Another archived post from yesteryear. Written in September 2003. Time flies when you're having fun.
The post was in response to an article in the Gambit Daily. Here in N'awlins. It was written off-the-cuff one night, after yours truly had dealt with a bevy of passive-aggressive types during the day. The reproduction has been certified by the author, yours truly.
And here's Johnny, er, here it is:
Yes, I remember when the article debuted, and how we were all excited down here in N'awlins.But I took exception to some of the entries on the list. The list is soooooo long-here's the recap of disagreement.
1) Best Director Directing Locally:Although Ricky Graham is a major talent, my vote goes to Alan Smithee. Yes, Ricky is perhaps best known as the writer and director of quintessential New Orleans productions such as And the Ball and All and The Black and White Blues, but Alan has repeatedly outworked and outclassed him. With his stellar films which include "Zombie Team Members" and "Passive Agressive World," Smithee's the pick here.
2) Best Gentlemen's/Strip Club "Rick's" is first class but I've got to go with "Alan Smithee's Cabaret." Well known for its lap dances. But be sure and call before you go. The Cabaret is not always open. ( see local law enforcement agencies for further details )
3) Best Place to Karaoke Yes, we like "The Cat's Meow on Bourban Street," but "Cat's Potpurri on Hellwhole Blvd." is the best place to karaoke
4) Best Vietnamese Restaurant Gotta disagree with "Won Hung Lo" on Tulane Ave. Gotta go with "Vietnamcatfish's Golden Pond." Serving its world-renowned basa. And try the terrormisu cake for dessert. Only $.79 on Wednesday's. [ unfortunately, time has expired on this one ] Thursday nite is kids nite, affectionately known as rowdy kids nite. Only $.99. Heliyum balloons free with any purchase.
5) Best Mexican Restaurant Forget "Taqueria Corona." "Sandy Fajites" is "where it's at." Serving Sandy's famous margaritas, well-known for their kale garnish.
6) Best College Hangout: "Das Boot." Seating is cramped at the German club, and some kids complain of claustrophobia. Famous for its subs. Bona petite!
7) Best Actress Working Locally Yes, Becky Allen is a New Orleans icon and an ebullient diva. She has been a beloved local favorite for years, but she doesn't rest on her laurels. Allen continues to be one of the hardest-working local actresses, and her recent turn in Dirty Blonde showed her dramatic chops, with turns both as Mae West and a fan of Mae West. So true but my pick is: Heather Godelegate, whose daily performance in "Ride The Wild Smurf," another Smithee Production, has got to be the best actress working locally. Breast, er, best wishes, Heather.
8) Best Ladies' Night The Dock has a great ladies night but Otis Redding's "Dock of the Bay" is still the place for me and my friends. Place is really packed and Otis runs a tight ship, but is sometimes caught short-handed with staff. One night I heard the barkeep mumble, "I can't do what ten people tell me to do, so, I guess, I remain the same."
9) Best Place to Get a Bloody Mary H-a-double r-i-g-a-n spells Harrigan ( aka Pat O'Brien's ) but O'Malley's is the in place these days. With interesting characters unlike any other.
10) Best Place to Dance to a Live Band: "Farewell and Adieu," strategically located on-where else-Hell Whole Blvd.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. You may now disembark the nite train [ apologies to Guns N' Roses ] Allah Bored.
Monday, November 29, 2004
Sunday, November 28, 2004
From The Archives: Liner/Recipe Notes
Remember the liner notes on l.p.'s. A little bonus for buying the record. My company's recipes have liner notes at the bottom which help sort out the complexities and nuances. A helping hand, if you will. Some of my favorite notes are republished here from July 2003. Submitted for your approval and perusal. Entitled re: Recipes/Hooterville. And here it is:
As for recipes, my favorite notes:
1) Au Jus: Should be the same color as coffee. ( Is this before or after a treatment of urn cleaner? )
2) Soft Rolls: If one falls on the floor, discreetly retrieve. Look for grit, hair, or any other foreign matter. [ includes critters ] Brush off against clothing or blow hard to remove. May be used for bread pudding if the above fails to remedy.
3) Roast Beef: Cook to an internal temperature of 130 degrees. Blood should ooze when slicing on the serving line.
4) Yellow Cake: Do not insert a toothpick in the middle of the cake to see if it's done. Only at home does this method work. And you are not at home. So whatever you do, don't use a toothpick. They are reserved for our paymasters leaving the establishment. ( a toothpick is a good sign. It means the paymaster enjoyed the food. )
5) Raspberry Argentine: When running this delectable gelatin with the fancy name, be prepared for guests, er, paymasters using your bathroom facilities a bit more during the course of the meal. Contains prunes, the organic laxative. Pink Floyd's 'just another brick in the stalls" would constitute a synchronistic occurence. )
6) Fried Green Tomatoes: Should be 1/4 ripe. ( Who can determine 1/4 ripeness with a green tomato? )
7) Stewed Tomatoes: Buy day old bread from the Piggly Wiggly. Best value. Serve stewed tomatoes when your cook is feeling lethargic and not on top of his game. And you've run out of creative solutions to empty pans. WARNING: May become habit-forming.
8) Chop Beef Sardinia: Invented by Sandy Fajitas ( a legendary character ) back in the day. Mr. Food Cost. Also peruse the fresh kale recipe and leftover garnishes. Cooked and served after garnish pre-requisites have been met. Waste not; want not.
9) Milk: some guests, er....may be lactose intolerant. ( made that up: no one was lactose intolerant, back in the day ) And no one had acid reflux as well.
10) Diamonds and rust: You know what memories can bring; they bring diamonds and rust. Apologies to Joan Baez. Submitted for the bored's perusal. Back on the night train. Ready to crash and burn-I never learn.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. The postscripts from the above post have been removed by request of me, the author.
As for recipes, my favorite notes:
1) Au Jus: Should be the same color as coffee. ( Is this before or after a treatment of urn cleaner? )
2) Soft Rolls: If one falls on the floor, discreetly retrieve. Look for grit, hair, or any other foreign matter. [ includes critters ] Brush off against clothing or blow hard to remove. May be used for bread pudding if the above fails to remedy.
3) Roast Beef: Cook to an internal temperature of 130 degrees. Blood should ooze when slicing on the serving line.
4) Yellow Cake: Do not insert a toothpick in the middle of the cake to see if it's done. Only at home does this method work. And you are not at home. So whatever you do, don't use a toothpick. They are reserved for our paymasters leaving the establishment. ( a toothpick is a good sign. It means the paymaster enjoyed the food. )
5) Raspberry Argentine: When running this delectable gelatin with the fancy name, be prepared for guests, er, paymasters using your bathroom facilities a bit more during the course of the meal. Contains prunes, the organic laxative. Pink Floyd's 'just another brick in the stalls" would constitute a synchronistic occurence. )
6) Fried Green Tomatoes: Should be 1/4 ripe. ( Who can determine 1/4 ripeness with a green tomato? )
7) Stewed Tomatoes: Buy day old bread from the Piggly Wiggly. Best value. Serve stewed tomatoes when your cook is feeling lethargic and not on top of his game. And you've run out of creative solutions to empty pans. WARNING: May become habit-forming.
8) Chop Beef Sardinia: Invented by Sandy Fajitas ( a legendary character ) back in the day. Mr. Food Cost. Also peruse the fresh kale recipe and leftover garnishes. Cooked and served after garnish pre-requisites have been met. Waste not; want not.
9) Milk: some guests, er....may be lactose intolerant. ( made that up: no one was lactose intolerant, back in the day ) And no one had acid reflux as well.
10) Diamonds and rust: You know what memories can bring; they bring diamonds and rust. Apologies to Joan Baez. Submitted for the bored's perusal. Back on the night train. Ready to crash and burn-I never learn.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. The postscripts from the above post have been removed by request of me, the author.
Louie Louie
Back in the day the Kingmen's "Louie Louie" was a big hit nationwide. And at my old stomping grounds [ Rowdy High ] it was no different.
Since we're talking about medieval times, all the young dudes were mesmerized by the lyrics, which you couldn't understand and supposedly contained nothing but sexual references. And because we were young, we dug it.
While tooling home tonite, I heard a different account of what really happened. Via a classic rock radio station.
The Kingsmen recorded the song in one take. They wanted to do it again but the engineer/producer said "it was great! And what do you want to do for the B side?"
After saying "huh?" they did an instrumental. Total time in the studio: 9 minutes.
The engineer/producer asked who was gonna pay the fee.
"I gotta dollar," one said.
"Me, too."
"How much do we owe you?"
"52 dollars."
They got their mom or aunt who was waiting in the car to write a check.
And a classic song was born.
Rolling Stone includes the tune in its top 500 of all time. [ #55 to be exact ] And corroborates the $52 urban legend. Go figga!
Some more background info:
The lead singer had braces which caused him to slur the words thus making them unintelligible. And enhancing the mystique.
And the mike he sang into hung from the ceiling, requiring him to stand on his tiptoes in order to be heard. Must have been a little person or vertically challenged. Or is it horizontal?
It was a huge HIT at Rowdy High. And is still talked about and listened to today.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. I was gonna do "my favorite recipes" of all time but got side-tracked with Louie. What was that one you liked, hootster, where it told you to go the five-and-dime to help with its creation?
Close Encounters of the Banal Kind, eh?
P.S.S. According to the classic oldies station, Paul Revere and the Nader's, er, Raiders
also recorded "Louie, Louie" in the same studio in Oregon two days later. They were the hotter act at the time. Each band knew the other and were, in fact, friends. [ For more details see: "Where The Action Is," another Dick Clark Production. ]
Since we're talking about medieval times, all the young dudes were mesmerized by the lyrics, which you couldn't understand and supposedly contained nothing but sexual references. And because we were young, we dug it.
While tooling home tonite, I heard a different account of what really happened. Via a classic rock radio station.
The Kingsmen recorded the song in one take. They wanted to do it again but the engineer/producer said "it was great! And what do you want to do for the B side?"
After saying "huh?" they did an instrumental. Total time in the studio: 9 minutes.
The engineer/producer asked who was gonna pay the fee.
"I gotta dollar," one said.
"Me, too."
"How much do we owe you?"
"52 dollars."
They got their mom or aunt who was waiting in the car to write a check.
And a classic song was born.
Rolling Stone includes the tune in its top 500 of all time. [ #55 to be exact ] And corroborates the $52 urban legend. Go figga!
Some more background info:
The lead singer had braces which caused him to slur the words thus making them unintelligible. And enhancing the mystique.
And the mike he sang into hung from the ceiling, requiring him to stand on his tiptoes in order to be heard. Must have been a little person or vertically challenged. Or is it horizontal?
It was a huge HIT at Rowdy High. And is still talked about and listened to today.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. I was gonna do "my favorite recipes" of all time but got side-tracked with Louie. What was that one you liked, hootster, where it told you to go the five-and-dime to help with its creation?
Close Encounters of the Banal Kind, eh?
P.S.S. According to the classic oldies station, Paul Revere and the Nader's, er, Raiders
also recorded "Louie, Louie" in the same studio in Oregon two days later. They were the hotter act at the time. Each band knew the other and were, in fact, friends. [ For more details see: "Where The Action Is," another Dick Clark Production. ]
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Take A Load Off Fanny
Well, Thanksgiving's over and oh what a relief it is.
"After they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years
Then they expect you to end your career.
When you can't really function, you're so full of fear."
The above lines from John Lennon's "Working Class Hero." With one tweak by yours truly.
Yes, T.G. is finally over. Kaput. Fini'. Which will give me more time to do something constructive, like finishing Rolling Stone's "500 Greatest Hits of all Time."
While perusing the pages tonite, I learned the 1960's had the most hits, with the 70's taking second place.
Duh! Really?
There was an interesting sidebar from Ozzy Osbourne. He listed his top ten fav tunes. Believe it or not, 5 of them were by....
Did you guess the Fab 4?
"Yesterday" ( original title was "Scrambled Eggs" )
"Hey Jude" ( "hands down one of the greatest songs of all time" Ozzy crooned )
"Imagine" ( okay so maybe it wasn't a joint effort ( pun uintended ) )
"Live and Let Die" ( deja-vu )
"A Day in the Life"
I now share a new fondness for Ozzy!
Back to the article:
The Beachboys scored 7 entries. When I was enrolled at Truck U. back in the day, the hip crowd, to which sometimes I was privy, showed disdain to the boys from California. Dismissed as lightweights. But in hindsight, and to those in the know, Brian Wilson is quite the musical genius. From the R.S. article concerning "Good Vibrations" ranked number six, ahead of "Hey, Jude." [ consult Ripley's for more info ] :
""Wilson built "G.V." in sections, coloring the mood swings with locomotive cello, saloon piano and the special wall of a theremin."
