The Drive-by Blogger

Au revoir, les enfants...

2007-08-03T22:58:00.000-04:00

I think that’s French for either “Goodbye Children” or “The reservoir is no place for elephants”. In any case, the point is that I’m going to be taking an extended break from blogging, to try and knock off some of the things on my ever growing to do list. Here are just the top five items:

1. Try to convince QVC that my “Origumi” sculptures (small animal figurines that I make from used chewing gum) could be the next big thing. Failing that, auctioning them off on eBay.

2. Finish writing my three volume, unauthorized biography of Orville Redenbacher, tentatively titled “Popcorn Merchant…Sex Machine”.

3. Find out why my coffee machine is making noises that sound like a cross between the wailing of damned souls and a Humpback whale passing a kidney stone and whether or not it just needs to be repaired or taken to an exorcist.

4. Paint a large mural honoring great tambourine players like Davy Jones and…uh…um…

5. Find someone who can name at least two other famous tambourine players.

As you might imagine, I’m anxious to get started, but before I go I’d like to thank HollyGL, Diesel, Jenna, Neva, Jaesoreal, Lord Likely, Paul "FooDaddy" Brand and BrentD for being regular readers of this here blog. If I may paraphrase an old Fleetwood Mac song…You make blogging fun.

TDB

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AntisocialCommentary Release Party

2007-07-25T22:02:00.000-04:00

I simply can’t tell you how many people have come up to me and asked if I knew where they could buy a funny book. Ok... it was just one person…one really old guy at a bus stop. At least, I think that’s what he said…he might have actually mumbled something about me standing on his foot, but my bus had arrived and I was off.

What was I talking about now? Oh right, books! It turns out I do know where to buy a funny book and it was written by our good friend and fellow blogger Diesel, over at Mattress Police.

It’s a collection of the best of his blog and bonus material you can only get with the book. According to Diesel, “AntisocialCommentary: From the Secret Files of the Mattress Police” will be published on August 15, but for a limited time you can pre-order a signed copy at a significantly discounted price.

So, hurry on down to Mattress Police and order yourself a copy. Then if some old geezer asks you where he can find a funny book, you can let him have it. The information, not the book…let him buy his own damn copy.

"He's a page right out of history"...

2007-07-20T23:45:00.000-04:00

By now you’ve all probably seen those Geico commercials featuring those often offended cavemen and you’ve probably also heard the rumors that they will be getting their own TV show.

Well, while the world waits with baited breath for that epic television event, I’ve been lucky enough to snag an interview with the original Stone Age star, the one and only, Fred Flintstone…

TDB: Welcome Fred, and thanks for stopping by.

FF: Yabba Dabba…

TDB: Let me stop you right there Fred. I talked to some people at Hanna-Barbera, and it turns out you can’t use that phrase in any public forum.

FF: But that was my catch phrase…I came up with that!

TDB: Yeah, but your contract at the time gave them all rights to anything connected to the show, you know “intellectual property” and all that. It’s kind of technical, so don’t worry your little Stone Age head about it.

FF: Look, can we just get this over with? I’ve got to call my lawyer!

TDB: Ha ha, there’s the old hotheaded Fred we all remember. So Fred, as the first “caveman” to make it big on television, are you pleased by the success of your prehistoric brethren?

FF: Not really…let me set you straight on a couple of things blog-boy. First of all, I’m pretty sure those guys are Neanderthals, while I’m Cro-Magnon all the way baby! I didn’t even know there were any of those mouth breathers still around.

TDB: Well, we were all a little surprised by that. Some scientists say that there was a lot of interbreeding between the two groups…any truth to that?

FF: Yeah, there was some, but not me. Personally, I find excessive body hair and large ridge brows a real turn off, but Barney Rubble didn’t seem to mind it. Of course, you could say that old Barney never met a species he didn’t “like”…if you know what I mean.

TDB: I think I do…and thanks for burning that image into my brain.

FF: Anyway, another thing that’s different about these guys is that they all seem to be college educated, white-collar types and they’re always having some kind of hissy fit. On our show we were blue-collar guys who wanted nothing more out of life than to come home after a hard days work, bang the wife and then go bowling…it was beautiful.

TDB: Well, especially when you’ve got a wife that looks like Wilma, eh? Now that I think about it, you’re one in a long series of TV husbands who benefited from what I call the “Ralph Kramden” factor. You know, loud, obnoxious fat guys with inexplicably hot wives. First there was Jackie Gleason, then you and now there are guys like Jim Belushi and Kevin James…it’s really kind of bizarre.

FF: (awkward pause) How would you like a knuckle sandwich, pal?!

TDB: Easy there big guy, watch your blood pressure. Why don’t you fill us in on the rest of the cast. How are they?

FF: Dead, mostly. Barney was the fist to go, but at least they named an entire wing after him at the Bedrock VD Clinic and Research Facility. Betty died next after years of working as a conservationist. With her it was always, save the Mastodon, save the Saber Toothed tiger or save the Dodo. Crazy broad…never could pick a winner.

Wilma is a widow living in Florida, where she puts on a weekly burlesque show at the Old Soldiers Home.

TDB: And the kids on the show?

FF: Well, Pebbles grew up and married the head of some cult and was never heard from again. Bamm-Bamm fell into a life of crime, killed someone and was sent to the gas chamber.

TDB: You had the gas chamber way back then?

FF: Yeah, he was put into a windowless room with a Wooly Mammoth that had been fed nothing but beans and cabbages for a week…

TDB: I should have seen that coming. Fred…it’s been great talking to you, any final thoughts?

FF: Yeah…Yabba Dabba...

TDB: FRED!!

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Lets get visual...

2007-07-13T21:18:00.001-04:00

Here are a couple of sketches that I did a year or two ago, when I was toying with the idea of starting another single panel cartoon. The idea behind this one would have been to make fun of famous historical figures and events. Why history? I haven't got a clue...other than it seemed like a good idea at the time...

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I beg your pardon...

2007-07-06T22:23:00.000-04:00

As far as this blog goes, I tend to avoid politics like the plague. However, occasionally a bit of political news filters through my defenses…I’m never happy about it, but it happens.

Take for example the recent news item about President Bush and whether he would or wouldn’t pardon some dude named “Scooter” Libby (turns out he didn’t, but he did commute his prison sentence).

Now, I have no idea why the president has that power or what induced him to use it in this particular case…other than he figured that a grown man going through life with a name like “Scooter" had been punished enough.

Anyway, according to my good friend the eminent scholar Monty Dingham Smythington, it turns out that the constitution gives the president other, rarely heard of powers as well. Here are just a few…

He can compel all citizens to bathe once a year, whether they need it or not. (Hey, they had different ideas about hygiene back then)

In case of a nation wide famine the president reserves the right to resort to cannibalism, but the victims, thereafter to be known as “sacrificial patriots”, must be chosen from his own political party.

In the event of an invasion by a foreign power, the president can commandeer any and all horses, carriages and women’s clothing necessary to get him to safely to Canada. Unless of course that foreign power is Canada…stop laughing, it could happen.

The president can preside over any trial in which the defendant or plaintiff is a “saucy tavern wench”. (It’ seems that Ben Franklin insisted on that one)

He can force all members of congress to take part in a rousing game of “Simon says”, the loser of which has to mow the White House lawn.

And finally, the president is the one and only, “official bikini inspector” of these United States. (Most scholars think that this one wasn’t originally part of the constitution, but was written in by someone during the Kennedy administration)

You know, sometimes you just have to wonder if the “founding fathers” might have been wearing their wigs a little too tight.

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What's really going on here

2007-06-30T22:08:00.000-04:00

As a doting uncle, I’ve probably been exposed to more children’s television than is healthy for a normal adult brain. Of course, in my case it is also probably true that I have less to lose in that regard than most people do.

Be that as it may, some of these TV shows, innocuous though they may seem, raise some perplexing and even disturbing questions…

SpongeBob SquarePants: Ok, I get it, he lives in a pineapple under the sea…but does he own or rent? Also, despite being surrounded by fish, the main characters on this show are a sponge, a starfish and a squid…so, is this program being used to push the invertebrate agenda? Just what do they have against backbones?

Dora the Explorer: Exactly who is funding all this “exploring” anyway? Is it the oil companies? Is she part of some kind of covert CIA operation? Or is this show some kind of allegory about the evils of colonialism and if so, what the hell does the blue monkey symbolize?

Teletubbies: The most obvious question here is…what the hell are these things? Are they mentally challenged aliens? Or are they someone’s idea of what human beings will be like after another million years or so of sitting on the couch watching television? In either case, why does the sun have a laughing baby’s head in the middle of it? And did anyone remember to put sunscreen on the baby?

I posed these questions to my youngest niece, a sharp-witted little lass of five, who I think knows more than she lets on. Her only response was to smile at me and turn back to her program. Oh, she’s crafty all right.

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Play that funky music...

2007-06-22T23:27:00.000-04:00

The kind and charming HollyGL over at Remedial Rumination recently posted a meme about songs that have made an impact on her life. I don’t do the meme thing myself, but I was inspired enough by her post to take a look back at some of the songs that have made me (and I use the term loosely) the man I am today…

“The Daring Young Man on the Flying Trapeze” as performed by The International Silver String Submarine Band: Or as they were better known, the Little Rascals. Although I’m not sure when during that long malaise that was my childhood I first heard this song, I never forgot it.

This performance had it all: shabbily dressed urchins playing homemade instruments and singing off-key, a catchy tune and lyrics about some lecherous aerial acrobat who’s out to steal your girl. What more could a music loving kid ask for?

“Kung Fu Fighting” by Carl Douglas: I think I was just starting junior high school when this song came out. Whenever it played on the radio my pals and I, suffering no doubt from some sort of hormonally induced brain damage, would start to flail spastically about, performing what we were convinced were genuine kung fu moves. What a time it was…the joy…the laughter…the broken bones.

"Muskrat Love" by Captain & Tennille: Unfortunately, not every song had a positive impact. After all, in life you have to take the bad with the good and for me this song was as bad as it gets. The cloying melody filled my ears as the saccharine lyrics burned an image of horny aquatic rodents into my brain that would take years of therapy to remove.

"Funky Cold Medina" by Tone Lōc: Probably the greatest song about a transsexual since the Kinks recorded “Lola” way back when…ok, it’s probably the only song about a transsexual since “Lola”. No wait…I forgot about Aerosmith’s “Dude Looks Like A Lady”, although to be honest, when I first heard that song I thought Steven Tyler was actually singing about himself.

Anyway, in "Funky Cold Medina" there’s a line that goes ‘I don't fool around with no Oscar Meyer wiener’ and why no rival hot dog company ever used that in a commercial is something I’ll never understand.

"Baby Got Back" by Sir Mix-a-Lot: This could be the most personally meaningful song on the list for me. When I heard Sir Mix-a-Lot utter that immortal line ‘I like big butts and I can not lie’…it was like he was reading from my diary.

Whew! I think I need to go lie down… these trips down memory lane are exhausting.

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Curious seekers...

2007-06-17T22:57:00.001-04:00

It’s time once again to take a look at what people were searching for when they wound up here in the land of the drive-by blogger. To be honest, I think I get more enjoyment out of this than anyone else, but here goes…

Jack the necrophiliac: The part of the nursery rhyme you hadn’t heard. I guess climbing up a hill to fetch a pail of water wasn’t’ Jack’s only passion.

Olympic boinking icon: Who knew that this was an Olympic event, let alone what the icon for it is. Gold medal, bronze medal, who the hell cares…just tell me where the tryouts are being held.

Cyanide pie: I’d bet my last dollar that it was Martha Stewart who typed those words. The judge who sentenced her to prison might want to avoid baked goods for a while…I’m telling you this woman never forgets.

Average life span of sumo wrestler: Well, lets’ put it this way, I’m pretty sure that unlike baseball, there’s no “Old Timer’s Day” in sumo wrestling.

World record largest bowel movement: I don’t have any exact numbers on this, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it involved one of the aforementioned sumo wrestlers.

Alternate uses for a motorcycle helmet: Lets see…a hot tub for hamsters, an ashtray, a some what leaky Jell-O mold…oh, the possibilities are endless.

Naked druid priestess: Probably someone from the “Dungeons & Dragons” crowd surfing for porn.

Cat Stevens half eaten sandwich: I couldn't figure out if this was a search for a Cat Stevens song called “Half eaten sandwich” or if someone was looking to buy an actual sandwich that Cat Stevens didn’t get to finish. This may haunt me forever.

The howler monkey’s enemy: Anyone who has ever heard the song “Daydream Believer”, no wait…wrong group of monkey’s.

Strudel sayings: When you start to believe baked goods have the ability to speak, you’ve probably “over medicated” yourself.

By the way, a while back I wrote a post a TV show called ““Man Vs Wild” starring survivalist Bear Grylls and ever since there has been a barrage of people searching for nude photos of the man. So, if you’re reading this Mr. Grylls (hey, it could happen) I just wanted you to know that if the TV thing doesn’t work out, you’ve probably got a good future as a male stripper.

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In your dreams...

2007-06-11T00:31:00.001-04:00

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before, but I am a certified dream analyst and I used to write a column called “Ask the Dream Doctor” for the now defunct magazine “The House of Morpheus”.

I thought that today I would share just a few of the many letters I used to receive from troubled dreamers all over the country…

Dear Dream Doctor: In my dream I’m standing in the doorway of my bathroom when I notice an ant in the middle of the bathtub. Suddenly, I find myself shrinking and being pulled towards the tub. Finally, I’m face to face with the ant, the tub around us looking like a gleaming porcelain desert.

The ant begins to speak and says, “You know, that abrasive cleanser you use is scratching the hell out of this bathtub!” It’s at that point I wake up, feeling confused and slightly embarrassed. Can you shed some light on this?

Betty from Peoria

Dear Betty, if I were a person with a strong spiritual or mystical outlook, I might suggest that this was some kind of coded message from your ancestors…but since I’m not, I think it just means you shouldn’t fall asleep while watching infomercials!

Dear Dream Doctor: I keep having the same recurring dream. It starts off with me in a train that keeps going in and out of the same tunnel again and again. Then suddenly, I’m straddling a huge rocket or missile just as it starts to blast off. Finally, I’m on the beach, watching as wave after wave pounds the shore, then I wake up soaked in sweat. Anyway, I don’t have a clue what this dream is about…can you help?

Dave from Atlanta

Dear Dave, so…you have no idea what this dream is about? Really…none at all? Well…uh, lets see…the part about the train means you’d like to travel, the rocket part could be about your concerns for national security. And the pounding waves likely has to do with…uh, surfing.

Now, do me a favor and drop whatever you’re doing and go take a really cold shower. In fact take several…every day...probably for the rest of your life.

Dear Dream Doctor: Yeah, I got one for ya. I had this dream about this deadbeat who likes to bet on the horses. Problem is, he ain’t so good at payin’ what he owes. Anyway, the dream ends with this dirtbag disappearing inside a sausage factory in New Jersey… capice?

Vinny from Hoboken

Dear Vinny, Yes, I understand your “dream” perfectly. I just need a little more time to “interpret” it for you and I can promise you’ll never have that dream again…I swear.

Ironically enough, it was Vinny himself who wound up disappearing. The newspapers said no one knew what had happened to him…but I avoided sausages for a long time anyway.

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Central Snark...

2007-06-07T11:40:00.000-04:00

Hey, if you're looking for me I'm guest posting over at CENTRAL SNARK. A great blog run by some very nice people, so come on over and read about Mother Nature's kinky side.

It's good to be the king...

2007-06-04T22:06:00.001-04:00

Not long ago I was reading about young Prince Harry and it started me thinking about the history of the British monarchy. I immediately took my medication, but to no avail…the thought was stuck in my head.

Anyway, long before they started using numbers, you know, Henry II or Henry VIII, it was common for kings to be known by a nickname. As you might have guessed, some of these nicknames were of the self-aggrandizing variety, like Alfred the Great, Richard the Lion Hearted and so on.

However, some kings didn’t do as well in the nickname department. Take for example, Ethelred the Unready, Sweyn Forkbeard or Harold Harefoot. Now, I thought those were pretty interesting, but I was certain there had to be more. So after a little digging, I compiled this list of not so illustriously nicknamed kings…

Ulrod the Incontinent

Caldor the Pigeon Toed

Harold the Queasy

Fredric the Emaciated

Edward the Squishy

Henry the Nutless (perhaps not surprisingly, he left no heirs to the throne)

Charles the Lice Ridden (was actually called that for only a short while before it was realized that everyone at that time was lice ridden)

Richard the Bootylicious

Ok, don’t quote me on that last one…I’m fairly certain it was at that point that the medication finally kicked in.

And now a word from our sponsors...

2007-05-27T22:56:00.000-04:00

As you might have guessed, the costs of maintaining a blog like this one are enormous…ok, so they’re also imaginary, but in my mind they are still enormous.

To help defray these expenses, it has become necessary to seek out corporate sponsorship and while I haven’t heard back yet from any of the Fortune 500 companies I’ve contacted, a couple of small but forward looking businesses have stepped into the breech. I hope you will patronize them whenever you can…

*I’ve been asked by the management of the Magic Fingers Massage Parlor to clarify that the “senior” discount mentioned applies only to patrons who receive a massage from Madge, who at 86 years young is their “senior” masseuse. They apologize for any confusion.

