Friday, September 04, 2009

The False Horoscope In A White Wine Sauce

The Walleye: (January 2 to January 4)--Take stock of your life and find out who wants you dead. Your lucky chair smells faintly of failure. Keep away from apes.

Sheep's Easter: (January 5 to May 16)--Someone you trust is looking for the words to describe how they feel about your white denim suit. A hole dug is a hole earned. Check behind the drapes for your youth.

Parental Lies: (Late May to June 2)--Keep a block of fine spruce and a pen knife near you at all times, for the inevitable day when your internet dating failures finally drive you to whittle yourself a wife.

The Fop's Belt: (June 3 to June 4, 3:27pm)--It is finally time to throw out that old man in your bed. Your lucky number is written of the inner thigh of the gypsy you saw urinating in a public fountain during the cabbage riots of '07.

Dave: (June 4, 3:28pm to September 19 {excluding all of July and August 6})--It is never too late to tell someone you think that they are the sorriest sack of shit you ever laid eyes upon. Time to buy a new dog, the old one is dead. Adding some fiber to your diet will somehow make you even less interesting.

The Bladders: (All of July)--Someone you love is bending deeply at the knees for all the wrong reasons. At some point a comb over becomes less of an ingenious facade, and more a burdensome object of ridicule. Explosions are to be avoided for three weeks.

Simple Salad: (August 6)--Hug a stranger and run away. Take time out of your day to stop and smell the mailman. Picking it won't make it better, but it might get you a day off.

Dented Bean Tin: (September 20 to Elvis 17)--Save a choking man and win a dapper waist coat. You will be followed home from the tanning salon by a man in a rented suit. Your poor sense of direction will lead to a loveless marriage. Your lucky symbol for the week is the one leaf clover.

Chef's Palsy: (Elvis 18 to September 30)--Avoid having children if you still eat over the sink. Your noisy love making is upsetting the waiter. Your lucky towel is on the top shelf.

Vulgar Limp: (Oct 1 to Dec 24)--If you are feeling unloved in the morning, eat two pounds of American cheese and later think back on how much better you felt in the morning before you ate all that shitty cheese.

The Chubby Waitress: (Dec 25)--Your mother is a virgin and your father is a gullible fool. Your personality can be best described as "eggy". Try not to be in the way when the rapture comes.

Soft Eggs: (Dec 26 to Jan 1)--Bitter defeat awaits your attempt to clean your feet. Any hope of improving your breakfast nook is almost as hopeless as it is laughable. Stay funky.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Right up Your Culture

Here at The Endless Ocean Of Gravy we always strive to bring to you the finest in political, spiritual, social, and intellectual musings, perusings, and sundry goings on. In that vein we are proud to present an excerpt from the latest work of an exciting new playwright. Gavin Montserrat (right) has provided us a sneak peek of his latest play Waiting For Bill Paxton, due to premier at the Ronald Reagan Memorial Theater & Refugee Detention Center on Christmas Day, 2009. An except from Act 4 Scene 22 follows, in which Pancho attempts to reveal his indiscretions to Phaedra before their wedding.



WAITING FOR BILL PAXTON

Act IV, Scene XXII

(Interior: A roomy shed illuminated by a bare bulb. Walls of corrugated sheet metal. Soiled mattresses, empty picture frames, and old crutches stacked against rear wall. Two Louis XXIII chairs facing downstage. Pancho, stage left, standing behind chair, wearing a green boiler suit, water skis, neck beard, ten gallon hat, and holding a stuffed goose. Phaedra, stage right, sitting, wearing wedding dress, eye patch, back brace, neck brace, thick glasses, hearing aid, built up shoe, and holding bag of polecats. Exterior noises off stage: Classical music, soldiers marching, gunfire, police siren, braying pack animal, intermittent explosions, clown horns, dogs barking, seagulls, pipe organ, pan flute, wood chipper, tap dancing, yodeling cowboy, alpenhorn, kettle boiling, prolonged farting, and intermittent shouts of Waaaaaaaazuuuuuuuuuuup!!!!!)

Pancho: (stood erect, knees slightly bent, feet wide apart) My dearest Phaedra you must wonder why I have pulled you aside mere moments from our nuptials. Know that I did not act rashly when I pulled you from your father's hand as he presented you to the congregation. He must be mystified at my actions that caused his youngest daughter to be spirited away prematurely while he is shoved into the trout pond where he no doubt wallows still.

(Noises Off: shotgun discharged [both barrels] squawking water fowl, applause)

Phaedra: (shouting, squinting at empty spot on stage)What? Why'd you biff my dad into the pond? He's got croup and a cracked sternum.

Pancho: Damn my poor timing to the seven halls of Lucifer! I could not wait a moment longer to say what I have to say. I could not stand before God and take vows without you knowing the full truth.

(Noises Off: mariachi music, fist fight)

Phaedra: (shouting off stage) Shut the feck up! We'll be out in a sec.