And the B.B.'s "Pet Sounds" is generally considered one of the best l.p.'s [ long playing, eh? ] of all time. Brian Wilson's masterpiece in response to the lads from Liverpool's "Sgt. Pepper."
Well, that's enough of a foray for tonite. Suffering from P.T.S.
"As soon as your born they make you feel small,
By giving you no time instead of it all,
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all,
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Post Thanksgiving Syndrome has left me sucking hind titty. Apologies extended beforehand.
P.S.S. Me favourite song, Snave. As chronicled once before, here's the link:
http://www.geocities.com/SunsetStrip/5109/walrus.html
They don't make 'em like they used to.
"After they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years
Then they expect you to end your career.
When you can't really function, you're so full of fear."
The above lines from John Lennon's "Working Class Hero." With one tweak by yours truly.
Yes, T.G. is finally over. Kaput. Fini'. Which will give me more time to do something constructive, like finishing Rolling Stone's "500 Greatest Hits of all Time."
While perusing the pages tonite, I learned the 1960's had the most hits, with the 70's taking second place.
Duh! Really?
There was an interesting sidebar from Ozzy Osbourne. He listed his top ten fav tunes. Believe it or not, 5 of them were by....
Did you guess the Fab 4?
"Yesterday" ( original title was "Scrambled Eggs" )
"Hey Jude" ( "hands down one of the greatest songs of all time" Ozzy crooned )
"Imagine" ( okay so maybe it wasn't a joint effort ( pun uintended ) )
"Live and Let Die" ( deja-vu )
"A Day in the Life"
I now share a new fondness for Ozzy!
Back to the article:
The Beachboys scored 7 entries. When I was enrolled at Truck U. back in the day, the hip crowd, to which sometimes I was privy, showed disdain to the boys from California. Dismissed as lightweights. But in hindsight, and to those in the know, Brian Wilson is quite the musical genius. From the R.S. article concerning "Good Vibrations" ranked number six, ahead of "Hey, Jude." [ consult Ripley's for more info ] :
""Wilson built "G.V." in sections, coloring the mood swings with locomotive cello, saloon piano and the special wall of a theremin."
And the B.B.'s "Pet Sounds" is generally considered one of the best l.p.'s [ long playing, eh? ] of all time. Brian Wilson's masterpiece in response to the lads from Liverpool's "Sgt. Pepper."
Well, that's enough of a foray for tonite. Suffering from P.T.S.
"As soon as your born they make you feel small,
By giving you no time instead of it all,
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all,
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Post Thanksgiving Syndrome has left me sucking hind titty. Apologies extended beforehand.
P.S.S. Me favourite song, Snave. As chronicled once before, here's the link:
http://www.geocities.com/SunsetStrip/5109/walrus.html
They don't make 'em like they used to.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Frank Sinatra Parody
http://www.beecy.net/frank/
Sent to me by my buddy, ibbq4you2. And the basis for "Strange Things In Each Bite."
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. My backup post for Thanksgiving Eve. Tired....so tired.
P.S.S. Happy Thanksgiving and to Hoots: "Parting is such sweet sorrow." You got to love the alliteration, eh?
Sent to me by my buddy, ibbq4you2. And the basis for "Strange Things In Each Bite."
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. My backup post for Thanksgiving Eve. Tired....so tired.
P.S.S. Happy Thanksgiving and to Hoots: "Parting is such sweet sorrow." You got to love the alliteration, eh?
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
I Tis Of Thee........
While reading hoots' reply [ to "Like A Rolling Stone" ] which smacked of psycho-analytical Freudian jabberwockey, I soon realized that yes, 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." You hit the nail on the head, hootster. Another intuitive moment from the author of "Hootsbuddy's Place."
And as we wax poetic, "Wherefore art thou?" is the query of the week.
I'm in the midst of H.W. at H.W. So an early,
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Last nite's original postscript-before the google gods sabotaged my post-was: November 22? So outta the loop, didn't realise its importance during the day.
P.S. Tonite: Correction to last nite, as well. Al Cooper's organ riff on "L.A.R.S." was impromptu. Incredible!
And as we wax poetic, "Wherefore art thou?" is the query of the week.
I'm in the midst of H.W. at H.W. So an early,
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Last nite's original postscript-before the google gods sabotaged my post-was: November 22? So outta the loop, didn't realise its importance during the day.
P.S. Tonite: Correction to last nite, as well. Al Cooper's organ riff on "L.A.R.S." was impromptu. Incredible!
Like A Rolling Stone
I just wrote this damn thing and lost it-the first ever. Used to happen a lot on the Yahoo. First time for everything. So this will be brief.
The post was about the new edition of Rolling Stone: "The 500 Greatest Hits of All Time."
In summary-too lazy and not enough time to recreate-the Fab 4 led the way; the Stones second; and Bobby Dylan was numero uno with "Like a Rolling Stone," a memorable classic with Al Kooper on organ done in one take. Unbelievable!
And Sly and the Family Stone had six selections. I liked Sly back in the day. "Family Affair" and "If You Want Me To Stay" were two of me favourites. Shirley, "Don't Call Me "N" word, Whitey" probably didn't make it. See, it's Thanksgiving and I haven't had the time to peruse the whole article.
But there's great material here for future forays. @#$@$ google/computer.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. The King, not Slim Whitman of yodeling fame, had 11 songs in the top 500.
The post was about the new edition of Rolling Stone: "The 500 Greatest Hits of All Time."
In summary-too lazy and not enough time to recreate-the Fab 4 led the way; the Stones second; and Bobby Dylan was numero uno with "Like a Rolling Stone," a memorable classic with Al Kooper on organ done in one take. Unbelievable!
And Sly and the Family Stone had six selections. I liked Sly back in the day. "Family Affair" and "If You Want Me To Stay" were two of me favourites. Shirley, "Don't Call Me "N" word, Whitey" probably didn't make it. See, it's Thanksgiving and I haven't had the time to peruse the whole article.
But there's great material here for future forays. @#$@$ google/computer.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. The King, not Slim Whitman of yodeling fame, had 11 songs in the top 500.
Sunday, November 21, 2004
10-12 lb. Turkey/H.W. at H.W.
Well, it's hell week. Catering time. And time to dust off those famous words:
10-12 pound turkey
2 qts. of cornbread dressing
A pint of cranberry sauce
A dozen rolls
And a pumpkin or pecan pie.
Back in the day we never included the pie or rolls. And we made dressing in the bain maries. For those unfamiliar with the terminology, it is a rectangular holding tank filled with water and kept hot with gas burners. [ see Paleolithic Age for more details ]
And we used to swish our ladles in the water whenever we needed a quick fix for the serving line. But with the advent of stricter sanitation requirements, swishing is a lost art.
And the staff is required to wash their hands more. And some even wear latex bras, er, gloves. Apologies to Playtex. And whatever happened to girdles? Again, back in the day, every female HAD to wear one. You just weren't one of the "in" crowd if you didn't squeeze your midriff, via the buttocks region, into a Playtex girdle.
I guess they went the way of pantylooms, poodle skirts, saddle oxfords, penny loafers, and bouffant hair styles. Was it Twiggy who led the way? Or Mary Quant, or was it Helen Gurdy Brown? Who knows or who cares?
And the staff is required to have clean aprons. Wiping your mouth on one or blowing your nose into one is strictly verboten.
And the art of putting your fingers into a veggie bowl so you can get a better grip-better leverage- is not allowed anymore.
And dented cans? Throw 'em out. So's you don't serve botulism stew.
And you got to "date dot" the product. The day of trying to squeeze [ see girdle paragraph ] another week out of the pork chow mein is no longer considered appropriate behavior.
And cooking enough fried chicken in the morning to last until 8:30 p.m. is now out of the question. Doesn't fit the hot holding guidelines. Same for chop beef, fried cod, er, pollock, catfish, er, basa, er, tilapia, and hushpuppies.
Another no-no. The days of allowing the truck driver to bring in torn bags of flour, sugar, meal, etc. are kaput. Fini'. Cos we don't know what kind of critters done crawled up in that bag. Boll weevil, roach, varmint-name your poison.
Well, I could go on and on. But it's Thanksgiving. And I need my beauty sleep. Cos it's Hell Week at H.W. [ Hell Whole ]
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. The Superstation has been showing "The Wizard of Oz" this weekend. What a great movie. And Kitty wouldn't watch the wicked witch scenes which scared the beejeezus out of her as a kid. Childhood memories, eh?
10-12 pound turkey
2 qts. of cornbread dressing
A pint of cranberry sauce
A dozen rolls
And a pumpkin or pecan pie.
Back in the day we never included the pie or rolls. And we made dressing in the bain maries. For those unfamiliar with the terminology, it is a rectangular holding tank filled with water and kept hot with gas burners. [ see Paleolithic Age for more details ]
And we used to swish our ladles in the water whenever we needed a quick fix for the serving line. But with the advent of stricter sanitation requirements, swishing is a lost art.
And the staff is required to wash their hands more. And some even wear latex bras, er, gloves. Apologies to Playtex. And whatever happened to girdles? Again, back in the day, every female HAD to wear one. You just weren't one of the "in" crowd if you didn't squeeze your midriff, via the buttocks region, into a Playtex girdle.
I guess they went the way of pantylooms, poodle skirts, saddle oxfords, penny loafers, and bouffant hair styles. Was it Twiggy who led the way? Or Mary Quant, or was it Helen Gurdy Brown? Who knows or who cares?
And the staff is required to have clean aprons. Wiping your mouth on one or blowing your nose into one is strictly verboten.
And the art of putting your fingers into a veggie bowl so you can get a better grip-better leverage- is not allowed anymore.
And dented cans? Throw 'em out. So's you don't serve botulism stew.
And you got to "date dot" the product. The day of trying to squeeze [ see girdle paragraph ] another week out of the pork chow mein is no longer considered appropriate behavior.
And cooking enough fried chicken in the morning to last until 8:30 p.m. is now out of the question. Doesn't fit the hot holding guidelines. Same for chop beef, fried cod, er, pollock, catfish, er, basa, er, tilapia, and hushpuppies.
Another no-no. The days of allowing the truck driver to bring in torn bags of flour, sugar, meal, etc. are kaput. Fini'. Cos we don't know what kind of critters done crawled up in that bag. Boll weevil, roach, varmint-name your poison.
Well, I could go on and on. But it's Thanksgiving. And I need my beauty sleep. Cos it's Hell Week at H.W. [ Hell Whole ]
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. The Superstation has been showing "The Wizard of Oz" this weekend. What a great movie. And Kitty wouldn't watch the wicked witch scenes which scared the beejeezus out of her as a kid. Childhood memories, eh?
World Gone Mad/Pondtificating
It looked like the Pond wasn't gonna be able to publish tonite, but the engineers at Google just came through and remedied the snafu.
I'm sitting here watching Sports Center and marvelling at the pugilism. The right hooks, the jabs, the haymakers. the ropa dopas , et al. Man, two of the best fights I've seen in recent memory. Rivaling "The Thrilla in Manilla" seen by yours truly via pay-per-view back in the day. The combatants in the two matches were:
The Indiana Pacers vs. the Detroit Pistons. WWF or whatever it's called these days-eat your heart out. Ron Artest's conquest of the nerdy fan in the fifth row was reminiscent of Mike Tyson during his prime.
And the Clemson Tigers vs. the South Carolina Gamecocks. What a melee. And what a sordid ending to the storied career of Lou Holtz. One of my company's ex-alums once carried the pigskin for Lou back at N.C. State. And parlayed his football experience into a gig as g.m. for our storied company.
Poor Lou went out a loser, but Ron Zook's Florida team won. A lame duck coach. Ron will leave the building soon, allah Slim Whitman, because he was fired a coppola weeks ago. When his team went for a first down late in the game [ 4th and inches, leading 20-13 ] on their own 25 and made the first down-a gutsy call-the announcer quipped," Well, if they didn't make it [ first down ] they couldn't fire him, again.
It's late. Thanks Google.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
I'm sitting here watching Sports Center and marvelling at the pugilism. The right hooks, the jabs, the haymakers. the ropa dopas , et al. Man, two of the best fights I've seen in recent memory. Rivaling "The Thrilla in Manilla" seen by yours truly via pay-per-view back in the day. The combatants in the two matches were:
The Indiana Pacers vs. the Detroit Pistons. WWF or whatever it's called these days-eat your heart out. Ron Artest's conquest of the nerdy fan in the fifth row was reminiscent of Mike Tyson during his prime.
