More Random Musings

Hi everybody,

I'm still thinking about my "L" post for Reverend. And since my blog is similar to that "classic" Orson Welles wine commerical (tagline: "We shall serve no wine before its time"), I want to ensure that my posts are "twist-off cap worthy" before delivering them to the 7-11 of the publishing world.

So to temporarily satiate your whiney thirst for new crap, I thought I'd jot off a quick post to share several recent observations from my travels hither and yon.

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1) Trailers

I was mired in stop and go traffic the other day (as is often the case anymore during my travels hither and yon), struggling to distract myself from the insanity of being mired in stop and go traffic. I happened to glance over to my right, and spotted a truck hauling one of those 2-wheel auto trailers. I started thinking, wouldn't it be a refreshing change of pace here in stop and go traffic if I were to drive up onto that trailer and free myself from the worry of having to keep pace with the other motorists? Why, I could work on a crossword puzzle or even on my next post. Plus, think of the gas I would save, in addition to reducing emissions from outside of my vehicle. And if I'm subtle enough, perhaps my "host" will not notice right away.

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2) Elevators

In my endless pursuit of radical new ideas that could alter day-to-day society for the better* (* ideally), my focus recently honed in on elevators. And just what do I have in mind for improving elevator usage? One word: mirrors. Oh, and not just mirrored ceilings and floors, either. I'm talkin' mirrors on both the back elevator wall and the foyer wall that the elevator faces when the friggin' doors open. I don't know about you (and I'm not sure that I want to know, either), but I grow weary of constantly bumping into people* (* because let's face it: not everyone is attractive and equipped with large breasts) when trying to enter or exit an elevator. Have we not learned from "Dressed to Kill", people? Geez, it's been years (26, to be precise) since Angie Dickinson was slashed to death in an elevator. And since it was the only one in known existence with a mirror in it, Nancy Allen was able to spot both the body and the murderer (who was about to slash HER!) inside, and escape. And WHY? Mirrors.

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3) Hotel Rooms

Do you know what they should have above the beds? Mirrors. 'Nuff said.

***

I can only hope that the decision-makers out there read this post, and embrace these ideas. The world will be a marginally better place for it.

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Musical WTF?!

Hello fellow "Musicphiles",

(Hopefully this is the only noun ending in "phile" that geniunely applies when describing your interests. Because I have no tolerance for stamp collectors.)

Anyhoo, the time has come for yet another tedious and juvenile installment of "Musical What The F*ck?!"


WTF?! 001 > "Badge" by Cream

Thinkin' bout the times you drove in my car
(Well, RODE, technically)

Thinkin' that I might have drove you too far
(Guilt? Obviously he is NOT a playa)

And I'm thinkin' bout the love that you laid on my table
(So far, so good. It has a pleasant, laid back tempo, and it alludes to car sex and possibly on a table as well, which hopefully means the kinky fun kind and not getting screwed in a Poker game. On the other hand, what if this happened at Thanksgiving, where the bimbo was from the local strip joint, and there she was, drunkenly spread-eagled naked on the table amidst the turkey [insert stuffing joke here] and "fixins'" just as the family converged on the dining room? Oops. That was MY Thanksgiving. Nevermind. Moving on ...)

I told you not to wander round in the dark
(She has to be TOLD this little nugget of wisDUMB? Wait. Un momento por favor! Perhaps this makes her the IDEAL one-nighter)

I told you bout the swans, that they live in the park
(No shit, Sherlock. Where the hell did you think they lived? In that goofy* (* no pun intended) "Swan Hotel" at Walt Disney World? Why the hell do you think they call that tune "Swan Lake"? Because the swans just happened to go on a picnic that day? Dumbass)

Then I told you 'bout our kid, now he's married to Mabel.
(Mabel?! C'mon everybody, join in with me and shout at the top of your lungs: WHAT THE F*CK?! How did he ever tear "Mabel" away from her job at the Hooterville Telephone Company switchboard? And what's with this "now" crap? How many times has he been married, and why does his mother* (*presumably) have to be "brought up to speed"? Damn, and I thought my family was disfunctional ...)

Okay, there ARE more lyrics to this song, but quite frankly, after that stupid-ass "Mabel" line, I generally lose interest. Sorry.



WTF?! 002 > "Don't Sleep in the Subway" by Petula Clark

Actually this observation isn't mine. It belongs to a very funny female comic (whose name unfortunately escapes me) from a few years ago, who came up with it. Her perfectly timed remark was: "What kind of guy is this woman going out with?

You wander around on your own little cloud
(Sounds like an addict. If not, he doesn't sound like the aggressive provider that women seek to ensnare and emasculate)

When you don't see the why or the wherefore
You walk out on me when we both disagree
(Okay, so maybe he is an okay dude ...)

