Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

The Supposed Troubles of Jonah Scrimshaw

Ignorance is bliss…if you’re dumb.

Jonah Scrimshaw was never too keen on the whole earthly model of “Born, live and die.” It sounded too much like a rejected state motto. He resented being subject to the karma of a world he neither asked to be born into, nor had any say in how it was run. Revolutionary thinking? Hardly. It was simply the old Colonial quarrel of “No taxation without representation,” whereby the King (God) taxes us from afar as he sees fit, and we the people (souls) have no vote (influence) on how our fate is determined. As Jonah considered the implications of this argument, his heart raced, his mood soured and he developed a supremely unhip outbreak of jazz hands. Then he thought, “Maybe it would be better if I didn’t drink a 4-pak of Red Bull so close to bed.” Read the rest of this entry »

Right Angles…or at Least Correct Ones

Being shaped the way he was, Jim Katcavage fit into any square hole.

Foremost among Jim Katcavage’s many attributes is the ability to set your watch to his haircut. The Atomic Clock at the Bureau of Weights and Measures in Washington DC is less accurate than his crew cut. I actually owned this football card and found it to be the least inspiring card ever produced. This card spoke to me with the same passion as a man hole cover. I’m thinking it wasn’t Photo-shopped and was probably cropped by the Indiana Home for the Criminally Insane. The background color was selected by Zsa Zsa Gabor. And of course hair and make up was provided courtesy of General Motors. Suffice to say this card possesses the artistry of a blast furnace.

This “Big Ugly” grunted in the NFL trenches from 1956-68 — when men were stereotypes and “Mad Men” women were strictly scenery. I’d go back to the New Frontier, but I probably couldn’t see through the haze of Chesterfield cigarette smoke. I predict a mania is about to occur for this phosphorescently florid football card. Katcavage’s blockheaded still life will soon grow to iconic status much like Marvelous Marv Throneberry or Warhol’s soup cans did. Some will call this mania Kat Cavage Fever. Others will refer to him as The Fab One. The larger point is; Rosie Grier, Andy Robustelli, Dick Modzelewski and Jim Katcavage once formed a forbidding defensive line for the NY football Giants and their bravura performances and fierce camaraderie paved the way for what today we call luxury boxes.

Mr. Katcavage, who died in 1992, had his last haircut on October 28th, 1962. And although it grayed as he aged, it never dared to grow out in defiance of its owner’s wishes. He was the master of his hair follicles. When all the world was in tumult one merely had to look to his unerring crew cut and revel in the surety that there was indeed order in the cosmos. Time and tide stop for no man, but once upon a time, long ago, it did at least slow down for Big Jim Katcavage.

Unfathomable

Single testicled bathyscaphe ready for deployment.

Well off the coast of Japan in a tiny bathyscaphe, 35,000 feet below the ocean’s surface, two Navy SEALS conduct research deep within the Marianas Trench. The trench is an active earthquake region seven miles beneath the waves where the Pacific plate is being subducted underneath the Philippine plate. It is farther below sea level than Mt. Everest is above sea level. The outside pressure in these unfathomable inky depths is 1000 times greater than standard atmosphere. Nothing survives down here except for a lone Starbucks.

Inside the bathyscaphe there’s an eerie background din of whirring fans and humming battery packs pinging off the smooth white enamel paint. An other worldly reality pervades the spherical submersible as Colonel Jack Wisdom and Major Fillmore Artery meticulously unwrap that evening’s dinner rations and slowly begin chewing on their extruded sustenance. The now stuporous crew is obviously suffering from either too much or too little oxygen. They eyeball each other like a psychiatrist stares at his diploma; not knowing what to say, but knowing that if anyone does say something, it will be very significant.

Colonel Wisdom (his left foot resting on a ledge that warns in red stenciled letters: No Step): Y’know Major, I’ve known you for what, five years now. And in that time I’ve heard you talk a lot about how much you like pizza. <10 second pause, strokes his chin> But y’know something Major – In all that time I’ve never seen you actually eat pizza.

