Lend Me An Ear ... Sort Of.

I think I am going through my dark period.

All great artists have them, you know.

Note: Do not scoff the greatness of my artistry.

Van Gogh, in a fit of something or other, cuts off his ear and gives it to a prostitute. And the great pianist Schumann, after permanently damaging his hand with some wacky apparatus to strengthen his fingers, throws himself off of a bridge. And of course, there's Britney Spears, forgetting to wear her underwear. Repeatedly.

Note: Oops, I did it again.

Yes, I think I am going through my dark period. But please, do not worry. I have entered the Zone of Darkness before. Stand back. I know how to handle this situation.

So, I drink a nice cold Diet Coke.

I wait. Still dark.

So, I take a long, hot shower with cranberry-mango shower gel.

I wait. Still dark.

I drink a nice cold Diet Coke while taking a long, hot shower with cranberry-mango shower gel.

Still dark. No change.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. It's time to pull out the big guns.

Martha Stewart marathon. Whipped cream straight from the bottle. A little Internet shopping on Paddy while curled up on the couch with the dog.

Hmmm.

Maybe I should have my dark periods more often. This is the life.

Heck, yes!


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad Paddy, or Paddington, if you prefer the more formal approach.

Are You Looking At My Wiener?

I am driving by Golden Gate Field and the sign is blinking and announcing and proclaiming in big and bold and bright letters.

WIENER NATIONALS! SATURDAY! WIENER NATIONALS! SATURDAY! WIENER NATIONALS! SATURDAY! WIENER NATIONALS! SATURDAY!

And so forth.

Note: Huh?

Wiener Nationals? Did I miss the Wiener Regionals? Or the Wiener Qualifying Rounds? Or the Wiener Tryouts?

And, heaven forbid, what kind of wiener competition are we talking about here, anyhow? Are we talking Oscar Mayer or something else entirely?

Hang on to your hats, folks: Something else entirely.

No, not that.

Wiener dogs. Racing each other. For wiener domination.






Note: Oh no. I don't make this stuff up.

Unleash your wiener. May the best wiener win. Wiener takes all. Run, you glorious wiener, run.

Note: Of course you may pet my wiener.

Oh, grow up.

Heck, yes!


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad Paddy, or Paddington, if you prefer the more formal approach.

Winning. Eventually.

Sheesh.

Wouldn't you just know it?

I am working on ways to become famous. And/or rich. Well, mostly just rich. I just have so many items on which to spend money, i.e. stuff for The GrandBoy which may or may not include ponies and bounce houses and a child-sized Porsche Boxster S Battery-Operated Car to drive around, until he's old enough for the real thing, yes.

And I notice that folks get rich and/or famous in many different ways and not all of the options require any particular skill or intelligence. Oh sure, Steve Jobs and LeBraun James and Those Facebook Dudes possess fine ideas or unusual skills or both, maybe. But for every rich and/or famous person out there with skill and dedication and hard work and intelligence there is a, well, Charlie Sheen.

Note: I am sorry reader(s), but he had to come up in a post eventually. Oh, sure. He's a fine actor.

Whatever.

But it's not just over-indulged and under-policed actors that get rich and/or famous without any particular skill or intelligence.

Oh no.

There are Folks-from-New-Jersey-with-Big-Hair on Television and Folks-that-Hike-in-the-Wilderness and get Trapped-and-have-to-Cut-off-an-Arm or other-Such-Appendage with Book and Movie Deals and there are Folks that-Carry-Eight-Babies-To-Term who sell the story to The Enquirer.

And there are Bachelors and Bachelorettes and Dads putting their kids in hot air balloons, but not really.

You get the idea.

So, wouldn't you just know it?

I have this great idea to go on a 20-City Tour to talk about stuff that no one really cares about and I am going to charge a bunch of money for each ticket and I am going to name my show 'The Violent Torpedo of Truth Tour' and then wouldn't you just know it?

That doggone Charlie Sheen beat me to it.

Sheesh.

He's winning. Definitely.

But just for now. I'm on the rebound with my next great idea.

Heck, yes!

The Three Foxes And a Potty. And Fabulous Hair, Yes.

Once upon a time in a great, magical forest IKEA, there lived a lovely family of three bears arctic foxes. They lived in a happy little cottage Giant Blue Building with furnishings both attractive and reasonably priced, yes.

One sunny Spring day, a flaxen-haired maiden ventured deep into the magical forest IKEA with her lovely nutella-haired partner DIL and her adorable, delightful, brilliant, amazing cinnamon cheerios-haired GrandBoy of Wondrousness.

After some time, the cheerios-haired GrandBoy of Wondrousness grew hungry and the nutella-haired DIL grew thirsty and the flaxen-haired maiden really, really, really needed to pee.

Meanwhile, the family of arctic foxes noticed that something seemed strange about the happy little cottage Giant Blue Building with furnishings both attractive and reasonably priced, yes.

Papa wanted some dinner and slunk up to the table, as foxes will do. Someone's been sitting at my big Bjursta! Papa Fox said. Someone's been sitting at my medium-sized Bjursta! Mama Fox Foxy Mama said. Someone's been sitting at my Bjursta! Baby Fox said.

Papa wanted to relax in the living room. Someone's been sitting on my big Ektorp! Papa Fox said. Someone's been sitting on my medium-sized Ektorp! Foxy Mama said. Someone's been sitting on my Ektorp! Baby Fox said.

Papa Fox's hackles began to rise and Foxy Mama's hackles began to rise because that's what foxes do.

Because Papa was hackling and Foxy Mama was hackling, they did not notice when Baby Fox ran off to pee. Because that's what Baby Foxes do.

Suddenly, they heard the howling!

Papa Fox ran into the Potty Room. Someone's been sitting on my big potty! he said. Foxy Mama ran into the Potty Room. Someone's been sitting on my medium-sized potty! she said.

Then they all turned to Baby Fox. Someone's been sitting on my potty! Baby said. And she's still there!

That's right.

Note: After slaving over this brilliant post, I decided that the potty doesn't really look all that teeny teeny tiny. But it was.

Thus, I stand by my post!

Heck, yes!