tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91817114292177921652024-03-14T00:17:24.973-06:00C Minus MinusI am a smirking jackass. Welcome!Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.comBlogger779125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-59047492195655720252024-03-11T05:00:00.219-06:002024-03-11T05:00:00.130-06:00Area Woman Reads Grandfather's Self-published Novel, Wishes For Death<p>Today we'll be reviewing SEDUCED by D. L. Johnson. An erotic economic thriller, SEDUCED takes the reader on a gripping ride through the corporate banking system and deftly explores the issues that face everyday Americans as they struggle with the bottom line and the man.</p><p>The novel opens with a Prologue, giving the reader a panoramic sweep of American history of the last hundred years. The first line gorgeously evokes the fears and aspirations of those times.</p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">"America was in the Roaring Twenties, a giddy, gilded age when the 1929 stock market crash ended crazed bank borrowing and betting for overnight riches."</span></p><p>The reader nods, recognizing that indeed there was a crash in 1929. Good job!</p><p>The next sentence personalizes the stakes of economic booms and busts of our capitalistic world:</p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">"It led to the Great Depression's deadly, desperate deprivation that Rian Reston thoroughly studied in history at college."</span></p><p>The alliterative prose rolls trippingly off the tongue, a veritable euphonious swell of words that recalls the patristic writings of Chrysostomos and, perhaps, Tacitus at his most grandiloquent.</p><p>We are frog marched through a newsreel parade of History until arriving at the watershed moment:</p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">"Then---like a streaking meteor from a dark sky, on August 15, 1971, President Nixon shocked the world by ending the redemption of US dollars for gold. That created new freedom for the nation's benefit. Or harm!"</span></p><p>That final, telling exclamatory sentence drives home the point, and sends a frisson streaking down the back of any concerned citizen who thinks about Richard Nixon and meteors.</p><p>We are then plunged into the world of seedy bars in Chicago where Lothar Gravestone, fresh from Middle-earth, goes to drink with his eight-year-old step-son.</p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">"Afterward, Lothar would take Rian home for a beating, as usual. His caring, loving mom, Sasa, too, if she intervened."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">The reader is gripped immediately by the boy's plight as he is apparently beaten senseless every single day, but one feels some reassurance as Lothar will be beating the boy at home--no beatings out in the alley, at least!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">In a "booze-fed buzz," Lothar drinks and laments getting fired as men around him talk about "da" Bears and whether Chris Kattan is a comic genius. Lothar sees Roberto Scaratucci, his former foreman and an Italian from Italy. They mix it up:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">"Without a word, Lothar pulled Scaratucci around and smashed his nose with a burly fist. Then, burying the other fist in his stomach, he said, 'This is for you, you bastard.'"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">After Lothar is carted away to prison for the crime of punching an Italian, Rian Reston must carry on in life without the daily beatings and struggle to survive in the mean streets of Steamboat Springs where he gets a job at a bank and meets crowds of seductive females who wish to beat Rian, so to speak, off.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">"He had no time for genuine relationships---just one-off transactions with cheerleaders or hormone-driven women, who enjoyed hanging with or hooking up with testosterone-crazed gridiron gladiators. 'Scoring,' for the smack-talking jocks with their brains hanging between their legs, was in a girl's end zone."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">Thankfully, Rian learns how to tuck his brains into his shirt and meets Mariah, a nice girl with a penchant for penis. A peppy party ensued.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">"As she undressed, he pushed his briefs off onto the floor and his steel-hard shaft sprang out from its cloth prison."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">Any reader will be breathless with excitement and wonder as they follow the exploits of Rian and the hormone-driven women who dawn lipstick and armor-clothes to do battle of the sexes. Like my niece!</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5pd7kzSZSp7FTVCv6ZAxyxKaScuNEXGt-C2IZpqB35EDTPmS8gQR0ZQdjdE6O-2D9-wugO7Z3-xjsn-1_Szn-TvTyW5UQpAAhxVlsWd1hK3wGMkKm_Qf2jXTOiRR-qHyY0EJ11BMCmV-58OQWCFhXoqQerBX70lQLczuPlwrM4LRxuxb_mYjoskONdx4/s4096/IMG_20240304_200244880_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5pd7kzSZSp7FTVCv6ZAxyxKaScuNEXGt-C2IZpqB35EDTPmS8gQR0ZQdjdE6O-2D9-wugO7Z3-xjsn-1_Szn-TvTyW5UQpAAhxVlsWd1hK3wGMkKm_Qf2jXTOiRR-qHyY0EJ11BMCmV-58OQWCFhXoqQerBX70lQLczuPlwrM4LRxuxb_mYjoskONdx4/s320/IMG_20240304_200244880_HDR.jpg" width="240" /></a></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier;">"Without hesitation, he mounted her. As he placed himself, her alabaster hips rose to take him, and he sank in full hilt.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier;">'God, it feels good. It's huge, its fills me,' she moaned.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5NKMcckeOBA99NUcqfECD5J6w0fWHJSn7VBzybw5v8Fv6bjfoIl3xVBLBThLFOVD56PHXSTl4AHecD63ioVTRe2ssvn1-Vh-56LN8xqxHB2nHWXwchkU5zGWsYP_flrZkPVO41oMmxe5qX7-_yP9Gijbr3rfeI5lkH5GW_ay-igGC1Fem-4torRczahY/s4096/IMG_20240304_200226534_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5NKMcckeOBA99NUcqfECD5J6w0fWHJSn7VBzybw5v8Fv6bjfoIl3xVBLBThLFOVD56PHXSTl4AHecD63ioVTRe2ssvn1-Vh-56LN8xqxHB2nHWXwchkU5zGWsYP_flrZkPVO41oMmxe5qX7-_yP9Gijbr3rfeI5lkH5GW_ay-igGC1Fem-4torRczahY/s320/IMG_20240304_200226534_HDR.jpg" width="240" /></a></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier;">"She bucked like a crazy-ass mare as her well-hung stallion jackhammered her to the promised land. She bit, grunted, and moaned. Spurred on like a crazed animal, he didn't feel her Tony Lamas flail his clenched buttocks as his pleasure-pulsing penis came in spasmed spurts."</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJCSxJ6cXid5dbSBwpLKoWjczcsYL-jQv-bBxK-WkSEeGdY6UGM1ToiuzJuIFm4gSEiQjfv91H2Mk8q3Iy5UmUInDD5VgvWkUjjdavQxFlHJzoUNUQlu5OOmlTnvomsLYq9u0OL0elZhukyL3AtR1JeTUhwsiKhWS2NpXlSYSsf7_-TpRz1BdnhmeTYL4/s4096/IMG_20240304_200251178_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJCSxJ6cXid5dbSBwpLKoWjczcsYL-jQv-bBxK-WkSEeGdY6UGM1ToiuzJuIFm4gSEiQjfv91H2Mk8q3Iy5UmUInDD5VgvWkUjjdavQxFlHJzoUNUQlu5OOmlTnvomsLYq9u0OL0elZhukyL3AtR1JeTUhwsiKhWS2NpXlSYSsf7_-TpRz1BdnhmeTYL4/s320/IMG_20240304_200251178_HDR.jpg" width="240" /></a></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier;">"His twitching erection pointed straight up. She got on him and held it as she carefully impaled herself on its purple-rouge end. She was a blur of animalistic fury, riding his monstrous pleasure pole."</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier;">"After that night, the friends with benefits had many Tinder moments taking each other furiously."</span></p><p style="text-align: left;">Then Rian learns that meaningless hookups are meaningless, and he meets his true love, Missy. Together they go on a journey that takes them from one part of the bedroom to the other.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier;">"No rush now. At long...long last, the universal clock's pendulum halted for them. Sensuality engulfed them. His muscular arms engulfed her. Their fiery, impassioned tongues flickered, explored, and tasted each other.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Nestled like cooing doves, nuzzling, purring, quivering, they savored the moment. Then, unable to resist any longer, aching with desire, holding his engorged erection, he rose over her butterflied open thighs. She guided him. 'Give it to me...I want it all!'"</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">Hey, where did Taylor go? Anyway, that's how we learn about banks. Five stars. Get your copy today and get engulfed in sensuality!</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8gGSirC6LlonKoBgqf5hiU6rV12pBE3LLGkbO4XtQ9OmcsprtLSsp4Gyub-FElih9d0SQCHmcBMMk18Tnzxi-Hkpv4oNU7jzvTQ5KuTnq_4zhIDVU7Krz_9DJi0IBwK115I7FXwfvbflh7Avzvb2lMEqcyVIQNByWj819Upv22Rb9Bfb91cdwXAPZx1g/s275/download.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="275" data-original-width="183" height="339" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8gGSirC6LlonKoBgqf5hiU6rV12pBE3LLGkbO4XtQ9OmcsprtLSsp4Gyub-FElih9d0SQCHmcBMMk18Tnzxi-Hkpv4oNU7jzvTQ5KuTnq_4zhIDVU7Krz_9DJi0IBwK115I7FXwfvbflh7Avzvb2lMEqcyVIQNByWj819Upv22Rb9Bfb91cdwXAPZx1g/w226-h339/download.jpg" width="226" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/SEDUCED-D-L-Johnson-ebook/dp/B0CSDXZ28K/?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_w=ItYZA&content-id=amzn1.sym.d0ebfbb2-6761-494f-8e2f-95743b37c35c%3Aamzn1.symc.50e00d6c-ec8b-42ef-bb15-298531ab4497&pf_rd_p=d0ebfbb2-6761-494f-8e2f-95743b37c35c&pf_rd_r=R1H27XQABG06VWYTJ1XD&pd_rd_wg=FLeAM&pd_rd_r=9148c221-9fa9-4353-a1b3-71beac241cb8&ref_=pd_gw_ci_mcx_mr_hp_atf_m" style="text-align: left;">https://www.amazon.com/SEDUCED-D-L-Johnson-ebook/dp/B0CSDXZ28K/?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_w=ItYZA&content-id=amzn1.sym.d0ebfbb2-6761-494f-8e2f-95743b37c35c%3Aamzn1.symc.50e00d6c-ec8b-42ef-bb15-298531ab4497&pf_rd_p=d0ebfbb2-6761-494f-8e2f-95743b37c35c&pf_rd_r=R1H27XQABG06VWYTJ1XD&pd_rd_wg=FLeAM&pd_rd_r=9148c221-9fa9-4353-a1b3-71beac241cb8&ref_=pd_gw_ci_mcx_mr_hp_atf_m</a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">P. S. Andy can testify that we've enjoyed ten years of this stool softener! This is from August 2014.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9dADY2xBZDJjJDKFPb27opAh29BKNO0soe8BDlJi_KR-O8Q2ZQHtonfbJgRn8k_Qnx4dni5qGx5Zr315acdA5OGOYiBqxJREvZeb50mx1Z7N638zIFr52NZBmGC__5bNA64nxcp0e374PAIJm7q_OLiK-dnufSY-33PCk8DktnUv6WlHwyoIBpuNzsB4/s525/matress%20pound.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="525" data-original-width="486" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9dADY2xBZDJjJDKFPb27opAh29BKNO0soe8BDlJi_KR-O8Q2ZQHtonfbJgRn8k_Qnx4dni5qGx5Zr315acdA5OGOYiBqxJREvZeb50mx1Z7N638zIFr52NZBmGC__5bNA64nxcp0e374PAIJm7q_OLiK-dnufSY-33PCk8DktnUv6WlHwyoIBpuNzsB4/s320/matress%20pound.jpg" width="296" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-90628558686379950652024-02-09T05:00:00.189-07:002024-02-09T05:00:00.145-07:00The Problem With a Chinese Wish Pot Is That You Want To Make Another Wish an Hour Later!<p>Since I'm the type of person who digs on multiverses, I thought I'd watch a movie called WISH UPON. And, yes, nonexistent reader, all my wishes which I was not careful to wish for swished into my smart-ish wishy-washy squishy eyeballs, wish.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk2d3lpymR-8_ZYlznqBGe5-IatOeoohVn3DmdLEBz1tJPqQcIPU0C9lMYQRrcx1aZLMtku0V3riL7KFAjqvkDoEo3-0ZTvKeYPyEaWB1_HPIsjFcIl5GDfgWwRZQ6jtEBzwfkXDhJHCbH-H6WwLHwSHae83CXuPT5vKtMUarV9sHuaYyh1-X2YI6MLC4/s4096/MV5BOGQxN2NlMWItNzMyOC00ODYxLThkNDktMWQ0ZjA2MjQyYjIwXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMjM4NTM5NDY@._V1_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="2764" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk2d3lpymR-8_ZYlznqBGe5-IatOeoohVn3DmdLEBz1tJPqQcIPU0C9lMYQRrcx1aZLMtku0V3riL7KFAjqvkDoEo3-0ZTvKeYPyEaWB1_HPIsjFcIl5GDfgWwRZQ6jtEBzwfkXDhJHCbH-H6WwLHwSHae83CXuPT5vKtMUarV9sHuaYyh1-X2YI6MLC4/s320/MV5BOGQxN2NlMWItNzMyOC00ODYxLThkNDktMWQ0ZjA2MjQyYjIwXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMjM4NTM5NDY@._V1_.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Hard pass. Wait. From the director of </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>ANNABELLE</i>??! I dig on!"</div><div><br /></div>Some dummy finds a Chinese wishing well, kiss and tell, and then proceeds to prance about like Terence Trent D'Arby. (Dear God that would be much, much better.) <div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU1JB18aYIDnix-YRBawqnAHtCWoxxX3GBx9Jv0zZHO_Foz-ZBs7iQc_mASYPSRvAIVKgeQfT8CLTZ3j0xHvzCaHeLxrZnaLccjsSrq3m_V4PpF9fG-xHOaL08W5LrW_bOu8Hw3OtMMtLUYE-lh6taHAfXHdZigv6OYccOW5aZl3bIZjBPhpjasbRpYps/s640/Wish-Upon-Evil-music-box.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU1JB18aYIDnix-YRBawqnAHtCWoxxX3GBx9Jv0zZHO_Foz-ZBs7iQc_mASYPSRvAIVKgeQfT8CLTZ3j0xHvzCaHeLxrZnaLccjsSrq3m_V4PpF9fG-xHOaL08W5LrW_bOu8Hw3OtMMtLUYE-lh6taHAfXHdZigv6OYccOW5aZl3bIZjBPhpjasbRpYps/w388-h218/Wish-Upon-Evil-music-box.jpg" width="388" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Duhh. I mean, huh. Er. Derp. Wait. Line?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She wishes that the popular girl would get skin herpes or something equally funny, and it comes true! Ha, ha! This will be a great story at their <a href="https://ceeminusminus.blogspot.com/search/label/Reunion">fortieth reunion</a>. Mike Perez will love it, I promise!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqXf0llqlGKzEmwEXXXVMV1wI7W_47WJPjiwLzgkZntsumWHB9LRrzS0tbK4rhlkBFeZgFQQr3CxiFlrtwf7BtxcqIjw92hjd5k_uKAg3imklIXrXqWGhZkxzowhRezDUmMRPGN098sJK3kSMYH6mg_3MWd-J4cslTJvKA-tTn9ndgpeRnfCmmBrGZSig/s275/download%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqXf0llqlGKzEmwEXXXVMV1wI7W_47WJPjiwLzgkZntsumWHB9LRrzS0tbK4rhlkBFeZgFQQr3CxiFlrtwf7BtxcqIjw92hjd5k_uKAg3imklIXrXqWGhZkxzowhRezDUmMRPGN098sJK3kSMYH6mg_3MWd-J4cslTJvKA-tTn9ndgpeRnfCmmBrGZSig/w398-h265/download%20(1).jpg" width="398" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"I hate you Prell!"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So you see, it's like this. Dumb girl makes wish and then something ironic happens like dumb uncle does pratfall in his fancy bathtub or area dumb woman gets her face caught in the garbage disposal. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMsR6_ughGBDL1mi7BmzF7ASRlwxcv6779Rz-RYTXh5OrZM99QhhFFLnu_O6rlt8_UU-O2rKccoCxLLC0pPNoJVLeTA56Dg5m4ha-MCJKOZ-rDgPlPgaYGhzN0HQRaQJLenedwCnXu9M2u40D8-eZYDywRiPTTdJaLYoxkKYCzkiT_8-xQzG9LSGIeoTk/s279/download%20(4).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="181" data-original-width="279" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMsR6_ughGBDL1mi7BmzF7ASRlwxcv6779Rz-RYTXh5OrZM99QhhFFLnu_O6rlt8_UU-O2rKccoCxLLC0pPNoJVLeTA56Dg5m4ha-MCJKOZ-rDgPlPgaYGhzN0HQRaQJLenedwCnXu9M2u40D8-eZYDywRiPTTdJaLYoxkKYCzkiT_8-xQzG9LSGIeoTk/w458-h297/download%20(4).jpg" width="458" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"How does the garbage disposal keep up</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> with the news like that??"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Don't. praise. the. garbage disposal."</div><div><br /></div><div>How is this ironic, you ask? Well, you see, because the uncle liked hygiene and the area woman liked to wash her vegetables first, it just shows you don't do that or a Chinese demon will kill you! Wow. This movie is kinda deep. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_DxHc1MlSBi12OthXhCi8KAZsV0wfELHmvdeYcQ2SFeV9Rd4jzJOOyxY8gEf8uWDMDfnavF6jIIndM63Su5EC5qRZlqrd4dHn-PiygYZ18jmpwlc6buKAcoPH2Xe_b2E5taFaqBzl1LffvWTMz_l_jxRL9OancycIZT8dqonU8Ncev8A-KFDpoa98sE/s1200/Wish-Upon-2017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="1200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_DxHc1MlSBi12OthXhCi8KAZsV0wfELHmvdeYcQ2SFeV9Rd4jzJOOyxY8gEf8uWDMDfnavF6jIIndM63Su5EC5qRZlqrd4dHn-PiygYZ18jmpwlc6buKAcoPH2Xe_b2E5taFaqBzl1LffvWTMz_l_jxRL9OancycIZT8dqonU8Ncev8A-KFDpoa98sE/w577-h240/Wish-Upon-2017.jpg" width="577" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Says here it wants to be called an Asian Wish Pot, not an Oriental."</div><div><br /></div>Because when the Oriental girl figures out the curse, the wish demon does a sort of slow motion running with the Pamplona bulls thing and kills the girl very dead.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoo3pBUL8sn5-Wrm7xBGhYwvZHuixB8gGVuRoNfuXamEOGQYdvTX9uESv3_y97j0Ei8hrAbXaPPUFQE6_aUz3RqSTa4xEyLq7dN3P9bQWGFxtht4mMe7F6EzV3WKb57pTbvzNlOubcyjgAdaFRWELiPD3TYIPkoDONbb6u9EYaxBOBCQX1c-zNX-Jv-0g/s300/images%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoo3pBUL8sn5-Wrm7xBGhYwvZHuixB8gGVuRoNfuXamEOGQYdvTX9uESv3_y97j0Ei8hrAbXaPPUFQE6_aUz3RqSTa4xEyLq7dN3P9bQWGFxtht4mMe7F6EzV3WKb57pTbvzNlOubcyjgAdaFRWELiPD3TYIPkoDONbb6u9EYaxBOBCQX1c-zNX-Jv-0g/w406-h228/images%20(2).jpg" width="406" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"I'll catch up with you guys later! I have to gently sink </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">my face into this sharp horn! For irony!" </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then the dumb girl wishes everything could go back to the way it was and the film starts with the Big Bang and recapitulates 13.8 billion years and brings us back to the same stupid point, except her dad dies instead of her mom--AND they had to sit through the Ice Capades again! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-zHlp5t7mDJc5NJAXHrbf2IAml92Tz6aFtYSyMdjYprJVYamo_BiSM4K-SKjMLll1X0F_wF6rAnkFayITyGYVSGVUpUgIybNqA3aOp-CAMbIPvYC9jcTuk2ciucTefMdfvUgC4Dl7KYhYxQ2kycc9sqDhtC-z4JXB3rE1qULMIt9BH7ciUSQFxscpYU/s275/download%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-zHlp5t7mDJc5NJAXHrbf2IAml92Tz6aFtYSyMdjYprJVYamo_BiSM4K-SKjMLll1X0F_wF6rAnkFayITyGYVSGVUpUgIybNqA3aOp-CAMbIPvYC9jcTuk2ciucTefMdfvUgC4Dl7KYhYxQ2kycc9sqDhtC-z4JXB3rE1qULMIt9BH7ciUSQFxscpYU/w451-h300/download%20(2).jpg" width="451" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"OMG! Dad's blood is freezing cold!!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The rest of the movie is really great because the dumb girl runs around trying to escape her malfunctioning brain and fails ha ha.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNz4IgdqerJM_G6FNyqnFtAmDglBvM9qxzcRaT6MZIBJ7HWBNIjfpp9vYrKNY3S9PEKoaI1tiIiXhAIvQtCHuYDL7auypxwKo_fOIkrLDNRLF0Dwt853j6ZN6qJ4D7ftIlDJo-a_YVRQjZ8Vesous3tEWnWMRKp8glovmLBhGNehvQ1IKOQnh9Os6ViNg/s275/images%20(3).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNz4IgdqerJM_G6FNyqnFtAmDglBvM9qxzcRaT6MZIBJ7HWBNIjfpp9vYrKNY3S9PEKoaI1tiIiXhAIvQtCHuYDL7auypxwKo_fOIkrLDNRLF0Dwt853j6ZN6qJ4D7ftIlDJo-a_YVRQjZ8Vesous3tEWnWMRKp8glovmLBhGNehvQ1IKOQnh9Os6ViNg/w431-h287/images%20(3).jpg" width="431" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Someone bring me a taquito! Awwwggh!"</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And she dies, after learning the valuable lesson that you don't yell. Or you always leave a note. Or you don't give lessons.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCkEx4SYl4CH3gexW5lwBTQJ6gCE5GJ0dIRAXWbYyQltIXi7u3DMSXHThx6wxpMeWc_o7YV444rqVV7hr2r9W3z91gRFc44JA5gPrOAS9g_0OHb6tq1OpnIvUtcZZmIc9A3eRS6Ia-oAoXfidrxrxTb9ycOxfujWu2mxosmhR_aQpfw6cUWJ4MpKWKD0o/s344/images%20(6).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="146" data-original-width="344" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCkEx4SYl4CH3gexW5lwBTQJ6gCE5GJ0dIRAXWbYyQltIXi7u3DMSXHThx6wxpMeWc_o7YV444rqVV7hr2r9W3z91gRFc44JA5gPrOAS9g_0OHb6tq1OpnIvUtcZZmIc9A3eRS6Ia-oAoXfidrxrxTb9ycOxfujWu2mxosmhR_aQpfw6cUWJ4MpKWKD0o/w553-h235/images%20(6).jpg" width="553" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Someone give my regards to the lunch lady. Her fish sticks were exquisite."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And yet... and yet... <i>did </i>she learn a lesson? I mean, since she's super dead and stuff? Sort of hard to see the point. You know, this movie was incredibly stupid and just a huge waste of.... Aw hell, who cares, let's dance!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ynIHsHYaig0" width="320" youtube-src-id="ynIHsHYaig0"></iframe></div></div></div>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-72458078739800023782024-01-19T05:00:00.183-07:002024-01-19T05:00:00.139-07:00Spooning (not the good kind)<p style="text-align: left;">We were huddled in Chris's igloo, breath smoking. </p><p style="text-align: left;">"Chris," Mom quavered. "Can you turn the heat up, please?"</p><p style="text-align: left;">"You mean on, Mom," I said. "The word is <i>on.</i>"</p><p style="text-align: left;">"What's the problem? I think it's fine." Legs crossed, Chris sat back in his cane chair, wearing shorts and a Bermuda shirt, his lips blue as he sucked on the straw of his pina colada. "Rasta, mon!"</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Can we get the show on the road?" Mom said, breaking the ice and the icicles from her nose. "Bailey is lonely waiting for me. I told her I'd be home in an hour."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Bailey can't tell time, Mom."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Oh, she can. She's a pickle, that one! Yesterday she was solving equations in matrix linear algebra. Did you hear me? <i>Matrix</i> linear algebra."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Matrix?? Bailey must be the One!"</p><p style="text-align: left;">Mom nodded. "The other day Bailey was putting the treats I give her behind the toilet. Oh, she's a pickle! Later, she found the treats and ate them, one by one. What dog does that? Isn't that amazing?"</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Literally every dog on the planet does that."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Oh, is this my Christmas gift, Greg? I don't like this. I don't want it."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"You haven't opened it yet."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"I know what it is. You did some horrible painting of me."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"You act like you're Dorian Gray. I promise I didn't paint you with your face melting off your skull."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"What did you say about my melting skull face? Oh! I don't want it!"</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Mom, just open it. You'll like it, I promise."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"I'm very scared."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"As well you should be."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_0buQRHJGQHCjhuVOpLBjmCSdrW2ofeUGLH3EC3ZEHdxxqqD3q2xnRzQbb25n4OdvLpHbaCvKrXO42FvC8O_9-wd4kz8EBXkxafbcXhuoElCbq-n-cAh66Znc8W362tTXT77L-NqP09Lv5HhWuQT9S3GiNdbELp8KDm5zdTHPLIF_CPJHqQzkYGL00PQ/s4096/IMG_20231225_141737139_MF_PORTRAIT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="523" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_0buQRHJGQHCjhuVOpLBjmCSdrW2ofeUGLH3EC3ZEHdxxqqD3q2xnRzQbb25n4OdvLpHbaCvKrXO42FvC8O_9-wd4kz8EBXkxafbcXhuoElCbq-n-cAh66Znc8W362tTXT77L-NqP09Lv5HhWuQT9S3GiNdbELp8KDm5zdTHPLIF_CPJHqQzkYGL00PQ/w392-h523/IMG_20231225_141737139_MF_PORTRAIT.jpg" width="392" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"You better not put this on your blog."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDH-bl35OazwNh6Z4dj9EUaIqtFSq_VCsGJQ9DAu7Mz0j4z1pwkJje-gZDxXR2DHhCZUDNmkqZ2CNAMtouC_BykKmRPWvC19NTBsapOaZtGnI2QatKPCVZ0d24ASrS2LzINXXebn1IqMuhhanyKdBNL5a1MSsbnJ5FCgt9xdwBjmIA6BF6pN4MSfDsqxA/s4096/IMG_20231225_141742520_MF_PORTRAIT.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="581" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDH-bl35OazwNh6Z4dj9EUaIqtFSq_VCsGJQ9DAu7Mz0j4z1pwkJje-gZDxXR2DHhCZUDNmkqZ2CNAMtouC_BykKmRPWvC19NTBsapOaZtGnI2QatKPCVZ0d24ASrS2LzINXXebn1IqMuhhanyKdBNL5a1MSsbnJ5FCgt9xdwBjmIA6BF6pN4MSfDsqxA/w436-h581/IMG_20231225_141742520_MF_PORTRAIT.jpg" width="436" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Oh, Greg. Why? WHY?"</div><p style="text-align: left;">"Happy Solomacas Day, Mom!"</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Thank you," Mom said, grimly.