(Noises Off: loud protracted "shooshing" snapping mariachi guitar strings, fist fight)

Pancho: Please my dear. Worry not about the guests or your father. I'm sure they have pulled him out by now. I'm must implore you, please listen to what I have to say.

Phaedra: Well if you are going to tell me why you took my old dad by the collar and cummerbund and heaved him over the railing into the frigid waters below you had better hurry up. Those deviled eggs won't keep for long in this heat.

(Noises Off: donkey slipping in spilled butter, glass breaking, turnip hitting skull, applause)

Pancho: (bending deeper at the knees, arms askew) Oh forget the fool for now. The longer he is out of reach of the Drambuie the better for all.

Phaedra: Well out with it then ya big wally. These smoked oysters are starting to waft.

Pancho: I have been unfaithful.

(Noises Off: extended "Ricolaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa" followed by long sonorous fart, applause)

Phaedra: Is this about the maid?

Pancho: No.

Phaedra: My sister?

Pancho: NO!

Phaedra: My Brother?

Pancho: Um......................No.

Phaedra: That hoor who you paid to do a shit on you?

Pancho: Not as such.

Phaedra: You sneaking out at night and sticking your tackle into holes in the lawn again?

Pancho: You know very well that my people believe that pressing one's gonads into the soft earth will help one commune with nature and assist in the quickening of the soil. It is our way.

Phaedra: You're from New Jersey.

Pancho: Nevertheless.

Phaedra: What have you done this time then?

(Noises Off: two explosions, man falling over pile of plastic buckets, fog horn, cymbals crash)

Pancho: (drowned out by noises off, making dramatic hand gestures)

Phaedra: (shouting, squinting)What?!?!

(Noises Off: brass band, train whistle, screaming)

Pancho: (drowned out by noises off, making dramatic hand gestures, deep knee bends and pelvic thrusts)


curtain lowers

Scene

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

One Man, One Purchase

This is Floyd Purchase writing for you now. When I say, writing for you now, I am of course typing some time in the past (depending on when you read this) and you, as the reader are not being placed under any obligations, or are in any way indebted to me by my act of doing this for you. For the sake of journalistic accuracy let us agree on the following statement of fact. What you are now reading was produced by me (Floyd Purchase) with the intention of you reading it of your own free will with the understanding that it places no encumbrance on you. Enjoy!

At the request of Mr Fish I will, from time to time, take a break from my busy schedule as a mobile librarian to contribute to this space with my ruminations on matters of the heart and technology. These are the areas of my life to which I give over the most thought and energy, with varying degrees of success. Some find the act of intimate congress to be an impenetrable embuggerance, while having no difficulty grinding to level 80 with a Blood Elf on a PVP server. Naturally there are others who need to call the help desk if someone turns their keyboard upside down but still manage to somehow woo the red headed girl in customer service who would clearly be far more stimulated by a man of greater cerebral capacity. She must know that narrow trousers and an easy manner will not long cover up a shameful pig-ignorance of information technology.

It is indeed lonely at the top of the "brain chain" at times. A finely tuned intellect can be intimidating at times, even when I am perfectly willing to correct any mild factual omissions at any time. I am certainly not a fussy man but I would not waste my time with someone who did not appreciate Watchmen at the highest possible level, at least not very often. When one finally meets someone who truly appreciates mad spreadsheet skills, then the gushing fountain of love will be that much sweeter and more everlasting..........I've forgotten what point I was making.

Until next week friends and ladies. This is your very humble and single, Floyd Purchase.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Angus Thripshaw's Ditch

Just when you thought is was safe to read a piss poor excuse for a blog, here comes your old pal Angus to spice up the bisque. Some of the less discerning of you will no doubt remember me from here. Maybe it's the horse liniment I drank for lunch, but I feel all tingly being back after all this time. To those of you new to the Green idiot's tiny circle of readers, let me introduce myself. I am Angus Thripshaw and I am a contributor to The Endless Ocean Of Gravy. I am the only reason to come here and I am the sweet living shit. So cuddle up children. Angus is back! Where have I been? Well let me fuckin' tell ya.



Angus Thripshaw's Ditch


Presents

in association with the endless ocean of gravy

Thripshaw's Doings


  • I was living with Green Fish for a few months until I was able to get a certain business venture off the ground, or until he could pin me in a best of three challenge. He pulled a fast one on me by putting sleeping pills in my Thompson's Wood Stain and moving away.
  • Left to my own devices I decided to find lodgings and pursue my business venture with a renewed passion. As luck would have it I secured shelter in a drainage ditch on the outskirts of a condemned industrial plaza.
  • I secured financing for my business by strolling "mother naked" into large grocery stores and being paid to go away before the fruit spoiled.
  • With capital secured I opened up a roadside consulting firm specializing in executive entertainment solutions and seminars. I planned to specialize in up market firms with a large female clientele who would be enamored with my determined, workman-like, love making skills, in the prescribed Soviet style. I felt that this, complimented with home made Vodka, would be a market leader in executive solutions.
  • My first day went well, except that I set up my stand to close to the highway, and a wide-load transport trailer clipped my turkey costume and threw me, my stand, and my home made vodka dispenser across the freeway and under the viaduct. I was relatively uninjured until a pack of feral dogs, emboldened by the stench of blood and rotting potato peelings, set about me with a vigor.
  • I spent the next eighteen months convalescing under that viaduct, living on home made vodka and feral dog tar tar, and maintaining my network of clients by shouting obscenities at passing cars.
  • I finally taught myself to walk again after discovering that both my feet were in fact wedged into one shoe.
  • I then wrote for the Toronto Sun for six months until this became just too much of a strain on my dignity. That lead me to reopen negations with Mr Fish (follow him home from work) and secure a staff writing position (he still forgets to lock the door).