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The Jazz Age...

2007-05-21T22:39:00.000-04:00

I was discussing language with my good friend the eminent scholar Monty Dingham Smythington…well, he was doing most of the talking…my contribution to the conversation consisted mainly in a valiant attempt to remain awake.

Anyway, he told me that while doing research for a book about the 1920’s, he had come across some fascinating examples of forgotten slang terms from that period. So, in keeping with the old adage misery loves company, I now inflict…I mean present them to you…

Crank up the Tin Lizzy: Meant either to start your automobile or to induce a state of sexual desire in one’s wife.

Like a flapper to hooch: This phrase could refer to a very strong attraction to something or the migration pattern of some unknown bird.

Don’t spit on my spats: I think this was either a warning not to be disrespectful or a literal reference to the ugliest footwear ever worn by man.

Twisting the Kaiser’s sausage: During the 20’s this phrase was used mostly by veterans of WWI and described either a great victory over your enemy or possibly a sex act performed by European prostitutes.

I’d like to Rudolph her Valentino: A statement of lecherous intent inspired by the popularity of the silent film star, this phrase was a favorite of drunken college students of the time.

A Charleston chippy: This could be either a young woman of easy virtue obsessed by the famed dance craze or an injury to the ankle caused by said dance craze.

zzzzzz…huh? Oh, sorry. Thank you Monty, that was enthralling, old boy. I can hardly wait to read your next book: “The Cultural Impact of Facial Hair on the Office of the Presidency”.

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Fans to the end...and beyond.

2007-05-18T22:06:00.000-04:00

It’s no secret that merchandising is a part of sports, but it appears that baseball is taking it to another level. A company called Eternal Image has made a deal with Major League Baseball to sell urns and coffins that feature the logos and colors of all 30 teams.

Since it is pretty clear that Major League Baseball will put its brand on just about anything, I have a few suggestions of my own…

Condoms: If you’re not looking to add any new “players” to your home team, just remember to cover your “Louisville slugger” with one of these and it’s “off to the old ballgame!” Available in three sizes: Homerun king, Utility player and Batboy.

Fertilizer: Want your lawn to look as green as centerfield? Then try Major League Baseball brand industrial strength fertilizer. Made from the droppings of only the finest steroid filled cows, this crap will grow grass on concrete.

Ski masks: Baseball is basically a warm weather sport, but when winter comes and you’re ready to hit the slopes you can still show your love for the game by wearing a ski mask emblazoned with the logo of your favorite team. And if someone should decide to rob a liquor store while wearing one, well as they say, there’s no such thing as bad publicity.

Cereal: Oatmeal and fruit might be ok for soccer loving foreigners, but if you want your children to have the energy they need for little league baseball, then pour them a heaping bowl of “Frosted Golden Glovies”. The cereal that’s 98 percent pure sugar and 2 percent of some other edible substance*

*“Frosted Golden Glovies” has been known to cause comas in children under the age of five.

Ah yes, crass commercialism…now there is a great national pastime.

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A few scattered thoughts...

2007-05-12T00:36:00.000-04:00

No, that rattling sound you hear isn’t ball bearings in a coconut shell, its just a few random musings jostling each other for space in the limited real estate that is my brain. Read on and I’ll shake a few loose for you…

These days the word “whacked” is used as a euphemism for a murder committed by the mob. In the 1940’s it was “rubbed out” (at least according to old gangster films). What I’d like to know is did they have a meeting to decide on this and more importantly, why do both terms seem to have masturbatory connotations?

To help out first time parents, someone should manufacture diapers with some kind of color-coded warning system. For example, the diaper might turn blue if it’s just wet, orange for an ordinary bowel movement and if it turns neon green, you might want to break out the biohazard suits.

Judging from the women who star in the shows “The Ghost Whisperer” an “Medium” there seems to be a link between paranormal ability and large breasts. Clearly, this requires more research…and I’m ready to do my part.

Fettuccine Alfredo, Eggs Benedict, Beef Wellington…I don’t care what it tastes like, food named after people just creeps me out.

I bet you could probably make a lot of money by using disappearing ink to tattoo people who have a fear of commitment but still want to be trendy.

Have you ever noticed how sometimes someone will combine two words to form an entirely new one, like infotainment or advertorial? Well, I think I’ve come up with one that could catch on: poshtitute. It would be used to refer to only the most expensive hookers available.

A word of advice to the GEICO company: in those commercials with the perpetually offended cavemen, you might want to add a few cavewomen or people might start talking…if you know what I mean.

Someone should find out if there’s a market for a Braille edition of the game “Twister”

Well, I gotta run, if I’m more than 10 minutes late, my electroshock therapist charges me double.

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Helping others to help themselves...

2007-05-06T22:09:00.000-04:00

While wandering around aimlessly through cyberspace I came across a site called wikiHow, which describes itself as “The How-To Manual That Anyone Can Write or Edit”.

Among other things, at this site you can learn how to camp out in the rain, live with an elderly person or celebrate Earthday. Now, I’ve no idea why anyone would want to do any of those things, but disseminating information of dubious value is right up my alley, so here’s a list of articles that I’m thinking about writing that will tell you how to:

Housebreak a badger

Polish your uvula

Perform an emergency appendectomy using only a steak knife and a pair of salad tongs

Have your in-laws declared “enemy combatants” and shipped off to Guantanamo Bay

Turn your child’s old chemistry set into a whiskey still

Harvest earwax for fun and profit

Covert that useless old collection of vinyl records into a lovely coffee table

Iron your clothes while still wearing them

Cure a bad case of crabs with Tabasco sauce and sawdust

Cook a Thanksgiving Day turkey with a car battery

Well, I guess I better get started on these articles…anyone know where I can find a badger?

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Shaken, not stirred...

2007-05-02T23:07:00.000-04:00

I was reading about Daniel Craig, the actor who has taken over the role of James Bond and it started me thinking about the old Bond films and how bizarre some of their titles were. So much so in fact, that someone who was completely unfamiliar with the 007 movies could easily be excused for thinking that…

Goldfinger is a comedy about the world’s richest proctologist

Octopussy is a porno film for people with a fetish for cephalopods

Moonraker is a documentary about smuggling illegal immigrants into space

The Man with the Golden Gun is a cautionary tale about someone who knows much more about accumulating wealth than he does the manufacturing of quality firearms

Dr. No is about US physicians who oppose socialized medicine

You Only Live Twice is about some kind of abridged, Reader’s Digest version of reincarnation

The Spy Who Loved Me is a CIA recruitment film

Thunderball doesn’t even sound like a film title as much as it does a really painful testicular condition

Well, if all that doesn’t get Ian Fleming spinning in his grave, I don’t what will.

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The greatest show on earth...

2007-04-28T22:24:00.000-04:00

The gentleman in the photograph goes by the name of Bello. He is appearing with the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus in a show called “Bellobration”. Now, judging from his bizarre haircut and the fact that he is apparently some kind of clown/acrobat daredevil, I was wondering if this had anything to do with the popularity of the Cirque du Soleil.

They also have people with weird hair doing strange combinations of things and they’ve been very successful…maybe too successful for even the biggest of traditional circuses to ignore.

If so, I just want the people at Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey to know that I’m here to help. It just so happens that in my spare time I am the business manager of several world class, cutting edge circus acts, all of whom happen to be “between engagements”. For a very reasonable price I can make available to them performers like…

Lars Nostrom the Frozen Swordfish Swallower: Lars began his career in Sweden as a conventional sword swallower before coming up with the brilliant idea of using a live swordfish instead. While recovering from the operation to repair the lacerations to his throat he came up with the even better idea of using only frozen swordfish instead.

Gunter Holbein, Extreme Lion Tamer: Audiences will be stunned and amazed as this dashing Teutonic tamer of big cats puts his lions through their paces armed only with a feather duster, while wearing a suit made entirely from beef. In Berlin his show was held over for an additional six weeks…ok, actually it was just Gunter that was held for six weeks and that was for a court ordered psychiatric evaluation, but he’s available now!

The Amazing Borini Family, the World’s Only Blind Trapeze Act: Hailing from a small mountain village straddling the border of Italy and France, all the members of this family have been blind as far back as anyone can remember. They seem to have developed some kind of echo locating ability unique to themselves…ok, really they’re just yelling at each other constantly, but it seems to work…most of the time.

Bippy Leather Stockings: This mysterious clown from parts unknown is a clinically diagnosed schizophrenic with sadomasochistic tendencies who always gets howls of laughter as he whips himself with a cat-o' nine tails while begging himself not to stop...always a favorite with the kids.

Just imagine all those acts under one roof…now that’s entertainment.

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A little pondering and a little pandering...

2007-04-25T22:15:00.000-04:00

Generally speaking, I don’t consider myself to be an idiot, but there are many things in the world that I do not understand, many things that puzzle and befuddle me. Here are a few of the questions that have recently been crawling around the junkyard of my mind…

How was it that Albert Einstein was smart enough to come up with the theory of relativity but apparently couldn’t figure out how to use a comb?

Why don’t animal species in which the males can lick their own “private parts” quickly become extinct? Because I’m pretty sure if human males ever develop that ability that’s exactly what will happen.

Why life doesn’t come with a soundtrack? I mean, even the dullest existence could be made more bearable with the right music.

Do the people who make picket signs have a union and if they go on strike what do they carry while picketing?

Aren’t casinos really just weight loss centers for your wallet?

Do werewolves have to deal with flea and tick infestation…and does anyone make a collar for that?

Will Alec Baldwin’s angry tirade at his daughter keep him from ever landing that most prestigious of all hosting gigs…Nickelodeon's Kid Choice Awards?

Did anyone but me think that MC Escher was a rapper from Europe?

Black holes, wormholes…who would have thought that the universe would so closely resemble a hunk of Swiss cheese?

Why didn’t edible underwear ever become a part of everyone’s daily wardrobe? Oh wait, I do understand that one…ewww!

By the way, my fellow blogger Diesel, over at Mattress Police, is having a caption contest and yours truly is in the running. So if you are so inclined head over there and have a gander and maybe even vote…for um, you know, whoever.

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Well, I'll be a monkey's...

2007-04-21T10:38:00.000-04:00

Recently, I was completely surprised by an article that said that the chimpanzee that played “Cheetah” in the old Tarzan movies was still alive and had just turned 75 years old…75!

If you had asked me prior to this how long chimps usually live, I might have guessed 40 or 50 years, 60 at the absolute most, but not 75. Anyway, why would you be asking me…who am I, Jane Goodall?

Just think of all the things this geriatric simian has seen... World War Two, the moon landing and the Chia Pet. I wonder if he bores his grandchildren with stories about how tough things were when he was just a chimpling…chimpet? Whatever the hell you call a very young chimp. Or does he view the past through rose colored bifocals and go on and on about how much bigger and sweeter bananas were in his day.

Maybe someone should hire a pet psychic to “interview” him and find out if he has any great stories about the golden age of Hollywood, or if he has any response to those rumors about his alleged attraction to men in loincloths.

No…I suppose it would be best just to leave this elderly, hirsute thespian to his memories. I just hope that the people who give out the Oscars have taken note and are preparing some kind of lifetime achievement award or at least a star on that Hollywood walk of fame, I mean after all, they just gave one to Eric Estrada…Happy Birthday Cheetah!

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Stormy weather...

2007-04-15T22:16:00.000-04:00

From time to time, I like to look back in time and honor the great, unsung heroes of history. People like Le Petomane and Nicholas Cugnot or the man we are focusing on today, Jonas Hanway.

This brave soul was the first man to walk around carrying an umbrella at a time when only women used them.

Like all people who break down barriers, Hanway at first met with a lot of resistance. Especially from the Hackney coachmen (the taxi drivers of their day) who feared that if this idea caught on it might hurt their business. Here now are a few excerpts from a journal that Hanway kept during those tumultuous days…

March 3, 1750, 9:00 am:
I think the modifications that I’ve made to turn a parasol into a rainproof device are complete. My “umbrella” as I call it is ready for testing on the streets of London. Never again will powdered wigs, make up and silk stockings be ruined by inclement weather…and I guess women may find it useful as well.

March 3, 1750, 9:03 am:
Apparently, the modifications were not complete. I seem to have underestimated the bloody wind! I’d not taken three steps from my home when a sudden gust ripped from my hand. I had to chase it for six blocks and wrest it away from a couple of filthy street urchins, one of whom tried to bite me. It’s a good thing that teeth are scarce among the lower class or I might have been injured.

Clearly, I need to improve the handle, but I’m not discouraged because I believe that this idea is one for which the people of this nation will be forever thankful.

March 5, 1750, 4:02 pm:
Bloody ungrateful bastards! Mindless fools! Everywhere I went I was greeted by derision and laughter. From one end of London to the other it was “Lovely parasol, my lady!” or “Afraid you might melt in the rain? Made of sugar are we?”

The most egregious affront to my dignity was delivered by a boorish group of Hackney coachmen. Tomorrow, I plan to seek them out and teach them a proper lesson!

March 8, 1750, 11:00 am:
Finally back from the hospital. The resident proctologist said he had seen a few parasol injuries before, but never one lodged quite so far up in the human body. He also said that if it had opened I would have been a goner for sure.

This act of violence against my person shall not deter me. I will not stop until I have secured the right of every man in England to carry an umbrella without the risk of be insulted or injured…I will prevail!

And so he did. Eventually, his efforts to make it acceptable for men to carry umbrellas were a success. His follow up campaign to bring back the over sized codpiece…not so much.

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Talk is cheap...

2007-04-12T22:12:00.000-04:00

I hate “talk radio”…I always have. It doesn’t matter what’s being talked about, politics, sports or automotive repair, I just wish it would all go away.

This recent incident with Don Imus is just further proof that “talk radio” is the work of the Devil…or at least one of his higher ranking demons. I mean, you’ve got to have some seniority to unleash that kind of evil on the world. Anyway, the only sound that should ever emanate from a radio is music…just the way the God Apollo intended.

So since Imus has apparently lost his radio job the question now becomes what will replace it? If the station insists on going with something other than music, I have listed a few things that I would rather hear than “talk radio”…

A dozen or so flatulent gorillas

The mournful wailing of the eternally damned

The hacking coughs of a room full of four- pack-a-day cigarette smokers

The complete works of Shakespeare as performed by the surviving cast members of the original “Star Trek” series

The incessant buzzing of a swarm of West Nile virus carrying mosquitoes (actually, this might be to close too talk radio as it already exists)

A series of lectures by James Lipton on the contribution made to the art of acting by the girl who played “Tootie” on the TV show “The Facts of Life”

Every book on tape ever recorded…played backwards.

The mating call of a Bull Moose during the height of the rutting season ( If the station can’t find a recording of this I can do a fair imitation for them…what? I can’t have a hobby?)

I may hate “talk radio” but I like humor-blogs.com

Try and try again...

2007-04-07T22:06:00.000-04:00

Once upon a time, in a more ambitious phase of my life, I pursued my fifteen minutes of fame by trying to set a new world record…any record would do. As you might have guessed from the obscurity in which I dwell, I never did accomplish my goal, but I have jotted down a few of my more memorable attempts…

Long distance tobacco juice spitting: This turned out to be much harder than I thought it would be. A pathetic dribble down my chin was about all I could manage, but the chewing tobacco did make me so sick I almost set an new world record…for projectile vomiting.

Hamster juggling: I never even got to make my attempt at this one because of two elderly women from PETA who assaulted me with their protest signs.

Speed tattooing: I thought I had a real shot at this record, but then the volunteers I was tattooing got all picky about things like the quality of the drawing, wanting me to use clean needles and not hitting any major arteries…people can be so self-centered.

Envelope licking: I didn’t even get close to the record with this one. After just the third envelope, I suffered a tremendous paper cut across my tongue that required many stitches. Having forgotten to have any emergency medical staff on hand I was aided by an itinerate seamstress from the tiny nation of Bakstabia. Unfortunately, I think in her culture it means that we’re engaged.

Most consecutive hours without sleep: In retrospect, this was a bad idea from the beginning…I need my sleep. It also turns out that sleep deprivation can lead to hallucinations and when I started imagining that I was Salome doing the dance of the Seven Veils, my attempt was pretty much over.

I did get a goodnight’s sleep in jail though.

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Just a few words before they go...

2007-03-31T00:41:00.000-04:00

The final words of most famous historical figures went unrecorded or if they have come down to us, always seem to express a noble or brave sentiment. Being a skeptical sort of person I’ve always had doubts about this and after a lot of extensive research I am pleased to present to you the actual last words of some history’s most notable people…

George Washington: “You know, it really is true that I cannot tell a lie…but I did ‘choke the chicken’ every chance I could.”

Napoleon Bonaparte: “ They have finally managed to stop me, but at least I die knowing that the world will forever live in fear of French military might!”

Galileo Galilei: “Of all the wondrous discoveries I have made with my telescope, the most amazing of all is just how many women in this city get dressed with their window curtains wide open.”

