Thursday, December 4, 2008

It's Magic when we Merge

Dear Gabby,

As a trite and unoriginal writer I have decided to write a fake advice column cuz I think it would be easy to get humor out of the pathetic lives of those who need help. I also figure that they would write half the words and I'd only have to look in the dicshunary a couple of times a week. How did you get started in the advisin' bidness?

Yours Turly
Phineas Mole

Dear Phineas,

You have the idea! Just convince the hoi-polloi that you can solve their dilemmas and once a week a courier will come to your house with a check and swap it for your measly few words. I and the little lady sit around laughing at these simps. We get tons of letters full of money, and assorted offerings of vegetable nature and then crack up for hours. It's better than TV by a mile. Americans will step over dead humans for hours and send thousands to a cat that got stuck in a tree overnight.


Dear Gabby

Luckily I caught the printer before he started running this edition so I get to ask another question. How is it that you can answer a question from a new letter from a previous correspondent?

P. Mole

Dear P,

This is a little known fact about the media: we are omniscient. Right now I can tell that you are sitting at a PC, and wondering how I could answer a letter from a respondent when the whole idea seems absurd at its root.


Dear Gabby,

You truly amaze me, and, I am sure, your other 15 readers.

P. (Diddy) Mole

Dear Gabby,
I just keyed your car . I am your neighbor and I get sick and tired of all the laughing and partying you clowns do all night.

P. Ode

Dear Pode,

That sound you heard wasn't a firecracker. I hope you saved a receipt for that dogfood.


Dear Gabby

I am Lieutenant Rollins of the Tomah PD and you're under arrest for shooting that dog,.

LT. Rollins

Dear Lt Rollins,

He had a knife.


Dear Gabby,

Hey can I get a little help here? My daughter is having trouble in school and my son is dancing with cocaine and my wife is turning out to be a real weirdo. I have three separate infestations of lice and I am sporting a hump with a whistling mole. The gargoyle that says she is my neighbor has dumped human remains in the recycling. I can't get Hannity OR Coombs to stop talking; they are on every channel selling tourmaline statuettes of Idi Amin in a bobsled. Please send help or something.

Marion Morrison

Dear Mari,

I am in the dayroom playing pinochle with a psychopath-you do the math.

Over and Out

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Marching into Tomorrow ...sometime this evening

So I am back already. I have to comment on computers and the Internet or I lose my license. I still don't know the nuances and just tried to start a new blog when I wanted to write another post to this blog.
It is ever easier for the small guy to reach an audience-would that they have something profound... even interesting...dare we ask for humor AND intelligence? The long-suffering audience is now evermore able and motivated to ignore the schizoid dementia of our sex-obsessed but repressed media watchdogs. Here in cyberland we face no censure for letter combinations which are'offensive', though a recent move to get the word chink removed from our vocabulary comes to mind. No more nippy air either. It is pathetic that while we jail people for market decisions we see danger from words such as tit. When Ms Jackson flopped that bad girl out in realtime the prudes had third degree vapors. I believe the fine was about $750,000 which seems to me to be the same revenue the broadcaster would have earned had the boob been a politician. It was, of course, not LYING, so it wouldn't have had the same deleterious effect of the politico's emanations.
Why can't we have some more of that particular exposure and less of the drug/hostages/media circus hoo-haw. The interest in TV would grow, and the suicide rate would fall. Nobody pays any attention to political criminals when they themselves are guilty of the same crimes so nobody really cares unless an areola is visible. The weenies could fret and sputter and generally act like the meatbrains they are and the regular folk could laugh at the numbnuts and go back to gnawing winkles. Get the CGI(cool graphics initiators?) to do this-repeat the episode of the flagrant and wanton hussy-but replace her nipple with a Budweiser logo. WHAT an IDEA. I want money for this.
If you see an ad with Janet Jackson and a titattoo of General Mills I started it and I am getting robbed. Maybe they will stick to round logos. Starbucks could do it and really twist the irony nipple-they altered their logo because...get this... the mermaid had a (gasp) navel. They could advertise ski resorts if they adorn Dolly Parton.
I am having bizarre visions of glowing tattoos-Christmas lights under the skin-or fields of red, green and blue dots, ready to shine with the commercials of 2015-sky cars and rockets-or toilet 'tissue' and 'feminine products'. They could point an arrow at the model's crotch-in her own skin-"Need help down there? Chasing away the good guys? Use Whoopy brand scrubbers for that Fresh Aura you Demand". The music would have to come from a speaker lodged ...never mind.
We would get insulin programs which would light up the region where today's shot should go. No need to carry a flashlight when your nose gleams like Ted Kennedy's on St Patty's Day. Drunks could have sensors installed that would save them and us from their driving. "WARNING ALCOHOL CONTENT APPROACHING SENATORIAL LEVEL DANGER DANGER."
Next we can develop glasses that WE wear that changes people into talking creatures of our own twisted imagination. Tune your mother-in-law's face out and replace her mug with a red river hog's anus-though you'd probably confuse her with James Carville after that. Cartoons, sexy babes, movie stars, wild animals and then no more gaping at the mutant across from you at the terminal. You could even cut down on the psychoactive substances that are wreaking havoc on your chromosomes, not that little Othmar isn't a paragon of humanly stature and comportment.

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Gobble This Down

Well I made it through another Thanksgiving. I really do like this holiday, except for the timing. We need a three-day feast in August so we can wallow in the water after eating for hours and rinse off the debris that is accruing. In November we stare at gloomy grey skies and freeze just thinking about the annual horror of Christmas decorating.
There's a great idea-let's climb onto an ice-covered roof after swilling some hard cider so we can show everybody how easy self destruction can be. If we survive we can go downstairs and light up the candle bedecked pine tree that we forgot to water.
O TannenBOMB indeed. A few more testimonials for Darwin are always popular despite the views from the pews.
In my primitive days back East and Down South we would "go hunting" after the Thanksgiving meal. It was always a half mile stroll hoping not to see or kill anything so we could stop hunting and go lie down. Nowadays we 'hunt' on the Internet for a good video showing some cretin in the Midwest getting his hand bit off by a hummingbird or a newscaster absentmindedly fingering his nose ON AIR. Less chance of getting guts on the counter now. I have never really been a hunter; fishing caused me to spend a lot to catch free fish; if I hunted I would really be broke now. I'll just have to find some other way to get the weenies mad at me! Maybe I'll hire some black folk to whip on my plantation, while I catch squawfish. These have been renamed northern pikeminnows now, but they still gobble millions of game fish young. One worthy made over $30.000 one recent year catching them for the bounty. I could recoup my losses on fishing gear by launching a pikeminnow pogrom. Send as many as you can to me at the following address Me 123 Easy street Anytown USA. Please saute first and use an herb mayonnaise.
Then after a few weeks we forget the trials of Thanksgiving and whip up another monster meal for Christmas. The best way to do it is have a potluck and then you get to eat 3 bean salad for days. This is culinary manslaughter. Open three cans and call it a salad?!!?! Go ahead and put some 'salad mustard' on it. There's a taste sensation! Some London restaurant will start featuring that dish and really cement(;>) the reputation of food in England-where Thanksgiving Day is called Bedwetter's Eve and involves parsnips as metaphor.