In honor of the historic up and coming elections, I thought I would put to pen my reasons for declining any interest in the office of the Presidency. Just remember something other than the “Alamo”: if nominated, I will not accept; if elected, I will not serve; and if served, I will leave the country under an assumed name.
1. You have to wear a suit, gray, black, or blue. I only look good in pink, and I don’t even own a suit.
2. I sport a beard. The last 2 Presidents who have had chin whiskers were Benjamin Harrison and James Garfield. They shot Garfield and Harrison’s grandfather, also a President, died after 30 days in office. I’m thinking bad karma here.
3. You have to attend church on Sundays and I don’t know of a practicing sect of Left Handed Tantrists-- the only true faith-- this side of New Delhi.
4. If you are President you are supposed to tell the truth at all times. Of course, you don’t and are, usually, rewarded for this oversight. I always tell the truth which is the reason that I keep a pillow and blanket on my sofa in the living room.
5. There are too many pieces of silverware at State dinners and that can be confusing. I only use an oversized serving fork to consume my vittles.
6. Current fad dictates that a candidate must be elderly, a female—preferably pregnant—or a black man with a funny name. I have to wait for fat, bald-headed, and stupid to be considered a presidential quality before I toss my hat in the ring.
7. Presidents never speak or know any foreign language. I can work in 2 languages other than English. A foreign affair in the White House is having sex with someone other than your wife. Language ability is a disqualifier, and I am faithful to my wife.
8. And speaking of foreign affairs, consider a recent, sexual history of Presidents “did he, or didn’t he?” FDR did, and he couldn’t get out of a wheel chair. Think about the possibilities. Truman didn’t, too busy walking. Eisenhower did, at least as a General. Kennedy did it so much they should have forgotten about the Library and just opened a whorehouse in his honor. LBJ did, but he had Lady Bird—who wouldn’t? Nixon definitely didn’t, unless it was with Kissinger—there goes that language thing again! Ford fell down a lot, but so did his wife. Jimmy Carter did, but it was with his heart not his hard-on. Reagan never would cheat on his lovely wife—he just made movies with monkeys. Senior Bush didn’t, Americans would have killed him if he had been unfaithful to a wife who looks like she graced all the Norman Rockwell covers. Now Clinton—nothing need be said—long live the King! And lastly, Junior! I hate to say it, but the guy was a cheerleader in college. You take a guess!
9. While we are talking about S-E-X, you don’t always find Marilyn Monroe under the White House Christmas Tree, sometimes we have Hanukah and find Monica!
10. The President has to participate in the world’s largest Easter Egg Hunt during that holiday season. I can’t do that. I hate hard-boiled eggs, think Easter was created by the Hallmark Card Company conspiracy, and didn’t like kids when I was a kid! Other than that, I’m good to go.
Part Two Coming Soon!
Billy P.
A special thanks to Judas for being the weirdo that he is!
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Saturday, September 6, 2008
"Oh, Say I Cant't Sing!"
Well, Labor Day has passed and we can smell the crisp air of autumn just around the corner. With these hallmarks reached, it’s a matter of time for 2 of my personal, annual activities to occur: the kick-off of football season and the death threats that I usually receive while laughing at pre-game presentations of our National Anthem!
I might as well get to it—give you all an opportunity to knock my lights out or, at least, call me an “un-patriotic SOB.”
This happens to me just about every year. I’ll be sitting in a bar enjoying a brew, ready to enjoy a game, and someone gets up to give their musical (if I can call it that) version of our beloved Anthem. It usually takes me a couple of lines before I start moaning, and by the time the singer gets to the end—you know the high “C” part, “o’er the land of the free”…! That’s were I definitely lose it. That’s, also, about the time someone at the bar decides that I’ve read too much Karl Marx and decides to rearrange the enameled grinders which Mother Nature has provided me.
Truth be known, I am one helluva patriotic guy; know more about American History than most people you have as acquaintances. I even know all the Presidents and can discuss their administrations in detail. I know the difference between a Democracy and a Republic, and our soon-to-be Ex-President can’t even say that, given the number of times that I have heard him use the words interchangeably!
The fact is the Anthem is one lousy song.
A guy who was called a poet wrote it, but, actually, he was an attorney. C’mon, only Oliver Wendell Holmes could pull that off!
Most people have a reverence for our country’s first song as if it were penned by Jesus’ Disciples. But let’s keep to the facts. The tune (and that’s really what is was—19th century prose put to the tune of an old English ditty) ain’t gonna make the top 10 list on American Bandstand. Besides, you can’t dance to it! I mean, Puff Daddy couldn’t make this thing “Go.”
I'll bet anyone 500 million dollars that more people from the “Doomers” generation can remember the words to the Mickey Mouse Club Theme than to our own national song. And has anyone ever tried the second stanza?
On the shore, dimly seen thro’ the mist of the deep,
Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep.
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,
In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream
‘Tis the star-spangled banner. Oh! Long may it wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
Let me put it this way, type that into your WORD and see what grammar check does! You just won the jackpot of weird-ass grammar.
