Blog #360                                         February 1, 2024

 

Carol and I were driving the other day, and I got a text in the car.  I do not text and drive (color my halo yellow), so Carol took my phone and read me the message. I told her what to respond, but she typed in what she thought was a better way to say it as if I were incapable of writing a cogent sentence.  She’s done this kind of thing before, and so have her busy-body ancestors, like Shakespeare’s wife.  When Bill said, “Anne, write this line down: To commit suicide or to continue living.”  She replied with, “You are the wordiest Elizabethan bastard in London.  I’m writing – To be or not to be – and that’s all you get.”

 

And another of her ancestors was Margaret Mitchell’s best friend.  It was rumored that Margaret asked her friend, “How do you like this line, Dear -- Scarlett, I don’t care where you go or what you do.  I’m leaving and I’m never coming back and I’m going to forget I ever knew you. What do you think of that line?  To which my wife’s ancestor replied, “Frankly, My Dear, I don’t give a damn.” 

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well.  It’s February and I trust you’re staying warm and feeling comfy.  Do you remember the show, The Kominsky Method, with Alan Arkin and Michael Douglas?  In one episode, Alan Arkin says “Maybe life has no meaning and the best you can hope for is being nice.”  So let’s be nice.  You look wonderful; I’m so glad to be with you again; and I love Joy Behar.  Is that enough of being nice?  Can I get back to my usual self now?

 

Did you see the Academy Award nominations?  Every year, immediately after the nominations, the motion-picture world goes ape. Not enough women, the women scream.  Not enough blacks, the blacks protest. It’s ridiculous.  We should just give an Oscar to every one of those rich, narcissistic hypocrites.  Give them a Participation Award like they all want to give everybody’s kids. 

 

And then there’s politics.  Politics is fun, isn’t it?  About as much fun as getting a rectal exam from Edward Scissorhands.  The world of American politics seems to be populated by a cast of characters from Clue.  Is it Hunter Mustard in the rehab facility with the laptop?  Or is it Colonel Trump in the courtroom with the gag order?  Maybe it’s the Atlanta prosecutor, Fani “Mrs. Peacock” Willis, with the Special Council in the airplane to the Caribbean.  We need a rest from all the duplicitous, lying and dirty-dealing politicians.  Maybe we should make Mike Pence the President.  Then the whole country would fall asleep faster than an agnostic at a Joel Osteen Rally.

 

Duplicitous!  There’s a good Weekly Word for us.  It means with deliberate deception.  Don’t be duplicitous with me.

 

I’ll tell you who the most duplicitous people in history were.  In third place was Claud Monet:

 

Yes, I call that one Water Lilies.  I understand your confusion because they don’t look like water lilies and they’re a little fuzzy and made mostly of dots.  But they’re water lilies.  All these others are the same water lilies, but on this one I ran out of purple paint, so I made them all pink with a little green.  Would you like to buy one?  It’ll be worth a lot of money some day.

 

In Second Place was Abraham, the crazy old guy in the Bible who decided to take a long walk in the desert.  When he came back, he had a story to tell.

 

Hey, everybody, listen up.  Out in the desert I ran into this dude called God.  He promised to take care of us and make us His chosen people, and all we have to do is two things.  First, we have to capitalize His pronouns every time we write Them.  And second, all you guys have to cut off the end of your dipstick.

 

Now that was a salesman!  And as long as I’m damning myself to the pits of Hades (hey, maybe Satan and I could get up a bridge game), I might as well tell you who was history’s greatest salesperson.  It was the Virgin Mary.

 

Hi, Joe.  As you can see, I’m pregnant.  No, it’s not yours, but I swear I did not have sex with any other man.  And, it all depends on what the meaning of the word “is” is.

 

Joseph, upon hearing this unbelievable story, put his hand to his forehead and moaned, “Jesus Christ.”   Mary replied, “I like that name.  It’s catchy. "

 

Tomorrow is Groundhog Day, the event which marks the annual emergence of the     country’s most famous woodchuck or groundhog, Punxsutawney Phil.  This year, Phil isn’t looking for his shadow.  He’s looking for a date with a hot wood-chick.  The word is that Phil has become so Punxsu-hawney that he’s gone on a dating site for rodents, and hopes to emerge from his hole and spot a sexy ground-ho that will make him so excited he won’t be able to squeeze back into his burrow for a few hours.  Shame on me!

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Thou art wise as thou art beautiful (A Midsummer Night’s Dream).  That’s what I need, a girlfriend.  Like Jennifer Lo-puss.  Although I don’t know what I’d do with her.  When they cut off my leg, they cut off a couple of other things too.  Oh, purr.

 

Movie Review:  Killers of the Flower Moon was on Netflix or Apple or Peacock or whatever-the-flick it was.  We watched it --- and watched it and watched it.  It was way too long and dark and slow.  The acting was fabulous, but by the third hour I began to lose track of who was killing whom.  My Rotten Oysters rating is a 2 out of five.

 

It's time to go, but I don’t have a limerick, do I?  I’m sorry, but this week I just can’t seem to come up with one:

 

So now it’s become Wednesday night

And there’s not a good lim’rick in sight

I’ve searched through my brains

And of all that remains

There just isn’t anything right.

 

I guess it’s time to say ta-ta.  I hope you enjoyed.  Stay well, count your blessings, and watch out for groundhogs.

 

Punxsutawney Michael                      Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com