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXro4Y-F6l16Tx5LtIQJcD_F6_r_npv_f57L8nStMaBArtK1TKgQvVkOscMLB-zWaCyt3enqRCashzl7FgNYEaH3G2-JF7ci9Aaqxes_ew5vwchibJh488gsPSH1uZfwBnXXaMb_ekNoT7k4e47ae2wDI11w7mXB9BR8WG_GN2P9RhLm58kOjHIfNjzP8/s2567/Mom%20Mom%20Mom%20Mom.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1649" data-original-width="2567" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXro4Y-F6l16Tx5LtIQJcD_F6_r_npv_f57L8nStMaBArtK1TKgQvVkOscMLB-zWaCyt3enqRCashzl7FgNYEaH3G2-JF7ci9Aaqxes_ew5vwchibJh488gsPSH1uZfwBnXXaMb_ekNoT7k4e47ae2wDI11w7mXB9BR8WG_GN2P9RhLm58kOjHIfNjzP8/w480-h309/Mom%20Mom%20Mom%20Mom.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">"You look thrilled."</p><p style="text-align: left;">Chris burst out laughing. I joined him, both of us swept up in a hurricane of hilarity. Mom shushed us fiercely.</p><p style="text-align: left;">"They can hear you in the next igloo! Shhh!"</p><p style="text-align: left;">Mom demanded to go home. We got to her apartment just in time to see Bailey climb down from the table piled with books on quantum mechanics and <i>Finnegans Wake, the Graphic Novel</i>. Bailey removed her glasses, cleared her throat, and then pissed on the carpet.</p><p style="text-align: left;">"No, bad dog!"</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Aw. Look at all the urine. How will Bailey get that Nobel Prize in Mathematics now?"</p><p style="text-align: left;">Mom instructed me to put the painting in the bedroom. There I set it on the dresser, where it will remain until the sun explodes or we die, whichever comes first.</p><p style="text-align: left;">"I really wish you wouldn't paint me. But that's a dear painting of Bailey. She's so cute! Don't you think Bailey is beautiful?"</p><p style="text-align: left;">"That dog is a fox."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Now in here is where I want my new bed to go."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Well, you'll have to kick the dried turds out of the way first, but there's some cleared space..."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"It would be nice to get a good night's sleep. That darn beeping noise wakes me up every night. At two am! I'm thinking of writing the <i>Denver Post</i> about it."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"That doesn't seem like the best way to... Wait. Why do you have a spoon on your toilet?" I went to get the large metal spoon. "Have you been crying and eating cookie dough in here?"</p><p style="text-align: left;">"What? No, that's my poop spoon."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Your..." I gasped. "Poo...?"</p><p style="text-align: left;">Mom shrugged. "Yes. I use it to break up the poop in my toilet. It won't go down, so I use that spoon to break it down so everything flushes."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Oh, dear God, Mom," I said. I flung the spoon from me, some poop water spritzing Bailey in the face, who barked weakly. "Why? WHY?"</p><p style="text-align: left;">"I don't know! I mean, I'm a normal goer. It's not like I have such big poops. It must be the toilet."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"You're a... normal goer."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Though lately I've been going a little, then I flush, then go a little more. Like that."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Ohhh," I said, fainting and falling and grabbing to the walls. "Elizabeth! I'm coming to you now...!"</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaPuncedAq_ziW1O1JjSTdAZGz1izhrGeSlIBqbtoscj4CmwcZ5IkUlnOCIXTlW27dmvrKFPtOocT4OD9WTcHZTE7r0SZKobyTndWaYxbxUMuZWgUn6gSh3KJVjCDszwqAqNmvWtjm8fWPouwuFFaHbKMGNwNVMOpLXY6zNi-W9Ywua3i2eJ3rF8hPzl8/s884/jwfdi3nps5q61.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="662" data-original-width="884" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaPuncedAq_ziW1O1JjSTdAZGz1izhrGeSlIBqbtoscj4CmwcZ5IkUlnOCIXTlW27dmvrKFPtOocT4OD9WTcHZTE7r0SZKobyTndWaYxbxUMuZWgUn6gSh3KJVjCDszwqAqNmvWtjm8fWPouwuFFaHbKMGNwNVMOpLXY6zNi-W9Ywua3i2eJ3rF8hPzl8/s320/jwfdi3nps5q61.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">"What are you reading?" said someone to no one not reading this.</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Greg's blog. More about his mom's poop."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Again?? Why? WHY??"</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Good question. Hey, what's on the CW?"</p><p style="text-align: left;">Merry Christmas, everyone! *checks calendar* Merry Christmas, everyone!</p>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-9573779701846939922023-11-17T05:00:00.171-07:002023-11-17T05:00:00.138-07:00Fasting and Furious, It's About Family (Unfortunately)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Mom and I were having our Last Supper at the Wind Crest Saloon. To distract Mom from the fun of her upcoming move, I went all in and pushed across the table Dad's new masterwork. It's an erotic economic thriller with, get this, a <i>woman </i>senator. I mean, come on. Now I've read everything! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHPsgq7qs7WnKwMD9y-gY61GJVszhj023LRHONTji_l-ZqrfXCWGwQBseDiB5d82hzuj3Lp5PE9htU4iozFuMlMuaIXQqS5d_WF_v2kstSq12J__ol4vrZMtJRNCHh57DPohK8RjDo-1_90Ta8jt5XptKB9oij0_v_V9VK4wA1EJdDsPxUiFbaDLbBdQI/s2400/667627@2x.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="1784" height="592" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHPsgq7qs7WnKwMD9y-gY61GJVszhj023LRHONTji_l-ZqrfXCWGwQBseDiB5d82hzuj3Lp5PE9htU4iozFuMlMuaIXQqS5d_WF_v2kstSq12J__ol4vrZMtJRNCHh57DPohK8RjDo-1_90Ta8jt5XptKB9oij0_v_V9VK4wA1EJdDsPxUiFbaDLbBdQI/w440-h592/667627@2x.jpg" width="440" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Reform your banking system... or DIE."</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Mom scowled at the cover. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>"Is that supposed to be your father standing on a heap of... what..." Mom squinted. "Are those skeletons?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"And a sexy lady. Because women love lounging on a pile of decomposing corpses. It's pretty metal."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Will this book be on the Amazon front page?"</div><div><br /></div><div>I laughed. "Sure! I mean, we can all hope. I don't know if Bezos can pull some strings, but he's trying. Because people need to know about banks. And stuff."</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDwuqitdELFbc5o-6C4VFc6zMLaqDq4wczYnI-IkYMdktGd55i_LyuYUQ7YITeMxsmzEvkkLYTo7FWNJ5Wjvx5xo3c_HSmbUWngSFPLefGFF58tIlqmWAWgirpHtPHzgkJa_UFN-O9dyYbv_TTuyEPueLfp2JcF56bq6Vqo5HmjMd4XqF_5h0gTPmobvo/s1001/FEXAtl1X0AY0Wv0.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="544" data-original-width="1001" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDwuqitdELFbc5o-6C4VFc6zMLaqDq4wczYnI-IkYMdktGd55i_LyuYUQ7YITeMxsmzEvkkLYTo7FWNJ5Wjvx5xo3c_HSmbUWngSFPLefGFF58tIlqmWAWgirpHtPHzgkJa_UFN-O9dyYbv_TTuyEPueLfp2JcF56bq6Vqo5HmjMd4XqF_5h0gTPmobvo/w489-h266/FEXAtl1X0AY0Wv0.jpg" width="489" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"They now know my crimes. Ha ha."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"I don't understand what the point of this is," Mom said sourly, pushing the book back at me. "Has your father lost it completely?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"That's what they said about Einstein. Wait. Did they say that about Einstein?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"He's not serious, is he?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I took up the tome and flipped through its four hundred pages. "It's a book of monumental linguistic criminality. So... yes."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Do you want some of my mashed potato?" Mom scooped up some in her fingers. "Bring your plate over here. You're looking too thin to me."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Mom, do not put potato, mashed or not, on my plate. Please."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Do you want some of my salad? You'll eat that, right?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"No. I'm fasting. I can have water, with water mixed in."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"You're what!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Fasting."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Oh, that's terrible. It's terrible for your body!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I shrugged. "I want to get back to my elementary school weight. I was a VERY chubby kid. *looks at Andy* Mm? Mm?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"You look terrible."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Probably shouldn't have thrown myself into that vat of acid. I'll go head-first next time."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRv09kCky81KyiFlf4Jvj3LUGQkdsfnFTr1TG8TGirXE0LhdqN8D4sBTZpVhgF8UYNJ8E3A5rZeHdfaeztf4b8AKi8U2XlCF4FnIX1VuVD3pfDSj1c-5PuWlPYj-K2ulKgIbGl6i7enqP_uF9rOQhR66BUA4RuB6m8O5rW4QlA0wVn3S0AX-0mo__rZNU/s1000/831639.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="687" data-original-width="1000" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRv09kCky81KyiFlf4Jvj3LUGQkdsfnFTr1TG8TGirXE0LhdqN8D4sBTZpVhgF8UYNJ8E3A5rZeHdfaeztf4b8AKi8U2XlCF4FnIX1VuVD3pfDSj1c-5PuWlPYj-K2ulKgIbGl6i7enqP_uF9rOQhR66BUA4RuB6m8O5rW4QlA0wVn3S0AX-0mo__rZNU/w426-h293/831639.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Tufutti break! Yaaay!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then it was time for Mom's big move. There were well nigh a hundred boxes with leaky shampoo wetting the cardboard and lumpy bags of wet trash. Once the movers lifted away the dresser and hutch, exposed to pitiless light were little black turds across the stained carpet. Worse than that, some were black gumdrops.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis7ezvrci4u9sxj95nh6BYfMqWq7efsARGMzLbsZw7UqzKC3At6gYBvlBYsvuVIrxIkNgmb4M-QqRLtKZE5uIZ6dkieBTJE5S19lKcRO3QCMzPgTKINZEUgJSEOzlCqRUJyFU1-5c9wsOXMM-7_241W8w5oII7BuVSa1AgTBZnDXGx7Zub6KiwIFBHEcU/s318/download.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="159" data-original-width="318" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis7ezvrci4u9sxj95nh6BYfMqWq7efsARGMzLbsZw7UqzKC3At6gYBvlBYsvuVIrxIkNgmb4M-QqRLtKZE5uIZ6dkieBTJE5S19lKcRO3QCMzPgTKINZEUgJSEOzlCqRUJyFU1-5c9wsOXMM-7_241W8w5oII7BuVSa1AgTBZnDXGx7Zub6KiwIFBHEcU/w468-h234/download.jpg" width="468" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There was a pink rag on the floor. I picked it up only to see it was a pair of Mom's panties. I flung them from me like it was an IED and it exploded, wraiths swirling out. Trying to prevent my skeleton from leaving my body, I turned to see Mom hoisting a moist bag of garbage.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Mom, you're spilling."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Turds whimsically spilled forth from the rip. Mom stooped to conquer--and picked up the little turds in her hand.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Okay," she said. "I'm going to turn in my keys at the front desk."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Right. But the...?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"What?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Are you going to bring them the turds?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Maybe I will! I'm not very happy with them."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And indeed, Mom handed them her access badge, her signed intent to leave, her mail and room key, and--the coup de crap--Bailey's little turds. Goodbye, Wind Crest! I'm sure you'll miss us!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">************** NEEDING TO GET SEDUCED?? ********************</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Get your copy(ies) of SEDUCED at finer retail outlets everywhere! 24.99 hardcover, 17.99 paperback, and 1.99 for the ebook. Well? Don't just gape at this blog post, get out your damn credit card and start ordering. NOW</div>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-44526538216962641192023-09-22T05:00:00.154-06:002023-09-22T05:00:00.149-06:00I Bare Everything in Steamy Pics and Fans Lose It<p>Mom was scooping mashed potato with her salmon, but she wasn't happy. We were at the Flyin' B Cafe in Wind Crest with the giant radio-controlled plane hanging by wires from the ceiling overhead. </p><p>"Greg," Mom said. "I want you to be serious with me. I have a serious question to ask you."</p><p>"Do you think there are jeans inside that plane?" I said, peering up. "I mean, like a jeans cargo plane?"</p><p>"I want to ask you something. But I don't want you to get mad at me. No, I shouldn't. You'll probably get upset."</p><p>"And what does the B stand for in Flyin'? Bee? Bitch? Bee-yotch?? It really makes you wonder..."</p><p>We went back to eating. The silence went on like salmon scooping potato.</p><p>"So," I said, desperate. "Lauren Groff's new novel is out."</p><p>Mom looked up. </p><p>"Who?"</p><p>"I know her, you know," I said with as much smugness as was warranted. "And the fact that I know her makes me <i>rather</i> interesting."</p><p>"What? Who?"</p><p>"She was my thesis advisor. Back when I was getting my MFA and my heart was a golden chalice half full of poison. Anyway, I'll never forget the advice she gave me: 'Please stop writing, Greg. You have a stupid face. And you smell like diarrhea. Yours, Lauren Groff.' She'd talk like she was writing a letter to you. Funny, that."</p><p>Mom watched a teenage girl go past. "That girl has a nice figure," she said.</p><p>"Uh. Are you checking out that girl's ass, Mom?"</p><p>"It's a good figure she has."</p><p>"Indeed. I'm not allowed to look at it, due to various local, state and federal laws."</p><p>"Look at this." Mom grimaced, her hand white-knuckling the table. "I'm gripping the table. What is the reason?"</p><p>"Furniture encouragement?"</p><p>"And just a little earlier, when you were holding open the elevator door for me, I had this image of your head being chopped off in the door!"</p><p>"I think you might have what lay people call the heebe-jeebies."</p><p>"I'm just anxious all the time."</p><p>"Well, they might have something for that...?"</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYRLls-mSCIDiWz2gaJdC66kyn6fU0l2_47Fphsf8UvZle1qBDDsPiJ5OM-UyGAFAtHyesyDVVVwWSYm0ctQtIUrq3Yk1COer3GKyz8teZaIMg5-gWoCMxLbJItX3hrp0dAF68LB3iL6sAJ8_wB6gOZUFJrrXKtft08VpjUefSt-35XGLvh0RT-qICDbw/s500/883320.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="251" data-original-width="500" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYRLls-mSCIDiWz2gaJdC66kyn6fU0l2_47Fphsf8UvZle1qBDDsPiJ5OM-UyGAFAtHyesyDVVVwWSYm0ctQtIUrq3Yk1COer3GKyz8teZaIMg5-gWoCMxLbJItX3hrp0dAF68LB3iL6sAJ8_wB6gOZUFJrrXKtft08VpjUefSt-35XGLvh0RT-qICDbw/w493-h248/883320.jpg" width="493" /></a></p><p>"I suppose you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Mom said. "You'd like to see me like a drooling zombie all day!"</p><p>"No, Mom. That would take surgery. Lots of surgery."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3aTjsFvm7cUF3HZI_t8sKX5LzxeOiDojxZK0FeBAWI0gChB2ZTdmiMMcZZJ_iQSyUNwdHCQSGjgYc8xv_329L9HAoc7n0fDzKD9ZrWP8kYC9s7s-cLBpYXjHSCT7K3rmQf6XsP95_yK8cKKnKqADmxaI3ax5zXPG2ZuYSG-wCsSE_0blDqUID1GRrT4M/s640/07wmb8hhf8qz.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="329" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3aTjsFvm7cUF3HZI_t8sKX5LzxeOiDojxZK0FeBAWI0gChB2ZTdmiMMcZZJ_iQSyUNwdHCQSGjgYc8xv_329L9HAoc7n0fDzKD9ZrWP8kYC9s7s-cLBpYXjHSCT7K3rmQf6XsP95_yK8cKKnKqADmxaI3ax5zXPG2ZuYSG-wCsSE_0blDqUID1GRrT4M/w439-h329/07wmb8hhf8qz.jpg" width="439" /></a></div><div><br /></div>"Of course. I'm sure you'd love to drop me off like a piece of trash. Just dump me off at the hospital and never have to deal with me again."<div><br /></div><div>"Now you're talking! But think of all the benefits?"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUPzEVfSKbGDrA0fpiqo9nGUdvSdIyB6xFNrF8yzlHG7HA7gTItAWWP5gP3yaiudyaype0li5POSy25sZHyXqdGGNPYInzvm3nX7DqyR5Naulv6-ZhRusygora7Ijk8_aKvdpRMtrfKvqojefl68e-Tty27j2olX3zVWpGB1wLPWwe10Vq0_nAjymjwjU/s238/Breakfast.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="170" data-original-width="238" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUPzEVfSKbGDrA0fpiqo9nGUdvSdIyB6xFNrF8yzlHG7HA7gTItAWWP5gP3yaiudyaype0li5POSy25sZHyXqdGGNPYInzvm3nX7DqyR5Naulv6-ZhRusygora7Ijk8_aKvdpRMtrfKvqojefl68e-Tty27j2olX3zVWpGB1wLPWwe10Vq0_nAjymjwjU/w311-h222/Breakfast.jpg" width="311" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Shh! Keep your voice down! People are trying to die."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Right, right. Sorry."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Someone keeled over at the next table, and attendants, some with nice asses, swooped in to take away the life offender. Mom and I finished our delectable entrees, and started our deletable desserts. Mom ordered two slices of cherry pie.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"It's NSA," she said proudly. "So I can have as much as I want!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"That means no sugar <i>added</i>. There's still plenty of sugar."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Chewing, lips cherry-red, Mom narrowed her eyes at me. "Listen to me," she said, flakey crust sputtering from her tongue. "I want to ask you a serious question."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Go ahead already. I'm sure my reader is dying to hear it."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Is there something going on between you and Cinira?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I stopped breathing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Hello? Did you hear me?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Mom, why in the world...?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"You were laughing with her as you were walking away the other day. Are the two of you having an affair??"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I got out my phone.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"What are you doing? Hello?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"I'm signing up for lobotomy surgery with my Lobotomy App." I grinned. "And I can't wait for that big breakfast!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_RniFOxQk2ML4aKFmeATqb0Iq7lofDSWyB97a8ERis__CHQgI_qcc1ycLCWpEG9aMnxq843b1Skeb6GkR8crdftGHQXRJYGZFxSGxhEQFlv9vQypbwN1n6MsokgzNLYoD5qNb84bRI2LBw0h0uh0yu3HfJBi7ivUcwBAXNZ7bC2AcP_rhr_a096q5QWg/s250/No_TV_and_no_beer.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="141" data-original-width="250" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_RniFOxQk2ML4aKFmeATqb0Iq7lofDSWyB97a8ERis__CHQgI_qcc1ycLCWpEG9aMnxq843b1Skeb6GkR8crdftGHQXRJYGZFxSGxhEQFlv9vQypbwN1n6MsokgzNLYoD5qNb84bRI2LBw0h0uh0yu3HfJBi7ivUcwBAXNZ7bC2AcP_rhr_a096q5QWg/w489-h276/No_TV_and_no_beer.jpeg" width="489" /></a></div>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-21705808469043834532023-08-11T05:00:00.179-06:002023-08-11T05:00:00.142-06:00In Which I Explain Neil Breen's New Film to Mom, to No One's Amusement<p>Mom was not amused. "Where do you hear about such weird stuff?"</p><p>"I hear it on the street," I said. "Some guy shining my shoes gave me a hot tip that Neil Breen has a new film called CADE: THE TORTURED CROSSING. So I went to see it. With my eyes."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ng7-_Kkfwy4OM4nrvSrii1vH0VmNF-DheyiValpOh7UBcseXuerRWK5NDojcvz5mAgtCVts9mwVl-9qn3FDyWDF_P578clfRg6vQkHJeDR4RMFvzMrqI7ZgpIM-45Mavl936yJTP3-ev86bX_OaYGBMYS2GF_7jbM5lZ6IZXmrHp-xe0UtPEOdNMMls/s300/download.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ng7-_Kkfwy4OM4nrvSrii1vH0VmNF-DheyiValpOh7UBcseXuerRWK5NDojcvz5mAgtCVts9mwVl-9qn3FDyWDF_P578clfRg6vQkHJeDR4RMFvzMrqI7ZgpIM-45Mavl936yJTP3-ev86bX_OaYGBMYS2GF_7jbM5lZ6IZXmrHp-xe0UtPEOdNMMls/w496-h278/download.jpg" width="496" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I can think of four things wrong with that title</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"But it turns out that my eyes were not enough. I needed my BRAIN, too. Because Neil Breen is deep. And wide. And spindly."</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqmALnjdQf2mabuSvajqCDzViqfDw-RuZtiKwXeX60RnvBAzRaWfgm1f515_qdh13nJrEt3zzd5mT5OAbSlmyMiMDf4mKEX_xiRZ8spIxsZ7NO3W3nnay5GMR6L2TjUCk8bcIJXb6fNeWGfOlGvgqTyl0ehsDwcM1ECSPWOmaEwL3i9TvbJJfYsDDh6s/s300/download%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqmALnjdQf2mabuSvajqCDzViqfDw-RuZtiKwXeX60RnvBAzRaWfgm1f515_qdh13nJrEt3zzd5mT5OAbSlmyMiMDf4mKEX_xiRZ8spIxsZ7NO3W3nnay5GMR6L2TjUCk8bcIJXb6fNeWGfOlGvgqTyl0ehsDwcM1ECSPWOmaEwL3i9TvbJJfYsDDh6s/w488-h273/download%20(1).jpg" width="488" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Your Honor, I move that I recuse myself. Also, I am out of order. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This whole damn movie is out of order. And corrupt."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Neil Breen, as Cade, and also majestically playing his twin brother, Cale, buys a Mental Hospital that is kept anonymous, as hospitals are wont to do. Someone from The Bank is corrupt, however. And they use Mental Patients, who are also anonymous because who uses names anymore, I mean, really, this is the twenty-eleventieth century, people! And The Bank uses those Mentalists for Jeans Editing, like some sort of Sweatshop in the Future and it is Corrupt." </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7U-KG-UKT3FdU8pVVJ5Kzx39am4vyE_kLrCZRfStyl-nwjseIVXudiU4jpAxO67gY99jNR0upB3mkj0IgkNOqsl9u_VwN6XRtRoNpQDffOIvxl7rGlm0_F6ghBbYe3vKrOW55NSCjHjocj9CDYeddg-E8cRXS2o1qCrrl4FN_iZS5mRt7QgsOn7XAdiY/s300/download%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7U-KG-UKT3FdU8pVVJ5Kzx39am4vyE_kLrCZRfStyl-nwjseIVXudiU4jpAxO67gY99jNR0upB3mkj0IgkNOqsl9u_VwN6XRtRoNpQDffOIvxl7rGlm0_F6ghBbYe3vKrOW55NSCjHjocj9CDYeddg-E8cRXS2o1qCrrl4FN_iZS5mRt7QgsOn7XAdiY/w513-h287/download%20(2).jpg" width="513" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Strange... This wheelchair wasn't here before. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Wait, am I trapped in my iMac's screensaver??"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Mom? Are you listening?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Bailey had come into the room, enticed by all the Neil Breen talk. The little doggie hopped into Mom's lap, provoking Mom to cross her eyes and pout her lips.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Oh, glacious! Oh, my glacious! Oo is the wittlest puppy, oo aren't oo! Boo baba booey!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Mom, please. You're going to give Bailey cavities. And stomach upset."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Be quiet. Are you done talking about your dumb movie?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Just two and half hours to go. So Neil Breen investigates as to why The Mental Hospital is using people to experiment on, and his suspicions are especially aroused when he meets some guy with the harmless name of Dr. Mengele. From The Bank. There are national ANNN-ND international secrets."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwxglUEib-z0D_p_hklFqbMmYJ8bbslVFCQ3kQLzyZoRQHgWPrEi887EO8k8apGv4JsfmFStWKvmiOVcSGHV39WkjWPoYFU9Ks2JdWRw53Yh2OQ5ih-OQQub7lapb20mruiATz62ljXK_zKEmO0qZVsE5-9stiyKHBMm2x7ORNbF-qLeJnG9k9gvgu0cU/s300/download%20(3).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwxglUEib-z0D_p_hklFqbMmYJ8bbslVFCQ3kQLzyZoRQHgWPrEi887EO8k8apGv4JsfmFStWKvmiOVcSGHV39WkjWPoYFU9Ks2JdWRw53Yh2OQ5ih-OQQub7lapb20mruiATz62ljXK_zKEmO0qZVsE5-9stiyKHBMm2x7ORNbF-qLeJnG9k9gvgu0cU/w453-h254/download%20(3).jpg" width="453" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Who am I. What am I. Why am I."