Blog #458                                December 18, 2025

 

I have not seen a Marmatod in fourteen-hundred years.

A Marmatod is like an ox with feathers in its ears,

But somehow still it hears.

 

Well, it’s not really like an ox because it has four eyes,

A dozen antlers, sixteen legs, two flippers and it flies.

At least it really tries.

 

I think that I remember what a Marmatod has got,

But it’s been fourteen-hundred years and that is quite a lot,

So maybe I forgot.

 

That is probably my favorite poem.  It’s whimsical and silly and all the things that I’m not, at least on the surface.  On the surface I’m logical and organized and practical and reserved and dull.  But underneath, somewhere, is a Marmatod, writing poetry and trying to get the feathers out of his ears and looking for someone to play with.

 

Hi there.  Wanna play?  I hope you’re feeling well and enjoying the Christmas music.  Yes, radio stations everywhere are playing Christmas songs non-stop.  We all love Christmas songs, but sometimes I just get overloaded with them.  I mean, how much Burl Ives can one person take?   I think we need some Christmas songs for old people.  You knew that was coming, didn’t you?  How about Grandma Got Run Over by a Wheelchair or All I Want for Christman Is Some New False Teeth.

 

Message from Shakespeare, the three-legged cat:  Give thanks for what you are today (Twelfth Night).    I like Christmas music too.  I’m Dreaming of a Cat Christmas.  Santa Paws Is Coming to Town.  Litter Drummer Boy.  Pops bought me a present, some little thing that shakes and rolls around on the floor.  I don’t like it.  My best present is just to have my Pops to take care of me.  Purr.

 

I hope you all are enjoying the December holiday atmosphere?   Are you out shopping?  My wife loves to shop.  I mean she loves to shop, and when she’s really on a roll, you couldn’t pry her away from the stores with Shaquille O’Neal’s shoehorn.  Now, Carol does everything fast.  She plays cards fast, cooks fast, cleans fast, walks fast.  We even have a special nickname for her -- The Princess of Lickety Split.  I think I have it figured out why she does everything fast.  It’s to make more time for her favorite thing. 

 

She’s moving at light speed non-stop

Her pace – well it makes my jaw drop

I found out at last

Why she does things so fast:

It leaves her with more time to shop.

 

It’s nearing the end of the year, and I have a whole gallimaufry of unused thoughts that I need to express before their use-by dates – things like toilets, llamas, famous Jews and cabbages and kings.  But first, I have to tell you what our Weekly Word, gallimaufry, means.  A gallimaufry is an unorganized collection of various things, like a hodge-podge.  I bet you didn’t know that one.

 

Let’s start with the public toilets, by which I mean toilets in restaurants or Walmart or the airport.  FIRST: What happened to flushing?  Is that one of those jobs that “Americans won’t do”?  Was it such a complicated process that we had to turn it over to an intricate and expensive droid?  I want to flush when I’m finished, not when R2P2 has decided I am far enough away?  SECOND:  I want some soap and water.  What happened to faucets?  They’re gone.  Instead, I have to wave my hands under a spout and wait for water to come out.  It doesn’t work the first time – or the second.  Sometimes, I have to conduct the entire 1812 Overture before a brief gush of water comes out.  THIRD:  What happened to towels?  I want a towel, not hot air.  I get enough hot air listening to talk radio.  And besides, the only thing that hot air does is turn the cold water on my hands into hot water on my hands.  What could be more simple than to have a bathroom with a toilet, a sink, some soap and some paper towels?  But instead, we have a fully-automated factory that whisks you in, flushes you out, soaps you off and blows you out.  I hate public toilets.

 

As you know, my oldest daughter has chickens, and she is always concerned about hawks and foxes and other predators.  Recently, some so-called bird expert told her to get a llama, and that would keep the predators away.  A llama!  You see, those animal-specialist types live in their own dream world where crickets sing to puppets and white rabbits wear pocket watches and llamas grow on trees.  Where exactly do you go for a llama, Llamas R Us?  Nacho Llamas?  I remember years ago when a Great Horned Owl showed up on my porch, and I called one of these animal guys and asked what I should feed the creature.  He asked, “Do you have any dead mice?”  Sure, I said, I keep a box in the freezer in case Monty Hall drops by.