Major Artery: Hmmm. Wow. <10 second pause, strokes his chin> I guess that’s true – kinda like with you and bobble heads.

Colonel Wisdom: <10 second pause, strokes his chin>

Major Artery: <gazing wistfully out the porthole, strokes his chin> It looks so cool out there. When are we going to go outside for a walk on the lunar surface?

Colonel Wisdom: That sounds great Major. If we we’re on the moon you jack ass. <10 second pause, strokes his penis by mistake>

With that statement Col. Wisdom unthinkingly steps up on the ledge he’d been resting his foot on, which of course breaks off, causing him to rocket down the smooth enameled walls of the spherical bathyscaphe where, after a few pendulous swings up and down the interior surface, he comes to rest at the bottom sprawled out like an overturned turtle. Meanwhile Major Artery prepares for his space walk by donning scuba gear and stating, “I’m just gonna step out and get some fresh air.”

 

Author’s note: Do we continue the story?

 

 

 

BRIDGE AUTHORITY TAKES ITS’ TOLL

“Yes, this job does take a toll on me. And no, I hadn’t heard that before. That’ll be $12 now.”

Inching my way along the asphalt one Monday morning, I prepared to stop at the upcoming toll booth and pay $6 for the privilege of crossing a bridge that had been paid for nearly 30 years ago. Surely the nauseating regularity of this antiquated ritual, steeped in serfdom and mired in bureaucracy, can serve no useful purpose. I condemn the mindless acceptance of this medieval vestige. Why, why do we still countenance the noxious bottlenecks of resource depleting bridge tolls? I decry the baronial pleasure bridge authorities seem to delight in as they benignly coerce me into yet another galling tribute. I resent these gatekeepers who are poised with a chokehold on the people’s high trafficked arteries. Trolls should have receded into the dusty horizon of history like heliocentric heresies or bubonic plague. Why, why must we still pay these infernal bridge tolls?

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.”

Enemy Yemeni

Captain Abbott & Corpsman Costello clarify US Middle East policy

Frontline: The Middle East

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?

Trѐs Anglais

Three Sutcliffe boys (Gordon, Jon and Peter). Bongo had tonsilitis.

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 never 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 the 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.

Alimentary My Dear

The Pompous Ass

Executive Chef – Benito Agita                                        ~ MENU ~                                                       Sous Chef – Sue Scheff

12th of Never, 2044

Starters

Young Radishes, Baby Lettuces, Whatever the Hell those Little Tiny Corn on the Cobs are Called

Large Small Mouth Bass, Jumbo Shrimp, Elongated Short Ribs 

Fanny Crack Bread served with Irma’s sun-dried tap water

Botox Compote: Crow’s Feet, Hopkins’ Farm Goiter, Skywalker Ranch Gooseflesh

Non sequitir Farrago: Bandaged cheddar, Pictures of Jeff Goldblum’s Root Cellar, Extremist Homosexual Pine Nuts, Saline Infused Brine, Sea Salt, Blue Salt, Green Salt – a tremendous amount of salt all served on an Embarrassment of Doilies

Zuppa del Giorno

What is Zuppa del Giorno? Why it’s the soup of the day.

1. Cornstarch Chowder      2. Cream of Salt      3. Broccoli and Cheddar w/o Broccoli: Featuring Pixar Imitation Broccoli Flecks

We also serve our signature Diluted Split Pea Soup – what it lacks in Pea-ness it makes up for in generosity

First Plate

Locovore’s Dilemma: Norwegian Salmon, Chilean Sea Bass, Martian Halibut

Good ole Paula Dean’s Down Home Southern Coronary with Pork Rinds and Nancy’s Defibrillators 

Gherkins Galore – Jerked Gherkins, Lammykins Gherkins, Next of Kin Gherkins, Greg Kinnear’s Gherkins and Kurt Jurgens Gherkins

