Archive for the Uncategorized Category

The Party. . . is Moving. . .

Posted in comedy, Entertainment, humor, satire, Uncategorized with tags on June 12, 2010 by danof89

I am in the process of moving your “favorite” blog (I would be referring to THIS) to its own WEB SITE! So if you want to check it out go to and let me know what you think. There aren’t any bells and whistles. (yet) But I have a few surprises in store. . . if I can just figure out what the heck I’m doing. . . Thanks for reading. . . and as always. . . 

‘Til Then. . . Go Figg’r!

Peace Out. . . Later 


P.S. Load times may be a little slow, while I sort things out. . . Thanks for your patience. . . oh, did I mention the link? . . . cool  

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Hyperbolic Stare-oids Left Me a Little Teste

Posted in comedy, Entertainment, humor, satire, Uncategorized with tags on June 8, 2010 by danof89

 . . . I mean “testy”. . .Unless you are doing a “self-examination”. . . in which case, it might be true either way. Unless you’re a woman. If you ARE a woman. . . congratulations. . . on putting up with being one. That’s some kind of dedication. I couldn’t do it. Too much “pain” involved. . . Gnarly stuff. Last time I checked, I was a man. . . Not that I have to check with any regularity. I usually catch it during the “self-examination”. . . like the one they showed us how to “perform” in my 6th grade “Health Class”. Actually, it wasn’t “Health Class”
 as much as a day set aside, once a year, when boys and girls, in their first year of “middle school”, were separated into two groups during “Gym Class”. The girls were led off to the “Wood Shop” classroom, by our friendly neighborhood “Female Lumberjack Gym-Teaching Duo”
 . The year was 1982 and as far as I can remember, at that point I knew very little about “Life Partners” (I still don’t) In the small rural Iowa farm community I lived in that 6th grade year, I think it would be safe to say that few other people did either. But, looking back at it after all these years (and I hadn’t planned on even THINKING of that time in my life until THIS PRECISE moment) . . . The two ladies heading up the Physical Education Program at the Davis County Middle School were SO “a couple”. . . But nobody ever said anything. . . at least not to us kids. They were even prone to “spats”during school hours (often during tax-payer-funded physical education sessions) One would not be talking to the other, for whatever reason (probably over who used the last of the moustache wax), while the other did their best to put on a brave lesbian face
 and trudge through with teaching all the other students in my class how NOT to pick me until the second to the last teammate for a rousing game of “Cover Your Privates and Scream Like a Girl”
 . (You may know it as “Dodgeball”) There are two words for why I was picked second-to-last. . . David Freelawn. . . rather than embarrass this poor guy any further, I will leave it at that. . . EXCEPT to say that he weighed about a GAJILLION pounds, he sweat A LOT. . . and he ALWAYS smelled just like “corn chips”. (A few years later; in a moment of weakness and in an effort to become “popular”, I came up with his nickname: David “Frito~Lay”- thus, cementing my status as “smart ass” and subsequently scarring him for life)
 . . . Speaking of irreparable damage. . .
“Us boys” were taken to the “Home-Economics” classroom. I am unsure of why the girls were sent to a such a “GUY” area, while the boys were sent to an exclusively “GIRL” area. (Perhaps to add to all the confusion) The “boys” were assigned a “SINGLE MALE INSTRUCTOR”. When I say “single male”, it has a dual meaning. Yes, it was just ONE dude. . . BUT, he was also not married. As far as I can recall, he was about as single as you can get. He was our “Art Teacher” and seemed VERY content doing “art-related activities”
 , unicumbered by the trappings of “human interaction”. . . or “a wife”. I seem to remember him being very fond of “paisley” and “decoupage” (though not necessarily simultaneously)
Without any forewarning (or notes home to our parents requesting permission) we would soon be subjected to the most jaw-dropping, nausea-inducing, myth-debunking and totally confusing 2 hours that any pre-pubescent adolescent will ever experience in the “ENTIRE HISTORY OF FOREVER”. . .
To this day, I am uncertain who made the decision to put those 3 individuals in charge of “teaching” us what they did. . . I am still not sure what it was they actually “taught” us.
 I have the feeling that they actually volunteered for the opportunity. But I WILL say that when all was said and done (mainly said. . . actually all said. . . nothing was DONE. . . this was the early 80’s and those kind of student/teacher relations wouldn’t be en vogue for several more years) But when the smoke settled, the girls and the boys walked out of their respective “Information Hubs”
 and we didn’t look at each other quite the same way. Some of us didn’t look at each other until 7th grade. It was awful. . . I am certain that the majority of us walked out much more confused than when we had gone in. In fact, I think there were a number that walked out thinking they were gay. . . or at least “very happy”. . . (no, not me – I was still straight and miserable) But NOW, I was slightly confused. THIS wasn’t what I’d learned about the “birds and the bees”. When I was 5 years old; my mother (a lifelong nurse and minister’s wife) got tired of answering my questions (yes, I had a LOT of them at that tender age) about the “Human Reproductive System” and sat down with her copy of “The Physician’s Desk Reference” and “The Encyclopedia Britannica – ‘Volume A’ for “Anatomy” and let me know ALL about it . . . in “clinical terms”. However, knowing how “vocal” I was as a child, mom still decided to use “geographical nicknames” and “southern slang” for the “good stuff”. (Mom and Dad had been raised in the Ozarks. . . I’m hillbilly from WAY BACK)
 Shortly thereafter, many an “ice breaker” could be overheard, when my parents would venture with me out amongst the “common folk”:

ME at age 5 years (the day after “my talk”)

“My mom has a ‘Virginia’,” I would declare to a random salesperson or clergyman, while my mom searched for a proper “beating device”.

“Daddy has a ‘Trotline’,” I would exclaim to a convenience store employee or teacher, as my father pretended  I was someone else’s lost child.

. . . To this day, I have a hard time hearing about Hurricanes hitting the Eastern Seaboard and I HATE fishing. . .

Of course, MY way of dealing with uncomfortable situations was with “humor” – a trait not lost on this opportunity, some 7 years later:

In the last few agonizing moments of our “Video Presentation” we were forced to sit through a ‘vignette’ featuring a “Father-Son Combo”
 extolling the importance of “Testicular Cancer Awareness and Prevention”, complete with detailed “How to Check Your Junk” footage. I will be honest, at that age I was barely aware I had testicles and the only thing I wanted to prevent, was them being “nailed” in “Dodgeball”. The fact I had to watch how to deal with this was almost more than I could handle. . . The game really should have been called “HITball”.

Boy, was that a “humdinger”. . . (That’s what I thought after watching the video) . . . Actually, that’s what I asked my gym teacher after the video was over. . . I was VERY uncomfortable after sitting through a class headed up by Andy Warhol’s love child with David Bowieabout “sexuality”. . . I had to “act” to diffuse the situation. . . and I had to act soon. . .

“Excuse me Mr. Sexton?” , (yes his REAL name) I asked, trying to control my snickering. I felt as if my head was about to explode and I was going to throw up. I was ill-equipped to handle saying the teacher’s name with any sense of maturity and THIS was about to send me over the edge. . . this was already ALL SORTS OF WRONG on EVERY IMAGINABLE LEVEL.

“What is it Danny?”, sighed my teacher (it was bad enough that I was called “Danny” at this stage in my life, but when HE said it, it REALLY rhymed with the word “Panty”. . . I made an attempt to shorten it to “DAN” in 7th grade, to mixed results. After all, “DAN” rhymes with “MAN”. . . a point you cannot dispute)

“Was THAT a ‘humdinger’?” I repeated in my outside voice . . . the awkward silence that filled my “Information Hub”
 was stifling. . . Mr. S was a little “thrown” by my question. I could see it in my teacher’s eyes. Was I referencing the video “package” we’d just watched as a “unit” . . . or was this a clever “turn of phrase” referring to the “male anatomy”? I think we ALL knew. . . Soon a collective sigh filled the classroom. . . followed by laughter and eventually Mr. S decided to let us go “early” to roam the halls of our middle school telling “Sack and Bag” jokes with reckless abandon. Oh how grand it was. . . 
(That is not even close to true) 
He actually told us that he hoped we’d paid attention, because he had a ‘loved one’ that lost a nut in the Vietnam War and it was NO LAUGHING MATTER . . . talk about a tough room! (I never knew what getting one blown off and having cancer had to do with one another) but I then became quite aware of why HE had chosen to participate in “teaching” us. . . but I still think the Lumberjills were “recruiting”. . .