 

I read a lot of history, and from my readings I have painstakingly compiled a list of historical figures who, though you didn’t know it, most certainly were Jewish.  You can tell just by the things they said.  For instance:

 

We knew King Arthur was Jewish when he said, “I want a round table.”

We knew the Wicked Witch of the West was Jewish when she said, “I’m not going out in the rain and getting wet.”

We knew Joan of Arc was Jewish when she said, “I’m cold.  Can we turn the heat up?”

We knew Attila was Jewish when he said, “Yes, Hun.  Whatever you say, Hun.”

We knew Venus de Milo was Jewish when she said, “Damn, I broke a nail.”

We knew Helen of Troy was Jewish when she said, “Menelaus, take me to Paris.”

We knew Goldilocks was Jewish when she said, “This bed’s too hard.  I want a new room.”

We knew Little Red Riding Hood was Jewish when she said, “We’re going out with the Wolfs again tonight.”

 

Well, have I wasted enough of your time?  I know that was silly, but it’s the holiday season and I knew you would tolerate a little of my goofiness.  And what about the cabbages and kings?  Maybe next week.  Goodbye for now.  Stay well and count your blessings.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

 

 

Blog #457                                December 11, 2025

 

I was just at Whole Foods and noticed something called Dead Sea Mineral Soap.  I don’t mean to burst any of your soap bubbles, but it is as a result of those minerals that nothing can live in the Dead Sea.  Hence the name DEAD.  I want soap with minerals from the Alive and Thriving Sea.  Why should I want to rub myself with stuff that causes instantaneous death to any marine creature it touches?  But that’s just me. 

 

Good morning.  It’s Thursday.  I wonder who got fired this morning for sexual harassment.  Have you heard the new Christmas song?

   

♫ So long ye merry gentlemen – P. Diddy and Matt Lauer

♫ Jeff Epstein too and Charley Rose, we caught you in the shower.

♫ Now men in every walk of life had better watch themselves.

♫ Cause we caught Santa playing with two elves – Comfort and Joy

♫ Yes we caught Old Santa playing with two elves.

 

I’ve come up with a scale on which to grade these creeps.  When the number of accusers exceeds the number of letters in “PERVERT”, then the guy should no longer be classified as Homo Sapiens.  Ah, I can just imagine one of you saying, “How about Homo Erectus?”  Now that’s really a filthy, low-class, disgusting thing to say.  I’m so glad I came up with it before you did.  Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you are feeling well and getting ready for all the December holidays – Christmas, Hanukkah, New Year’s Eve, Maxing My Credit Card Day.

 

Message from Shakespeare, the three-legged cat:  Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humor (The Tempest).  What about all the cat holidays?  There’s Hanu-kat, Pet-erans Day, St. Cat-tricks Day. Purr-im and even Black Cat History Month.  Meow.

 

Last week, as I sat in my daughter’s kitchen in North Carolina, I heard Lance entering the room.  Lance is the pillow-sized automatic vacuum creature that starts up whenever it wants to and roams around the house sucking up dirt and old men.  I told Siri to kill it, but she told me she was non-violent, which reminded me of one of my favorite movies (Forbidden Planet, 1956).  It describes a society whose technology became so advanced that it reached a level where every person could just wish for something and the Central Computer would make it happen.  Want a Mocha Frappuccino?  Boom, it’s there.  Swimming pool in your back yard?  Bam, you got it.  Whatever wish you had would instantly become reality.  But as soon as that new “ap” came on line, everyone unknowingly and subconsciously wished for the death of someone they hated or envied, and the entire populace was wiped out in a single night.  Is that where we are heading?  The technology is racing ahead too fast – certainly too fast for me.  Why can’t they just stop for a while and let us rest?

