Blog #167
It was a nice day this
morning, a perfect day to escape home confinement and take a walk. I dressed and walked into the front of the
house where my sweet and adoring wife greeted me with these warm and loving
words: “Those shorts are
too short,” was all she said.
Well, I admit they were old. When
I bought them, Pluto was still a planet.
I dutifully took them off and placed them in the pile to give away so
that next year, some poor fellow in an impoverished village in Southern Sudan
can wake up, put on the same shorts and hear his delightful wife say, “Where did you get those
skimpy-ass shorts?”
In addition to
my lovely wife and Shakespeare, I share my home with Alexa. We all have Alexa. Shakespeare thinks she’s a can of tuna. I’m sure the little tin can could have been very helpful to me had
not Carol gotten a hold of this cylindrical sister 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.
Day 59 of our
sequester. We’re doing fine. I have my books to read and my cat to play
with and my blog to write to you. I like
sitting here and writing to you. For while I sit with Thee, I seem in Heaven (Paradise
Lost). Besides, I wouldn’t want you to be bored on
Thursday mornings. Carol is never bored.
She and her girlfriends are keeping their spirits high by Zooming and talking.
Those girls can certainly talk, all of them at the same time, and I don’t see
them slowing down at all. I can just
imagine them, long after I’m gone, long after their physical functions have
deteriorated, sitting in the Home, still gabbing up a storm.
They can’t hold their bladders or walk
They’re frail and their hair’s turned to
chalk
On top of all that
They’re blind as a bat
But Man, those old girls can still talk.
Hi there and welcome back. I hope you’re feeling well and keeping
yourself safe and busy. I said we were doing fine, but I do miss my weekly
routine, like my light treatment with Dr. Skin every Monday. I
say this simply to let you know what kind of lunatic you’re dealing with here –
a man who considers that standing naked with a paper bag over his head reciting
The Raven is normal! Anyway, now that you are sufficiently warned, let’s get at it.
Are any of your kids named X
Æ A-12? I didn’t
think so. That’s what Elon Musk named
his kid. It seems to be culturally de
rigueur* to give your kids exotic and
embarrassing monikers. And,
understandably, it seems that the strangest baby names are given by parents
whose names themselves are out of a Star Wars script. After all, X Æ A-12’s Daddy is named Elon for heaven’s
sake. Other pairs of strangely named
babies and parents include Apple and Gwyneth, Blue Ivy and Beyoncé, Dream and
Blac, Puma and Erykah, Zolten and Penn.
Even stranger is that Usher named his kid Usher.
Don’t they realize that these kids have
to grow up with those names? Although in
their private schools with their chauffeurs and bodyguards, it shouldn’t be a
problem. I should have named my first
child Moby. Of course, if
I had, my wife would have immediately named me her Ex-Husband.
Weekly Word: De rigueur means required by etiquette or
current fashion. Of course, I know
as much about fashion as President Trump knows about humility. And, in the spirit of non-partisanship, I
know as much about fashion as Joe Biden knows about – well, Joe doesn’t seem to
know much about anything.
Message from Shakespeare: Since brevity is
the soul of wit, . . . I will be brief (Hamlet). Unlike my man who drones on and on for a
thousand words every week. Give me a
break.
Sequester News:
·
Walmart now has arrows to direct traffic
in the aisles. I have personally
discovered, however, that there is no combination of moves which will get you
to the toilet paper.
·
I have taken to wearing a mask at home,
not to reduce infection, but to keep me from eating.
·
Yes, I have gained a pound or two, but I
really believe it’s because I have not had a haircut in eons. I now have so much hair on my head that, lately,
some woman named Bo Peep has been following me around.
·
To be honest, when I think of most of the
people out there, I wouldn’t want to get within six feet of them anyway.
·
I seem to be going to bed earlier. Nine o’clock is the new midnight. The older I get, the earlier it gets late.
·
Carol and I put on our masks and went
grocery shopping together. She took the
right side of the store; I took the left.
When we got home and she took off her mask, I realized I had the wrong
woman.
Let’s
end with a joke. Do we have time for a
joke? You’re not going anywhere, are
you? Ok, here it is. George takes Stella to a nice restaurant to
celebrate their 30th Anniversary.
During dinner, a lovely young woman comes to their table and gives
George a huge hug and a sloppy kiss. “Who
was that!” says Stella with appropriate venom. George replies that the woman was his
mistress. “What? Your mistress? I can’t believe it, George. I want a divorce immediately.” George reminds her that if they
divorce, she will no longer have her Mercedes or her Country Club or her
shopping sprees at Saks. Stella is
silent. Thirty minutes later, Stella
sees a neighbor, Frank, dining with another lovely young woman. “Who is that woman with Frank,”
she asks. George tells her it’s Frank’s
mistress. She looks again, turns to
George and says, “Ours is cuter.”
Good
joke. Good blog. Goodbye.
See you next week. Be sure to
stay well and count all those blessings.
And don’t forget Memorial Day and honor our fallen women and men who gave their lives for America.
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