John Wilkes Booth: “Huh…Lincoln? You mean that wasn’t the critic from the Times who wrote that I have ‘the stage presence of a bowl of oatmeal’? Oh, crap…”

Babe Ruth: “So many hookers…so little time.”

Christopher Columbus: “ The Niña, Pinta and Santa Maria…I mean, could the names of those ships be any gayer?”

Sigmund Freud: “Psychiatry, bah…I should have been a foot doctor like my momma wanted me to.”

Davy Crockett: “Seriously…if you guys bury me in this stupid hat, I swear to God I will come back and haunt you.”

Julius Caesar: “"You too, Brutus? You punk ass bitch!”

Alexander the Great: “Of course I’m dying young, you try living with the stress of being called the ‘Great’…thanks a lot mom and dad!”

Joan of Arc: “Do you smell smoke?”

William Shakespeare: “ Alas, ‘tis the hour of my death and verily I say to thee
How I devoutly wish that it was thou instead of me!”

Good old Willie…a poet to the bitter end.

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Monkey business...

2007-03-25T22:22:00.000-04:00

A group of chimpanzees was recently discovered in Senegal, making and using sharpened sticks to hunt small mammals with.

So far, no one seems alarmed by this…except perhaps our ever-vigilant Department of Homeland Security. There’s a rumor going around (or at least there will be if I have anything to say about it) that the DHS is looking into the possibility that terrorists are actually training these chimps to fight on their side against the West.

Let’s face it, when you’re main strategy involves suicide bombers, you’re going to start running low on people sooner or later. But it’s not just chimps, the DHS thinks that other primates may be used as well. Here’s a list of what the DHS believes we may be facing:

The Marmoset Slingshot Battalion

The Lemur Brass knuckle Division

The Capuchin monkey Blowgun Corps

The Orangutan Machete Strike Force

The Howler monkey Switchblade Regiment

The Baboon Baseball bat Squadron

Of course, the DHS doesn’t know for sure when attacks by these furry terrorists might begin, so when ever you find yourself at a circus, zoo or a pet store that sells “exotic” animals…stay alert!

Big money...

2007-03-21T23:07:00.000-04:00

While reading about a recent lottery that was worth about 370 million dollars, I began thinking of previous big money lotteries and how often it seems that the people who win them have no idea how to spend the money.

That would not be a problem for yours truly, so read on if you want to find out how to spend a fortune Drive-by Blogger style…

Despite the facts that I don’t fish and I’ve been known to get seasick just from standing in a puddle, I would still buy the obligatory yacht. I’d just plant it on my enormous front lawn and use it as the world’s most luxurious mailbox.

The grounds around my fabulous estate will be guarded by rarely fed Komodo dragons and a gigantic TV monitor will continuously show videos of previous trespassers being eaten.

My mansion would actually be a group of connected buildings that spell out “poverty sucks” when seen from high above…say from the top of my radio tower for example. From which will emanate the sounds of my own radio station WTDB, where we play “whatever the hell I feel like…all the time!”

Using the power of my new found wealth I will drive Joan Rivers into bankruptcy and then hire her as part of my domestic staff, just so I can force her to dress in a burlap sack and then ask her several times a day “who are you wearing?”

I would gather together all of the leading Bigfoot “experts” and fund an expedition into the most remote wilderness in North America, with orders not to return until they’ve caught him. Not because I believe that Bigfoot exists…it will just be nice not to ever hear from any of those idiots again.

To everyone who lives in a five-mile radius of my mansion I would offer to pay for any and all plastic surgery. Should too many of my homely neighbors fail to accept my generous offer, I would then buy up all their houses and give them as gifts to young, aspiring actresses and fashion models…just doing my part to keep America beautiful.

Of course, before long I would probably be as broke as MC Hammer, but easy come, easy go…that’s just how I roll.

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Celebrity spotlight...

2007-03-18T23:05:00.000-04:00

Taking into account the profound historical substance of my Saint Patrick’s day post, I decided to keep things light and superficial today and there’s no better way to do that then checking out a little celebrity news…

The head of the Anglican Church in Trinidad and Tobago called Elton John the “Pied Piper” of homosexuality and wants to keep him off the West Indian Island nation.
"His visit to the island can open the country to be tempted towards pursuing his lifestyle," the archdeacon said.

Yes, because as everyone knows there’s nothing like an overweight, 59 year-old man with a bad toupee to illustrate the glamour of the gay lifestyle.

Comic book fans are mourning the death Captain America, who was gunned down by an assassin in "Captain America Vol. 5, No. 25. (ok, so he’s a fictional character, but he was still a celebrity…sort of)

Personally, I wouldn’t have picked that end for Captain America. I probably would have had him humped to death by the She-Hulk…but then I’ve always been a hopeless romantic.

Actor-comedian Sinbad had the last laugh after his Wikipedia entry announced he was dead, the performer said Thursday. When asked if he was upset about the mix-up, Sinbad, whose real name is David Adkins, just laughed. He has appeared in the films, "Houseguest”, "Jingle All the Way”, “First Kid” and “Good Burger”.

Oh, I see where the confusion is…with a resume like that it’s his career that died.

Pete Rose said he bet on the Cincinnati Reds ``every night'' when he was the team's manager, rather than four times a week as Major League Baseball's all- time hit leader maintained for three years.

Rose denied betting on baseball for 15 years until he said in his book, ``My Prison Without Bars,'' that he confessed to Commissioner Bud Selig when he sought to have the ban lifted. He said he told the commissioner he bet on the Reds four or five times a week and only to win.

Hmm, lets see…doing something wrong, then lying about it and only telling the truth in the hope of gaining something from it? Forget baseball Pete, politics is where you belong.

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The Emerald Isle...

2007-03-16T00:58:00.000-04:00

I have often been told that somewhere in our family’s history, lost in the mists of time, there was an Irishman. So, as Saint Patrick’s day approaches, I thought I would pay tribute to this mysterious ancestor of mine with a post about the patron saint of Ireland.

Since most people already know that he is said to have driven the snakes out of Ireland, here is a list of lesser-known facts about Saint Patrick…

He was in fact, the very first “Lord of the Dance”.

He instituted a height limit for leprechauns. Originally, they came in all sizes, but Saint Patrick soon realized that the bigger ones were just creepy.

He vanquished the last of the great pagan chieftains by beating him in a shamrock-eating contest.

For a while, Saint Patrick had a religious rival…a fellow by the name of McDour, but the rivalry ended when McDour was caught committing an unnatural act with his shillelagh and was excommunicated.

His valiant struggle to resist the charms of an extremely beautiful Druid priestess, was made much easier when he found out that her name when translated from ancient Gaelic meant “Scrotum Crusher”.

The idea for a parade in honor of Saint Patrick actually came from the man himself. As he explained at the time “Eh, modesty has never been my strong point.”

Now, if you’ll excuse me, in accordance with the customs set down by the Ancient Order of Semi- Hibernians, I must now go put on something green and listen to the music of Sinead O'Connor for an hour. It could be worse…it could be Enya.

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Searching high and low...but mostly low

2007-03-14T22:09:00.000-04:00

Yes, it’s time once again to take a look at some of the more interesting search engine queries that have brought a few unwary travelers to my humble abode here in the blogosphere, during the last couple of months…

Bear Grylls nude: When I first wrote about this survival expert a while back, I wasn’t sure that many people would even know who he was. Apparently, there are many that do know and more than a few of them want to see him naked. I counted eleven separate searches, all involving some combination of the words, Bear Grylls, nude and photos.

For one seeker however, this was not specific enough, because they typed in the words “Bear Grylls penis”. Perhaps they were hoping that this particular part Grylls anatomy has it’s own website. Well, there are stranger things in cyberspace.

Lesbian nude meerschaum pipe: Remember, when the holiday season rolls around, it’s the perfect stocking stuffer for the horny, porn addicted pipe smoker on your Christmas list.

Man who discovered friction: I’ve never really thought of friction as something that was “discovered” by one man, but if it was, I’m pretty sure I know what he was doing at the time…if you know what I mean.

Hardy boys’ bondage: Sure, why not…as long as they solve the mystery, it’s all good.

Ponderous penis: Note the alliteration, this is the kind of phrasing you get when a poet searchs for Internet porn.

Drive by murder drawing: Driving, murdering and drawing? Man, I really envy people who can multi-task like that.

Not surprisingly perhaps, none of these people stayed for more than two or three seconds. I can picture them cursing me as they angrily click out…maybe the new motto for this blog should be “disappointing people since 2006”.

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Silence is golden...

2007-03-10T23:58:00.000-05:00

Charlie Chaplin was “The Little Tramp”, Buster Keaton was “The Great Stone Face” and “Fatty” Arbuckle was known as…well, “Fatty”. Yes, many of the legendary stars of silent era comedies had such nicknames, but there were others who are long since forgotten. So let us take a moment to remember such stars as…

The Merry Bigot: Brought to the screen by former vaudevillian actor Harry Smithson in 1919, “The Merry Bigot” never met a race or nationality he didn’t want to oppress…but always with a smile! Twice a winner of the then prestigious “Ku Klux Klan Komedy” award, Smithson made more than a dozen “Merry Bigot” films in three years. His career came to a sudden end in 1922, when he “mysteriously” disappeared while taking a stroll through Harlem.

Otto “Hiney” Hausen: Though actually born in Pennsylvania, Otto built up a substantial career by playing German soldiers, spies and even the Kaiser during the first world war. Since every film ended with Otto getting his behind soundly kicked, movie viewers started calling him “Hiney” and the name stuck.

All good things must end however and when the war was finally over, so was Otto’s career. An early victim of type casting, he wound up working as a waiter a “Wolfgang’s House of Schnitzel”, where for an extra large tip patrons were allowed to kick him…for old time’s sake.

The Bootleg Kids: A precursor to the “Little Rascals”, this group of lovable street urchins always managed to stay one step ahead of the law as they delivered bathtub gin to speakeasies in a very popular series of movies in the 1920’s.

The most popular of the kids were “Knuckles”, the wiry but scrappy enforcer, “Swishy”, the slightly effeminate, but tough as nails leader and “Jail Bait”, the only girl in the gang, who as a pubescent temptress sent more cinema villains to prison than the keystone cops ever did.

After the kids grew too old to play their roles they all went their separate ways. “Knuckles” went into professional boxing where he compiled an unfortunate record of 0 wins and 47 losses. He would eventually end up in a home for the terminally punch drunk.

“Swishy” became a prison warden who was feared by all the inmates for his “rigid” discipline…if you catch my drift.

Last but not least, “Jail Bait” opened a “sporting house” for gentlemen. After being in business a good number of years, her clients gave her a new nickname…"Madame Claptrap".

As, the roaring twenties came to an end, so did the era of silent films. You know, at the time there were more than a few people who thought that sound was going to ruin motion pictures forever and now whenever I hear Sylvester Stallone mangle a line of dialogue…I’m not so sure they were wrong.

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Extreme archeology...

2007-03-07T22:49:00.000-05:00

You may already know about the controversial documentary by James Cameron ( the guy who directed Titanic) which claims that the tomb that once held the bones of Jesus and possibly his son, has been found.

What you may not know is that there are more shocks to come. My friend the eminent scholar Monty Dingham Smythington, a man who keeps up with these things, sent me this list of other remarkable discoveries that were also made during this archeological expedition:

Moses’s lunchbox, intact and containing a half-eaten, 4ooo year-old ham sandwich. According to the team’s forensic dentistry expert “Moses seems to have had one hell of an overbite. Who knew?”

Job’s diary, in which he wrote “I’m a patient man, but all these trials are really starting to chap my ass!”

The second (and final) tomb of Lazarus, the man Jesus raised from the dead, did of course die again... eventually. An inscription in the tomb says that the location was to be kept secret by order of the town elders because “ though we appreciate miracles as much as anyone, having dead people coming back to life really messes up the census.”

The Captains Log from Noah's Ark, in which he wrote “ I know now that it was wrong to stage animal fights for our amusement, but come on, 40 days and 40 nights! The boredom was killing us and I swear, I really thought that the Unicorns could hold their own against the lions.”

Exciting stuff indeed…I wonder if any of it will wind up on eBay?

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Read any good books lately...

2007-03-04T22:00:00.000-05:00

The woman in the photograph is publisher Judith Regan, who recently lost her job after agreeing to publish a controversial book by OJ Simpson and an extremely unflattering biography of baseball legend Mickey Mantle.

Well, it turns out that was just the tip of the iceberg. Here are some other books she had planned to publish in the very near future…

By The Light of an Aryan Moon: a collection of little known love poems by Adolph Hitler, with a moving introduction by Mel Gibson.

The Devil Wore A Cardigan: An unauthorized “warts and all” biography of beloved children’s television icon “Mr. Rogers”. Among other things, this book alleges that Rogers would sometimes come to work drunk, start groping the female cast members while yelling, “I guess I’m Mr. McFeely today!”

Captain Eno and The New Junior Hardy Boys in: The Case of the Missing Pajamas, by Michael Jackson: This first attempt at a children’s book by the former “King of Pop” finds the grandsons of the original Hardy boys up to their prepubescent necks in trouble as they try to help the mysterious Captain Eno prove his innocence.

Thin Like Me, by Nicole Ritchie: The former “Simple Life” co-star generously shares her weight loss secrets. When asked why she wrote it Nicole said, “ I hope that even plus-sized women like Paris Hilton will be able to benefit from this book.”

Robert Blake’s Big Book of Alibis: Before finally settling on “It’ couldn’t have been me, I had gone back to the restaurant to get the gun I had left there” Blake had considered many other alibis when he was accused of shooting his wife, including:

I’m afraid of loud noises

The sight of blood makes me woozy

I permanently crippled my trigger finger back when I played “Baretta”

Any bangin’ I do with a broad don’t involve a gun, and dat’s da name of dat tune.

Sadly none of these books will now see the light of day, but I’m sure Ms. Regan will land on her feet. After all it’s hard to keep a good muckraker down.

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Let's get mystical...

2007-03-01T00:15:00.000-05:00

It has recently been revealed that back in 2002, the British Ministry of Defense conducted experiments to see if psychics could locate Osama Bin Laden. Of course I don’t have to tell you that they didn’t find him, but imagine my surprise to find out that one of the people involved was my friend and world renowned psychic Madame Putwonovaonya.

So I made a phone call and Madame P. agreed to come in and tell us all a little about this rather unusual endeavor:

TDB: Welcome Madame Putwonovaonya, it’s wonderful to see you again.

MP: I wish I could say the same.

TDB: Ha ha, always with the kidding. So, just how do you and your psychic pals go about finding someone?

MP: Well, the method is called “remote viewing” and…

TDB: Is that anything like what dolphins do?

MP: No, I think that’s echolocation.

TDB: Can you explain the difference between the two? I mean, besides the fact that dolphins can actually find things.

MP: I don’t think that’s quite fair…

TDB: Well, did you find Osama?

MP: No, but…

TDB: Were you able to locate any of his henchmen? How about anyone with a beard? Anyone at all…Cat Stevens…Grizzly Adams…Santa Claus…

MP: Look, we are talking about a very complex and mysterious phenomenon here. Sometimes it just doesn’t work, no matter how much you want it to.

TDB: Maybe you have the psychic equivalent of erectile dysfunction.

MP: What?! I most certainly do not…

TDB: There’s no need to be embarrassed, I’m sure it happens to a lot of psychics once they reach a certain age. There’s no shame in needing a little help from a pill or a potion to “stiffen your psychic antenna” so to speak.

MP: There is nothing wrong with my “psychic antenna”! And just how old do you think I am anyway?

TDB: Oh, I don’t know…somewhere between Larry King and Methuselah?

MP: I don’t know why I keep coming back here!

TDB: Maybe it’s because of the photographs I have of you with the husband of one of your clients. You know…the ones where you’re giving him a “reading”…if you catch my drift.

MP: Oh right, those…how did you get them anyway?

TDB: It’s a secret, but you can always consult your crystal ball.

MP: I hate you.

TDB: Madame Putwonovaonya, as always it’s been a pleasure.

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Hold on to your Hogwarts...

2007-02-24T20:56:00.000-05:00

Daniel Radcliffe the star of the Harry Potter movies is scheduled to appear in a revival of the play Equus and as the young people say, he will “let it all hang out, man”. Hold on a moment please…I’ve just been informed that young people do not say that anymore. Well then, to put it plainly, the guy will be naked on stage.

It has been reported that not everyone connected to the Harry Potter franchise is happy about this, but I have it on good authority that J. K. Rowling, wearing a disguise and armed with binoculars, went to one of the rehearsals.

It would seem that Rowling was very “inspired” by what she saw. So much so in fact, that instead of ending the popular series as she had announced she would, Rowling is already at work on a new book and has plans for many more, including these…

Harry Potter and The Power of the Ivory Wand

Harry Potter and The Lair of the Enchanted MILF

Harry Potter and The Chamber of Consensual Bondage

Harry Potter and The Magic Bush

Harry Potter and The Return of Queen Burningloins of Clitonia

Harry Potter and The Buttocks of Adonis

Harry Potter and The Secret Shagging Society

So there you have it, the inside scoop on the future of Harry Potter, but if J. K. Rowling should happen to ask…you didn’t hear it from me.

