Blog #172

Strap yourself in, Boys and Girls.  This could be a rough one.  I’m not sure what to be afraid of most.  People wearing masks, people not wearing masks.  Eating outside with humidity and bugs, eating inside with (ugh) people.  Eating Aunt Jemima syrup, eating Rice Krispies.  That’s right, they want to get rid of Rice Krispies because Snap, Crackle and whatshisname are all white.  We can’t have Uncle Ben’s Rice because there’s a black guy on the box and we can’t have Rice Krispies because there are white people on the box.  No Eskimo Pies either. 

There are so many disturbing trends going on, I don’t know who to attack first.  Let’s start with baseball players.  I’ve been ragging on them for weeks, but we still don’t have a plan for Major League Baseball.  Well, maybe we do, but they’re still not sure.  The millionaire players and billionaire owners are arguing about money.  There’s a pandemic, a recession and an insurrection going on.  Everyone is more depressed than Elizabeth Warren’s campaign manager.  We need our National Pastime to cheer us up.  Nope, greed is apparently more important.  Even if they come back, I’m no longer interested in supporting them.

The MLB’s making no plans

This year they’ll just sit on their hands.

Let’s throw them a curve,

Give them what they deserve:

No hits and no runs and no fans!

This country is awash in hatred.  Some people, at the drop of a hat, are ready to hate anyone for any reason.  And I hate people like that.  The Democrats hate the Republicans, the Republicans hate the Democrats, the Blacks hate the Whites, the Whites hate the Blacks and everybody hates Columbus.  I’m not sure why everybody is so anti-Columbus, but it doesn’t matter because his statues are coming down, along with those of Washington, Jefferson and Lincoln.

Message from Shakespeare:  When wasteful war shall statues overturn (Sonnet 55).  I like the lion statues at the City Hall in University City, MO.  I always wanted to be a lion.  Now I’m just a-lyin’ on the couch.

Aren’t you happy there’s not a statue of you anywhere?  Nothing is safe from the hatred that has possessed this country.  Here are a few statues that are sure to be victimized next:

In Metropolis, IL, there is a two-ton statue of Superman that is scheduled to be destroyed by the hate-group WALL, an acronym for We Adore Lex Luthor.

Then there’s Blue Earth, MN, the home to the 55-foot statue of the Jolly Green Giant which is, as we speak, being torn down by a group who claim to hate vegetables.  The group’s name is Kiss My Asparagus. 

And where are the Jews during all this?  Why aren’t we out marching?  I know the old line -- Jews don’t march, they shop.  Charles Lindbergh was a vocal proponent of Anti-Semitism and conciliation toward Hitler.  Why aren’t the Jews demanding the destruction of Lindbergh statues?  Why aren’t we out there demanding that any street named after Lindbergh be changed.  Why aren’t we carrying signs that say SIX MILLION LIVES MATTER.  I believe the Jews know something about slavery and discrimination as well.

And, of course, there’s politics.  It looks more and more likely that Trump can be defeated in November by anyone with half a brain.  And the Democrats have just the right guy.  Seriously, in a country of 330 million people, these are the two best and brightest?  Well, Hell, if someone has to run this Cuckoo’s Nest we call America, it might as well be one of the inmates.

Hi there and welcome back.  Am I in enough trouble yet?  I hope you’re feeling well and looking sharp, at least the ones who haven’t turned me off yet.  I’m sorry to be so acrimonious*, but you’re probably as frustrated as I am.  This country is in the middle of its worst pandemic, its second worst depression and its worst civil insurrection – all at the same time -- and who are our choices to lead us out of this accumulated evil?  Beavis and Butt-Head.

WEEKLY WORD: acrimonious means angry and bitter, kind of like how I feel when I play golf.

