Blog #393                                         September 19, 2024

 

Recently, Carol and I went out to eat at a capacious and fancy French restaurant.  I don’t love French food, and I had a yen for something simple, something Italian, maybe Chicken Cacciatori.  I tried to see if they would make it for me, but the haughty French waiter looked at me like I had ordered warm white wine.  I insisted, poetically:

 

Well, thank you – yes the wine is nice; the menu is quite charming

I’ve read it but I notice the selection is alarming

I cannot find the food I want, Monsieur, so here’s the story

Just go on back and have them make me Chicken Cacciatori

 

I don’t care if it’s registered or pampered or free-range

I will not be adventurous – I do not want to change

No cous-cous please or other grain that’s in that category

Just one clean plate upon which lies some Chicken Cacciatori

 

No chutney please or tofu or persimmon ratatouille

No Anjou pears, kumquat beurre blanc or bias-sliced andouille

I do not want it fried or poached, Marsala or Tandoori

Just plain old simple, unexciting Chicken Cacciatori

 

I do not want a salad made of baby backyard weeds

In fact I’m pretty mad ‘cause you’re not listening to my needs

I’ll slice you up and send your bones on to a crematory

If you don’t bring me what I want – some Chicken Cacciatori!

 

Sorry for that lyrical nonsense.  I’m not sure why I did it. Kapka Kassabova said, “Perhaps you don’t always have to know what you’re doing or why, just that you have to.”

 

Hi there and welcome back to your refuge of insane humor and general goofiness.  You’re Special!  That’s what the little pamphlet that was hidden in my library book said.  It went on with some religious stuff, and that’s ok, but it was just nice to be told that I was special.  So, listen up – you’re special.  You take the time each week to read my silly ramblings and that makes you special to me.  What should we talk about today?  How about our Weekly Word?  Capacious means roomy, having a lot of space inside.

 

Have You Noticed that each day seems like every other day?  I can only tell what day it is by looking at my pill-box.  If Tuesday is the last empty cubical, then it’s Wednesday.  Of course, you can always tell when it’s Thursday, because here I am.

 

Have You Noticed that every week there is a drug bust where the Police find $400,000 in cash and $500,000 worth of drugs in a car that was pulled over for not replacing a $29 tail light?  Maybe the drug dealers should use Uber.  Or maybe we should just make drugs legal.  It would save police resources and reduce the prison populations.  I can just see the mega-retailers lining up now. 

 

                   Drugs R Us                     Pot Barn

                   Crack in the Box             Quik Trip

                   Meth A. O. Schwartz       Containers and Morphine

 

Have You Noticed that the mail is pretty much all junk?  Cruise-line catalogs, hearing-aid ads, health insurance promos, invitations to wealth-management seminars. My mail today consisted of two pieces, and this is the absolute truth – one was a large envelope addressed to me with the return-address spot filled by large, black letters spelling out DONALD J. TRUMP.  The other was a similar envelope, similar size, same large, black letters, but these spelled KAMALA HARRIS.  I cut out the Trump name and mailed it to Kamala and mailed Harris’s name to Trump.

 

Doesn’t it seem that the world is getting crazier all the time?  I just want to hide in a cave and shield myself from it all.  I want to read and talk to you all and play with Shakespeare, but the world is too much for me.  I want my psychiatrist back.  I had one in 2007.  I’m not even sure he was a psychiatrist, maybe a psychologist, but he helped me stop drinking and stop listening to Alice’s Restaurant and I enjoyed talking to him. 

 

Do you know who the first psychiatrist was?  It was Snow White.  It’s true!  Snow asked her first seven patients if they were Happy.  Only one of them said yes.  Well, she felt sorry for them and asked all seven to come live with her.  Snow was a little kinky.  Her house was tiny, so to fit them all in she used one of her Snow White Privilege magic potions to make them smaller, turning them into dwarfs.  And that is why, to this day, psychiatrists are called shrinks.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  That way madness lies; let me shun that (King Lear).  The world must be crazy.  Is it really true that, in some place called Ohio, people are eating cats and dogs.  Dogs I can understand.  They can make them into German Shepherd Pie with collie-flower.  Or maybe Poodles Romanov.  But cats?  No way.  The only thing cats are good for is Chicken Cat-Ciatori.  But Pops?  He definitely needs a psychiatrist.  He’s as messed up as an un-opened jigsaw puzzle.  Purr.

 

It's time for a Covid booster.  We have always gotten ours at the CVS in Target, so I went there today.  I approached the nice, young pharmacist and played the POP Card.  That stands for Pitiful Old People.  I explained that I’m not really good at getting an appointment online, and maybe he could just make me an appointment himself.  The POP Card worked, and we got our boosters.  He was as nice as could be.

 

Have You Noticed that anytime a Democrat dies, he-or-she was a Cultural Icon, but anytime a Republican dies, he-or-she was a Controversial Figure?

 

Well, I am certainly a controversial figure, as many of you have stated in your comments (I love your comments), so I’ll stop now and let you put me in my place.  But not before telling you that today is National Butterscotch Pudding Day.  Sounds yummy.  It is also National Talk Like a Pirate Day. Would I lie to you?  So hark, me buccos: 

 

Be takin’ me threat to the bank

Ye’ve just got yer own self to thank

If yer out drinkin’ grog

Stead of readin’ me blog

I’m makin’ ye all walk the plank.

 

I guess you’d better stay well, count your blessings and come back to see me next week.  Arrgh!

 

Blackbeard                               Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com