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One day at a time...

2007-02-20T23:14:00.000-05:00

Celebrities aren’t the only ones who go into rehab. Why, I myself once spent several weekends in the Minor Addiction Wing of the Betty Ford Center. The little monkey I had on my back was salt; I was using the salt shaker so much that I nearly developed a repetitive stress injury. Some of the other problems that people were getting help with included caffeine, video games and in one very sad case, Vicks VapoRub.

We all knew that the other people there with “serious” drug and alcohol problems were always making fun of us…referring to us “amateurs” and “minor leaguers” but we ignored them and bravely fought our tiny demons.

Although today I am salt free, it has not been easy. As recently as six months ago I nearly had a relapse. If not for dedicated people like my counselor (who I’ll just call “Rick”) I would surely have descended back into that white, crystalline hell. Here is a transcription of the late-night phone call that saved my life…

A telephone rings

Rick: (in a groggy voice) Hello?

TDB: Hey Rick, it’s me.

Rick: TDB? Do you know that’s it’s almost 3:00 am?

TDB: Yeah, I know and I’m sorry, but I’ve hit a really rough patch. I can’t even sleep, the craving has gotten so bad it’s causing me to have these weird…almost erotic dreams.

Rick: What are you talking about?

TDB: Ok, take the last one for instance. I was walking away from the smoldering ruins of an ancient city when I run smack into Lot’s wife…

Rick: Wait, you mean that woman from the bible who was turned into a pillar of salt?

TDB: Yeah, that’s the one. Anyway, there she was, a beautiful, female shaped block of salt glittering in the sun…

Rick: Well, that doesn’t really sound all that erotic…

TDB: That’s because I haven’t told you about the licking yet…

Rick: Ok, Ok! I get the picture!

TDB: If you think that’s freaky you should have seen who was in my dream the night before. Do you that girl on the Morton Salt label?

Rick: Uh…yes…

TDB: Her mother.

Rick: Well, that’s a relief.

TDB: I’m an addict Rick…not a pervert.

Rick: Yeah, ok. Look, have you got any Mrs. Dash in your apartment?

TDB: I always do.

Rick: Good, that should get you through the what’s left of the night. Come by my office around 7:00 and we’ll talk then. Alright?

TDB: Thanks Rick, by the way, did you hear about Freddy?

Rick: The guy with the NyQuil problem? Did he fall off the wagon again?

TDB: Big time. After binging for three days he stopped by a pharmacy to buy more and he tried to pay for it with those “coins” you get at Chuck E. Cheese’s.

Rick: Listen, just because Freddy had a relapse doesn’t mean you will. I’ll see you in the morning.

TDB: Goodnight Rick.

So I hung up the phone and somehow made it through the night. Thankfully, there haven’t been any close calls since then. I’m working on a screenplay based on my experiences. It will be called either “The Devil’s Condiment” or “Please Pass the Salt…to Someone Else!”…I might even make it a musical.

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The week in review...

2007-02-18T22:43:00.000-05:00

And what a week it was. It seems as though not only nature, but the entire world is out to show me that reality is just weirder (not to mention funnier) than anything I can make up. Take for example the following genuine news items…

RIVERSIDE, Calif. - An exotic animal with a long snout, bear-like claws and a tail like a raccoon scared the heck out of some narcotics investigators searching a home for drugs.
It was eventually identified as a coatimundi, usually found in the forests of Central and South America.

Possessing a coatimundi is illegal in California without a license. Fish and game official Kyle Chang said the animal's owner, 29-year-old Norman James Vollan, will have to give it up to a zoo or to someone with an exotic animal license.

He "was pretty much crying in jail" when he learned he would lose his coatimundi, Chang said.

Now, I’m no expert on these matters, but I really believe that having to explain to your fellow inmates that you’re crying because someone took your coatimundi…is not a good thing.

WHITE PLAINS, NY - A man who was fired by IBM for visiting an adult chat room during the workday is suing the company for $5 million, claiming he is an Internet addict who “deserves treatment and sympathy rather than dismissal.”

Then with all the solemn dignity he could muster, he pulled his pants up from around his ankles and left the building.

PETA red in face over TV lobster treatment
People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals is boiling mad over a recent episode of "Iron Chef" in which Graham Bowles ripped the tails off two lobsters.

PETA members protested in front of the Food Network's Chelsea offices yesterday. One demonstrator dressed as a giant lobster held a sign reading: "Iron Chef Mean Cuisine."

Where’s a giant pot of boiling water when you really need it?

Pennsylvania chocolate maker Hershey is moving a bigger chunk of its production to Mexico, officials said yesterday. The company said it will cut 1,500 jobs and close some plants
"Whenever they move something out the country, that's not good news," said Dennis Bomberger, of Chocolate Workers Local 464.

As of yet there has been no comment from the Lollipop Guild.

Peanut butter & a jam in salmonella outbreak
Peter Pan peanut butter got the hook from New York store shelves yesterday after the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention linked it to nearly 300 salmonella poisoning cases nationwide.

Mmm…peanut butter and salmonella sandwiches. Just like momma used to make!

Oh well, at least I’ll always have snide comments to fall back on.

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It's a family affair...

2007-02-14T22:04:00.000-05:00

From time to time on this blog I’ve offered up a glimpse at some of the blossoms that can be found on my family tree.

Today I take a fond look back at an uncle of mine who was a “beatnik poet” back in the 1950’s. His real name was Willard, but he always insisted on being called “Turk”. My siblings and I just referred to him as “Uncle Ashy”, because he was constantly chain smoking contraband Canadian cigarettes.

Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg called him "Captain Oregano" because of the really crappy marijuana he was always trying to sell them. In an interview many years later, Ginsberg would say of my uncle: “Turk who?”

To give you just an idea of my uncle's work here are just a few titles from his “oeuvre”…

Atomic Bongos

Straight Out of Squaresville

You Couldn’t Dig Me with A Shovel, Daddy-O

Black Beret Blues

Love Poems, For Like…Real Gone Chicks

Thumb and Thumber: A Hipster’s Guide to Hitchhiking

The Smoldering Goatee

Unfortunately, uncle Ashy never got around to actually writing those books…or any others for that matter. His entire literary output consists of this single poem...

Coffeehouse Lament

The sax is blowin’ hot
Cups and saucers rattle around
Like old arthritic bones
Clickity Clack…Clickity Clack!

Even “Mary Jane” is making the scene
When in busts the fuzz to douse her fiery kiss
Like an ice water enema
Splish, Splash…Splish, Splash!

Well, the fifties gave way to the sixties and my uncle tried to keep pace with the changing times. Sadly, before he cold find his place in this new counter culture, he was killed in a tie-dying accident in Jerry Garcia’s basement.

Uncle Ashy was of course, cremated. It just seemed so fitting that his earthly remains should be transformed into the very substance we most associated him with…it’s like, almost poetic, daddy-o.

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I got ya numbers right here...

2007-02-10T21:17:00.000-05:00

Of all the different, quasi-mystical, pseudo-scientific fields of “learning” out there, I find numerology to be the most annoying. Perhaps it’s because it involves math, which was the bane of my existence all through school.

However, lately I’ve been wondering if I’ve been too hasty in my judgement. After all Jim Carrey has taken the trouble to make a movie about it. Remember, this is the same actor who probed the deepest theological and metaphysical questions of our time in his film “Bruce Almighty”.

So, with your indulgence, I thought I’d dabble in a little numerological study of my own. Let’s start with the year that we are now in, 2007. If you add the first and last digits you get 9. Now, 9 is the number of calories that the average fashion model consumes in a month. There are 4 weeks in a month and 52 weeks in a year. 52 plus 4 equals 56, which also happens to be the combined IQ scores of the TV executives who thought that the “Tony Danza” show was a good idea. But wait, there’s more…

Tony Danza was a cast member on a show called “Taxi” that went on the air in 1978. If you multiply 19 by 78 you get 1,482 which is the number of times that I’ve overheard someone singing the song “Fergalicious” in the last 36 hours. If you divide 36 by 2 you get 18, which is exactly how old that young woman claimed to be on the night the police keep interrogating me about.

Fascinating, isn’t it? Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get this information to my lawyer and find out if it’s admissible in court. If not, I have a feeling that the numbers 10 to 20 could be looming large in my future. Bruce Almighty don’t fail me now!

*The Drive-by Blogger assumes no responsibility for any errors in the complex mathematical computations contained in this post.

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Trump versus the ladies...

2007-02-03T21:21:00.000-05:00

Not long after I started this blog, Donald Trump was involved in a public feud with Martha Stewart. In recent weeks he has been involved in a public feud with Rosie O’Donnell. Both feuds brought plenty of the media attention that he desperately seems to crave.

As a result, my sources tell me that “The Donald” has decided to carry this even further by hosting a TV show in which a psychic will channel the spirits of famous women from the past and Trump will attempt to start feuds with them.

Thanks to my connection to a well placed mole in the Trump organization (by the way, I don’t mean a person, I mean a literal mole on the back of Trump’s neck. It talks to me whenever I’ve swallowed enough cough syrup) I have obtained the following excerpts from the first show. Have a look at what the “hardest working comb-over in show business” had to say to these well known women…

To Cleopatra: “Great Queen of Egypt my ass. If it wasn’t for the fact that you were boinking both Julius Caesar and Marc Antony, no one would even remember you. And what’s the deal with committing suicide by snakebite? Only a loser would die from that. I pour snake venom on my cereal every morning just for fun. If I ever wanted to end my life I’d just force my heart to stop beating with the sheer force of my will power…that’s how a person with class commits suicide.”

To Eleanor Roosevelt: “Its called dentistry, Eleanor and you should have looked into it when your husband was president. No one wants a first lady who looks like she’s part beaver…speaking of which, I read some of your letters to Lorena Hickok. Pretty hot stuff for the time, did FDR know that you were a “Friend of Rosie”? That’s a euphemism for lesbian that I just came up with, soon everybody will be using it…it’s gonna be huge.”

To Eve: “Way to go and get all of humanity kicked out of paradise. An entire garden of great things to eat and you have to go sink your teeth into the only forbidden piece of fruit in the whole frickin’ place. If I had been in Adam’s shoes, and I would have made a pair of shoes out of that stupid serpent, I would have negotiated a deal with God for a younger and better-looking woman…that hates fruit."

To Helen of Troy: “The face that launched a thousand ships? Yeah, in the opposite direction. Trust me sweetheart, you wouldn't stand a chance against any of the girls in my highly successful and popular beauty pageant. Ok, so maybe it’s true that no one really knows what you looked like, but my gut instinct…the same gut instinct that has made me one of the most successful people on earth, tells me you probably looked liked seven miles of bad road."

To Susan B. Anthony: “ Suffragette? More like insufferable. Listen, the Susan B. Anthony dollar was a disaster. Most people kept confusing it with the quarter. When my face is eventually put on a coin it will be unmistakable. It will be large, made of solid gold and have a full frontal portrait, none of this just a profile crap.”

There’s also a rumor that Donald is writing a book called “The Art of the Celebrity Feud”. Look for it in a trash can near you.

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Buggin' out...

2007-01-27T22:21:00.000-05:00

As we all know, nature can be both beautiful and horrifying, serene and chaotic, insouciant but not pretentious…no wait, that last one actually describes a bottle of wine someone gave me yesterday. Where was I going with this again? Oh yes, now I remember…nature is also full of surprises.

Once again I find myself amazed by some aspect of nature heretofore unknown to me. This time the spotlight falls on the seemingly common place cockroach. Like most people I’ve heard about how they would inherit the earth if humanity should destroy itself with nuclear weapons and that they can eat anything from glue to hair.

What I was unaware of though, is the fact that cockroaches can live for anywhere from a week to a month…without their heads! Granted, the headless cockroaches don’t do much and I’m guessing that the severed heads do even less, but come on…a month without a head? Can you imagine if humans shared this little trait? For starters, the French Revolution would have taken much longer to get through.

Anyway, from the bowels of my over-active imagination, I present to you the tale of one unfortunate cockroach that met such a fate…

Setting: Two cockroaches walking on a kitchen table encounter a third.

First cockroach: Hey this guy looks kind of familiar, but I’m drawing a blank on the name.

Second cockroach: Maybe that’s because he’s got no head.

First cockroach: That’s it! I knew something wasn’t quite right.

Third cockroach: You guys are both idiots.

First cockroach: Who said that?

Third cockroach: Down here.

First cockroach: Hey, it’s Tony! What happened to you dude?

Third cockroach: I was trying to eat the glue on the flap of that envelope over there, when I slipped and fell neck first on to the edge of the flap…lopped my head clean off.

Second cockroach: Oh, a paper cut…they’re the worst kind.

First cockroach: I’ve heard that! So…how long have you been here?

Third cockroach: Just a few hours.

Second cockroach: Hmm…so this body still has plenty of time. Hey, since you won’t be using it, do you mind if I give it to my cousin Bruce.

Third cockroach: Your gay cousin Bruce? You know I don’t swing that way.

Second cockroach: (pointing to the headless body) You don’t…but he might.

Third cockroach: No he doesn’t…I mean I don’t. Damn it, it’s still my body!

Second cockroach: Well, I don’t see your name on it.

First cockroach: (snickering) Or you head attached to it.

Third cockroach: Oh, you guys are a riot.

Second cockroach: Cheer up dude, it could be worse. It’s not like you spent all your money on hats.

First cockroach: Hey, I bet I can kick his head into that bowl of peanuts at the other end of the table.

Second cockroach: No way…prove it!

Third cockroach: What?!

(First cockroach steps back and kicks with all its might)

Third cockroach: ( his voice growing fainter as his head sails through the air) You guys suck!

Second cockroach: Unbelievable, it just made it in!

First cockroach: I told you. Hey, are you really gonna take this body to your cousin?

Second cockroach: Nah, he and his boyfriend moved to Vermont months ago. Let’s just eat it.

First cockroach: Dibs on the legs!

Second cockroach: Relax, there are six of them.

First cockroach: Oh yeah, right.

No cockroaches were actually harmed in the making of this story.

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Give till it hurts...

2007-01-21T22:39:00.000-05:00

When I read that Karl Kemp, an antiques dealer from New York, had filed a million-dollar lawsuit against several homeless people and claim that “it was for their own good” I said to myself “Hey TDB, why aren’t you involved in some great humanitarian cause like suing the homeless”? To which I replied “Shut up and mind your own damn business!” I would have continued the verbal abuse a little longer, but I was already getting funny looks from the other people in the elevator.

Upon further reflection however, I realized that the voice in my head had been right. I needed to find a way to give something back to the community, but with my days already filled with cataloging my extensive snow globe collection, dragging someone into court was out of the question. So I put together this list of sorely overlooked charity organizations and their mottoes…

Al Queda’s Kids: “No child left unarmed”

The March of Diamonds: “Helping the rich get richer for over a century”

Dollars for Derelicts: “Because booze don’t pay for itself”

The Michael Richards Segregationist Society: “Give use money or we’ll stick a fork up your ass”

Huggy Bear’s Home for Retired Pimps: “Where our money at bitch?”

People for the Ethical Treatment of Bacteria: “Penicillin is murder”

Habitat for Humanatees: “Providing homes for the unholy spawn of manatees and lonely sailors…or would you rather have these crimes against nature living with you?”

The Bill Clinton Home for Wayward Girls: “Clinton not allowed on premises”

Save the Whalers: “Harpooners do it better”

The Annex Canada Now Foundation: “Think of all the extra parking space”

Nobel committee… the ball is now in your court.

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I will survive...not!

2007-01-14T22:07:00.000-05:00

I am a lifelong urbanite whose nearest claim to a “wilderness adventure” involves running away from a couple of overly aggressive and possibly rabid squirrels.

Perhaps, that is why I find myself fascinated by a television show called “Man vs Wild”. The premise of the show is that each week the star of the show, a man who goes by the almost comically macho name of Bear Grylls, is unceremoniously dropped from a plane or helicopter into some remote and hostile natural environment. Then with the aid of usually nothing more than a knife and flint, he must survive how ever many days it takes him to find his way back to civilization.

As I’ve watched him endure the various hardships involved in surviving in the wilderness, I've often wondered just how much I could take…what would the breaking point at which I would just give up and die. Well, thanks to Mr. Grylls I now know…and it involves elephant dung.

In one particular episode Mr. Grylls finds himself in Kenya without a sign of water anywhere, while the merciless sun beats down on him. Not to worry he says, because he knows an old trick he learned in the military that just might save your life in this kind of situation. He then proceeds to lift a large chunk of fresh elephant dung and drinks the liquid that flows as he squeezes it.

Now, I have seen many other shows about people surviving while lost in the wilderness, but I had never seen anyone use that little maneuver before. Up until that point I thought I might have reached my limit for survival when I watched Mr. Grylls eat an uncooked egg straight from the nest or when he helped himself to a little meat from the leg of a fresh zebra carcass…but I wasn’t absolutely sure. Hey, maybe raw zebra meat doesn’t taste that bad.