'Cause to reason is not what you care for
(So far, so good ...)

I've heard it all a million times before
Take off your coat, my love, and close the door
(Can I close the door and THEN take off my coat? The other way just seems so awkward. After all, here I am at the damned door, so WHY THE F*CK do I have to do all of that other shit first? [We guys think like that when all we really want is to have a quick drink, bite to eat, get laid, and rest up for tomorrow's "hunting and gathering"])

Don't sleep in the subway, darlin'
Don't stand in the pouring rain
Don't sleep in the subway, darlin'
Once again everyone, join in with me and shout at the top of your lungs: WHAT THE F*CK?! Don't sleep in the friggin' subway?! Don't stand in the pouring rain? WTF? Is this guy Canadian for Chrissakes? Dayum!)

The night is long
Forget your foolish pride
Nothing's wrong
Now you're beside me again
(Ho hum. This section could be from any Toni Braxton or Sade song, in which case, if you're actually listening to the lyrics instead of copulating, then you DESERVE to sleep all wet in the subway. Dumbass)

You try to be smart, then you take it to heart
'Cause it hurts when your ego is deflated
You don't realize that it's all compromise
And the problems are so overrated
(Sounds here like the "lucky gal" is attempting to cheer the loser up for "underperformance" issues, when instead she should be immersed in a world that rocks. But on the other hand we must remember that this "tune" was written in the days before Viagra or attractive women)



WTF?! 003 > "Lovely Rita" by The Beatles

Screw the lyrics. When have you ever seen an attractive Meter Maid? 'Nuff said.

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You Say You Want a Resolution

Well, I know
You all want to change the Pug

You tell me that it's evolution

Well, I know
You all want to change the Pug

But when you talk about castration
Don't you know that you can count me out

Don't you know it's gonna be - all right
all right, all right

You say you want a real solution
Well, you know
I think I came up with a plan

You ask me for a new post to elaborate
Well, you know
The Pug is doing what he can

But when you want new material
for people with minds that vegetate
All I can say is people you have to wait

Don't you know it's gonna be - all right
all right, all right

***

Happy New Year!

Who among us isn't sick of saying and writing that crap? But will it truly be a happy year? Or are we doomed to repeating the past?

Will 2007 be THE year? Will I have to say goodbye to all of you?

"Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results". So goes the classic quote; variants of which have been attributed to a multitude of different sources (Einstein, Kipling, an ancient Chinese proverb, Al Gore and others).

So in the spirit of the new year, I want to make a bold move, and only behave in a manner that will set me on the right path. I've already purchased a Mercury Milan and paid for a random stranger's dry cleaning. I also joined a health club and vow to workout at least 5-times per week, every week, in 2007. N'yuk, n'yuk, nyuk. Those suckas at Gold's Gym are going to lose money on me. Big time. Just like those idiots running the "all you can eat" buffets used to.

But one problem is that I'm not all that creative when it comes to identifying areas for my own self-improvement. So as a starting template, I 've selected the 7-Deadly Sins.

But first, a definition:

The seven deadly sins, also known as the capital vices or cardinal sins, are a classification of vices used in early Christian teachings to educate and protect followers from (immoral) fallen man's tendency to sin. The Roman Catholic Church divides sin into two types: venial (forgiven through any sacrament) and capital or mortal (meaning they kill the life of grace and risk eternal damnation unless absolved in the sacrament of confession, or taken away by a perfect contrition, or discretely swept under the rug by church officials).

So here goes.

***

1) Lust

Resolution: I will no longer objectify women, nor will I treat them as "outlets" for my temporary amusement.

Also, I will not ogle packages of nylons, women's underwear ads in the Sunday paper pullouts (nor will I "pull out" anything of my own), or double-fold the Land O' Lakes Butter package so that the Indian maiden's knees become her boobs.

***

2) Gluttony

Resolution: I will learn when to say when, in the area of food consumption. I will skip the after-dinner mint. If I do binge, then I will purge. In fact, I resolve to purge more than I binge, especially as a guest in one of your homes.

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3) Greed

Resolution: I will no longer be preoccupied with money. Instead, I will shift my focus into more "real", long-lasting and tangible pursuits, such as women, cars and bling.

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4) Sloth

Resolution: I will take a renewed sense of pride in my appearance, and attempt to be high-brow in all that I do. Except for my blogging, of course.

***

5) Wrath

Resolution: I will no longer "lose my cool" with the people that I encounter during my daily travels through life. Instead, I shall do my best to treasure each and every one of them as the fascinating and valued contributors to societal fabric that they theoretically may someday become.

***

6) Envy

Resolution: I will be satisfied with my lot in life. Sure, maybe other people are a little better off. Perhaps they have indoor plumbing, real mates instead of costly time-shares, and loyal readers who don't have to visit the library's computers to visit their blogs. But I too can count my blessings as I stumble across any.