So that's all for now kids. I'm going to be on my merry way before the big fool wakes up. Right after I have a wash in the sink and a crap in the tub. Bye now, Fuckers!!!

Community Bulletin Thingy

The West Turmeric Wrangler

Vol. 9 Issue 47

Mrs Althea Trapes would like to thank the gentlemen of Plumbers Local 314 for giving her organ a good pounding out before the children's choir recital last Tuesday. The vandals who dented her wind system and flattened her expression peddle out of recognition have still not been identified. She says she will be buffing the pipes of the fine men of Local 314 for some time to come.

****In a correction from last week's issue (46), Dr Robert Culter, 46, is the Chief administrator for the Lower Fourth Parks Project, and not, as reported by Audrey Wong, a fat sack of pompadoured horse shit.

Harlen Waxman, 32, is looking to rent a room and workspace within the city limits for the purpose of launching an exciting new business venture. He requires a small windowless room with a low bed, two stainless steel sinks, a dentist's chair, weather sealed windows, and heavy mosquito netting. In leu of rent Mr Waxman will finance his accommodations with yard work, small engine repair, honey, and tales of seamanship from his days as a showgirl aboard the QE2.

Dapp Heldersmith, 66, is collecting signatures for a petition to take legal action against the City Council for damaged and lost property in the wake of last month's Retired Sailor's Convention. Mr. Heldersmith is also offering a reward of $50.00 for the return of two garden gnomes, a hammock, and Mrs. Heldersmith, 64.

In local sports, the West Turmeric Sack Bladders (Go Bladders!!!) avoided relegation to the ladies division last Wednesday by winning the 103rd Annual Red Cup And Cape tournament when none of the other teams showed up.

Elvis LeCruz, 31, will be giving the sixth installment of his very popular lecture series, "Why I Am So Fucking Extreme. BOOYA!!!" This week's talk (Bros before Hoes) will cover such topics as, tribal tattoos, Affliction clothing, pre-distressed denim, fist bumping, late '90s BET slang, Bud Lite, tanning, man flip-flops, little beards and the gradual acceptance of using the word "disrespect" as a verb.

****In a correction from last week's issue, Mr Kevin Flatt, 88, is alive and well and not, as reported by Mrs Candi Flatt, 22, dead and buried. The party however, will go ahead as planned.

Found: Two jam stained garden gnomes, under the overpass at Bridge Street

Sunday, July 05, 2009

The Ugly Side of Procrastination

To my eternal shame it has come to pass that I have not exactly been burning up the blogosphere lately. I know my seven loyal readers must be wondering what the hell is going on. Well I have several very good excuses, and I shall list them here for you now in my own inimitable way.

THE ENDLESS OCEAN OF GRAVY PRESENTS

"WHY THE HELL I HAVE NOT BEEN WRITING MUCH LATELY"

(ALL TRUE)

I had an accident with a bowl of soup (lentil & watercress) that caused sever scalding to over 95% of a bus driver.

I got stuck in a revolving door with a rabbi, a priest, and a newfie and they would not stop regaling me with tales of their wacky adventures.

I found a lump. It's on the back of the toilet about halfway up the cistern, and I'm terrified to scrape it off in case it starts screaming.

Although I have no injuries I have begun wearing a neck brace, an eye patch, a truss, a hook, a diaper, and a built up shoe, just so I can enjoy the respect that goes with such extravagances.

I was taken under the care of a specialist with what I thought was an hysterical pregnancy, but it turned out to be a dream.

My two legs developed a condition unique to me which is called, Uncontrollable Runnin' Around Like A Jackass Syndrome.

My home made gin caused blindness.

Inexplicably, my home made blindness cure (gin & Tia Maria) does not, in fact, cure blindness. It makes it worse. By adding painful diarrhea to the blindness.

My home made Creme de Menthe does in fact cure home made gin induced blindness, and although it tends to intensify the diarrhea, it does put it in perspective.

My beard of bees has caused some unforeseeable complications with my love life.

My computer has started to smell faintly of eggs.

I have been training a monkey to wash the dishes, make wine, paint and genuflect.

I have been severely bitten by a knife wielding, drunk, bright green, genuflecting monkey.

I was arrested in the middle of the night at the lumber yard while trying to feed a bright green, frozen, monkey corpse into a wood chipper.

