Blog #111

Wow!  Can you believe it?  XXXXX had an XXXXX with XXXXX when they were in XXXXX!  But don’t XXXXX XXXXX, or else XXXXX will XXXXX your XXXXX.

Sorry, Carol made me redact that.  She thought it had too much sensitive material.  And this is not the only thing that has been redacted.  (I wonder -- if you can be redacted, can you be dacted first?)  The Mueller Report has been delivered in a redacted version, and it has made the United States House of Representatives about as cheerful as the Gaza Strip.  Aren’t the politicians amusing?  They’re more fun than watching Larry, Moe and Curly.

It’s been ten days since your income taxes were due.  Did you file on time?  Well, you may not have to.  You see, during times where natural disasters like flooding have occurred, the IRS provides for extended deadlines to file your returns and submit your payments.  Aren’t they just warm and fuzzy?  They’ve even provided a PIL, a Public Interest Limerick, to make sure the public is informed.

If you live near rivers or creeks

Don’t pay what the IRS seeks

Since you had a flood

We won’t suck your blood

At least for another few weeks.

See?  Warm and fuzzy!  Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you are feeling fine and getting ready for warmer weather.  I actually am feeling somewhat concerned about my future.  I have led a reasonably predictable life, but that predictability was shaken last night when I ordered in Chinese food.  The Egg Fu Yung was wonderful, but when I opened the fortune cookie, I was horrified.  It was empty!  Empty!  That’s ominous, isn’t it?  No fortune?  No future?  No more me?  It has made me as nervous as Donald Trump’s food-taster.  At least there was a cookie.

The mention of Chinese food reminded me of my English class this week.  I had a Buddhist from Japan, a Buddhist from Taiwan, an atheist from China and a Christian from Brazil.  The talk got around to Easter celebrations and Passover and they asked me a lot of questions about Jewish customs and food.  Jade from Taiwan asked me why Jews have a religious custom requiring them to visit a Chinese restaurant on Christmas Eve.  My answer had two parts:

1.     All the restaurants owned by Christians are closed on Christmas Eve.

2.     Jewish women do not cook on Christmas Eve, New Year’s Eve, Halloween, Valentine’s Day, Tibetan Yak Appreciation Day, Mardi Gras, Election Day, Super Bowl, The Academy Awards, any Barbra Streisand Farewell Concert, Saturdays and the night before they go on a trip.

The day after I found out I had no fortune, I received an email which read: We are writing to know if it's true that you are DEAD?   Waiting for your immediate response.  True!  Now this was all concerning the $7.3 million waiting in a Nigerian account for dispersal to me upon my verifying that I was still alive by sending them a whole bunch of personal information.  I chose to respond instead with the Mark Twain quote, “The report of my death was an exaggeration,” but promised that if they sent the money now, I would not spend any of it until after my death.  I am awaiting their immediate response.

Grandchild #1 (Zachary) is graduating high school this year and visiting colleges.  Students, parents, even old grandpas are very sensitive about what college to choose.  “A lot of fellows nowadays have a B.A., M.D. or Ph.D.  Unfortunately, they don’t have a J.O.B.”  You know who said that?  Fats Domino!  Yes, the same Fats Domino who gave us other pithy and intellectual sayings like “Goodbye, Joe, me gotta go, me oh my oh” and “Eeny-meeny and miney-mo told me you didn't want me 'round no more.”  You can always trust Fats.

I’m down in NC visiting my Zachary, and he’s sporting the Five O’clock Shadow look. He told me he didn’t like the beard at first, but then it grew on him. (Sorry!)  I like the look.  It’s cool and rugged!  Carol liked it too and told me I should try it.  “You think it would look good on me?” I inquired.  No, she said, but it might hide some of those wrinkles.  I guess that wasn’t a compliment.

Let’s see if I remember that old joke about the woman who looks in the mirror and says to her husband, “Ugh! My face looks saggy, I’m fat and my hair is turning gray.  Honey, I really need a compliment right now.”  Her husband replies, “My Darling, you have magnificent eyesight.”

I hate shaving, so I’d actually like to do the five o’clock shadow look.  But for me to get a five o’clock shadow, I’d have to start at three o’clock – nine days before!

You know, I’ve been thinking more about that empty fortune cookie.  It really has me upset.  I’ve come up with an alternate explanation.  Maybe the guy who makes the cookies stole my fortune.  Good!  Let him limp around and get insulted by his wife.