However, I’m sure that none of us are in any doubt about the taste of the fluids from elephant crap and the expression on Mr. Grylls face spoke volumes indeed. So now I know that if Bear Grylls and I were ever lost together in Kenya without any water, while he’s off having a swig of freshly squeezed Dumbo juice, I’ll be busy digging a hole in the ground for him to bury me in after I’ve died of dehydration.

I only hope that he’ll bury me whole and not decide to dine on one of my legs…but I wouldn’t put it past him.

Ponderous ponderings...

2007-01-06T21:43:00.000-05:00

During the first month of every New Year it has long been my custom to fill up my favorite hookah with all the needles that fell off the Christmas tree, sit back, contentedly puff away and just ruminate on things in general. Here then, are some of the things that wafted through my mind on a cloud of pine scented smoke:

There are a lot of cleaning products that talk about killing bacteria, but not one of them tells you what to do with all those tiny corpses.

Pat Robertson recently predicted something terrible would take place in the U.S. late in 2007. Although he didn’t specify exactly what, my personal theory is that some evil power has started to clone Geraldo Rivera.

A 67 year-old woman gave birth to twins recently…I guess the upside to that is all those wrinkles should hide any stretch marks. On the downside, if she develops an incontinence problem the diaper bills will be enormous.

As computers play an ever-larger role in our lives, will emoticons ever find their way on to people’s tombstones? You know, something like: John Doe, Born 1924 :)- Died 1996:(

Lately, a lot of my junk e-mail has to do with the importance of keeping a clean colon. I don’t know…it sounds like a load of crap to me.

How about that case where a doctor is being sued by one of his patients over a botched penis extension operation. It seems that not only does “it” not function now, it’s actually smaller than it was before the operation. I wonder if anyone has bought the movie rights to this story…I can see it either as a drama with Sean Penn or a comedy starring Jim Carrey, either way it’s got box office gold written all over it.

Every year the post office gets thousands of letters from children to Santa. I think it’s about time that the post office started sending back form letters in Santa’s name. They could read something like this:

Dear Child,
Thank you for your interest in Christmas. Unfortunately, we are not looking to add to our naughty or nice list at this time. Please feel free to apply again next year.
Sincerely,
Santa Claus
North Pole Enterprises

Trans fats are actually being outlawed in some places…maybe I’m paranoid but can butter be far behind. All I’m sayin’ is that they can take my butter when they pry it from my cold, dead and clogged arteries.

Here’s a little tip if you ever find yourself having to write one of those family newsletters: Get your medical terms straight! It turns out that some one who has that condition that keeps their blood from clotting is in fact a hemophiliac, not a necrophiliac. That reminds me, I have to go write a letter of apology to my grandfather. Have a great 2007!

The apparel oft proclaims the man...

2006-12-31T23:15:00.000-05:00

The recent death of Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet brought to mind something I had occasionally wondered about. I’m referring to the connection between many despots and really gaudy uniforms.

Yes, I know that these men like to constantly remind their citizens just who is in charge and of course they want to look as imposing as possible while doing so, but come on! Look at that uniform…if hell has a doorman, I’m sure he’s dressed just like that, and what is with the sash? Other that beauty pageant contestants what sane person wears a sash? Oh, that’s right…we’re talking about dictators here and sanity never was their strongest point.

Anyway, despite his valiant effort at sartorial pomposity Pinochet can’t hold a candle to the man that I think is the most absurdly dressed dictator of our time (although Idi Amin did give him a run for his money) Muammar al-Gaddafi, the leader of Libya.

Just take a moment to let the full impact of that uniform take hold. Hey look, there’s another sash and I’m positive that at least one of those two circular items pinned to it is a sprocket from a ten-speed bicycle. Not to mention, that scattered among the six pounds of unearned military medals he’s wearing there are at least three women’s brooches.

I’m guessing that they ran out of medals to “honor” Gaddafi with years ago, so now his underlings just run out to the nearest flea market to see what’s available. His heavily embroidered collar looks stiff enough to cut his throat…sadly it has yet to do so. Overall, I think if the “Good Humor” man had ever taken over a country this is how he would have looked.

I suppose the most glaring exception to this trend among dictators is of course Fidel Castro, with his simple, if somewhat drab style of dress. My personal theory is that the money other dictators would have spent on clothing, Fidel spent on cigars and special shampoos for his beard…viva la revolución!

Back in the saddle again...sort of.

2006-12-25T22:14:00.000-05:00

What the hell happened here? I go away for a while and come back to find the comment section of my last post buried with spam. Listen spammers, believe me when I tell you that unless you’re sharing a cave with Osama Bin Laden, you can probably reach more people just by sticking your head out of your window and shouting at passersby, than you can reach by posting here.

Oh, and special thanks to Diesel and Jenna for stopping by and looking after the place while I was gone.

Anyway, unlike a lot of other blogs this here wordfest was never updated on a daily basis (more like every three or four days) but for the foreseeable future I will be inflicting my thoughts on the blogosphere only on a weekly (I hope) basis. So, to kind of get back into the swing of things, let’s look at the search engine queries that brought a few lost souls to this blog while I was away…

Casanova nude photo: given Casanova’s reputation I guess it’s not entirely unreasonable to wonder what he looked like without any clothes on, but that someone thought that there might be an actual photograph of the 18th century playboy is a little disturbing.

Donald Trump well endowed: you know, I’d bet my last dollar that it was Donald himself who googled that.

Three trannies at the pole: this either has something to do with an overcrowded transgender strip joint or it’s the title of the strangest Christmas movie ever made.

Gallstone humor: ‘cause if you can’t laugh at a painful medical condition, what can you laugh at?

Does Elton John wear a toupee: that’s a rhetorical question, right?

Bare assed schoolgirls: what do you want to bet that one was typed in with one hand?

How to treat a hunchback: why with kindness of course…hey, why not take him to see those tranny strippers.

Tidy bowl man captain: well, it’s been ages since I’ve actually seen the Tidy bowl man in any commercials, but I thought he’d be admiral by now…the lazy bastard!

Let's get highbrow...

2006-11-26T21:36:00.000-05:00

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?

2006-11-21T10:40:00.000-05:00

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...

2006-11-18T22:29:00.000-05:00

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

2006-11-14T21:30:00.000-05:00

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...

2006-11-12T21:43:00.000-05:00

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...

2006-11-09T22:29:00.000-05:00

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...

2006-11-07T00:34:00.000-05:00

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...

2006-11-02T22:53:00.000-05:00

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.

Trick or treat...

2006-10-30T23:52:00.000-05:00

Halloween is my favorite holiday. No forced Christmas “goodwill”, no desperate New Year’s “revelry”, just reminders of our mortality and greedy children as far as the eye can see. So, to honor the day, I offer a glimpse into one of my prize possessions. Here are some excerpts from the diary of Dr.Frankenstein’s lab assistant, the one and only…Igor!

March 10, 1798
Dear diary,
The master is in one of his moods today, going on and on about how hard it is to find good help these days.
Just because the brain I stole for the creature he’s making turned out to have been taken from a homicidal maniac. I swear, sometimes there’s just no pleasing that man. Not to mention he still hasn’t fixed the hump on my back like he promised…although he did do a great job of liposuctioning my thighs.

March 28, 1798
Dear diary,
Things continue to go badly for the master. For weeks he’s been trying to reanimate his creature with no success. The electricity bill is going to be enormous and I think his new bride is already proving very “popular” with many of the master’s male servants…if you know what I mean.

April 12, 1798
Dear diary,
Finally, the creature that the master stitched together from several dead bodies has sprung to life! On the downside, it has killed quite a few people, including the master’s young bride. Oh, it seems that the homicidal maniac, whose brain is now in the creature, was also a homosexual. Not that there’s anything wrong with that…except that it may be a few days before the master can sit comfortably again.

April 26, 1798
Dear diary,
Well, it looks like I’m unemployed. Last night an angry mob of villagers armed with torches and pitchforks burned down the castle with the creature still inside of it. It’s too bad really…he had done such a lovely job of redecorating it.

The master has gone off to Vienna to try to forget. As for me, there’s a humpback convention in Munich and who knows…with any luck maybe I’ll find a “Mrs. Igor”. Wish me luck dear diary!

Progress marches on...

2006-10-29T21:50:00.000-05:00

There was good news in the world of medicine recently when government scientists announced that they have created a vaccine against a virus that may have killed as many as one hundred million people.

The bad news is that they’re talking about the Spanish flu virus of 1918 and there’s no expectation that it will resurface, but hey…better late than never. So with that admirable philosophy in mind, here a few other things that scientists are busy working on:

Saber tooth tiger repellant

Off road chariots

Flame retardant paint for the Hindenburg

Disposable togas

A prosthetic ear for Vincent Van Gogh

Indestructible phonograph needles

Pyramid polish

Genetically engineered horses to speed up the Pony Express

And last but not least, remote controlled drawbridges…you know, for those occasions when your castle is under siege.

The Blame Game...

2006-10-26T22:45:00.000-04:00

Having recently posted something about Madonna’s little adoption adventure, I didn’t expect to be writing about her again so soon. However, I heard something that I just couldn’t let pass with out comment.

It seems that a teary eyed Madonna told the “Mighty and Beloved Oprah” (I think that’s her official title now) that she was surprised by the backlash caused by her recent adoption of a child from the country of Malawi and get this…she blames the MEDIA!

That loud sound you may have heard was the cosmic irony meter exploding. Now, blaming the media is a favorite pastime of television and radio pundits everywhere, but when Madonna (a woman who craves the spotlight the way zombies crave brains) does so, you have to take notice.

So I called her people and they very kindly informed me that the media is also responsible for: Madonna’s failure as an actress…suppressing the knowledge that the kabbalah is the one true faith…the death of vaudeville…black holes…Elton John’s awful hair piece…the Ebola virus…anal warts…obesity in America…global warming and finally…the sinking of the Lusitania.

Appalling, simply appalling…I urge that this “media” be rounded up and tried for crimes against humanity and sentenced to repeated screenings of Swept Away. That ought to teach them

Sticks and stones...

2006-10-25T23:09:00.000-04:00

My hatred for politics in general and politicians in particular gets worse all the time. In fact, it’s nearing psychopathic proportions…an unfortunate state of mind perhaps, but then again the motto of this blog is “random as I wanna be” not “rational as I oughta be”.

Be that as it may, the unkind remarks made recently by Republican candidate John Spencer regarding the appearance of his opponent Hillary Clinton, have awakened an ancient, chivalric impulse deep within me and with it an urge to ride to the aid of a damsel in distress. Ok, that’s a lie…I’m no more a chivalric knight than Hillary is a helpless damsel. The truth is that someone has started in with some old fashion name-calling and I want in on it…there, are you satisfied now?

So without further ado, here is a list of insults Hillary can use if she decides to return fire:

“My opponent John Spencer…”

Has the muscular development of an anemic Girl Scout.

Won’t wear shorts because the varicose veins on one of his legs form the numeral 666.

Dyes his pubic hair magenta.

Has the most pockmarked face of anyone who hasn’t been out hunting with Dick Cheney.

Claims that’s his “real” hair, but it’s actually a toupee made in a Filipino sweatshop filled with eight-year olds.

Always smells like a mixture of Ben Gay and Preparation H.

Has testicles the size of Tic Tacs.

Wears false teeth made from the ivory of endangered elephants.

Has a nose big enough for Osama Bin Laden to hide in. Someone should probably look inside there…just in case.

Is rumored to have multiple body piercings “below the belt”…if you catch my drift.

By the way Hillary, should you decide not to exchange insults in public with Spencer, please feel free to use them against Bill the next time you two argue…I’m sure at least a couple of them must be applicable.

Spies like us...

2006-10-23T22:15:00.000-04:00

Have you seen the television commercial for the CIA? I don’t know about anyone else but I can’t remember ever seeing advertisements of any kind for CIA recruitment. I wonder if it’s due to the beating that its image has taken recently?

Anyway, I thought the commercial was a little dull. We’re not talking about working at McDonald's here, this is espionage…cloak and dagger stuff. You need to appeal to people’s inner James Bond, so I’m taking this opportunity to show them how it should have been done…

Have you ever wanted to topple a foreign government or assassinate a rogue dictator? Do you find yourself fighting the urge to secretly video tape your friends and family? Does the thought of breaking international law and then denying all knowledge of it turn you on? Think you could run a secret prison?

Well, as part of the CIA, you’ll be able to do all those things and more all in the name of national security. The best part is, as a clandestine organization, we never really have to answer to anyone! Hell, some of the stuff that we’re doing is so hush-hush, that even we don’t know what’s going on.

If you’d like one of our brochures, call the number at the bottom of your screen… let it ring twice and then hang up…we’ll get one out to you right away. If you act now we’ll throw in this official CIA fleece jacket for free. Well, actually it was paid for with your tax dollars, but it’s a real nice jacket…so call today!

Not just another pretty face...

2006-10-22T21:15:00.000-04:00

I readily admit that I have never given much thought to what (if anything) goes on in the mind of a supermodel…hard to believe I know, but it’s true. So it was with some amusement that I read in a newspaper that Claudia Schiffer thinks that the current crop of fashion models is too thin.

Now, Claudia herself (according to the paper) is 5-feet-ll and 128 pounds. I’m going to take a shot in the dark and guess that she doesn’t see the irony here.

She seems unaware that to an American woman of average height and weight, she herself is still impossibly thin. Perhaps since she’s had a couple of kids, she sees herself as just another typical "hausfrau". A point she tries to illustrate with the following comment, “I eat chocolate almost every day and drink milk, so that I don't lose any more [weight]”.

Way to go Claudia, that’ll endear you to Jane Q. Public. Anyway, I’m off to see if I can find Christina Aguilera and ask her if she thinks that today’s pop stars are too skanky.

An open letter to Angelina Jolie...

2006-10-20T00:38:00.000-04:00

Dear Angelina,

Oh no, she didn’t!

So, Madonna is trying to move in on your international baby adoption racket. Are you going to take that? Are you going to let that kabbalah loving, awful movie making, relic from the 1980’s get away with it?

The ball is in your court...the stakes have been raised... a challenged has been issued...the gauntlet has been thrown down…well, I’ve run out of clichés . The point is, if you wish to retain your position as Hollywood’s preeminent orphan baby abductor…er, I mean adopter, then you must move quickly.

If I may be so bold as to offer some advice, I think the time has come to scale up your entire baby adoption program. No more of this one kid at a time stuff, on your next trip to…where ever the hell it is you’re going to next, adopt an entire orphanage.

I know it sounds expensive, but don’t worry about the cost, just pout those flesh colored airbags you call your lips and they’ll probably give you a group rate. Not to mention, if you reconcile with your dad, you’ll have an instant baby sitter…just don’t ask him to remember their names.

Then just sit back and watch Madonna’s head explode as she tries to figure out how to top that.

Sincerely yours,
TDB

The Devil's IQ...

2006-10-18T00:00:00.000-04:00

Despite having less inclination towards spiritual matters than your average living room sofa, there is something I’ve often wondered about Satan worshipers.

Namely, have they ever been concerned that their chosen deity might be…well…special? I mean, “short yellow school bus special” if you catch my drift.

The reason I ask is because as I’ve heard the story told, Satan was an angel in heaven who rebelled and was cast into hell. Now, the trouble I have with that scenario is imagining anyone of sound mind looking over at the being that has created every thing in the universe, is all knowing, all powerful and saying “Yeah, I think I can take him.”

I mean, there would have to be something wrong with you right? Exactly what part of ‘all powerful’ did this celestial retard not understand? Just imagine the most lopsided fight you can think of…Gary Coleman versus Hulk Hogan, Mike Tyson versus Dakota Fanning …whatever. This would have been a billion times worse.

Furthermore, even after the entirely predictable result of getting his ass kicked, Lucifer (Latin for ‘dim bulb’) is said to be waging war against his creator to this very day. With that kind of flawed decision-making, you have to at least consider the possibility of brain damage, don’t you?

To any Satan worshipers who feel offended, remember now this is just a little metaphysical speculation on my part, so don’t get your robes all in a twist and start threatening me with your hexes and whatnot. I support your right to worship any mentally challenged deity you choose and anyway, don’t you have a short yellow school bus to catch?

Seek and ye shall find: The sequel...

2006-10-14T21:35:00.000-04:00

It is time once again to take a brief look at some of the search engine queries that have led a few intrepid explorers from the furthest reaches of cyberspace to this desolate planetoid of a blog…

Retirement nudist: probably just someone looking for a wrinkle friendly environment in which to spend their golden years.

Anne Heche alien abduction: Hey Anne, you remember when you had that little psychotic “episode” and thought you’d been abducted by aliens? Ah, good times…good times.

Deepthroat techniques: this one has actually come up so often that I think someone should open up a school dedicated to teaching it. I’m thinking of Madonna for Head Mistress.

Preparation H sniffing: this query raises the question is the sniffing to take place before the famed hemorrhoid cream is applied or after…sadly, we may never know.

Buy lederhosen for dachshunds: I’m guessing that those are something you can’t just buy off the rack…you've got to get them custom made. Anyway, the very idea of a dachshund in lederhosen is both disturbing and comical…it’s distomical!

