Let's get highbrow...

I believe it’s time once again to try to raise the tone of this rather plebian blog. So, with the help of some research provided to me by my good friend the eminent scholar Monty Dingham Smythington, we’ll be taking a look at ancient Greek mythology. However, instead Zeus, Apollo and all the other well known gods and goddesses, we will focus on some of the lesser-known deities…


Epillitus: the goddess of body hair…no well-groomed ancient would shave without first asking her to bless their razor.

Bocephus: the god of moonshine…as well as temporary blindness

Curdellenia: a demigoddess responsible for the creation of all semi-soft cheeses…her father was Zeus and her mother was an exceptionally attractive and lactiferous cow.

Viagratinius: the god of rigidity…a minor deity worshiped by a secretive cult whose members were all older men.

Crabbathemia: a woodland nymph said to inhabit the nether regions of the great god Pan…no matter how many lotions he used to get rid of them.

The Poliplopous: a creature with the head of a sheep and the body of a goat. Considered by almost all scholars to be the least intimidating, not to mention least imaginative, monster in all of mythology.

The Columnorians: a race of giants with very spindly legs and tiny feet. Though good natured, their tendency to topple over made them a menace to ancient civilizations and some believe it was one or more of these unfortunate beings that sank Atlantis.


I don’t know about you, but I feel intellectually invigorated…or it might just be a head cold. Anyway, I’m going to be away from this here blog for a while, but I hope to be back in a month or two. So, thanks to everyone who has stopped by.

TDB

Thanksgiving?

I must confess that Thanksgiving is my least favorite holiday. I told this to my grand-pappy, right before he was sent away to the Sunny Meadows Home for the Criminally Incontinent, and he said, “ It ain’t your fault boy…you come from a long line of ungrateful bastards.”

Having been taught never to argue with my elders (unless you were sure they were unarmed) I just nodded my head. Anyway, I knew he was probably right, because old grand-pappy was as wise as his pants were wet.

Still, I’d thought that this year I’d look inwards and see if there wasn’t at least a little gratitude in me somewhere. So here is my list of things that I’m thankful for…

The fact that Geraldo Rivera doesn’t have a twin.

That I’m not a proctologist…my view of the world is dim enough, thank you.

The VCR and especially the fast-forward button…I don’t think I could watch TV without it.

Distant relatives…very distant.

That I’m not burdened by incredible good looks or awe-inspiring talent…really, I mean, who wants that right? Certainly not me, so… thanks to whatever cosmic force or coincidental set of circumstances responsible for averting that tragedy.

Well, that’s not much of a list is it? I guess my dear old grand-pappy was right after all…bless his moist memory.

Everybody must get stoned...

Often, when I think people are difficult to understand, I’ll hear or read about something that makes me realize that they’re not…they are in fact… impossible to understand.

Take for example, the story of several large 400 million-year old boulders that were recently dug up during a sewer upgrade some where in Brooklyn, New York. So, we’re basically talking about some very big, very old rocks, of no real interest to anyone other than geologists or some other scientific types…right?

Wrong, because no sooner than the city had moved the rocks to other parts of the city (presumably to get them out of the way) than some of the residents in the neighborhood started complaining. Here are a few actual quotes:

“The big one, the first one, should stay here with us.”

“It belongs to us, they pulled it out of our street.”

“What are we, chopped liver? They should stay in their hometown.”

“It wouldn’t bother me as much, if they had a plaque saying they came from Vanderbilt Ave. in Brooklyn.”

A plaque…someone wants a plaque to commemorate the day a few large rocks were dug up from the ground. Yes, I can see why you wouldn’t want that kind of knowledge to be lost to future generations. Any place else you’d like to put a plaque? How about that corner where you once found five dollars…or that alley you once took a whiz in because you didn’t think you could make it back to your apartment?

If this is how these people reacted to a few ancient boulders, I’m just glad that no gold was discovered or there would have been bloodshed for sure.