Did you know that today is National Hug a Plumber Day?  That's another day Jewish women don't cook.  So first read my blog, then go out and find a guy with a big hose.  Wait, that didn’t sound right, did it?  Change that to “a guy with a big wrench”.  I probably should have been more sensitive to the Women’s Rights Movement and realized that there are lady plumbers as well.  Remember Josephine?  If you’re unable to find a plumber, just wait until tomorrow which is National Hairball Awareness Day.  Believe me, I’m not making these up.  Who could make up National Hairball Awareness Day?  Well, somebody did, and it is always the last Friday in April.  So try to remember.  Your cat will love you for it, and your plumber too.

Well, Cowboys and Cowgirls, the sheep are restless and the coyotes are howling, so I’d best get up on the mountain.  Stay well, count your blessings and come back to me next week.  I may have too many wrinkles and no fortune, but I’ll be back with some more to say.  

XXXXXXX                    Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com

Blog #110

Tomorrow is the beginning Of Passover, the holiday celebrating the Jews’ escape from slavery in Egypt.  The Jews have asked for reparations from the Egyptians for their time of bondage, but all the Egyptians had to offer was the Sphinx.  The Jews were reluctant to pay the shipping costs and refused.  Besides, who would want to display a head with that bad a nose job?

The Jews were helped in their escape from Egyptian slavery when God sent the Ten Plagues to convince Pharaoh.  The Ten Plagues were to Pharaoh what Michael Avenatti is to Nike.  Sorry, God.  Three of those plagues involved insects – locusts, lice and flies.   It seems that those infestations have given the Jews a dreadful obsession with insects to this day.  In fact, I got an email from the Temple this morning.

There’s butterflies on my Menorah

And locusts all over the Torah

And poor Rabbi Katz

Is covered with gnats

I hope he survives, kenohora.

And then Sunday is Easter, the day all Christians celebrate the resurrection of a Jewish carpenter whose message was eternal peace and love and in whose name they have slaughtered every Jew they could find for twenty centuries.  Go figure.

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you are feeling well and that all of you Christians and Jews have a wonderful holiday weekend.  And for those of you whose religions I have not yet insulted, there’s always next week.

Let me take a break from humor here to talk about one of the most meaningful places I have ever visited – the Cathedral of Notre Dame.  I had been there with Carol and my daughter Jennifer the day before, but I wanted to go back again, so the next day I was there, alone except for a few dozen penitents, worshippers and tourists.  There was some kind of old music softly playing somewhere, the kind of music you would expect in such a place of unbounded reverence.  I looked up into the vacant vastness of the cathedral expecting somehow to see the face of Quasimodo peeking from behind the ornate stonework.  I stayed for 45 minutes.  I am not a Catholic, but it was a moment full of history and Godliness for me.  I never saw the Hunchback, but I believe to this day that he saw me.  I hope they can restore Notre Dame to the center of awe and worship it has been for centuries.

Thanks for listening.  Now back to humor, I hope.  As I was driving home from Walmart yesterday, thinking about how many religions I could insult at one time, my cell phone rang.  I glanced and saw it was a call from my wife.  So I said, “Hey, Siri, answer my phone.”  She did and I said “Hello”.  The phone began to speak:  What do you want for dinner, fish and a baked potato or tuna-noodle casserole?  Now of course I knew it was Carol, but still, wouldn’t you expect a person to say hello first?  Not my wife.  She jumps right in, excess wordage being a waste of her time.  So I answered:

I don’t care.

Well, pick one.

Ok, the fish and potato.

I think I’ll do the casserole.

Glad I could be of help.

When Carol and I talk, I always get the last word.  In fact, she allows me to get the last two words, as long as they’re “Yes, Dear.”  But I’m used to it.  Having a wife and three daughters has conditioned me to the female voice.  Lately, however, I have had a new female voice in my life – Alexa.  I’m sure this cylindrical sister would have been very helpful to me had not my wife gotten ahold of her first and trained her how to deal with me.  Alexa now either pretends not to hear me or just ignores me completely as not capable of having a worthwhile thought.  She makes me feel right at home. 

Warning:  Do not read the previous paragraph aloud in the presence of your Alexa.  You know she’s listening, don’t you?  At home, in fact, Carol and I do not talk about her by using the A word.  We speak of her as Blanche.  Even so, I coughed three times in Blanche’s presence the other day and when I got back to my computer there was a pop-up ad for a funeral home.

