Blog #28

A lot of people have told me that I should have my head examined!  So I did.  Twice!  The first time I had a CT scan on my brain, the official result was “Unremarkable”.  Unremarkable?  Are you kidding me?  After twenty-one years of schooling, 300,000 pages of obscure and arcane books, a thousand limericks and 34 trillion Diet Cokes – that’s all they can say about my brain?  Unremarkable?  I was insulted! 

Years later I had another brain scan, looking for a more complimentary opinion.  It came back “Normal”.  Normal?  Is reading Moby Dick five times normal?  Is listening to Alice’s Restaurant every night for nine months straight normal?  Is reciting The Raven in your shorts every Tuesday morning with a brown-paper bag over your head while getting a tan normal?  Well, there shouldn’t be much disagreement on that one.  If you missed the explanation a few weeks ago, I’ll fill you in.  I go to Dr. Skin’s office every Tuesday to stand in an ultraviolet light box for 5½ minutes, and while I’m there, in my boxers with a brown paper bag over my head, I recite The Raven from beginning to end.  And this clown thinks I’m normal?

Some doctor who thinks he’s a whiz

Said my brain is as normal as his.

I read Moby Dick, Dude

And spout Poe in the nude,

And if that’s not abnormal, what is?

Don’t ever call me normal!  Hi there.  Are you normal?  I don’t think anybody who has suffered through this many of my looney-tune ramblings is normal, so welcome back, my lovely basket of abnormals.  I hope you’re doing well.  The following story is totally true, yet truly unbelievable.  I went to a place called Smash Burger and ordered two sandwiches for me and Carol.  Is that for here or to go?  To go, I said.  Can I have a name please?  Michael, I said.  Let’s see, that’s M-I-C-A-L.   Just make it Mike, I said.  Yah, Michael’s my middle name but I never learned how to spell it. What, you simpering, useless waste of protoplasm!  You can’t spell your own middle name?  Go immediately into the Men’s Room and flush yourself into oblivion. Well, I didn’t actually say that.  What I did actually say was: Go home and get your birth certificate and learn how to spell your name.  Yes, I did.

I just received my fourth butt-call of the week, all from friends who had called me earlier.  I know my friends really well, and I’m pretty sure that some of them find it challenging to make a call with two eyes, a brain and all ten fingers.  How is it that they find it so easy to make a call with their ass?  And why me?  Is their phone programmed to call me when someone sits on it?  Is Apple trying to tell me something?

Do you know why the Apple logo has a bite out of the apple?  The story goes that Alan Turing, the man who pretty much invented computer science and the subject of the recent movie The Imitation Game, committed suicide by dousing an apple with poison and taking a bite.  So Apple, wanting to show their reverence for and gratitude to Mr. Turing, made their logo with that bite.  That was before they decided to direct every butt-call west of the Mississippi directly to me.

Some years ago, Disney decided it would be a nice and humane gesture to allow handicapped visitors at its amusement parks to go to the front of the line along with their families.  Very nice; very thoughtful.  Soon, families were faking handicaps or hiring handicapped strangers to pose as family members in order to beat the system and gain an advantage.  It got so common and egregious and elicited so many complaints that Disney cancelled the program.  Thanks to the selfish and greedy, the handicapped suffered.  Yes, it’s a cruel world after all.  Everybody sing along with Mickey:

It’s a world of greed -- It’s a world of sin

Where the good guys lose -- And the bad guys win

Only babies and fools -- Seem to play by the rules

It’s a cruel world after all

No, that doesn’t count as a limerick.  You got a problem with that?  Go sit on your phone.

Speaking of Disney, someone asked me the other day what Disney character I most resemble.  I know, I can hear all of you yelling Dumbo.  That’s not nice.  But I thought for a while – there’s Captain Jack Sparrow, Aladdin, Prince Charming (somehow that always reminds me of years ago when we actually had cameras and we took the film to the camera shop to get it developed; then we’d sit around the house singing “Someday My Prints Will Come”).  I finally decided the Disney character I most resemble is Geppetto.   He’s the old man in Pinocchio who uses his experience and love to help mold little boys and girls out of their rough raw materials. I like that and I think I’ve accomplished that.  Plus, it looks like my nose has grown a lot along the way.  So what Disney character do you most resemble?  Sleeping Beauty?  No, most of you can’t sleep.  Cinderella?  No, you don’t do windows.  Aladdin’s Genie?  I’ve seen you in a bottle.  Goofy?  Just saying. 

My phone just rang.  It wasn’t you.  It was Zach.  “Hey, Poppy, can I interview you?”  Wow, my first grandchild, my brilliant and talented boy wants to interview me?  He must have an assignment from school to interview the most interesting, smart, talented, creative and handsome person he knows.  And he chose me!  What a perceptive, intellectual, loving and thoughtful child he is!  “Of course, Zach,” I replied.  “I’d love to be interviewed, but I can’t do it right now.  I’m with some friends.  How about tomorrow?”  “No,” he said, “I’ll get somebody else.”  I love you, Zach, you ungrateful little brat!

Florence, a 60-year-old woman, had a heart attack and was rushed to the hospital.  In the emergency room, her heart failed again and she figured her time was up.  “God, is this it?” she asked.  Then she heard God’s voice: “No, Florence, I’ve given you another 30 years to live.  Enjoy.”  So she ordered a face lift.  And a tummy tuck and a chin implant and larger breasts and lipo-suction.  Well, why not?  If I’ve got 30 more years, I might as well look great.  When she was discharged, she looked in the mirror, liked what she saw, took the elevator to the first floor and left the hospital.  While crossing the street she was hit by a UPS truck and killed.  Upon entering Heaven, she immediately went to God.  “God,” she cried, “You said I had 30 more years to live!  What happened?”  “Damn, Florence,” God replied, “I didn’t recognize you.”

Stay well and come back.

Michael                                    Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com 

Or, if you want to call me, just sit on your phone.  That seems to work.