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">*Crowd cheers*</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Cade fights these nameless people, and then his desktop wallpaper glitches and Clippy popped up and asked if he would like help?"</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrVYsuNa_bCxaciHbduBkxuAYySemL3jwM-xtoEHr83XLFX-Z603ikp9c1NfQDxedHcCo6npxsdzES8wgEUehS070sp8F6db76j6T7_7h2BMSrdAPpUlXvjGHDiFW2OHmfoq3Be3YANjryjDSkkwJBiqIul-1t7YaczZWXm0faxZntmJ8KMdnr1uZqvvU/s335/download%20(4).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="335" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrVYsuNa_bCxaciHbduBkxuAYySemL3jwM-xtoEHr83XLFX-Z603ikp9c1NfQDxedHcCo6npxsdzES8wgEUehS070sp8F6db76j6T7_7h2BMSrdAPpUlXvjGHDiFW2OHmfoq3Be3YANjryjDSkkwJBiqIul-1t7YaczZWXm0faxZntmJ8KMdnr1uZqvvU/w535-h239/download%20(4).jpg" width="535" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Suck it, Tom Cruise."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Bailey climbed down from Mom's lap and then quivered her bottom over the carpet. A long, sticky mass of gumdrop-colored poop came out.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"OH MY GLACIOUS! SUCH A OO GIRL!" Mom bawled.</div><div><br /></div>"It's bad when even the dog is a movie critic," I said with requisite dryness. "Anyway, in the end, as the stench of dog poop wafted about the room, the movie came to a thrilling climax in a gigantic set battle scene."<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirUTAR1-XVFvg4F6ysl88CVxPuRwsegs_R0W2r1qQyIdHbbpIYhetb0o7fJ-uYzaKdi1fOJprkbfxyQ6S5-xK7alGbvaIEjOArgh-1n6VelSBDbl8FPqiBabIUcKcdPCmTBZqVfHa_FbSmJM5m5I1fklE-m74K7VTk1tU3vrGTcpjlzLCZZiw-gy1Fz4k/s1200/YpRRHqE4saQWTLqeV5r5ML-1200-80.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirUTAR1-XVFvg4F6ysl88CVxPuRwsegs_R0W2r1qQyIdHbbpIYhetb0o7fJ-uYzaKdi1fOJprkbfxyQ6S5-xK7alGbvaIEjOArgh-1n6VelSBDbl8FPqiBabIUcKcdPCmTBZqVfHa_FbSmJM5m5I1fklE-m74K7VTk1tU3vrGTcpjlzLCZZiw-gy1Fz4k/w449-h225/YpRRHqE4saQWTLqeV5r5ML-1200-80.jpg" width="449" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Er, I mean this..."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7eQZ0K3MWhK6ZU-2nhYxtO1J1D4tAt1O8DWwwfs-kTL8vabF40ZN1IiQuvN4uLUFRIJ9oqqjEHcOGb0ZgJjte4asvZCL2rIMPbJOBnhdk_OnFrGitof0EWITQ8aULdtO8IFE-QxGey0F9tDGEVEmW6Qz5uEZU8ouj90T2DECcqed28IX9-P2kNWL6Co0/s300/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7eQZ0K3MWhK6ZU-2nhYxtO1J1D4tAt1O8DWwwfs-kTL8vabF40ZN1IiQuvN4uLUFRIJ9oqqjEHcOGb0ZgJjte4asvZCL2rIMPbJOBnhdk_OnFrGitof0EWITQ8aULdtO8IFE-QxGey0F9tDGEVEmW6Qz5uEZU8ouj90T2DECcqed28IX9-P2kNWL6Co0/w486-h272/images.jpg" width="486" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Everyone is kung fu fightin'! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Neil Breen's acting like shite-in'!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"You see, Neil Breen duplicates himself and fights these people wearing black ski masks. Let me tell you, the tension was thick and soupy with a trough of low pressure of boredom mixed with perplexity. It's the winning Neil Breen formula!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"I don't like it," Mom said. "And I forbid you from seeing Neil Breen films from now on."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I turn to the camera, thumbs up. "YAS! I knew having a mommy would come in use someday!"</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Oo my glacious, whatta glacious oo are," Mom cooed, picking up the bits of poop. "Oo poo pooed, didn't oo!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I turned down Mom's offer of gumdrops and cheesecake and Pepsi--everyone sing along!--and I ran outside, hoping to find some black ski-masked people to karate chop.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Another work of Breenius! I give it five tuna cans!</div>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-81534938182864966092023-07-25T05:00:00.139-06:002023-07-25T12:50:59.579-06:00Reunionited and It Feels So So-So<p>Can you believe it's the tenth anniversary of our thirtieth high school reunion? And that I think I'm funny? UNBELIEVABLE</p><p>The best part of the reunion was seeing so many dear faces. And talking about masturbation. Not in that order. But, seriously, I don't think Mike Perez likes me. Or knows who I am. Or why I am.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihH_K0kGyHKx1OAPsGpc_pzDbP-R6gzPoP6MSisnDldLPsyQqMhG61W-mdBFB14PTxSHjAAuopoiGLOMzQCGQJal0Jud5vXSDvBT6ZCwSxAFvBO61InNQcGQDaA7bx8LOBl5oCf9U0ggAOcslyuJ9mI908dnQ4eCAQ_yQvghnbPcqsGPMQ5vqXgdHlaX8/s2048/362247153_10161239137446204_3547030166379043550_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1031" data-original-width="2048" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihH_K0kGyHKx1OAPsGpc_pzDbP-R6gzPoP6MSisnDldLPsyQqMhG61W-mdBFB14PTxSHjAAuopoiGLOMzQCGQJal0Jud5vXSDvBT6ZCwSxAFvBO61InNQcGQDaA7bx8LOBl5oCf9U0ggAOcslyuJ9mI908dnQ4eCAQ_yQvghnbPcqsGPMQ5vqXgdHlaX8/w785-h416/362247153_10161239137446204_3547030166379043550_n.jpg" width="785" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">That better be Rob Stark's elbow poking into me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After all the fun, I was thinking of my love of Tim McGraw (but not his music) when a knock came at my door. It was Tom G. and Mary R. No, too obvious. It was M. Ryan and Tom Griffith (better). Mary Ryan expressed a concern about popping over at my studio so uninvitedly. With a girlish blush she thought I might be busy treating my body like it was Casa Bonita. Instead I was doing something much, much worse: I was BLOGGIN'.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Please dear God stop," Tom explained. "It's immoral. You'll grow hair on your palms with all that typing."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Why can't you do something wholesome?" Mary opined. "Like start your own cookie business? Just don't cross your eyeline!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Well, you'll be happy to know I've decided to knock the habit of blogging every day, and instead I'm going to live a righteous life. That's right. I'm leaving my husband and going to fly the sexy skies!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_WWnvkHX0LVSmkBIfqhWfelcJV-HRVkW1qrenXvtnD2w_Nw9ItzGuXPV8xkkt1yH7PgY_rHz3jFk0usqt1NP4kxLHdq2W1mzCapOdgxVxe3Pl8ZxwkEDLZWH8-IU2ypqdKAkNVFemup-iFUST1OYLypFNhf4EndgCUqT8W0D1YDOKGvmzZU9wUAOzI1Y" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="317" data-original-width="320" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_WWnvkHX0LVSmkBIfqhWfelcJV-HRVkW1qrenXvtnD2w_Nw9ItzGuXPV8xkkt1yH7PgY_rHz3jFk0usqt1NP4kxLHdq2W1mzCapOdgxVxe3Pl8ZxwkEDLZWH8-IU2ypqdKAkNVFemup-iFUST1OYLypFNhf4EndgCUqT8W0D1YDOKGvmzZU9wUAOzI1Y=w326-h323" width="326" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"I have D.T.'s sexy pug of a nose!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>Tom R. and Mary G. were not enchanted with my new life decision. We took a moment to enjoy cake forever, and then we mused on all the diverse paths through life we'd take before the sodomites came to disembowel our first-born child ha ha. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Remember piling on the lawn outside that dear ol' school of ours?" I expostulated. "How proud and quivering we were to begin our lives, despite the fact that high school was objectively the best years of our lives."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Tom put a hand on my shoulder. "Please stop talking."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibUKn05l2TFGa7vLsWyNFWinxhh9nhJLTHUnTn9adFOrnZpoxcsFtg4vrd6QjRcomOSw9gMBUMrKNHg-JKLKry5gO1N6s62iE19EbT5C3MOZ-2gcw2SR-SDWMwp7B0_nCuKQx9_nFrDcjOpQ7nZb6Ebp_3dKgO5EDhUNEJv7xxUS2yzntXEkYPDMH8w3s/s4096/Yearbook%20Rebel%20Pride.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="4096" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibUKn05l2TFGa7vLsWyNFWinxhh9nhJLTHUnTn9adFOrnZpoxcsFtg4vrd6QjRcomOSw9gMBUMrKNHg-JKLKry5gO1N6s62iE19EbT5C3MOZ-2gcw2SR-SDWMwp7B0_nCuKQx9_nFrDcjOpQ7nZb6Ebp_3dKgO5EDhUNEJv7xxUS2yzntXEkYPDMH8w3s/w626-h470/Yearbook%20Rebel%20Pride.jpg" width="626" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Flag not as prominent as it should be. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(At least Craig Chapman was ecstatic to be there!)</div><div><br /></div><div>"I'm exhausted," Mary said. "And I'm starving to death."</div><div><br /></div><div>"But wait, we haven't talked about the thirtieth reunion. Look, I have a picture! Me and Andy as Mafia dons with our crime family arranged around us, for some reason."</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqjyL4EqI0XXEYKI9gcVkB6kwrjQHjIYnxe5agh6su4KB3pfwgtx8YpcloAtESIlHAwIz3Iu_KBAHboUU_G0z2gZVFUsNsrjL-mKtre4fNduGmFuto7XFqaAerZ5wzB04cLoQT4TxTpmnhF71444DiR1Gm0_N7OJ8CWWA2plDvKDi_w5Uw0KXEu25hN4w/s800/Reunion%20Enhance.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqjyL4EqI0XXEYKI9gcVkB6kwrjQHjIYnxe5agh6su4KB3pfwgtx8YpcloAtESIlHAwIz3Iu_KBAHboUU_G0z2gZVFUsNsrjL-mKtre4fNduGmFuto7XFqaAerZ5wzB04cLoQT4TxTpmnhF71444DiR1Gm0_N7OJ8CWWA2plDvKDi_w5Uw0KXEu25hN4w/w504-h378/Reunion%20Enhance.jpg" width="504" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Satan not included.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Mary put Tom's hand on my shoulder. "Please never speak again."</div><div><br /></div><div>With that, Tom and Mary climbed into their double-decker bus (which was <i>totally</i> Frank Herzog's idea) and left our planet Wednesday BYE!</div><div><br /></div><div>All in all, it was a very <i>satisfying </i>reunion.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhduOEtM-SXcxsW4YgFR61uEevMaY_Y6r5seRE51JLWqxKE0xij7aI1G6g1gPBR1Jic4OpYPpmfaeiUVc0DHKXrgJUUjVEo7Q37hqkVf3IAehvVRVqz57JGuvO9yiCgyzTM2FIZrqrJSmpOfNOhjMzGcoRNQYqD1Ypa7616my0AXlHFpvjDiMoLgPwKjyI/s1421/Me%20Cookies.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="992" data-original-width="1421" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhduOEtM-SXcxsW4YgFR61uEevMaY_Y6r5seRE51JLWqxKE0xij7aI1G6g1gPBR1Jic4OpYPpmfaeiUVc0DHKXrgJUUjVEo7Q37hqkVf3IAehvVRVqz57JGuvO9yiCgyzTM2FIZrqrJSmpOfNOhjMzGcoRNQYqD1Ypa7616my0AXlHFpvjDiMoLgPwKjyI/w417-h291/Me%20Cookies.jpg" width="417" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(Man having love affair with cookie. And it was a movie!!)</div>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-6936932946837341742023-06-30T05:00:00.117-06:002023-06-30T05:00:00.136-06:00Who Wants Some Library? Conditions Are a Little Windy....!<p>Desiree the redheaded librarian sailed by the circulation desk. I tracked her with my beautiful eyes. She did not look at me. I kept looking at her, wanting to see if she'd flick an eyeball my way. Nothing. She stared over and around me every time she came near. I wasn't asking for her hand in marriage, just a nod in my general direction. A nod, a wink, some acknowlegement of my essential humanity. Instead, after talking with some of my coworkers, she went around the corner. Gone. </p><p>The gate lifted on the community plaza. They were handing out free lunches to kids for the noon hour. Desiree, however, was not handing out looks at me to me. She sat ten feet away. Not a nod. Not a murmur. Not a fuck off. </p><p>My point, dear reader(s), is that she didn't seem excited that I was back working for the library.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZoK3-yFzrSwT35SsHra-P3NmFjFDyZVMEvxxKAiQPqaOgTBE6x78Cnqhn6kvlkCDljGKGqAJUNgnUq55hF1uMuAe012HloyXsWzHpgb526EqAjgy4-Kjl-3XnsdnfLrI0g4WlTMjVmjO4pydGD1027-JQav7ltC3hSyCvk5PAgu_zhsEn6BplzVKTXMk/s225/download.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZoK3-yFzrSwT35SsHra-P3NmFjFDyZVMEvxxKAiQPqaOgTBE6x78Cnqhn6kvlkCDljGKGqAJUNgnUq55hF1uMuAe012HloyXsWzHpgb526EqAjgy4-Kjl-3XnsdnfLrI0g4WlTMjVmjO4pydGD1027-JQav7ltC3hSyCvk5PAgu_zhsEn6BplzVKTXMk/w330-h330/download.jpg" width="330" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Here I was, rising like a phoenix from Arizona, and she didn't care. Or didn't care to care.<div><br /></div><div>Nor did the guy who ran the Idea Lab. Earlier that morning we both went to the staff door with our access keys. He therefore knew I was staff. Did I get a grunt? A hi-de-ho? A yodel in my earhole? No, he brushed by me as if I were a canceled comedian who rapes a lot.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzW96R5ZwI_eLUHpKxct0eeTlCuTbXKQ5BNOgwzuJc23WdlK95Iwk-E5XNSZjwiWQJtAtfO70p9yR0HImHKlOlgOtiIG2SkwGzxsM10aEyn13YQgT7U_-EoAigS3MeB7Hgi5gEUhWWWm20HK8m7_w4GlsE3orj-UBDKuPeHssw3RR1H0tdU-qZmsK1KRM/s225/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzW96R5ZwI_eLUHpKxct0eeTlCuTbXKQ5BNOgwzuJc23WdlK95Iwk-E5XNSZjwiWQJtAtfO70p9yR0HImHKlOlgOtiIG2SkwGzxsM10aEyn13YQgT7U_-EoAigS3MeB7Hgi5gEUhWWWm20HK8m7_w4GlsE3orj-UBDKuPeHssw3RR1H0tdU-qZmsK1KRM/w304-h304/download.jpg" width="304" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Who wants Daddy's pudding pop? WHO WANTS"</div><div><br /></div>During my lunch break, I went upstairs to aslappa de bass, mon in the music studio. Libraries, people, are different nowadays. Get to know them! And they're great for crack smoking. Once I was back at the circ desk, two security guards staked out the ladies' restroom. When a young lady emerged, they handed her a yellow card for flopping and meth. She didn't seem much to care, wandering back out on the street accompanied by the guards.<div><br /></div><div>"Crazy," I said. "Does that happen a lot here?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Yes," said my fellow clerk, Lin, a young Vietnamese lady--or she could have been an old Jewish man, since the face was tightly concealed by a surgical mask. "We had so much meth smoke coming out of the bathrooms that we had to shoot up heroin just to cope."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Dig it," I said.</div><div><br /></div><div>"For a while we'd have people using in the bathrooms once every thirty minutes."</div><div><br /></div><div>"That's hundreds a week. At least. I mean, do the meth."</div><div><br /></div><div>Lin inhaled, her mask puckering. "Yes," she croaked as she sprayed down her desk. "But now that we have more security it's not as bad."</div><div><br /></div><div>"If only this darn pandemic would end," I said joshily.</div><div><br /></div><div>"What?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Nothing."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Oh, and thank you for helping me with that customer last week with the Spanish. He had a lamination question, and you came in and saved me."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Uh. That wasn't me."</div><div><br /></div><div>"No. That was you. And your Spanish is definitely better than mine."</div><div><br /></div><div>"No, I don't think so. I no habla Spanish-o."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Yes, that was you. You helped me! Didn't you?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"No. Not me."</div><div><br /></div><div>She stared at me. "Are you pulling my leg?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Nope." Just as I wondered if her mask was cutting off her oxygen, Jose the lead clerk came by. I stopped him. "Hey, Jose, let me ask you something. Do I speak Spanish?"</div><div><br /></div><div>He looked at me, amused at the thought of this gringo speaking Spanish. "No," he said carefully. "I've never heard you speak Spanish."</div><div><br /></div><div>"See? No way says Jose. And that <i>rhymes</i>, Lin! You KNOW it rhymes!!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Lin's anguished eyes blinked over her multiple masks. "But if it wasn't you, who could it have been?"</div><div><br /></div><div>I shrugged. It was clear that I was nothing more to this young lady than a hazy, gray blob of sentient old-man matter. Then I realized who it could have been--one sentient hazy blob as good as another.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Desiree!" I said, as she sailed by the desk. I've got you now, I thought to myself. "I think you might have helped Lin with a customer last week with lamination, in Spanish? Yes? Do you think so? I'm over here, by the way."</div><div><br /></div><div>Desiree wildly looked about, her eyes rolling. Finally, she gazed up at God, or the ventilation.</div><div><br /></div><div>"We have <i>got</i> to get that fixed!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Okay, maybe it's time I work at that Toyota dealership instead.</div>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-61462227549810371302023-04-26T05:00:00.140-06:002023-04-26T05:00:00.137-06:00New York City--Where Literature Comes To Life!<p>For years I thought Tom Griffith shared some Leopold Bloomian characteristics, but I kept those reflections to myself because who wants to hear my brain garbage? But then in Manhattan as Tom and I got off the train a blind man was knocking around against a metal column. Being a hero, I kept on my way while Tom, being a hero of the actual sort, immediately turned about and asked the man if he needed help and where did he need to go. Tom took the man by the elbow and led him to the exit. Meanwhile I was blundering about the turnstiles and weeping. This, of course, is exactly what Leopold Bloom does in <i>Ulysses</i>--minus my weeping--as Bloom helps a blind man cross the street in Dublin. I mean, isn't that interesting? Ya? </p><p>"I sure wish you'd shut up," Tom said, as he grabbed me by the elbow and helped me get in front of a train.</p><p>"Tha--aaa-annks!" I yelled as my ass tumbled onto the third rail haw haw.</p><p>Then Tom and I hurried to the Male Health Pavillion to get our plumbing hardware retrofitted, or so is my understanding of dick clinics.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXr4moxEcwOAXlzDbC907XNvcOdxcRUsnhhXcOhASKHu0iLTGhUXA8XEMUPte9JD1cIHFA6cy2kHnL4eaGkwEXQSj_-NqBmi5cAY5y7vNPGM-5oc83X2N47B8w2uqq3pORF6-CyGhMtAciNZBXXR7ssan4ssKW35jwwmT52NQEJEQW9pXT3NTjev4H/s2048/-7763056527911477671.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="405" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXr4moxEcwOAXlzDbC907XNvcOdxcRUsnhhXcOhASKHu0iLTGhUXA8XEMUPte9JD1cIHFA6cy2kHnL4eaGkwEXQSj_-NqBmi5cAY5y7vNPGM-5oc83X2N47B8w2uqq3pORF6-CyGhMtAciNZBXXR7ssan4ssKW35jwwmT52NQEJEQW9pXT3NTjev4H/w304-h405/-7763056527911477671.jpg" width="304" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">BEFORE</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmqhcGgXHNstnQrxo8iKwXOZXuUBA-2Efm4Dns5_qNKLO4KtbmCuWMrTEN1e-VZmw5PTU08NNkFGfmQPxWFif8CAnDfxslDL_voQ_kF6ycVofVMoPgOcPUSIskmECR7OZ6DBXINUxHqqX16WVPd8eUzmD41BuWmFAmHcv31Fw1JzB3uYI8ZTXs3ZHe/s2048/-8643563828433536350.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="407" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmqhcGgXHNstnQrxo8iKwXOZXuUBA-2Efm4Dns5_qNKLO4KtbmCuWMrTEN1e-VZmw5PTU08NNkFGfmQPxWFif8CAnDfxslDL_voQ_kF6ycVofVMoPgOcPUSIskmECR7OZ6DBXINUxHqqX16WVPd8eUzmD41BuWmFAmHcv31Fw1JzB3uYI8ZTXs3ZHe/w305-h407/-8643563828433536350.jpg" width="305" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">AFTER</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Since I'm clearly an advertising genius, I rushed to Madison Avenue but got lost along the way.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr2Uee1EmRchBhzRGrMCb8X9aC4x3wLmjcd6hVU8A-snujqvnDMTBlN7PNukReWtMzamq8HQEPV0k8Udkta3dxE0S6Qg_f86NDC6QTPTFQdq3TxBginIGaPz1WSrxAg4rM0SdZ0x7U9iUIzeiyG6j5NONoaCdK5B05MPGJXrbWo6bTAnLS6MTiJcdN/s4096/IMG_20230421_153140769.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr2Uee1EmRchBhzRGrMCb8X9aC4x3wLmjcd6hVU8A-snujqvnDMTBlN7PNukReWtMzamq8HQEPV0k8Udkta3dxE0S6Qg_f86NDC6QTPTFQdq3TxBginIGaPz1WSrxAg4rM0SdZ0x7U9iUIzeiyG6j5NONoaCdK5B05MPGJXrbWo6bTAnLS6MTiJcdN/w291-h388/IMG_20230421_153140769.jpg" width="291" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Where's Idiot?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I retraced my steps back to the Male Health clinic and saw that my penis was ready for installation.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGWLWyCy_aOFnl47LOHiLB1azgsHYN3c7B7LRHByaI0_i9g4KnUzwDb_M8wfOWympzWcON7YlOHSfamNVnfzAYJL0eNaCjk4mz8z6Uh62dlLss91X5Qu-fhVcQk7dlK1wNNazDpUtfeg6R9vLAcY_XAemvd3YMj4qv62ze53rCd9SvHbFx5HaGiVi4/s2047/1403551020640895264.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1328" data-original-width="2047" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGWLWyCy_aOFnl47LOHiLB1azgsHYN3c7B7LRHByaI0_i9g4KnUzwDb_M8wfOWympzWcON7YlOHSfamNVnfzAYJL0eNaCjk4mz8z6Uh62dlLss91X5Qu-fhVcQk7dlK1wNNazDpUtfeg6R9vLAcY_XAemvd3YMj4qv62ze53rCd9SvHbFx5HaGiVi4/w394-h256/1403551020640895264.jpg" width="394" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Insert obligatory penis joke here.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Some views were taken in.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5ky3qXGp1D6uXPTkkFU4uuZySWA5jHPNMi01GfPpi9FiOljZRZ3phfRsLjviZe5AVAAiRn6Rw-zkZSoWomt0Pi_KPhJ-HSD2cf_bZwhk8RFFDUaMTerLlZIMbzJSP2x5W8NCUD5YajeNS9isJxl1tYlRoYt0QS6kyBPCtDfOVgld_seEPSwumraTi/s2048/-6493674210432878874.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1357" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5ky3qXGp1D6uXPTkkFU4uuZySWA5jHPNMi01GfPpi9FiOljZRZ3phfRsLjviZe5AVAAiRn6Rw-zkZSoWomt0Pi_KPhJ-HSD2cf_bZwhk8RFFDUaMTerLlZIMbzJSP2x5W8NCUD5YajeNS9isJxl1tYlRoYt0QS6kyBPCtDfOVgld_seEPSwumraTi/w284-h428/-6493674210432878874.jpg" width="284" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Wull, lookie thar!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And I was reduced to contemplating the state of this blog.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQplokKpbLGjB430EwYA6daaEcVksMZ7pbucukN16BCAP1G7EqaMP2ClqDURCqDYCxcxt6MbUF_-UlYaCo02aQWngv1UNbyN9mTJMTsTuDTgUAbA7l5FDH0s_8KrD_PEySw511Nx8AGOvCJdwLP3iXk83lfQAJeDjXwupbpwjO58dtesDMh0iSRaaG/s4096/IMG_20230421_135315773_MF_PORTRAIT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQplokKpbLGjB430EwYA6daaEcVksMZ7pbucukN16BCAP1G7EqaMP2ClqDURCqDYCxcxt6MbUF_-UlYaCo02aQWngv1UNbyN9mTJMTsTuDTgUAbA7l5FDH0s_8KrD_PEySw511Nx8AGOvCJdwLP3iXk83lfQAJeDjXwupbpwjO58dtesDMh0iSRaaG/w288-h384/IMG_20230421_135315773_MF_PORTRAIT.jpg" width="288" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Please don't touch the colossus. Or this thing behind me."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then I jumped onto a bus, which I think turned out not to be the right one. Chal'oy haim dreidel ech alechoim 'ech chchh!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9NreIegii13Em3N2zjimGNE8ZEUQBTW314ULHeIYvr1kl1i5GtvtvwAZ0jobT8ZYc4O5K2Lv84cBd7-HXxVlV_-FoRWHfQ1TYyFvRvU9cZD5aCYyFXVatyrY4e2vw8OSgI6NujNfL6Oor2pjns0gn31NaiwXZPLBwBOKVyxlaGI6mfqAxoJqk_oYy/s4096/IMG_20230420_143125426.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="4096" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9NreIegii13Em3N2zjimGNE8ZEUQBTW314ULHeIYvr1kl1i5GtvtvwAZ0jobT8ZYc4O5K2Lv84cBd7-HXxVlV_-FoRWHfQ1TYyFvRvU9cZD5aCYyFXVatyrY4e2vw8OSgI6NujNfL6Oor2pjns0gn31NaiwXZPLBwBOKVyxlaGI6mfqAxoJqk_oYy/s320/IMG_20230420_143125426.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">At least the diesel is kosher.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All in all I conquered the city. And then went home to write this post in E210 class. I hope I get a good grade!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb_iPpJDhidTuzXo633TviHOh_IsqScWIGnYi-BkRFTzgYxO5lHpWGHXD1ln7Iv7j-anCt2b-CPMvMJWRBzMQ_GZVJXuAgli1ONWuY_OAV5VUKL051ryxC5rPKmlywwxCK7yvB8oauCmgvPIPqHN6okZw7s7FnD2Hb5oGCpRmCRyHnuqj7vjkrIFtZ/s1592/IMG_20230421_121951816~2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1592" data-original-width="1013" height="463" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb_iPpJDhidTuzXo633TviHOh_IsqScWIGnYi-BkRFTzgYxO5lHpWGHXD1ln7Iv7j-anCt2b-CPMvMJWRBzMQ_GZVJXuAgli1ONWuY_OAV5VUKL051ryxC5rPKmlywwxCK7yvB8oauCmgvPIPqHN6okZw7s7FnD2Hb5oGCpRmCRyHnuqj7vjkrIFtZ/w295-h463/IMG_20230421_121951816~2.jpg" width="295" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Stand back, ladies! One at a time, please..."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">C minus minus?!?! Aw hell. Oh wait, all those sins. Never mind.