 

Apple, we all appreciate what you have done.  You have made our lives happier and easier with your iPhones.  But now that I’m happy, lose my number!  Just give me a smart phone.  It doesn’t have to be Einstein-smart; Betty White-smart is good enough.  I just want to text, take pictures and make calls.  That’s all, period!  And no more updates – ever.  Let me learn how to do the three things I want and then go away.  I’m not a teenager.  Just give me a simple phone for me and my generation.  And call it the iMold (I’m old).  And just once, when I try to remember my password, can’t you just say “Close Enough”.

 

I have many friends who use the old line that goes, “I read the paper every morning and if my name is not in the obituaries, it’s a good day.”  I don’t bother reading the obituaries.  I figure if I’m dead, somebody’s going to tell me.  And besides, reading the obits depresses me.  It makes me realize how many people I didn’t know.  If I should ever choose to take on the Sisyphean effort of shaking hands with a stranger every second, 24 hours a day, it would take me 254 years to shake hands with every person on Earth.  And I still wouldn’t find anybody else who has read Moby Dick seven times.  I saw somewhere that of the eight billion people on the Earth, only 150 million are older than me.  But this number can only go down, every hour, every day.

 

It’s scary how clearly I see

The truth about mortality:

Every night someone dies

So each day when I rise

There’s less people older than me.

 

That’s a sobering thought, isn’t it?  Oops, now it’s 149,999,999.  I’m depressed.  I need to rest.  And read the obituaries.  I know life sucks sometimes, but, as my Dad always said, “I count my blessings.  My cup runneth over.”  So let’s count our blessings and try to find a smile once in a while.  Let’s see, how can I make you smile today?

 

Weekly Word:  Yes, it’s Sisyphean, which describes a task that takes tremendous effort but gets no results. 

 

Do you have a Spellchecker?  Of course you do.  That’s the program that corrects the spelling and punctuation on your computer or iMold.  I have a Spellchecker on my Microsoft Word program.  That’s the program I use to write this thing.  I call it Speedy the Spellchecker, and Speedy tries to correct all my spelling and punctuation miscues.  I say “tries to” because I do not accept most of his corrections.  I want it the way I want it, and I normally do not bow to the commands of some impersonal collection of zeroes and ones known as a computer program.  For instance, in the paragraph above, I used the word runneth.  Speedy, having apparently never read the Bible, had a conniption and told me I couldn’t do it.  Well, Speedy, kisseth my asseth!  I’m going to use it anyway.  If Shakespeare had had a Spellchecker, Juliet would have been forced to say Romeo, Romeo, where the hell are you?  And when Shylock said, “If you prick us do we not bleed,” well, I can’t even tell you what Speedy did with that one.

 

There, I bet I made you smile. I’ll try to make you smile some more next week, so stayeth well, counteth your blessings and cometh back.

 

Michael                                    Sendeth comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com 

 

 

 

Blog #456                                December 4, 2025

 

Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?  We certainly did.  Thanksgiving is the only day when you actually want people to give you the bird.  Now it’s time for dessert.  Have you noticed that most of the sweet things in life start with C.  For instance: Cookies, Cake and Cupcakes; Candy, Chocolate and Caramel; Cocoa, Custard, Cream and Carob.  And, of course, my main sweet – Carol.  “It is an extra dividend,” Clark Gable said, “when you like the girl you’ve fallen in love with.”

 

Gee, last week he quoted Dr. Seuss and now it’s Clark Gable!  What’s the wordy bastard going to come up with next?  Settle down now, have another cookie.

 

What I’m going to talk to you about now is the most important part of the holiday – shopping!  I hate crowds and am too timid to shop on Black Friday, and I’m too technologically backward to shop on Cyber Monday.  Forget Black Friday and Cyber Monday!  We need Senior Saturday where no-one under 65 is allowed in the store, and where we can amble leisurely through the aisles picking up Senior Saturday Specials on reading glasses, space heaters, melatonin, Ensure, low-salt potato chips, laxatives and CoQ-10, or just to have a desultory stroll through the aisles to pick up some steps.

