Blog #293                                October 20, 2022

 

Nobody read my blog last Thursday because you were all glued to the revelations about Herschel Walker, the ex-running back now running for Senator in Georgia.  Seriously now, what’s more important – a riveting, slanderous and ribald Senatorial race or my blog?  The results are in and it’s clear that you would rather hear about lying, sexual abuse and abortions than read witty and intelligent prose.  I guess I’ll just have to sink to your level by telling you about a new line of breakfast cereals geared to the sleazy and lascivious among us.  The brands include Captain Raunch, Froot Lewds and Porn Flakes.  There, are you happy now?

 

The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of things of life

As long as it’s not politics or aging or my wife.

 

Yes, in order to retrieve your patronage, I have decided this week not to talk about my wife or politics or getting older.  Nice talking to you.  See you next week.

 

Well, what else is there to talk about, rats?  Actually, I had a rat once.  Amanda, my assistant, found it in one of our vacant apartments.  It wasn’t wild; it was an abandoned pet rat in a fish-tank with a bunch of straw.  Amanda, in her constant quest to save the world, brought it to me and told me I was to keep it in my office as a pet, and, as I am highly trained to respond to the female voice, that’s what I did.  I cleaned its tank, got it some fresh straw and some rodent food and let it alone on a table behind my desk. 

 

After a month or so, the rat and I having become bored with each other, I decided to pay it a bit more attention.  First, I gave it a name – Rat.  I’m clever with words.  Then, in a burst of Pavlovian enthusiasm, I decided to train it.  Within a few weeks, and with the help of some shredded cheddar, Rat was eating out of my hand, and climbing up my arm to rest on my shoulder.   I know it sounds disgusting, but he was a small rat and kind of cute.  Unfortunately, however, life for a rodent, even a small and cute one, is evanescent, and after about two years, Rat passed away from natural causes, but I never forgot the thrill of training a wild beast.  I have since tried the same method with Shakespeare.  He bit me.  So did Carol.

 

 

 

I cannot fathom how the human brain works, especially my own.  Why, for instance, while driving home today did I suddenly realize that Peter Piper could not possibly have picked a peck of pickled peppers?  Wikipedia estimates there are 50,000 different kinds of peppers.  Fifty thousand!  There are pimiento, tobasco, cayenne, chili peppers, paprika, jalapeno, banana peppers and of course the common green pepper.  Peppers do not grow already pickled, so no one can pick a pickled pepper, any more than one could pick a stewed tomato or a pumpkin pie.  Even Peter Piper could not pick a pickled pepper, let alone a peck of them.  Case closed!  I sometimes frighten myself.

 

But I apparently don’t frighten you, because you’re back.  Hi there and welcome.  I hope you’re feeling dandy and practicing your dancing.  Carol and I decided to go dancing this week.  We call it the Shopping Shuffle or the Kohl’s Conga.  The dance involves a precise combination of steps including shopping, trying-on, calculating the price, bringing home, trying-on again and, a few days later, returning.  It’s a great deal of fun.  I included the step of calculating because, after all, this was Kohl’s where you get 30% off, an extra 10% for using your Kohl’s charge and random surprise gifts of Kohl’s cash.  We bought $392 worth of men’s and women’s clothing for which Kohl’s charged us a total of $1.65, not counting a special $40 coupon to be used next week.  They must make it up on volume.

 

We got home and began to unpack our sartorial treasure, whereupon I discovered that I had no place to store mine.  And worse, my investigation of available space disclosed that Shakespeare has more closet space than I do.  Well, what does it matter?  I’m just going to return it all tomorrow.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Knowest me not by my clothes? (Cymbeline)  I need a lot of space. I have toys and pillows and empty cardboard boxes and a battery-powered floppy fish and six or seven blankets and two belts I stole from Pop’s closet.  Shhh!  Purr.

 

I had good news and bad news today.  The good news is that I had my annual physical and, except for everything that’s wrong me, nothing was wrong with me.  The bad news was that I didn’t get the Wordle.  The word was CATCH.  I tried PATCH and WATCH and BATCH.  I was pissed.  For those of you who don’t play, you don’t know what I’m talking about.  Let me try to describe the game:

 

Now Wordle will force you to THINK

And will take you right up to the BRINK

‘Cause there’s only six TRIES

To arrive at the PRIZE

And if you don’t get it, you STINK.

 

Ok, we’ve gotten the obligatory limerick out of the way.  You liked it; you didn’t like it.  It’s over.  Let’s move on.  Evanescent, our Weekly Word, means vanishing quickly like a vapor, as I shall soon vanish from your Thursday.

 

I kept my promise though, didn’t I?  I didn’t talk about politics or getting old and I only mentioned Carol twice.   Well, now that makes three times.  I didn’t even talk about shoes and ships and sealing wax.  But I still have some room left, so let’s talk about constipation.  Have you ever had that?  I had a little bout with it recently, and in my research for a cure I found the oldest remedy for constipation ever recorded.  It’s in the Bible;

 

The Lord is my shepherd

His figs and his prunes, they comfort me

He preparest a table in the presence of mine enemas

He restoreth my stool.

 

And, as you know, when I start talking potty, it’s time to go.  At least I didn’t talk about anything runnething over.   So stayeth well, everybody, and counteth your blessings.  I’ll see you next week.  

 

Michael                          Sendeth comments to mfox1746@gmail.com.