And the Clemson Tigers vs. the South Carolina Gamecocks. What a melee. And what a sordid ending to the storied career of Lou Holtz. One of my company's ex-alums once carried the pigskin for Lou back at N.C. State. And parlayed his football experience into a gig as g.m. for our storied company.
Poor Lou went out a loser, but Ron Zook's Florida team won. A lame duck coach. Ron will leave the building soon, allah Slim Whitman, because he was fired a coppola weeks ago. When his team went for a first down late in the game [ 4th and inches, leading 20-13 ] on their own 25 and made the first down-a gutsy call-the announcer quipped," Well, if they didn't make it [ first down ] they couldn't fire him, again.
It's late. Thanks Google.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
Saturday, November 20, 2004
Edit Post
I was all set to write tonight's foray about Naturally Nasty Nanerb, Katlin's new beau, but couldn't find a spark. When that happens-when it doesn't flow-it's time to move on or revisit the subject at a later date.
Moving forward, it is always good to hear from my main man, the enigmatic demosthenescard, aka, simply, the Card. Who once scooped [ pun unintended ] the world by announcing the demise of our former leader. Post 5000- or was it 6000-if memory serves. I always tried to post on the advent of a new millineum, but you beat me to it. Damn the ceo's hide.
I did manage to nail 3000, a forgettable saga that mentioned Sam Peckinpah, who gave the world a dose of reality film-making. One of his more memorable flicks was "Straw Dogs," with the delightful and sultry Susan George, who got my hormones adrenalizing back in the day. With her crooked front teeth and those pouty, protruding lips. And that bod! A sex kitten. They don't make 'em like they used to.
Can't recall 4000 unless it was entitled "Truck U.", my old alma mater. Where I graduated magna cum rowdy.
I missed 7000 as well. Can't remember. Old timers is rearing its ugly head. The way things are going, 8000 may not be reached until Hillary or Ms. Rice is elected. Ain't no way I'm gonna attempt to spell Condeleeza.
Well, card. Come see me on the pond. And thanks for the kind words. Charlie Jr.'s abode is still Pond Jovi and Katlin appears to be serious about Naturally Nasty Nanerb. And have you heard from Ngudu? Our foster son.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Hoots, I miss your column on the Yahoo, but you are going strong with the Kurds and Ways of the World. [ pun intention left to the reader ]
Moving forward, it is always good to hear from my main man, the enigmatic demosthenescard, aka, simply, the Card. Who once scooped [ pun unintended ] the world by announcing the demise of our former leader. Post 5000- or was it 6000-if memory serves. I always tried to post on the advent of a new millineum, but you beat me to it. Damn the ceo's hide.
I did manage to nail 3000, a forgettable saga that mentioned Sam Peckinpah, who gave the world a dose of reality film-making. One of his more memorable flicks was "Straw Dogs," with the delightful and sultry Susan George, who got my hormones adrenalizing back in the day. With her crooked front teeth and those pouty, protruding lips. And that bod! A sex kitten. They don't make 'em like they used to.
Can't recall 4000 unless it was entitled "Truck U.", my old alma mater. Where I graduated magna cum rowdy.
I missed 7000 as well. Can't remember. Old timers is rearing its ugly head. The way things are going, 8000 may not be reached until Hillary or Ms. Rice is elected. Ain't no way I'm gonna attempt to spell Condeleeza.
Well, card. Come see me on the pond. And thanks for the kind words. Charlie Jr.'s abode is still Pond Jovi and Katlin appears to be serious about Naturally Nasty Nanerb. And have you heard from Ngudu? Our foster son.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Hoots, I miss your column on the Yahoo, but you are going strong with the Kurds and Ways of the World. [ pun intention left to the reader ]
Friday, November 19, 2004
May the Force Be With You!
An open letter to the hootster:
Thanks, hoots, for replying to my last foray entitled "Sloganless Revisited." A response to a post is always a good thing. Somewhere a nerve is struck in the replyee.
In your case, the old synchronicity vibe reared its head. It is well-chronicled how yours truly is loaded with more than his fair share of said subject. May the force be with you.
My sister, Ali, claims she is full of it, too. So it must be hereditary and runs in the family. On my father's side cos my mother claims she is unaffected.
In an old PIC post, I mentioned that "one is the loneliest number" to "Ibbq4u2." [ no relation to Bono ]
The next day he told me that "one...." was his new password for a atm card that he began the same day of the post. Uncanny. Unbelievable? May the force be with you!
Last nite I mentioned an old acquaintance to Kitty that we both knew back in the day. Hadn't mentioned his name in years. She said she had been perusing the obits a week or so ago and noticed our friend's mother-in-law had passed away. And he was listed as a survivor. May the force be with you.
Anyway, we shared a synchronistic vibe, hoots, concerning "Sloganless." No more, no less. Your friend, v.c.
Farewell and adieu. May the force be with you!
P.S. And thanks to pictruandtru for his response to "Welcome to the Jungle." May the force be with you, thru, er, too.
P.S.S. I'm worried about Kitty. Perusing obits? She must be getting "old-timers" disease.
Thanks, hoots, for replying to my last foray entitled "Sloganless Revisited." A response to a post is always a good thing. Somewhere a nerve is struck in the replyee.
In your case, the old synchronicity vibe reared its head. It is well-chronicled how yours truly is loaded with more than his fair share of said subject. May the force be with you.
My sister, Ali, claims she is full of it, too. So it must be hereditary and runs in the family. On my father's side cos my mother claims she is unaffected.
In an old PIC post, I mentioned that "one is the loneliest number" to "Ibbq4u2." [ no relation to Bono ]
The next day he told me that "one...." was his new password for a atm card that he began the same day of the post. Uncanny. Unbelievable? May the force be with you!
Last nite I mentioned an old acquaintance to Kitty that we both knew back in the day. Hadn't mentioned his name in years. She said she had been perusing the obits a week or so ago and noticed our friend's mother-in-law had passed away. And he was listed as a survivor. May the force be with you.
Anyway, we shared a synchronistic vibe, hoots, concerning "Sloganless." No more, no less. Your friend, v.c.
Farewell and adieu. May the force be with you!
P.S. And thanks to pictruandtru for his response to "Welcome to the Jungle." May the force be with you, thru, er, too.
P.S.S. I'm worried about Kitty. Perusing obits? She must be getting "old-timers" disease.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Sloganless Revisited
Back in my incubating period as a fledgling writer on the Yahoo, I submitted these ideas to the brass for their approval and perusal. They were jingles for my company. Slogans, if you will.
They never saw the light of day. Evidently, the brass decided to go outside the company and hired a "Marketing Director." His ideas didn't pan out, and they hired another "M.D." and another ad agency. Still mired in the proverbial quagmire, what might have occurred had the savvy ad types enlisted my aid.
Perhaps my company would still be listed on the N.Y. Stock Exchange. Maybe we would not have endured the heartbreak of bankruptcy and ye old musical chairs syndrome, evident today. And perhaps the Hootster would still be calling the shots at his old venue, H.W. [ Heaven Whole ] Who knows? But it wasn't meant to be. Que sera sera.
Maybe a savvy ad type will peruse the following and decide to use one of them in his/her next ad campaign. The following exercise in futility was written in late 2001. And here it is:
New theme songs and slogans for Piccadilly; Submitted for your approval.
1) Hey Dude.
Don't make it bad.
Take a sack home and you'll feel better.
( sung to the Beatles "Hey Jude" )
2) To All The Dillys.
Weve served before.
We're glad you came along.
We dedicate this song.
To all the dillys we've served before.
( sung to "All The Girls" by Willie Nelson and Julio Iglesias )
3) Dilly Love Songs.
You'd think that people would have had enough of dilly love songs.
I look around me and I see it isn't so.
Some people want to fill the world with dilly love songs.
And what's wrong with that?
I'd like to know.
Cos here we go.
Again.
( sung to Wings' "Silly Love Songs" )
4)SuperDilly Dreamin'.
I'd be safe and warm.
If I was in La. [ Louisiana ]
Superdilly dreamin'.
On such a winter's day.
( sung to the Mamas and Papas "California Dreamin'" )
5) I Get A Pound.
I'm getting bugged driving up and down the same old strip.
I gotta find a new place where the food is hip.
I get a pound.
Plenty of times.
When they cut my corned beef.
Or when they cut my roast beef.
I get a pound.
( sung to the Beachboys' "I Get Around" )
6) Love PIC Madly.
Don't you want a dilly?
Might see Milli Vanilli.
Don't you love PIC as you're walking out the door.
Like you've done one hundred times before.
( sung to "Love Her Madly" by the Doors )
7) Oh, Lord.
Won't you buy me a signature meal?
My friends all buy dillys.
I must make amends.
( sung to "Mercedes Benz" by Janis Joplin )
8) Looking For Food.
In all the wrong places.
Looking for food in all the wrong faces.
Looking for food.
( sung to "Looking For Love"by Johnny Lee from the "Urban Cowboy" soundtrack )
9) Somebody's Dilly.
It must be somebody's dilly.
It's got to be somebody's dilly.
It's so fine.
I try to shut my eyes.
But I can't get it outta my sight.
It's gotta be somebody's dilly.
( sung to Jackson Browne's "Somebody's Baby" )
10) Imagine.
Imagine there's no combos.
I wonder if you can.
No best value.
A brotherhood of pans.
Imagine all the rowdy customers.
Living life in peace.
You may say I'm a dreamer.
But I'm not the only one.
I hope someday we'll serve you.
And the dilly will be as one.
( sung to "Imagine" by John Lennon )
Well that be it. No signature farewell and adieu at the time. And approval but no perusal. Evolution, eh?
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Due to the late hour, no postscripts tonite.
They never saw the light of day. Evidently, the brass decided to go outside the company and hired a "Marketing Director." His ideas didn't pan out, and they hired another "M.D." and another ad agency. Still mired in the proverbial quagmire, what might have occurred had the savvy ad types enlisted my aid.
Perhaps my company would still be listed on the N.Y. Stock Exchange. Maybe we would not have endured the heartbreak of bankruptcy and ye old musical chairs syndrome, evident today. And perhaps the Hootster would still be calling the shots at his old venue, H.W. [ Heaven Whole ] Who knows? But it wasn't meant to be. Que sera sera.
Maybe a savvy ad type will peruse the following and decide to use one of them in his/her next ad campaign. The following exercise in futility was written in late 2001. And here it is:
New theme songs and slogans for Piccadilly; Submitted for your approval.
1) Hey Dude.
Don't make it bad.
Take a sack home and you'll feel better.
( sung to the Beatles "Hey Jude" )
2) To All The Dillys.
Weve served before.
We're glad you came along.
We dedicate this song.
To all the dillys we've served before.
( sung to "All The Girls" by Willie Nelson and Julio Iglesias )
3) Dilly Love Songs.
You'd think that people would have had enough of dilly love songs.
I look around me and I see it isn't so.
Some people want to fill the world with dilly love songs.
And what's wrong with that?
I'd like to know.
Cos here we go.
Again.
( sung to Wings' "Silly Love Songs" )
4)SuperDilly Dreamin'.
I'd be safe and warm.
If I was in La. [ Louisiana ]
Superdilly dreamin'.
On such a winter's day.
( sung to the Mamas and Papas "California Dreamin'" )
5) I Get A Pound.
I'm getting bugged driving up and down the same old strip.
I gotta find a new place where the food is hip.
I get a pound.
Plenty of times.
When they cut my corned beef.
Or when they cut my roast beef.
I get a pound.
( sung to the Beachboys' "I Get Around" )
6) Love PIC Madly.
Don't you want a dilly?
Might see Milli Vanilli.
Don't you love PIC as you're walking out the door.
Like you've done one hundred times before.
( sung to "Love Her Madly" by the Doors )
7) Oh, Lord.
Won't you buy me a signature meal?
My friends all buy dillys.
I must make amends.
( sung to "Mercedes Benz" by Janis Joplin )
8) Looking For Food.
In all the wrong places.
Looking for food in all the wrong faces.
Looking for food.
( sung to "Looking For Love"by Johnny Lee from the "Urban Cowboy" soundtrack )
9) Somebody's Dilly.
It must be somebody's dilly.
It's got to be somebody's dilly.
It's so fine.
I try to shut my eyes.
But I can't get it outta my sight.
It's gotta be somebody's dilly.
( sung to Jackson Browne's "Somebody's Baby" )
10) Imagine.
Imagine there's no combos.
I wonder if you can.
No best value.
A brotherhood of pans.
Imagine all the rowdy customers.
Living life in peace.
You may say I'm a dreamer.
But I'm not the only one.
I hope someday we'll serve you.
And the dilly will be as one.