Anyway, despite the efforts of those passionate rock lovers, the boulders are gone. When asked about it, the president of the borough, in the grand old tradition of spineless politicians everywhere had this to say: “It’s flattering to know that everybody wants a piece of Brooklyn.”

For some reason, I just can’t help picturing him giggling like a schoolgirl as he said it.

The happiest place on earth

I don’t know if you’ve heard about this, but recently there was an incident over at Disney France. A group of employees were videotaped simulating sex acts while in costume. The Disney Company, to say the least, was not happy about this but I think they’re being shortsighted here.

There’s a market that’s not being tapped into, namely “adult” films featuring well-known Disney characters. This could be a gold mine people! Just think about it, the selling power that comes with the instant recognition of the Disney name, combined with the forbidden allure of hardcore pornography.

The possibilities are endless:

Mickey shows that he really is the “biggest” star at Disney when he and Minnie set the screen on fire in “Maestro of the Mouse Hole”.

Donald and Daisy Duck head off for a swinging couples weekend where they show the world just how passionate poultry can be in “Pluck me…pluck me now!”

Aladdin is back and this time he won’t just be rubbing his “lamp” in “Camel Humpers of the Casbah”.

The Little Mermaid does her patriotic best to keep up the morale of the US Navy in “All the Young Seamen”.

You read the “The Jungle Book” now feel the “ the jungle love” in “The Bare-assed Necessities”.

After running into each other at Lilith Fair, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and Snow White realize that they don’t need any princes at all in the Sapphic adventure story “For Ladies Only”.

Chip ‘n Dale will teach you to love your inner chipmunk…and then whip the hell out of it in the bondage classic “Beat Me Like You Mean It”.

Even Mickey’s pet gets into the action when the ASPCA locks him up and he learns that a bitch isn’t always a female dog in “Pounding Pluto”.


If those don’t convince those prudes running things at Disney these days I don’t know what will.

It's gettin' hot in here...

I don’t want to alarm anyone, but as I sit typing these very words the heat in the room is turned off, the window is partially opened and I’m wearing just a tee shirt. (Yes, I’m also wearing pants…can you try to keep your minds out of the gutter for just ten seconds)

Even more astonishing, as I walked to the store the other day my coat was open and my usual cold weather gear, scarf, gloves etc, were no where to be seen. All this despite being in the northeastern part of the US, well into November. “So what” I hear you say. “It’s just unseasonably warm, there’s nothing alarming about it.”

That might be true enough if you were talking to normal person, but what you don’t know about me is that I am the biggest cold weather wimp the world has ever known. At the end of each autumn I start praying to every major deity to grant me the ability to hibernate. I own more long underwear than the first three expeditions to the North Pole combined and I’m fairly sure that I have the circulatory system of a ninety-year old man. The mere mention of single digit temperatures causes me to break out in a rash and I’ve been rushed to the hospital several times after overdosing on hot cocoa.

So, what could be the reason for old man winter’s apparent feebleness this late in the year? I suppose that I could have some sort of rare, mysterious and possibly fatal disease that’s slowly raising my body temperature, until eventually steam will come whistling out of my nostrils, right before my head explodes…but I prefer to think that it’s global warming. Sure, that would mean the oceans will rise and much of the world’s coastlines will be submerged, but at least my head will be intact.

Look, I don’t pretend to be a scientist…well, there was that one time I tried to score a government grant to study the mating habits of women who work at Hooters, but my lawyers have advised me not to talk about that. All I’m saying is, you might want to consider investing in a company that manufactures air conditioners. In the meantime, I will keep monitoring the climate and checking my nostrils for any sign of steam…just in case.

You gotta be kidding me...