I did play golf last week and I asked the Pro if he could find me someone to play with, preferably someone with good vision.  I have trouble seeing the ball.  He told me he had the perfect partner – Syd.  “Syd is 97-years-old.  He doesn’t hit it very far and he plays slowly, but his eyesight is unbelievable.”  Sounded fine with me and we went to tee off.  I said, “Syd, you going to watch my ball for me?”  He replied with a big smile, “Yes I will, young man.”  I loved him already.  “I will see it when you hit it; I will see it in the air; and I will see it when it lands.”  So I hit my driver, and it sounded good, but I lost sight of it immediately.  I turned to Syd with a querulous look.  “Young man,” he said with a smile, “I saw it when you hit it; I saw it in the air; I saw it when it landed.”  I was impressed, and when we got in the cart, I said, “Syd, you’re 97-years-old.  I can’t believe your eyesight is so exceptional.”  “Believe it, young man.  I saw it when you hit it; I saw it in the air; and I saw it when it landed.”  I smiled and said, “Ok, Syd, I believe you.  Where is it?”  He replied, “Young man, I’m 97-years-old.  I forgot.”

That was a joke, of course, but Carol and I did go out to play some golf.  The weather was beautiful, the course was fine, the other couple was fun.  My golf was dreadful.  I can play golf about as well as Lori Loughlin’s daughters can row.  Watching me play golf is like watching a snake trying to knit.  Maybe next time will be better.

And maybe next week’s blog will be better too.  Come back and see.  Until then, stay well, count your blessings and stay away from statues.

Michael                                    Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com

Blog #171

I often use Google on my phone, and each time I open the app, it shows little articles of interest, some newsworthy, some just strange.  This week, I saw the following:

OKLAHOMA WOMAN THROWS ABUSIVE HUSBAND’S ASHES IN THE TRASH.

I immediately yelled, Right on, Sister.  There’s no reason we have to say nice things about a bad person just because he’s dead, is there?  I know one day I’ll go to a memorial service and the wife will take the microphone and tell us what a beast her deceased beast was and that she’s thrilled he’s climbing the Stairway to Heaven – or wherever.  Well this Oklahoma woman did it.  She wanted nothing to remind her of that creep.  Actually, she did keep a small memento or two.

I burned George’s body to ash

Then I threw the whole thing in the trash

But although he’s in Hades

I kept his Mercedes

And four-hundred thousand in cash.

A little nostalgia can be important.  Hi there and welcome back.  Thank you for all of your notes wishing Carol and me a Happy 53^rd Anniversary.  I appreciated each one.  Carol got me one of those new watches as an Anniversary gift.  It doesn’t take my pulse or count my steps.  It doesn’t even tell the time.  It just blinks when my belt doesn’t match my socks.  And it emits a loud siren if I try to wear linen.  You know, one of the symptoms of Covid is that you lose your taste.  Carol assures me I never had any to begin with.

Are you feeling well?  I hope so.  The world keeps getting stranger.  Is the Covid thing leveling or is it spiking?  Can we go outside now or only if we’re protesting?  I asked Siri for the weather and she said, “What do you care?  You’re not going anywhere anyway.”  And, by the way, is Seattle still part of the United States?  I wonder what they’ll call their new country – Starbuckia?  Or Nocopsia?  Or maybe Antifia?

Message from Shakespeare:  “The lady doth protest too much, methinks (Hamlet).”  There sure are a lot of protests going on, and I have one of my own.  I protest the use of the word “methinks.”  It’s silly.  Methinks I’m going to tell Pops that mewalked onto the porch and mepooped in the litter box.

Life has become so bizarre.  Last night I was Facetiming with my three oldest grandchildren (19,17,14), and we got into discussing current events.  All three of them are whiz-bang smart, have very strong opinions and are very vocal.  And they have become radicalized and disenchanted with much of what happens in America.  We argued and stated our cases and I got so excited that my pacemaker opened the garage door, but nobody got mad or did any name-calling, and it was great fun.  I’m proud of them and respect their passion.  I also know that the perspective of a teenager is very different from that of an old white guy who apparently is not woke*.  I trust they will lose some of their bad ideas and keep a whole bunch of the good ones and change everything for the better.  Change is anathema to old folks, but change is good and change is inevitable.  And I’ll be satisfied if the future is in the hands of bright, caring people like them. 

Weekly Word:  Do you know what woke means?  I certainly didn’t until just this week, so let’s make that our Weekly Word.  To be woke means to be alert to injustice in society, especially racism.

And injustice, of course, includes showing Gone with the Wind.  Look, I’m seriously suffering with what’s going on in our country.  I am very disturbed, and I know you are too.  But I can’t abandon my sense of humor or my efforts to make you smile a little, so here I go making fun of the people who want to ban movies.  The following are hereby banned forever.