~fin~

Monday, June 15, 2009

The False Horoscope (not the real one)

The Walleye: (January 2 to January 4)--Avoid eating poison and being robbed today. It is time for that nuisance lawsuit you've always talked about. Those lucky rocks you've been collecting don't do shit, try getting a lucky job.

Sheep's Easter: (January 5 to May 16)--Your cat does not like your tie. Eggs will not do you harm for the rest of the month. A kind word to an elderly man will not do either of you any good.

Parental Lies: (Late May to June 2)--Very few people can tolerate the volume of your night terrors. You will buy a lottery ticket today from a man suffering from pica.

The Fop's Belt: (June 3 to June 4, 3:27pm)--The old trunk in which you found your father's dresses has a false bottom in which are hidden his letters from Larry King. Of all the hats in the shop to choose from, you will be drawn to the one that makes you look even balder.

Dave: (June 4, 3:28pm to September 19 {excluding all of July and August 6})--No one saw you steal the hammer but people are curious about the blood on your cummerbund. What you assumed was furniture polish is in fact a sexual ointment.

The Bladders: (All of July)--Wedding bells are evident if you go to a bell maker and ask. Two people whom you know well are planning your well deserved comeuppance. Avoid impulse coat purchases while in the company of partially sighted.

Simple Salad: (August 6)--Take some time to love yourself today and then put it on the internet. Try making tacos without embarrassing your loved ones. Flip a coin to decide between pancakes or procreation.

Dented Bean Tin: (September 20 to Elvis 17)--A public bathroom is not a picnic area despite the obvious conveniences. If it ain't broke, take it while no one is looking. Your legs are not lucky so stop asking co-workers to rub them.

Chef's Palsy: (Elvis 18 to September 30)--Don't buy a pet that you would not be prepared to eat in an emergency. Today is as good as any other to hire a prostitute. Make a prank phone call from an up market coffee shop while clad only in a false beard.

Vulgar Limp: (Oct 1 to Dec 24)--Let your hair down and untie the mailman. Television is ready for you to unleash "Who Wants To Marry A Singing Hobo". Your dry heaves could be the excuse you are looking for. Avoid water and staggering today.

The Chubby Waitress: (Dec 25)--Avoid family situations. Opening packages that do not have the contents clearly written on the top will result in injury and toe loss. Your buttocks has no powers beyond the mundane despite what your boss it telling you.

Soft Eggs: (Dec 26 to Jan 1)--Bitter defeat awaits your attempt to organize your sock drawer. Abject failure will be the only result of any attempt to get ahold of yourself. Any hope of improving your situation is almost as hopeless as it is laughable. Stay upbeat.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Critics

Dear Sirs,

I've been reading the literature you produce for some time now and I feel the time has come to address a few issues I have with it. I am not by nature a bellicose individual but your web log has broken through my gentle spirit and given me a case of the sour waters. I am a man who finds himself often afflicted with a variety gastric distresses. Your foolish rambling and crimes against sentence structure only serve to aggravate an already delicate equilibrium of colonic upwellings and vaporous surges. You manage to summon from me the most mournful, sonorous farts ever witnessed by myself or my fellow public library patrons. In my 37 years as an assistant crutch assembler for the Knights Of Columbus I have never had to subject my underlings to such powerful gaseous outpourings. I can hardly find the appetite for my deviled eggs and medicinal cabbage water any more. Only yesterday I was stuck on stalled subway car so I decided to partake of my lunch of prune reduction, duck bisque, and sardines sandwiches, when my mind turned to your last post. It upset me so much that my subsequent bottom bossa nova caused a poor prostitute to faint, and an elderly man to vomit up his breakfast stew. It lasted nearly 45 seconds and a small man whom I had inadvertently pinned against the sliding door had to be lead away by caring hands and placed into a doctor's care. Much of my modest income is taken up by the various wrappings, cummerbunds, and foundation garments that my various internal concerns demand. My hips, thighs, and each buttock necessitate several swaddling procedures and your foolish twaddle puts me back to square one every time. If I didn't take the time between dressings to have some buttermilk and onions with a slice of black pudding, then I don't think I could cope. In conclusion Sir, your blog is utter drizzles, and it's giving me the shits something cruel, so stop it.

Yours

Latimore DeBounce

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Brushing Up On Love

Name: Floyd Purchase
Age: 33
Seeking: Women aged 20 to 60, all shapes, smoker or non, employment a plus but not fussy, pets welcome, English a plus but not fussy, will drive out of town, not fussy
Occupation: Mobile Library Owner/Operator
Turnons: a woman
Turnoffs: none
Say what: "Hey ladies how about a Purchase of me, meaning a pun on my name and not meant to imply I am a male prostitute, because I certainly am not one of those."