Anyway, the conversation about what to have for dinner was not the strangest conversation I had this week.  The following, like the last, is absolutely true.  While relaxing at McDonald’s, quietly drinking my Diet Coke and reading my book, a couple walked over and sat down.  Yes, I know you think it’s abnormal that I go to McDonald’s every morning, but I like it and the people who work there would miss me if I didn’t show up.  In fact, when I came back from my three-week trip to Florida, I noticed they had put my picture on a milk carton.

Aren’t you so-and-so who used to be in the real estate business? this couple asked me.  I did not know them; nevertheless, they sat down to ask me a real-estate question.  They were wearing the same shirt.

You’re wearing the same shirt, I said.

Yes, we are.  (I mean, this couple was as sad as a country song.)

Are you a bowling team? I asked.  (I actually said that.)

No, we’ve been married 31 years and always wear the same shirt.

I’m going to suggest that to my wife, I said.  She’ll slit her wrists.  (I actually said that too.  Shame on me.)

They asked a quick question and left after I answered.  I’m sorry if I insulted them, but seriously?  Matching shirts?

I had the pleasure this week of attending a religious ceremony for a 13-year-old girl.  She was bright and shining and happy and made us all laugh with her smiling and entertaining performance.  The girl was born in Central America and adopted as an infant by a family in St. Louis.  What a lucky child!  Instead of growing up, unwanted, in a violent and impoverished, drug-infested war-torn hell, she instead was raised in a warm and loving family, in a free and prosperous society.  What could have been, for her, a life without hope has become a life without limits.  Count your blessings, my friends.  Count them twice.  Stay well and come back to me next week.  Who else do I have to talk to?  Blanche?

Michael                          Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com

Blog #109

Wednesday is my day to work at the Zoo.  But when I got up, the temperature was in the high 40s, my stomach was a little gurgly and my leg was killing me.  So I went.  I drove down there, put on my little Girl Scout sash that identifies me as a Zoo Ambassador and took my station at the South Entrance, ready to hand out maps and answer any and all questions.  Where’s the bathroom?  Where’s the tiger?  What time is the sea lion show?  But not this time.  You see, the Zoo has a new attraction this year and everybody was eager to try it, so the most-asked question was:  Where’s the Starbucks?  We have eight adorable one-year-old cheetah cubs at the Zoo.  The nearest cheetah is 8,500 miles.  The nearest Starbucks is – well, down the block.  But that’s what the tourists wanted.  There’s no accounting for taste.

There’s nothing that I want to see

No elephant; no chimpanzee

I don’t need a potty

I just want a latte.

For animals, I’ll watch TV.

Did you know that the Starbucks chain is named after a character in Moby Dick?  Starbuck was the First Mate on the Pequod.  I, of course, know that, being the only warm-blooded idiot ever to have read the book seven times.  Did you know that Howard Schultz, the founder of Starbucks, is running for President?  His slogan is

A trenta vanilla sweet cream cold brew with two pumps of vanilla, three pumps of caramel syrup, two pumps of pumpkin sauce, three pumps of maple pecan syrup, and five shots of espresso – in every pot.

The espresso is to make sure you stay awake long enough to watch yourself die of sugar poisoning.

Hi there and welcome back.  Are you feeling well?  I hope so.  I, personally, am confused.  I just can’t seem to get all the gender-neutral words straight.   No more can I say Congressman – now it’s Member of Congress.  And Fireman is Fire Fighter and Mailman is Letter Carrier and Policeman is Police Officer.  But what about Human?  Are we now the Hu-Person Species?  And is the Boogeyman now a BoogeyPerson?  And whatever will become of Mermaid?  I guess that will become Slimy Hu-Person With No Feet.  I just got a text from my son-in-law.  It said, “I just hired a Ger-Person wo-person to person-age my portfolio.”  What a politically correct son-in-law!  Excuse me, child-in-law.

And what about the things we use.  We call our boats “she and her”, but the Russians call their boats “he and him”.  That is, when they’re not colluding with every Republican over the age of eleven!  And now there’s a disagreement about what gender we should use for our computers.  Men say computers are feminine because no-one but their creator can figure out how their brains work.  But women say computers are male because the damn things won’t work unless you first turn them on.