***

7) Pride

Even though my locks are 50% more flowing than Fabio's, and my testicles are both descended and (presumably) larger than his, I will not take an inordinate amount of pride in this knowledge. Instead I will stay "real" by roaming the land, serving as a surrogate husband to hot, misguided single mothers.

***

Thank you for your patience as I've taken the time to perform a protracted self-assessement in the development of these resolutions. I know that I can count on your encouragement and support as I struggle to comply with these inhuman demands.

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The Sixth Element

Moses proclaims that the Sixth Weird Thing shall also be the 11th Commandment. So sayeth the Pug.

Hello everybody,

I realize how excruciating it's been to not only deal with my weirdness on a per post and comment basis, but also to endure THREE friggin' installments of the six weird things that I'm willing to publicly admit.

I don't think it took Moses this damned long to haul the Ten Commandments down from the UFO (Personally I have yet to encounter a burning bush. Although in my more promiscuous days I may have caused a few. But perhaps I will tonight at the New Year's Eve party. A burning bush sounds intriguing. It could negate the need for Warming K-Y Lotion. But I'd better bring condoms just in case it's the contagious kind.).

The burning bush. Once revered as the "Angel's Intercom", it is now banned in most municipalities.

I wonder if Nostradamus had to deal with pressure to churn out more of his quatrains (predictions). Come to think of it, he probably had it much easier than yours truly. He could make up all sorts of vague and crazy nonsense, and be cold in the ground before anybody accused him of being a bullshitter, or of phoning it in.

Nostradamus posing for a rare portrait, for which he accurately predicted he would receive a 25% off coupon. Though closely resembling Henry VIII, he only had ONE wife, by virtue of his ability to "see" arguments in advance and avoid them.

I don't have that luxury. My only hope is redemption after my passing, in the form of apologies from those of you who helped to expedite it.

So without further ado, I now present for (dis)pleasure and (dis)approval, the sixth and final weird thing.


6) I have issues with food.

That's it. Oh, is this one too boring? What DID you want to see? Duct-taped hamster stuffing? Masturbating to "The View"? Trenchcoated debauchery in public? Well too f*cking bad. The deal was that I only had to provide six. Those would have been numbers 7, 8 and 9.

K9's admission of his fear of buffets (thank God it wasn't "emissions into buffets", BTW) reminded me that I also have irrational behaviors when it comes to food. As I've "matured" (no snickering ... oh, and like all of YOU are SO mature! ... yeah, right ... whatEV ...), I've mellowed out somewhat in this area. And after I've "had a few", I can even be relaxed enough to eat spilled crab dip off the floor of a taxi cab.

But in general I am very cautious about my food consumption. I prefer to eat food that's either been prepared and cooked by yours truly, or by someone that I trust (hygenically). I avoid restaurants unless they are high-quality, and only eat fast-food when I'm desperate. I have no stomach for buffets (including Jimmy and Warren), due to the swells of unwashed masses that tend to hover over them.

I worked with a guy who was even worse. If anyone even touched his plate, he wouldn't finish it. Of course, the second he stepped away for a moment, we would take advantage of a "loophole" and use his utensils to scratch ourselves inappropriately under our clothing. Yet, amazingly, the dude never got sick. I guess we collectively provided him with a wide range of immunities that made him immortal. This is why I encourage you all to do the same for your friends.

And don't even get me started on "potlucks". I find that I have to constantly pick my nose until it bleeds profusely around my coworkers just to ensure that they always plan one of these office afflictions for a day that I'm out of town. On those rare occasions where I am blindsided by a potluck, my worst fears are always confirmed. These Betty Crockheads whip up the most disgusting crap. Entrees that would make the Scots retch. A homemade pizza with SALAMI as a topping? WTF were you smoking, Chef Pierre? Banana and mayo sandwiches? Do I f*cking LOOK like Elvis?

Haggis: the Scottish version of the Chimichanga.

I know that you mean well by purchasing expensive and exotic cheeses and incorporating them into a homemade dip or appetizer. But you see, the problem is that I haven't slept with you yet, so the "familiarity threshold" has not been reached. I therefore can not blindly trust that you are seeking to fondly reward my sexual prowess with FRESH ingredients and CAREFUL preparation.

For all I know, the "exotic" cheese started its life as a slice of American that unfortunately slid and hid under the refridgerator for quite some time until its miraculous discovery on "Potluck Eve".

Is it any wonder why I commiserate with Howard Hughes? The man wasn't nuts. He just had one too many potlucks imposed on him. Employees were always trying to suck up with these blasted get-togethers, and unfortunately for Howard, he had no choice but to isolate himself from germs and society. It's sad, really.