Now keep in mind, you’re supposed to be singing this—not reciting!
And how many times have you heard someone screw up the words, and that’s to the first stanza which we are all supposed to know?
My favorite screw-up was Robert Goulet. He was a well-known singer of the 70’s. He was contracted to sing the Anthem at one of the championship fights and really messed up—I mean, not even close! Afterward, a reporter indignantly interviewed Goulet and almost shouts at him: “How can you forget the words to the National Anthem?”
Goulet quietly replied, “ I’m Canadian.”
And he was!
And if anyone wants to hit me with the tradition thing, forget it!
It wasn’t until 1931 that this tune was selected as our National Anthem. As you may have guessed, they didn’t ask me to vote.
We have many good American songs to pick from, if you want to start a movement.
“America The Beautiful” is always a front- runner. Or, what about Woody Guthrie’s, “ This Land is You Land.” Not a bad idea, and I just thought of that one.
A national song contest might be a good idea. Then the winner would really be an American Idol!
Either that, or we farm the entire production out to Coke or Mc Donald’s. They write great jingles.
Billy P.
I might as well get to it—give you all an opportunity to knock my lights out or, at least, call me an “un-patriotic SOB.”
This happens to me just about every year. I’ll be sitting in a bar enjoying a brew, ready to enjoy a game, and someone gets up to give their musical (if I can call it that) version of our beloved Anthem. It usually takes me a couple of lines before I start moaning, and by the time the singer gets to the end—you know the high “C” part, “o’er the land of the free”…! That’s were I definitely lose it. That’s, also, about the time someone at the bar decides that I’ve read too much Karl Marx and decides to rearrange the enameled grinders which Mother Nature has provided me.
Truth be known, I am one helluva patriotic guy; know more about American History than most people you have as acquaintances. I even know all the Presidents and can discuss their administrations in detail. I know the difference between a Democracy and a Republic, and our soon-to-be Ex-President can’t even say that, given the number of times that I have heard him use the words interchangeably!
The fact is the Anthem is one lousy song.
A guy who was called a poet wrote it, but, actually, he was an attorney. C’mon, only Oliver Wendell Holmes could pull that off!
Most people have a reverence for our country’s first song as if it were penned by Jesus’ Disciples. But let’s keep to the facts. The tune (and that’s really what is was—19th century prose put to the tune of an old English ditty) ain’t gonna make the top 10 list on American Bandstand. Besides, you can’t dance to it! I mean, Puff Daddy couldn’t make this thing “Go.”
I'll bet anyone 500 million dollars that more people from the “Doomers” generation can remember the words to the Mickey Mouse Club Theme than to our own national song. And has anyone ever tried the second stanza?
On the shore, dimly seen thro’ the mist of the deep,
Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep.
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,
In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream
‘Tis the star-spangled banner. Oh! Long may it wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
Let me put it this way, type that into your WORD and see what grammar check does! You just won the jackpot of weird-ass grammar.
Now keep in mind, you’re supposed to be singing this—not reciting!
And how many times have you heard someone screw up the words, and that’s to the first stanza which we are all supposed to know?
My favorite screw-up was Robert Goulet. He was a well-known singer of the 70’s. He was contracted to sing the Anthem at one of the championship fights and really messed up—I mean, not even close! Afterward, a reporter indignantly interviewed Goulet and almost shouts at him: “How can you forget the words to the National Anthem?”
Goulet quietly replied, “ I’m Canadian.”
And he was!
And if anyone wants to hit me with the tradition thing, forget it!
It wasn’t until 1931 that this tune was selected as our National Anthem. As you may have guessed, they didn’t ask me to vote.
We have many good American songs to pick from, if you want to start a movement.
“America The Beautiful” is always a front- runner. Or, what about Woody Guthrie’s, “ This Land is You Land.” Not a bad idea, and I just thought of that one.
A national song contest might be a good idea. Then the winner would really be an American Idol!
Either that, or we farm the entire production out to Coke or Mc Donald’s. They write great jingles.
Billy P.
Friday, September 5, 2008
"A Conversation With God, Another Person I Know!"
I am continually amazed that with all the historical footnotes that clearly indicate the dangers of mixing religion with politics, that the human race never seems to lose it’s zeal for taking another stab at this unworkable marriage. I mean, anyone can expect fanatical religious leaders of any faith to fight for center stage in all political undertakings. Consider, if you will, the current dangers that have been presented to the world with the marriage of the conservative fundamentalists of Islam and the politics of Iran. What surprises me, however, is how common place this kind of thinking has become in the U.S., a nation that established its credentials and has prospered, in large part, because of a brilliant document that established a separation of Church and State. I mean if we have a creed, other than our Republicanism and Democratic principles, that little bit of the Constitution should be it, right! Our system says very simply that freedom of religion may be your God-given right, but it is worth even more because it is guaranteed by that document. Really simple, don’t you think?