( sung to "Imagine" by John Lennon )
Well that be it. No signature farewell and adieu at the time. And approval but no perusal. Evolution, eh?
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Due to the late hour, no postscripts tonite.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
November 16, 2004
It was an ordinary day.
The weather is getting colder and strawberries are once again out of season. Happens every Thanksgiving, eh?
There were beaucoup problems at work. They don't call it H.W. for nothing. Everything seemed out of synch. Nothing worked just right or was broken. A little off-kilter. And some of my passive-aggressive team members tried to "show-out." Meaning they weren't on their best behavior and wanted to engage me in their chaos to which I didn't want to be a party.
"Why are you always pickin' on me?" Susie, the silverware roller asked in the afternoon.
"Susie, I'm not picking on you, but when you wipe your mouth on your apron, I have to say something."
Susie just looked at me in disbelief. She doesn't like to be told anything and likes to do whatever she wants. She does enjoy the role of victim. I am no psych0, er, analyst but this is one layman's opinion.
Later....
"Susie, be sure and wash your hands when you use your hands to wipe the voluminous sweat off your face." I politely scolded.
"Is there anything else that's wrong, while I'm standing here?" she said in her most perfect p.a. tone.
"Yes, Susie. I'm sorry but I need you to wear a hair net. And please remove your apron, the one with the bright cherry stains and black carbon build-up. It doesn't look good to the guests." I countered meekly.
Later....
Susie is trying to get on my "good" side.
"The people using the bathroom must be eating the toilet paper. Second role today," she said to me as I was working in my office dutifully perusing the holiday orders.
"Ha ha, that's a good one, Susie." I said. Hopefully, she knows to wash her hands after a trip to the lavatory I privately mused.
Later me and Susie's paths met again....
"Susie, can you help us serve the guests out here on the firing, er, serving line? Please!"
"Be right there," she said wiping her dripping forehead with her own personal towel.
"Susie. Be sure and wash your hands before you serve the guests, please!"
"But I didn't touch my hands to my face."
"Susie. I'm sorry if you feel I'm picking on you, but that towel of yours is a haven for bacteria. And you must wash your hands."
Well, Susie didn't like what was said. Made a u-turn away from me and made a beeline to the team member's bathroom. She soon emerged and relunctantly helped with the guests.
At 9 p.m., Susie left the building, allah Elvis, without getting checked-out. She intentionally, er, forgot to wipe her shelves. And she left two loads of dirty laundry [ apologies to Don Henley-sorry, couldn't resist ] scattered about.
She's off for two days, so when I engage her on Friday for today's indiscretions, it will probably go like this:
"Susie, I hate to even bring this up, but you forgot to check-out with me Tuesday. And in your haste to get home, you forgot to do a few of your duties."
"GET OFF MY BACK! Quit pickin' on me. Boo hoo hoo."
It's just been one of those days. Susie, the light fixture that tripped the breakers, Peter Potwasher's personal dilemma, which caused him to leave early, etc. And when the fry cook let the drain run over.....
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Maybe tomorrow will be better.
The weather is getting colder and strawberries are once again out of season. Happens every Thanksgiving, eh?
There were beaucoup problems at work. They don't call it H.W. for nothing. Everything seemed out of synch. Nothing worked just right or was broken. A little off-kilter. And some of my passive-aggressive team members tried to "show-out." Meaning they weren't on their best behavior and wanted to engage me in their chaos to which I didn't want to be a party.
"Why are you always pickin' on me?" Susie, the silverware roller asked in the afternoon.
"Susie, I'm not picking on you, but when you wipe your mouth on your apron, I have to say something."
Susie just looked at me in disbelief. She doesn't like to be told anything and likes to do whatever she wants. She does enjoy the role of victim. I am no psych0, er, analyst but this is one layman's opinion.
Later....
"Susie, be sure and wash your hands when you use your hands to wipe the voluminous sweat off your face." I politely scolded.
"Is there anything else that's wrong, while I'm standing here?" she said in her most perfect p.a. tone.
"Yes, Susie. I'm sorry but I need you to wear a hair net. And please remove your apron, the one with the bright cherry stains and black carbon build-up. It doesn't look good to the guests." I countered meekly.
Later....
Susie is trying to get on my "good" side.
"The people using the bathroom must be eating the toilet paper. Second role today," she said to me as I was working in my office dutifully perusing the holiday orders.
"Ha ha, that's a good one, Susie." I said. Hopefully, she knows to wash her hands after a trip to the lavatory I privately mused.
Later me and Susie's paths met again....
"Susie, can you help us serve the guests out here on the firing, er, serving line? Please!"
"Be right there," she said wiping her dripping forehead with her own personal towel.
"Susie. Be sure and wash your hands before you serve the guests, please!"
"But I didn't touch my hands to my face."
"Susie. I'm sorry if you feel I'm picking on you, but that towel of yours is a haven for bacteria. And you must wash your hands."
Well, Susie didn't like what was said. Made a u-turn away from me and made a beeline to the team member's bathroom. She soon emerged and relunctantly helped with the guests.
At 9 p.m., Susie left the building, allah Elvis, without getting checked-out. She intentionally, er, forgot to wipe her shelves. And she left two loads of dirty laundry [ apologies to Don Henley-sorry, couldn't resist ] scattered about.
She's off for two days, so when I engage her on Friday for today's indiscretions, it will probably go like this:
"Susie, I hate to even bring this up, but you forgot to check-out with me Tuesday. And in your haste to get home, you forgot to do a few of your duties."
"GET OFF MY BACK! Quit pickin' on me. Boo hoo hoo."
It's just been one of those days. Susie, the light fixture that tripped the breakers, Peter Potwasher's personal dilemma, which caused him to leave early, etc. And when the fry cook let the drain run over.....
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Maybe tomorrow will be better.
Monday, November 15, 2004
Hell, Yeah!
It's been two days since you [ loyal readers ] have had any correspondence from the Pond. The Pond was burned out. And possibly suffering from post-traumatic election syndrome. [ there's a country-western song here, Shirley ]
I watched the American Music Awards last nite. Piqued by the resurrection of some 40 year-old vintage footage of the Fab 4 that was lost in the vault, allah Geraldo Rivera.
Otherwise, don't think I would have watched. It was a happening, of course. And what strange bedfellows. Funk, hip-hop, rap, country-western, ( see above ) pop, and alternative. The beat goes on. All sequestered together in one grand hall.
Rod Stewart sang an old Louie Armstrong song?, instead of "Maggie May" or "Da Ya Think I'm Sexy. Back in the day, old Rod was one of me favourites. He sang with Jeff Beck, The Faces, and then went Soho, er, solo. One back in the day tune was entitled: "Attractive Female Wanted" from "Blondes Have More Fun:"
I'm tired of buying Penthouse and Oui and Hustler [ pronounced "hustle er" for the rhyme to follow ]
It's Friday night I'm all alone still a bachelor
She said she'd call me when she'd finished work
Haven't heard a word all day
I may not be Warren Beatty or Muhammed Ali [ dated reference, eh? ]
(Attractive female wanted)
I ain't asking a great deal, just a female to move in with me
(Attractive female wanted)
I'll share all my records, toothbrush and car and color TV,
Honestly
A single girl for my single bed is my remedy
(Attractive female wanted)
And Gretchan Wilson sang an ode to all the redneck girls in attendance. Wonder what Janet Jackson and Snoop-Dog thought of her song?
http://www.hit-country-music-lyrics.com/redneck-woman-lyrics.html
And the enigmatic Snoop sang a duet with someone-sorry I'm outta the loop-which had a catchy hook about "pimps in da crib."
And Usher won a bunch of awards. And introduced "Fantasia" proclaiming "you'd have to be from another planet not to have heard of this new singing-sensation."
Guilty as charged. I must be from Venus [ 20 million miles away, eh? ] or Uranus or "The Thing From Another World," cos I ain't heard of her.
Kitty, my wife, said she may have surfaced as a result of American Idol fame. ( Please see Clay Aiken and others for more details )
And "The Desperate Housewives" introduced an act. Seems their show was bumped this week so the A.M.A. could air. One of the housewives forgot to dress completely as she was missing a bra and something to cover the midriff portion of her body.
And Jimmy Kimmel was the m.c. And paraded a Mexican gardener sans shirt a coppola times during the festivities. In a spoof of the Housewives. Like "Dallas" I have never seen an episode.
And Bon Jovi won an honorary lifetime achievement award. And the irrepressible "Bono" thanked everyone from Earth to Uranus in his lengthy acceptance speech.
And Sheryl Crow won. And Alicia Keys. Don't know any of their songs-sorry, outta the loop time, again.
And basketball legend-in-the-making, Kobe Bryant presented an award. And the boo-birds were in full force. Because of the Shaq/Kobe feud.
And after wading through act after act after act, I finally got to see the 2 minute blurb from the 4 lads from Liverpool. Introduced by Richard Starkey in England.
Usher won the last award and the show mercifully came to a close. And I was getting sleepy....so sleepy.
Yes, the Pond was suffering from burn out. But the resilient title character returns.
The following submission is submitted for your approval and perusal. From the re-energized Pond. Ready for new transmissions. From Earth to Uranus.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Bono thanked Dick Clark for helping him in his career. Is this the same Dick Clark who wouldn't grant an interview to Michael Moore in "Bowling for Columbine?" Grandstand, er, Bandstand.
P.S.S. And who was the young cowboy who won "best entertainer of the year?" He seemed outta place with the rappers and the hip-hoppers. With his sheepish, almost apologetic, acceptance speech.
I watched the American Music Awards last nite. Piqued by the resurrection of some 40 year-old vintage footage of the Fab 4 that was lost in the vault, allah Geraldo Rivera.
Otherwise, don't think I would have watched. It was a happening, of course. And what strange bedfellows. Funk, hip-hop, rap, country-western, ( see above ) pop, and alternative. The beat goes on. All sequestered together in one grand hall.
Rod Stewart sang an old Louie Armstrong song?, instead of "Maggie May" or "Da Ya Think I'm Sexy. Back in the day, old Rod was one of me favourites. He sang with Jeff Beck, The Faces, and then went Soho, er, solo. One back in the day tune was entitled: "Attractive Female Wanted" from "Blondes Have More Fun:"
I'm tired of buying Penthouse and Oui and Hustler [ pronounced "hustle er" for the rhyme to follow ]
It's Friday night I'm all alone still a bachelor
She said she'd call me when she'd finished work
Haven't heard a word all day
I may not be Warren Beatty or Muhammed Ali [ dated reference, eh? ]
(Attractive female wanted)
I ain't asking a great deal, just a female to move in with me
(Attractive female wanted)
I'll share all my records, toothbrush and car and color TV,
Honestly
A single girl for my single bed is my remedy
(Attractive female wanted)
And Gretchan Wilson sang an ode to all the redneck girls in attendance. Wonder what Janet Jackson and Snoop-Dog thought of her song?
http://www.hit-country-music-lyrics.com/redneck-woman-lyrics.html
And the enigmatic Snoop sang a duet with someone-sorry I'm outta the loop-which had a catchy hook about "pimps in da crib."
And Usher won a bunch of awards. And introduced "Fantasia" proclaiming "you'd have to be from another planet not to have heard of this new singing-sensation."
Guilty as charged. I must be from Venus [ 20 million miles away, eh? ] or Uranus or "The Thing From Another World," cos I ain't heard of her.
Kitty, my wife, said she may have surfaced as a result of American Idol fame. ( Please see Clay Aiken and others for more details )
And "The Desperate Housewives" introduced an act. Seems their show was bumped this week so the A.M.A. could air. One of the housewives forgot to dress completely as she was missing a bra and something to cover the midriff portion of her body.
And Jimmy Kimmel was the m.c. And paraded a Mexican gardener sans shirt a coppola times during the festivities. In a spoof of the Housewives. Like "Dallas" I have never seen an episode.
And Bon Jovi won an honorary lifetime achievement award. And the irrepressible "Bono" thanked everyone from Earth to Uranus in his lengthy acceptance speech.
And Sheryl Crow won. And Alicia Keys. Don't know any of their songs-sorry, outta the loop time, again.
And basketball legend-in-the-making, Kobe Bryant presented an award. And the boo-birds were in full force. Because of the Shaq/Kobe feud.
And after wading through act after act after act, I finally got to see the 2 minute blurb from the 4 lads from Liverpool. Introduced by Richard Starkey in England.
Usher won the last award and the show mercifully came to a close. And I was getting sleepy....so sleepy.
Yes, the Pond was suffering from burn out. But the resilient title character returns.
The following submission is submitted for your approval and perusal. From the re-energized Pond. Ready for new transmissions. From Earth to Uranus.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Bono thanked Dick Clark for helping him in his career. Is this the same Dick Clark who wouldn't grant an interview to Michael Moore in "Bowling for Columbine?" Grandstand, er, Bandstand.