Howard Hughes goes airborne in order to avoid potlucks. Tragically, one awaited him back at the airport.

Well, that does it for me on the weirdness front. I now feel like I have exorcised six demons from my soul. No longer am I a human pinata of anguish and torment. Thanks to all of you. Happy New Year, brothers and sisters!

*** Optional homework assignment: write a quatrain and either post it or place it in my comments. ***

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Six Weird Things About Me - The Last Three

Okay everyone. I suppose it's been long enough. No longer can I bear to torment those of you who prefer frequenting my blog to having a life. While I can secretly curse and pity you, I know that it is your dependence on my bullshit that in turn nurtures me. And for that, I pity myself.

Thanks for the flurry of great comments. Well, for the most part. For some of you, the flurries indicate that shoveling is imminent.

So sorry for the delay. The truth is that I've been working so hard (almost as hard as it is for you to believe that I've been working at all), that I've had little energy for anything else. Mr. Happy is not even showing his usual signs of self-inflicted wear and tear. He's actually getting back that "new car back seat smell". THAT is just how LITTLE of an actual life I've been able to lead.

So let's get the weirdness train rollin', shall we?

4) I suffer from OCD and ADHD

(But thankfully, not VD or any other STDs, although I do use both TP and STP.)

That's right. There is a perpetual internal struggle (actually there's an awful lot of internal struggles) between these two opposing forces. Fortunately I'm only mildly afflicted. Unfortunately they don't cancel out. But fortunately they aren't dehabilitating.

Have you seen "Monk" yet? It's a show about a Private Investigator type (masterfully played by Tony Shalhoub), who suffers from an extreme case of OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). He can't function or move on if something appears amiss. This makes him a pain-in-the-ass, but his attention to the smallest details makes him an expert case cracker.

*** Additional weirdness bonus! For some bizarre reason, I want to "boink" Natalie (Monk's Assistant). Can I write "boink"? Why sure! One, because it's my damned blog and I can do what I want. Two, because Blogger cannot afford to lose a single blogger (what, with their ineptness and all). Three, because I really enjoy using the word "boink", and for some weird reason, haven't done so in all of my posts until now. Anyhoo, I find myself strangely enthralled with her blonde hair and tushie* (* another favorite word of late). ***

While I am not as gifted as Monk, nor do I have his extreme attention to detail, I also frequently have to stop what I'm doing to correct something that's out of place. Luckily, the OCD cannot keep my cajones in its sinister grip for long, because - not unlike "The Lone Ranger" - on cue ADHD comes riding in to my rescue.

5) As it turns out, I am quite the butt pug.

Not so quick on the trigger with those comments, mon amigos! I did NOT write "butt PLUG". I meant that only recently have I realized that women's tushies* (* See how I smoothly used "tushie" as a convenient segue device from "Weird Thing #4"? Take note, avid blogger wannabees) are what I truly notice when I'm evaluating women for the purpose for imagined sexual encounters. No longer do I simply settle for brief eye contact, or a sultry "excuse me", as the female is brushing past me toward a certain oblivion of souless sexual entanglement with someone who only appears more attractive than yours truly. I want more. I want to leave bite marks in patterns that crop circle hoaxers would envy on her heiny. I want to add to the tattoo on her lower back such that it traces my "Journey to the Center of HER Earth" in grandious fashion.

Sure, boobs are nice. For you can take solace in the knowledge that no matter how soft of a man you truly are, they are even softer. Provided that they are real. More real than you, perhaps.

There is great comfort in that. Also, boobs are the safe haven of mashed potatoes amidst the uncertain piece of rump roast that it intended to be your main entree. Will the flesh be tough? Or will it be as supple as a baby's bottom? Is Mad Cow disease no longer a threat? Or did this one slip past them (and you)?

And don't get me wrong. A nice set of legs (see EOTR's blog for a fine example) is a sweet sight indeed. But the strident nature of seeing them rapidly walking toward you can serve as an omen of bad tidings. Similar to the "Red skies at morrning, sailor take warning" adage, little buddies. Did you leave the toilet seat up? Did she spot you with a mermaid / barmaid last night? Of course, seeing them walking away is equally forboding (unless she's getting you a beer).

But in the end (get it?), I'll cling onto the female ass as my favorite body part. Even though it's not the most convenient one to store in the freezer.

***

Okay, I lied to you once again. I'm one short* (boy, if only I had a nickel for every time I've heard that one). Call this a cliffhanger. Call me a bastard. Just call me.

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Six Weird Things About Me

Okay, first off, let's get the rules straight. I only have to mention six things. And they don't even have to be the six weirdest ones. For instance, I don't have to mention the necrophilia or even the quadrophenia.