12 Angry Men:  They are all white, and white men have no reason to be angry.

Casablanca:  Casablanca literally means White House.  Gone! 

Wizard of Oz:  The only dark-skinned characters in the whole movie are the flying monkeys and the dog.  Plus, it makes fun of short people.

Groundhog Day:  We never want to go through this again.

Godfather:  Are you kidding?  A bunch of white Italians go around killing people all day and we treat them like heroes, but one black man tries to pass a bogus twenty and he gets strangled.

Well, maybe that wasn’t so funny.  But you can’t watch movies anymore or Looney Tunes, so I guess you’re stuck with me.  That is, unless my blog gets sent to your SPAM file. It’s happened before.  Now, I have been called many names in my life.  I’ve been called argumentative.  I am definitely not argumentative, and I challenge you to prove it to my face.  I’ve been called repetitive.  I am not repetitive.  I have never been repetitive.  I am not repetitive.  I’m not.  I’ve been called stubborn.  Maybe.  But I have never been called SPAM.  I don’t even know what it stands for – Small Pesky Aggravating Missourian?  Stubborn Poppy’s Argumentative Mail?

Don’t forget Summer officially begins this weekend, so get out your polka-dot swimsuit, your snorkel-goggles and those ugly black flipper things.  Put them all on, take a picture and then put them back in the closet.  You’re not going anywhere.  And don’t forget that Sunday is Father’s Day, so I hope all you Daddios out there have a fine day with your families.  

Ok, don’t forget summer, don’t forget Daddy Day – there was one more thing I wanted you to remember, but I forgot.  Oh – don’t forget to come back next week.  In the interim, I’ll be out looking for a statue to tear down and a new brand of syrup.  You know Aunt Jemima is toast, don’t you?  And not French Toast either.  It’s racially insensitive, so they’re replacing the Aunt Jemima bottle with one that has Joe Biden’s picture.  It’s called Uncle Joe.  It’s not as sweet and you can only use it in the basement, but that’s our world.  Stay well, count your blessings and come back to me next week.  Did I say that already?  Maybe I am repetitive.

Michael                                    Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com

Blog #170

Have you noticed how many heroes and she-roes there are out there?  She-roes is the new word we PC fanatics are supposed to use.  Anyway, there are nurses, doctors, EMTs, firefighters, police officers, military – all risking their health and their lives, doing their jobs to protect us, comfort us and heal our pain.  And then there are baseball players, a group of overpaid, arrogant pricks who only care about how much they get paid.  We need our sports.  We need baseball!  It’s our National Pastime.  But are we going to get it?  Probably not, because these tobacco-spitting, gold-chain-wearing, selfish SOBs don’t care about us.  If thousands of protesters can take to the streets to raise this country’s dignity, then a few hundred baseball players can take to the field to raise this country’s spirit

Maybe we should take away their baseball caps and their gloves and give them billy clubs and Police helmets and let them face down a mob of brick-throwing looters for $45,000 a year.  And just wait till football season when they’ll all be kneeling to end the violence right before they try to give the opposing players brain injuries. Where are the Black Concussions Matter signs?  And where is the NBA?  Talk about racism!  Did you know that 75% of the lowest-paid NBA players are black?  Of course, 75% of the highest-paid players are black as well.  The only ones you can count on are the hockey players.  They’ve been hit in the face so many times, they don’t really know what’s going on anyway.  I need to take a walk.

Ok, I’m back.  I feel better.  Sorry about that.  Hi there and welcome back.  Are we having fun yet?  I hope you are feeling well and keeping your sanity.  I must honestly admit that between the virus and the recession and the riots, my mental health is teetering.  It’s probably not hard to tell. 

I’m trying to mellow out, however, because today is our 53^rd Anniversary.  Fifty-three years with my beautiful wife!  Fifty-three years and we’re still talking.  Mostly, my talking consists of Yes, Dear and I’m sorry, but it works.  Plus, that’s why, when I come to talk to you, I have so many words left.  I remember those early years when we would watch programs like Father Knows Best and Leave It to Beaver and I Love Lucy.  Now we get in bed and watch the frenetic*, nightly Loot ‘n Shoot.  There are even new programs on Netflix like The Price Is Riot and Have Brick – Will Travel.  In those good old, old, old days, when the nightly shows were over, we’d get a test pattern.  Now we get a Pro-test Pattern.   Dr. Fauci has just sent out a memo that stores should limit their looters to ten at a time.