It’s impossible nowadays to keep up with the Acceptable Speech Police.  I have two lovable and adorable grandchildren in California.  Being from California makes them extra-sensitive to every social issue.  They like bedtime stories, but it’s hard to find one that passes the test.

Poppy’s going to tell you a story about Hansel and Gretel.

No, Poppy, that one’s all about income inequality. Hansel and Gretel’s parents were too poor to even feed their children, whom they had actually wanted to abort but the laws were too repressive.  And besides, eating all that sugar causes hypertension.

Ok, how about Jack and the Beanstalk?  Once upon a time . . .

Stop, Poppy, that’s no good.  Those beans were genetically engineered and probably treated with Roundup.  And besides, the story is anti-giant.  Obvious discrimination.

How about Little Black Sambo?

Racist!

Cinderella?

Sexist!

Snow White?

Dwarf discrimination and Snow White privilege.

How about the one where Uncle Joe says “Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum – I sniff the hair of everyone!”

Too scary!

How about Aunt Becky Bribes the Crew Coach?

Too hard to understand.

How about The Big Orange-Haired Twitter Monster Who Stole The Avocados?

They liked that one and kept chanting, “Lock him up!”  Like I said, they’re from California.

Are you done with basketball?  Did your bracket win?  Did your grid payoff?  Did your team triumph?  Did you even have a team?  I watched so many basketball games that I couldn’t get from the TV to the bathroom without dribbling.  And now that that’s over, it’s time for the Hockey Playoffs where every team who can afford uniforms is eligible to play 228 games of playoff hockey, all on television, just so they can win a cup named after somebody named Stanley.

Then there’s the Lady Byng Trophy,  awarded to the “ hockey player adjudged to have exhibited the best type of sportsmanship and gentlemanly conduct”.  Have you ever watched a Hockey Game?  The guy who sells popcorn doesn’t even exhibit gentlemanly conduct.  The ticket-taker will cross-check you if you don’t move fast enough and each player has a Go-Fund-Me page to pay for his stitches.  Hockey is like watching 12 Kardashians fighting over one TV camera!  Hockey is like watching a gaggle of Hollywood actresses fighting over bribing a soccer coach.  The only thing rougher and less “gentlemanly” than hockey is the Democratic race for the nomination.

While my six and seven-year-old Kalifornia Kids were visiting, after I told them all those great stories, we took in a bunch of the local attractions.  We went to the St. Louis Zoo, the most popular zoo in the world.  We went to the St. Louis Arch, the Science Center and the Planetarium, all world-class destinations.  And do you know what the total cost of all four attractions was (not counting food)?  Zero, zip, nada.  Isn’t that amazing?  You should visit St. Louis.  But don’t ask me to pick you up at the airport.  I’m busy that day.

But I’m not too busy to write another blog for you next week.  Maybe I’ll tell you the story about Aladdin and the Magic Tramp, where a poor boy named Aladdin finds a bikini-clad woman named Stormy Daniels, rubs her and out pops Michael Avenatti.  You don’t want to miss that!  Until then, stay well and count your blessings.

Michael                          Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com

Blog #108

About twice a month, Carol goes out to dinner with the “Goils”.  At least that’s what she tells me.  Who knows?  She could be working an act with Stormy Daniels.  Or letting Joe Biden sniff her hair.  Or beating up Jussie Smollett.  Maybe she’s colluding with the Russians!  How would I know?  So that leaves me at home, lonely as a mermaid’s podiatrist.  Except, sometimes, it’s nice to be alone in the house, so when she is out, surreptitiously pursuing her nefarious activities, I order Chicken Egg Foo Yung.  No, that’s not a hit-man from the Taiwanese Mafia; that’s my dinner.  I pick it up, bring it home and enjoy a quiet dinner with no television or music.  When she comes home, she kisses me hello.  I like that, but lately I’ve begun to smell borsht and caviar on her breath. 

Maybe she’s running for President.  If she were President, I guarantee no Congressman would have a closet.  If she were President, the morning briefing would be about whether there’s a chance of rain.  If she were President, she’d get chauffeured everywhere and dropped off right at the front door.  Come to think of it, she doesn’t have to run; she gets all that now.