P.S.S. And who was the young cowboy who won "best entertainer of the year?" He seemed outta place with the rappers and the hip-hoppers. With his sheepish, almost apologetic, acceptance speech.
Friday, November 12, 2004
Burned Out
The nite train has come to the end of the line. Kaput. Finished. There are no more tracks. Only the tracks of my tears. Yes, I am crying while typing these words, paragraphs, thoughts, etc.
I knew the end was near. Me and old Betsy [ my car ] were tooling home this week as usual. And we were both trying to think of new ideas for "Golden Pond." But try as we might, nothing constructive was forthcoming. A big blank. A zero. Nada.
We stalled for time by resurrecting old posts from yesteryear. Evidenced by the reprinting of "The Catfather," a blatant rip-off of "The Godfather." And "Father Knows Rest/Best."
You think it's easy writing these infantile forays? Hell, no it ain't easy.
And I've parodied every movie I've ever seen. There's hardly any new material out there. All the new flicks these days are about serial killers or computer-animated gems?
And I have no idea what's hot in music in 2004. Okay so the Vanilla Fudge are making another comeback. But they were 2 hit wonders in the late 60's.
I do recall their album circa 1968. On the front cover, a psychedelic art form, shades of Andy Warhol. And on the back cover, the 4 lads themselves. All scrubbed, clean- shaven, and wearing "mod" clothes. They looked like your average frat brother. They had the yuppie look before the yuppie look was invented.
I saw them in concert shortly thereafter. Gone were the guys in the photos. In their places were 4 guys who had transformed themselves into 4 long-hair hippie freaks. The organist had a bushy bushy blonde, er, black stringy beard, no shoes and no shirt. Damn. What had happened to the clean-cut guys? It was my initiation into the "love generation."
See what I mean. There is nothing left. Kaput. Finished. The wheels have come off the tracks. It is time to disembark the nite train. It has nothing left.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. The Turtles once headlined shows back in the day. Iron Butterfly was the warmup band. Quite a difference in music styles. The crowd would come see the Butterfly and leave and/or boo the Turtles. Poor Flo and Eddie and Eleanor, who "gee, I think you're swell."
I knew the end was near. Me and old Betsy [ my car ] were tooling home this week as usual. And we were both trying to think of new ideas for "Golden Pond." But try as we might, nothing constructive was forthcoming. A big blank. A zero. Nada.
We stalled for time by resurrecting old posts from yesteryear. Evidenced by the reprinting of "The Catfather," a blatant rip-off of "The Godfather." And "Father Knows Rest/Best."
You think it's easy writing these infantile forays? Hell, no it ain't easy.
And I've parodied every movie I've ever seen. There's hardly any new material out there. All the new flicks these days are about serial killers or computer-animated gems?
And I have no idea what's hot in music in 2004. Okay so the Vanilla Fudge are making another comeback. But they were 2 hit wonders in the late 60's.
I do recall their album circa 1968. On the front cover, a psychedelic art form, shades of Andy Warhol. And on the back cover, the 4 lads themselves. All scrubbed, clean- shaven, and wearing "mod" clothes. They looked like your average frat brother. They had the yuppie look before the yuppie look was invented.
I saw them in concert shortly thereafter. Gone were the guys in the photos. In their places were 4 guys who had transformed themselves into 4 long-hair hippie freaks. The organist had a bushy bushy blonde, er, black stringy beard, no shoes and no shirt. Damn. What had happened to the clean-cut guys? It was my initiation into the "love generation."
See what I mean. There is nothing left. Kaput. Finished. The wheels have come off the tracks. It is time to disembark the nite train. It has nothing left.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. The Turtles once headlined shows back in the day. Iron Butterfly was the warmup band. Quite a difference in music styles. The crowd would come see the Butterfly and leave and/or boo the Turtles. Poor Flo and Eddie and Eleanor, who "gee, I think you're swell."
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Father Knows Best!
Another archived foray written a coppola years ago. It is reprinted here with the permission of the author, v.c. Who is currently in burned-out phase, nervous breakdown 19 plus.
Some proposed and rejected names for the new situation comedy currently being written by yours truly, v.c. on golden pond.
1) The vietnamcatfish Show. Starts out on the pond. v.c., the title character has his fishing pole. His son, Opus, is walking with him. Opus is throwing rocks. Background music. Melodic whistler. Doo doo doot doo de doot doot doo de doot doot.... Engaging characters abound in Raybradbury, N.C. Opus the drunk. ( no relation to Opus, v.c.'s son ) ; Aunt Pee, who has urinary problems. ( "Depends" had yet to be invented ) ; and Barney Rife, who has a single bullet and body odor. Situations abound in this madcap premise.
2) Cleverly Wilbury's: Title character Red is shooting at some food, when up through the ground come a bubbling crude. His nephew, Deathrow Bovine, proudly plays a 3rd grade graduate, in trouble with the law. Mr. Clydesdale plays the banker. Music by Jeff Lynne, Tom Petty, and Bob Dylan.Title song: "Last G.M." Produced by Lynne.
3) Father Knows Guests. Situational comedy at a cafeteria/restaurant. G.M. knows the cravings of his guests. Balks when told by the savvy marketing team to run smokeyard bbq, "terrormisu" cakes, and Italian cuisine.
Alternate titles: Father Knows Crest. Title character is a dentist, who loves to do root canals;
Father Knows Ness. Takes place in prohibition days. Background voice-Walter Mitty;
Father Knows Vests: G.Q. G.M. who dresses sharp. Never gets dirty. And wears a white glove to check for dust and grime;
Father Knows West: Title character moves to California to open a new dining experience;
and Father Knows Rest(aurant biz )
All of the above have potent situational possibilities.
4) Billabong's Island: Hijinks on the Hi-C's. A 3 hour tour. Billabong, the skipper, too, the millionaire with his golden parachute, the professor and Mary Ann are here on Billabong's Isle.
5) I Dream of Weinees: Astronaut goes into space, finds a magic lamp, and when he returns, opens a restaurant serving Oscar Meyer weiners. Patterned after "Close Encounters of the Third Kind." To summon the weinee, the master of the lamp must say:
From the land beyond beyond
From the world past hope and fear
I bid you weinees appear in my beer!
Special effects by Ray Harryhausen.
6) Leave It To Bereaver: When G.M.'s long time friends keep leaving the team, the situational comedy team, the Bereaver quits the biz and becomes a freelance writer.
*Rejected at press time: Too depressing.
7) Last Mango in Paris ( Texas, that is. Home to George "Dubya" ) Another food service theme. To star Marlon Brando in a reprisal role from the movie of the same name. Pilot Episode. Marlon buys too much oleomargarine. Doesn't know what to do with it. But then he has a brilliant idea. ( there is no mention of "Dubya" or mangos in the initial episode )
8) Eight Is Enough: To gain a niche in the food service industry, a restaurant offers eight salads, eight meats, eight veggies, eight breads, eight desserts, eight types of butter, 8 types of crackers, etc. Motto: Eight Is Enough!
9) Saturday Night Wive: G.M. sees wife only on Saturday. She works days; he works days and nights.
* Rejected at press time. Once again, too depressing.
10) Catfish: Stars Abe Vigoda in the title role, provided he's still alive.
The above are submitted for your approval and perusal.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. The furor over "Private Ryan" is a bit much. Most of the opposition to the movie concerns the use of the "F" word, the violence being secondary. The opening "D-Day Invasion" shots are the most intense I've ever seen in any movie.
Some proposed and rejected names for the new situation comedy currently being written by yours truly, v.c. on golden pond.
1) The vietnamcatfish Show. Starts out on the pond. v.c., the title character has his fishing pole. His son, Opus, is walking with him. Opus is throwing rocks. Background music. Melodic whistler. Doo doo doot doo de doot doot doo de doot doot.... Engaging characters abound in Raybradbury, N.C. Opus the drunk. ( no relation to Opus, v.c.'s son ) ; Aunt Pee, who has urinary problems. ( "Depends" had yet to be invented ) ; and Barney Rife, who has a single bullet and body odor. Situations abound in this madcap premise.
2) Cleverly Wilbury's: Title character Red is shooting at some food, when up through the ground come a bubbling crude. His nephew, Deathrow Bovine, proudly plays a 3rd grade graduate, in trouble with the law. Mr. Clydesdale plays the banker. Music by Jeff Lynne, Tom Petty, and Bob Dylan.Title song: "Last G.M." Produced by Lynne.
3) Father Knows Guests. Situational comedy at a cafeteria/restaurant. G.M. knows the cravings of his guests. Balks when told by the savvy marketing team to run smokeyard bbq, "terrormisu" cakes, and Italian cuisine.
Alternate titles: Father Knows Crest. Title character is a dentist, who loves to do root canals;
Father Knows Ness. Takes place in prohibition days. Background voice-Walter Mitty;
Father Knows Vests: G.Q. G.M. who dresses sharp. Never gets dirty. And wears a white glove to check for dust and grime;
Father Knows West: Title character moves to California to open a new dining experience;
and Father Knows Rest(aurant biz )
All of the above have potent situational possibilities.
4) Billabong's Island: Hijinks on the Hi-C's. A 3 hour tour. Billabong, the skipper, too, the millionaire with his golden parachute, the professor and Mary Ann are here on Billabong's Isle.
5) I Dream of Weinees: Astronaut goes into space, finds a magic lamp, and when he returns, opens a restaurant serving Oscar Meyer weiners. Patterned after "Close Encounters of the Third Kind." To summon the weinee, the master of the lamp must say:
From the land beyond beyond
From the world past hope and fear
I bid you weinees appear in my beer!
Special effects by Ray Harryhausen.
6) Leave It To Bereaver: When G.M.'s long time friends keep leaving the team, the situational comedy team, the Bereaver quits the biz and becomes a freelance writer.
*Rejected at press time: Too depressing.
7) Last Mango in Paris ( Texas, that is. Home to George "Dubya" ) Another food service theme. To star Marlon Brando in a reprisal role from the movie of the same name. Pilot Episode. Marlon buys too much oleomargarine. Doesn't know what to do with it. But then he has a brilliant idea. ( there is no mention of "Dubya" or mangos in the initial episode )
8) Eight Is Enough: To gain a niche in the food service industry, a restaurant offers eight salads, eight meats, eight veggies, eight breads, eight desserts, eight types of butter, 8 types of crackers, etc. Motto: Eight Is Enough!
9) Saturday Night Wive: G.M. sees wife only on Saturday. She works days; he works days and nights.
* Rejected at press time. Once again, too depressing.
10) Catfish: Stars Abe Vigoda in the title role, provided he's still alive.
The above are submitted for your approval and perusal.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. The furor over "Private Ryan" is a bit much. Most of the opposition to the movie concerns the use of the "F" word, the violence being secondary. The opening "D-Day Invasion" shots are the most intense I've ever seen in any movie.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
The Catfather
The following screenplay was submitted for approval and perusal back in the summer of 2003. It was written by my son, Charlie Jr. He stepped in for me during one of my many hiatus'. The story chronicles a dark period in my company. We were destined for bankruptcy. And a lot of the old timers weren't happy campers. Especially an anonymous poster who went by the name of Javelin. Most of the blame was directed towards our former CEO. Here's how Charlie saw it.
Reprinted here with his blessing and permission:
FADE FROM BLACK: Entrance of the Cat's home office - It is night time. Cat has just disembarked from the infamous night train.
Javelin (seated in front of the Cat's desk ) : I believe in America. America has made my fortune. And I followed the Piccadilly in true American fashion. They gave us freedom, but - we were taught never to dishonor your family.Then a new ceo named Ronnie, not an Italian, came into power. His ego and idiotic blunders doomed our once great company. Our beloved chain is barely holding on. It's like her jaw is a'shattered, held together by wire. Some can't even weep because of the pain. But I weep. Why do I weep? She was the light of my life -- beautiful girl. Now she will never be beautiful again.
[ Javelin breaks down. The Cat gestures to Charie Jr. to give him a drink]
Sorry...[ Javelin taking the drink, sips from the shot glass]
Ronnie resigned two months ago. I stood in the boardroom like a fool. And those other bastards, they smiled at me. Then I said to my wife, "for justice, we must go to the Cat."