And lo and behold, just as I thought we were cooling the heels of those persons who worry more about pro-choice, pro-life issues than the 2 wars we are currently fighting, we seem to slip back in time; Tammy and Jim can’t be far away and where is Jimmy Swaggart when you really need him!
With all this in mind, I decided to call my buddy, God. Now if you’re expecting deep admissions of my prayerful or meditative abilities to communicate with the Almighty, get a new life; I call him on my cell-phone. He gave me his number—very unlisted—many years ago. I think he knew I would be a hard sell and so he made it a little bit easier for me to communicate with him. I skip all the brokers and incantations and just dial direct!
I dialed his number and, after a few thousand rings, he answered.
“Hello, this is God and I am answering this call because, truly, your call is always very important to me.”
“God?” Billy P. here.”
“Hello, Dude. I already told you that I wouldn’t take your neighbors away, so what is it now? "
“Naw, they moved. But I’ve got big problems now. It’s the Republicans!”
“I thought you liked Republicans—Reagan, Lincoln, and the like. And didn’t they just do a cool thing and nominate a women for your highest office?”
“Yeah, I do like Republicans, sometimes; and they did nominate a women for Vice-President—our second highest office, by the way.”
“Sorry, politics isn’t my strong-suit. How’s that going, by-the-way?”
“Well, I’m not sure. I’ve been reading some about this women and what she has said, so I thought I would give you a call because she quotes you a lot.”
“Yeah, many people have a tendency to know exactly what I’m thinking even when I’m not thinking it!”
“That’s just it. She told a group of ministry students that the war in Iraq is a “task from God.”
“Well, you know that you wasted your dime. Remember the last time we talked about war? I told you that I was so upset about World War 11 and the calls I received from all sides that I almost let you extinguish yourselves.”
“Yeah, I figured that, but I wanted to get it from the horse’s mouth—no insult intended.”
“None taken. I have the ability to forgive.”
“So I’m going to guess that you haven’t taken any calls about getting your Will to build a natural gas pipeline in Alaska?”
“Look, I got a world-wide hunger problem, genocide in Darfur, religious intolerance almost everywhere, wars popping up all over your silly globe—does it seem like I would have the time to worry about a pipeline in nowhere-ville, USA? And, besides, I don’t even own a hard hat!”
“Well, then, I won’t keep you longer. One more question.”
“No, Billy!”
“No, I can’t ask one more question?”
“No! No, I can’t re-grow hair on your bald head!”
“Okay, who do I see about that?”
“That’s Mother Nature’s department.”
“Got a number?”
“Goodbye, Billy.”
“Goodbye, God. Have a nice day.”
Billy P.
And lo and behold, just as I thought we were cooling the heels of those persons who worry more about pro-choice, pro-life issues than the 2 wars we are currently fighting, we seem to slip back in time; Tammy and Jim can’t be far away and where is Jimmy Swaggart when you really need him!
With all this in mind, I decided to call my buddy, God. Now if you’re expecting deep admissions of my prayerful or meditative abilities to communicate with the Almighty, get a new life; I call him on my cell-phone. He gave me his number—very unlisted—many years ago. I think he knew I would be a hard sell and so he made it a little bit easier for me to communicate with him. I skip all the brokers and incantations and just dial direct!
I dialed his number and, after a few thousand rings, he answered.
“Hello, this is God and I am answering this call because, truly, your call is always very important to me.”
“God?” Billy P. here.”
“Hello, Dude. I already told you that I wouldn’t take your neighbors away, so what is it now? "
“Naw, they moved. But I’ve got big problems now. It’s the Republicans!”
“I thought you liked Republicans—Reagan, Lincoln, and the like. And didn’t they just do a cool thing and nominate a women for your highest office?”
“Yeah, I do like Republicans, sometimes; and they did nominate a women for Vice-President—our second highest office, by the way.”
“Sorry, politics isn’t my strong-suit. How’s that going, by-the-way?”
“Well, I’m not sure. I’ve been reading some about this women and what she has said, so I thought I would give you a call because she quotes you a lot.”
“Yeah, many people have a tendency to know exactly what I’m thinking even when I’m not thinking it!”
“That’s just it. She told a group of ministry students that the war in Iraq is a “task from God.”
“Well, you know that you wasted your dime. Remember the last time we talked about war? I told you that I was so upset about World War 11 and the calls I received from all sides that I almost let you extinguish yourselves.”
“Yeah, I figured that, but I wanted to get it from the horse’s mouth—no insult intended.”
“None taken. I have the ability to forgive.”
“So I’m going to guess that you haven’t taken any calls about getting your Will to build a natural gas pipeline in Alaska?”
“Look, I got a world-wide hunger problem, genocide in Darfur, religious intolerance almost everywhere, wars popping up all over your silly globe—does it seem like I would have the time to worry about a pipeline in nowhere-ville, USA? And, besides, I don’t even own a hard hat!”
“Well, then, I won’t keep you longer. One more question.”
“No, Billy!”
“No, I can’t ask one more question?”