Name: Mrs. Beretta Cross
Age: 73
Seeking: William Michael Cross, 40 1/2
Occupation: Unappreciated
Turnons: A little consideration
Turnoffs: Lazy ungrateful sons who go off and marry the first whore who will cook something approximating dinner when she couldn't possibly know what he likes when it's his sainted mother who raised him for 40 years without a word of thanks.
Say what: "Don't worry about me you just let that hussy desecrate the mother son bond and I'll commit suicide to keep things simple for you and that cheap c-u-nevermind-t."








Name: Francis Lee Marvin
Age: 29
Seeking: Women for sure
Occupation: Journeyman Rail Splitter
Turnons: A woman with a good body who works out you know. Like hard abs and muscled legs, and broad shoulders like some females have. And a deep voice like when I close my eyes you sound like a man but you're all woman because I like women.
Turnoffs: Gross girls that are all soft and curvy and round. Those sissy girls don't appeal to the hard man who is deep inside me.
Say what: "It's tough being a single guy these days. When I think of all the lonely single men out there I just want to say that I really feel you men and it's hard, and getting harder all the time. And you know that it's getting hard for me too, and I know you feel me and want to reach around and offer me relief. Am I right ladies?'

Sunday, May 03, 2009

Poetry Hutch

Grand Mall Epoxy

From wind upon the bloated spruce
To the holy legs of Jesus
The sour belch of nature's scorn
Sends bees and cakes to please us

The dog will hump on Uncle Bruce
As turkeys crush between us
My father wore a silken gown
Beneath the light of Venus

fin

The above poem brought a ignominious end to the third annual Ladies Town Hall Literary Awards Supper Social when the author strode nude and filthy through the buffet shouting his work at the top of his lungs while tossing plastic cups of body fluids and solids among the assembled literati. Althea McMannus, the organizer and hostess of the event, was pleased with both the reading and the overall success of this year's event. The controversial 'dirty protest' theme was an unusual one for this annual charity, pot luck literary gathering whose assemblage is more used to stylized readings of Walt Whitman or musical interpretations of Robert Burns. We look forward to next year's event with great interest.


Friday, May 01, 2009

A Word From Edmond Groat

Hello good Ladies and Gentlemen. I am Edmond Groat and I am a business associate of the owner and propagator of this fine web log to which you are currently giving your attention. I have taken it upon myself to hire out space on this site until my current revenue minus expenses ratio reaches a point where I can negotiate the vending of a personal computer, an Internet account, a table, a chair, a wall socket, a wall, and electricity. Recent economic conditions have rend asunder my various investments and ventures. My consulting firm closed it's doors for good after some unpleasantness with a malfunctioning shoe buffer and some poor judgment on my part regarding some fake $250 bills. I had assumed that my astute business acumen would be in demand among the financial elite, but I was quickly and soundly undone by certain difficulties on my part involving, legalities, international trade pacts, generally accepted accounting principals, telephones, decimal places, long division, and fainting. I have since taken many hard lessons to heart and moved on to my strength as a product developer. I will admit that I got off to a rough start. My Arthur Fonzerelli Grill was ahead of its time I'm afraid (The grease just drains awAaayyyyy) . The world was not ready for the Trouser Crock Pot ("Who wants pants stew") and I daresay it ever will be. Funky Funerals (Who dead up in here?) lacked the interest I was sure was in abundance. And of course, I was premature in my belief that the world wanted a nasaly administered laxtive (Momma needs a Sniffy Plop? Yeah Yeah!!!). But I can assure you the I am nothing if not persistent and I will not let failure, bankruptcy, incarceration, restraining orders, Papal censures, or death threats keep me from bringing the most exciting and unexpected products into your homes. So keep any eye on this space and prepare to be amazed and stunned.

Yours Truly

Edmond Groat

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Your Sweet Horosope Pudding

Aries: Let yourself become more comfortable in white denim. You may be subject to the whims of a man in a soiled dickie. Your planets today are Mars, Venus and the brown one with the stripes. Your wish stone is the flat one and your soul number is 107.



Taurus: The last person who used your toilet did so under false pretenses. You will encounter a small lady carrying a fish and a copy of the Sermons Of St Bonaventure. Walking backwards should be avoided unless there is clear financial gain. Your home stars today are Polaris and Treat Williams.




Gemini: You have Munchhausen by proxy.









Cancer: The pain in your legs will get better once you loosen your cummerbund and discover that the marriage certificate was never signed. Your royal house is Tudor and your lucky warming implement is a blanket.






Leo: Love is just around the corner in the form of a lonely, manipulative, alcoholic, with father issues. Food eaten while standing on one foot does not count for the next 12 hours. Your cold cut of the day is olive loaf.






Virgo: Although you may be assured by those you trust that it ain't nuthin but a thing, be warned that it may in fact be nuthin but a chicken wing. Your greeting for the current moon phase is the awkward wave and smile.







Libra: Quit gumming up the works. You will have three importune, totally involuntary farts this afternoon, but you will, in each case, be in the presence of a sleeping hobo on whom you can blame the emissions. Your jams are raspberry and unsweetened black current.