And while I’m angry, tell me this: why is there a “d” in fridge but not in refrigerator?

Weekly Word:  Frenetic means fast and energetic in a rather wild and uncontrolled way.  Kind of like how I write when I’m aggravated.

Defund the Police!  I’m hearing a lot of that lately.  Are they crazy?  That ranks right up there with, “Let them eat cake” and “Let’s call it an Edsel”.  No police?  Who’s a young woman going to call when her ex-boyfriend is banging on the door threatening to beat the crap out of her?  Al Sharpton?  Who are you going to call when your car is stolen?  Uber?  If there’s something strange in your neighborhood, who you gonna call?  I’ll bet you know that one.

So, Black Lives Matter – ok.  I Can’t Breathe – I get it.  Defund the Police – I’m not sure they really mean that.  But now they’ve gone too far.  Now they’ve defaced and delegitimized our childhood memories.  Recently, HBO, which airs a Looney Tunes show, has banned Elmer Fudd from using a hunting rifle.

They’re messing with my Looney Tunes now and I’m not going to take it anymore!  And that’s not all they’ve changed:

·        Sylvester can no longer chase Tweety Bird.  After all, Yellow Lives Matter.

·        Stuttering is making fun of the handicapped, so Porky Pig now sounds like Alec Baldwin

·        Speedy Gonzalez is gone.  Racially insensitive!

·        Bugs Bunny has been forced to say, “Ahhh, what’s up, Dr. Fauci?”

·        And, of course. they’ve taken away Popeye’s pipe.

Now Popeye cannot have his smokes

I’m telling you these are not jokes

They took Elmer’s gun

And all of our fun

And th-th-th-that’s all F-Folks.

I had a limerick about Donald Duck, but my wife wouldn’t let me publish it.  You don’t get it?  Well, you’re built too low, the fast ones go over your head

Message from Shakespeare:  Men of few words are the best men (Henry V).  Gee, my Pops talks a lot.  I’ve heard cat food salesmen that didn’t talk that much.  If he would just shut up for a while, there’d be more room for me to talk.  Cat Lives Matter.

Don’t pay any attention to the cat.  I have more to say.  We spoke about heroes before, and currently we have three heroes, American astronauts, in orbit aboard the International Space Station – Bob Behnken, Doug Hurley and Chris Cassidy.    

Many of us have realized that people in other countries hate America, and we are afraid to leave the country.  And now, if you believe what you see on the news, most Americans hate America and we are afraid to leave our homes, so I have some advice for those astronauts.  Boys, as long as you’re up there and the sun is shining, stay there a few more weeks. Nothing good is going on down here.

Except you, of course, my loyal readers.  I know you have to stay here on Planet Earth, so you might as well come back next week and read another blog.  I’m counting on you.  On the other hand, if some guy named Ralph says, “To the Moon, Alice,” take him up on it, even if your name isn’t Alice.  The Moon might be a lot safer than here.  See you next week.  Until then, stay well and stay safe.

Foghorn                                   Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com

Blog #169

I have just finished my sixth voyage aboard the Pequod.  Moby Dick has prevailed, Ahab is vanquished, the Pequod is no more.  “And I only am escaped alone to tell thee. (Job 1:15).”  Please, don’t ever read the book.  It’s a strange compilation of recondite* whaling minutia and raving madness that would interest only a very strange person.  I am eminently qualified.  Plus, I’ve already ruined the ending for you. 

Hi there, fellow travelers, and welcome back.  Are you feeling well?  Feeling strong?  Feeling tall?  When I was a teenager, my parents’ friends would hold their hands down at my waist-level and say, “I knew you when you were this tall.”  Now, sad to say, my friends hold their hands six inches above my head and say the same thing.  Hey, getting old is easy.  It’s having fun while you’re doing it that’s the challenge.