Skinny dipping Yellowstone: Yeah, just don’t do it in Old Faithful. I wonder if this person would like to meet ‘retirement nudist’? At the very least they share an interest in public nudity.

What Hugh Hefner eats: you don’t need me for this one, just insert your own oral sex joke here.

Eliminating the smell of mothballs: I can only assume that they are talking about the commercially available product for protecting clothing and not the tiny testicles of actual moths…but I could be wrong.

Just wrap your lips around this Mademoiselle...

2006-10-08T22:08:00.000-04:00

I must admit that I was flabbergasted to learn recently that many people credit the diminutive, French 19th century painter Toulouse Lautrec with inventing chocolate mousse, though he himself called it “chocolate mayonnaise”.

I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ll never be able to look at chocolate mousse in the same way, knowing that it was created by the most decadent painter, in the most decadent city, during the most decadent part of the 19th century.

You just know that he was using his “chocolate mayonnaise” to seduce the hookers hanging around the Moulin Rouge into giving him freebies. God only knows what he did with it when he got them over to his place.

It’s just like my great-grandfather Seamus MacFergle used to say, “ Aye, beware the wee perverts bearing creamy deserts”.

*Editor’s note: Here with a brief rebuttal is the president of the Toulouse Lautrec Admiration Society, Pierre La Blangue…

“We at the TLAS take great offense at the suggestion that Toulouse Lautrec was using his brilliant culinary creation in unseemly acts with prostitutes or that he was in any way a pervert. In fact, we don’t even believe the author of those remarks even had a Scottish great-grandfather. Not to mention, we hear that he’s a little kinky himself, some have even called him a stone cold freak…but you didn’t hear that from us.”

*Editor’s note: We here at the Drive-by Blogger recognize our obligation to post opposing viewpoints…whenever we are being held at gunpoint.

The Momma Lisa

2006-10-03T22:29:00.000-04:00

According to a recent news item, a team of Canadian scientists using special infrared and three-dimensional technology say they have made a remarkable discovery about Leonardo da Vinci’s famous painting the Mona Lisa.

It seems that Mona’s dress is covered with a thin, transparent gauze veil, typically worn at that time by women who were either pregnant or had recently given birth. Amazing indeed, but I happen to know that the research team has been less than forth coming about some of the less flattering discoveries they’ve made. It turns out that Mona also had:

A “Born To Raise Hell” tattoo

A third nipple

A slightly phallic shaped birthmark

A mild case of eczema

And possibly some early signs of osteoporosis

Well, there you have it, the Mona Lisa as you’ve never seen her before…and probably never wanted to. Thanks science!

Gentlemen, start your steam engines...

2006-09-30T21:33:00.000-04:00

The antiquated looking machine pictured above was invented by the French Artillery Officer Joseph Cugnot in 1769. It is considered by many to be the world’s first self-powered vehicle or “automobile”.

Perhaps not surprisingly, Mr. Cugnot is also credited with the world’s first automobile accident since his steam powered vehicle, moving at a mind blowing two miles per hour, crashed into and demolished a stone wall on it’s maiden voyage.

Which of course raises the question what the hell kind of stone wall falls apart when it’s hit by something going at 2 miles per hour? If I ever go to France I’ll have to remember not to lean against any old buildings.

Anyway, Cugnot was undeterred and spent the next year building an even larger version for the French War Ministry. Since the name of this blog includes the word “drive” in it, I feel it behooves me to try to recreate those moments when Cugnot demonstrated his "new set of wheels” on a street in Paris:

(Two generals, one very old and a magistrate are standing with Cugnot in front of his vehicle)

Cugnot: Gentlemen, I thank you for this opportunity. Prepare to be amazed as I start my machine and proceed to move five tons at a speed of nearly four miles per hour.

Old general: Sacrebleu! Is it possible? Can humans even survive such speeds?

Young general: What are you talking about? Your own horse can go faster than that.

Old general: My Fou-Fou ? I can assure you sir that my horse has never run away from anything in his life. You had best watch your tongue or I’ll have to insist on a duel of honor.

Magistrate: Enough nonsense, let us proceed. I have two beheadings and a hanging to preside over and I don’t want to be late.

(Cugnot starts up his vehicle, which roars to life and starts to pull it’s heavy load. The distinguished onlookers gaze intently as it slowly moves to the end of the cobblestone street, only to see it crash on to it’s side as it attempts to turn the corner.)

Old general: I’m the first to admit that I’m not up to snuff on all this new technology, but I must say that I’ll be damned if I can see how that can be of any use.

Young general: Well, at least the walls of Paris are still standing.

(The magistrate summons the gendarmes)

Magistrate: Arrest that man and impound that…that...“vehicle!”

And so off to jail went poor Mr. Cugnot, making him the first person to be arrested for being a reckless motorist. So the next time you’re involved in a little fender bender or even a twelve car pile up, take a moment to think of this forgotten hero of French engineering history.

You don't say...

2006-09-25T22:29:00.000-04:00

Do you ever find yourself wondering how something began? Me neither, nevertheless, today we take a look at the little known origins of some familiar things…

Acupuncture: was accidentally discovered about the year 2800 BC, by a sadistic tailor by the name of Huang, who used his wife as a human pincushion. It is said that he died from disappointment when he realized that this had only made her healthier, and she went on to live another twenty years with the tailor’s handsome young apprentice.

Chewing gum: was invented and promoted by the European aristocracy as a way of placating hungry peasants by giving them something to chew on, thus creating the illusion that they’d actually eaten. The plan seemed to be working until the King of France decided for some reason that all the gum in his country would be sugarless. This of course, enraged the peasants and led to the French Revolution.

Tattoos: tattooing was first practiced during the Stone Age by cannibals in the Amazon, not on themselves, but on their victims and usually indicated whether that person was to be eaten for breakfast, lunch or dinner. Some anthropologists believe that the fat ones may also have been tattooed with a “high calorie” warning, but this is mere speculation.

Hypnotism: the first person to be credited with possessing the power to hypnotize people was the ancient Greek mathematician Theoplopolese. A man said to be so mind numbingly dull that just being in the room with him was enough to induce a trance. Although every student at the University of Athens was required to take his class, not one could actually remember it or explain why they would start to cluck like a chicken when anyone snapped their fingers.

So the next time you’re at a social gathering that’s getting a little dull, just whip out a couple of these fascinating tidbits…you should make quite an impression.

Spaced out...

2006-09-20T21:30:00.000-04:00

As you may already know, the space shuttle was recently sent up again and the crew has been busy with the construction of a space station. I don’t really know exactly what it’s going to be used for, but in case there are long periods when there are no astronauts working on science type stuff, I’ve come up with some alternative uses for the space station:

A new "secret" CIA prison

The next presidential library

A Star Trek themed bordello

The setting for a new reality show called "Battle of the Mustachioed Stars", featuring Tom Selleck and Geraldo Rivera in the first episode.

A maternity ward for privacy obsessed celebrities…I’m talking to you Angelina Jolie!

The first orbiting Wal-Mart

Headquarters for the Michael Jackson Search for Extraterrestrial Boys Program

A mandatory retirement home for all radio talk show hosts

Personally, I’m hoping for the reality show…come on Tom, kick his ass!

This post is brought to you by the letters T, W and the number 10...

2006-09-16T00:34:00.000-04:00

There was a time when parents looking for children’s programs had to turn to public television. The explosion of cable television has changed all that and now kids have more choices than they can shake a stick at (it’s just an expression kids, don’t go around shaking sticks or you’ll poke someone’s eye out).

So I’ve come up with some ideas for new kids shows to help public TV compete with the likes of Nickelodeon and the Cartoon Network:

Fightin’ Tykes: This is one of those rare shows that parents (or at least dads) will enjoy watching too. Hyperactive kids from all over the country climb into a boxing ring and pummel each other for three rounds. They’ll be wearing protective headgear of course…they’re already hyperactive, we don’t want them brain damaged as well.

Drawing with Captain Peggy: Inspired by the popularity of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, kids will learn the basics of drawing from the androgynous and unthreatening Captain Peggy and Polly the hermaphroditic parrot.

Xenophobe Corner: Kids need to know that the world can be a scary place and with gruff but lovable uncle "Xeno" as their guide they will learn all about the dangers posed by foreigners.

Madame Pasha’s Psychic Playhouse: Do your kids know how to read tarot cards or palms? Do they know how to handle a hostile poltergeist? Well, they will if they watch this show hosted by the mysterious Madame Pasha, former psychic adviser to celebrities like Nancy Regan and Montel Williams.

"PC" Pete’s Puppet Parade: Parents who believe they are raising the leaders of the future will want to make sure that their kids tune in to this show. "Politically Correct" Pete and his puppet friends will teach them how to express insensitive and even offensive ideas in ways that not even the most vigilant members of the PC police will be able to object to.

Well, I’ve got go and start thinking up merchandising angles for these shows…I’m guessing that the parrot will be a big seller.

I'm Ok, You're Ok...

2006-09-12T21:42:00.000-04:00

It seems that no matter what the problem is, someone has written a self-help book dealing with it. Here are a couple that I think are destined to become bestsellers:

"Stop Spoiling Your Inner-Child" by Dr. Gustav Von Liebergeitzel.

This eminent psychologist is known as the "Bavarian Dr.Phil" and even has his own brand of "down home" sayings:

You can try to waltz through life, but that won’t stop the chaffing in your lederhosen.

Sounds like a load of schnitzel to me!

You can bet your mamma’s strudel on it.

Just because Fritz has a Fräulein, doesn’t mean he isn’t ‘playing’ in the oompah band!

Yah right…and my grandmother was head of the Luftwaffe.

The Bavarian Daily News says, "You will buy this book…Now!"

For those of you suffering from a malaise of a more spiritual nature there’s this one:

"How to Win against Sin!" by Pastor John H. Coprolite.

Whether it’s adultery, stealing, substance abuse or gambling, the good pastor has been through it all and now he offers up to you his hard won knowledge.

From his humble beginnings preaching at rural tent revivals to the glory days of his multi-million dollar TV ministry it’s all here, along nuggets of wisdom like:

Just because a hooker is mute, don’t mean she won’t tell.

The Internal Revenue Service…government agency or godless tool of Satan?

Casinos really do have cameras everywhere!

Sometimes the devil comes dressed as an angel of light…sometimes as a sixteen year-old blonde cheerleader from Wisconsin.

So if your soul is worth saving go out and get this book.(all proceeds go towards the Pastor Coprolite legal defense fund)

For art's sake...

2006-09-10T22:09:00.000-04:00

Back in 1982 or thereabouts, Sylvester Stallone donated a statue of himself as Rocky to the Philadelphia Museum. It resided there for a few months before being sent to some sports arena before it was finally put into storage.

It looked like Rocky was down for the count, but wait! Not so fast chief, it seems the Philadelphia art commission has voted to put it back!

My sources tell me that Stallone was so thrilled with the news that he’s decided to start the Stallone Foundation, which will offer financial help to artists creating the type of art that Sly cares deeply about, such as:

Paintings on velvet

Butter sculpture

Graffiti (so long as it’s not painted on anything owned by Mr. Stallone

Sad clown paintings

Works done with an Etch-a-sketch

Balloon animals (believed to be a personal favorite of Mr. Stallone)

Hey, if he’s into art made from pipe cleaners, dried macaroni and glitter I could have it made!

Hooray for Hollywierd...

2006-09-05T21:35:00.000-04:00

I thought I’d give this gossip columnist thing a try. Here are some tidbits from Tinseltown that you might not have heard:

Tom Cruise, Margot Kidder, Anne Heche and Martin Lawrence have joined forces to open their own mental health facility. According to a statement released by the actors, the facility is to serve as a place of refuge from the insidious influence of psychiatry, illegal drugs and alien abduction and/or probing.

Sharon Stone’s vagina has reportedly filed for a trial separation citing irreconcilable differences, but a source close to the pair said they have been fighting since the box office flop of Basic Instinct 2.

In an appearance on The View, Ms. Stone’s vagina had this to say: "Look, let’s not mince words here. I’m the only reason she’s a star. Before I made my screen debut in the first Basic Instinct movie, she was a nobody!"

A spokesperson for Ms. Stone said "she and her vagina are trying to work things out and hopes that everyone will respect their privacy during this difficult time."

Following the recent death of talk show host Mike Douglas, there was a mix up when the funeral hearse accidentally wound up at the home of aging actor Michael Douglas. Sources say it took Catherine Zeta Jones four hours to convince her husband to come down from the attic.

50,000 copies of Paris Hilton’s CD are reportedly missing. Officials for Homeland Security have expressed concern that they may have fallen into the hands of terrorists and could be used as instruments of torture…at least to anyone with good taste in music.

Now that is a scary thought.

Like a rolling gallstone...

2006-09-01T21:35:00.000-04:00

Well, I guess it’s official…Bob Dylan has become an old fogey. Now, it was well known that Dylan is getting old, but that’s not the same thing. Not everybody who grows old becomes an old fogey…old fogeyness is a state of mind.

As evidence of Dylan’s slide into old fogeydom, I offer the following statements taken from a recent interview:

"You listen to these modern records, they’re atrocious, they have sound all over them. There’s no definition of nothing, no vocal, no nothing, just like static."

At first it might sound like the usual cranky complaint of an aging generation on the music of a younger one, but Dylan is also reported as saying that even his records sounded better in the studio than on the disk. That pretty much renders his comments incomprehensible, which when combined with his use of the word "modern" generally means it’s old fogey time.

If you’re still not convinced, here are a few more signs that Dylan has become an old fogey:

He is always yelling at the tour bus driver to slow down.

Has been known to lecture groupies on the importance of getting enough fiber.

Not only does he think motorcycle helmets are a good idea, but believes people should wear them while riding escalators.

He says that everyone on TV is talking too fast and wearing too many bright colors…it gives him a headache.

Canceled subscription to Playboy and signed up for Readers Digest.

Has a large collection of sweater vests.

Old fogey syndrome can strike anyone and there’s no know cure…well, death eventually takes care of it, but lets hope science can come up with something less drastic.

This court is now in session...

2006-08-28T22:08:00.000-04:00

As strange as it may sound, in the past animals were often accused of crimes and brought to trial. In 16th century France a lawyer by the name of Bartholomew Chassenee became well known for a case in which he defended a group of rats.

So I started wondering what it might be like if this practice had continued to this day. It seems like a perfect fit for the current reality TV craze and the attack on Roy (from Siegfried & Roy) by that tiger during one of their shows back in 2003 is a good place to start…

Judge: Call your next witness counselor.

Prosecutor: The prosecution calls to the stand Mrs. Ruth Hoyle. Now Mrs. Hoyle, you were sitting in the front row when the attack occurred, could you describe what happened?

Mrs. Hoyle: Well, everything had been going just fine until the tiger started moving towards the audience. Roy tried to stop it, but then the tiger turned on Roy, grabbed him by the neck and started shaking him like a gaudily dressed, well coifed rag doll…there was blood and sequins everywhere!

Prosecutor: And is it fair to say that you were traumatized by this horrific incident?

Mrs. Hoyle: Oh yes! To this day I can’t attend a magic show, go to a zoo or even eat Frosted Flakes.

Prosecutor: No further questions your honor.

Judge: Does the defense wish to question the witness?

Defense attorney: Yes, your honor. Mrs. Hoyle isn’t true that you’ve always hated tigers…that you are afraid of any strong and independent animal. Isn’t it true that in order to win your affection an animal has to be cute, cuddly and harmless…

Prosecutor: I object, your honor! The defense is merely trying to spark an emotional response in the jury by playing the species card.

Judge: Objection sustained. The jury will disregard the possibility that the witness is a hate filled bigot.

Defense attorney: Fine, in that case your honor, with the court’s permission I would like to call to the stand as our final witness, the illustrious pet psychic Mr. Edward Shelton. Now, Mr.Shelton have you conducted an "interview" with the defendant? (He points to a caged tiger on the other side of the courtroom)

Mr. Shelton: Yes, I spoke to the tiger.

Defense attorney: What did you find out?

Mr. Shelton: Well, first of all, he feels terrible about what happened. It was all just a misunderstanding. You see, he thinks of Roy as another male tiger and this was just a challenge.

Defense attorney: A challenge over what?

Mr. Shelton: Not what…whom. It turns out that the tiger has a thing for Siegfried.

Judge: (mumbles) Join the club.

Defense attorney: And did you inform him that Siegfried is also a male?

Mr.Shelton: Yes, he seemed quite surprised by that, but he thought about it for a while and said he’s try anything once.

Defense attorney: So you’re saying that this was a crime of passion, an unfortunate consequence of powerful natural instincts and not a cold blooded attempt at murder!

Mr. Shelton: Absolutely…can I go now? There’s a beached whale dying about two miles from here and I’m supposed to take its last confession.

Judge: You may step down. The jury will now retire to render its verdict.

(Ten minutes later)

Jury foreman: We the jury find the defendant… not guilty! Can we go too? We want to see that psychic dude talk to that whale.

Judge: OK, everybody pile into my Hummer and let’s get going.

Defense attorney: Shotgun! I called it!

Justice triumphs again…I don’t know about you, but I get all goose pimply just thinking about it.

Does anyone have a stamp...

