Archive for the ‘Ditties’ Category

After chipping a tooth on my fiancée Muriel’s prosthetic clitoris, I knew life would never be easy. Muriel didn’t snore when she slept. Instead she did something more disturbing. Whenever she entered Deep REM sleep she’d emit a Dial Tone. A Dial Tone, like from Bell Labs. Very unnerving, although after about a month I figured out a way to call China, where prosthetic clitorises are made. So I ordered 2. One for her and one for me. I explained to Muriel, “This clitoris is great. Now I no longer have to go to sleep right after we make love.” To which she responded, “Oh is that what we were making?”

Did I mention she had no native intelligence? Instead she had Artificial Intelligence. From Hasbro. It might manifest itself like this: She’d put on scuba gear and go kayaking upside down in the lake. As Muriel maneuvered the kayak around the lake I’d see her capsized hull moving through the water while the occasional oar penetrated the surface from underneath.

If forewarned is forearmed, I should’ve heeded the birthmark located on her back: Best By MAY 2014. Muriel was so advanced and yet we met offline. Way offline. It was at a Pre-stressed Concrete Convention where concrete with mother issues went for counseling before their feelings hardened into an ossified mess. Muriel and I both worked there as counselors. Muriel would often sit before a couple of yards of pre-stressed concrete annealing in its rebar and advise, “If you think about it, not only are all politics local, but so is everything else.” That paradigm-busting advice usually did it and the concrete was no longer stressed. This relief worked for most concrete, but sometimes years later it cracked up in some form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

That’s when I told Muriel about the health benefits of local honey. She agreed and said she’d be my local honey. She’s so sweet. Early on Muriel would bring a lunch to church. I thought it was a bad idea saying, “You shouldn’t pray where you eat.” She cackled like a hen, because although she was my local honey she wasn’t immune to my humor.

Then she got me back. By now we were married and living in a 2 bedroom hive in a fashionable section of Compton. We went into the funeral business called Caskets with Friends. It did not go well. Between the ill-fated Frequent Diers Program and the sign advertising “Walk-ins Welcome” business was moribund. Well more or less moribund. Business also stunk, but that was more due to our poor embalming technique than anything else.

When I mentioned how we needed to refinish the coffee table she remarked, “David, as far as refinishing furniture goes we’ve only scratched the surface.” I couldn’t hold back any more and kissed her passionately. She got very excited and began emitting a Dial Tone. Then she suggested I try kissing her mouth next time.

Her brother Giovanni was one of those rare guys. Not only did he own a very expensive Ferrari, he also had a really big “Testarossa” if you know what I mean. How did I know? Well he lifted the hood one day and showed me. Muriel’s sister Gwen was a very fetching young lady and when I casually remarked to Muriel, “You’re sister Gwen is a beaut,” Muriel said, “How did you know she was a Butte? How did you even know she was from Montana?”

As the years passed we both agreed that time had gone by and although Muriel was well past her expiration date, so was I. We were 2 peas in a pod or bees in a honeycomb. Because she is my honey I’ll always love her sweetness.

Thunder-pumping piano man Jerry Lee Lewis was probably the least celebrated member of Sun Records’ Million Dollar Quartet whose other members were none other than Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash and Carl Perkins. You might even say he was the “quiet” Millionaire. Although taking into account his marriages (7), arrest records (almost as numerous as his musical records) and his addiction to moonshine, he was a very noisy Millionaire. Killer (as fast became his nickname) was not a paragon of virtue. In fact he wasn’t even a nice man. But in 1958 he was a high-flying Cajun, till it all came crashing to the ground in what was supposed to be a triumphant tour of jolly old England.

On the strength of Great Balls of Fire and Whole Lotta Shakin’ Going On, Jerry Lee Lewis was “the next thing” and in great demand . At 22 this hillbilly high school dropout probably felt a little invincible. Feeling a little invincible is like being a little bit pregnant. You either are or you aren’t and it’s important to know the difference. Sam Phillips, fabled owner of Sun Records and architect of the Million Dollar Quartet, had arranged an English tour to take advantage of “Killer’s” popularity and Mr. Lewis decided to bring his new bride, Myra Gale Brown. So far so good. Read the rest of this entry »

The Hubble Space Telescope, floating so serenely above the Earth’s muddy atmosphere, is uniquely qualified to penetrate into the farthest reaches of our uncharted universe. It methodically scans the celestial sphere searching for Star Clusters, Spiral Galaxies and Gas-Filled Quasars. While gazing into deep space recently, the Hubble Telescope glimpsed the most distant object in the universe. And no, I’m not referring to my father. These miraculous photographs are believed to be the first images ever taken from before the Big Bang, which occurred over 14 billion years ago (6,000 years ago for my Creationist friends). These remarkable pictures depict the sketchy outlines of a concerned father figure hovering over a child who appears to be experimenting with an unfathomably dense and infinitesimally small sphere called a singularity. While manipulating the singularity, the boy assures his father, “Don’t worry dad. I know what I’m doing. There’s no way it’s going to explo….”

Further studies of the singularity suggest it maintained its equilibrium by freely giving energy from areas of high concentration to areas of low concentration: From each area according to its ability, to each area according to its need. Astrophysicists have labeled this perfect redistribution of power, “Communism. Pure and simple.”  Read the rest of this entry »

I’ll spare you the indignity of bad puns and obvious analogies…in my next story. Meanwhile, prepared to be slimed!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To be read slowly. 