</div>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-69065786419475331662023-04-19T14:01:00.001-06:002023-04-19T15:02:40.805-06:00Super Mario Brothers<p>Today's Movie Minute is the movie everyone's talking about, and not in the Go-Go's sense. Because, let's face it, we'll give 'em something to talk 'bout!</p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDwfQoztiPdsMp-nSIANQz3rVp35tAqcnD3KWBaYxJoZgt-rp9eSTr6bWdR4xVyP99zc69qCz6Y_pvPvuVGa29NmdE4K_-USV3nqDGZmZntHhCJgKtfTFHKy_ke71-hTItzSDinqwbGPV-REBLNOfO5MPzvP-qRaqGGy89pG5VR7WR1gim3QGSLkw9" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="243" data-original-width="320" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDwfQoztiPdsMp-nSIANQz3rVp35tAqcnD3KWBaYxJoZgt-rp9eSTr6bWdR4xVyP99zc69qCz6Y_pvPvuVGa29NmdE4K_-USV3nqDGZmZntHhCJgKtfTFHKy_ke71-hTItzSDinqwbGPV-REBLNOfO5MPzvP-qRaqGGy89pG5VR7WR1gim3QGSLkw9=w475-h361" width="475" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"I'm actually a thing in this! Good luck sleeping tonight!"</div><p></p><div>A cross between Pong and Howard the Duck, Super Mario Bros is about two Brooklyn pipefitters who insert long objects into pipes and who are into princesses and, most probably, queens.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYEHRfujob8yqsfFJ5LBfel_wFmS8NOEuopt1Y5adQEGF7rGcyfpH6rslKph2QeytXQc5Jls747PvzyBfT6w8FC3auUPa4CXwTmLr1DQUUrei370KhaFaBDNazDERZOn5AMgt3P_SdyfxioK5e2ee6Hv9W5bRtioBTENp47NtT_QqO8332mxSEhIIj/s640/e486f350-cc76-11ed-be5d-812379e6f79e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="640" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYEHRfujob8yqsfFJ5LBfel_wFmS8NOEuopt1Y5adQEGF7rGcyfpH6rslKph2QeytXQc5Jls747PvzyBfT6w8FC3auUPa4CXwTmLr1DQUUrei370KhaFaBDNazDERZOn5AMgt3P_SdyfxioK5e2ee6Hv9W5bRtioBTENp47NtT_QqO8332mxSEhIIj/w498-h269/e486f350-cc76-11ed-be5d-812379e6f79e.jpg" width="498" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Someday our profession will be allowed by society!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">They go into another dimension in order to escape their agents and meet a man who has evolved from a T. Rex, which is most probable.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-aVD7gkBn1vrcmXu-GUxmbDwYq37RDkMGztnWDWCi55WbFHep-Iimv0wSIHtipVYHzhsnyicNzo9l8zwI6S2m8oqyqdVydoEQxpslx1fGv73Qy5wgA0U_1YBU5Synfi0tP58weHTsjjdzybYmbWrprX4PYyYNXD1EQvQVhlls7vJhnFqp7GYeiDBo/s257/images%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="196" data-original-width="257" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-aVD7gkBn1vrcmXu-GUxmbDwYq37RDkMGztnWDWCi55WbFHep-Iimv0wSIHtipVYHzhsnyicNzo9l8zwI6S2m8oqyqdVydoEQxpslx1fGv73Qy5wgA0U_1YBU5Synfi0tP58weHTsjjdzybYmbWrprX4PYyYNXD1EQvQVhlls7vJhnFqp7GYeiDBo/w363-h277/images%20(2).jpg" width="363" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"See? Mm? My hands are like a T. Rex's! Okay,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> where's my fucking check, you fucking fuckers, fuck."</div><div><br /></div>They also meet a young lady who has a thing for inter-species lovin'. Over time she falls in love with all nine of the puppeteers.<div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1dzQAX8PiOaKnTbzvV6keaOVa33GmOZ3cYm8md3WL4HaNKL_3ZlFeeVaGKwbvHCWk9vaT-pWHB9DoSQdF_I7v0huOmzXLQ5-z8DANJX2voXkTDxmd31PCX2wxdE7TfzbZ7coEvt9zqHTB0vZOMCKFmjEwpjyc3GizUl4DHXBF51jqjQxkrd1VVJXs/s290/images%20(6).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="174" data-original-width="290" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1dzQAX8PiOaKnTbzvV6keaOVa33GmOZ3cYm8md3WL4HaNKL_3ZlFeeVaGKwbvHCWk9vaT-pWHB9DoSQdF_I7v0huOmzXLQ5-z8DANJX2voXkTDxmd31PCX2wxdE7TfzbZ7coEvt9zqHTB0vZOMCKFmjEwpjyc3GizUl4DHXBF51jqjQxkrd1VVJXs/w458-h275/images%20(6).jpg" width="458" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"Let's be gentle."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This makes the T. Rex guy very jealous, since it's obvious he has skills.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZsRn4lVNtdXCKExmoojBn6vlQ6oRH_jFoQ3WIlaWOJyYD_-L7T8ouCSu2Vt5P92bTrjp7bh8vROgBCH0uPIzQkO48EKGnnll70PXFzXxR6O3QG5NxBKr3sxesM3chRCWM-bBWiQDDOM6tdkdQ-SStb0D8-AfyLQ2ymoqMTcFV8IOChhCHFdz87HKM/s299/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="299" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZsRn4lVNtdXCKExmoojBn6vlQ6oRH_jFoQ3WIlaWOJyYD_-L7T8ouCSu2Vt5P92bTrjp7bh8vROgBCH0uPIzQkO48EKGnnll70PXFzXxR6O3QG5NxBKr3sxesM3chRCWM-bBWiQDDOM6tdkdQ-SStb0D8-AfyLQ2ymoqMTcFV8IOChhCHFdz87HKM/w434-h244/images.jpg" width="434" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"Want to go out sometime?"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There's a story in this film, and it runs thusly: the Mario brothers, who are not related, must save the princess from the dinosaur people, who she is related to genetically, and get back to Brooklyn in time to star in various Spike Lee movies. Also, Mojo Nixon.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ubbWET95h8c1yB79vZ5fVCESB_UWxQ3bFXZAzEXTPvi8x30RgrxoSDtkIHkE-mgFx1pxJKFya8ICxyQX4hqNYbtQNZq0SYSlLdcvm31nrvY4zY9Xqn8V44si3TnFrKJPC26SkjOCXO-Zz8jt0EIcKmgMqpwrYk6PEbHFMCK02ZehYNJYZ6IDb0xm/s302/download%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="167" data-original-width="302" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ubbWET95h8c1yB79vZ5fVCESB_UWxQ3bFXZAzEXTPvi8x30RgrxoSDtkIHkE-mgFx1pxJKFya8ICxyQX4hqNYbtQNZq0SYSlLdcvm31nrvY4zY9Xqn8V44si3TnFrKJPC26SkjOCXO-Zz8jt0EIcKmgMqpwrYk6PEbHFMCK02ZehYNJYZ6IDb0xm/w438-h242/download%20(2).jpg" width="438" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"This movie could use some fixin'!"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There are lots of action sequences, and by action sequences I mean action sequins. You know, those shiny things on your cabaret gown when you're gettin' some action. Anyway, the princess learns that her dad is a giant fungus slimeball who grows mushrooms but does not share.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBX7OxrEgg64i5jyRYGfjmb0JLMGdE8OxeSSaVlAqniYZ9kCzmIuhj9h6urEe62RTYebfyC50-4EkE1V6iBJtKqLA7wR80drVypJhUrhLnMSM7vyNyZhHkHwotOskdyuTOshpmR6cPTnNN3b_HuyGluvUbpsCaOJpSxfPbGoOCyMBGGrKrQJkQvumt/s301/images%20(3).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="301" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBX7OxrEgg64i5jyRYGfjmb0JLMGdE8OxeSSaVlAqniYZ9kCzmIuhj9h6urEe62RTYebfyC50-4EkE1V6iBJtKqLA7wR80drVypJhUrhLnMSM7vyNyZhHkHwotOskdyuTOshpmR6cPTnNN3b_HuyGluvUbpsCaOJpSxfPbGoOCyMBGGrKrQJkQvumt/w529-h295/images%20(3).jpg" width="529" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"Who you gonna call? The Rip Offs!"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In the end, we all wish we'd been playing Pong instead. PONG </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbqC9SVU4XH8pxF1VME4pUBsmORGY5i4CKxhCtFlmkfTFIKZBrXXjds3KqJrIOfK1iJ-uHzq5Wya3G1r2HU8P-72ThkSg_N_7l6oh-pgz6AxChy5T0n8e2Mfjja-aFZLK3WbnhPwoFYoQNyLr3d72vhIXMlUOaINPsBc3OEVyFXnaRZK-XCs-28sVp/s1200/pong.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbqC9SVU4XH8pxF1VME4pUBsmORGY5i4CKxhCtFlmkfTFIKZBrXXjds3KqJrIOfK1iJ-uHzq5Wya3G1r2HU8P-72ThkSg_N_7l6oh-pgz6AxChy5T0n8e2Mfjja-aFZLK3WbnhPwoFYoQNyLr3d72vhIXMlUOaINPsBc3OEVyFXnaRZK-XCs-28sVp/s320/pong.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Aargh! My paddle is too short! If only there was </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">something else to do on such a nice day! Oh well..."</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Wait. Did I see the wrong movie? Aw hell.</div>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-63416825077915143862023-03-21T13:52:00.000-06:002023-03-21T13:52:48.926-06:00Day Tripper, Night Killer--Together at Last!<p>Today's Movie Minute is NIGHTKILLER, a movie about a killer who does all his killings during the day, to keep you thinking. But, no, no, turn your brains off, dummies! This is a movie! And I'm from Canada!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKacrqsTNwPOWpfZhI7T-vt_ZgUSTKvS5ugxaVw389XgFsy5sOfs-Qw-tGWSvsfImZbNtELoKyOttVpiEizrbHj4g2NEcHj3dvW035dieEWAkZ4QCcwXJ1Via5aDI4MHANWNINYEOfzkHRf75_EOzZjVgzB930JPdvCG3UkZkb_E0yMHt83dIPi-3y/s259/download.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="259" data-original-width="194" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKacrqsTNwPOWpfZhI7T-vt_ZgUSTKvS5ugxaVw389XgFsy5sOfs-Qw-tGWSvsfImZbNtELoKyOttVpiEizrbHj4g2NEcHj3dvW035dieEWAkZ4QCcwXJ1Via5aDI4MHANWNINYEOfzkHRf75_EOzZjVgzB930JPdvCG3UkZkb_E0yMHt83dIPi-3y/w244-h326/download.jpg" width="244" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">But I'll kill during the day! Get it? Mwhaahh haa haa!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Having finished TROLL 2, our Italian movie-rapists decided to make TROLL 3, otherwise known as TROLL aka TROLL OF THE NIGHTKILLER TROLLEY?! That's right, they put a question mark <i>and</i> exclamation mark on their title, since English punctuation is difficult for them. But none of this interrobang crap!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The movie is about a married couple--a poor man's Linda Hamilton and a rich man's Steve Guttenberg--playing out a sick mind game of stupidity and acting. No one wins. Or loses, for that matter. It's pretty fucking pointless.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsuNwMSwZQmUI1LXcZ9NCL6KOwchpHdckkx2_Q7ZvDAdfqgF29ex8egVxxyWjYuHV9EnukO_Nb8ekqTVRJ7Ggmjq84f4tzQO0mxz-v3H1eHG4hD79rH-Isoqh7lQdb52u2cWlAiB6mdu76__gXRHkKi_u1bf-IYTgy6XGPOcvclVW_r11jxrxI4Pe3/s278/images%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="181" data-original-width="278" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsuNwMSwZQmUI1LXcZ9NCL6KOwchpHdckkx2_Q7ZvDAdfqgF29ex8egVxxyWjYuHV9EnukO_Nb8ekqTVRJ7Ggmjq84f4tzQO0mxz-v3H1eHG4hD79rH-Isoqh7lQdb52u2cWlAiB6mdu76__gXRHkKi_u1bf-IYTgy6XGPOcvclVW_r11jxrxI4Pe3/w458-h298/images%20(2).jpg" width="458" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"I swear to God I'll do it! I'll finish this sandwich!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The wife suffers from amnesia and poor life choices and an even worse agent. The husband wants to scare his wife back to some semblance of sexiness.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs80QW-GpwzVEYaVv-TE4ZMoBwJetMxPlkeQv_g0UUqU8q5RgmKShtwoJ0k8FwLB54ql7rFquv9LuIvaDGrFjVXea6TdMzVS2cF5C5EaPqP7Z9GeJRQlKkX4or0tiR_SAbfm1gupOH58nJzUiFHN56KNlC4WnxvkIEogFMTBDNkQAbzc0UvrtKvTvn/s299/download%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="299" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs80QW-GpwzVEYaVv-TE4ZMoBwJetMxPlkeQv_g0UUqU8q5RgmKShtwoJ0k8FwLB54ql7rFquv9LuIvaDGrFjVXea6TdMzVS2cF5C5EaPqP7Z9GeJRQlKkX4or0tiR_SAbfm1gupOH58nJzUiFHN56KNlC4WnxvkIEogFMTBDNkQAbzc0UvrtKvTvn/w472-h265/download%20(2).jpg" width="472" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Honey, honey, that's not how you do it. Just take the gun like so and then</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> slide it in your mouth. See? Isn't that easier? Aw, aren't you cute when you're</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">mouthing my pistol, it reminds me of our honeymoon haw haw."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Meanwhile a deranged killer goes on a rampage after getting a nice discount at a Halloween store, since the director sent him there anyway, the cheap jerk.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCV5hOEd1n1uh9svcS0BRQnG1AxYv3Q3RQsZUNvnAe2yguRAwSZxzh-Mgpt_cAVFx7Oqe1Q9LBygcM113tSO5cJrHghA9r0IoD7xMTard7sYKIr3ekHmg9x_1b19YOn1ktEMjInJQHP_kAWYeBMeH4jlOzRXBQ41djgI1P-XTktOM6sbgUeip5-8gK/s301/download%20(3).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="301" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCV5hOEd1n1uh9svcS0BRQnG1AxYv3Q3RQsZUNvnAe2yguRAwSZxzh-Mgpt_cAVFx7Oqe1Q9LBygcM113tSO5cJrHghA9r0IoD7xMTard7sYKIr3ekHmg9x_1b19YOn1ktEMjInJQHP_kAWYeBMeH4jlOzRXBQ41djgI1P-XTktOM6sbgUeip5-8gK/w502-h280/download%20(3).jpg" width="502" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Hold still! And you want to be my latex salesman?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As we find ourselves inexorably sliding into a coma of boredom, the movie insists on being sexy to keep our vital signs barely atwitch.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgREeWZBqZXjOyEWWkVnSJnbe1SB1l9TpfJPFmV5lNV18RaoLxxmEPhQSuCBZkDoyiihN4OYvc0fxN_gQOLyM5MDbseKG_p22oqX9JaGMOri1-ytxuA4mO-frOqTuHTc0WRBBBuSaVyYYoKQGU6QHy6apk4MGslAsSpwsvk7vmDmcFBcuWWBZk7VVDO/s270/images%20(5).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="186" data-original-width="270" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgREeWZBqZXjOyEWWkVnSJnbe1SB1l9TpfJPFmV5lNV18RaoLxxmEPhQSuCBZkDoyiihN4OYvc0fxN_gQOLyM5MDbseKG_p22oqX9JaGMOri1-ytxuA4mO-frOqTuHTc0WRBBBuSaVyYYoKQGU6QHy6apk4MGslAsSpwsvk7vmDmcFBcuWWBZk7VVDO/w460-h317/images%20(5).jpg" width="460" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Aaargh! I can't breathe in this mask! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Wait, are you touching me? I CAN'T BREATHE."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's a deadly game of Italian cat and Italian ice and Pizza, the Mexican mouse, with the husband and wife switching roles and sharing with the world their bedroom roleplay games dear god I wish I was dead.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0JWy4P2HRRxk8JKsmsSNzHe2Umm_PAUFXZmA-Pki6Sro6fvPZwRUOHvNj_skGII9nwCxAXqloptJ4DiokTdSPZk53Z_wbAxrE3XfP37CEI0y8vT7BaG2fK3dGcy4eOfk6fmiG_KrYs6cO7toHnMg3Y2gSMbYogBXbGyUxGPPzkPWdMIZ7X3xyE-lR/s300/images.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0JWy4P2HRRxk8JKsmsSNzHe2Umm_PAUFXZmA-Pki6Sro6fvPZwRUOHvNj_skGII9nwCxAXqloptJ4DiokTdSPZk53Z_wbAxrE3XfP37CEI0y8vT7BaG2fK3dGcy4eOfk6fmiG_KrYs6cO7toHnMg3Y2gSMbYogBXbGyUxGPPzkPWdMIZ7X3xyE-lR/w471-h264/images.jpg" width="471" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"All right, all right, I'll wash my hands! And my penis! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Because of the public health policy!"</div><div><br /></div><div>It turns out the mask is evil... Oops, sorry. Spoiler Alert! I mean, Spoiler Grazie! Now you don't have to make that agonizing decision between TROLL 2 and AVATAR 2: THE BLUENENEEN. In fact, why are you still here?</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSgVkWgCZAdFJpK94Yw0-NxiwQgmIaYIc-BmKgdbKGTDVGqZYRVyMazrR7Uzi3LcJubj3UmcOitkjR6LdCPvsDfA-IEBF2nGA4_h4zIMY9JfDn0kiZwjI7WcQ1nwXzWk3VRv0tjvmiPbh4KuyXsQi-sfNZGqSdliYw1TM6xvxEipxFlfn524N86HSX/s300/download%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSgVkWgCZAdFJpK94Yw0-NxiwQgmIaYIc-BmKgdbKGTDVGqZYRVyMazrR7Uzi3LcJubj3UmcOitkjR6LdCPvsDfA-IEBF2nGA4_h4zIMY9JfDn0kiZwjI7WcQ1nwXzWk3VRv0tjvmiPbh4KuyXsQi-sfNZGqSdliYw1TM6xvxEipxFlfn524N86HSX/w496-h278/download%20(1).jpg" width="496" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"I said I wanted a mani not a pedi! </div><div style="text-align: center;">Now you've ruined EVERYTHING!!"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In the end, we learn that Mommy's going to be okay in her Milan time share hospital and her little daughter will take over the legacy of directing movies that suck all the joy from your life as if there was any anyway did I blow myself...............?!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaN2tR3JAqc8DJ9qdACAB6xqBqgbaMmRvNBuIqgLur4TKWIwRx4OlKAXkGfRYsai5KAZKBcIvOWZoK18-ll0Vej5mxZ8_2O5alvLacabv_ZFupwO1Ievq_4-gmacn5uS5ZKr_XmipkbbpPuz5I26dXITNBkgMb1icB-WNj6qS6F51G46KGhOPxwqg7/s225/images%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="357" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaN2tR3JAqc8DJ9qdACAB6xqBqgbaMmRvNBuIqgLur4TKWIwRx4OlKAXkGfRYsai5KAZKBcIvOWZoK18-ll0Vej5mxZ8_2O5alvLacabv_ZFupwO1Ievq_4-gmacn5uS5ZKr_XmipkbbpPuz5I26dXITNBkgMb1icB-WNj6qS6F51G46KGhOPxwqg7/w357-h357/images%20(1).jpg" width="357" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"Can I get you a grazie of Prego Pringles, Mom? I mean, Sarah Connor? </div><div style="text-align: center;">Can I be excused? Wait, did that guy blow himself?!"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">You know what? Maybe I was wrong about this whole interrobang business. In fact, I'm going to write a very necessary movie called "How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the GODDAMN Interrobang, the Sequel, the Ride."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDjJCFJjlfvbQ-YHLXSkkWwxTAp2aZEfZrCtiMd9QMgrD9IwjYK5XAGEc6yprOh2zfGpZYJZGDoAxV27PHEtza26DN4Po2vyXhv2BM5s67YZ_oQt6ibmyqYLlud2u-hqzJ7gkVA2rTVtSGXkX2bAP6WiPtht0LSZGiWGa2SfJE4KasTPtWlpvkGUqV/s312/download.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="161" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDjJCFJjlfvbQ-YHLXSkkWwxTAp2aZEfZrCtiMd9QMgrD9IwjYK5XAGEc6yprOh2zfGpZYJZGDoAxV27PHEtza26DN4Po2vyXhv2BM5s67YZ_oQt6ibmyqYLlud2u-hqzJ7gkVA2rTVtSGXkX2bAP6WiPtht0LSZGiWGa2SfJE4KasTPtWlpvkGUqV/s1600/download.png" width="161" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-65875680700750082332023-02-07T05:00:00.185-07:002023-02-07T05:00:00.162-07:00Pudge with a Side of Dark<p>Have you ever been embarrassed by something your dad made or did or was? Welcome to Empire of the Dark, where your dad does stuff with his long balls... in the dark.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCh9T2drWw4rtSzo90IGFext9ZrWtwvc3NzuzzWlgiBpEuzhxeA5kPuHnd5sLCRVamFc42Djt8-bVW79E_UHDjZ7G2o53VtJOtOsgWWugLeTz23rmB61qIcvv8e-R0rRouowakSk1FoR-zKhOeM82JLDVzLzFGprAcT64PPzmL-XBJWEld8Z71_gHp/s259/download.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="259" data-original-width="194" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCh9T2drWw4rtSzo90IGFext9ZrWtwvc3NzuzzWlgiBpEuzhxeA5kPuHnd5sLCRVamFc42Djt8-bVW79E_UHDjZ7G2o53VtJOtOsgWWugLeTz23rmB61qIcvv8e-R0rRouowakSk1FoR-zKhOeM82JLDVzLzFGprAcT64PPzmL-XBJWEld8Z71_gHp/w239-h319/download.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Take that, fiat currency!!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In today's Movie Minute, we are treated to the artistic stylings of a genius, nay, an idiot named Steve Barkett, who comes to us in dreams, and with a dreamier mustache.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK6W4zAJGWnSYI3w3B8prD0Yo5g9jn5jslgK61hqZEoAoy-ZRz1Dkrqy7LpdeZVaEC4LcmqPXFE0lMVLVmOh6S1xwV2H-RqRLDyrfiRDYrN5e-X2EsUumtZwi3y-wvGgIP4z829VeEWWO-VZ5IYTBXW4Oq8DV5blooHwPorKLdfPENDt0pheG8QxO4/s259/images%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK6W4zAJGWnSYI3w3B8prD0Yo5g9jn5jslgK61hqZEoAoy-ZRz1Dkrqy7LpdeZVaEC4LcmqPXFE0lMVLVmOh6S1xwV2H-RqRLDyrfiRDYrN5e-X2EsUumtZwi3y-wvGgIP4z829VeEWWO-VZ5IYTBXW4Oq8DV5blooHwPorKLdfPENDt0pheG8QxO4/w388-h291/images%20(1).jpg" width="388" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"And, lo, how they danced... Hundreds of years before recorded time..."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here is our action hero, straining his thick pudding in bed. (Due to local, state, and Federal laws, sheets are required to cover fifty percent of pudge.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9AkyqrZCj-h4FxV33CN9ps61E3oRmrtVhNUROpmOvCIZtfVkylSOYn6C1KxsvRhR0rPZgWjZfK_rvDAArwzTuc_sWZygmbbdlelFH8U0dSDs_3Ms4FA3bLV4aaiFHnZib_zAdesyM_sozSwT5Z_zo5FXACzPSUrfhZGmeEfktCYKv9PJ2MOtVCkqb/s259/images.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="195" data-original-width="259" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9AkyqrZCj-h4FxV33CN9ps61E3oRmrtVhNUROpmOvCIZtfVkylSOYn6C1KxsvRhR0rPZgWjZfK_rvDAArwzTuc_sWZygmbbdlelFH8U0dSDs_3Ms4FA3bLV4aaiFHnZib_zAdesyM_sozSwT5Z_zo5FXACzPSUrfhZGmeEfktCYKv9PJ2MOtVCkqb/w383-h288/images.jpg" width="383" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Stupid government laws! When will my beautiful self be set free??"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He learns that demons are afoot, er, ahoof. Something must be done! But first, a sexy pose:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFXvEhuiHPP-uVfPEXFVwE1ThWmxQljG6beCA7Mrhvux5tpT34QFZven7Fg-jUntP_ZrBnp3949rEX1FJ3-ty4J-_OV1J2lrdhdWKClZtFP0DDLJwm3usBkNnUbwZGy9GA0o0zeEQvLe2a3ltEcCkEiVSqosURZYB6xL3DtSQvgTx3P3So9W6B-83R/s632/9a96f4f2281cd6b907286b67d3ee2bdd.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="632" data-original-width="421" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFXvEhuiHPP-uVfPEXFVwE1ThWmxQljG6beCA7Mrhvux5tpT34QFZven7Fg-jUntP_ZrBnp3949rEX1FJ3-ty4J-_OV1J2lrdhdWKClZtFP0DDLJwm3usBkNnUbwZGy9GA0o0zeEQvLe2a3ltEcCkEiVSqosURZYB6xL3DtSQvgTx3P3So9W6B-83R/w263-h395/9a96f4f2281cd6b907286b67d3ee2bdd.jpg" width="263" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mustache For Rent</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And then time for grocery shopping. That pudge won't pudge itself!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfJNh0JerckPwh3FAiL90KiWToSrDhNkLm39MbIZKuETvZ4snPfCb4OF5s4YNii9xdvcfLzsR372YWbM3y2kcN4g8XDk22DncvZx4YbaP-v5ge7QTnLP_qTBOu2dGWAmxx922cbYOQN4mAwMavgk1UULssfDJYlkqzzQs_lpnxI3M_CGwBL_yURat7/s575/7efa876c731b82153f14fcadddfb0598.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="433" data-original-width="575" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfJNh0JerckPwh3FAiL90KiWToSrDhNkLm39MbIZKuETvZ4snPfCb4OF5s4YNii9xdvcfLzsR372YWbM3y2kcN4g8XDk22DncvZx4YbaP-v5ge7QTnLP_qTBOu2dGWAmxx922cbYOQN4mAwMavgk1UULssfDJYlkqzzQs_lpnxI3M_CGwBL_yURat7/s320/7efa876c731b82153f14fcadddfb0598.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"My baloney has a first name... It's O-S- uh... O-S... T? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Aw screw it, give me the whole rack!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Stuff happens. And then... The demons aka Fiat Currency come to get him!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLao27MTZADcI1ch8mCFWKj1Mz-t3-TanRmtdWKYwjSkZdbkbBRQ6D3-yqkgfixuW8Xrcejm7OqY-uj8wHaTwO6OhrRAej3_T0FkS-oKJ3YtO3bk4MVbYltUvZ9XQpk4oNJscyg0_OqtzJO-FlyVySRSY6CTpAtfY_zgcZtwHFG7zQIsTDi6LLTnDf/s254/download%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="198" data-original-width="254" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLao27MTZADcI1ch8mCFWKj1Mz-t3-TanRmtdWKYwjSkZdbkbBRQ6D3-yqkgfixuW8Xrcejm7OqY-uj8wHaTwO6OhrRAej3_T0FkS-oKJ3YtO3bk4MVbYltUvZ9XQpk4oNJscyg0_OqtzJO-FlyVySRSY6CTpAtfY_zgcZtwHFG7zQIsTDi6LLTnDf/w395-h308/download%20(1).jpg" width="395" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"All right, who ate all my Doritos?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Our hero gathers a ragtag team of tags and rags in order to fight the D&D figurines properly and get us back to the gold standard ha ha.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoubgXXdKc-Q0WccSEk1T0b03ZhIFdgzg9ucxhtkq7Yr4P5nVZ1oUxYGO_Em3xFdt4B1Q1s0is4Cn-r3Jd8xmsJIwXumgrYDmNausJyzWqXm3bs95aKpBCvl24N5EExT3ZEiKZOVahyrfAs46dlzP4nSNhfZ6pH8I-W1tt9kcXEVTfXYAblYinR1FT/s259/images%20(4).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoubgXXdKc-Q0WccSEk1T0b03ZhIFdgzg9ucxhtkq7Yr4P5nVZ1oUxYGO_Em3xFdt4B1Q1s0is4Cn-r3Jd8xmsJIwXumgrYDmNausJyzWqXm3bs95aKpBCvl24N5EExT3ZEiKZOVahyrfAs46dlzP4nSNhfZ6pH8I-W1tt9kcXEVTfXYAblYinR1FT/w399-h299/images%20(4).jpg" width="399" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Don't look at 'em, Jerry. Those are the people in </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">the theater watching this. Idiots!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">With his son they martinize their +5 broadswords and hope to god they won't be slain by an elf.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtezPRAGDv3j56xY4X8a_OS_pwazg4aKOXytuL6KNpAGIiFUssXN-8w-MhJA0B0k6surSe5knUoaT4GqEiY3V_JKr_y0wVJ0G5psrmerxNXfKtUR0hOwu2cUpk-MnJioDcYhcCUh7w8lzPF2FLKejkBLHtJfBcb4bCMxuNmM2UQHMPcAKIgLZh_5NN/s259/images%20(3).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="195" data-original-width="259" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtezPRAGDv3j56xY4X8a_OS_pwazg4aKOXytuL6KNpAGIiFUssXN-8w-MhJA0B0k6surSe5knUoaT4GqEiY3V_JKr_y0wVJ0G5psrmerxNXfKtUR0hOwu2cUpk-MnJioDcYhcCUh7w8lzPF2FLKejkBLHtJfBcb4bCMxuNmM2UQHMPcAKIgLZh_5NN/w413-h311/images%20(3).jpg" width="413" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"I'm sorry I didn't clean my room, Dad. Haven't I been punished enough?