 

Our Weekly Word is desultory, which means lacking a plan, purpose, or enthusiasm.  I have no such condition.  I always have a plan – to make my wife happy and to keep you entertained.  Hi there and welcome back, my friends.  I hope you are feeling well.  Did you go to a movie over the holiday?  I like movies.  I like to be entertained.  What I don’t like is to be depressed.  Make me laugh, make me smile, frighten me, make me think, make me guess, make me cry – but don’t depress me.  I can’t watch any more children being loaded into Nazi freight trains.  If I want to be depressed, I’ll just stay home and watch the news.  And don’t charge me a car-payment for a bag of popcorn.  People, can you not go two hours without a popcorn and soda that cost $14?  I know you can. 

 

And now they have movie seats that recline.  Very comfortable!  Too comfortable, if you ask me.  I go to a movie to be entertained (I may have said that already), not to sleep.  I go to the Opera to sleep.  Just give me a comfy seat, a pillow and a bunch of Italians hollering their meatballs off, and I’ll be happy as a witch in a broom factory.

 

We were in North Carolina for Thanksgiving and, one day, my daughter was treating a couple of her chickens for depression. The technical term, I think, is “Down in the Dumplings.”  She had a reference textbook on chicken psychology.  The book was entitled Freud Chicken.  I have more chicken jokes than Harvey Weinstein has victims. 

 

We flew home Monday night.  It was a wonderful few days, but, considering the horrible weather all over the country, we were considerably nervous about getting home.  But I refused to reschedule to the next day because I knew my little three-legged buddy missed me.  And I missed him too.  Actually, right now, as I write, I don’t know where Shakespeare is.  I’ll go look.  Don’t go away; I’ll be right back.  Found him—he’s sound asleep on the top shelf of my closet.  Yes, I do have a small closet generously allocated to me by my Princess and the top shelf has a few sweaters that are apparently irresistibly comfortable to a cat.

 

Message from Shakespeare, the three-legged cat:  I miss the old you (Othello).  Yes, I miss that old fart when he goes away, especially if he takes his old sweaters I like to sleep on.  I’m glad he’s home.  Don’t tell him that.  Purr.

 

Anyway, our plane left Raleigh-Durham on time and arrived precisely on time – 10:00 pm on a snowy, blustery night in St. Louis.  We got our luggage and called Uber.  The app informed me that the Uber ride home would cost $110 plus tip and the nearest Uber would pick us up in 40 minutes.  What?  I decided to take a cab.  We walked to the cab stand and waited for about ten minutes.  There were not very many taxi or Uber drivers challenging the snowstorm.  We drove home slowly, but without incident, and the total fare was $62 without tip.  The next time you have a choice, try the taxi.

 

I’ve come to a decision.  I know that’s frightening, but bear with me.  We need to shift a couple of holidays.  Thanksgiving should not be in November.  First of all, it’s flu season and these big family gatherings are full of coughing and sneezing and spreading of disease.  Second, the weather sucks.  Why would you schedule the largest mass exodus of the American population in late November when it could be (and was) snowing all over the place and delaying and endangering everybody?   Thanksgiving should be in the Summer when it’s warm and everyone is feeling well.  We can swap with Independence Day which should be in the Winter when it gets dark at 5:00.  Then, we could start the fireworks early and get to bed early instead of waiting until 9:00 for it to get dark.

 

Now listen up folks and remember

That Christmas is still in December

But Thanksgiving soon

Will be moving to June

And the 4^th of July to November.

 

It’s December now, and we all must be thinking about Christmas.  Glittering trees and rotund Santa’s, candles and carols and mistletoe.  But not in Washington, D.C.  Congress has just banned nativity scenes in the capital because they couldn’t find three wise men. 

 

And December means it’s getting colder.  It’s getting so cold, in fact, that today I saw a politician with his hands in his own pocket.  So, pack up your golf shorts and canasta cards and head for Naples or Scottsdale.  Carol and I are staying here, but don’t worry – wherever you are, every Thursday, I will find you.  That is, until I run out of things to say or until you run out of patience with me.  It’s likely you’ll run out of patience first, but not before next week.  Be there, stay well and count your blessings.