2006-08-25T22:45:00.000-04:00

The rather unappealing creature in the photograph is called a geoduck (pronounced gooey duck). It is a large clam that is said to be edible. Hard to believe, I know, but it was an even stranger fact about this critter that prompted me to write the following letter to Mother Nature:

Dear Mother Nature…or do you prefer to be called Mrs.Nature? Ms. Nature? How about Mom? No…probably not. Look, I’ll get right to the point, I’ve got a complaint regarding one of your creations, namely the geoduck.

It had recently come to my attention that the average life span of this animal is 100 years and that it has been known to reach an age of 160.

Now, what I would like to know is…WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?! Sorry, sorry…I didn’t mean to lose my temper Mother Nature. Please don’t smite me with a swarm of killer bees or send a tornado my way. Surely you can understand my feelings in this matter.

To human beings, who possess thoughts, emotions and an awareness of their own mortality, you give an average life expectancy of about 70 years. But to this mindless, unfeeling blob of snot in a shell you give an average life span of 100 years!

Human beings have created art, language, music and science, while the geoduck spends it’s entire life buried in sand filtering out plankton…and you let it out live us! Not cool MN, not cool. It was bad enough knowing how long tortoises can live, but at least they are vertebrates! Not like that precious pet bivalve of yours.

Seriously Mother Nature, I hope you can see how grossly unfair this is and that you will soon make things right. I’m not saying you have let humans live longer…just shorten the life span of that ugly refugee from a sushi bar.

Love always,
The Drive-by Blogger

P.S.
I know I’ve been slacking up with that whole recycling thing…it’s been kind of hectic lately, but I’m going to get right on that…I swear.

My newspaper days...

2006-08-22T21:31:00.000-04:00

While going through some of my old stuff, I found some copies of an advice column I used to write for the now defunct newspaper the Global Herald Weekly. The column was called "Ask Mr. WiseGuy" and the fact that the editor was unconcerned by my complete lack of qualifications to give advice to anyone on any subject might explain why the paper is no more, but I’ll let you decide for yourself:

Dear Mr.WiseGuy,
I’m beginning to suspect that my husband is cheating on me, but I have no proof…what should I do?

Worried in Tacoma.

Dear Worried,
Well, since you have no real proof, perhaps a gentle reminder to your husband about the possible consequences of cheating is in order. Start keeping your largest pair of gardening shears on the night table next to your bed and have the words "Thou shall not commit adultery" engraved on the handle.

Also, every once in a while when your husband thinks you’re sleeping, mumble something like "The price of betrayal is blood". This should keep him on the straight and narrow.

Dear Mr. WiseGuy,
My wife and I are at our wit’s end. Our three year-old son is so hyperactive that we’ve had to resort to using one of those kiddy harness things, but we’ve gotten a lot of negative reactions from family and friends. Are we wrong on this?

Confused in Peoria

Dear Confused,
Don’t listen to any of them! You’ve got to get that little delinquent of yours under control. Use the harness, a cage or even a stun gun if necessary. And since we all know that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I’ve advised your local police department that they may want to keep an eye on you…so watch your step.

Dear Mr.WiseGuy,
Homo says what?

Your dad in the basement.

Very funny dad. You do know that I still have the telephone number to the old folk’s home?

I don’t know why I included that last letter in my column... it got me fired and I still get nasty letters from old people on a regular basis.

A conversation with a legend...

2006-08-19T22:26:00.000-04:00

Recently, I was lucky enough to get an interview with Dennis "The Gypsy" McCorkle, who at 112 years of age is the oldest living former major league baseball player. McCorkle began his career in 1912 and played until 1929 and was given his nickname because he never stayed with any team for very long. Here is some of what he had to say:

TDB: Mr. McCorkle, looking at baseball today, you must be glad that steroids weren’t a problem during your playing days.

DM: What? You’ll have to speak up sonny…my hearing aid fades in and out.

TDB: I said, steroids, not a problem in your day!

DM: Oh…not really, no. I think Ty Cobb might have had em’, probably why he was so mean. We didn’t have Preparation H back then.

TDB: No, steroids…never mind. Is it true that you knew the great Babe Ruth.

DM: Yeah, that was during the half season I spent with the Red Sox. In fact I’m the one who talked the owner to trade the fat bastard. I said look, all he cares about is beer and hookers…you’ll never hear about him again. The rest as they say is history.

TDB: So you were responsible for the curse of the Bambino that hung over Boston for so long?

DM: The curse of the who?

TDB: Er…Babe Ruth…we were talking…

DM: I knew him, don't ya know! It was during the half season I spent with the Red Sox. In fact I’m the one who…

TDB: OK, moving on. Mr. McCorkle your career was interrupted by World War One… is that correct?

DM: Yeah, I went over to France, that’s where I met Fifi. I tried to teach those Frenchies about baseball using a stale loaf of bread and a wadded up ball of Gruyere cheese, but all they cared about was soccer…or was it sodomy…no, it was soccer.
(Fifi, a one-eyed artist’s model well known in Paris for her weekly suicide attempts was the first of McCorkle’s four wives)

TDB: So after the war, you return to the states and start playing again. Is it true that in those days a lot of players had to find other kinds of work during the off season?

DM: Hell yeah, that’s true! We didn’t get paid the bazillions of dollars these young fellas get today.

TDB: What were some of the jobs you had?

DM: Well, in the early days, I was a lifeguard at a public pool…until that time that kid almost drowned. I told that whipper snapper to quit the horseplay, but he wouldn’t listen. So when he hit his head and went under, I said "Serves you right" and didn’t move from my chair.
Oh, I was gonna pull him out at the last minute, but his Ma started making a big fuss and I got fired. Women…always coddling their kids…tough love is what they need.

TDB: I guess love doesn’t get any tougher that death by drowning.

DM: Damn right! Anyway, later on during prohibition, I made some money working for some small time gangsters…delivering bootleg gin and beating the crap out of people who didn’t pay their tabs at the speakeasy.

TDB: A regular role model weren’t you? And to think you were never put on the Wheaties box.

DM: What?

TDB: Nothing, Mr. McCorkle, it’s been an honor. Do you have any final words of wisdom?

DM: Does this foot look infected?

(Two weeks after this interview Dennis "The Gypsy" McCorkle slipped into a deep coma. After lingering on for another month, his family finally pulled the plug…and strangled him with it)

Drive-by Blues...

2006-08-16T23:42:00.000-04:00

For as long as I can remember, I have harbored a secret desire to be a blues singer/guitarist. The fact that this dream endures despite my complete inability to sing or play an instrument of any kind is a testament to the power of self-delusion.

Anyway, since most of the great blues singers had great nicknames like Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, Blind Lemon Jefferson and Lead Belly, I thought I’d better come up with one for myself. Here’s what I’ve come up with so far:

"Silky Drawers" Thompson

"Ol’ Fuzzy Foot"

"Melon Head" Wilson

"Spastic Sam"

"Nightlight" Johnson

"Squealin’ Ferret"

"Dill Pickle" Dave

"Lil’ Otis" Flatbottom

"Swollen Glands" Mackelroy

"Nine Fingered Louie"

Wait…I think that last one is actually from my mobster wannabe phase.

Science friction...

2006-08-15T21:33:00.000-04:00

Generally speaking, I like science. Oh, I admit that when it comes to things like quantum physics, I haven’t got a clue. But I enjoy a good documentary about microscopic parasites or killer asteroids headed towards earth as much as the next morbid weirdo.

However, this Pluto situation has gotten on my nerves. For the benefit of anyone who doesn’t know what I’m referring to (i.e. those of you with lives) it seems that scientists have been debating whether or not Pluto should be classified as planet since 1930!

You see, some scientists think that it’s too small to be called a planet, while others not only disagree, but also want a recently discovered rock to be add to the list as the tenth planet. By the way, the man who discovered this would be planet has nicknamed it Xena…after the warrior princess…anyone else find that a little creepy?

Anyway, a twelve-day conference is being held in Prague to try to resolve this issue. All I know is, if they decide to strip Pluto of it’s planetary status I’m going to file a massive lawsuit, seeking compensation for the unnecessary mental anguish I suffered in school from being forced to memorize all NINE planets. I figure fifty million dollars should cover it.

Deeper into the past...

2006-08-13T00:00:00.000-04:00

Well, my curiosity finally got the better of me, so I went ahead and had one of those genealogy websites look up my family tree. The price was a little steep, but they turned up some interesting tidbits about my forebears.

For example, the earliest of my ancestors that could be found, dates to the 12th century and was connected to Royalty…sort of. Actually, his title was "Keeper of the Chamber Pot" for the Duke of Mumpshire. A position he held for fifteen years until he was discovered selling vials of the Duke’s urine to the local peasants.

Apparently, they considered them good luck. For this he was first hanged, then beheaded and finally thrown into the dungeon, a punishment considered harsh even by the brutal standards of the time.

The fortunes of my family only went downhill from there. Which can be seen by the fate of another of my hapless ancestors who was a mushroom picker and part time poacher in the forests of Strokingham, during an unusually wet period in the 15th century. As a result of which, he came down with a terminal case of "foot rot" and died at the ripe old age of twenty-four.

I’ll conclude with the case of one of my female ancestors, who as a young woman in the 17th century, followed various traveling troubadours around Europe and was possibly one of history's first groupies. Later in life she wound up running what was then known as a "house of ill repute" in London, with a clientele that consisted mostly of retired boot polishers.

I may be biased of course, but it all sounds like first rate History Channel material to me.

All the wee beasties...

2006-08-10T00:15:00.000-04:00

For some unknown reason (well, unknown to me anyway) groups of animals are sometimes given very strange names. For example, a group of crows is called a murder, then there’s a quiver of cobras, a parliament of owls, a troubling of goldfish and last but not least…an ostentation of peacocks.

I don’t know who decides these things, but I want in on it, so here is a list of names for various groups of animals that I would like to see put in to everyday use:

An orgy of slugs

A potpourri of dust mites

An accordion of marmosets

A clog of wombats

A bureau of sea cucumbers

A jackpot of koala bears

An administration of earthworms

A crescent wrench of boll weevils

An apology of spiders

A thermos of iguanas

Believe me when I say that there are perfectly logical reasons for the names I have assigned to each animal group…I just haven’t thought of them yet.

Seek and ye shall find...

2006-08-08T00:14:00.000-04:00

Today I thought that we would take a quick look at some of the more interesting search engine queries, that according to my stat counter, have led a few wanderers in cyberspace to this humble blog:

Seaweed enema

Overdose on laxatives (appeared twice)

Blowup doll dwarf

Phantom fudge packer

Performs deep throat

Symbolism of stove

Put the fun back in funeral (appeared no less than four times)

Bernadette Peters kissing

Parasites

Woman sumo wrestler

Bayonne gossip

This guy had wild hair

Hmm…seaweed enemas, blowup dwarf dolls and women sumo wrestlers…sounds like a party to me.

Rest in peace...

2006-08-05T00:17:00.000-04:00

The rich are different than you and me and that includes what they want done with their remains after they have shuffled off this mortal coil. Have a look at the final arrangements desired by these notable figures…

Dick Cheney: wants to be freeze-dried, turned into pellets and shot into Michael Moore’s face.

Bill Gates: in case his plan to have his brain transplanted into a robot doesn’t workout, the privacy obsessed billionaire is looking to buy the moon to use as his own personal burial site.

Donald Trump: classy as ever, Donald’s body is to be gold plated, mounted on a diamond encrusted marble pedestal and placed on top of his casino. It’s rumored that Trump has turned down requests to leave his hair to science.

Martha Stewart: wishes to have her bones bleached to a pearly white, festooned with tinsel and shaped into a lovely Christmas wreath.

Richard Simmons: the fitness guru has stated that all of his pallbearers must weigh at least three hundred pounds and everyone who attends his funeral must jog, not walk or drive, from the church to the cemetery.

Madonna: inspired by her belief in the kabbala, Madge would like to be buried in a secret tomb somewhere on Mount Sinai with all of her former backup dancers. She is apparently under the impression this is what Moses had done.

If I ever become rich I think I’ll try to get the Tupperware people to make my casket…who knows it might catch on and their slogan could be “freshness for eternity”.

Truth is stranger than fiction...

2006-08-02T00:45:00.000-04:00

The real name of the man in the photograph was Joseph Pujol, but most of the world knew him as Le Pétomane. He was the most eminent "Flatulist" of his day (although I’ve no idea how many of them there actually were).

You’re probably asking yourselves “Flatulist? Does that mean what I think it means?” Yes, yes…he farted for a living, but to say that Le Pétomane could break wind is like saying Enrico Caruso could carry a tune. It simply doesn’t do justice to the man’s artistry.

Yet today he is all but forgotten, his genius unrecognized. So saddened was I by this injustice that I’m writing a play that I’m hoping will revive the reputation of the great Le Pétomane:

Setting: Le Pétomane has been in Paris for a year and is the toast of the town. He is meeting with Toulouse- Lautrec at the Moulin Rouge to discuss having a poster made for his upcoming tour.

Le Pétomane: Thank you for agreeing to do this Henri

Lautrec: Think nothing of it. You know, coming over here I was thinking about how we met. Remember… I was sitting right over there and you blew my hat off from ten feet away, ah good times, good times. It’s too bad Van Gogh isn’t around anymore. That crazy Dutchman really appreciated robust flatulence and I’m sure he would have admired your work.

Le Pétomane: You are much too kind Henri. I give all credit to the Supreme Being. I am just the instrument through which he plays.

Lautrec: Nonsense, you are a national treasure, like the Eiffel Tower…or the croissant. Long after the world has forgotten about Napoleon, France will still be remembered for having produced Le Pétomane, the great Fartiste!

Now about the poster, I had wanted to depict you during that part of your show where you “play” a flute, but I’ve been told there may be trouble with the censors…what’s wrong mon ami, you seem troubled?

Le Pétomane: Well, just between us Henri, I have a doctor’s appointment later today. I’m afraid something might be seriously wrong…for three days now I’ve not been able to make a sound. Not even the slightest toot, my whole European tour could be in jeopardy!

Lautrec: Mon dieu!

Now that’s drama…that’s suspense…that’s all I’ve written so far. I’m hoping the French government will give me a grant so that I can continue working on my tribute to this lost maestro of the sphincter.

The doctor will see you now...

2006-07-30T23:59:00.000-04:00

It seems that there is a growing trend in Hollywood to over indulge in plastic surgery, often with disastrous results. So as a public service to clueless celebrities everywhere, I’m here to tell you, that you know you’ve had too much plastic surgery when…

Your plastic surgeon names his yacht after you.

You find yourself peering out through your nostrils.

Just the sight of cutlery in a restaurant compels you to lie on the table and demand anesthesia.

You’ve had enough skin, fat and bones removed from you to create your own personal Mini-Me.

A three thousand-year-old mummy comes to life and asks you who your embalmer was.

People start to mistake your belly button for a tracheotomy hole.

A waiter enraged by your lousy tip throws the coins in your face and they ricochet off with enough force to kill three by-standers.

Your breasts are so large that they qualify for their own zip code.

You are the reason your plastic surgeon has carpal tunnel syndrome.

Frightened villagers armed with torches and pitchforks start chasing you around.

Madame Tussaud’s thinks creating a wax figure of you would be redundant.

Joan Rivers, Michael Jackson and Cher get together and have an intervention for you.

If this doesn’t win me some kind of humanitarian award I don’t know what will.

Just say no...

2006-07-28T21:32:00.000-04:00

Yet another very strange story has emerged in the news. This one involves a disturbing trend among teenagers who are getting high by sniffing mothballs. I know what you’re thinking… " How the hell do those kids even know which moths are male?" No, I’m talking about the other kind of mothball, the ones used to keep moths from eating your clothing.

Anyway, I would just like to take a few minutes to "rap" to any young people out there who might be thinking about mothball sniffing. Like, don’t do it man…it won’t make you a "cool cat" or a "groovy chick" and it’s a gateway to the harder stuff.

Sure, you start off just sniffing a few mothballs with your friends on the weekend, but before you know it, you’re snorting athlete's foot powder or "huffing" spray-on deodorants. Then one day you’re hustling on the street for money to buy the Preparation H you are injecting directly into your veins. I’ll bet it doesn’t sound so "cool" now, does it.

This message brought to you by the National Organization to Prevent Kids from doing Really Stupid Stuff.

Head butts and butt heads...

2006-07-26T22:41:00.000-04:00

A jockey recently found himself in the news, not for winning a race but for head butting his horse. This has got to be one of the more bizarre bits of news I’ve heard in a while. Even his "apology" was a little strange: "I’m very sorry they had to see such a thing". To me, that sounds a little like "yeah, I’m sorry…sorry I got caught!" You’d think he’d be a bit more contrite considering it was done in front of a lot of people and recorded on video tape.

Anyway, I believe that a large part of the blame for this incident should go to Zinedine Zidane. You know, that idiot soccer player who cost France the world cup when he head butted an Italian player in the chest.

Also, I predict that this is only the beginning and this kind of thing is going to spread worldwide. Corporate executives will be head butting the guys in the mailroom, teachers will start head butting unruly students and George Bush will head butt every reporter he sees.