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Upon authoring a major book, it is always appropriate to thank the people instrumental in its publication. This is more commonly referred to as the Acknowledgement section of a book and is invariably appended to its end, just prior to the Index. The acknowledgement is where the author usually thanks his saintly mother for the use of her loins in birthing him and possibly his graduate research assistant for something very similar. Now I’ve yet to write my Magnum Opus or even my Mini Opus, but to stay ahead of the game I’ve decided to prepare my Acknowledgement section in advance so that when it comes time to write the book I won’t procrastinate with the excuse; “Well I’ve got this great idea all laid out, but I just can’t bring myself to write the stupid Acknowledgement.” Therefore it is with the utmost gratitude and humility I present:

 

Acknowledgements

I would be remiss if I didn’t express my profound gratitude to myself for my unique connection to the All-Being through whose grace I’ve been privy to things civilians could never access. Through the intercession of our Lord I’ve been able to produce such a magnificent work. I thank Him for recognizing my brilliance. Being a chosen one was not my idea. Really, I had no choice in the matter. But since its incumbent upon me to appear grateful and to give the reader a sense of the book’s gravity by referring to a vast network of unseen assistants supporting the effort, I should probably pretend to give credit where credit isn’t due. Read the rest of this entry »

The Winter Olympics are to the Summer Olympics as Arena Football is to the NFL. And while I hope everyone enjoys the Winter Olympics, I’m going to pay about as much attention to them as I do to the San Jose SaberCats. The XXII Winter Olympics are being held in a place called Sochi. Sochi is a popular Russian resort town (pop. 343,000) on the Black Sea. But to me Sochi will always be the cute little nickname I used to call my first girlfriend. It’s remarkable to me there’s such interest in the Winter Olympics considering the entire wintry spectacle is based on nothing more than sliding. Sliding around on some kind of frozen water.  

In actuality there are really just two events – sliding on skis and sliding on skates. And if you think about it, there’s really just one event because skates are just very small skis used for sliding. And somehow from this singular principle of controlled sliding the Olympic Committee has concocted 88 distinct events all involving sliding around on solid H2O. And they’re even awarding medals depending on how fast, accurately or artistically you can control your sliding. Countries take this very seriously and spend a lot of money sending their best sliders to the Games.   Read the rest of this entry »

If you’re like me, (and I assume you’re not) then when you plug an electrical cord into an outlet, you invariably misalign the prongs at least 80% of the time so you have to flip them over and plug it in the other way. This bitter harvest of life will not stand. We all know famine and genocide are awful, but this…this is intolerable. That stupid fat prong that has done nothing to help mankind except preventing one little old lady from Pasadena getting shocked when she knocked her denture cup all over her Craftmatic bed. I would never have agreed to the use of electricity if I knew I’d have to contend with this thick pronged abomination. And since no one asked me, and electricity is everywhere, it makes my hypocrisy that much easier to ignore.

Any of this sound familiar? It shouldn’t. I just made it all up. You are the first one to lay eyes on it and that makes you special (pronounce special as spatial). It’s fun. Go ahead try it. Say out loud, “That makes you spatial.” Read the rest of this entry »

 

 

Boston MA – Seven teammates on the World Series champion Boston Red Sox are believed to be descendants of former President Rutherford B Hayes. The connection was discovered quite by accident when a genealogist at Ancestry.com saw an eerie similarity in their facial hair. After doing some research that can best be described as superficial, genealogist Kenneth Conigliaro explained, “At first I thought they’d descended from the Smith Brothers Cough Drops family, but on closer examination I detected a genetic similarity common to the facial hair of all 7 and sure enough all beards pointed to Rutherford B Hayes.”

 

When asked about slugger David Ortiz, Mr. Conigliaro offered; “Big Papi is from Santo Domingo and is not at all related to President Hayes. Genetic markers indicate he’s related to Nixon who spent time there in the early 60’s when he was having a personality installed as he readied himself for the ’68 campaign.” To buttress his evidence Mr. Conigliaro noted that Mr. Ortiz has a cat named Agnew. In tracing the relatives of President Hayes, Conigliaro believes Rutherford B Hayes is related to both Susan B Anthony and Johnny B Goode – by middle initial. After stating he hopes the Red Sox win the Super Bowl next year too, Mr. Conigliaro was led away by a very nice man holding a butterfly net.

In the thrilling celebratory moments after the last strike, David Ortiz was asked what he was going to do now that he was World Series MVP. He excitedly bellowed, “I’m going to that restaurant in the Bronx where Michael Corleone killed Sollazzo. I hear they’ve got the best veal in the city.”

 

My little daughter Lisa and I always enjoyed strolling by the tidy homes and the babbling brook that lazily meandered through our idyllic neighborhood. We especially looked forward to strolling by the Heller residence. Not so much for the Heller’s, but for their 3 kitties who were always out front, lolling in and around the shrubs, suggesting a microcosm of their much bigger feline cousins who patrolled the fearsome African Savannas. Lisa would ask me why the kitties were always sleeping. I told her they needed their sleep. That if they didn’t get in their 22 hours they’d be exhausted the next day. She said she wished she was a kitty so she could sleep and dream all day too.

As we approached the Heller’s house we would coo our unique telltale catcall which caused the kitties to spring to attention and pitter patter down the driveway to greet us with great kitty enthusiasm. Of course being cats, just before they got within petting distance, they’d peel off and act disinterested until the notion of having their ears rubbed became irresistible. Then they’d swarm around us like a colony of bees, because they knew our visit meant one thing – 5 minutes of uninterrupted kitty shmushing. Ears were rubbed, scruffs were tugged and bellies were shamelessly exposed (usually the cats’). It was a beautiful display of human-feline affection. The only downside was that occasionally their fur would stick to our tongues. Read the rest of this entry »