 

Michael                                             Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

Blog #455                      November 27, 2025

 

Happy Thanksgiving Day to every one of you.  Thanksgiving is a unique and introspective day where we give voice to all the blessings we have.  We are truly thankful for our family and friends; I don’t need to tell you that.  And as for those that we have lost and sorely miss, they are blessings as well. “Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.”  That’s a quote, believe it or not, from Dr. Seuss, my favorite poet, and it should remind us to be grateful for the memories that mean so much to us.  We are also thankful for our own lives.  Yes, we may have health issues -- aches, pains or more serious challenges – but look at it this way, we’re doing the best we can, we’re still here and we are way better off than the turkey.  And, yes, there are people who are richer, younger, better-looking.  But we have love and warmth and a wonderful meal to share. 

 

Message from Shakespeare, the three-legged cat:  Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you (As You Like It).  I was just an abandoned and crippled orphan when Pops found me at the shelter.  If today is what you call Thanksgiving, then I give my thanks to him for giving me warmth and love and a purr-fect home.  Purr.

 

The Thanksgiving meal is my favorite – turkey, dressing, gravy, apple pie. The best!  Every year at the Thanksgiving meal, Carol makes us all recite the things we are thankful for, and I have tried to do that in the paragraph above.  I have read the paragraph many times and I can only feel it inadequate to express my emotion each year on this holiday.  Forgive my inadequacy and accept my sincere best wishes for you all.  So let’s have fun and carve up that bird!

And speaking of carving, I just read that Germany has officially declared circumcision an act of “bodily harm” and has banned the procedure.  The article goes on to say that Germany’s 4,000,000 Muslims and 100,000 Jews are protesting the decision.  100,000 Jews?  That’s all Germany has?  I wonder why.  Maybe it’s because the Germans murdered all their Jews.  So now Germany joins San Francisco in banning circumcision.  I have no axe to grind here (wow, that’s an ugly metaphor under the circumstances) but it seems that 6,000 years of circumcision haven’t hurt the Jews much.

 

It’s fascinating how much our species thrills in ecstasy over the possibility of life on Mars or Saturn, while at the same time destroying life on Earth with abandon.  We pollute the environments of our own plants and animals, cut down their forests, poison their rivers and lakes, eat them or just shoot them for fun.  We would spend a trillion dollars to preserve a Martian amoeba and comparatively nothing to save the magnificent life of this planet.  We have destroyed everything we touch, except the sun, moon and the starry skies which God in His wisdom has hung beyond our reach.  At least until now.

 

Welcome back, you magnificent life forms.  Glad you could make it.  I hope you all are well and not bored.  Sometimes I fear that my rambling thoughts can be boring, even though some of our nation’s other magnificent life forms seem to prefer it that way.  You see, now with winter approaching, I have been receiving a large number of requests for subscriptions.  They’re mostly from bears actually.

 

My Limerick Oyster creation

Is wanted all over the nation

But mostly by bears

‘Cause each of them swears

The blog will bring on hibernation.

 

But don’t fall asleep yet.  I have more to talk about. Like movies.  Movie Review:  Carol and I went to a movie this week.  The theater had a special on Tuesdays --$6.00 per ticket plus free popcorn.  We went to the 11:30 showing of Nuremberg starring Russell Crowe and Rami Malek.  We bought the tickets ($13 with tax), got our popcorn (free and delicious), and I asked for a soda.  “That’ll be $8.10,” said the virago behind the counter.  $8.10 for a one dollar soda?  That’s preposterous, but I paid anyway.  Popcorn goes best with a Diet Coke.  When I and my cup arrived, however, at the drink dispenser, we were met with the pernicious sign that read We Serve Pepsi Products.  Pepsi?  $8.10 for a Pepsi?  If they had given me $8.10, I wouldn’t drink a Pepsi.  I found a Root Beer tap, and settled for that.