A deed that was once only committed by soccer hooligans and professional wrestlers will soon be common among distinguished scientists and gray haired grandmas. I’m not a biblical scholar, but I think this is one of the signs of the apocalypse…I’ll have to look it up. In the meantime, I’m off to buy myself some stock in an aspirin company…and a helmet.

From deep inside the vault...

2006-07-24T21:20:00.000-04:00

Today I am pleased to share with you a couple of items from the official drive-by blogger collection of cultural oddities.

Not many people know that before Charles Schultz came up with his very successful comic strip PEANUTS, he produced a few that didn’t make it. Among the earliest of these is this strip inspired by Schultz’s fascination with the Paris art scene of the 1920’s:

Switching his focus to the great writers of the same period, he came up with this:

Undaunted by the failure of these strips and determined to create a comic inspired by his love of high culture, he also tried these ideas: Coconuts, based on Paul Gauguin’s life in Tahiti and Totally nuts, about Dali and the other surrealists.

Sadly, there don’t seem to be any surviving examples of these strips. However, I am in a bidding war for an original manuscript of children’s nursery rhymes by Scientology founder L. Ron Hubbard…wish me luck.

Casanova in lederhosen...

2006-07-21T21:22:00.000-04:00

A volume of previously unpublished letters by Albert Einstein is shedding light on the famed physicist’s extra-marital affairs. According to some reports the letters indicate that Einstein had about half a dozen girlfriends. I guess it makes sense, his wild hair, bushy mustache and rumpled clothes... what more could a lady want? Anyway, here’s one of the Teutonic lothario’s love letters to one of his ladies dating from 1931:

Dearest M,
Thank you for the wonderful gifts you sent me, the meerschaum pipe, the ivory mustache comb and of course the imported silk underwear. However, I must ask you to refrain from sending any more nude photographs of yourself or at least send smaller ones. They have accumulated to the degree that I’m having difficulty finding a safe hiding place for them.

The conference will be over in three or four days and we can get together then. I can assure you that "little Albert" has missed you terribly. By the way, my hot little strudel, have you given any thought to that three-way that I mentioned last time we met in Düsseldorf?

Passionately yours,
AE

Einstein, his wife and girlfriends…just imagine that on the Jerry Springer show.

Rock the Casbah...

2006-07-18T22:23:00.000-04:00

Back in April it was reported that Osama Bin Laden released an audio tape recording containing one his usual rants. However, what wasn’t mentioned is that in addition Osama has released a music CD, on which he performs songs he has written himself, presumably hoping to appeal to young people. Thanks to my sources in the CIA, I’ve managed to obtain a copy:

Personally, I think Cat Stevens is behind this.

A bit of family history...

2006-07-15T00:05:00.000-04:00

Someone once asked me if I was the only member of my family to take up writing. Actually, their exact words were "Are there any other scribbling malcontents in that lunatic asylum you call a family?" Choosing to ignore this rudeness, I proceeded to tell them about a journal kept by my great-grandfather during his ill-fated attempt to be the first person to reach the North Pole. I humbly submit these excerpts for you perusal:

March, 4 1907
In an effort to acclimatize my self to the cold I sat in a bathtub filled with ice shavings from a nearby ice cream parlor. My wife is still mopping up…and swearing like a sailor I might add. I didn’t even know she knew some of those words.

March, 10 1907
Gave two weeks notice to old man McGinty at the factory. God, I’ll miss the old place. Sure, making asbestos is hard work, but it’s a trade with a real future. It’s the wonder material of the age I tell you. Note to self; see doctor about clearing up this cough before leaving on trip.

April, 3 1907
I’ve managed to assemble what I believe to be a hardy and steadfast crew:

"Fritzy" Mueller, a sausage stuffer from Pennsylvania who weighs over three hundred pounds but assures me that it’s all muscle.

"Cubby" Rothington III, the black sheep son of a wealthy Boston family is also helping to finance the expedition.

And finally, a one eyed former gold miner known only as "Slim" who claims to be 1/16 Eskimo, will be our guide.

May, 22 1907
Arrived at Ellesmere Island, disappointed to find only three of my sled dogs are huskies. The rest are a mixture of breeds ranging from Collies to a Dachshund whose legs don’t even reach the ground when he’s in the harness. The little fellow is all heart though…I think I’ll call him Doxy and make him our mascot.

June, 18 1907
It is with great sadness that I must record that "Fritzy" Mueller has eaten our mascot Doxy. Rations have been running low and apparently six hours without food was more than he could stand.

June, 27 1907
Our misery continues unabated. "Slim" who has been suffering from frostbite in his one good eye, has fallen into deep crevasse. It was the final straw for "Cubby" who had already become very unstable. He ran off into the frozen landscape, screaming something about finding Santa’s workshop and performing unnatural acts on the elves…we have not seen him since. So, that just leaves "Fritzy" and myself to carry on. It will be difficult, but I believe that if we stick together we can still make it to the pole.

July, 9 1907
I’m afraid that I had to shoot poor "Fritzy". For days he had been looking at me very strangely and last night I awoke to find him pouring salt on my leg. I tried firing a warning shot, but he would not turn loose my leg. What my next move shall be…is uncertain.

As it turned out, his "next move" was to hightail it home and leave the honor of being the first to the North Pole to Robert Peary. The expedition did leave its mark on my great-grandfather though. My great-grandmother said for years after he would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night screaming "Fritzy, I’m begging you…drop the salt shaker!"

For your eyes only...

2006-07-12T00:08:00.000-04:00

I don’t know about anyone else, but I was surprised to read that a man had actually been arrested for trying to sell Coca-Cola’s secrets to Pepsi. Secrets? Are they talking about the "secret formula" that’s used to make Coca-Cola? I always thought that that was a myth, you know, a marketing ploy. Anyway, even if it does exist, why such ruthlessness in keeping it a secret? Could it be that there’s some ingredient in it so appalling that if it were made public it would bring the company to ruin?

We here at the Drive-by Blogger laboratory have decided to get to the bottom of this and have started analyzing this beverage to discover the "secret" ingredient that makes Coke "the real thing". We’ve still got a lot of testing to do, but we’ve narrowed it down to these substances:

Pork fat

Cough syrup

Ragweed pollen

Monkey glands

Orphan sweat

Low grade plutonium

Ectoplasm

Hobbit toes

McDonald’s special sauce…you’re next.

Stars among the stars...

2006-07-09T22:25:00.000-04:00

Well, the space shuttle was launched a few days ago, even though there still seemed to be some disagreement among the experts at NASA regarding safety issues. If I ruled the world I believe I could solve that problem as well as find a way to generate a lot of money for future missions.

Instead of sending up intelligent people who possess valuable skills, I would create a new reality show called "Celebrity Space Shuttle" and send groups of desperate, attention grubbing celebrities into space. Ok…so they can’t all be celebrities, after all we can’t expect these idiots to actually fly the damn thing, but most of the "crew" would be celebs.

Viewers would be able to vote someone off the shuttle every few days and those people would then have a rocket pack strapped to their backs and be shot off into deep space. I know this is bad news for the losing celebrities, but if your gonna make an omelet, you gotta break some eggs.

The sole surviving celebrity would then return to earth and get a book deal or something. Since it’s my idea, I get to pick the first group to go and these are my choices and why I picked them:

Michael Jackson, because I’m pretty sure outer space is where he came from anyway.

Regis Philbin, he thinks he can sing…he has actually recorded a CD…he is quite possibly insane…he must go.

Ashley and Mary-Kate Olson, since the combined weight of these two is less than one normal person we get to count them as a single celebrity

Howard Stern, just tell him that there are quadruple breasted lesbian strippers on Mars…I’m sure he’ll go for it.

Joe Rogan, my personal choice to be voted off first, we’ll find out if fear is a factor for him.

Donald Trump, I want to see the effects of zero gravity on the world’s most famous comb-over.

If the show was a hit we could do another one involving a submarine, the Mariana Trench and celebrity torpedoes…fingers crossed everyone.

By any other name...

2006-07-06T22:44:00.000-04:00

I don’t remember whom it was but someone once said that the term housewife could be replaced with the title of domestic engineer. I think this idea could be used to add a degree of prestige to other kinds of jobs as well. So I’ve taken it upon my self to come up with a few new titles for some old familiar jobs:

Ingress and egress facilitator (doorman)

Mood enhancement technician (bartender)

Vintage vehicle re-circulator (used car salesman)

Genital hygienist (prostitute)

Surplus currency solicitor (beggar)

Feral canine wrangler (dog catcher)

Dinning surface reorganizer (bus boy)

Refuse coordinator (garbage man)

Animal parts distributor (butcher)

Follicle reduction artist (barber)

Tubular meat facsimile dispenser (hot dog vendor)

Now I’ve just got to come up with some names for non-paying jobs…like blogging.

Scout's honor...

2006-07-04T22:43:00.000-04:00

Having grown up in a large urban area, I’d always associated the Boy Scouts with things like camping and…umm…more camping. So I was surprised to learn that the list of merit badges that can be earned includes Architecture, genealogy and chemistry. Anyway, this got me thinking of starting a branch of scouting just for kids who live in the city. Here’s a list of the merit badges that "City Scouts" will be able to earn:

Traffic dodging

Subway tunnel spelunking

Recycling crack vials

Hostage negotiating

Panhandling

Turnstile jumping

Pimp slapping

Switchblade handling

Tranny spotting

Elevator surfing

Three card Monte

Pigeon plucking

The Boy Scout motto is "Be prepared", so I think we’ll need one that captures the essence of the City Scouts…maybe something like "What’re you lookin’ at" or "I swear, he was bleedin’ when I got here". Now all we need are uniforms and we can start molding the future leaders of America.

Death, be not humble...

2006-07-02T21:33:00.000-04:00

I have an email subscription to a website called Celebrity Death Beeper. Whenever a celebrity buys the farm I get an email telling me about it. A little morbid perhaps, but I like it. However, lately I have become concerned about the quality of "celebrities" that have been included.

For example, of the last six or seven "celebrities" to kick the bucket, I’d only heard of three of them and one of those was the dog from the TV show Frasier. Now, I don’t blame the site, I can see where you wouldn’t want your subscribers to go too long without hearing from you, so you use the term celebrity in the broadest sense.

No…I blame the celebrities. They’re just not dying the way they used to. James Dean, Marilyn Monroe and Jimi Hendrix…those were noteworthy celebrities dying in a newsworthy fashion. Too many of today’s stars are health and fitness nuts. Where is the excess, the reckless over indulgence that used to a big part of the Hollywood lifestyle?

Oh sure, you have a few celebrities doing there part for this grand old tradition, like Kate Moss reportedly snorting any white powdery substance within fifty feet of her and for a while Billy Joel would occasionally crash his car into something, but it’s just not enough.

So I’m asking all of you A and B list celebrities out there to put down your bottled water, fire your personal trainer, pick up a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a pack of smokes…just to get things started. Remember, for best results your demise should untimely, unexpected and if at all possible, spectacular.

Hell, at this point I’d even settle for D list celebrities…
Kathy Griffin, are you listening?

The genius of Leonardo...

2006-06-30T21:49:00.000-04:00

It would seem that my good friend, the eminent scholar Monty Dingham Smythington, has had a stroke of good luck recently. He tells me that he was hired by Bill Gates to research and translate a notebook of Leonardo da Vinci that Gates purchased for 30 million dollars in 1994. According to Monty it contains a large number of ideas for inventions that once again show how very far ahead of his time Leonardo was. Here are just a few that Monty mentioned in his letter:

An automated lice picking machine.

A steam powered escalator.

The pocket fisherman.

Aromatherapy.

Edible underwear.

Pictionary

The Chia pet.

Nose hair trimmers.

Inflatable love dolls (gender unspecified)

The Mood Ring.

A foolproof “gaydar” machine (which Monty says was better left unfinished, as it probably would have exploded in 15th century Florence).

To be honest with you… I think that either Bill Gates really got ripped off or my old friend has started drinking again.

Welcome to poetry corner...

2006-06-27T21:47:00.000-04:00

I was going to enthrall you with a three thousand line epic poem of mine that was inspired by that miracle of nature known as photosynthesis. Sadly, I can’t seem to find it, so instead here are some limericks inspired by low budget horror films:

There was a werewolf named Lee
A murderous beast was he
Your flesh he would shred
Until you were dead
Then on your leg he would pee

There once was a mummy named Betty
Who was late with her husband’s spaghetti
He began to smack her
Then used a weed whacker
Now she’s a big pile of confetti

There was a zombie from France
Who truly did love to dance
One night as he twirled
His intestines unfurled
And soiled his best pair of pants

There once was a man called Jack
A proud necrophiliac
The girls he preferred
Were always interred
Though the digging was hard on his back

There once was a doctor so smart
A monster he built à la carte
But you could tell by one glance
At it’s tight fitting pants
The Doc had forgotten one part

A vampire with a bad attitude
Flew off in a terrible mood
To the Arctic he did go
Where he dined on Eskimo
Only to find he didn’t like frozen food

Well, I’ve got to go…that lost epic isn’t going to rewrite itself.

America's Most Wanted Kiddies...

2006-06-24T21:14:00.000-04:00

It was reported in the news last week that the officials of a New York City public school called the police on a six- year old boy, who they said had "thrown a tantrum and kicked a vice-principal". Previous to this incident the police had been called in because of a five-year old boy who allegedly "bit a teacher’s ankle".

We here at the Drive-by Blogger (and by we I mean me) say kudos to the strong leadership shown by these brave school officials in dealing with these pint-sized menaces to society. For too long these diminutive delinquents have run roughshod over the public school system. So, as a service to the Board of Education, I’m posting their top ten most wanted list…

1. Bill Weston, age 5: charged with carrying a concealed water pistol and inciting others to run with scissors.

2. Scott Jansen, age 5: charged with starting food fights and mooning the other children during show and tell.

3. Suzy Pollan, age 6: charged with attempting to blackmail her teacher with the "funny pictures" of her and the janitor the girl found while rifling her teachers desk.

4. Timmy Dugan, age 5, a.k.a. "The Wedgie Kid": charged with inflicting willful damage to other people’s underwear.

5. Robert Vega, age 6: charged with waging a vicious spitball campaign against a semi-retired (and completely clueless) substitute teacher.

6. Mary Sheldon, age 6: charged with extorting money from other children by threatening to sneeze on their lunches.

7. Ricky Smith, age 5: charged with attempting to kill the class’s pet hamster by feeding it his grandfather’s high blood pressure medicine.

8. Luke Fontana, age 5: charged with distributing pirated copies of Barney and Dora the Explorer.

9. Fred Wilson, age 5: charged with deliberately disorganizing the supply closet, also suspected of eating paste.

10. Rachel Tratsky, age 5: charged with flushing one hall pass, three erasers and her teacher’s keys down the toilet.

As John Walsh might say… "Come on America, let’s bring these low-lifes to justice!"

Questions, questions, questions...

2006-06-21T22:01:00.000-04:00

During my last stay at my favorite mental health facility, I managed to slip one arm out of my straitjacket and with a crayon I had secreted upon my person, I wrote down a few of the deep questions that were on my mind at the time…

If so many people are ready to believe that Jesus was married and may have modern day descendants, how come these same people aren’t at all worried about Satan’s potential progeny? I mean if Jesus fathered a child isn’t more than likely that Satan put a few "buns in the oven" in his time?

Does anyone else out there believe that movie studio executives are using a "Magic 8 Ball" to decide what films to make?

Why is it that a baseball player can face a 90 mile an hour fast ball while 50 thousand fans are screaming their heads off, but a golfer who hears the click of a single camera looks at the offending photographer as though he has just strangled a kitten?

Is there any practical reason why the lid on the tank of my toilet weighs almost as the lid of King Tut’s sarcophagus?

Did no one in the opera world ever see the irony of Luciano Pavarotti playing the role of a "starving" poet in "La Boheme"?

How is it that in a world where people constantly complain about the large number of television commercials that they’re forced to endure, QVC (which is basically commercials without programming) can be so successful?

Does anyone really believe that the conductor of a symphony orchestra is anything but a glorified timekeeper?

I did have more questions, but it was at this point that my crayon broke.

Bill, we hardly knew ye...

2006-06-18T21:34:00.000-04:00

As you may already know, Bill Gates has announced that he’s stepping down as the head of Microsoft to concentrate on his charity foundation. As noble as that may be, you know that a real "go getter" like Bill Gates is going to be busy with other things as well…things like:

Trying to talk Oprah, Donald Trump and George Lucas into doing an all billionaire version of "The Surreal Life".

Perfecting that 3D pornographic software he’s been promising himself.

Catching up on thirty years worth of "Field and Stream" magazines he hasn’t had the time to read.

Bribing as many officials as it takes to get legislation passed that will change the caption on all US currency to read "In Nerds We Trust".

Finding a way to permanently alter the human genome and rid the world of jocks once and for all.

Conducting exhaustive research on the bible to prove that his name is mentioned in there…somewhere.

Using GPS technology and a team of professional explorers to map the gigantic 125 million-dollar house he lives in.

Seriously Bill, if you find yourself having trouble burning through all that money…I’m here to help.