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> Please don't make me act in your movie or read your novel!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In the end, they overcome the demons with some lucky rolls and public banking.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsNvoXjnl1nMfQeSkdJxqxHGafVImsb965PQJEC0m7R6bWJP3cNsKMr37LTWSH5WksHWUBK6q9oQuGmN8BdxDC8hQxoBqbVj43lK62wQIbazGPp_HZV6xkcb9SjgnMna9xkQ1RhDHfotJKpj8CmzrSuswmE1N4FIT9fE6z9ummBLTiGHnBDoUHKZME/s259/images%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="195" data-original-width="259" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsNvoXjnl1nMfQeSkdJxqxHGafVImsb965PQJEC0m7R6bWJP3cNsKMr37LTWSH5WksHWUBK6q9oQuGmN8BdxDC8hQxoBqbVj43lK62wQIbazGPp_HZV6xkcb9SjgnMna9xkQ1RhDHfotJKpj8CmzrSuswmE1N4FIT9fE6z9ummBLTiGHnBDoUHKZME/w380-h286/images%20(2).jpg" width="380" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Who wants free checking?!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And some awesome "special" "effects."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTFHRJ7i_xe1w9KcIDeX_haD8t6eET27WuzLoWJTlRInIHbw_G4hKRjj8rMF0mXyOsjUVcy9yFJvPARMNK3Z_3JyP8O_feSJ2RRp58S0y1qUwi4NZY1Pg7R2JzKJWhUbjCaB4fkIrYsCO2lU1EQM7Etq4kOJaOzaPGDOZzhTeBkhvEnKQP_qkacqGu/s299/download.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="299" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTFHRJ7i_xe1w9KcIDeX_haD8t6eET27WuzLoWJTlRInIHbw_G4hKRjj8rMF0mXyOsjUVcy9yFJvPARMNK3Z_3JyP8O_feSJ2RRp58S0y1qUwi4NZY1Pg7R2JzKJWhUbjCaB4fkIrYsCO2lU1EQM7Etq4kOJaOzaPGDOZzhTeBkhvEnKQP_qkacqGu/w443-h249/download.jpg" width="443" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"I can't stand the heat, get me out of the kitchen!!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> (Probably my lamest joke ever?)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After all the weird science, Steve Barkett is reunited with his true love: himself.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu98arHQvZn2rZDcOuWq27-Ept9_0F06Yd6Nw28XeAo6dHf_g_59tvHf7atMAQpIOoAVh3WhSYDkub8mMF7hzeXjsxXIK0velR36JuJiSTuZofeNYInZB6bs7V5Tn0WH-c_t1cW7OBBTC_g6LJIWoZ8sw6NRDIEbWS61Vf6AR3Iu0cFa3rDKGI471W/s225/images%20(5).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu98arHQvZn2rZDcOuWq27-Ept9_0F06Yd6Nw28XeAo6dHf_g_59tvHf7atMAQpIOoAVh3WhSYDkub8mMF7hzeXjsxXIK0velR36JuJiSTuZofeNYInZB6bs7V5Tn0WH-c_t1cW7OBBTC_g6LJIWoZ8sw6NRDIEbWS61Vf6AR3Iu0cFa3rDKGI471W/w298-h298/images%20(5).jpg" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Well? Will this get me the part on a Neil Breen movie?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Maybe everyone should spend their time with an infinitely more tart movie than this?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W_sm3qXJlHU&t=279s</div></div>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-72262195322766773652023-01-03T05:00:00.161-07:002023-01-03T05:00:00.159-07:00On Deadly Ground Beef<p>Steven "Mr. Saturday Night" Seagal goes full Breen, but only half retard, in today's Movie Minute, ON DEADLY GROUND.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmH6VtNriXmz3rtaJikP62Iyv0CZleLTwca8lzPDOjJPeBRZ5dcpaJlPswM16NLF_HMTLW11knH8hesNl2-lbm4f1hhArjos4W6RXSNX6nHwoFo_HP0aqmPNY0sDX3VRORGy38jigQ6noGmJPmt6Hdso2KUnE6avlVst3Xxa5NqIg02-QJvj-tEQps/s278/download%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="278" data-original-width="181" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmH6VtNriXmz3rtaJikP62Iyv0CZleLTwca8lzPDOjJPeBRZ5dcpaJlPswM16NLF_HMTLW11knH8hesNl2-lbm4f1hhArjos4W6RXSNX6nHwoFo_HP0aqmPNY0sDX3VRORGy38jigQ6noGmJPmt6Hdso2KUnE6avlVst3Xxa5NqIg02-QJvj-tEQps/w229-h352/download%20(2).jpg" width="229" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Environmentalism through blowing shit up."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Seagull plays Forrest Grump, an amazing man who is amazing, as the dialogue tells us over and over. Indeed, with his insouciant, sullen charm, ground beef good looks, Grump is the epitome of Grumpy Bear, Marlboro Man, Macho Man, and Mickey Mouse all delectably alliteratively rolled into one required romp sure to please the whole family as Grump knifes baddies in the throat ha ha.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZXZSEtVy0iwVj0QXtbKIeCCej5wtS8iJrgFmbBs5trdUBP4k0EUVYJlGZ77kQdz46WRTo6DPF8_suPTUlSNRnMNxJp9voYUohoppK6lTBoovuqkmbiLLBnM7mOOiHVV5iceBh3zPSFg9C1Q3B_oEeGDkRe4-GvpwTgZMukdLl9IlrMryJ29dYuI4/s300/download%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZXZSEtVy0iwVj0QXtbKIeCCej5wtS8iJrgFmbBs5trdUBP4k0EUVYJlGZ77kQdz46WRTo6DPF8_suPTUlSNRnMNxJp9voYUohoppK6lTBoovuqkmbiLLBnM7mOOiHVV5iceBh3zPSFg9C1Q3B_oEeGDkRe4-GvpwTgZMukdLl9IlrMryJ29dYuI4/w439-h245/download%20(1).jpg" width="439" /></a></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Who wants some of my penile extension?! You, punk?!?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The man who deserves the cold blade of Seagal's love is Britain's answer to the Beatles--</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9l86nmfaC7RX__BxKMd7iko08mphDCTrau2XQCxLbm_lxBXfMXaygtavd2b-MujTRxfHCeGZ6V_qsl6T9O3_jxFI_XimMIvJpKl8Kq51uUUZfKNr9TQ8FWhYsPCir-tA4gbXjvZy_h6OvUFfkClEV6OxQOMts3UmMwp2RLr1eLudR0vAAQwwG6hMw/s299/images.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="299" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9l86nmfaC7RX__BxKMd7iko08mphDCTrau2XQCxLbm_lxBXfMXaygtavd2b-MujTRxfHCeGZ6V_qsl6T9O3_jxFI_XimMIvJpKl8Kq51uUUZfKNr9TQ8FWhYsPCir-tA4gbXjvZy_h6OvUFfkClEV6OxQOMts3UmMwp2RLr1eLudR0vAAQwwG6hMw/w374-h210/images.jpg" width="374" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Oi, guv'nor, I'm Michael Crane!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But first Grump has to prove his infinite toughness in a bar by playing touchy-grabby with the local tough guy leather daddy.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlnOg5Lr-ZGAj41VJ8dp1L-wN1YUC0hTwl3m64jo1en7pAL9bk1-j7WX5gj6CvR8PTYWVScKXv55NS-yveyRK04odqvzw8FDYy5BTdrukeYgAjieAXTgnk---PHK0Ok53bPPwLZx_NAYtjQynBo3tHB4c2t4mgj58zkBDJqbmSjQNKl3MMlD0bn3Gj/s346/images%20(9).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="145" data-original-width="346" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlnOg5Lr-ZGAj41VJ8dp1L-wN1YUC0hTwl3m64jo1en7pAL9bk1-j7WX5gj6CvR8PTYWVScKXv55NS-yveyRK04odqvzw8FDYy5BTdrukeYgAjieAXTgnk---PHK0Ok53bPPwLZx_NAYtjQynBo3tHB4c2t4mgj58zkBDJqbmSjQNKl3MMlD0bn3Gj/w482-h202/images%20(9).jpg" width="482" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"You like bears, huh? Aw yeaahhh."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The plot moves along like the Alaska winter: tough, fair, and whiskery.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY9xECooaI6K1nBmeYbBdtgeEFVggSODsKv4zL_2loOwrR8a0Xcab8zbNxcs5upZJg84leVLad6U0SABVDDJ9lcoV84A6y_Yg5Qxk7bmMjw0paR_I-QnOab2FFl0lfs955xf3njREi7UW501G5wfqYiBtte7sWlBxAQJmPBI5xlUu4uhwY_Pl_zyj5/s298/images%20(6).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="169" data-original-width="298" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY9xECooaI6K1nBmeYbBdtgeEFVggSODsKv4zL_2loOwrR8a0Xcab8zbNxcs5upZJg84leVLad6U0SABVDDJ9lcoV84A6y_Yg5Qxk7bmMjw0paR_I-QnOab2FFl0lfs955xf3njREi7UW501G5wfqYiBtte7sWlBxAQJmPBI5xlUu4uhwY_Pl_zyj5/w466-h264/images%20(6).jpg" width="466" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"I ain't afraid of no rolly coaster! Arrgh! MY BALLS"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After Grump's dear old friend humorously dies, Grump starts kicking everything in sight. Man, women, children! Are you not entertained??</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipz7dE4Jg7eVP82bQ2fdwouStyepq2bb02bVf7W3ms7Toe6rgjWYdDz9WWxev_SNlm2QYFwiP02CQSDjJr177zMWGE2N6Jzf7aZjrO8wl2OL5s5_Jbfp9Dlk2hcqL0sb-CS7zK58dJbBbvnaBr_LlBu8mKcZHOUzBMd_soWSZ0SOHG7BDtlJCPLJlH/s318/images%20(5).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="159" data-original-width="318" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipz7dE4Jg7eVP82bQ2fdwouStyepq2bb02bVf7W3ms7Toe6rgjWYdDz9WWxev_SNlm2QYFwiP02CQSDjJr177zMWGE2N6Jzf7aZjrO8wl2OL5s5_Jbfp9Dlk2hcqL0sb-CS7zK58dJbBbvnaBr_LlBu8mKcZHOUzBMd_soWSZ0SOHG7BDtlJCPLJlH/w448-h224/images%20(5).jpg" width="448" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Die, Serpico! WHOO HAAA!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Grump then meets a wise Chinese woman who takes pleasure in appropriating Native American culture. It's an ancient Chinese secret!</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY0IOIA_g_bZA0zpH6R92_O95FmqnT2lJYmIweS79JXhij6TqOUgrIBpiMtLppNLTOV8kwBSp-El7i3Q9l1e62KwDXSUsgx6ztkLbdz8pxObPIFmvS7mNmOSoNWVZKFTm1HpUnesf68C4gUH39lSPVVdCr8S3tcGdNgLU3l8HXhgEVZq-x1qNvtYdB/s300/images%20(4).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY0IOIA_g_bZA0zpH6R92_O95FmqnT2lJYmIweS79JXhij6TqOUgrIBpiMtLppNLTOV8kwBSp-El7i3Q9l1e62KwDXSUsgx6ztkLbdz8pxObPIFmvS7mNmOSoNWVZKFTm1HpUnesf68C4gUH39lSPVVdCr8S3tcGdNgLU3l8HXhgEVZq-x1qNvtYdB/w438-h245/images%20(4).jpg" width="438" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Please don't make me kiss you."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Meanwhile Michael Crane hires a broat and sails off to make the other seventy-three movies he is contractually obligated to make that year. His agent is DAMN good.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypTnsvRETwHr9SmwFKgxVCw93L5Num_5bVAcvMYSvyYGagOCwaZUbJbXuzT7tDQhDp4EUMb-LpHzQfBca0MvPvfpJgJyU7kbDqtXayC9PhZxb5l0lsieGD5Nu9OsxMe35iDVDu93bGC20CAU2TLeh31Jb8iPphYQupByzrsPx7bVZyT4lI-nkn7y-/s300/images%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypTnsvRETwHr9SmwFKgxVCw93L5Num_5bVAcvMYSvyYGagOCwaZUbJbXuzT7tDQhDp4EUMb-LpHzQfBca0MvPvfpJgJyU7kbDqtXayC9PhZxb5l0lsieGD5Nu9OsxMe35iDVDu93bGC20CAU2TLeh31Jb8iPphYQupByzrsPx7bVZyT4lI-nkn7y-/w443-h248/images%20(2).jpg" width="443" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Get me Myron Selznick. That you, My? You're fired!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Everyone loves Steven Seagal in the movie, which accurately reflects real life quite faithfully.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4bLjrBbO0w5hQBBfzuA6uObuNWvH4LAtxVqd1X4I0Bnznm5qTKz34DawbBlIOdpJhvVNnAEMVFdCAXdTqEAOIXXAsxJIgxcBSO7TsznVoAbN7wANqmnQKPzWG9GRwYG7yj70AkkOii8ndQdWe50N6fNQmO3YbspIFFMIb_ZzemJsY-bOzYOX04pCa/s312/download.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="162" data-original-width="312" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4bLjrBbO0w5hQBBfzuA6uObuNWvH4LAtxVqd1X4I0Bnznm5qTKz34DawbBlIOdpJhvVNnAEMVFdCAXdTqEAOIXXAsxJIgxcBSO7TsznVoAbN7wANqmnQKPzWG9GRwYG7yj70AkkOii8ndQdWe50N6fNQmO3YbspIFFMIb_ZzemJsY-bOzYOX04pCa/w422-h219/download.jpg" width="422" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"I have ALL the medals."</div><div><br /></div>In the end, Grump tells us that politicians are corrupt and that he has the corroborating files on national AND international secrets that will shock you.</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNXJBJVxVazc_1WxiEw8ghuG-HLqzaQ_C7pIvjsC7uBmPTb3v1svZ180neb3zqmxlEjA4zCGa9fAazRnO6O3gdRyhenUmI2y43BZkIuJ69rJQwCVdaz1EmeWVdT3377qoVYMLWUqUnTrZrJwh761HDt9bHpQcNstRyHJFUXjGjVbzFve5CHHJv69D1/s300/p10482904_i_v8_ab.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNXJBJVxVazc_1WxiEw8ghuG-HLqzaQ_C7pIvjsC7uBmPTb3v1svZ180neb3zqmxlEjA4zCGa9fAazRnO6O3gdRyhenUmI2y43BZkIuJ69rJQwCVdaz1EmeWVdT3377qoVYMLWUqUnTrZrJwh761HDt9bHpQcNstRyHJFUXjGjVbzFve5CHHJv69D1/s1600/p10482904_i_v8_ab.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"Can we add a few more mics? Where are the Penny Saver reporters? </div><div style="text-align: center;">Is that you, Candace? No, not the stupid Thrifty Nickel!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>HAPPY NEW YEAR! (Just kidding.)</div>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-5735816886202202132022-08-26T05:00:00.213-06:002022-08-26T05:00:00.156-06:00A Journey of Ten Years Begins With the First Blog Post<p>The photo hung on the wall of Mom's apartment. I studied it.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2NTYzKnhk5XYsyAxnNIrdev7zNOoypSnqtynoKTLEdze09nzm6Ks2Ls5B8pRw5q4UGKnE5Uy1rvh7_HL9qgMFtFSroSCICnCttZeWl9ibWvcYsJfErI80QPXbNztp-SvRnhtuIlmsri7w0UTrvrSkQrROcqLWx2W-I9bIvCwOD2L0sRYqoGa7ywU4/s4000/IMG_20220530_125343078.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="377" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2NTYzKnhk5XYsyAxnNIrdev7zNOoypSnqtynoKTLEdze09nzm6Ks2Ls5B8pRw5q4UGKnE5Uy1rvh7_HL9qgMFtFSroSCICnCttZeWl9ibWvcYsJfErI80QPXbNztp-SvRnhtuIlmsri7w0UTrvrSkQrROcqLWx2W-I9bIvCwOD2L0sRYqoGa7ywU4/w502-h377/IMG_20220530_125343078.jpg" width="502" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"After this, we'll get a knuckle sandwich! Yaayy!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Me in the center (natch), ten years old (just like this blog! ya get it???), Chris doing a sort of boogie, and lastly Mark, hands behind his back in order to better contemplate the mystery of this photo.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I turned to Mom, my loupe in one eye and my monocle in the other. "When did you get this, Mom?" </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Mom sat in her recliner, humming to herself. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Mom?" I threw my top hat at her.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Oh! I was just having a memory about meeting John Sebastian. Back when you were just a baby."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Was he the postman?" My monocle popped out. Then I threw my loupe at Bailey.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"No. John Sebastian. The singer, from the sixties."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Mm. Was he in the Electric Turtle?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"The Lovin' Spoonful. He gave me a warm, gentle smile. It was at a farmer's market. He knew I recognized him. We had a connection. For a few seconds."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Didn't he invent the autoharp solo?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2yEDmI43kmVIr8InNelKhAThHoPNZnJiKwsnIk_0fofYrki_6tdy-b7ACZQevUN-t0odmFLjV_EdxTOknC7RJuf68_m2lsm50vEbd6hKxuuAABhpkdFFfwuzwyV4WHTtwk83VtS_d8Sro5AFzxfJNL0JVqM-WJTto_kpjYKTsGDjU8Uq3qHOhEdkT/s616/s-l1600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="616" data-original-width="351" height="491" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2yEDmI43kmVIr8InNelKhAThHoPNZnJiKwsnIk_0fofYrki_6tdy-b7ACZQevUN-t0odmFLjV_EdxTOknC7RJuf68_m2lsm50vEbd6hKxuuAABhpkdFFfwuzwyV4WHTtwk83VtS_d8Sro5AFzxfJNL0JVqM-WJTto_kpjYKTsGDjU8Uq3qHOhEdkT/w279-h491/s-l1600.jpg" width="279" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Lip biting is de rigueur for the autoharp, said no one.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Anyway, Mom. What's up with this picture of us with the balloon? How did you get it? It must come from Dad's farm."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"I've always had it."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Yes, but..."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Bailey spit out the loupe and barked. Chris came through the sliding door. Applause. He acknowledged the audience (me) and then pet Bailey.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Mom wants you to water the bedroom. It's your turn."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Actually," Mom said, "can you boys do me a favor? Can you check in the corner, behind the bed? I think there might be some poop from Mewy. Poor Mewy."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Poor us."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Chris and I went into the bedroom and pulled out the bed. There we found several dried nuggets.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Mio dios," I said, wiping my sweaty face. "It's the treasure of the sierra merde!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Ugh. This is gross."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I got a plastic bag and we filled it with turds and weeds we pulled from the bedroom lawn. "So do you know what's up with that balloon photo?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Chris paused in picking cotton. "It's from Mark and Denean, I think, who got it from Maria, who got it from Dad. So now Mom has it."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Huh. Then we'll pass it to Toots. Eventually everyone in the family will have it. I should do a painting of all of us, maybe on a balloon, flying over Denver and dropping poops on everyone..."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMBEpGa7P6l2SBCqLyHhdR91OjiCygdqa2bAZ1_jy8D7ZhOljwy0E1OuREfS7l3xA3qIqVCE3Zq8pkKHq0-eMrZ91kmiqsoQD8CFmO7bCMeJZb_52TIt_pR4il9pBgG3wuhY8zlvk4wZ3-JL-M8QztsCeaI1OD0ZKSvLBujoPz5bBUJcKhqB_uk7ae/s4000/IMG_20220824_130247355.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMBEpGa7P6l2SBCqLyHhdR91OjiCygdqa2bAZ1_jy8D7ZhOljwy0E1OuREfS7l3xA3qIqVCE3Zq8pkKHq0-eMrZ91kmiqsoQD8CFmO7bCMeJZb_52TIt_pR4il9pBgG3wuhY8zlvk4wZ3-JL-M8QztsCeaI1OD0ZKSvLBujoPz5bBUJcKhqB_uk7ae/w204-h271/IMG_20220824_130247355.jpg" width="204" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Well? Where is everyone?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Yeah, that would be good. A painting of the whole family."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Or I can have Mom looking sad hanging on a cross, and you laughing, with Denean in a hospital bed and Bailey sobbing at the foot of the cross. Dad sitting on bags of money with his whore. Heh heh."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Actually, I just meant do a nice portrait of everyone."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Oh, uh, right, I suppose I could do that, too."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Are you two blogging about me in there?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We came out, dragging the bag heavy with manure and bedroom clippings. Mom grimaced as she reached into her shirt.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Mom!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"I was just getting my lipstick out of my bra. I put it where Bailey can't get it. She's just a pickle!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"What?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The TV was so loud that it turned on Alexa in the next room.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Alexa!" Mom yelled. "Alexa, be quiet!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"You want I should take it out?" I said.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"And I think the toaster has been making fun of me," Mom said sadly. "Now, when you take out that bag, can you also do some other chores to prove you love me? I have a few bags of trash that need to be taken out. Will you do that for your old mom?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Can't you leave it outside the door, and they pick it up for you?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"They do, but I don't want people around here to see how trashy I am."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Maybe stop wearing that sequined tube top, then. Oh, wait. That's me."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Please... will you do it? Will you be good boys for your old mom? Please...?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Choking on sobs, Mom held out her arms, as if in rehearsal for the cross. Chris and I muttered, made our goodbyes, and went out into the hall. There we passed an old duffer with mutton chops and an autoharp. He shuffled past us, we smiled at him.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"My God," I said. "That was John Sebastian. I'm sure of it. I mean, who else could it be? Maybe he'll commit some old crimes with Mom? Stay tuned!"</div>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-48204782826473256182022-07-29T05:00:00.215-06:002022-08-20T18:22:07.131-06:00The Happiest Place on Earth (Now Go Sit in the Car)<p>Mom was feeling low. She was afraid the Tangerine Tito was going to take over the country again. That country being, uh, the Unitedy Yugostates of Amerislavia. But we also had other fish to fry, like the location of her hatchery, uh, pharmacy.</p><p>"Why not change your pharmacy to one that's closer to you?"</p><p>Mom let out a groan of the damned. "Because I'm not reasonable sometimes. Okay? You have to understand this about your old mom. I'm a broken person."</p><p>"Mom, not changing pharmacies does not make you Hitler-adjacent. Just get a place that you can get to if you need something fast. Especially if you're in your bunker and the Soviets..."</p><p>"Oh, did I tell you about Joyce? She's getting rotator stuff surgery. That poor woman! She has so many things wrong with her. It must be generic."</p><p>"Sounds pretty specific, actually."</p><p>"My shoulder has been really hurting me. But look at this." Mom held up her pinky. "See this?"</p><p>"What do you want me to swear to?"</p><p>"The cut has healed! Or almost. It hasn't bled in months."</p><p>A purple bruise zagged along the tip of Mom's pinky. </p><p>"I've had this since your father left me, you know. I got it on the lid of a dog food can."</p><p>"Mom, that was fifty years ago. Fifty. Years. Ago."</p><p>"I know." Mom smiled. "And now it's looking better. How about that?"</p><p>"It's also the anniversary of a special time in my own life."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdIs_H-JMmu8DW6XYZdfOGEzIXXIJOeRzddBcZt05_9zt-2E1_owchzTpaz_TP89nqkeAL4wRSl7__4kgAObxFIOHW0t3jNUTonomxuK7Lq9dhYCqXRS0715BPJ3UkuI32sj-pnuM6HMdZfaHwKpb86CdV954LB7fszwadTkTN67UUE5VWFf0ZNOjx/s3891/Disneyland%20Amy%20work.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2997" data-original-width="3891" height="417" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdIs_H-JMmu8DW6XYZdfOGEzIXXIJOeRzddBcZt05_9zt-2E1_owchzTpaz_TP89nqkeAL4wRSl7__4kgAObxFIOHW0t3jNUTonomxuK7Lq9dhYCqXRS0715BPJ3UkuI32sj-pnuM6HMdZfaHwKpb86CdV954LB7fszwadTkTN67UUE5VWFf0ZNOjx/w543-h417/Disneyland%20Amy%20work.jpg" width="543" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(Courtesy of Amy Homburger/an Amy Homburger Hamburger)</div><p>"What special time?"</p><p>"When you were loading suitcases into the car, getting ready for our trip to Denver, and I was jumping around hyper and annoying and I kept asking where we were going, and you told me we were going to Disneyland."</p><p>"I never said that."</p><p>"You did."</p><p>"I didn't."</p><p>I sighed. "Been in Disneyland ever since..."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Nothing. Bailey looks like she needs to go out, Mom. Is it poopy time?"</p><p>Mom had Bailey pinned against her body, squeezing tight. She looked down at Bailey. The puppy looked back up at her, helpless eyes bulging from their sockets. She blinked Morse code: H-E-L-P </p><p>"I don't think so. But she can go in the bedroom if she needs to."</p><p>"The bedroom. Not outside?"</p><p>"Not in this heat. Heat is not good for her. She'll explode in sunlight. I read it online."</p><p>"So, the bedroom where she..."</p><p>"It's okay. I had sod put in yesterday. She has a patch of grass in there to go on."</p><p>"What? You can't xeriscape your bedroom like everyone else??"</p><p>"Go on, Bay-bay. Make your poopy. See, she likes the grass in there..."</p><p>"Ugh. Do I have to mow your bedroom now? Make Chris do it. At least it's conveniently close when you need to shake your fist at those damn kids in your bedroom."</p><p>Mom frowned. "You could do worse than me as your mother."</p><p>Pause. Lonnng pause.</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>I stood up. "I think I'll get going."</p><p>"You're not leaving? I'm feeling low. And I'm bored. I tried to watch Kenooby... Kenbobby... Kebubby booby... But I couldn't get into it."