“No! No, I can’t re-grow hair on your bald head!”
“Okay, who do I see about that?”
“That’s Mother Nature’s department.”
“Got a number?”
“Goodbye, Billy.”
“Goodbye, God. Have a nice day.”
Billy P.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
"Short Bits And In-You-End-Goes!"
Something odd happens when the clock strikes about 40 in this numbers game we call life. We develop this obsessive concern about our health and well being. This transition seems to happen overnight like turning a light switch on and off. One day you're a young and vibrant person with nary a thought of your health, the next day you are possessed by words and terms—cholesterol, hyper-tension, sciatica—that you had never heard of or understood.
And suddenly there is an un-agreed upon competition with your friends which pits your latest illness and doctor's report against theirs:
"My physician says that if my cholesterol were any higher I could go to Harvard!"
'That's nothing, my sciatic nerve is so inflamed that it looks like I'm carrying a chub of salami in the back of my pants."
I started to complain the other day to my wife about some symptoms that I apparently picked up from a T.V. commercial or show.
She looked at me with a gaze that only she can muster and said "If you truly have these symptoms I suggest you call my gynecologist because there is something wrong with your ovaries."
Now I'm really worried because I wasn't born with ovaries—I checked!
I lived in Florida for several years and loved to ease-drop on the geriatric set when they were in full debate. It was much like watching Grand Masters in a bridge tournament with everyone strategizing their bids:
"I got Shingles, two-impacted teeth, and my doctors says that if I go in the sun, I'll die."
"I can beat that with my nephritic condition, gingivitis, in all four quadrants, and I have already been scrapped 6 times for skin cancer."
"You're all a bunch of nobodies. I got 3 weeks to live, and the doctor doesn't even know what's wrong with me."
It finally dawned on me that health issues are never a topic when you are young because there were no health issues. Everything still works! For those of us with good family genes, well, the warranty has expired. For those of us with genes that are suspect—kind of like a machine built with used parts—we're going to have plenty to talk about by the time we get to the care center!
My wife wondered aloud that if the Republicans win the election with their new V.P., will the government close on the weekends for soccer practice? I reassured her that the government was already closed.
The British created an anti-terrorist force named, Fast Action Response Team. Make an acronym out of that! For real!
I just finished reading a book entitled, “The Post American World.”
Among many brilliant observations the author makes is to point out that:
The tallest building in the world is in Taipei
The richest man in the world is Mexican
The largest publicly traded corporation is Chinese.
Macao, not Las Vegas, is the gambling capitol of the world.
The largest refinery is in India.
The Indians also produced more motion pictures than anyone in the world.
Singapore… Singapore, for cripes sake, has the LARGEST FERRIS WHEEL!!
And to add insult to injury—regarding an American creation—shopping, of the ten top malls in the world, only one is located in America!
Just remember, Rosetta Stone promises it can teach you a foreign language fast and easily.
Billy P.
.
And suddenly there is an un-agreed upon competition with your friends which pits your latest illness and doctor's report against theirs:
"My physician says that if my cholesterol were any higher I could go to Harvard!"
'That's nothing, my sciatic nerve is so inflamed that it looks like I'm carrying a chub of salami in the back of my pants."
I started to complain the other day to my wife about some symptoms that I apparently picked up from a T.V. commercial or show.
She looked at me with a gaze that only she can muster and said "If you truly have these symptoms I suggest you call my gynecologist because there is something wrong with your ovaries."
Now I'm really worried because I wasn't born with ovaries—I checked!
I lived in Florida for several years and loved to ease-drop on the geriatric set when they were in full debate. It was much like watching Grand Masters in a bridge tournament with everyone strategizing their bids:
"I got Shingles, two-impacted teeth, and my doctors says that if I go in the sun, I'll die."
"I can beat that with my nephritic condition, gingivitis, in all four quadrants, and I have already been scrapped 6 times for skin cancer."
"You're all a bunch of nobodies. I got 3 weeks to live, and the doctor doesn't even know what's wrong with me."
It finally dawned on me that health issues are never a topic when you are young because there were no health issues. Everything still works! For those of us with good family genes, well, the warranty has expired. For those of us with genes that are suspect—kind of like a machine built with used parts—we're going to have plenty to talk about by the time we get to the care center!
My wife wondered aloud that if the Republicans win the election with their new V.P., will the government close on the weekends for soccer practice? I reassured her that the government was already closed.
The British created an anti-terrorist force named, Fast Action Response Team. Make an acronym out of that! For real!
I just finished reading a book entitled, “The Post American World.”
Among many brilliant observations the author makes is to point out that:
The tallest building in the world is in Taipei
The richest man in the world is Mexican
The largest publicly traded corporation is Chinese.
Macao, not Las Vegas, is the gambling capitol of the world.
The largest refinery is in India.
The Indians also produced more motion pictures than anyone in the world.
Singapore… Singapore, for cripes sake, has the LARGEST FERRIS WHEEL!!