Just six weird things where you may come to the realization that - in the cold, frigid hands of the "right woman" - I am salvageable for parts.

That's right. Perhaps the sum IS lesser than the raw components. Maybe you need my rectum because it still plays your Black Sabbath and Blood*, Sweat & Tears 8-tracks (* the blood is authethic). And - icing on the proverbial urinal cake - it doesn't require you jamming a matchbook up there, because the matchbook is already in place. Come on baby, light my fire.

So let's break me down, and distill my essence* (* My apologies to my Afro-American friends, since - due to my inability to dance - the fact that I'm totally Caucasian and therefore unqualified to use this word is readily apparent) into a tantalizing first installment (and hopefully, the last installment) of six weird things.

1) I love to Karaoke!

That's right. I'm that creepy f*cker in the corner booth, carefully weighing his auditory battleplan over a bottle of Heineken. More interested in my next assault on public (and ... if I play my cards right ... PUBIC!) sensibilities, than in the people socially interacting around me. Dare I opt for Billy Idol? Or has "White Wedding" already been sufficiently butchered? Oh, the possibilities are endless. Except for the inevitable end, with my fate being my own hand around a "microphone" of a pathetically different sort.

2) I am disappointed when I comment on other people's(?) blogs, and they don't acknowledge my comment.

That's right. I require closure. Was my comment pretty and witty? Or just gay? I need to know. Hey, I acknowledge YOU when you squirt a trail on MY blog. Is it too much to expect the same? What, is your life too chock full of important "to-do's" where I pale in comparison? Is some weenie-assed advisor whispering in your ear, "This time North Korea is dead serious. They claim that they just visited LensCrafters for better optics. They may now actually be able to hit land with their WMDs! You need to get on the Red Phone and take action. Forgive me, but SCREW responding to the Pug!"?

3) I am HIGHLY attracted to women.

That's right. I've been known to follow curvy gal through an entire Walmart. Mr. Happy is my GPS: "Turn left into lingerie. Parallel park into attractive mannequin. ". To hell with dropping prices, when there's trou to drop! At least it's winter now. I'm a basket* case (* more nimble than carts) in summer, when the clothes get skimpier. So some of you neophytes are likely wondering, "What's weird about that?". Longtime sufferers of my blog know the answer to that question: "We didn't know he had a sexual attraction to humans. The constant surprises keep us coming back for more.".

***

Okay, I'm a lying sack of shit. As a "teaser", I'm withholding the last three until 2 or 3 days from now, depending upon how aggressively and creatively you comment. I'm now in your hands. Make a diamond!

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Holiday Letter Writing

May God bless us, every one. Except for Lamby.

I'm kidding, of course. If anyone is deserving of God's blessing, it's Lamby. What, being Republican, and all.

Still kidding (except about Lamby being deserving).

But I digress.

Yes, unfortunately it is that time of year again. A time to empty your wallets so that they match your hearts. A time to stock up on booze as you anticipate the next invasion of humanoids whose DNA, alas, too closely resembles your own. A time to cruelly be reminded that brains don't always "run in the family". A time to curse Little Orphan Annie, Bruce Wayne, Oliver Twist and yes, even Tom Hanks' "Castaway" character, for their good fortune.

"Why so cynical, pug?" .... you may be wondering ... "What if you need a kidney (or liver) someday? After all, it's the circle of life. They drain you of it. Then help to extend it (and add to your guilt) via timely transplant.". Sorry gang, but for once I'm one step ahead of you. No family for the holidays means no need to drink heavily (okay, you caught me: no need to drink QUITE as heavily). Hence, no need for organ spares as a result.

But this post isn't about get-togethers with family (or even friends ... assuming any of you have REAL* [* bloggers don't count, since the reason most of us are here in the first place is because we're incapable of bonding with "real" people] ones). It's about AVOIDING (or better yet: REPELLING) them through the use of a time-tested pre-emptive measure: the "Holiday Letter".

My inspiration this time was an insert in last Saturday's paper, entitled "The List: A Manual For Holiday Shopping". Contained therein are several recipes* (* What? No "Reefer Brownies"? Bah! Humbug!), along with multiple articles chock full of great advice for Christmas-related tasks. And, to my surprise, there were a "few" advertisements as well. I have to give the Devil her due: it was extremely well-done. So much so, that I've read much of it already!

Anyhoo, one article in particular captured my interest. It addressed the sorely neglected topic of holiday form letters, and specifically: what NOT to include. But the problem I have is that their example featured a letter written by a ficticious* (* At least I HOPE they were ficticious, because these rich bastards went on 5-f*cking vacations and garnered 3-promotions between them during the past 12-months. Assh*les. At least I probably m*sturbated more. So stroke THIS, you jet setting, most-likely Hummer-owning, never use your brand new turn signal {so you KNOW that they work!], m*therf*ckers!) family.