But why shouldn’t she run?  Everybody else is!  I think the Democratic Party has more candidates than they had Electoral Votes in the last election.  And you know what it all makes me think of?  Rock ‘n Roll!  If you like my occasional Rock ‘n Roll quiz, here’s another.  If you don’t, skip down to the “count your blessings” part.  Name the songs that include these political lyrics:

1.     It ain’t me.  It ain’t me.  I’m no Senator’s son

2.     I called my Congressman and he said, quote – “I’d like to help you, Son, but you’re too young to vote.

3.     In Birmingham they love the Governor.

4.     To voice their discontent unto the President about the burning question what has swept this continent.

5.     Sheriff John Brown always hated me.

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well.  I had a physical this week.  Everything is fine, but they gave me a blood test.  I hate needles.  I hate needles worse than Mika Brzezinski hates Rush Limbaugh.  Later that same day, I got a shingles shot at my local pharmacy. Another needle, another hole punched in my body.  I felt like Fearless Fosdick.

Now, I know some of you may be too young or perhaps too forgetful to remember Fearless Fosdick, but when I thought of punching holes into my body, that’s the image that came to me.  Look it up on Google.  No?  Too lazy?  Ok, I’ll put a picture of him at the bottom.  Geesh, do I have to do everything?  I guess I do, but coming up with subjects to write about is made easier by the wacky world we live in.  All I have to do is look at the news.

In The News:  The President is threatening to close the southern border to discourage the influx of illegal immigrants.  I watched Lester Holt on NBC News.  Were they worried about the 100,000 illegal immigrants sneaking into this country each month?  Were they worried about the potential increase in drug smuggling, crime and disease?  Were they worried about the economic burden of a million impoverished people flooding the country each year?  Nope, all they talked about was that if Trump closed the border, we wouldn’t be able to get avocados and lemons and limes.  They even showed a Happy Hour party with guacamole and Margaritas.  Are you kidding me?  Avocados and limes?  That’s the crisis that’s worrying NBC?

Now Trump’s new Executive Order

Is closing the Mexican border

And that means hard times

Because without limes

Our Happy Hours soon will be shorter.

I have a political proposal to strengthen our Immigration Policy.  I think we should deport all Members of Congress to Venezuela.  They can’t screw up that country any worse than it already is, and it will certainly make our lives better.

In The News:  Usain Bolt’s world record for the 100-meter dash has been shattered.  Michael Avenatti saw a TV camera 100 meters away and got there in nine seconds flat.

In The News:  It appears that our country is lurching toward making marijuana legal everywhere.  Which means it won’t be long until all drugs will be legalized.  Soon, mothers will be feeding their toddlers a well-balanced breakfast consisting of Cocaine Puffs, and Pot-Tarts, while on the television, loopy little cartoon creatures named Smack, Crack and Pot will stagger around the screen encouraging you to buy their – well, they forgot.

Lunch will be Corned Beef Hashish with a Diet Cocaine.  And for dessert – a Pineapple Upper-Side-Downer Cake. 

In The News:  NASA was forced to cancel a planned two-woman space walk because they had only one spacesuit that would fit a woman.  Well, if that isn’t a slap at the Women’s Rights Movement!  Shame on NASA.  But I sense an opportunity and am looking into starting a line of spacesuits specifically for women.  We’ll call it Kate Space or Fruit of the Moon or something.

In The News:  The U.S. Women’s Chess Championship recently concluded in St. Louis.  Chess is a game of brains.  I understand that men are generally larger and stronger than women and gender-specific sporting competitions are appropriate.  But do women need a special event because they cannot compete with men in the brain department?  There’s no special Women’s Jeopardy or Women’s Bridge Championship or even a women’s-only space station.  So why a separate Women’s Chess Championship?  I guess I’ll just add that to my growing list of things I don’t understand, like why an audience would give Stevie Wonder a standing ovation.

These are the answers:

1.     Fortunate Son - Credence Clearwater Revival (1969)

2.     Summertime Blues – Eddie Cochran (1958)

3.     Sweet Home Alabama-Lynyrd Skynyrd (1973)

4.     Does Your Chewing Gum Lose Its Flavour-Lonnie Donegan (1959)

5.     I Shot the Sheriff-Bob Marley (1973), Eric Clapton (1974)

And this is the end.  Sorry if there were too many puns in this edition.  I just felt punny, I guess.  Stay well, count your blessings and don’t forget me when next Thursday comes around.  With the way things are going in this country, you’ll need a laugh.  See you then.

 Fearless Michael             Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com