Speaking as someone whose blog consists mainly of weird stuff that I make up, it’s always a little disconcerting whenever reality decides to remind me that when it comes to weirdness, it does just fine on it’s own. Take for example these CD’s available from the Collectors Choice Music Catalog:


First up is a three-disc box set of recordings by Tiny Tim. For those too young to remember, Tiny Tim was a performer of sorts, who would strum a ukulele while singing old songs in a voice that sounded something like a castrato on helium.

Don’ t get me wrong, I liked Tiny Tim as a character and I enjoy a little musical weirdness as much as the next guy (providing the next guy isn’t someone who can’t wait to by this item) but a little Tiny Tim goes a long way.


This next item is called “My Rifle, My Pony and Me”, and although that might have made a great title for a children’s book from the NRA, it’s a terrible name for a CD…even if it is just a collection of western movie and TV soundtracks.

The dubious musical value of this disc doesn’t end there because along with a few legitimate country stars like Johnny Cash, this CD also features songs by actors like Jimmy Stewart and Kirk Douglas. My biggest fear is that some Broadway producer will come across this and turn it into a musical starring Donny Osmond.


Here we have the Nana Mouskouri Collection. Now unlike Tiny Tim, I’m not familiar with this singer’s work, although I’m sure it’s fine (just in case there are any Mouskouri fanatics out there). No, the oddity in this selection has to do with numbers. As in the number of CD’s in the set: 34…and the number of songs: 673…and finally, the number of dollars this thing cost: $ 474!

673 songs? She must have started recording ten minutes after Edison invented the phonograph. Who the hell has the time to plow through that much material…retired people…inmates serving life sentences? As for the price, I guess it could be worse. I’m pretty sure this set would cost even more if they were charging by the pound.



And last but not least is a CD of holiday music entitled “Christmas with the Rat Pack”. As the catalog says “Ring-a-ding-ding in the holidays with Frank, Dean n’ Sammy”. Yeah…cause nothing says Christmas quite like booze, cigarettes and hookers on the Vegas Strip.

To put it another way...

The subject of death came up in a conversation I was having with someone…it might have been myself. Sometimes I forget to take my medication.

Anyway, for many people talking about death is never easy. Which is why people often resort to euphemisms like “passed away” or “gone to meet their maker” or the less reverent but more colorful “kicked the bucket.”

There are others but the problem is they’re all too general and we live in an age of specialization. So here’s a list of new euphemisms for death and the groups they’re intended for…

Environmentalists:

“Being recycled”

“Shacking up with Mother Nature”


Sports fans:

“Racing in the pine box derby”

“Ejected from the game”


The hopelessly politically correct:

“Living impaired”

“Existentially challenged”


Computer geeks:

“Uploaded” (if you liked them) or “downloaded” (if you didn’t)

“Deleted from life’s hard drive”


Politicians:

“Stuffing the final ballot box”

“Joined a grass roots movement”


Musicians:

“On tour with the Lord”

“Collecting cosmic royalties, man”


Young people in particular have a hard time understanding this difficult concept, so for them I’ve come up these…


“Hangin’ with the Reaper”

“Permanent detention”

“Doing the Bone Yard Bop”

“Chillin’ in da Crypt”


So any help getting these in to common usage would be appreciated. If I could only see it happen before I have my “appointment with the heavenly therapist”, I’d be a happy man.

Have your head examined...

Are you skeptical of modern day psychiatric methods? Is it your considered opinion that Sigmund Freud was a cigar sucking, misogynistic coke fiend? If so, why don’t you join me in my crusade to bring back the once respected but now discredited pseudoscience of phrenology.

Phrenology was an early attempt to assign particular personality traits to specific regions of the brain. I’ve heard that it also had something to do with feeling the bumps on people’s heads, but that might have just been a fetish of whoever invented phrenology.

Anyway, to kick-start this revival I went to see Dr. Leopold Von Nubbin, one of the few practicing phrenologists in the world. I was given an exam and if you click on the image below you can get a closer look at the results:



Well…it turns out my brain isn’t quite what I hoped it would be, but don’t let that discourage you. I’m sure your results will be much better.