And to add insult to injury—regarding an American creation—shopping, of the ten top malls in the world, only one is located in America!
Just remember, Rosetta Stone promises it can teach you a foreign language fast and easily.
Billy P.
.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
"You Are What You Eat!"
According to something called NHANES (The National Health And Nutritional Educational Survey), 16 percent of our youth between the ages of 6 and 16 are obese. I tip the scale pretty good myself, but does anyone know how to pronounce NHANES? (Stay tuned for a BLOG on acronyms and the people who devise them.) Over the years, fighting the Battle of the Bulge has encouraged many diet fads; and just to name a few:
The, South Beach Bar Diet—allows you to eat all that you want as long as it is consumed in Miami.
The, Bangladesh Eat All The Sand You Want Diet—works, I guess? Every time I see the ocean I have to make potty!
The, Only Eat In Months That End In "R" Diet—doesn't work; too many months end in "R."
The, Eat But Don't Swallow Diet—tends to be a bit messy, especially with Chinese food.
The, Cloned Meat Diet—an up and comer; you tend to eat half as much as you want because it looks like you've already eaten what you're eating!
The, Eat All The Donuts You Want Diet—you're only allowed to eat the centers.
I had dinner with a friend recently and couldn't help staring at his 12-year-old son who had devoured 3, heaping plates of pasta as fast as I can swill a shot of Peppermint Schnapps.
At one point he must have noticed that I was fixed on his activity and he asked, "Billy, are chins a good thing?"
"They must be," I replied, "God gave you 5 of them!"
My statement must have had some affect on him. He seemed to struggle with his next 2 plates of spaghetti.
It is amazing to me to know at what length people will go in denial of their obesity. I mean if you're fat, you're fat, right? I mean, can you lie about your height?
'Yeah, I know I measure 5'8", but I'm really 6'10"."
I have one friend who is particularly delusional. This women gargles with Kahlua and Creams, but blames her thyroid for every thing. You could keep your spare change in her belly button, and she doesn't see any thing wrong!
She finally told me she was in counseling and I immediately thought, "With the Keebler Elves, right?"
I heard recently that she submitted to that hideous operation that short cuts your pooper. I also heard that she dropped the Kahlua for Amaretto!
I have an opinion, scientific or not, about how this eating-thing all started.
Take yourself back in time. Let's talk about the hours, days, and weeks spent in a bassinet, baby crib, or whatever your time period called that thing you slept in when you were first born.
We all have something in common; something that has mystified us and energized what we now know as "hunger-pangs."
Our feet—it all started with our feet!
Remember?
"Man, look at those chubby, red things at the end of the bed. And they are connected to me! Bet they sure would taste good, especially that big, fat one on the end. Oh, yeah—let me get you up here in my mouth, Big Guy. Yummy. Now I know why that hairy thing that smells so funny keeps licking them all the time. No wonder the Lady with the milk bottles on her chest keeps chasing him away. Aw, boy, life is great—there must be a hundred of them. These would go great with some milk. Hey, Lady!"
Too much reminiscing has made me hungry. I think I'll have some Sun Chips and a cold beer. My current diet craze!
Billy P.
The, South Beach Bar Diet—allows you to eat all that you want as long as it is consumed in Miami.
The, Bangladesh Eat All The Sand You Want Diet—works, I guess? Every time I see the ocean I have to make potty!
The, Only Eat In Months That End In "R" Diet—doesn't work; too many months end in "R."
The, Eat But Don't Swallow Diet—tends to be a bit messy, especially with Chinese food.
The, Cloned Meat Diet—an up and comer; you tend to eat half as much as you want because it looks like you've already eaten what you're eating!
The, Eat All The Donuts You Want Diet—you're only allowed to eat the centers.
I had dinner with a friend recently and couldn't help staring at his 12-year-old son who had devoured 3, heaping plates of pasta as fast as I can swill a shot of Peppermint Schnapps.
At one point he must have noticed that I was fixed on his activity and he asked, "Billy, are chins a good thing?"
"They must be," I replied, "God gave you 5 of them!"
My statement must have had some affect on him. He seemed to struggle with his next 2 plates of spaghetti.
It is amazing to me to know at what length people will go in denial of their obesity. I mean if you're fat, you're fat, right? I mean, can you lie about your height?
'Yeah, I know I measure 5'8", but I'm really 6'10"."
I have one friend who is particularly delusional. This women gargles with Kahlua and Creams, but blames her thyroid for every thing. You could keep your spare change in her belly button, and she doesn't see any thing wrong!
She finally told me she was in counseling and I immediately thought, "With the Keebler Elves, right?"
I heard recently that she submitted to that hideous operation that short cuts your pooper. I also heard that she dropped the Kahlua for Amaretto!
I have an opinion, scientific or not, about how this eating-thing all started.
Take yourself back in time. Let's talk about the hours, days, and weeks spent in a bassinet, baby crib, or whatever your time period called that thing you slept in when you were first born.
We all have something in common; something that has mystified us and energized what we now know as "hunger-pangs."