</p><p>"Well, maybe read a book. I could make some recommendations."</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEga3hcrO1izASjbFl3xbJaZXCkvTJIy7JBJ37OKbLwsajnVBlE3TmypRQFTorbSujE_oVmnoaOmfeERF8bIVQOri3qlZ22JDoNVEp_XFGYV1bKQ5qv2FH59l1Sws9UMKoi2WPxyXkI8sul40jafCt9CihX5CDcGBMNa9cDbpQT0ZsvAvbgwrT4sgsHZ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="313" height="517" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEga3hcrO1izASjbFl3xbJaZXCkvTJIy7JBJ37OKbLwsajnVBlE3TmypRQFTorbSujE_oVmnoaOmfeERF8bIVQOri3qlZ22JDoNVEp_XFGYV1bKQ5qv2FH59l1Sws9UMKoi2WPxyXkI8sul40jafCt9CihX5CDcGBMNa9cDbpQT0ZsvAvbgwrT4sgsHZ=w323-h517" width="323" /></a></p><p style="text-align: left;">"I mean, it's like <i>Star Wars</i> but with more butt in it."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Are you okay? Are you having a stroke? I wonder if you didn't get enough oxygen as a fetus."</p><p style="text-align: left;">"And who's fault is that?"</p><p style="text-align: left;">We looked at each other. Then, simultaneously:</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Your father." "Dad."</p><p style="text-align: left;">We smiled. Here's to another fifty years!!</p>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-9949173865725013692022-06-24T05:00:00.260-06:002022-06-24T05:00:00.155-06:00Not Wasting Away in Margaritaville<p>I was in Mom's bathroom. The flimsy door wouldn't shut completely. As I peed, an animal kept ramming its face into the door, again and again. I stretched out my leg to keep the door shut.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT5R4m730Mqp6NyPH8tgTvb11F456szOgxaDUXJG7xJUk8V0Lx7aatQDnzXB_-ZEOG3X7fl0leMzeaHW_rTg63TnUVpPMbj-GaqzSkejmsXdu5l_M_kBK-stzXi1VeoeJ2WKvl_fXTM1nEV5EicgpdetDtyiNOd-9kmZte0fgxT2ixjgAEexlMfbcU/s709/0x0.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="709" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT5R4m730Mqp6NyPH8tgTvb11F456szOgxaDUXJG7xJUk8V0Lx7aatQDnzXB_-ZEOG3X7fl0leMzeaHW_rTg63TnUVpPMbj-GaqzSkejmsXdu5l_M_kBK-stzXi1VeoeJ2WKvl_fXTM1nEV5EicgpdetDtyiNOd-9kmZte0fgxT2ixjgAEexlMfbcU/w464-h261/0x0.jpg" width="464" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Someone's in here!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Mom!" I yelled, urinating like a kung fu master. "Get Bailey away from the door!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"What?!" Mom yelled.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I'm trying to go to the bathroom!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Oh! Bailey! Get away from there. Bad!"</div><div><br /></div><div>It was no good. Bailey was the one who knocks--and she crashed in as my pee flailed around the toilet hole. A wild French bulldog attacked me with kisses.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Mom...! Can you shut the door, get her out of here? And can you stop staring?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"I've seen your penis before," Mom said drily.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Arrgh," I said wetly.</div><div><br /></div><div>(Years and years of therapy, more therapy, to follow.)</div><div><br /></div><div>I tucked away my penis seen by my mommy, and together we stepped out for a grand time at the local Wind Crust eatery. Huzzah! Along the way we passed a woman with Garfield on her sweater--someone she voted for, but not for president since he was too whiggish.</div><div><br /></div><div>"It's not so hot today, is it?" Mom chirped.</div><div><br /></div><div>"No, I dasn't hope not too hot, betimes."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Have a nice day."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Ahoy hoy," the lady said. Then she tipped her Make the Continental Congress Great Again cap. "Fare thee e'en swithins, goodwoman."</div><div><br /></div><div>After we were out of earshot (three feet), I asked Mom who her new friend was.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Oh, that's Petula Capurnia Gogglemore. She's a 101. Can you believe that? She looks like she's in her mid-nineties! Bless her heart. I talked to her the other day about the weather and the carpet, and she's just a wonderful lady. A treasure. I told her how wonderful she is."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Maybe you should have dinner with her sometime?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Oh, no, no, not with me. I'm not worthy. But she's a dear."</div><div><br /></div><div>"In fact, maybe you should have dinner tonight with her. Or lunch. Very, <i>very</i> soon."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Not today. Maybe sometime. I don't like to leave Bailey alone for too long."</div><div><br /></div><div>"True. All work and no play makes Bailey a very dull doggie. And a creeper."</div><div><br /></div><div>We sat down at our table. Mom ordered a steak, screwing up her face in cringing disgust.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Medium rare. Please don't cook it too much. More rare. And my son will have a water."</div><div><br /></div><div>I opened my mouth to order--</div><div><br /></div><div>"He'll just have a bread sandwich, like he usually does. Oh, and I'll have a strawberry margarita, also. Yes. I want something fun. Will you have something fun, Greg? Like a coca-cola?"</div><div><br /></div><div>I opened my mouth.</div><div><br /></div><div>"No, I suppose you won't. But I'll have that steak and margarita, please. Not too overcooked."</div><div><br /></div><div>The teenage girl gave Mom a quizzical look. She discussed our order with two other teenagers. Eventually they brought over a meatloaf and peanut butter on a playing card. It came late, and our orders were mixed up.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Didn't you have the dice and sponge, Mom?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"At least I got my margarita." Mom sipped at it experimentally. She rarely drank, and this was a real adventure for her. Voyage to the Bottom of the Drink. "It's very sweet. But I don't taste any alcohol."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Let me try. I'm Force sensitive." I sipped the drink, and it indeed tasted more Mountain Dewy Code Reddish than Mad Dog Sour Mash Grain 120 Proofish. "You're right, Mom. I don't think there's any alcohol in this. Huh."</div><div><br /></div><div>"It's no big deal. It's not the Agamemnon."</div><div><br /></div><div>I looked around the dining room. Was it possible that Wind Crust had a policy of making their alcoholic beverages more... senior appropriate? I got up and went to the bar run by two pre-teens.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Excuse me," I said. "I couldn't help wondering.... ehhhh.... the drink, you made my mom? Hm? Seems like... mmm.... no alcohol in her margarita?"</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLzLulBIJKnAqdjSuCYn1FvjyyPw-8j48o-C7lijGzttZaHvYOjeGR7pVY92_ktI7S4an83bXsiqIgs-PI8X_0ZrrFKAHzsLIXsHSuWbEA76rdMRA_2rLf0iECmNFKTCOnECo-yhDwrqZMiKtCspS-M3IPuUr7WLgBEGdm589OdWpdS1iWpzbl-SER/s300/curb-your-enthusiasm-larry-david2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLzLulBIJKnAqdjSuCYn1FvjyyPw-8j48o-C7lijGzttZaHvYOjeGR7pVY92_ktI7S4an83bXsiqIgs-PI8X_0ZrrFKAHzsLIXsHSuWbEA76rdMRA_2rLf0iECmNFKTCOnECo-yhDwrqZMiKtCspS-M3IPuUr7WLgBEGdm589OdWpdS1iWpzbl-SER/s1600/curb-your-enthusiasm-larry-david2.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"A dog saw my penis."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Excuse me?" said the pimply girl.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"I understand. You don't want the seniors around here to get pixilated, or embibilated... Fall risk. They could sue. So you make a... "air quotes"... a ""margarita."" Got it. Well, let me tell you something, missy, we're on to your little tricks! We're old, and we won't stand for it! I tasted that margarita, and even though I wouldn't know what alcohol is, I dasn't believe that you..."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Just then a Victorian dame came nigh. "Why don't you sit down, you barbermonger," rasped Petula Capurnia Gogglemore.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I gaped at her, feeling that I stared into the abyss of the crypt of the pit of the creature's ghost.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Well?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Good morrow to you, dear lady." I bowed stiffly, and then took my leave.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"You've got piss on your pants, bubby," she said.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I circled back. "My mom likes you. Will you be her friend?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She stared at me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Think about it. By the way, don't order the margaritas. Or do."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I rejoined Mom at our table. She pushed away her margarita. "I just can't drink this much. I think it's making me a bit loopy!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Sure, Mom. Maybe we can get a doggie bag for your drink. Bailey needs booze."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Are you having a stroke?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On our way back, we passed an apartment door that was festively decorated. Mom paused to admire it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"It's wonderful here, isn't it? They have so many nice things in this hall."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Indeed."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBv9dZzeAtGN02tkjTvj1gVpw8tbBUr9VM3SOX97itGuU3HNHIsRdQdmBLaxBVv-DGkUn-oi-sYZz30l888E9hjQUPkZ8jEzjptkOzC1wELXwPud03LBjPOdun6aUSyQ3K_IFdddo3gc68wiCiqLaYY33dSPwVB2YyknoaNQShXB5AOIaZ7naZ60LA/s4000/IMG_20220618_122633558.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBv9dZzeAtGN02tkjTvj1gVpw8tbBUr9VM3SOX97itGuU3HNHIsRdQdmBLaxBVv-DGkUn-oi-sYZz30l888E9hjQUPkZ8jEzjptkOzC1wELXwPud03LBjPOdun6aUSyQ3K_IFdddo3gc68wiCiqLaYY33dSPwVB2YyknoaNQShXB5AOIaZ7naZ60LA/w330-h440/IMG_20220618_122633558.jpg" width="330" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"I have a color printer."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Have a sad, crinkly holiday, everyone! </div><p></p>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-5531132904330274602022-05-20T05:00:00.166-06:002022-05-20T05:00:00.169-06:00Bury Bailey at Wounded Knee<p>Mom didn't want me to leave. Even though I had taken out her trash, walked Bailey, attempted to unfold a chair, and got her a new as-yet-unchewed pair of glasses, Mom wanted me to stay and talk a spell. No matter how irrelevant or ridiculous. </p><p>"Um, Greg, what does Todd think of Roe v. Wade?"</p><p>I stopped at the door. "Ways to cross a river, I guess."</p><p>"Oh," Mom said, with great sadness.</p><p>"Are you okay, Mom?"</p><p>"I'm just tired. I [swallowing yawn] really [<i>ummmrrr gh</i>] mm! I'm... sorry... I'm not sleeping well."</p><p>"Are you still sleeping in your chair? Why not sleep in your bed?"</p><p>"I can't! Bailey is a beast in the bed!"</p><p>"Have you tried telling her you have a headache?"</p><p>"OWWW! Bailey, you... OWWWW! Stop it! She's chewing my toes again. It really hurts!"</p><p>"Maybe if you went into the bedroom with her as she seems to want... Anyway, I'm going to get going."</p><p>"No! Wait, what does Todd think of the Ukraine situation?"</p><p>"He's for it."</p><p>"Don't leave. Wait. Oh, for my funeral, I want you to play James Taylor. Will you promise to do that?"</p><p>"Okay. But I can't promise that I'll be there, then."</p><p>"You're not leaving me, are you?"</p><p>"Just for today, Mom."</p><p>"Will you promise me to do that for my funeral? I mean about James Taylor."</p><p>"I don't know if we'll be able to handle his unique blend of bittersweet folk rock. Maybe if he goes unplugged."</p><p>"Oh, if you could get him to play in person that would be even better."</p><p>"I'll have my people get on it. Anyway--" </p><p>"AHHHGGHH! Bailey, STOP it! Owww. Now she's chewing my knee. Stop it!"</p><p>"Now your knee is wounded." I turn to you. "Get it?" I point up at the blog title. "Mm?"</p><p>"Can't you stay with your old mom for a few more minutes?" Mom said, rubbing her massacred knee. "What does Todd think of Pat?"</p><p>"Todd got a soggy butt riding his bike to work in a snowstorm. That's where he and I differ. The earth comes second to my butt."</p><p>Mom nodded. Then she let forth with a giant yawn. "ARGGmmmm-Errrhggh!" </p><p>"Anyway..."</p><p>"Wait, wait. What does, er, Pat think of Todd? Will you just sit with me for another ten seconds?"</p><p>"Okay." With a sigh I sat down. "Ten..."</p><p>"So." </p><p>Mom smiled. Bailey frowned.</p><p>"Yep."</p><p>"Mm."</p><p>"Okay. Good talk." I slapped my thighs, preparatory to leaving. "Peace ow--"</p><p>"Owww! Bad, Bailey! Stop that!"</p><p>"I'm going, Mom."</p><p>"Wait, wait. Don't go. Didn't you go to the museum recently? How did that go?"</p><p>"I went to the museum, yes. In fact, I have some pictures from my trip. Would you like to see them?"</p><p>The studio audience clapped and cheered and booed. </p><p>We went to the Egyptian thingy, and learned how to walk like an Egyptian. Then I threw out my King Tut, if you know what I mean.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI3V74sJYVYB9xvCWgNvmPj2m4hYQFRoSLOrAdd67XCEzJP2rNz-kLTK3DYvQYX0AUV5IGrlWfuWEQh8z7_xJZ82ujeFEn2HxALa2qgX3-uvCkBC8lsU0JMy5K5B_crLUHZTJQr1w1DfDInuh89IxSS5XrQtu9ekeh87EQR6qkxnmbWSlRI4g7ZykA/s4000/IMG_20220424_102030132.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="415" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI3V74sJYVYB9xvCWgNvmPj2m4hYQFRoSLOrAdd67XCEzJP2rNz-kLTK3DYvQYX0AUV5IGrlWfuWEQh8z7_xJZ82ujeFEn2HxALa2qgX3-uvCkBC8lsU0JMy5K5B_crLUHZTJQr1w1DfDInuh89IxSS5XrQtu9ekeh87EQR6qkxnmbWSlRI4g7ZykA/w311-h415/IMG_20220424_102030132.jpg" width="311" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"The original Cribs, when you think about it."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Back in October 1888, I was a security guard at the museum. There was a Colossus of Ramses II and I told people not to touch me. Or it. It was a very rewarding job.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYijUrwIRS4mC4sfjc0u6u6v_vSYZ0m7HvOeLKuuHVE7J-tsuRXYO7ZSmEvriuBF_v1oXQ8hehehdoB2zA88KBrzRaGQfN-2T4P2j0UQswYhQcc5tlKPAMhRGJcPgACSHD9BDKM9x8VkGAc0ZZbuvW6kfVZOSaYLO73dkp-70_gpJvL8BlFoTBPVcU/s4000/IMG_20220424_113639231_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYijUrwIRS4mC4sfjc0u6u6v_vSYZ0m7HvOeLKuuHVE7J-tsuRXYO7ZSmEvriuBF_v1oXQ8hehehdoB2zA88KBrzRaGQfN-2T4P2j0UQswYhQcc5tlKPAMhRGJcPgACSHD9BDKM9x8VkGAc0ZZbuvW6kfVZOSaYLO73dkp-70_gpJvL8BlFoTBPVcU/w404-h303/IMG_20220424_113639231_HDR.jpg" width="404" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"And here we have an exhibit of a stuffed dork in a security uniform </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">staring into the middle distance and making six dollars an hour."</div><div><br /></div><div>Then we toured other exhibits. Here's a dinosaur trying to leave his mother.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhSnkkoED0To7dtq9urYSqUHggLnuJtn2cNHUve57_-kZGgttSxmMhd2HrWzjSHFXJF2GAR56V0P4XcPYWJSmM7MYps8R52y6OTeoMqi6qvFtV1WLZxx9NtrgT0GiBKqNsmdYhIeqPbfZNA-EliUy5DFtuaqSF9rnBwyz-uVK9i00VcrJ3-Jbo5Tj7/s4000/IMG_20220424_100656417.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhSnkkoED0To7dtq9urYSqUHggLnuJtn2cNHUve57_-kZGgttSxmMhd2HrWzjSHFXJF2GAR56V0P4XcPYWJSmM7MYps8R52y6OTeoMqi6qvFtV1WLZxx9NtrgT0GiBKqNsmdYhIeqPbfZNA-EliUy5DFtuaqSF9rnBwyz-uVK9i00VcrJ3-Jbo5Tj7/s320/IMG_20220424_100656417.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Thank God James Taylor won't be born for another sixty million years!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here we have an adorable child ruining a work of art. DOWN IN FRONT</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi985zfOwV53y9LunzI3NpvkPkkiZBDJDpt_YUwuelys-yEVuZT8TP_kJ8dguGel8eGT-ccefXASOuj5QCBIYFvSB2vr5tmk6Lm6UeqxZ33WUUFuhuLQFwDj8xjkXE-VVkAiUhUKe0d5H5mhID0nLjPa8Vk_ZNdLkiZfvLMeeg3IUzjhVheBhb8KWqo/s4000/IMG_20220424_102622312.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi985zfOwV53y9LunzI3NpvkPkkiZBDJDpt_YUwuelys-yEVuZT8TP_kJ8dguGel8eGT-ccefXASOuj5QCBIYFvSB2vr5tmk6Lm6UeqxZ33WUUFuhuLQFwDj8xjkXE-VVkAiUhUKe0d5H5mhID0nLjPa8Vk_ZNdLkiZfvLMeeg3IUzjhVheBhb8KWqo/w321-h427/IMG_20220424_102622312.jpg" width="321" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Can't Cartouche This"--By MC Nefertiti.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then we got some nature, but without all that nature in it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNCTz8xLz-ShZ-ur93tPfKM1IxvwGndtaKuvrsqrbO1v5ChmWRAshoDtu4JXDIFh5kgFyqfwi6nMpzfTITBDpbeBwIMZlfpP4RH9uXpemd6uEx_KNNAlt2vk8GOoYqyp4mdeVxJZ6-kfy6wcLJ0Frdp_uZzkZYUUut0y7ALey1kSGZqdym_q3TaFhz/s4000/IMG_20220424_105442315.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNCTz8xLz-ShZ-ur93tPfKM1IxvwGndtaKuvrsqrbO1v5ChmWRAshoDtu4JXDIFh5kgFyqfwi6nMpzfTITBDpbeBwIMZlfpP4RH9uXpemd6uEx_KNNAlt2vk8GOoYqyp4mdeVxJZ6-kfy6wcLJ0Frdp_uZzkZYUUut0y7ALey1kSGZqdym_q3TaFhz/w433-h325/IMG_20220424_105442315.jpg" width="433" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"They found me already dead. Yes. That's what we'll go with..."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Mom was gently sleeping with Baily gently chewing on her glasses. All was well. I let myself out and then buried myself. Mm? Mm? </div>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-56936744882248222802022-04-15T05:00:00.167-06:002022-04-15T05:00:00.229-06:00Panicdemic<p>"Don't let Bailey out! Don't! Oh, no! Oh, no! Don't let her go!" Mom explained. "I'm anxious about her leaving me! DON'T!"</p><p>"Bailey is looking at a bug on the screen, Mom," I said, wonderfully dry.</p><p>"Just don't let her get out. There's a leash law. My mean neighbors will call the police on me if she gets out."</p><p>"Speaking of neighbors, have you made any friends yet? You've been at Wind Crust for almost a year now."</p><p>"I say hi to people in the hall. I'm friendly."</p><p>"Those are passersby, Mom. If that qualifies as friends, then I have several hundred thousand friends. But they don't call, they don't write..."</p><p>"Bring me Bailey. I want to vacuum her face."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"I want to get the Cheeto out of her folds. Hold her."</p><p>"If I had a milk bone for every time a lady said that to me, I'd have no milk bones."</p><p>Mom revved the engine on the handheld vacuum. I picked up Bailey; she squirmed around in my arms.</p><p>"Settle down, buddy," I said. "You're just going to get sucked, hard."</p><p>The vacuum suddenly died. Mom looked at it.</p><p>"It doesn't work! Now what?"</p><p>"Here's the instruction manual. The troubleshooting guide might help [true facts]:</p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>The use of this vacuum cleaner can not be inhaled, such as the burning of the cigarette.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Strict in the sun under the sun, the use of the need to place in the light</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>When the vacuum cleaner does not work, please check to see if there is enough electricity </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">("I guess we need to check the amp voltage. Do you have a voltage meter, Mom?"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">"What?")</span></p><p><b style="font-family: georgia;">This product if dry and wet dual-purpose, when water absorption, please pay attention to timely open the front cover drainage</b></p><p>"Okay. First, let me put out my the cigarette. Now open the front cover in a timely manner. Let the drainage begin!"</p><p>"Oh! I got it working. Just hold her. I need to get the butter out of her nose."</p><p>"Boogers, Mom. They're called boogers."</p><p>"Bailey, no...! She just got my glasses! Get her, Greg! Oh, don't let her get out!"</p><p>Bailey merrily ran off with Mom's glasses clamped in her slavering jaws. I chased Bailey around the apartment to Benny Hill and finally tackled her, hard. Bailey whimpered as I ripped the glasses from her. The frames were moist and the lenses were broken in fragments.</p><p>"I think Bailey ate some of your glasses, Mom. Ha ha."</p><p>"Oh, no! Get her, get the glass out of her mouth!"</p><p>"You want I should give the puppy the Heimlich?"</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBh0wLLHcDX5A_je6i0vmqHcEnHxf2QF4VhkXOnsLOd0C_xMKb1VYl5dcZ5iV574eh8p8atxJFDFERDrxctUo65W_JP-jt3cpXwn7L4FN1G3U2i-1ZlVgrPQdx6I3vBaNNile6yliGavcaPcj4ygLiD3BFU9DCFYhd5AaaejnTdOR7oW0xgfGVMrfj=s1856" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1856" data-original-width="965" height="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBh0wLLHcDX5A_je6i0vmqHcEnHxf2QF4VhkXOnsLOd0C_xMKb1VYl5dcZ5iV574eh8p8atxJFDFERDrxctUo65W_JP-jt3cpXwn7L4FN1G3U2i-1ZlVgrPQdx6I3vBaNNile6yliGavcaPcj4ygLiD3BFU9DCFYhd5AaaejnTdOR7oW0xgfGVMrfj=w311-h600" width="311" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"I'll have your lenses barfed up in about an hour."</div><div><br /></div><div>"This isn't funny, Greg! Did you check if her mouth is clean?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"No. Maybe take the <b><span style="font-family: georgia;">vacuum cleaner</span> </b>to her back molars?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"What is wrong with you? I won't vacuum my dog's mouth!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Probably my cognitive decline talking. You know, the other day I couldn't find my slippers. I looked everywhere, tore up my whole apartment, and then I realized they were on my head the whole time ha ha!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Is she going to be okay? I'm so worried! I'm in a panic! I'm hysterical!"</div><div><br /></div><div>I pulled out something from Bailey's growling savory jaws. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Oh! Is that my toe? I've been looking everywhere for it."</div><div><br /></div><div>"You should have checked to see if it was on your head this whole time."</div><div><br /></div><div>"You can leave now."</div><div><br /></div><div>A box stood outside the door. I brought it in, getting it open. It was a giant thing of cookie dough. Mom looked perplexed.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Why did I order cookie dough?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Did you order it because you were sad?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Oh, this dishwasher isn't working. You don't think you could fix it for me? The rubber is off on it. It needs to be glued back on with Gorilla glue."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Always practice safe dishwashing, Mom. And, no, I will not put a rubber on the dishwasher. Maybe you should apologize to the dryer for what's going on around here."</div><div><br /></div><div>"You can leave now."</div><div><br /></div><div>Bailey seconded the motion, growling satanically.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Okay, okay. I'm out of gambols and jests anyway. War."</div><div><br /></div><div>But am I? Tune in next week/month, dear reader, and find out. (Spoiler: I am.)</div>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-27151197155261741372022-03-04T05:00:00.193-07:002022-03-21T17:15:13.839-06:00What I Look Like Now Will Make Your Jaw Explode Out of Your Head and Make You Run to the Doctor Then the Dentist Too, Probably<p>I dropped the massive heap of mail on Mom's lap.</p><p>"There you go, Mom. All your mail, for today."</p><p>"Thank you."</p><p>Envelopes spilled from her lap to the floor where Bailey jumped and tore at them.</p><p>"Bailey! No! Stop that. Oh, now she's chewing my toes. Greg, have her stop."</p><p>"Bailey," I said. "Bad."</p><p>"She's still doing it! Aiigggh!"</p><p>"Put on your shoes, then."