Scorpio: Don't be all like you're better than me just cuz you think you all that when you don't even know me and jus prolly jealous anyway cuz I'm sexy and I'll slap a bitch who gets all in my business like they got somthin.






Sagittarius: The five second rule does not apply to soup. Don't get talked into a camping trip by a man who purchases his shoes one at a time. Everyone knows your touch does not cure dandruff so stop telling people that it does. Your mode of ambulation while Saturn is in the second house, strolling.





Capricorn: You are so hot right now. Your small intestine is the topic of conversation among people who admire such things. You will get lost in a large chain bookstore and never be able to admit it to yourself. Your response to people whom you find yourself no longer listening to should be, "yeah, for sure."






Aquarius: Don't sweat the small stuff unless it is poking out of your skin. If you can see it through a shirt then call a doctor. If you can see it from across the street with a coat on then call The Guinness Book Of world Records (medical oddities and abnormalities division).





Pisces: Although two wrongs never make a right, three wrongs can be quite acceptable if the person being wronged is truly a prick who has been asking for it like some sort of fancy college boy with his four wheel drive and linen suit.

Letter Of Complaint

Dear Mr Fish,

As I'm sure has been pointed out to your esteemed personage on several occasions, you continue to misrepresent yourself as a legitimate blogger. This I feel is in conflict with, if not the letter of the law, then at least the spirit of the noble institution that we call the Internet. You continually and maliciously claim to be the producer of a blog yet at not time have you mentioned a relevant current event, commented on a broad social trend, or ruminated on the tooings and froings of some popular glitterati with which the public feels the compulsion to heap regard upon. This state of affairs is compounded by the fact that you seem to relish in the ridiculous, the profane, the nonsensical, and the profoundly irrelevant. You may feel that I am over harsh, even spitful, but please good sir, you can not fail to see if six people read your blog then their are at least six people more deeply out of touch than yourself.

Regards

Perez Hilton

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Tonight's Menu (with english on reverse)

Le Canard de la Honte


Beginnings


Soup with two spoons and peas from Spain........................................................................2.63
One egg beside one egg with one or two breads..................................................................2.17
New salad green without coating not chosen (choice on side)............................................2.11

For the Main

Delights of fish without or among glaze and seasonal tubers..............................................11.49
Larger or minuscule area of ham arranged in a fashion......................................................10.80
Fifty percent of duck with embellishments..........................................................................22.50


Trolley of pies will follow you!

bon apatite!

Wednesday, April 08, 2009

Central Intelipol's Most Wanted

Lidia "Momma" Cruft: Last seen purchasing large quantities of Sunny Delight and counterfeit cowboy hats in the parking lot of The Upper Marlboro, Maryland Chamber Of Commerce. If seen, DO NOT APPROACH, but go to the nearest civic authority and report.

Threat Level: Dark Blue

Reward: Imminent





Karl & Promethia Burst: Last seen in or around Mississauga Ontario attempting to gain entrance to The Knight's Of Columbus Anti-Post Marital Sex Dinner Dance & Fund Raiser dressed as someone else. If cornered, lay face down and place arms rigidly at acute arcs until negotiators arrive.

Threat Level: Eminent

Reward: Voluntary




Elija Wong: Last seen testing the waters of a Red Lobster crab tank due south of the Tropic Of Cancer. Do not make eye contact unless accompanied by a doctor of science.

Threat Level: Too Legit

Reward: Rumored




The Rhododendron Brothers: Last seen boarding a slow boat to Northern Tweed, heavily laden with after market truck parts. Upon discovery the activation phrase given to the local constabulary is, "The goose is juicer when the chef is patient", followed by a double wink and a Petite Mal seizure.

Threat Level: Eggy

Reward: Three Times A Lady



Mason Walsh: Last seen holding court in the Laotian garment district clutching a copy of Yes I Can, gamely holding on, while being pelted with pieces of The True Cross. Upon introduction, do not linger with your finger, but move slowly to the back of the room, humming as if your life depended on it.

Threat Level: Double Down

Reward: Upon Clarification


Sunday, March 22, 2009

Dear Sisters Of The Stigmata Refugee Detention Center


To whom it may concern,

I am writing to offer my deepest thanks for your hospitality over the last week. Your facility is both clean and welcoming. After a night of celebrating the local squad's promotion to "D" Division Men's Football, one can only hope to find oneself placed into to the hands of such a fine holding center when one is brought low by Drink and Jocularity. I have been lead to understand that yours is one of the most respected names in itinerant men's hostelry in the tri-shire area and the reformatory of choice for those frequently afflicted with public drunkenness. I am lead further to believe that you have been fire free since late 2007 and relatively absent of corpses for several months. I only hope that the process of my internment was not overly stressful on you fine staff. After the Red Banjo's handy defeat of West Milan lead me to over indulge during the post match festivities, there my have been some regretful property damage on my part and some unprovoked attacks on a Police Horse. I would also like to inquire after the whereabouts of one of your permanent lodgers with whom I shared a bunk with on my first few nights. He was an associate of mine has been availing himself of your amenities for some time, usually between stints at the local bailiff's pleasure. We had been enjoying an amicable dalliance for a time but this has recently come to a halt with my release and I don't want to risk losing touch with him again. I can't wait until the next time that special forces called out for acts of aggravated football hooliganism. He is a robust giant of a man with a shock of auburn hair and a proud mustache. He is often seen in the company of a retired bus conductor as they try to gain entrance to exclusive supper clubs in the guise of man and wife. I would appreciate your assistance in reaching him. If you would be so kind as to check his room for signs of death, flight, abduction or elopement. Perhaps a note of some kind. DO NOT APPROACH HIM. Thank you for your time.