Our feet—it all started with our feet!
Remember?
"Man, look at those chubby, red things at the end of the bed. And they are connected to me! Bet they sure would taste good, especially that big, fat one on the end. Oh, yeah—let me get you up here in my mouth, Big Guy. Yummy. Now I know why that hairy thing that smells so funny keeps licking them all the time. No wonder the Lady with the milk bottles on her chest keeps chasing him away. Aw, boy, life is great—there must be a hundred of them. These would go great with some milk. Hey, Lady!"
Too much reminiscing has made me hungry. I think I'll have some Sun Chips and a cold beer. My current diet craze!
Billy P.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
"In Defense Of Indolence," Or, Confessions Of A Ten-Toed Sloth!
I suppose there is a lot to be said for the ability and willingness to work hard. I just can’t, for the life of me, think of anything to say at the present time or, for that matter, over the last 61 years of my existence, to justify that concept.
Hard work has all the attraction of the Plague, as far as I am concerned. I’d rather suck your nose when you have a head cold than work an over-time day. And you can keep the time and one-half pay, too!
Now I realize I’m stepping all over a cornerstone of our American heritage and the entire concept that has propelled our nation and our people to be whatever it is that we are today. I mean, dream what you will and then give it all you got—and then some—is the avenue we travel to reach our goals and successes, right? And all those who have traveled this path, reached great heights and attained great achievements are people to be admired—even venerated!
We even have created our own measuring stick to judge how successful these efforts are for those who choose to follow this path; how much money you make, what kind of car you drive, what kind of clothes you wear, how many bedrooms you have in your primary house—and, of course, the vacation home, cabin, or time-share—have all become accepted standards of success for our American way of thinking.
So, what do you think! Am I pushing the button a little to far to start a pro-indolence campaign?
Indolence is universally defined as “inactivity resulting from a dislike of work.”
It is a relative to the word “sloth” which has a similar meaning which is to have a “disinclination to work or exert oneself.”
Now I know that I’m not real smart. If you had taken my grade point average at Penn State University and added them individually for the 3 terms I attended, the total wouldn’t have been 1.0! I even flunk “ Gym.” So I’m an Alum-Bum—sue me!
In my lifetime, I have had three idols: Abraham Lincoln, Alfred E. Neumann, and Maynard G. Krebs.
Maynard G. Krebs, of “Dobie Gillis” fame, is my all-time “do nothing hero.” If fact, anytime anyone mentioned the word work, he would go into a hysterical frenzy and shout out W-O-R-K as if he had just been kick in the ass by a mule!
But by its definition—“a disinclination to work”—it doesn’t suggest that an indolent person is doing nothing. Even Maynard used to go down the street and watch the guys “knock down the old Endicott Building.” He did that for the 3 or 4 years the show was in production. When he was really bored, he went to the Bijou to watch a triple-feature: “ The Monster Who Devoured Cleveland,” The Son Of The Monster Who Devoured Cleveland,” and “The Son-Of-The-Son Of The Monster Who Devoured Cleveland.”
As usual, I handed this issue over to our staff of experts to examine, and suggest, a possible pro-active, indolent path for all of you to follow:
§ If you any ties to Christianity, forget it! Christians hate lazy people more than an abortionist who works for tips. Ever heard of the “Seven Deadly Sins”? You guessed it, Sloth, right up there in the winner’s circle. If you are indolent and absolutely, positively must have a religion, may I suggest becoming a “Left-Handed Tantrist.”? They can do anything they want and don’t have to confess.
§ Make certain that the use of the word is indolent-- not impotent! Lazy doesn’t mean you can’t have sex on your back.
§ Tell every workaholic you encounter to go kiss your ass! Much of America works its butt off to come up with ways to do everything—from eating to calculating—fast and simple. What’s the logic of working like hell to invent all these short cut products, and then not spend the time to enjoy them?
§ And while on the subject of short cuts—never have sex with your eyes closed. It goes, or cums—depending how you look at it—too fast!
§ If you want to make a living doing nothing, get a job with the government. It’s the only place on Earth where you can stand around and people will think you are working.
§ As difficult as it may be to believe, it is possible to survive in this life without a cell phone or computer. The Sodomites proved it.
§ An indolent person can be quite happy with his/hers sexual, self-gratification. An ambitious or driven person seeks conquest, which invites rejection. This is a definite risk of one’s self-esteem.
Lastly, I always recommend that all my thousands of readers should not pay attention to a single word that I write.
So listen to someone else:
“Hard work never killed anybody; but I figure, why take the chance.”
… Ronald Reagan
Excuse me; I have to get in my recliner.
Billy P.
Hard work has all the attraction of the Plague, as far as I am concerned. I’d rather suck your nose when you have a head cold than work an over-time day. And you can keep the time and one-half pay, too!