Secondi 

My Angry Stepmother’s Turkey. Served with Damaged Potatoes and “You Stupid Bitch You Ruined My Life” Gravy

“I’ll have what she’s having” Oysters on the Rocks (if you prefer it sans rocks a server will help you get your rocks off)

Silverfish Risotto: Classic New York Public Library Philosophy Stack Silverfish, India Ink, Condoleeza Rice, gherkins  

Dessert

Livermore Labs locally enriched, sustainable plutonium, Wilma’s Candied Graphite, Centrifuged Raspberries. With a leaden codpiece.

Real Expensive Cheese, Obscenely Priced Toast Points, Gouged Patron, gherkins

Crayola Fondue: 8 Colorful Melted Crayons served with Lead Paint Dippin’ Chips, Bendy Celery and Musty Attic Lint

I’ve Always Resented My Mother Blueberry Pancakes, Lotta Rage Maple Syrup, and Confectioner’s Buckshot

Dining Notes: A 400% Gratuity is assessed any table that mispronounces a menu item. All menu items are dynamically priced. There is no corkage fee, however if you bring a blanket, there’s a cover charge. Despite our haughty cuisine this is a tough place – the hat check girl’s name is Bruno.  Allergy Alert: All food prepared on equipment used in the manufacture of Crystal Meth. Please be advised the entrance to the Pompous Ass is through the rear.

Tonight Featuring the Music of Barbara Mandrell and the Nashville Showstoppers

 

Calvin Posterity: A Man of Letters

Calvin Posterity was often jaled for being a habitual public nuisance. Although well into his 30’s, he practiced brilliant adolescent mischief: In the middle of the night he’d park his 1978 Subaru Brat near a remote photo enforced intersection, take out his two-wheeled scooter, put on his helmet, take off his clothes and repeatedly glide through the intersection buck naked against the red light. He sometimes tripped the photo flash upwards of 30 times. Of course in the morning the city’s director of traffic violations would be swamped with naked pictures of a very Caucasian Calvin scooting through the intersection wearing only a dangling participle where usually a hood ornament was located. After being identified in a below the waist line up by his urologist, Calvin admitted to the prank stating, “I only did it for the exposure.” A mind capable of such life affirming disobedience on the asphalt was also unmatched in generating joyous chaos on parchment. In his letters he produced brilliant mischief once again with the aid of the more traditionl dangling participle. As in; After a thorough whipping, the chef folded the eggs into the batter. Calvin’s probation officer supervises his court imposed community service which is to reprint the many zany, kooky and otherwise incoherent letters written for posterity by Posterity.

 

Read the rest of this entry »

This Day in Future History

On November 8th, 2032 another bush is elected President. This time it’s Chelsea Clinton. 

The 2041 Lincoln Assassinator voted “Car of the Year” by the National Towing Association

Pope’s wife doesn’t have rhythm. Must find new method.

Font problems doom Micronesia

Haiku!  Gesundheit.

Writers of Frequently Asked Questions are educated at FAQ U.

Fan catches baseball in stands. Foul play suspected.

Sue Nami catches huge wave with chicken. Fowl play suspected.

Dan Quayle gobbles turkey burger. Fowl play Wottles away.

Queen Elizabeth lands part of mother in “Psycho V.”

Answer: Gesundheit.       Question: At what altitude do Gesunds fly at?

Mitt Romney’s corpse exhumed. Coroner says he’s still “handsome as hell.”

Stream of consciousness babbles like a brook and is beginning to creek.

Handyman’s last words: “I told you already. The circuit breaker is turned off.” 

We must exercise our Free Will. We have no choice.

Fidel Castro to US: “Guerra! Guerra!! Guerra!!!” US to Castro: “You guys have like no cooking oil.”

God confides to rodents: “Humans seem to be missing the point entirely.” (I got this information from my mole.)