 

Everyone I know has seen the movie and thought it was wonderful.  I thought it was ok.  Russell Crowe, who played Hermann Göring, was absolutely sensational and captivating, but the rest of the cast was unimpressive.  The story was good, but some of the messaging was objectionable in my view.  Anyway, it was ok and it was fun and the popcorn was good.

 

Weekly Word:  A virago is a domineering, violent or bad-tempered woman.

 

You know, with writing a limerick every week and some occasional songs or poems, I have to be acutely aware of what rhymes with what.  So I was lying in bed the other night, unable to fall asleep, and I began to think how many different ways there were to spell a word that rhymes with “boo”.  This is what I came up with while lying in bed:

 

EW                       as in   anew, few, new, renew, outgrew, mildew, withdrew

EWE                    as in   ewe

IEU                      as in   lieu

IEW                      as in   view, preview

IOUX                   as in   Sioux

O                          as in   do, undo

OE                        as in   gumshoe

OO                       as in   zoo, hullabaloo, igloo, kangaroo

OU                       as in   you

OUGH                  as in   through

OUP                     as in   coup

U                          as in   Xanadu

UE                        as in   blue

UEUE                  as in   queue

US                        as in   jus

 

As a bonus, if you look at all the “as in” words, you will see there are 26 of them, each one beginning with a different letter of the alphabet.  Well, I have nothing else to do.

 

And now, on this Thanksgiving Day, I’m going to give you something to be truly thankful for – I’m going to stop.  So go back to your cooking and your family, your football and your Macy’s Parade.  Stay well and count your blessings.  This is the day for it.  Have a great one.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

 

 

Blog #454                                November 20, 2025

 

A nickel for your thoughts!  You know what I’m talking about.  The government has stopped making pennies.  I guess, from now on, it will rain nickels from Heaven.  And cheap-skates will be called nickel-pinchers.

 

I’m telling you, Ladies and Gents

That we’ve stopped making pennies, and hence

Just between me and you

You know that it’s true

That our government doesn’t make cents.

 

And here’s a song-lyric quiz:  You don’t need a penny just to hang around, but if you’ve got a nickel, won’t you lay your money down.  What song does that come from?  You’ve heard it; I know you have.  Answer later. 

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well.  I’m feeling angry.  Sorry, but once in a while I just have to rant.  Here it is:  Last season, the St. Louis Cardinals paid a pitcher $25 million for one year.  The average salary for a police officer in St. Louis is about $65,000.  We can either have one pitcher or 384 police officers.  What is wrong with us?  Where have we lost our way?  Sure, the Cardinals bring in lots of tourists who spend money at hotels and restaurants.  And who protects these tourists from being shot, robbed, raped or car-jacked in the parking lot?  Police officers!  And why are all the police officers outside protecting us?  Because they can’t afford to be inside where it costs $300 for the officer, spouse and two kids to go to the game.  But look at all the tax dollars that these tourists bring in.  Great, and what does the city do with all the tax dollars?  They sure don’t pay their police officers.  They just investigate their police officers and reprimand their police officers and prosecute their police officers.  But we have a pitcher.

 

We have become a society where singers, actors and athletes make exorbitant millions, but where teachers, police officers and firefighters make a pitifully low wage.  P. Diddy is worth $400 million dollars.  He’s in prison, he’s a scumbag and he’s a woman beater, but he’s worth more than the yearly salary of six thousand police officers.  Shame on us!

 

I’ll calm down next week because we’re going to North Carolina for the holiday.  The last time I was there, I borrowed my daughter’s van to go to McDonald’s.  It was cold that morning and when I started up, the seat warmer activated.  I didn’t even know the van had a seat warmer.  After two minutes, however, I knew.  After three minutes I was frantically searching for an on-off switch.  After four minutes I was standing up.  Have you ever tried to drive while standing up?  It ought to be a new Olympic event -- Brake Dancing.

 

Every Sunday, my phone pings to report how much time I averaged on my phone during the past week.  Last Sunday, it alerted me that I averaged 41 minutes a day on my phone.  I believe that’s a record low for an able, sentient being.  My grandchildren spend that much time on their phones every hour.  My cat probably spends more time than that.  Plus, I don’t watch television.  I’m happy to spend my time with my books and my blog   Sentient, our Weekly Word, means showing perception and awareness and knowledge.

