Holy Calendars, Batman.
Okay, everyone sit down and grab onto something solid and bolted to the floor, because this will probably shock you some, and I don’t want it on my conscience that I caused anyone bodily injury for failing to give appropriate advance warning.
On November 1st (that was yesterday here in FL), the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog celebrated (using the term loosely) it’s ONE MONTH ANNIVERSARY.
Who says you can’t sustain a consistent level of absurdity and irrelevance in literature?
Of course, referring to my writing as “literature” is roughly equivalent to the ridiculous idea that Donald Trump could be elected President…oh…never mind.
Speaking of our President (and I would rather not in most cases), by show of hands, how many of you are as sick of hearing about “Crooked Hillary” as I am? Hey, President Breath, you ever hear of Raskolnikov, the main character in Fyodor Dostoyevski’s novel “Crime and Punishment”? You know, the guy that watched some asshole beating a dead horse, trying to get it to rise and become ambulatory again? You won, shithead, move on. Geez.
(I’m glad to have that off my chest.)
Anyway, to commemorate the WATRUK blog’s momentous anniversary, I splurged at Publix this morning, while there to do my weekly grocery shopping, and bought myself an apple fritter…nothing says “sugar rush” like a freshly-baked lump of flour, spices, apples and theremin. (FYI, a theremin is a musical instrument and as such has nothing whatsoever to do with apple fritters, unless you’re eating one and playing one at the same time.)
And now to take my usual “left turn without a signal” here at mid-post, according to “scientists” (anytime I see that word in an article of some sort, it always sounds vaguely accusatory to me), the universe should not exist (see link below), which totally explains why the Los Angeles Dodgers laid down and morphed into the Toledo Mud Ducks last night in losing to the Houston Astros in Game 7 of the 2017 World Serious. (Hey, it was serious to me, dammit.) And my congratulations to the Astros organization…nice job, guys. (I hope someone steals your fucking trophy.)
For those of you who were otherwise preoccupied last month and missed my timeless prose, here are some excerpts from October’s posts…
~From “CHILDHOOD MEMORIES”, posted on 10/24…
“(Re the word “precocious”, “pre” from the Attic Greek “premature”, as in “WAY too soon, Sparky”, and “cocious”, which, as we all know, is a “Maghrebi dish of small steamed balls of crushed durum wheat semolina”, which when you read that description aloud sounds suspiciously like the instructions for applying roofing tar…”apply the roofing tar with your roller in short, smooth strokes.”
~From “WHAT CALIBER OF GUN IS RECOMMENDED FOR APARTMENT HUNTING?”, posted on 10/21…
“When contacted for a response, Mr. Gunn said the following, “I would be happy to show Mr. Sussywoots the business end of my Glock 9 at his earliest convenience.” He then made an unkind remark, which will not be printed here, about the rather diminutive size of a certain part of Mr. Sussywoots’ male anatomy, and hung up.”
~From “MATTERS OF SMALL IMPORT”, posted on 10/18…
“Item- Headline from the Internet…”Why do the Boy Scouts want to include girls?” and I thought to myself, boy, if I have to explain that to someone, this world is in deep, deep shit.”
~From “A MILESTONE…”, posted on 10/15…
“With all due respect to camping enthusiasts, what a truly monumental waste of time…oh good, let’s haul our fat butts out to the woods, pitch an effin’ tent, which, I am quick to point out, has no hot/cold running anything, roll around in the poison ivy searching for the effin’ Frisbee, sleep on the effin’ ground and hope against hope that we will not be a) zipped inside a sleeping bag with a young coral snake or b) sprayed by an annoyed skunk that was in the midst of an amorous interlude that we interrupted or c) eaten by a effin’ bear. (The idea of exiting this life coming out of the south end of a northbound bear is just too depressing. And yes, bears do that in the woods.)”
~From “A MILESTONE…” again…
“Excretions 10, Giants 6…”And there was a great rending sound, and an enormous abyss was opened, deep into the very bowels of the Earth, with fire and brimstone, and flames of great size leapt up at the walls of the abyss, a conflagration of immense heat, and a voice came out of the black, fiery night and said, YES, DODGERS UP ONE ZIP OVER THE CUBS, YES!”
~From “DREAM POLICE”, posted on 10/14…
“They were an unlikely pair, one taller at about 5’11’, an athlete’s build, with short, short blond hair, sunglasses, uniform shirt tight over his biceps, of which he had three, a gun the size of a bazooka on his belt and an attitude the size of Montana in his eye.
His partner was shorter, much shorter, no more than 3 feet tall, with big blue eyes, huge ears, an off-purple floppy hat, lime green tunic that hung to the tops of his shoes, no gun, no badge…OMFG, it’s Detective Dopey, accompanied by his side-kick, Officer Hardgun.”
Well, that should give you an idea.
So now I’m sending a telepathic message to you all…
“Read the Cap’n, read the Cap’n, read the Cap’n, make sure you read the Cap’n, go read the Cap’n right now, and don’t touch my apple fritter.”
Getting the message?
Love and “30 Days In The Hole”,