Cat Corleone (sitting behind his desk, petting a cat) : Why did you go to the bored? Why didn't you come to me first? We've known each other many years, but this is the first time you came to me for counsel, for help. I can't remember the last time that you invited me to your house for a cup of coffee, heavy on the caffeine, even though my wife is godmother to your only child. But let's be frank here: you never wanted my friendship. And uh, you were afraid to be in my debt. And you didn't need a friend of me. But uh, now you come to me and you say -- "Cat Corleone give me justice." -- But you don't ask with respect. You don't offer friendship. You don't even think to call me Catfather. Instead, you come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married, and you uh ask me to have Ronnie choke on a terd, er, turd the size of an azam kilam, for money.
Javelin replies: I ask you for justice.
Catfather: That is not justice; your company is still alive.
Javelin: Then he can suffer then, as she suffers. How much shall I pay you?
Cat Corleone (stands, turning his back toward Javelin) : Javelin... Javelin... What have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully? Had you come to me in friendship, then this scum that ruined your company would be suffering this very day. And that by chance if an honest man such as yourself should make enemies, then they would become my enemies. And then they would fear you.
Javelin: Be my friend -- (then, after bowing and the Cat shrugs): Catfather?
Cat Corleone: Some day, and that day may never come, I'll call upon you to do a service for me. But uh, until that day -- accept this justice as a gift on my daughter's wedding day. They will all choke on turds.
Javelin (as he leaves the room) : Grazie, Catfather.
Cat Corleone: Farewell and adieu
( Then, to Charlie Jr., after Javelin leaves the room) Ah, give this to ah, the barbecue man. [ one tough hombre ] I want reliable people; people that aren't gonna be carried away. We're not murderers, despite of what this undertaker says. We just want 'em choking a bit on some terds, er, turds.
Reprinted here with his blessing and permission:
FADE FROM BLACK: Entrance of the Cat's home office - It is night time. Cat has just disembarked from the infamous night train.
Javelin (seated in front of the Cat's desk ) : I believe in America. America has made my fortune. And I followed the Piccadilly in true American fashion. They gave us freedom, but - we were taught never to dishonor your family.Then a new ceo named Ronnie, not an Italian, came into power. His ego and idiotic blunders doomed our once great company. Our beloved chain is barely holding on. It's like her jaw is a'shattered, held together by wire. Some can't even weep because of the pain. But I weep. Why do I weep? She was the light of my life -- beautiful girl. Now she will never be beautiful again.
[ Javelin breaks down. The Cat gestures to Charie Jr. to give him a drink]
Sorry...[ Javelin taking the drink, sips from the shot glass]
Ronnie resigned two months ago. I stood in the boardroom like a fool. And those other bastards, they smiled at me. Then I said to my wife, "for justice, we must go to the Cat."
Cat Corleone (sitting behind his desk, petting a cat) : Why did you go to the bored? Why didn't you come to me first? We've known each other many years, but this is the first time you came to me for counsel, for help. I can't remember the last time that you invited me to your house for a cup of coffee, heavy on the caffeine, even though my wife is godmother to your only child. But let's be frank here: you never wanted my friendship. And uh, you were afraid to be in my debt. And you didn't need a friend of me. But uh, now you come to me and you say -- "Cat Corleone give me justice." -- But you don't ask with respect. You don't offer friendship. You don't even think to call me Catfather. Instead, you come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married, and you uh ask me to have Ronnie choke on a terd, er, turd the size of an azam kilam, for money.
Javelin replies: I ask you for justice.
Catfather: That is not justice; your company is still alive.
Javelin: Then he can suffer then, as she suffers. How much shall I pay you?
Cat Corleone (stands, turning his back toward Javelin) : Javelin... Javelin... What have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully? Had you come to me in friendship, then this scum that ruined your company would be suffering this very day. And that by chance if an honest man such as yourself should make enemies, then they would become my enemies. And then they would fear you.
Javelin: Be my friend -- (then, after bowing and the Cat shrugs): Catfather?
Cat Corleone: Some day, and that day may never come, I'll call upon you to do a service for me. But uh, until that day -- accept this justice as a gift on my daughter's wedding day. They will all choke on turds.
Javelin (as he leaves the room) : Grazie, Catfather.
Cat Corleone: Farewell and adieu
( Then, to Charlie Jr., after Javelin leaves the room) Ah, give this to ah, the barbecue man. [ one tough hombre ] I want reliable people; people that aren't gonna be carried away. We're not murderers, despite of what this undertaker says. We just want 'em choking a bit on some terds, er, turds.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Parody Derailed
Okay, so I watched the 25 year reunion of Dallas Sunday nite. I got to hobnob with J.R., Sue Ellen, Bobby, Pamela, etc. and got to see how their lives had unfolded after starring in a prime time soap for 13 years. [ 1978-1991 ]
The "Who Shot J.R.?" episode was reportedly seen by 80 million people back in the day.
As one reviewer put it: "Mary Martin's [ Peter Pan ] son was shot by Bing Crosby's daughter.
I must confess. Never saw the first episode. The series ran on Friday nites, where I was always pounding the beat at PIC. My "pie lady" never could stay late on Friday's. She couldn't miss another rendevous with J.R. and the clan.
Even my mom disliked my foray into soapdom. Too much "focking" and "screwing" she said
Oh, well. Can't win 'em all.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Never saw Dallas but did like "Dynasty." Until they moved it from 10 p.m. to 9 p.m. ( ye olde synchronicity of my schedule ) Plus it got progressively stupid and infantile, much like some of the stuff someone else writes.
The "Who Shot J.R.?" episode was reportedly seen by 80 million people back in the day.
As one reviewer put it: "Mary Martin's [ Peter Pan ] son was shot by Bing Crosby's daughter.
I must confess. Never saw the first episode. The series ran on Friday nites, where I was always pounding the beat at PIC. My "pie lady" never could stay late on Friday's. She couldn't miss another rendevous with J.R. and the clan.
Even my mom disliked my foray into soapdom. Too much "focking" and "screwing" she said
Oh, well. Can't win 'em all.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Never saw Dallas but did like "Dynasty." Until they moved it from 10 p.m. to 9 p.m. ( ye olde synchronicity of my schedule ) Plus it got progressively stupid and infantile, much like some of the stuff someone else writes.
Monday, November 08, 2004
"Screwing Oil"
My attempt at reviving a lost art form. The prime time soap opera. Submitted for your approval and perusal is my teleplay for "Screwing Oil."
Fade in: We see the palatial Southfock Ranch deep in the heart of Malice, Texas. It's the biggest spread in the U.S. Horses and cows graze in the pasture. Two men are talking on the veranda, a mint julip in their hands: "Fock Screwing," the patriarch and oil baron, and "V.C. Screwing," Fock's oldest son.
Fock: These mint julips are good, V.C. And life is good.
V.C. Whadda ya mean, daddy?
Fock: Well, George W. done won the election. And the Republicans now control the legislative branch of the government.
V.C. : Higher gas prices at the pump, daddy, and we make more money, eh?
Fock: Exactly. Now where's that tramp of yours you call a wife?
V.C. "Vous Felon" [ Screwing ] is upstairs. Damn french hussy has a hangover. Again!
Fock: Same old "Vous Felon." Look, I got to be out to the North Forty by noon. I'm taking "Maynard G. Krebbs" [ ranch foreman ] with me. Have you heard from "Fobby-O?" [ V.C.'s younger brother ]
V.C.: That goody two shoes brother of mine. I run "Screwing Oil" but "Fobby-O" is always buttin' in on my affairs. I've tried to buy out his half of the company but he won't budge.
Fock: Work it out, son. Tell "Miss Smelly" [ his wife ] I may be late for supper.
Fock leaves. V.C. reflects while downing the last of his mint julip. A car pulls up to Southfock Ranch. Out steps "Fobby-O" and his wife, "Spamala Tarnes -Screwing." Heated exchanges are ensuing:
Fobby-O: I did not sleep with her. Spam, I'm in love with you. Quit listening to "Sushi Screwing." [ Fock's niece and general harlot ]
Spam: I hired a detective to follow you. He's got pictures of your rendevous' with "Henna Laid." [ another woman of loose morals to be played by Priscilla Pressly ]
Fobby-O: It's over, Spam. She didn't mean anything to me. I love you!
V.C. enters
V.C.: I couldn't help but overhear. Now you love birds settle your differences, ya heah? We can hash this out later. It's a time for celebration cos George W. done won the election. Yee hah!
Spam: Leave us alone, V.C. I don't want any part of your scheming. I'll never forget how you caused "Vous Felon" to drink too much and have her baby prematurely. And how you made me fall out of the hay loft, while I was pregnant- first tri-mester. I hate you! I swear it wouldn't take much more for me to kill you.
V.C.: Spam, shut up! You wench! Now, "Fobby-O." Get that sheep-eating grin offa your face. I want to buy out your half of "Screwing Oil." Get your attorneys heah, stat.
Fobby-O: I'll never sell to you, V.C. I'll see you in hell first.
A limo pulls up to the Southfock Ranch. It's '"Whiff' Tarnes," Spam's brother, and the head of Tarnes Oil, the chief rival and nemisis to Screwing Oil.
V.C.: What in tarnation brings a Tarnes to Southfrock? Where's my gun?
"Whiff": V.C. You paid those lobbyists to ruin "Tarnes Oil." Don't try and blackmail me-I don't pay blackmail. If "Tarnes Oil" goes down, I'll kill you. ( brandishes a 44 and points it directly at V.C. )
V.C.: Put that gun away, "Whiff." And get ta hell out of my house!
"Whiff": I'm leaving. But I'm warning you. Don't mess with me, "V.C. Screwing."
"Vous Felon" enters the fray. She has bloodshot eyes, under which are dark circles, and is drinking from a bottle of fine Tequila.
Vous: What's the fuss all about?
V.C.: You drunken piece of trailer trash. Now git upstairs and get yourself together. Y'heah!
Vous: V.C., I hate you! I once loved you when I was a foreign exchange student. But not now. I want a divorce!
V.C.: No "Screwing" ever had a divorce and no "Screwing" ever will.
V.C. retires to his study. And places a call to his high-class whore, the enchanting "Disten Schleppeard."
V.C.: Hello, darling. I want to see you. Stat!
Disten: Well, well. If it isn't my Malice, Texas oil baron. It's been awhile. Long time no see.
V.C.: I'm sorry, darling. The election for George W. and all. But now he's elected, I got more time for fun things. I'll see you at eight.
Disten: I'm having your baby, V.C. I want you to marry me and divorce "Vous Felon."
V.C.: How do you know it's mine? I can't marry you anyway, Sugar. Divorce is not an option. Y'heah?
Disten: Marry me, V.C. Or I will kill you.
Laughing, V.C. hangs up the phone. The next evening he is working late at his Screwing Oil Office. He hears strange sounds coming from the reception area. He goes to investigate.
V.C.: Who's there? Who is it? Is that you, "Sushi Screwing?"
A gun emerges from the shadows. A shot rings out. Then another. Both find their mark, hitting V.C. in the chest. He falls to the floor. Hunched over. The shadowy figure is obscurred from the audience's view.
to be continued..............................................................................................
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. This is what's known in the trade as a cliff hanger.
Fade in: We see the palatial Southfock Ranch deep in the heart of Malice, Texas. It's the biggest spread in the U.S. Horses and cows graze in the pasture. Two men are talking on the veranda, a mint julip in their hands: "Fock Screwing," the patriarch and oil baron, and "V.C. Screwing," Fock's oldest son.
Fock: These mint julips are good, V.C. And life is good.
V.C. Whadda ya mean, daddy?
Fock: Well, George W. done won the election. And the Republicans now control the legislative branch of the government.
V.C. : Higher gas prices at the pump, daddy, and we make more money, eh?
Fock: Exactly. Now where's that tramp of yours you call a wife?
V.C. "Vous Felon" [ Screwing ] is upstairs. Damn french hussy has a hangover. Again!
Fock: Same old "Vous Felon." Look, I got to be out to the North Forty by noon. I'm taking "Maynard G. Krebbs" [ ranch foreman ] with me. Have you heard from "Fobby-O?" [ V.C.'s younger brother ]
V.C.: That goody two shoes brother of mine. I run "Screwing Oil" but "Fobby-O" is always buttin' in on my affairs. I've tried to buy out his half of the company but he won't budge.
Fock: Work it out, son. Tell "Miss Smelly" [ his wife ] I may be late for supper.
Fock leaves. V.C. reflects while downing the last of his mint julip. A car pulls up to Southfock Ranch. Out steps "Fobby-O" and his wife, "Spamala Tarnes -Screwing." Heated exchanges are ensuing:
Fobby-O: I did not sleep with her. Spam, I'm in love with you. Quit listening to "Sushi Screwing." [ Fock's niece and general harlot ]
Spam: I hired a detective to follow you. He's got pictures of your rendevous' with "Henna Laid." [ another woman of loose morals to be played by Priscilla Pressly ]
Fobby-O: It's over, Spam. She didn't mean anything to me. I love you!