</p><p>"I can't. My feet are swollen. Here, will you help me with all this? Why do I get so much mail? Oh, most of this is junk. This I need to keep, though. It's my cable bill."</p><p>"Sweet, sweet cable."</p><p>"And I'll need to pay my taxes. I'll have to pay so much this year!"</p><p>"Mom, here's a crazy idea, why not don't pay? What are they going to do to you?"</p><p>"I can't. I have to be a good girl. Bailey, stop that!"</p><p>"Right." I rubbed at my manly biceps, somewhat sore from carrying the many QVC boxes and USPS crates to Mom's apartment. "Pat wants me to join his gym. Or the gym he's thinking of joining. He showed me all these pictures of the guy who runs it..."</p><p>"I don't care."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh3av8T4JJU4oF0DMZc-hFdBm3S09HL7F7O7yGxa1ZCB8L_jRZcIXfLXNRyWSM2jQWBxjHT_bjXDlmeYugfvcQYP82HOXSWA_0CAUtdtWn2Cr8bpeqT7wzniGdsalm_BcQte2zbxSrjtAfS6oWpOh_XpM_s6q55SSDa7vtCwIGgbdu5G97nX-A5bPaQ=s769" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="526" height="511" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh3av8T4JJU4oF0DMZc-hFdBm3S09HL7F7O7yGxa1ZCB8L_jRZcIXfLXNRyWSM2jQWBxjHT_bjXDlmeYugfvcQYP82HOXSWA_0CAUtdtWn2Cr8bpeqT7wzniGdsalm_BcQte2zbxSrjtAfS6oWpOh_XpM_s6q55SSDa7vtCwIGgbdu5G97nX-A5bPaQ=w351-h511" width="351" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Can't I just pay for the blasted liposuction?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Pat isn't sure he wants to join, though. He says you can see the guy's porkpie in some of the pictures, and that he has definite chub in one of them."</div><div><br /></div><div>Mom scowled and took up her phone. "That reminds me. I'm going to order porkpie for dinner tonight. Bailey! Don't do that! It hurts when you... Oh, look at that, I lost a toenail. Oh well."</div><div><br /></div><div>"It's funny in a way," I mused, "since you have a young thing nibbling on your toes and Dad also has a young thing nibbling on his own toes. Maybe you two could swap? Dad can have Bailey go at his toes and Jeni chew yours? Maybe we can give them a call to set something up?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Please stop talking."</div><div><br /></div><div>"But there's more Pat, as the fans demand: he wants to lose his pandemic weight and bulk up. It turns out he was too weak to catch his awful father while he fell in the parking lot dying. Working on your core definitely helps in catching dying parents. I think it's in the gym brochure. By the way, did you get the invite to Pat's dad's funeral? About five thousand are coming, according to Pat."</div><div><br /></div><div>"What? Oh--! Bailey! Stop that! Ohh, this dog. There went my pinky toe. Greg, will you get that out of her mouth?"</div><div><br /></div><div>I chased the fat dog around, finally getting Mom's bloody toe out of the dog's growling mouth.</div><div><br /></div><div>"You know, Mom, you might want to put Bailey in her crate once in a while." I handed Mom her toe. "She needs discipline. And not the sexy kind."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Thank you," Mom said, fitting her toe back on. "I'm not putting her in the crate."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Why not? It's not that bad. Why did you get it, then?"</div><div><br /></div><div>The crate was more bouncy castle than Alcatraz, with plush toys and pillows and doggie spa treatment around the clock.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I'm not putting her in that. And that's final. Don't get on my nerves about-- Owwwtch! Bailey!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Bailey had Mom's foot and scampered off with tendons hanging from her jaw, the li'l cutie. I wrestled with the puppy like Beowulf with the Cookie Monster, if my mythology serves me, and wrested the gore-smeared Mom foot from the dog's slavering maw mouth.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Okay," I said, handing Mom her foot. "It looks like we're out of time for today."</div><div><br /></div><div>"At least she hasn't been eating the Tide pods. She got into one the other day."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Why can't Bailey just do meth like the other puppies?"</div><div><br /></div><div>Just then Chris came in with the rest of the mail. He also had some empty boxes that he thought would make Mom happy. He set everything down and greeted Bailey.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiuDk_sb0HRUQ5nzOraAuuxp_W0plpqi0MfjchPAFSlYn6_q-4mkcVfLvd5gyBE8VgxmBrclUCuW2aysrgqKlipJksoRZGvo8yMW0HeNZlfJj4W32JD64dX0ig1JuHU7Ij8ArRL0mdHyWVsj58w-rnic-3DzmsrynJSNH6pgSuHsHMfaZPjVW-G88qJ=s4000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiuDk_sb0HRUQ5nzOraAuuxp_W0plpqi0MfjchPAFSlYn6_q-4mkcVfLvd5gyBE8VgxmBrclUCuW2aysrgqKlipJksoRZGvo8yMW0HeNZlfJj4W32JD64dX0ig1JuHU7Ij8ArRL0mdHyWVsj58w-rnic-3DzmsrynJSNH6pgSuHsHMfaZPjVW-G88qJ=w291-h388" width="291" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Nooo! Don't let her near your tasty face!"</div><div><br /></div>Narrowly averting having his kiss bitten off, Chris fled the apartment.<div><br /></div><div>"Good talk!" I called after him.<br /><div><br /></div><div>"Oh, no, there she goes," Mom said, still sorting through her mail. "Bailey," Mom called weakly. "Bailey, honey, get away from that... ohh, she's so awful..."</div><div><br /></div><div>"At least she's not eating you, Mom."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Bailey! No! Get away from there!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Like a lioness by a waterhole waiting for a wildebeest, Bailey crouched near the kitty litter box. There she waited for a tender vittle to fall from the cat. In a flash she pounced and caught the cat-litter-sprinkled turd in her mouth and consumed it with a happy grin.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Chris, wait up!" I said, fleeing. "I have a lot of barfing to do!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Don't leave me!" Mom said from under her mountains of mail. "Ohh, here's my <i>Good Housekeeping </i>magazine, how ironic is that? Wait--! Oh! Bailey--! Stop it! Heeellp!"</div><div><br /></div><div>You know what they say: Happiness is a warm puppy that has red eyes and snorts black smoke and eats you ha ha.</div></div>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-30256304438332441942022-01-28T05:00:00.195-07:002022-01-28T05:00:00.171-07:00Reap the Wind Crest<p>Mom had sent me to fetch her mail. Along the way I stopped in the Gaming Room. I was immediately confronted with a hero.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgeXh7VbRFWeZzvgxYHEp3eDrIhEhPJryjlyfwfr02QU3WBhD-ZuKKC9ilho1rhYW8usHWMdITcvy7_E8c0oN3OiT2GKothb6arR8-_Nn2qxUANExJpNcwvzv0ujOdV7hq1ewfsmupas9u3csN5c0gzd8HkXnPsn_tBX3zQa6NrFou47xSrUWZGNCqF=s4000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="403" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgeXh7VbRFWeZzvgxYHEp3eDrIhEhPJryjlyfwfr02QU3WBhD-ZuKKC9ilho1rhYW8usHWMdITcvy7_E8c0oN3OiT2GKothb6arR8-_Nn2qxUANExJpNcwvzv0ujOdV7hq1ewfsmupas9u3csN5c0gzd8HkXnPsn_tBX3zQa6NrFou47xSrUWZGNCqF=w302-h403" width="302" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Wait. Not THE Max Landon???"<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I mean, Founder of Saturday Morning PUTT-PUTT. In this very building? And it's not your run-of-the-mill windmill PUTT-PUTT, either. It has to be shouted, as you play. I'm PUTTING, you bawl. BACK AWAY. Also, you really take a fly at those fuckers with your driver. Because the balls on those par .05's are not going to roll to the hole on their own... unless there's a clown mouth with a chute thingy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I wandered about the sacred, deserted space, shooting like Annie Leibovitz on a bender with Mick Jagger and Andy Warhol and Max Landon.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqD8AQtEwaTnI7vTKM7hkky7qXLt7jaW3aGFqoHK1_bAdIOIe8qapAa0XbvJy2bf6yAYvicwxWWUuOhpVghvCvQBbUv3QKrRtu3-cLi45okNa29qSJvCg3wCzBDjZ3sWWy2koauMqIKj3oB2Tk6BT1vus7FEqpqmbmF3r9a9x5Bt_2vLzd2HqIhbBw=s4000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqD8AQtEwaTnI7vTKM7hkky7qXLt7jaW3aGFqoHK1_bAdIOIe8qapAa0XbvJy2bf6yAYvicwxWWUuOhpVghvCvQBbUv3QKrRtu3-cLi45okNa29qSJvCg3wCzBDjZ3sWWy2koauMqIKj3oB2Tk6BT1vus7FEqpqmbmF3r9a9x5Bt_2vLzd2HqIhbBw=w312-h416" width="312" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Sweeeet. They've got card tables. And everything."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I whirled about. And this thing! On the wall!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifv9HAUZSGVG1m2mZOtYUWzxDxMJsO8NevWGA6QfVpsa5iJGHU0eLDfO4BCdOIM7NMrAKvynCBHfVdGJpb2vAUQFeBQVY_naO-tu3ukGQv7G9xYMizIr-NylthP7LkCElw2HYxyfvzdtmXh-Rzm2L56Xl5gbj1mML_36lgHtd79daRiWXVpfSJvSd9=s4000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifv9HAUZSGVG1m2mZOtYUWzxDxMJsO8NevWGA6QfVpsa5iJGHU0eLDfO4BCdOIM7NMrAKvynCBHfVdGJpb2vAUQFeBQVY_naO-tu3ukGQv7G9xYMizIr-NylthP7LkCElw2HYxyfvzdtmXh-Rzm2L56Xl5gbj1mML_36lgHtd79daRiWXVpfSJvSd9=w314-h418" width="314" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A picture of billiard balls, </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">so you won't get confused and bowl.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was coming in for a few more snapshots of Mr. Landon (Michael's grandfather?) when I heard a rustle as dry as paper. Egyptian paper. The kind for wrapping mummies.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Excuse me, young man. May I ask what you are doing?"</div><div><br /></div><div>Two elderly ladies looked at me. I lowered my phone. "Young man? Oh, you're talking to me?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Yes."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Oh, I'm just making fun of stuff around here. You know, how lame it all is. Ha ha."</div><div><br /></div><div>"I don't see anything funny about Max. He was a lovely man."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Were you his lover?"</div><div><br /></div><div>The woman gasped and clutched at her onyx pearl lorgnette. I gave the lady a slap on the rump on my way out.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Nice talkin' to you, toots."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Fourflusher!"</div><div><br /></div><div>I buzzed around the olds on their scooters and got to the mail boxes. There I scooped out heaps and heaps of mail for Mom, barely able to carry it all.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Oh, no," Mom said, with faux dismay. "I have so much!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Yes. You do. Too much. It makes me wonder if you're running an envelope business out of the Caymans."</div><div><br /></div><div>Mom and I were at the Flyin' B Cafe, a place with a big radio controlled plane soaring maj... mani... uh, soaring over the cafeteria. A man at the next table was dying.</div><div><br /></div><div>"You think he'll be okay?" Mom said.</div><div><br /></div><div>"He's dead, Mom."</div><div><br /></div><div>"I'm not dead yet," the superseptoctnonacentenarian said. "Wait. There it is."</div><div><br /></div><div>Wind Crest personnel hustled the dead body away so we could concentrate on our fruit cups. Mom shook her head, sorting her mail into many piles. She had a system, she insisted.</div><div><br /></div><div>"In this pile are my bills. In this one are my charities. In this one are my fruit cup. Nurse? Can you clean up my fruit?"</div><div><br /></div><div>A woman in her early 120's came by, wearing a mask and face shield. </div><div><br /></div><div>"You gotta wonder about people that old caring about covid at this point. But I suppose you like living no matter what century you're in."</div><div><br /></div><div>"They have a memorial service every month here," Mom said. She made a face. "A bit creepy, if you ask me."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Just chuck the bodies out the back instead?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"What?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Hey, is that..." I stared off in the distance. "Is that Max Landon?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Who?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Mom, don't you know anything about where you live? That man over there looks just like the man who founded the PUTT-PUTT league. You know, PUTT-PUTT."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Shhh. People are dying."</div><div><br /></div><div>The man, robust, with an agile gait and confident grip of his cane as if a PUTTer, came by our table.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Excuse me, sir," I said. "Are you Max Landon? And would you like to meet my mom? She's a bit lonely, and she needs a man who has a good stroke, if you catch my meaning about intercourse."</div><div><br /></div><div>The man looked us both over. "My name is Horatio," he said with comic enunciation. "I am not Max Landon. And that woman has her dog eating from her fruit cup. Good day to you, sir."</div><div><br /></div><div>With dignity, the man went on before collapsing. Wind Crest personnel hustled his dead body away. He was 47. 'Tis my distinct displeasure to inform you.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Well, you screwed the pooch, Mom. That was your big chance."</div><div><br /></div><div>Mom clutched at Bailey. "I would never screw my pooch!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Precisely, Mom," I said. "Precisely."</div>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-27350944489357933882021-12-31T05:00:00.204-07:002021-12-31T05:00:00.170-07:00Merry Cringemas!<p>At Wind Crest, they be keepin' it real. You feel me?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj4lobcWyDIwhugFTH7HRV8UsBBwQinv5Vf8wQ9H5Fuh5CfRt7jfYjXNYc2MXkKCw4CIR7xWn3H7MFRAUEukXBjzVoDQedfl9DTykL731HRr5hoVy6i6D7oZQtZ5U_4bXJDSbVFy-jCdzvWIrm1lOVDdGvvVuz0btucUefk_SkNkLDZGMZHohE9VA7q=s4000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="518" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj4lobcWyDIwhugFTH7HRV8UsBBwQinv5Vf8wQ9H5Fuh5CfRt7jfYjXNYc2MXkKCw4CIR7xWn3H7MFRAUEukXBjzVoDQedfl9DTykL731HRr5hoVy6i6D7oZQtZ5U_4bXJDSbVFy-jCdzvWIrm1lOVDdGvvVuz0btucUefk_SkNkLDZGMZHohE9VA7q=w388-h518" width="388" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Nothing to see here, folks. Just a pair of snowmies</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">taking the gingerbread man of color in for questioning ha ha."</div><div><br /></div><div>I assume that when Valentine's Day comes along some bored lady in a hairnet will staple a Cupid over the snowmies. Something to look forward to, I guess.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mom no longer needs to look forward to anything, except piss. And shit. Here she is with her gingerbread puppy, Bailey. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgmZJTlb49RPZilNN9wsq2KHzVQDYiSfb4qOQS47klB0vpVAJH8I7jNHQjUYASowsVROGO16cFlTCYYucD4aijjSzxyIhALNp0ZhGbl8h823VXMMYu__uM4kjdyQY84L89ejpEXj_V8Vjhlf4_gZcJHQQRWlpRbI3XB9kf8cEypREA65U5PbMUqc4V7=s4000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgmZJTlb49RPZilNN9wsq2KHzVQDYiSfb4qOQS47klB0vpVAJH8I7jNHQjUYASowsVROGO16cFlTCYYucD4aijjSzxyIhALNp0ZhGbl8h823VXMMYu__uM4kjdyQY84L89ejpEXj_V8Vjhlf4_gZcJHQQRWlpRbI3XB9kf8cEypREA65U5PbMUqc4V7=w480-h360" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"Please don't put me in your blog. But make fun of the lady, go ahead."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Are you happy now, Mom?"</div><div><br /></div><div>Mom nodded. "Yes. Of course, I know she's not a pandora for everything, but..." Mom sighed.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Let's not rush to open Panacea's Box, Mom. Aww, Come here, Bailey." I picked up the puppy. "Hey, buddy!"</div><div><p>"Stop that!" Mom cried.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"She's not a <i>buddy</i>. Don't call her <i>buddy</i>!"</p><p>"Right. Sorry to misgender your dog, Mom. I'll keep the microaggressions focused on you. Speaking of which, I saw Dad at Piatti's the other day. It's closing in a few weeks. They were very busy, and once we finished our last mediocre bites of pasta, the server came over and asked if Dad could please leave? They had other tips... er, guests to serve. Dad was properly flummoxed. He harrumphed and screwed in his monocle. What is the meaning of this? Ex-traordinary! I never! But I had some pudding for dessert all the same, just to draw it out and really stick it to the working man."</p><p>"You had pudding with your father?" Mom said. "You never have dessert when you eat out with me."</p><p>"That's because I love Dad lots. You? Not so much. And I love pudding. Speaking of which, let's go get some holiday grub."</p><p>We went to the dining area where we met Chris and Toots. As we sat down to eat some very soft food, a lady with a walker dressed like a flapper gone to ruin came to our table. She had just heavily sanitized her hands, rubbing them over and over. She reeked of sanitizer. She shared a few unsolicited pleasantries with the table, and then rolled away.</p><p>"I didn't think we'd get a visit from Sanitizer Claus," I said. "I guess she was checking on who's been naughty and vaxxed." I looked around the table. Even the crickets were too old to chirr. Or saw. Or whatever they do. "Mm? Mm? Nothing?"</p><p>An ambulance wailed. EMTs burst into the dining hall and spirited away some poor fella who had collapsed in his minestrone.</p><p>Mom shook her head. "Happens every day," she said. "Someone down the hall from me died just the other day. Sort of creepy."</p><p>Chris laughed loudly.</p><p>"SHHH!" Mom said fiercely. "People are dying. Shh!"</p><p>"Right," I said. "No one likes a noisy death."</p><p>We repaired to Mom's apartment for the main portion of the festivities. I received a beautiful garment I will cherish for a lifetime. Or for a few minutes, whichever comes first.</p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjdG3Q1OkjvbpkPwZCygi6Xy0sEzKYCebtZVURMqqBiV_Ayl0MPdUtJboWarVpwYQgv1a9B6MDTNVTJXZHNWcwfDutD8M00FJs51F2XZ--oTLBmmbGMHcaU--w4Q5lKytIMifKR4dK9uWCGHYG_8bc3xHKBHqsvN1b20kvD5D2Dtgt5YZkp-aZq0XJS=s4000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjdG3Q1OkjvbpkPwZCygi6Xy0sEzKYCebtZVURMqqBiV_Ayl0MPdUtJboWarVpwYQgv1a9B6MDTNVTJXZHNWcwfDutD8M00FJs51F2XZ--oTLBmmbGMHcaU--w4Q5lKytIMifKR4dK9uWCGHYG_8bc3xHKBHqsvN1b20kvD5D2Dtgt5YZkp-aZq0XJS=w357-h476" width="357" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Ladies? You know what they say about a big red nose. Because I don't."</div><div><br /></div><div>Our jolly Christmas kicked into high gear as Bailey got some nose butter from Santa, which made his nose smell delicious. Then it was Chris's turn. He opened his gift and held up pajamas that seemed a little big for him. Actually, they seemed more suited for Tacko Fall. As he held them up, the pant legs rolled across the floor and into the next room.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Mom, there's no way these will fit me," Chris said. "Did you keep the receipt, at least?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"No. But they'll fit you fine. Just wash them and they'll shrink."</div><div><br /></div><div>"I'd have to wash them in a black hole," Chris said. "No, I can't wear these. Why would you get me pajamas this big?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Maybe you can grow into them?" I said. "You're still growing, aren't you?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"I really wish you wouldn't do this, Mom. It's a waste. And now I can't return them."</div><div><br /></div><div>"They're fine," Mom said, applying nose butter to Bailey. The puppy squirmed so much that the nose butter got everywhere except the li'l buddy's nose. "Stop complaining."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Yes," Toots said. "Just take the gift, Dad, and say thanks. Let's move on."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Fine," Chris said. He took up his next gift. Opening the box, he held up a sweater that seemed a reasonable size. He folded it quietly, placed it by his chair, patted it once, and said: "Thanks."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Wow, that was Sofia Coppola-level acting," I said. "Bravo."</div><div><br /></div><div>We all laughed with rich hilarity, except for Mom and Bailey.</div><div><br /></div><div>"SHH!" she said. "SHH! Do you hear the ambulance? People are trying to die."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Right, right, sorry."</div><div><br /></div><div>I took the nose butter from Mom, and applied it to the nose on my sweater. It was our best Christmas ever. Now, let's never talk about it ever again.</div><div><br /></div><div>HAPPY NEW YEAR, READER!! MAY THE NEW YEAR BRING US EVERYTHING WE WANT AND WITH EXTRA NOSE BUTTER!!!</div>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-52566974207703871992021-11-26T05:00:00.187-07:002021-11-26T05:00:00.171-07:00My Three Very Boring Sons<p>It's my blubday, and I've decided to give myself the most precious gift of all: writing another goddamn blog post. Yippee.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o2LOCbfHbgc/YZ8Xp6RY0hI/AAAAAAAALsw/BdwVYnl19ykpf4LpzG2GydziDqq4Tz9MACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_20211124_091642179.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="376" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o2LOCbfHbgc/YZ8Xp6RY0hI/AAAAAAAALsw/BdwVYnl19ykpf4LpzG2GydziDqq4Tz9MACLcBGAsYHQ/w282-h376/IMG_20211124_091642179.jpg" width="282" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Take it all in, ladies."</div><p>Since the world needs laughter, I went to visit Mom at Wind Crest.</p><p>"You're not blogging about me, are you?" Mom said when I walked in.</p><p>"Er... Oh, look! Robot doggie! How is Freckles??"</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2JYRQzrKsMw/YZ3LwmwDhqI/AAAAAAAALrc/z6UKopo5HIMa051e-KMvS8J2QVBPtn3xwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_20211004_182457510.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2JYRQzrKsMw/YZ3LwmwDhqI/AAAAAAAALrc/z6UKopo5HIMa051e-KMvS8J2QVBPtn3xwCLcBGAsYHQ/w288-h384/IMG_20211004_182457510.jpg" width="288" /></a></div><p>"He just peed on the rug."</p><p>"Mom, I think that was you." I rolled up a newspaper and hit Mom over the snout with it. "When did you get a snout?"</p><p>Freckles whimpered. I went over and gave him a hard beating. "No! Bad! Bad robot! Sara Conner does not live here! And don't make me live in your simulation!"</p><p>"Are you having a stroke?" Mom said, rubbing at her tender snout.</p><p>"Probably. Let's go eat."</p><p>"Wait. Let me give you a trim. Just a little trim. It will just take a few minutes. You're getting shaggy. I can trim you up in just a few minutes."</p><p>"The expediency of the trim is not really the issue, Mom. Besides, I'm going for a Leif Garrett look. With pigtails. Come on. Let's get some soft food."</p><p>We got a table at the elegant bistro of Wind Crest, surrounded by those reminiscing about the big bang (the good kind, not the show). The server came over.</p><p>"I'll have an iced tea and water," Mom said. "And he'll just have water. Yes, I am ashamed of my son."</p><p>"Very good, madam."</p><p>"Oh, don't do that," Mom said. "You look like Trump. Stop that."</p><p>I had been sitting with my arms crossed, not realizing I was become history's greatest monster.</p><p>Mark joined us, somewhat confused and wondering why it's taken this long to show up in my blog.</p><p>"I'm just going to have water," he said.</p><p>"Oh, no," Mom said.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Don't you want a beer?"</p><p>"They have beer here? Ice cold beer here?"</p><p>"Yes. Have a beer. Come on. Be fun. Don't be a bore like Greg."</p><p>"I really don't..."</p><p>"Waiter? Yes, my son has decided he wants a beer. He's one of my three sons. We're finally going to have some fun around here!"