But let's face it: most of us are middle-class (lower than that, for some of you) schmucks. Where is OUR "Holiday Letter" advice? Well, allow me. The following is my FICTICIOUS example form letter, with helpful criticism and advice in parathentheses.

***



Happy Holidays!

(Way too enthusiastic. They will know you've upped your Prozac dosage.)

What a year 2006 was for the Smith family! We had our share of tragedies and triumphs.

(No one cares about your triumphs.)

Our son Paul turned 24 in February, and despite being the target of frequent gang rapes, he is hopeful that, as a model prisoner, he will qualify for early release.

(Way too specific. Instead, consider this alternative: "Our son Paul turned 24 in February. He is very popular with his peers, and seems to be the center of attention wherever he goes. He is very focused on an early graduation.")

Our daughter Priscilla turned 18 in July and we are optimistic that DUI's and drug abuse are finally out of her system. After several months of house arrest, including the wearing of a tracking monitor on her ankle, and frequent visits from her parole officer, she is slowly returning to reality.

(Again, there's no need to get explicit. People have short attention spans, so you need to keep it equally short and sweet. Try reworking it as follows: "Our daughter Priscilla turned 18 in July and we are looking forward to new horizons for her. We love having her around the house. Our baby is growing up. She enjoys fashionable and functional jewelry, and her best friend (who we always set out an extra plate for) is a perfect role model and is like a daughter to us.")

Peter still is an Account Manager with Toilet Cozies, Inc., despite his subpar performance and sexual harassment of clients. His chronic alcoholism appears to be under control, and we're relieved that the latest paternity test was negative. We knew the bitch was lying.

(Keep it light. Perhaps it would read better as follows: "Peter's tenacity in Sales is as strong as ever. We admire his ability to thrive under the most adverse conditions. Things are looking up for him these days.")

Pam's addictions to painkillers and compulsion for engaging in extra-marital affairs finally seem to be in the past. She goes to treatment twice a week, and we drive her everywhere she needs to go. Though she continues to be withdrawn and unrepentent, we remain hopeful that divorce can be avoided.

(Consider a wee bit of wordsmithing, such as: "Pam is currently pushing herself in a new direction. She's really getting into her adult coursework, and we are happy just to be along for the ride. Her present routine leaves little free time for family interaction, but of course love means never having to say you're sorry. We have each other, and that's what matters.")

In October, Peter made some ill-advised bets and ran afoul of the mob. His arm was broken as a warning, and Pam was forced (back) into prostitution in order to pay off some of the debt. Since there is no way we can possibly repay those animals, we have no choice but to take it on the lam and find safe haven somewhere. So we may be out of touch for quite some time.

(How about: As fall approached we realized it was time to tighten our belts. But at the same time it dawned on us that we were overdue for some time away. As such, we are making plans for an extended sabbatical so that we can travel and spend quality time with our friends. For those of you that we don't get to see, rest assured that you are in our thoughts, and we will be in touch real soon!")

Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Love,

Peter, Pam, Paul and Priscilla

***


Happy Holidays, everybody!

I sincerely hope this exercise has been of value to you as you ruminate over your own holiday correspondence. And my apology if this form letter is precariously close to your own realities. All the best to you and yours this holiday season!

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Blonde Jokes

Hi all,

Last Friday morning on the way to work, I looked like much more of a moron than usual. How is that possible, some (okay, all) of you find yourselves wondering? Well, in order to explain, I first have to let you in on a dirty little secret: I listen to the local ESPN radio station during morning commutes. There. I said it. I'm not proud of this fact. But there you have it.

Anyway, on Friday morning they were doing blonde jokes (while I, on the other hand, was busy doing blonde women!). Callers could win a case of beer for the best jokes. Here are some of the better ones.


*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***


Why did the blonde keep failing her driving test?

Every time the tester told her to park, she hopped into the backseat.

***

Why did the blonde's house burn down?

When she called 911, and they asked her how to get there, she said, "Duh, in a fire truck!".

***

A blonde gets on an airplane and - even though she only has a coach ticket - takes a seat in first-class.

It's a full flight, and the rightful owner of the first-class seat asks her to move.

The blonde says, "I'm a hot blonde, I always get everything I want, and I can sit wherever I please.".

So the stewardess is called. The blonde gives the same answer, and refuses to budge.

Finally, the Captain is summoned to the scene. He carefully assesses the situation, and then whispers something in the blonde's ear.

She promptly responds by quietly and calmly getting up and taking her assigned seat in coach.

Everyone is blown away. What did the Captain say to obtain her immediate compliance? Later on in private, the stewardess asks him.

The Captain says he simply told her that first-class wasn't going to Cincinnati.