V.C. enters
V.C.: I couldn't help but overhear. Now you love birds settle your differences, ya heah? We can hash this out later. It's a time for celebration cos George W. done won the election. Yee hah!
Spam: Leave us alone, V.C. I don't want any part of your scheming. I'll never forget how you caused "Vous Felon" to drink too much and have her baby prematurely. And how you made me fall out of the hay loft, while I was pregnant- first tri-mester. I hate you! I swear it wouldn't take much more for me to kill you.
V.C.: Spam, shut up! You wench! Now, "Fobby-O." Get that sheep-eating grin offa your face. I want to buy out your half of "Screwing Oil." Get your attorneys heah, stat.
Fobby-O: I'll never sell to you, V.C. I'll see you in hell first.
A limo pulls up to the Southfock Ranch. It's '"Whiff' Tarnes," Spam's brother, and the head of Tarnes Oil, the chief rival and nemisis to Screwing Oil.
V.C.: What in tarnation brings a Tarnes to Southfrock? Where's my gun?
"Whiff": V.C. You paid those lobbyists to ruin "Tarnes Oil." Don't try and blackmail me-I don't pay blackmail. If "Tarnes Oil" goes down, I'll kill you. ( brandishes a 44 and points it directly at V.C. )
V.C.: Put that gun away, "Whiff." And get ta hell out of my house!
"Whiff": I'm leaving. But I'm warning you. Don't mess with me, "V.C. Screwing."
"Vous Felon" enters the fray. She has bloodshot eyes, under which are dark circles, and is drinking from a bottle of fine Tequila.
Vous: What's the fuss all about?
V.C.: You drunken piece of trailer trash. Now git upstairs and get yourself together. Y'heah!
Vous: V.C., I hate you! I once loved you when I was a foreign exchange student. But not now. I want a divorce!
V.C.: No "Screwing" ever had a divorce and no "Screwing" ever will.
V.C. retires to his study. And places a call to his high-class whore, the enchanting "Disten Schleppeard."
V.C.: Hello, darling. I want to see you. Stat!
Disten: Well, well. If it isn't my Malice, Texas oil baron. It's been awhile. Long time no see.
V.C.: I'm sorry, darling. The election for George W. and all. But now he's elected, I got more time for fun things. I'll see you at eight.
Disten: I'm having your baby, V.C. I want you to marry me and divorce "Vous Felon."
V.C.: How do you know it's mine? I can't marry you anyway, Sugar. Divorce is not an option. Y'heah?
Disten: Marry me, V.C. Or I will kill you.
Laughing, V.C. hangs up the phone. The next evening he is working late at his Screwing Oil Office. He hears strange sounds coming from the reception area. He goes to investigate.
V.C.: Who's there? Who is it? Is that you, "Sushi Screwing?"
A gun emerges from the shadows. A shot rings out. Then another. Both find their mark, hitting V.C. in the chest. He falls to the floor. Hunched over. The shadowy figure is obscurred from the audience's view.
to be continued..............................................................................................
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. This is what's known in the trade as a cliff hanger.
Sunday, November 07, 2004
Cabin Fever
Me and Charley Jr. are watching "Signs." The thriller from Mel Gibson about aliens from outer space. Which reminds me, my sister, Ali, believes that e.t.'s from another galaxy are responsible for crop circles. But they are good aliens, and this is their way of making contact with Earth.
It's a nice thought and all that, but ( imho ) there are no other beings besides us. And it has nothing to do with religion or with being a dumb, hillbilly southerner.
While perusing the channel guide, Charlie noticed that "Cabin Fever" is playing on HBO. At midnight. So we're leaving signs behind.
"C.F." has a Friday the 13th feel about it, so far. And recalling the review, it is a blood and gore extravaganza. I may not be able to continue.
And some bad signs ( pun unintended ) have emerged. The attractive kids cuss and are having sex. And the cabin is in the woods, away from civilization. And two kids just went swimming.
Now they are sitting around a nite camp fire. And telling skerry tales. About disgruntled employees. ( haven't they heard of team members ) Who happen to be serial killers.
The local woman farmer just gutted a pig. That's enough for me. Time for bed.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Is it just me? Movies today- they don't make 'em like they used to.
It's a nice thought and all that, but ( imho ) there are no other beings besides us. And it has nothing to do with religion or with being a dumb, hillbilly southerner.
While perusing the channel guide, Charlie noticed that "Cabin Fever" is playing on HBO. At midnight. So we're leaving signs behind.
"C.F." has a Friday the 13th feel about it, so far. And recalling the review, it is a blood and gore extravaganza. I may not be able to continue.
And some bad signs ( pun unintended ) have emerged. The attractive kids cuss and are having sex. And the cabin is in the woods, away from civilization. And two kids just went swimming.
Now they are sitting around a nite camp fire. And telling skerry tales. About disgruntled employees. ( haven't they heard of team members ) Who happen to be serial killers.
The local woman farmer just gutted a pig. That's enough for me. Time for bed.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Is it just me? Movies today- they don't make 'em like they used to.
Saturday, November 06, 2004
Editor's Correction
Me and Charlie Jr. are watching "The Godfather" on AMC. We're at the end where Michael gets even with the scumbags that have betrayed the Corleone Family. Ouch! Moe Green just got nailed in his eyeglass. And poor Sal [ Fish from Barney Miller ] is about to meet his Waterloo. ( see Napolean Bonaparte ) And Carlo just found out he's "got to pay for Sonny's death." A crying Carlo thinks everything will be okay and his life will be spared. Yo, Adrian, er, Talia Shire will soon be pissed. [ Carlo's wife. And Francis Ford Coppola's sister, eh? You've got to love the nepotism. ] Cos Carlo gets it in the vintage auto.
As the eerie music unfolds in the exciting conclusion of tonite's flick, I would be remiss in not addressing an incident that occurred in an earlier foray this week. Shirley, there are no astronomers reading the Pond. Or none came forward as evidenced by a grievous error committed by yours truly in "Ponders The Pond" Volume II that went unnoticed.
Yes, it's 93 million miles from the Earth to the Sun. But it's 20 million miles from the Earth to Venus. Not Mars. Thanks to those that noticed the gaffe and were sensitive to my feelings. Those kind gestures have not gone unnoticed.
Speaking of which. Thanks to the hootster for the kind words. If only I could master more than the copy and paste.
Well, it's late. Another day of dealing with passive-aggressive types has left me tired and sleepy, so sleepy. And an offer I can't refuse. Until the next installment of Golden Pond,
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Venus and Mars are all right tonite.
As the eerie music unfolds in the exciting conclusion of tonite's flick, I would be remiss in not addressing an incident that occurred in an earlier foray this week. Shirley, there are no astronomers reading the Pond. Or none came forward as evidenced by a grievous error committed by yours truly in "Ponders The Pond" Volume II that went unnoticed.
Yes, it's 93 million miles from the Earth to the Sun. But it's 20 million miles from the Earth to Venus. Not Mars. Thanks to those that noticed the gaffe and were sensitive to my feelings. Those kind gestures have not gone unnoticed.
Speaking of which. Thanks to the hootster for the kind words. If only I could master more than the copy and paste.
Well, it's late. Another day of dealing with passive-aggressive types has left me tired and sleepy, so sleepy. And an offer I can't refuse. Until the next installment of Golden Pond,
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Venus and Mars are all right tonite.
Friday, November 05, 2004
Another Archived Post/Leave It To....
Three of the Cleavers are huddled around the breakfast nook. Ward, the patriarch, is turning on his computer in the den.
June: Ward Cleaver! It's time for breakfast, honey. You can check out the bloggers later. Your food is getting cold, dear.
Wally: I think dad's tired of ethnic food from Piccadilly for breakfast, mom.
Beav: We all are, mom. Why can't we have a normal breakfast like other families?
June: Now, boys. You told me months ago that you were tired of the traditional eggs, bacon, and hash browns. Settle down and enjoy your chicken palermo. Now where is your father?
Ward: Morning! Yes, hootsbuddy's place is in full swing, even tho he experienced technical difficulties this morning and is considering hanging it up. And there's an interesting opus from Red, aka senior Pic Manager. He is quite the talent.
June: Ward Cleaver. Is that an Egg McMuffin in your bathrobe?
Ward: Huh? Now how did that mcmuffin get in my pocket? Yum, chicken palermo Pass the corn fritters, Wallace.
( There's a knock at the door )
June: Now who can that be. Lumpy? Eddie? Tooey? Gilbert? Larry Mondello? Miss Landers? Miss Rayburn? Gus?
Stranger: Good morning, madam. You don't know me. I'm new in town. And my car has a flat, my cell phone battery is dead, and I was just wondering if I could use your phone. To call AAA. Hmm, could I have one of those fritters?
Beav: The phone's in the den, mister.
Ward: What a polite young man. Like he has an evangelical air about him. An aura if you will. And well spoken. Let's ask him to stay and have breakfast.
Stranger: Thanks, folks. You have been so gracious. You appear to embody the average American family. ( notices tv set is tuned to Fox ) Madam, I love your beautiful dress. Are those pearls authentic?
Beav: Mom does the cooking and all the household chores dressed like that. Yep, we're the average American family. Beer, mister?
Ward: You'll have to excuse the beav, mister. Our neighbor, Laura Petrie, does her housework in slacks. What's the world coming to? All the old traditions are dying. And can you believe it? Gay marriage amendments on this year's ballot. BTW, I'm Ward Cleaver. This is my wife, June. And my two sons, Wallace and Theodore.
Stranger: I noticed your computer was tuned to Hootsbuddy's Place. What synchronicity. My name is....
Ward: ( Thinking to himself - Synchronicity? Where have I heard that word? Could it be vietnamcatfish? )
Stranger: ....Hootsbuddie.
Ward: THE hootster from Hootsbuddy's Place and the PIC Yahoo? Pinch me, I must be dreaming. You were the best cheerleader. Can you give us a cheer for old timesake? And it was a shame your candidate, John Kerry, lost.
Hootsbuddie: I'm sorry to let you down, but I have relinquished the rah-rah job. As to Tuesday's debacle, we're already rallying the troops for 2008. Ms. Clinton is the choice. Just think. A woman in the White House! Go figga?
June: You're not the hootsbudy with one d, are you? We don't like him, do we Ward? [ hootsbuddy's alter-ego and nemesis ]
Ward: Well, some of his jokes are fun.... ( June gives Ward a stern look ) No, we don't like him at all.
June: Ward has been distraught since you left the team, the Piccadilly team. We're worried that v.c. and Red will be next. Do you know those fellas?
Beav: V.C. and Red are off the chain!
Ward: Theodore, don't use that street slang with a guest in the house.
Beav: It's all good!
Ward: Theodore!
Hoots: I think I once had brunch with those two scalawags at a revival meeting somewhere in the deep South. The last thing I remember I was enjoying a delicious piece of pie. Then Red and v.c. donned sunglasses, and v.c. pulled from his pocket something he called a neurolizer. That's all I recall.
( There's a knock at the door. It's Eddie Haskell. )
Eddie: ( Usual pleasantries ) No, thank you Mrs. Cleaver. The chicken palermo looks delicious, but unfortunately, I just enjoyed a couple of sausage/egg biscuits from Mickey D's.
Ward: Be watchful of that extra saturated fat, Eddie. We have a celebrity in the house. Meet Mr. Hootsbuddy!
Eddie: whispers to Wally- Who's the middle-aged dude, Sam? At what exit ramp did you find the old geezer?
( Extends his hand to hoots. )
Eddie: I applaud the Cleavers' continuing tradition of helping the needy and less fortunate.
Ward: I know you'd like to stay fellas. But me and hoots have some catching up to do. Scoot! Now, hoots. I want to get your advice on some stocks. You can peruse my portfolio. And we can talk about your web log. And where you find all those interesting links. And we can cruise down to Starbacks for a latte. And you can fill me in on what's happening in Iraq.....
June: ( sighs )
June: Ward Cleaver! It's time for breakfast, honey. You can check out the bloggers later. Your food is getting cold, dear.
Wally: I think dad's tired of ethnic food from Piccadilly for breakfast, mom.
Beav: We all are, mom. Why can't we have a normal breakfast like other families?
June: Now, boys. You told me months ago that you were tired of the traditional eggs, bacon, and hash browns. Settle down and enjoy your chicken palermo. Now where is your father?
Ward: Morning! Yes, hootsbuddy's place is in full swing, even tho he experienced technical difficulties this morning and is considering hanging it up. And there's an interesting opus from Red, aka senior Pic Manager. He is quite the talent.