Regards

Michael

Sunday, March 01, 2009

Excerpt from "A Gentleman's Correspondence" (part the 4th)

Dear James,

Once again my morning stoop has has produced succulent fruit in the form of your most recent letter. Among my bills, subpoenas, cheeses of the month, cease and desist orders, and Modern Bride, I find a correspondence from my dear friend. Your state ordered convalescence appears to be doing you the world of good. The Good Sisters of Mercy deliver a convalescence that is both bracing and informative and once you emerge form their loving embrace all transgressions will be long forgiven and forgotten. Let us hope that angry husbands, grieving pet owners, and bitten police constables will respect your need for a quiet and gentle reintegration into polite society.

Your latest missive has awoken within me a wistful reminiscence of days long gone. Your talk of tinned pony meat takes me back to my days at St. Finbar's Home For Wayward Boys. It was there, beneath the life sized portraits, displaying in graphic detail, The Martyrdom Of St. Giuseppe of The Nine Corsets that we dined on pony meat, candied turnips, and mare's milk pudding every Sunday. Ensconced within its heavily sound proofed walls we took our lessons from the defrocked clergymen sent from diocese far and wide to mend their ways and provide guidance to young arsonists and thugs. We read aloud from Joyce in the cloistered sweat lodge. We debated finer points of scripture until our arguments, degenerating into fevered leg wrestling, left us wheezing in the thickets, bespittled and spent. And we danced. Oh how we danced James. We danced, and sang, frolicked, as nude as God made us, among the tobacco plants, bellies groaning with pony meat and steamed whelks.

It was during one of our frequent outings to the local textile mill that I met Francis Wong. He was a cross dressing, amateur wrestler and devout Catholic with dreams of playing for his beloved Cardiff Red Banjos of the heavily contested South Wales "D" League (reserves). His untimely death within the clutches of a rag separator was, I feel, memorialized fittingly when his beloved "Reds" took the coveted West Swansea Five-a-Side tournament that year when none of the other teams turned up.

Yours in wistfulness

Michael

Saturday, February 21, 2009

The Introduction Of Flip Bishopson

For a man of a certain age to find a young lady of a certain disposition in the late stages of the game, he must be prepared to take steps that would have seemed alien to him at the dawn of his fecundity. It was with this fact in mind that I sat in the waiting area of The Two Hearts Agency, an upmarket firm dedicated to the placement of those looking for a partner in this murky gravy we call life.

I was both nervous and exhilarated in my Modern International horse hair suit and Bulgarian silk ascot. I sat quietly but expectantly, buttocks splayed on a hard plastic seat designed more for form than function, while I worried the brim of my Regent Colonial bowler hat with nicotine stained digits. My double walled, Marksman Inc. suspenders were cutting something cruel across a chest swollen with pride and angina. My customary breakfast of 3 Cavendish bananas, 2 Presbyterian ounces of cabbage juice, and a slice of pate was exerting its not inconsiderable weight upon my diaphragm. I wondered, not for the first time, if a lighter meal would not have served me better today as I sat here groaning with potassium and goose fat.

I was roused from my thoughts by a lady with a clipboard and a broad, welcoming smile. "We are ready for you Sir, if you would care to step into the interview room." Her tone was as welcoming as her smile, so I extricated myself from my seat, to the great relief of my buttocks, and allowed her to direct to an interior chamber. I sat in an inviting chair before a stylish metal and glass desk while she took up position behind same. "Well Mr. Bishopson", she began, "I have your application so this is just an informal interview so we can, as they say, get a feel for you, before we set up some introductions." "Please call me Flip my dear", I responded. "And please let me make clear that I am not here for a prostitute, although I respect the oldest of professions, I was in the army after all." She seemed to digest this and said, "Let me assure you Mr. ...um ....Flip, that we do not make such arrangements for our clients, and we offer only to introduce people for dating, or, or....friendship....." "Please young lady, let me assure you that I pass no judgements on the fine women of the negotiable affection industry, in fact before I met my dear Rockie I was no stranger to the smokey, velvet walled, houses of the orient, but these days I do not find myself with those type of itches. A nubile young temptress such as yourself would prove too much for a man of my years, in fact I could not even pass the physical at this point. Think of your insurance premiums if nothing else. I doubt your waiver covers thrombotic episodes or stress fractures for a man of my years." "Sir, please, we offer no such services. Let us please move to you application to determine you compatibility with one of our clients."