 

Message from Shakespeare, the three-legged cat:  Sleep that knits up the raveled sleeve of care, the death of each day's life (Macbeth).  I don’t have a phone.  I don’t know what I’d do with it.  I don’t have any friends to call and I only have one paw.  I spend my time mostly sleeping. Purr.

 

The lyrics about pennies and nickels that I quoted earlier come from a song called

Down on the Corner by Creedence Clearwater Revival.  I know you’ve heard it.  Go on YouTube and play it.  What, you can’t do YouTube?  Check out our Weekly Word, sentient.  Wake up.

 

I need to talk about names nowadays.  My granddaughter’s name is Charley.  At her last birthday party, I noticed the place-settings: Charley, Sam, Madison, Dylan, Jordan and Morgan.  All girls.  Girls’ names have expanded to include many traditionally male names, but it doesn’t seem to work the other way.  You don’t see many boys named Shirley or Betsy or Alice. 

 

I remember when Charley told me some new neighbors had moved in.  I asked if they had any kids.  Yes, she said, Alice and David.  They must be Chinese, I said.  She was stunned!  I was right!  I’m sure you have noticed that young American children are all Kaneesha and Fulton and Morgan and Meghan and Bryce and Beckett and Odin and Ahmad?  If you find an Alice or a David, I guarantee you they’re Chinese.

 

I remember, some years ago, watching a show with my grandchildren.  It was called Baby Daddy.  I was horrified.  Here were children watching an innocent-looking sit-com with young men and women and canned laughter.  Sounds like Friends, doesn’t it?  Nope!  In this episode, all the young women thought they were pregnant because their boyfriends had discovered holes in their condoms.   Can you imagine such a thing?  I don’t know how old you are, but in my day no such thing would have been permissible on TV.  Can you just imagine Wally Cleaver telling Ward that he got a girl pregnant?  The TV would have exploded in our living room and my parents would have washed my brain out with Lava Soap.  That’s right, Kiddies, tune in tomorrow when:

 

Father Knows Best has an affair with his secretary; 

Hoss Cartwright gets caught with a sheep;

Carol Brady raises money for the PTA by selling nude photos of Marcia;

Howdy Doody has a woody and  

We find out that “Kemosabe” really means “Steaming Stud Muffin.”

And don’t miss the Saturday Night Special when Dr. Cliff Huxtable drugs and assaults 29 women.

 

And don’t tell your parents.

 

I guess you can tell I’m a little angry this week.  Angry about how little we pay our police officers, angry about the decline of manners and culture.  Angry that Superman can no longer help us because there’s no place for him to change clothes any more.  But I’m not angry with you.  Next week it will be Thanksgiving, so be sure to tune in, Kiddies.  Stay well, count your blessings -- and don’t tell your parents.

 

Kemosabe                                Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

 

 

Blog #453                      November 13, 2025

 

“Travel makes one modest,” said Flaubert, “you see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.”  I like travel books and history books and foreign novels.  They take me to places I’ve never been and to times long ago.  I see exotic places and listen to exotic people and learn many, many things.  And yes, I learn humility as well.  How insignificant and puny we are!  We live in a place that is microscopic compared to the size of the Earth, in a time dwarfed by the thousands of years of human existence, in a society that is only the most recent of the uncountably different ways of life.  In all likelihood we will pass without leaving a mark.  Mae West said, “You only live once, but if you work it right, once is enough,” so I am satisfied with my place in this progression of life, for I have my humility and my family and my books – and you!