June: Ward Cleaver. Is that an Egg McMuffin in your bathrobe?
Ward: Huh? Now how did that mcmuffin get in my pocket? Yum, chicken palermo Pass the corn fritters, Wallace.
( There's a knock at the door )
June: Now who can that be. Lumpy? Eddie? Tooey? Gilbert? Larry Mondello? Miss Landers? Miss Rayburn? Gus?
Stranger: Good morning, madam. You don't know me. I'm new in town. And my car has a flat, my cell phone battery is dead, and I was just wondering if I could use your phone. To call AAA. Hmm, could I have one of those fritters?
Beav: The phone's in the den, mister.
Ward: What a polite young man. Like he has an evangelical air about him. An aura if you will. And well spoken. Let's ask him to stay and have breakfast.
Stranger: Thanks, folks. You have been so gracious. You appear to embody the average American family. ( notices tv set is tuned to Fox ) Madam, I love your beautiful dress. Are those pearls authentic?
Beav: Mom does the cooking and all the household chores dressed like that. Yep, we're the average American family. Beer, mister?
Ward: You'll have to excuse the beav, mister. Our neighbor, Laura Petrie, does her housework in slacks. What's the world coming to? All the old traditions are dying. And can you believe it? Gay marriage amendments on this year's ballot. BTW, I'm Ward Cleaver. This is my wife, June. And my two sons, Wallace and Theodore.
Stranger: I noticed your computer was tuned to Hootsbuddy's Place. What synchronicity. My name is....
Ward: ( Thinking to himself - Synchronicity? Where have I heard that word? Could it be vietnamcatfish? )
Stranger: ....Hootsbuddie.
Ward: THE hootster from Hootsbuddy's Place and the PIC Yahoo? Pinch me, I must be dreaming. You were the best cheerleader. Can you give us a cheer for old timesake? And it was a shame your candidate, John Kerry, lost.
Hootsbuddie: I'm sorry to let you down, but I have relinquished the rah-rah job. As to Tuesday's debacle, we're already rallying the troops for 2008. Ms. Clinton is the choice. Just think. A woman in the White House! Go figga?
June: You're not the hootsbudy with one d, are you? We don't like him, do we Ward? [ hootsbuddy's alter-ego and nemesis ]
Ward: Well, some of his jokes are fun.... ( June gives Ward a stern look ) No, we don't like him at all.
June: Ward has been distraught since you left the team, the Piccadilly team. We're worried that v.c. and Red will be next. Do you know those fellas?
Beav: V.C. and Red are off the chain!
Ward: Theodore, don't use that street slang with a guest in the house.
Beav: It's all good!
Ward: Theodore!
Hoots: I think I once had brunch with those two scalawags at a revival meeting somewhere in the deep South. The last thing I remember I was enjoying a delicious piece of pie. Then Red and v.c. donned sunglasses, and v.c. pulled from his pocket something he called a neurolizer. That's all I recall.
( There's a knock at the door. It's Eddie Haskell. )
Eddie: ( Usual pleasantries ) No, thank you Mrs. Cleaver. The chicken palermo looks delicious, but unfortunately, I just enjoyed a couple of sausage/egg biscuits from Mickey D's.
Ward: Be watchful of that extra saturated fat, Eddie. We have a celebrity in the house. Meet Mr. Hootsbuddy!
Eddie: whispers to Wally- Who's the middle-aged dude, Sam? At what exit ramp did you find the old geezer?
( Extends his hand to hoots. )
Eddie: I applaud the Cleavers' continuing tradition of helping the needy and less fortunate.
Ward: I know you'd like to stay fellas. But me and hoots have some catching up to do. Scoot! Now, hoots. I want to get your advice on some stocks. You can peruse my portfolio. And we can talk about your web log. And where you find all those interesting links. And we can cruise down to Starbacks for a latte. And you can fill me in on what's happening in Iraq.....
June: ( sighs )
Thursday, November 04, 2004
Ponders The Pond
The elections are over. What a letdown, eh? The air is out of the balloon. After a non-stop blitzkrieg for months, it's all over but the crying. There is a void. What are we gonna do now? I get the same feeling every Christmas.
There are presents to buy and wrap. Trips to grandma's house. Calls to place via Ma Bell. Itineraries to synchronize. Ads that bombard the senses. And decorations to display. And a sense of comaraderie with the human spirit. A full slate.
And then Christmas, er, the Holidays arrive [ December 25 ] and you open your presents, go see Grandma, and eat a big dinner. Normally high in [ bad ] cholesterol and fat/calories. And a "Hello, Ali." You wake up early. Take a nap after breakfast. And soon it's stick a fork in it time; it's done. And it won't roll around again for 365 days. 366 ( apologies to Leap Year ) every four years.
And it's 93 million miles to Earth. And 20 million miles to Mars, the red planet. Not sure how far it is to Uranus.
I once chronicled in a Yahoo post how as a kid we pronounced Uranus as "your anus." And then it became chic/fashionable to pronounce it as "yer a nus." But that didn't last long, and "your anus" is now back in vogue. Even Alex Trebek says "your anus." So who am I to quarrel with the Jeopardy host and others. "Your anus" works for me.
Unless you have acid reflux disease. Damn, I never knew so many people had such a malaise. Everybody I know has it. Thank goodness, there's Nexium. Hopefully, this remedy will not become contaminated, allah the flu shots. And to you unscrupulous trial lawyers: Frivilous law suits may imperil the victim's escape from pain/sorrow.
"Hey barristers. Leave those refluxsters alone." ( apologies to Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Stall, er, Wall )
I could go on and on, but today was Rowdy Kids Nite at Hell Whole, and the Pond is getting sleepy. We will have to delay our pontification on the resurrection of the draft ( see George W ) and how the 1965 Civil Rights Bill is up for renewal in 2007.
Sleepy, so sleepy.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. This concludes "Ponders the Pond" Volume II.
There are presents to buy and wrap. Trips to grandma's house. Calls to place via Ma Bell. Itineraries to synchronize. Ads that bombard the senses. And decorations to display. And a sense of comaraderie with the human spirit. A full slate.
And then Christmas, er, the Holidays arrive [ December 25 ] and you open your presents, go see Grandma, and eat a big dinner. Normally high in [ bad ] cholesterol and fat/calories. And a "Hello, Ali." You wake up early. Take a nap after breakfast. And soon it's stick a fork in it time; it's done. And it won't roll around again for 365 days. 366 ( apologies to Leap Year ) every four years.
And it's 93 million miles to Earth. And 20 million miles to Mars, the red planet. Not sure how far it is to Uranus.
I once chronicled in a Yahoo post how as a kid we pronounced Uranus as "your anus." And then it became chic/fashionable to pronounce it as "yer a nus." But that didn't last long, and "your anus" is now back in vogue. Even Alex Trebek says "your anus." So who am I to quarrel with the Jeopardy host and others. "Your anus" works for me.
Unless you have acid reflux disease. Damn, I never knew so many people had such a malaise. Everybody I know has it. Thank goodness, there's Nexium. Hopefully, this remedy will not become contaminated, allah the flu shots. And to you unscrupulous trial lawyers: Frivilous law suits may imperil the victim's escape from pain/sorrow.
"Hey barristers. Leave those refluxsters alone." ( apologies to Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Stall, er, Wall )
I could go on and on, but today was Rowdy Kids Nite at Hell Whole, and the Pond is getting sleepy. We will have to delay our pontification on the resurrection of the draft ( see George W ) and how the 1965 Civil Rights Bill is up for renewal in 2007.
Sleepy, so sleepy.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. This concludes "Ponders the Pond" Volume II.
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
Watching The Wheels
The pundits have narrowed it down to the state of Ohio. Florida seems to be going to Bush. And the ACLU has already filed a lawsuit.
Duh, really. Go figga, mon trigga.
And it has been chronicled how the polls all along were skewed. You mean to tell me that when you poll 1000 people out of 300 million, there could be a chance for error. Say it ain't so.
And Ali did her job out in chilly San Fran. Good job, sis. And your placards "Haight Hate Bush" was a stroke of genius.
If John Kerry loses the election, I would like to submit the following jobs for his perusal:
1) Spokesperson for Flip-Flop footwear.
2) Spokesperson for Bandaid Brand Bandaids
3) Invent a new card game called "Purple Hearts."
4) Write a popular song, allah Robin Moore.
5) Make cameos with the Stones on their new tour. Recommend he sing backup on Gimme Shelter.
6) Tax advisor for billionaires.
7) Make a power play ( hostile takeover ) for Hunt's Catsup and corner the market.
8) Become a Botox model.
9) Write his memoirs. Good title: "I'm Too Sexy" ( for this country ) allah Right Side Fred.
10) Become a google blogger.
11) Round up his musical friends and do a cover of "We Are The World."
Still up in the air. Ohio, eh?
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Polls, shmolls.
Duh, really. Go figga, mon trigga.
And it has been chronicled how the polls all along were skewed. You mean to tell me that when you poll 1000 people out of 300 million, there could be a chance for error. Say it ain't so.
And Ali did her job out in chilly San Fran. Good job, sis. And your placards "Haight Hate Bush" was a stroke of genius.
If John Kerry loses the election, I would like to submit the following jobs for his perusal:
1) Spokesperson for Flip-Flop footwear.
2) Spokesperson for Bandaid Brand Bandaids
3) Invent a new card game called "Purple Hearts."
4) Write a popular song, allah Robin Moore.
5) Make cameos with the Stones on their new tour. Recommend he sing backup on Gimme Shelter.
6) Tax advisor for billionaires.
7) Make a power play ( hostile takeover ) for Hunt's Catsup and corner the market.
8) Become a Botox model.
9) Write his memoirs. Good title: "I'm Too Sexy" ( for this country ) allah Right Side Fred.
10) Become a google blogger.
11) Round up his musical friends and do a cover of "We Are The World."
Still up in the air. Ohio, eh?
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Polls, shmolls.
Monday, November 01, 2004
Campaign Prediction
The Pond has viewed some of the other sites. And they all have predictions. The liberal side is a bit unsure, not so confident, as the big day approaches. Hoots has evoked the Flora McDonald template. ( Is this similar to the infamous Willie Horton caper? ) Pictruandtru goes with Bush. And the Pond?
I'm not too good at predicting things. I am loaded with synchronicity but that's about it. It will be interesting. No doubt.
Sean Hannity ( Hannity and Colmes-he's the good looking guy ) just predicted a Bush victory with 300 electoral votes.
But there are always the upsets. So there is hope, Kerry supporters. "It ain't over til it's over," allah another Yogi Berraism.
Recall 1969. And Super Bowl III. The Baltimore Colts were 19 pont favorites over the N.Y. Jets with Broadway Joe Namath. It was supposed to be another AFL defeat/slaughter, but somebody forgot to tell the Jets. And they won 16-7. The AFL gained immediate legitimacy, and pro football ain't been the same since.
And then there was "Dewey Wins." Way back in the day. But Dwight Eisenhower took the reins.
And Vegas is a player, as always. Bush is a slight favorite to take Florida; a tossup in Ohio; Kerry is the big favorite in Penn. and N.J.; Bush 2-1 in Arizona and Colorado; and in Michael Moore's backyard, Kerry wins [ favorite ] in Wisconsin and Minnesota. And so on....
In closing, all I can say for tomorrow's election: Go figga, mon trigga.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Withholding a prediction so my candidate will not be jinxed.
P.S.S. Almost forgot. I am v. c. and I have approved this message.
I'm not too good at predicting things. I am loaded with synchronicity but that's about it. It will be interesting. No doubt.
Sean Hannity ( Hannity and Colmes-he's the good looking guy ) just predicted a Bush victory with 300 electoral votes.
But there are always the upsets. So there is hope, Kerry supporters. "It ain't over til it's over," allah another Yogi Berraism.
Recall 1969. And Super Bowl III. The Baltimore Colts were 19 pont favorites over the N.Y. Jets with Broadway Joe Namath. It was supposed to be another AFL defeat/slaughter, but somebody forgot to tell the Jets. And they won 16-7. The AFL gained immediate legitimacy, and pro football ain't been the same since.
And then there was "Dewey Wins." Way back in the day. But Dwight Eisenhower took the reins.
And Vegas is a player, as always. Bush is a slight favorite to take Florida; a tossup in Ohio; Kerry is the big favorite in Penn. and N.J.; Bush 2-1 in Arizona and Colorado; and in Michael Moore's backyard, Kerry wins [ favorite ] in Wisconsin and Minnesota. And so on....
In closing, all I can say for tomorrow's election: Go figga, mon trigga.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Withholding a prediction so my candidate will not be jinxed.
P.S.S. Almost forgot. I am v. c. and I have approved this message.
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