Now I realize I’m stepping all over a cornerstone of our American heritage and the entire concept that has propelled our nation and our people to be whatever it is that we are today. I mean, dream what you will and then give it all you got—and then some—is the avenue we travel to reach our goals and successes, right? And all those who have traveled this path, reached great heights and attained great achievements are people to be admired—even venerated!
We even have created our own measuring stick to judge how successful these efforts are for those who choose to follow this path; how much money you make, what kind of car you drive, what kind of clothes you wear, how many bedrooms you have in your primary house—and, of course, the vacation home, cabin, or time-share—have all become accepted standards of success for our American way of thinking.
So, what do you think! Am I pushing the button a little to far to start a pro-indolence campaign?
Indolence is universally defined as “inactivity resulting from a dislike of work.”
It is a relative to the word “sloth” which has a similar meaning which is to have a “disinclination to work or exert oneself.”
Now I know that I’m not real smart. If you had taken my grade point average at Penn State University and added them individually for the 3 terms I attended, the total wouldn’t have been 1.0! I even flunk “ Gym.” So I’m an Alum-Bum—sue me!
In my lifetime, I have had three idols: Abraham Lincoln, Alfred E. Neumann, and Maynard G. Krebs.
Maynard G. Krebs, of “Dobie Gillis” fame, is my all-time “do nothing hero.” If fact, anytime anyone mentioned the word work, he would go into a hysterical frenzy and shout out W-O-R-K as if he had just been kick in the ass by a mule!
But by its definition—“a disinclination to work”—it doesn’t suggest that an indolent person is doing nothing. Even Maynard used to go down the street and watch the guys “knock down the old Endicott Building.” He did that for the 3 or 4 years the show was in production. When he was really bored, he went to the Bijou to watch a triple-feature: “ The Monster Who Devoured Cleveland,” The Son Of The Monster Who Devoured Cleveland,” and “The Son-Of-The-Son Of The Monster Who Devoured Cleveland.”
As usual, I handed this issue over to our staff of experts to examine, and suggest, a possible pro-active, indolent path for all of you to follow:
§ If you any ties to Christianity, forget it! Christians hate lazy people more than an abortionist who works for tips. Ever heard of the “Seven Deadly Sins”? You guessed it, Sloth, right up there in the winner’s circle. If you are indolent and absolutely, positively must have a religion, may I suggest becoming a “Left-Handed Tantrist.”? They can do anything they want and don’t have to confess.
§ Make certain that the use of the word is indolent-- not impotent! Lazy doesn’t mean you can’t have sex on your back.
§ Tell every workaholic you encounter to go kiss your ass! Much of America works its butt off to come up with ways to do everything—from eating to calculating—fast and simple. What’s the logic of working like hell to invent all these short cut products, and then not spend the time to enjoy them?
§ And while on the subject of short cuts—never have sex with your eyes closed. It goes, or cums—depending how you look at it—too fast!
§ If you want to make a living doing nothing, get a job with the government. It’s the only place on Earth where you can stand around and people will think you are working.
§ As difficult as it may be to believe, it is possible to survive in this life without a cell phone or computer. The Sodomites proved it.
§ An indolent person can be quite happy with his/hers sexual, self-gratification. An ambitious or driven person seeks conquest, which invites rejection. This is a definite risk of one’s self-esteem.
Lastly, I always recommend that all my thousands of readers should not pay attention to a single word that I write.
So listen to someone else:
“Hard work never killed anybody; but I figure, why take the chance.”
… Ronald Reagan
Excuse me; I have to get in my recliner.
Billy P.
Friday, August 29, 2008
"Take My Cell Phone, Please!"
Ten years ago if I were asked to name the four most significant technological developments that have altered and shaped the course of Mankind, I would have readily replied:
§ The wheel, electricity, the computer, and rolling paper.
After the passage of ten years, I would alter my list slightly, deleting the wheel and adding the cell phone.
Cell phones have all but eliminated the time and distance of communication and even made it possible to reach your party without dialing!
I recently heard a guy making a date for Friday night while using the conveniences of a public crapper. Now that’s progress!
Well, answer one question, please?
If the cell phone is so great-- I mean, one smart phone-- how come it gets lost all the time? I need an answer and I need it now!
Man, I have left this thing in bars, cars… on planes and trains… sent it to the laundry, dropped it in the toilet! I have even trained my dog to retrieve it, replacing his trusty Frisbee as his favorite go-fetch-it- thing. (Can he get cancer doing that?)
Yesterday I might have outdone myself! I had already lost “ Wrongway” (I call it “Wrongway” because no matter which direction I go, it goes the wrong way!) twice during the week; once in a bar – it loves bars- and once in a convenience store. In fact, it has spent so much time in convenience stores that I have learned some basic greetings in Punjabi, the most common language of Pakistan.
I thought I had exhausted all the possible hiding places of this clever device and, then, in kind of a “Remember the Alamo” epiphany, I remembered the trash.
I hurriedly grabbed my wife’s cell (we’re a two phone family) and dashed toward our community’s trash dumpster- that dreaded and vile thing!