 

Yes, I have you, my loyal readers, so hi there and welcome back to Limerick Oyster where together each week we embark on a new adventure.  That’s what I need – an adventure!  I seem to be in one of those low and slow periods right now.  Feeling useless and unwanted – feeling like Motel 6 would not leave the light on for me.  Do you ever feel like that?  Nothing to do?  As bored as Venus de Milo’s manicurist?  As useless as Lady Godiva’s tailor?  As forgotten as Will Smith’s agent?  Yes, we need an adventure, but alas, I don’t think it’s in the cards for me.  The South Seas?  Timbuktu?  Papua New Guinea?  Who am I kidding?  I’m never going to get there.  The biggest adventure I have all day is discovering where I put my keys.  What adventure book am I going to write?  Dulliver’s Travels?   So I live vicariously from my books.

 

Adventures for me? How hilarious!

They’re costly and bold and precarious

I’m too old and boring

To go off exploring

My travels must all be vicarious.

 

Message from Shakespeare, the three-legged cat:  I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad and to travel for it too! (As You Like It).  What does Pops need to travel for?  He has everything at home he could possibly want.  Me!  I play with him, sleep with him, keep him warm and I even let him think I couldn’t get along without him.  And don’t tell him I miss him so much when he’s gone.  Purr.

 

Don’t worry, Shakey, I’m staying home.  Anyway, there’s always a new adventure from Apple, which just announced a new device for kids, coming out next week. It can read any book ever written in an accent that matches the character.  It can create and recite stories based on any subject you provide.  It will play card games with you and let you win.  It has treats and gum hidden in a side pocket. You can smack it, bite it, climb on it or spit at it and it will just sit there and take it.  And it will, at an advanced age, even get on the trampoline and make a fool of itself.  It’s called the iGrandpa.  Every child needs one.

 

I believe Grandpas are better with kids than Grandmas.  I know that’s a bold and controversial statement.  Please don’t have Ashley Judd call me names I cannot print.  It’s true, and you know why?  It’s because little girls grow up to be sensible and mature women.  But boys never grow up at all.  We old men still like trains and action figures and playing ball as much as we did when we were six.  Growing old is mandatory, but growing up is optional. 

 

And if the boys like trains and G. I. Joes, the girls still like dolls.  All right, all you feminists out there -- shoot me, drop me into a vat of organic beet juice, make me listen to old Joan Baez 8-tracks.  I can’t help it if my granddaughters liked dolls; and one of them even wanted some American Girl accessories for her birthday.  But when we tried to do the shopping, we found out that her doll was not purchased at American Girl.  It is, as they say, a knock-off.  I choose to refer to it as an Undocumented Doll.  I wonder if you can take your Undocumented Doll to American Girl for lunch.  Well, they can’t refuse to serve the doll, can they?  That’s discrimination!  They can’t refuse service on the basis of age, race, gender, or factory of origin, can they?  The Doll has rights too.  I want a lawyer, a member of the ABA, the American Barbie Association.  I want the NAACP, the National Association for the Advancement of Cabbage Patch.  How about the NRA -- Natives for Raggedy Ann.  We need a sit-in, a demonstration, a boycott.  Or in this case, a girlcott – an American Girlcott.

 

 Ok, enough doll folderol.  Let’s talk about airlines.  With all the troubles in the airline universe – delays, traffic controllers calling in sick, crashes and close calls – I felt a bit troubled when I was driving near our airport and saw a sign.  It read “Low Flying Aircraft Ahead”.  Ok, is that an asseveration or a joke? If it’s serious, what exactly should I do with that warning?  Should I duck?  I guess that would be a heads-down, not a heads-up.  Should I roll down the window and wave?  Put the top down and try to grab a strut?  None of these sounded appropriate, so I just drove on.  I really am not worried because I feel certain that on the dashboard of the airplane is a corresponding sign that says “Do not hit cars on the highway.”  That’s comforting.

 

When I’m not reading, writing, volunteering or drinking Diet Cokes – I’m thinking.  Sometimes I just think of strange things.  “Really”, I hear you chuckle.  I have two strange thoughts for you today. Why are there Interstate Highways in Hawaii?  And do Israeli musicians read the music right to left? 

 

Asseveration is our Weekly Word.  It means a serious or earnest statement.  And with that, it’s time to say goodbye.  Thank you for reading.  Stay warm, stay well and count your blessings.  See you next week. 

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com