We moved on to discuss various aspects of my application, which I had spent the better part of the previous day filling out in great detail, going so far as to add several loose leaf pages at my own expense. "Now Flip, your education and certificates section reads, Doctor Of Physical Cultures And Champion Of The Registered Assessments Of Manliness And Sundry Feats." "Yes" I began, " I majored in train car pulling pulling for two years before taking a split major in steeple climbing (Catholic) and donkey boxing with a minor in backwards running. I had a six year undefeated streak in the savory science of donkey pugilism until my last match, in which I was leading 8-nil, was declared a no-contest when it was discovered there was an unmarried lady in the spectators gallery. That young lady did not stay unmarried for long for she was my sweet Rockie, who snuck in to see her man take the East Boston Championship from the feared Cincinnati Mauler, the four legged draught animal of doom and spokes donkey for Kellogg's Corn Pipe Tobacco. I was regional indoor men's wagon lifting finalist six years running before finally taking the Golden Boot during the Great Tin Shortage (made famous in the song of the same name by Jim "The Jew" Slater on his ragtime record Cardiff Delights). I went on, with Rockie taking over as my trainer and cut-woman, to set the Harvard Deep Knee Bending Society indoor record for eight years straight. With my studies taking up most of my time Rockey took a jobs as a cigarette girl at First National Bank, and part time rail splitter while earning her degree in chemical warfare.

My interview went on for some time like this and the young lady was joined by several of her colleagues who sat open mouthed as I regaled them of the stories of my youth. They asked me many questions about my time in the army, and although I understand that times have changed, I was rather taken aback by the 'blue' nature of their questions and the riotous laughter my stories prompted from this group of respectable young ladies. They squealed with glee when I told them about young Private Jensen and his education at the hands of two French nurses and his consequent admission into the priesthood. One dear girl was fascinated with my sweet Rockie. "Why did she make her own pants? How did she become the first girl to capture the West Texas Mule Skinner Of The Year Award? Did she really knock out a prized show pony with one punch to win a bet with a Gypsy?" Silly questions really. Everyone knows that they did not make pants for girls and I defy you to skin a mule in a skirt or engage in any sort of equine combat in petticoats.

Well needless to say, between the company of these ribald girls and the rekindling of so many memories, I found myself unwilling and unable to give any thought to meeting someone else. They have asked me back next week and maybe I'll go. Maybe I'll bring some bananas. Some of them looked to be in dire need of the potassium.

Sunday, February 01, 2009

Shake Your Rump

I'm sheer giddy with finishing the first two weeks of my back to schoolness. It's not that it's hard, it's just that I'm concerned that I'm not retaining anything. So I've been spuds deep in the learning and I've finished my first two weeks and I'm still ticking........so all's well.

In the real world 17 things are going on despite best efforts.

  1. Men's helmeted standup football is contesting their highest bowl this evening while the broke and depressed slather over three million dollar commercials for shiny turds.
  2. America still patting own back for swapping their white, privileged, rich, christian, speech making, king for a black, privileged, rich, christian, speech making, king. Being broke and depressed soon to be a thing of the past.
  3. Religion still killing more people than heroin.
  4. Tomatoes still the first choice for displeased theatre goers.
  5. Rebels become terrorists
  6. Terrorists become patriots
  7. Patriots become zealots
  8. Two small dogs slurp loudly from inattentive owner's cocoa. Front page of weekend newspaper no longer downer.
  9. Meatless sausage patties eaten, enjoyed
  10. Cake coveted, resisted.
  11. Cheeseless pizza eaten, not enjoyed.
And that is all. At least that I've noticed.

Saturday, January 31, 2009

Hello Again

Don't start ok. Yes it's been way to long and I am ashamed. That's the last we'll speak of it. I am legit aware that no one is reading this but that will not stop me from returning to that which I have abandoned. Twenty two things are going on.
  1. I have gone back to school and it hurts my head
  2. I am eating healthily as a result of getting fat
  3. I took medicine and stopped
  4. One of my eyebrow hairs has grown long in a direction contrary to its brethren
  5. Learning to breath has helped me sleep
  6. My pate was shaved
  7. My mop grows unkempt
  8. I have no parallel hairs upon me it seems
  9. Left shoulder pain may be for keepsies
  10. Glasses are soon to accompany unruly hairs upon my aching bonce
  11. She makes me laugh no matter what
  12. The last fish is dead
  13. I must combine motivation with time management (repeat to self)
  14. Nose hair growth continues despite a total lack of provincial funding
  15. I am trying to be polite despite a total lack of provincial funding
  16. I am convinced that Blu Ray is just two DVDs glued together
  17. The cold weather continues to promote unwanted hair growth
  18. I have accepted the fact that most people lack a sense of smell and Axe accordingly
  19. The switch from antiperspirant to deodorant has been a success
  20. Not owning a comb is the new black 
  21. I've really taken to resting
  22. I've decided to go around the shark