with Sting for which I had the privilege to pay $250 to “hang out” with him. I presume you paid nothing for the same privilege), our worlds have occasionally intersected. For example, my sister and I hung out with you at the Syracuse War Memorial in 1977 back when you were getting paid to be funny on purpose. Lots of other people showed up too so I doubt you noticed me. There is even a picture of the event in your book “Born Standing Up.” That’s me unseen in the background. Just like it is right now. If you stop reading this and look out into space, that’s me right there; only you can’t quite see me. Not yet anyway. Certainly this is nothing for you to worry about. Especially since we’re only in the early stages of our friendship. Read the rest of this entry »

Pantheism ~ When one God just isn’t enough. 

Stillwell, Darnell et al. Feelin’ it. Tonight’s gonna be a good, good night.

The Gods, also known as the powers that be, are overheard kibitzing in the cloak roam amidst a collection of robes, togas and laurel wreaths when Stillwell (not his real name) conspiratorially leans over to Darnell (his real name) and unctuously announces, “Localized Consciousness. It’s the next big thing.” Darnell heartily agrees saying, “Yeah, why should we keep all this exquisite awareness to ourselves. Let’s exhibit some spiritual largesse and create some soulful spin-offs. Nothing too large mind you. We don’t want to be challenged in any meaningful way, we just want to be amused.”

Stilwell:          That’s what I’m saying. I call it Localized Consciousness and it’ll give the natives illusory fits. We’ll create them in our image using the evolutionary system. That will be the first dichotomy. They’ll think they’re really separate and distinct from everything else. They’ll confuse independence for isolation when the entire time we’re all one and we love them exceptionally.  

Darnell:          Well I’m all for it but we’ll have to create a playpen big enough to overawe the so-called individual and his “Localized Consciousness.” He thinks he’s really that person in the mirror, identifying completely with the body and its senses. If they really knew how serene our heaven is, they’d never sweat a thing on earth and that Lennon song Imagine would have to be retitled Reality.

Stillwell:         (affects “jazz hands” as he conjures up power) Boom! Done. (And the universe as we know it, is before them)

Darnell:          Wow! That was one Big Bang. Maybe you could warn me next time.

Stillwell:         Here take this eye dropper and start animating these human vessels with a tincture of awareness. Use the short one for North Korea and that special one for Jesus, the Buddha, Moses and Bill Gates.

And so it came to pass that there was one insurance company that we all happily subscribed to. But Lucifer tempted mankind with ill-gotten booty and a great fraud was perpetrated in the Garden of Indemnification which begat the multi-headed hydra of AFLAC, GEICO and Progressive Insurance. And now no one knows Flo, from the gecko, from the duck. A Babel of coverages, riders and deductibles. The only real insurance is faith. Faith and an awareness in an incomprehensible power infinitely greater than ourselves. Ooooh.