I dialed my number 954-xxx-xxxx (for security reasons and threats of violence, you understand, right?) and, in just a few seconds I heard it… music to my ears… that lovely cacophonous sound of My Tone, a mixture of Hava Nagila and the Birthday Tune all in one. Life is great!
But wait! The Ring, My Ring, emanates from the confines of the trash receptacle and I am on the outside looking in with nary a way to scale its vile walls. Chagrin!
Quick reasoning suggested a ladder would solve my problem, so I retrieved our kitchen stepladder, mounted it to its top stair and leaped into an odiferous concoction of aromas that would challenge any great Chef’s abilities to duplicate.
Dial! Dial again and again… getting closer all the time. And then, alas and alack, I have found it…resting on last night’s Chinese take-out (Egg Foo
Yung, I believe) just to the right of someone’s old clothing. Eureka!
Just at my moment of elation, I could hear a human grunt and then a rattle-- perhaps some tin cans-- and then…Smack! Right in the face, a 33 gallon-sized bag of trash-- direct hit on me!
I let out with a Yelp! (Well, it was a four- lettered word, anyway.) And my Yelp was replied to with a surprised-like scream. I guess I did look silly standing in the middle of a dumpster, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and wearing a Boston Red Sox baseball cap, clutching two cell phones. Talk about fetishes!
I did manage to placate the astonished women and calmly said:
“Sorry to stun you Miss. I was planning to come this weekend but the weather has been so nice… Well, you know what I mean.”
I don’t think that she did.
My tale of woe and wonderment would have ended here if it weren’t for that big truck!
If you want to try something difficult, try explaining to your wife why you need to be picked up at a local landfill!
Which brings up the subject of the fourth technological development that has altered the history of Mankind--rolling paper!
Well, maybe that’s how I got into this predicament in the first place.
We’ll save that for another day.
Billy Comerford
§ The wheel, electricity, the computer, and rolling paper.
After the passage of ten years, I would alter my list slightly, deleting the wheel and adding the cell phone.
Cell phones have all but eliminated the time and distance of communication and even made it possible to reach your party without dialing!
I recently heard a guy making a date for Friday night while using the conveniences of a public crapper. Now that’s progress!
Well, answer one question, please?
If the cell phone is so great-- I mean, one smart phone-- how come it gets lost all the time? I need an answer and I need it now!
Man, I have left this thing in bars, cars… on planes and trains… sent it to the laundry, dropped it in the toilet! I have even trained my dog to retrieve it, replacing his trusty Frisbee as his favorite go-fetch-it- thing. (Can he get cancer doing that?)
Yesterday I might have outdone myself! I had already lost “ Wrongway” (I call it “Wrongway” because no matter which direction I go, it goes the wrong way!) twice during the week; once in a bar – it loves bars- and once in a convenience store. In fact, it has spent so much time in convenience stores that I have learned some basic greetings in Punjabi, the most common language of Pakistan.
I thought I had exhausted all the possible hiding places of this clever device and, then, in kind of a “Remember the Alamo” epiphany, I remembered the trash.
I hurriedly grabbed my wife’s cell (we’re a two phone family) and dashed toward our community’s trash dumpster- that dreaded and vile thing!
I dialed my number 954-xxx-xxxx (for security reasons and threats of violence, you understand, right?) and, in just a few seconds I heard it… music to my ears… that lovely cacophonous sound of My Tone, a mixture of Hava Nagila and the Birthday Tune all in one. Life is great!
But wait! The Ring, My Ring, emanates from the confines of the trash receptacle and I am on the outside looking in with nary a way to scale its vile walls. Chagrin!
Quick reasoning suggested a ladder would solve my problem, so I retrieved our kitchen stepladder, mounted it to its top stair and leaped into an odiferous concoction of aromas that would challenge any great Chef’s abilities to duplicate.
Dial! Dial again and again… getting closer all the time. And then, alas and alack, I have found it…resting on last night’s Chinese take-out (Egg Foo
Yung, I believe) just to the right of someone’s old clothing. Eureka!
Just at my moment of elation, I could hear a human grunt and then a rattle-- perhaps some tin cans-- and then…Smack! Right in the face, a 33 gallon-sized bag of trash-- direct hit on me!
I let out with a Yelp! (Well, it was a four- lettered word, anyway.) And my Yelp was replied to with a surprised-like scream. I guess I did look silly standing in the middle of a dumpster, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and wearing a Boston Red Sox baseball cap, clutching two cell phones. Talk about fetishes!
I did manage to placate the astonished women and calmly said:
“Sorry to stun you Miss. I was planning to come this weekend but the weather has been so nice… Well, you know what I mean.”
I don’t think that she did.
My tale of woe and wonderment would have ended here if it weren’t for that big truck!
If you want to try something difficult, try explaining to your wife why you need to be picked up at a local landfill!
Which brings up the subject of the fourth technological development that has altered the history of Mankind--rolling paper!
Well, maybe that’s how I got into this predicament in the first place.
We’ll save that for another day.
Billy Comerford
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