***

On opposite sides of a river stand a blonde and a brunettte.

The brunette shouts to the blonde, "How do you get to the other side?".

The blonde replies, "Duh, you're ALREADY there!".

***

How does a blonde turn the light on after making love?

She opens the car door.




A group of blondes walks into a bar. They are high-fiving each other, chanting "Three years! Three years!".

During the next couple of hours, the boisterous group drinks champagne and periodically repeats the chant.

Intrigued, the barkeep comes over and asks them what they are celebrating.

One of the blondes joyfully explains how the group collaborated on and just completed a jigsaw puzzle.

The barkeep asks her why that's such a big deal, and cause for celebration.

To which, the blonde responds, "Duh, the box said "5 to 7 Years", and we did it in THREE.".

***

A blonde comes home from school and exclaims to her mom, "Today we were learning numbers, and I could count all the way to 20, while the rest of the class could barely make it to 10! Is that 'cuz I'm blonde? The mother says, "Sure, sweetie.".

The following day, the blonde comes home from school and exclaims to her mom, "Today we were learning our ABC's, and I could recite them all the way to "M", while the rest of the class could barely make it to "G"! Is that 'cuz I'm blonde? The mother says, "Sure, sweetie.".

The day after that, the blonde comes home from school and exclaims to her mom, "Today we were on the playground comparing our bodies, and mine was the curviest"! Is that 'cuz I'm blonde? The mother says, "No, sweetie, that's because you're 28".




How do you get a blonde to marry you?

Tell her she's preganant.


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Bonus Feature: Memorable Dan Quayle Quotes





I am not part of the problem. I am a Republican.

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I have made good judgements in the Past. I have made good judgements in the Future.

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People that are really very weird can get into sensitive positions and have a tremendous impact on history.

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Republicans understand the importance of bondage between a mother and child.

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The American people would not want to know of any misquotes that Dan Quayle may or may not make.

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The future will be better tomorrow.

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We don't want to go back to tomorrow, we want to go forward.

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We have a firm commitment to NATO, we are a *part* of NATO. We have a firm commitment to Europe. We are a *part* of Europe.

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We're all capable of mistakes, but I do not care to enlighten you on the mistakes we may or may not have made.

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Welcome to President Bush, Mrs. Bush, and my fellow astronauts.

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What a waste it is to lose one's mind. Or not to have a mind is being very wasteful. How true that is.

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When I have been asked during these last weeks who caused the riots and the killing in L.A., my answer has been direct and simple: Who is to blame for the riots? The rioters are to blame. Who is to blame for the killings? The killers are to blame.

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[It's] time for the human race to enter the solar system.

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Verbosity leads to unclear, inarticulate things.

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One word sums up probably the responsibility of any vice president, and that one word is 'to be prepared'.

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Illegitimacy is something we should talk about in terms of not having it.

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I believe we are on an irreversible trend toward more freedom and democracy - but that could change.

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Mars is essentially in the same orbit... Mars is somewhat the same distance from the Sun, which is very important. We have seen pictures where there are canals, we believe, and water. If there is water, that means there is oxygen. If oxygen, that means we can breathe.

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Murphy Brown is doing better than I am. At least she knows she still has a job next year.

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The Holocaust was an obscene period in our nation's history. I mean in this century's history. But we all lived in this century. I didn't live in this century.

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Quite frankly, teachers are the only profession that teach our children.

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We're going to have the best-educated American people in the world.

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We are ready for any unforeseen event that may or may not occur.

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For NASA, space is still a high priority.

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Public speaking is very easy.

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I stand by all the misstatements that I've made.


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Geez, Quayle is an idiot. Does he ever think about what he says BEFORE he says it? - Yogi Berra

Geez, Pug is a doofus. Does he ever think about a post BEFORE he posts it? - Yogi Berra




I hoped you enjoyed these. I'm sure that some of you have more to share. I am sorry if I offended any natural blondes out there. Wait, who am I kidding? Natural blondes ... reading my blog? I should be so lucky. Just a warning, though. Anyone* (* females only this time, please) claiming to be a "natural" blonde will be required to submit to a physical exam in order to prove their status.

If THIS doesn't draw CrashTestComic out of hibernation, nothing will.

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Perspectives: Pop Culture

How do!

I chose "Perspectives" for the title of this installment for several reasons:

1) I'm already running out of post titles quicker than Planet Earth is running out of souls (okay, I exaggerated a tad ... how about, "it SEEMS like I am running out of post titles quicker than Planet Earth is running out of souls" ... better?);

2) I'm visualizing my post as being akin to one of those dreadful early Sunday morning talk shows about "community affairs";

3) I'm too lazy to think up a witty play on words.

But mostly, I suppose that I chose "Perspectives" because it probably does fit. At least as well as an off-the-rack suit from Target would. So here goes, with Perspectives on "Pop Culture".

