Saturday, August 11, 2018

Bowling Teams

The Mulch Marauders
The Split Decisions
The Pin Lickers
Gutter Gurus
Three Hole Ambassadors
Spare the Rod
Beers On Us
Stinky Bowling Shoes
Foul Line Strikers
Pin Pulverizers

Semi Colon

There are points where I just roll along and complete my project without a pause. Other times I must take a step back and reevaluate my position for a comma like moment.
But there are other times where things get convoluted and I really have to actualize a stoppage to re calibrate my position. These are semi colon moments.
An example: when I was younger I spent time combing my hair and the only decision was on which side the part will be. But another issue popped up. How to hide my large, manly ears, which some describe as protruding. It took me awhile to figure out the spatial components between hair and ear, but I did it using spreading techniques I learned from my ancestors.
Of course, that is a moot point now. Now it's all about fluffing up my arm pit hair on beach days.
I'm putting a period on this blog.


I love drizzling olive oil. I could just drizzle all day and not mind it. Hand control and feel are vital with expert drizzling. You don't drizzle ketchup or gravy. There is something European about this action.I love smelling the oil as it splatters over my food. I will drizzle anything. popcorn, hot dogs, chili, tacos, pizza.
I'm sure the food on my plate looks up and thinks yum, yum.
I drizzle olive oil on my beef jerky.
Get your mind out of the gutter.

Brilliant Idea

Here I am driving along, and as often happens, I get a great idea for a story. I pullover at a Shell station and shut off the car. I begin scribbling in my notepad, trying to get everything down before I forget it. A few minutes later the attendant comes over and knocks on my window.
Are you alright, sir?
Yes, I'm just scribbling down an idea.
Okay. Because from where I was standing it looked like you were pleasuring yourself.
Oh no, that comes after it's published.
What if you get a book published?
Use your imagination.

Saturday, July 28, 2018

Cootie Terror

White moving spots on my arms, my neck, my chest! Cooties!! I'm covered with them. How did this happen? Did they get onto my clothes? Look at them scurrying about. How am I supposed to get dates?
I called Harry for advice and he said go to the Cootie Wash Off place uptown. I did just that, paid $50 up front and went through the entire cleansing process. Was I scrubbed and sprayed All sorts of creams applied. I was then hosed down with salt water.
I resolved never to buy clothes at Salvation Army.
I joined my writing group and I feel like several are breeding in my ear. I noticed when I scratched myself they all took note. Word travels fast. I must have killed 500 cooties. Many stuck in my hair mousse.

Team Efforts

Keeping the audience awake when I read at open mkes
Chasing endangered species and forcing them to procreate
Those responsible for daily clarification of our President's announcements
Moving Chris Christie fron the Barkolounger to the hammock
Helping me in and out of adult diapers
Those needed to perk up Mark Zuckerberger after Facebook crashed
Those keeping food away from Candice Bergen during reboot of Murphy Brown
The ground crew who cover the field with tarpolin.     
Eating a giant hogy.

Sunday, July 22, 2018

Secret Salad Dressing

Phoebe loved experimenting with salad dressing. What is life without adventure? Her neighbor, Joe, was the opposite--safe and predictable. Take a chance for once, she told him. Joe suggested he try sneakers with a Velcro strap instead of laces. Not enough, she said. I could rearrange my nick nacks, he said. Stop it, Joe. Have dinner with me. I've come up with a new dressing concoction.
Joe decided to push the envelope and that night found himself sitting in Phoebe's dining room. In front of him was a large bowl of salad. It contained the standard fare--cucumbers, lettuce, tomato, peppers, bacon bits, olives, celery, croutons.
She carefully drizzled the new dressing on his salad. It was created in her super blender, which liquefied everything. Joe gobbled forkfuls. It tastes like something barbecued, he said. Very exotic. He looked around the room.
Where's Scooter, your cat?
Phoebe just smiled.