</p><p>I started to talk about having attended a brutal concert, with Todd triple-masking it to the max. He had sneered at some fellows in leather jackets who were enjoying a beer (Mom nodded), PBR to be exact, and he made the point that here you were at a concert, being counter-cultural, and then you spoil it all by drinking something so not counter-culture. Mom was confused by the story. Wasn't the beer a sign of radical enjoyment and thus part of the coming revolution?</p><p>"Not PBR, Mom. It's for trash. And trash people."</p><p>"Do you want some of my steak? Do you want some of my potatoes?"</p><p>"No, Mom."</p><p>"Just have a bite. I can't eat all of this. Have some of my water. Here." Pours water into my glass. "And have a bite of my steak. I can't eat all of this."</p><p>"Sigh."</p><p>"Can someone please eat some of my food? Please? Greg, do you need more water?"</p><p>Feeling that I was losing my audience, I brought up Pat. Pat had told me he used to point a laser at the private detective hired by his father to sit outside his house in his car. Finally, he annoyed the guy so much that the man was forced to drive away. Now, let's gather together and understand this as best we can: Pat, alone in his house, parts the curtains, notices a suspicious character out in the street, does what any normal person would do and points a laser on said person, pointing and pointing until the stranger drives away. The story thus proved that Pat was a hero, overcoming his father's evil machinations with the power of laser. But, come on. Not ALL fathers are bad, like Pat's, or Todd's, or ours ha ha.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GswXOfFDkHk/YZ0o4n8AwMI/AAAAAAAALrU/p4RW5Ff74LgkcREwqFjO7A8p3fri3ymFACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/45fc5a6386515d8eee19513c135c5e45.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="256" height="348" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GswXOfFDkHk/YZ0o4n8AwMI/AAAAAAAALrU/p4RW5Ff74LgkcREwqFjO7A8p3fri3ymFACLcBGAsYHQ/w278-h348/45fc5a6386515d8eee19513c135c5e45.jpg" width="278" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Goddamnit who peed on the rug over here? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">CHIP!?!? GODDAMN YOU"</div><div><br /></div><div>Speaking of erotic pipe-smokers, Dad has been awarded an honorary degree in humanities at CU, apparently after the regents had read sentences like, "The haunting music of the six-holed Anasazi flute put them all in touch with themselves" and "Seeing her tight-waisted figure prodded the boning experience in him." Or wait, how about: "Lorcan wanted to get involved with cannabis. He wished he had a girl to pound. If only THE MAN would let him..."</div><div><br /></div><div>Hey, where did everyone go?</div><div><br /></div><div>With a shrug, I took up Mark's beer. It wasn't that bad. A bit too hoppy. Finally, on my blubday I have started to enjoy the smoky smoothness of alcohol!</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, to return to pointing a laser at that guy who keeps coming around with packages...</div>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-24352506050655587902021-10-29T05:00:00.265-06:002021-10-29T05:00:00.182-06:00The Last Jackass On Earth<p>I looked at the package. "Bowel Prep." There was something about the name that didn't sit right with me. Couldn't they have come up with a more snappy name, like:</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">COLON SPA--GIVE YOUR MUD A MUD BATH!</p><p style="text-align: center;">BOWEL OWL--LET THE BOWEL OWL BURROW YOUR BOWELS!</p><p style="text-align: center;">TAKE THE SKINHEADS BOWELING: ANYONE REMEMBER CAMPER VAN BEETHOVEN?</p><p style="text-align: center;">BOWEL SELTZER, NOW IN CHOCOLATE</p><p><br /></p><p>Mom didn't like it. "Maybe get it next year," she said, fretfully. "I don't like this, Greg. Do you really have to get this done?"</p><p>"Yes, Mom. Didn't you hear all the fun names?"</p><p>As I waited for my ass to explode, I told her about my trip to Montrose. I had done something new, renting a car from a private fellow as part of the gig economy that I had heard so much about ten years ago. There was only one problem: my brain.</p><p>I got in the car and pressed the START button. Seemed simple enough. But nothing happened. No starting was happening. The radio came on, the vents exhaled warm air. Okay. But no engine. I pressed the START button again. Pressed it quickly twice. Nothing. Why wasn't there a DUMB button. I could handle that! (Mayhaps.)</p><p>After long trial and excessive error, I realized you had to press on the brake while you pressed START. Oh! The engine roared to life. Then, once I parked at my hotel, took a nap, I went out again and stood before the car with my fob. It beeped and squawked. But the handle was still locked. I stood at it, pressing all the fob buttons, pressing twice quickly, and still nothing.</p><p>Then I realized I was standing at the wrong car. Ha ha.</p><p>Mom wasn't listening. "I don't see chiropractors," she said. "When I was nine, one of them put their finger in my butt. And I've never been back."</p><p>"They don't do that anymore, Mom. I think that's gone the way of Camper van Beethoven."</p><p>Someone went by with a dog. Mom sighed loudly. She was just about to pine for a doggie of her own when I was saved by having to relieve myself. I ran to the bathroom. My shit geysered out, spraying the bowl with a jet of diarrhea that was one hard spray of hot, black shit spraying in a stream, shitly.</p><p>"AAARRRRRHHHHH!" I said quietly.</p><p>As I sat on the toilet, I thought about the latest bad movie I had seen. And, wiggling around on the toilet seat, I realized this was probably the finest segue I have ever made.</p><p>Today's Movie Minute is about gastro-intestinal distress in movie form, with the clinical name THE LAST VAMPIRE ON EARTH.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qoj60rHtHms/YU6keUmLwjI/AAAAAAAALh8/ncvHh8xYOPQRJvYckTb2ez-GVpqYKqjjgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1440/p8472325_v_h9_aa.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="322" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qoj60rHtHms/YU6keUmLwjI/AAAAAAAALh8/ncvHh8xYOPQRJvYckTb2ez-GVpqYKqjjgCLcBGAsYHQ/w429-h322/p8472325_v_h9_aa.jpg" width="429" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">With a vampire this boring, of COURSE he's the last.</div><p>Aurelius Corinthian Transylvanio III goes to college in the hopes of meeting chicks who won't be weirded out by his dopey doughy dorky looks, and being two-thousand.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VchzumBWo5Y/YXm2UpTfA6I/AAAAAAAALnU/ySSPLjl9fagaE0T0l6z_YXbNbnR2B2eywCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/MV5BZGFkNjdiMzktZjA2Yy00ZjRhLWFkZTktYTczZDNiZWZlOGI2XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMjU1Njg0NjM%2540._V1_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1228" data-original-width="2048" height="263" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VchzumBWo5Y/YXm2UpTfA6I/AAAAAAAALnU/ySSPLjl9fagaE0T0l6z_YXbNbnR2B2eywCLcBGAsYHQ/w438-h263/MV5BZGFkNjdiMzktZjA2Yy00ZjRhLWFkZTktYTczZDNiZWZlOGI2XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMjU1Njg0NjM%2540._V1_.jpg" width="438" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Cut! The director's in the shot! Roll again."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He gets with a totally legal chick and they make beautiful, consensual, legal love.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9zoH30AMS5g/YXm24zuZzYI/AAAAAAAALnc/Tx9kuPb9NIAuWveQymJG-KpPxf-NPN1KQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1280/image-w1280.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="257" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9zoH30AMS5g/YXm24zuZzYI/AAAAAAAALnc/Tx9kuPb9NIAuWveQymJG-KpPxf-NPN1KQCLcBGAsYHQ/w457-h257/image-w1280.jpg" width="457" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Any lower and you're going to jail, creep."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's hard not to wonder if the movie was going for a certain vibe?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2VM7GkrMj64/YXm3K3o5g3I/AAAAAAAALnk/TsgcI14__oEpzLd7gJJT9vncrMMEDnBSACLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/Twilight-.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="775" data-original-width="1240" height="299" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2VM7GkrMj64/YXm3K3o5g3I/AAAAAAAALnk/TsgcI14__oEpzLd7gJJT9vncrMMEDnBSACLcBGAsYHQ/w479-h299/Twilight-.jpg" width="479" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Pay no attention to the losers above us."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It turns out our heroine got AIDS in Africa, being touched by a black, and it's up to our hero to cure her of her bad acting.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DsXy4BWQonU/YXm4QGPU-vI/AAAAAAAALns/b3zpbJTphWkJ0LvPgXg82oe-Y45sJMRHwCLcBGAsYHQ/s247/31RJHamRbqL.jpg_SR247%252C139__BG0%252C0%252C0_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="139" data-original-width="247" height="249" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DsXy4BWQonU/YXm4QGPU-vI/AAAAAAAALns/b3zpbJTphWkJ0LvPgXg82oe-Y45sJMRHwCLcBGAsYHQ/w442-h249/31RJHamRbqL.jpg_SR247%252C139__BG0%252C0%252C0_.jpg" width="442" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"I'm, like, totally old, and stuff. (Psst. Hey, can you buy me a Boone's Farm?)"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I forgot to mention that they met in Literature Class, where the professor announces that he wants everyone by the end of the semester to ACT OUT Dracula. He casts Aurelius (spoiler alert) as Dracula, and the girl as the girl. The literature students are understandably confused by the sudden call of the proscenium lights. Now they have to memorize lines and get into costume? But it turns out this is what they do at this college. In Biology, you have to turn in a watercolor of a dissected frog as your final project. In Art Appreciation class, you have to speak Chinese with a French accent, and in Statistics I students must enter and win the Open Men's 100M Butterfly Swim Race dressed as vampires.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In the end, the townspeople gather to burn Aurelius at the stake since he was lousy at painting watercolors and making matchstick replicas of Westminster Abbey.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"> </span><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GqjLIbdQXP4/YU6k9WuQO-I/AAAAAAAALiM/SpiT72SiVmsi_m7LTZyE1VaVNX1ZZlZXQCLcBGAsYHQ/s604/MV5BYTkxYTYzNjAtMjgzNy00Yjg2LWE4NjAtNzRkMWJlYjUzNWJkL2ltYWdlXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTM1MjgyNjc%2540._V1_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="402" data-original-width="604" height="289" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GqjLIbdQXP4/YU6k9WuQO-I/AAAAAAAALiM/SpiT72SiVmsi_m7LTZyE1VaVNX1ZZlZXQCLcBGAsYHQ/w434-h289/MV5BYTkxYTYzNjAtMjgzNy00Yjg2LWE4NjAtNzRkMWJlYjUzNWJkL2ltYWdlXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTM1MjgyNjc%2540._V1_.jpg" width="434" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Let's sacrifice him to our gods! And feast on his doughy flesh! Now</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">who took Ancient Greek Poetry and knows how to light a pyre?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Aurelius is lucky the old lady saved his vampire bacon, putting a stop to it all and demanding they put a stake through her boyfriend's heart instead. She has AIDS.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ve99PQOjsKk/YU6k7q-3ywI/AAAAAAAALiI/jCu_VTB2guMeKN2LL1tcbWe47wKV3kNuQCLcBGAsYHQ/s474/last-vampire-earth.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="474" data-original-width="474" height="429" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ve99PQOjsKk/YU6k7q-3ywI/AAAAAAAALiI/jCu_VTB2guMeKN2LL1tcbWe47wKV3kNuQCLcBGAsYHQ/w429-h429/last-vampire-earth.png" width="429" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Because of my AIDS I don't know how to hold a gun. So back off!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All I can say is I'm glad I'm done with the whole ordeal. And my colonoscopy, too.</div>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-34519383858936816332021-10-08T05:00:00.047-06:002021-10-08T05:00:00.231-06:00A Breen Come True<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iDltjxqPN-w/YU_8OiAv5hI/AAAAAAAALig/X2DfqKM7VqA5gTy5HEF6QTCcSWfgnAI4gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Breen%2BOne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1039" data-original-width="2048" height="346" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iDltjxqPN-w/YU_8OiAv5hI/AAAAAAAALig/X2DfqKM7VqA5gTy5HEF6QTCcSWfgnAI4gCLcBGAsYHQ/w682-h346/Breen%2BOne.jpg" width="682" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NCbiuk-btSQ/YU_8dcpA-gI/AAAAAAAALik/dH0L1vlbiEwVTbzUHpaT03RbMsc_6KNQwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Breen%2BTwo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1097" data-original-width="2048" height="386" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NCbiuk-btSQ/YU_8dcpA-gI/AAAAAAAALik/dH0L1vlbiEwVTbzUHpaT03RbMsc_6KNQwCLcBGAsYHQ/w722-h386/Breen%2BTwo.jpg" width="722" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BYYc9C1Aa1Q/YU_9siY3afI/AAAAAAAALjA/9415otsfFS4BngLVi8vM41rCbdrmooOjwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Breen%2BThree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1091" data-original-width="2048" height="383" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BYYc9C1Aa1Q/YU_9siY3afI/AAAAAAAALjA/9415otsfFS4BngLVi8vM41rCbdrmooOjwCLcBGAsYHQ/w721-h383/Breen%2BThree.jpg" width="721" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zdKdOSjkGWU/YU_85shoPrI/AAAAAAAALi0/7jk56Zh7Vhkji6eIu5TcD9-ycOkISgVOACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Breen%2BFour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1197" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zdKdOSjkGWU/YU_85shoPrI/AAAAAAAALi0/7jk56Zh7Vhkji6eIu5TcD9-ycOkISgVOACLcBGAsYHQ/w732-h426/Breen%2BFour.jpg" width="732" /></a></div><br />Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181711429217792165.post-58295918128569719172021-09-17T05:00:00.207-06:002021-09-17T05:00:00.208-06:00When You Leash Expect It<p>We were having lunch. Mom looked around expectantly.</p><p>"You know," she said, "there are elderly people at Cringe West who have little dogs, even puppies! And they have a walking service, so I wouldn't even have to be in danger of tripping headlong over my dog. Mm? Mm?"</p><p>Apparently it was election season. Mom was campaigning for a puppy doggy of the canine kind. She wanted to have one. But there were certain factions *cough Brazilian cough* who were opposed to the idea. Soon a nation would decide. Democracy was on the brink. Would there be a meltdown?</p><p>"Well, I'm voting no," Chris said, after Mom's fundraiser was over. "I think she should get a cat."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">"Go ahead," I said. "Throw your vote away. She'll never get another cat. Besides, a vote for a cat is just a vote for a dog. Don't you understand?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">"No, I don't."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">"I mean, Mom would probably wind up just getting a six-month-old Corgi mix. Something like that. Right? But she's got my vote, despite not caring for her economic policies."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chris thumbed through dollar bills in his wallet. "Look. Here's a one. No, two. There you go. Three dollars. Vote NO on Mom. Getting a dog."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">"Isn't that corrupt?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">"Yes."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Votemongering was rampant. Everyone had an opinion. Political action committees formed. Attack ads played. Lawn signs sprouted everywhere.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s7x9Yn3gpLs/YTl8RQkx-7I/AAAAAAAALgo/QL_mnu4Xr5wRa24oMc3DPuFYhjPIKYMOACLcBGAsYHQ/s1113/VOTE%2BYES.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="866" data-original-width="1113" height="352" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s7x9Yn3gpLs/YTl8RQkx-7I/AAAAAAAALgo/QL_mnu4Xr5wRa24oMc3DPuFYhjPIKYMOACLcBGAsYHQ/w453-h352/VOTE%2BYES.jpg" width="453" /></a></div><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B_LjoeSpi6M/YTl8V6tfkiI/AAAAAAAALgs/4pCipSGTL0IaQQGG-UBIF7U6rtaY9Fb-QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1113/VOTE%2BNO.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="866" data-original-width="1113" height="365" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B_LjoeSpi6M/YTl8V6tfkiI/AAAAAAAALgs/4pCipSGTL0IaQQGG-UBIF7U6rtaY9Fb-QCLcBGAsYHQ/w469-h365/VOTE%2BNO.jpg" width="469" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"How about her getting a blind dog? A non-seeing eye dog? The dog can hold a stick in its mouth, tapping along the sidewalk. Won't that be perfectly poignant?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Here. Take a five. Just stop talking."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Or, hear me out, Mom should get a dog that is actually a dude who needs to learn what true love is!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Ugh. Is this another one of your segues into a stupid Movie Minute segment?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In today's Movie Minute we examine a movie called LOVE ON A LEASH. It's about Air Bud trying to hook up with a beautiful woman who wears green at all times except in promotional posters.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0XUCY_If1NM/YRiKLB35h8I/AAAAAAAALYk/izN72-dtz7gO2qxmL6wJBbMSMDAPL23rACLcBGAsYHQ/s1500/81WYGJheykL._SL1500_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1044" height="455" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0XUCY_If1NM/YRiKLB35h8I/AAAAAAAALYk/izN72-dtz7gO2qxmL6wJBbMSMDAPL23rACLcBGAsYHQ/w317-h455/81WYGJheykL._SL1500_.jpg" width="317" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Lady, please get this rose out </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">of my mouth. The thorns are excruciating."</div><div><br /></div><div>That's right! Starring JANA CAMP! </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dHMFqhCREdk/YRiKXWR4_HI/AAAAAAAALZA/JRjhS2O162Y2QL4laWiKtaRvoNY3GyTqQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1280/tumblr_pp72alVEZ81vf6wf7o1_1280.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="707" data-original-width="1280" height="242" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dHMFqhCREdk/YRiKXWR4_HI/AAAAAAAALZA/JRjhS2O162Y2QL4laWiKtaRvoNY3GyTqQCLcBGAsYHQ/w438-h242/tumblr_pp72alVEZ81vf6wf7o1_1280.png" width="438" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"Who am I? Why am I?"</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Air Bud runs a high-powered Milk-Bone fund by day...</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p6m31h55RkQ/YRiKMp-wLoI/AAAAAAAALYo/nLIp7VNIMXsEZfGOV-Xttex0fskg2Xm3QCLcBGAsYHQ/s500/artworks-HW1rol055RPXKKW7-HRSycg-t500x500.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p6m31h55RkQ/YRiKMp-wLoI/AAAAAAAALYo/nLIp7VNIMXsEZfGOV-Xttex0fskg2Xm3QCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/artworks-HW1rol055RPXKKW7-HRSycg-t500x500.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"How did you get past security?"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And becomes a creep at night...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YB4_QGON85Y/YUFijK6_Z_I/AAAAAAAALhU/g0b628tT76AaHzr_JAS7IWDDnbriofQrQCLcBGAsYHQ/s656/83f86c_a6ad08727d5b495e9fb48668692c7986_mv2.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="617" data-original-width="656" height="301" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YB4_QGON85Y/YUFijK6_Z_I/AAAAAAAALhU/g0b628tT76AaHzr_JAS7IWDDnbriofQrQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/83f86c_a6ad08727d5b495e9fb48668692c7986_mv2.png" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"Let me pee on your shoes and sniff your butt, my love."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Things get awkward when they try to consummate their forbidden love.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ISFTLY-zLqE/YRiKOMvF9JI/AAAAAAAALYs/uEZuwyiyCso7i7q24Sj7MLQB8vjBTNmvACLcBGAsYHQ/s1280/maxresdefault.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ISFTLY-zLqE/YRiKOMvF9JI/AAAAAAAALYs/uEZuwyiyCso7i7q24Sj7MLQB8vjBTNmvACLcBGAsYHQ/w379-h213/maxresdefault.jpg" width="379" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Okay, more tongue this time. I mean, less tongue."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Thankfully, Jana Camp has a quirky color-coordinated friend who tries to help her out.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hAG7HqPzmrw/YRiKPmzdTtI/AAAAAAAALYw/0-3X_gmQdgEqHRTB7_zMbJqVPD-vFeSIgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1377/MV5BMmNjNDA3NDAtOTY4NC00ZGRhLWJjMzQtYzgyMGRlMjY0YmEzXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyODU3MTc0NDg%2540._V1_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="770" data-original-width="1377" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hAG7HqPzmrw/YRiKPmzdTtI/AAAAAAAALYw/0-3X_gmQdgEqHRTB7_zMbJqVPD-vFeSIgCLcBGAsYHQ/w402-h225/MV5BMmNjNDA3NDAtOTY4NC00ZGRhLWJjMzQtYzgyMGRlMjY0YmEzXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyODU3MTc0NDg%2540._V1_.jpg" width="402" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Green and pink, together at last!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> Like chocolate and peanut-butter breath!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Jana Camp's mom waits in the shadows for her big moment. It doesn't come.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MAZ_qpA2fDk/YRiKRPowibI/AAAAAAAALY0/4R7pPhFgpxo26xSonolFmKjmUa-wxTm0gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1366/MV5BYTdmMjQzM2QtNDAyMC00NzYzLTg2M2QtNjVlYmYzN2I0ZjNlXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyODU3MTc0NDg%2540._V1_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1366" height="206" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MAZ_qpA2fDk/YRiKRPowibI/AAAAAAAALY0/4R7pPhFgpxo26xSonolFmKjmUa-wxTm0gCLcBGAsYHQ/w382-h206/MV5BYTdmMjQzM2QtNDAyMC00NzYzLTg2M2QtNjVlYmYzN2I0ZjNlXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyODU3MTc0NDg%2540._V1_.jpg" width="382" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"Yes. More stool softener, please. My address is 55 Guerrero Street."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In the end, an Asian man confesses he's not attracted to Jana Camp in the least. It is the most tender, and by far the most realistic, moment in the film.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q3pDy5-q3wk/YRiKUZxHP1I/AAAAAAAALY8/ZJk-X_w-ef4ow_tc4NYM-nhSPWKFIa85wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1373/MV5BYWZhNWQ4Y2UtMDQwMS00NDEzLWIyMTItOWNlODQ5ZWU0NmQ4XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyODU3MTc0NDg%2540._V1_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="765" data-original-width="1373" height="211" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q3pDy5-q3wk/YRiKUZxHP1I/AAAAAAAALY8/ZJk-X_w-ef4ow_tc4NYM-nhSPWKFIa85wCLcBGAsYHQ/w378-h211/MV5BYWZhNWQ4Y2UtMDQwMS00NDEzLWIyMTItOWNlODQ5ZWU0NmQ4XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyODU3MTc0NDg%2540._V1_.jpg" width="378" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"I can't tell if you're acting or not. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Do you really find me, Jana Camp, repulsive?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Still tallying the votes. Still too close to call. Will Mom be allowed to have a dog? Vote early and often!</div>Spazerroonihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788568417224496995noreply@blogger.com0