I got up this morning and read my wife’s horoscope to see what kind of day I was going to have.  It looked ominous, so I decided to visit the Zoo.  I had forgotten that it was still closed.  But it’s June now and the St. Louis Zoo has set a date to open to the public, complete with guidelines to keep the visitors safe – from each other and from the animals.  Animals get sick too.

Be careful when you’re at the Zoo

Cause the elephant might go ah-choo!

Then your head and your face

Will be launched into space

And your ass will come down in Peru.

And stay away from the Pony.  He’s a little hoarse.

Gas this morning was $1.55 a gallon.  My Diet Coke was $1.09 for a 44oz. cup which comes to (here comes the math) $3.17 per gallon.  Maybe I should drink gasoline.  Do they have Diet?

Did you know that the average American walks 1,400 miles a year?  Did you know that the average American drinks 2.3 gallons of alcohol a year?  That’s over 600 miles per gallon.  And you thought you needed a Prius?

Drinking alcohol can be a dangerous habit, as you know.  I’ve had my share of bad habits – drinking, smoking, wearing linen in October, chewing gum.  I still have a piece of gum once in a while, but I gave up chewing in the presence of my wife.  The impetus came one night when I was lying in bed watching a German soccer game (I keep telling you I’m weird) and chewing a piece of Trident Cinnamon.  I must admit I was cracking and smacking and making myself thoroughly annoying, when Carol turned her head to the right.  She always sleeps on the same side of the bed.  In every home we have shared and every hotel room, Carol has always slept on the same side – the side nearest the bathroom.  Why do women always have to be close to the bathroom?  Are they expecting to need an emergency eyebrow plucking at three a.m.?  Back to my obnoxious chewing.  She could have said, “If you don’t stop cracking that gum, I’m going to shoot hairspray up your nose.”  Or, she could have said, “Are you auditioning for the part of a hippopotamus in heat?”  She didn’t.  Instead, she sweetly said, “Honey, does it bother you when I crack my gum?”  Well, I gave her maximum style points for that and immediately gave up chewing gum in bed.  See, you can catch more flies with honey than with hairspray.

The highlight of my week is going to the grocery store.  I like grocery shopping.  I have a mask and a list, and every time I find an item on my list it’s exciting, fulfilling.  It’s like the last ancestral vestige of hunting and gathering.  Me Big Hunter.  Me go out to provide for Woman.  Me brave.  Me strong.  Me bring home can of tuna and an organic pepper.  Why am I talking like Tonto?

Message from Shakespeare:  Better a witty fool than a foolish wit (Twelfth Night).  He may be witty, but he is certainly a fool, isn’t he?  He thinks he’s a hunter-gatherer?  He couldn’t catch dinner if it walked up to him and died on his shoes. 

Weekly Word:  Recondite means little known, obscure, like a lot of the stuff I read.

What else can we talk about?  I’m not ready to let you go yet.  I’m reading a book now about the future of genetics. It says that within 25 years, doctors will be able to make human egg cells and human sperm cells out of normal blood or skin cells.  And it doesn’t matter whether those cells come from a male or a female.  In other words, a human egg cell can be made from a woman’s skin cell and a human sperm cell can be made from another woman’s skin cell.  Throw the two cells into a test-tube, play a little Johnny Mathis and pretty soon you have a viable embryo.  You know what that means, girls?  It means you won’t need men any more.  And you know what that means?  No more episodes of The Bachelor.  I guess you women will have to change your own light bulbs.

This week has been scarred by the chaos of nationwide protests in response to the disgusting and hateful murder of George Floyd.  It depresses me and frightens me to watch the coverage, but I do watch, and I have noticed that there are three kinds of protesters.  There is the African-American Community that wants to change the conversation, change the laws and change society.  Understandable!  Then, there is the young, white college-age group that just wants to scream at any kind of authority.  Predictable!  And then there are the looters.  They’re the easiest to spot because they’re pushing shopping carts.  Unforgivable!

Well, you’ve made it through another blog.  I’m proud of you.  It’s a dangerous world out there.  Our two astronauts had the right idea this week.  They left the Planet altogether.  But you can’t, so be careful and come back to me next week safe and healthy.  Count your blessings and pray for everyone.

Michael                                    Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com