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The first "perspective" (see how I nicely tied into my post title by "reinforcing" the "perspective" concept?) I have to share, was triggered by a visit to Dykesdog's blog after a couple of beers. Her latest post triggered an exorcism* comment (* as most of her submissions do) from yours truly. As I basked in the afterglow of my comment and went to grab a beer, I had a thought (when I DO have a thought, it's important that I let people know).

WHAT IF: they remade the original "The Exorcist" with - get this - Courtney Love as the mother? Picture the scene where the priests first visit the little girl, and then consult with "mom".

Priest to mom: "Lady, that's simple genetics. Don't waste our time!".




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The next perspective is of the Alanis Morissette "Ironic" video. During yet another moment of quiet and blissful introspection, a bizarre idea popped into my consciousness: what if annoying beotches COULD clone themselves for long car trips? How would this impact society? Sure, they'd have total supremacy over carpool/HOV lanes. And they'd no longer require any of US to accompany them. And of course, I suppose one COULD even stage orgies without the stigma or the implication of cheating. But is it worth the Quadraphonic PMS or having an entire set of women that one is eventually unable to understand or please? It's like the rain (of urine) on your wedding day.




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My final perspective is on the topic of pets; dogs and cats, specifically. Why is it that people are way ruder and more inconsiderate in conversations about pets, than they are about their own damned children (Disclaimer: by "damned children", I don't mean "possessed". Even though they well could be. "Damned" was only used for dramatic effect.)? When most folks are done droning on about their spawn, the vast majority of them will naturally inquire if you have any kids. If you are a woman, you may want to consider responding with a wink and "None that I know of". This tends to reduce the tedium to some extent.

But God have mercy in the event that you foolishly ask if they have any pets. By the time you're finally able to get them to shut the hell up, you shall know more about their lame-ass animal than you know about yourself. Using long-range binoculars you'll be able to efficiently identify one of their pet's stool samples from the same field that thousands of other animals have defacated upon. But will they ask if YOU have any pets? Hell no. Pricks. Screw them.



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State Naive (Not a Native)

Hi everybody!

FINALLY. A rare opportunity to sling a new post at you from behind the bars here at the zoo. At least I've been collecting random droppings hither and yon* (* I like that phrase so much, I had to use it for the second post in a row), for incorporation into this humble offering.

So without further ado, submitted for your mild entertainment are more "Random Musings".

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Observation #1: What is up with those friggin' "(YOUR STATE) NATIVE" bumper stickers? Were they all out of "FROM THE LOCAL STAGNANT GENE POOL" ones? Listen up, morons: if you cannot conclusively PROVE that your ancestors meandered their way across the Bering Strait Land Bridge, then you can take that sticker off of your damned bumper, and shove it up your ass. Perhaps I should send that weepy roadside Indian dude from the classic "Don't Litter" commercial over to do it for you. Then I'll shove some "native" Trilobite fossils with "SWAMP LOCAL" etched on them up there to keep you company, as you (and the other fossils) drunkenly reminisce about the good old days before unappreciative nomadic assholes like yours truly came to town to shit things up even further.




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Observation #2: I don't know about your neck(s) of the woods, but here in the "Great Southwest" we had new voting machines to contend with on Tuesday. It took me 2+ hours of waiting in line to cast my vote. Surprisingly I didn't mind, though. For reasons I won't go into (any further than I've done in various comments), it felt great to see so many people as determined and passionate as I was. Plus I was able to check out my neighbors in close proximity without actually having to talk to (most of) them. I could see which ladies were potentially "doable", and which guys were assholish enough for me to walk my dogs on their lawns. Anyway, the new machines were electronic (imagine that! hoooo doggies!) and way cool. They could've only impressed me more if Pac Man characters came onscreen (complete with sound effects) to "eat" any votes for Republican candidates. I was pleasantly surprised that far fewer of my neighbors behaved like "Natives"* (* see previous paragraph) than I expected.




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Observation #3: My voting place was at a local church. For those of you who have "known" me for awhile, you're likely wondering if I burst into flames upon entry. Amazingly I did not. Although the pea* (* that's the one spelled with an "a") soup did start to come up a bit; probably acid reflux due to suspected Republicans being present. A back wall in the room containing the voting machines had an interesting mural. On a flat black background, there was a lone fireman viewed from the back, with a wall of flames in front of him. This was an earnest and sincerely touching tribute, apparently in response to 9/11. I thought it was neat. But then, I started to wonder: what if there was an ACTUAL fire in the church? What if there was a real firefighter in there, trying to work toward an exit, perhaps attempting to follow the figure on the wall? People, you need to think things through.




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I hope you enjoyed this installment. I will TRY to post more often.

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