As if my introduction to this particular “Subject Matter” during “Regular School-Operating Hours” hadn’t been surreal and uncomfortable enough. . . the fun had JUST begun. . . For some god-awful reason after we came back from Christmas Break (back before the Satanists started calling it “Winter Recess”) . . . they decided to add a knew “wrinkle” to “Physical Education” class. . . SHOWERS. . . Again, with no proper warning, no notes to my parents, and for NO DAMN GOOD REASON, the Board of Education (in their infinite wisdom and with limitless resources) again tapped into “Tax-Payer” money, built new locker rooms equipped with “State of the Art” SHOWERS and decided that children were REQUIRED to BATHE after P.E. . . and after being subjected to that “VIDEO”. . . I can only say it was “horrifying”. Not only had I never been nude in front of another guy (or ANYONE – I’d blocked out my parents during my bed-wetting spell in the summer of ’79) but I’d really hoped to save that for someone I “Loved” or at the least . . . a “Female Doctor”. “Communal Bathing” was probably the single most traumatic experience I had the displeasure of taking part in during all of my adolescence. . . and there was definitely some trauma. I think that communal bathing is in fact the reason the Roman Empire fell. . . too many “distractions”. It’s intimidating. . .

. . . Jeffrey Harsh, was a nightmare of a boy. He had transferred in from some school in Chicago
 . He was equipped with a full 1 o’clock shadow. (no, not five o’clock) I know this, because I had study hall with him 3rd period (around 9 AM) and gym class with him right after lunch. Sure enough, he had grown more facial hair in that 4 hours, than I have, to date, my entire adult life. . . During the President’s Physical Fitness Award portion of the school year (after the holidays, when we’d had just enough time to stop doing any sort of physical activity), We were asked to perform a series of physically demanding and excrutiatingly painful tasks in a manner that would meet the lofty standards of our nation’s president (then, Ronald Reagan)
 . All so we would become the proud recipients of. . . a really cool “sew-on patch”. (I NEVER got one because of “pull ups”. I still consider whoever invented “pull ups” to be a major butthole). When it got around to time to perform “sit ups”, our Gym teacher (one of the lesbians) would match us with a partner based soley on their popularity. I was often paired with Frito~Lay. I remember thinking whoever had the misfortune of holding the ankles of Jeffrey Harsh during sit-ups was one unlucky individual. . . it would turn out to be “me”.
. . . He exuded “MAN”, while the rest of us barely secreted “man-child”. (perhaps ‘secreted’ was the wrong word) He was hairy, smelly and scary. Then it came shower time. . . I dreaded it. Every time I was made to do this, it was my own personal shower scene from “Carrie”(and we all know how THAT turned out)
 . If we attempted NOT SHOWERING, our “Lady Lumberdykes” would send an 8th grader in to report the names of the transgressors. (Usually, the second cousin of one of the teachers. A knuckle-scraping bohemith, by the name of THAD TARBUCKLE) He would start taunting us (usually me and a couple other modest fellas) until we succumbed. But inevitably, I would always relent. I would walk into the corner of the shower and avoid looking at anything. Unfortunately the shower heads were in a circle in the middle of the shower room. Everyone chatting away and pushing each other. Let me state, for the record, the very LAST thing I would want to do would be to slap another guy, whilst naked in the shower. (teasingly or otherwise)  Especially after the “video” we were forced to watch just a few months prior. Had I been the only one paying attention? I would stare straight ahead (though pasty boy-flesh was clearly visible in my periphery) “THIS WAS WRONG. . .” 
And if THAT wasn’t enough humiliation, in would walk THAD. . . The shower would go silent, while everyone tried to finish quickly. THAD would stand there and tease us mercilessly as we did our best to shield ourselves (or parts of ourselves) from his ridicule and critique. I am unsure why he was allowed to stand there and make fun of us. I’m sure if this were to happen today, more than a few lawsuits would be filed. And then (without warning, a letter to our parents or an explanation from God) in came the “new guy”. . . Jeffrey Harsh was a Centaur. Half-MAN, Half Horse. (mainly horse)
 He was that Mythologically freakish. . . He had never been held back. He was OUR age. But this was “scary” and impossible to live up to in terms of comparison. . . This was also one of the funniest things I ever witnessed in my life. Jeffrey strode up to THAD and stood staring at him face to face. . . Uncomfortable with the situation, THAD took a step backward. Jeffrey leaned in even closer. . . Then we heard him speak. (he rarely spoke) It was a soft, low “MAN-voice”. . . 

“Hey. . . Why don’t you back off THADEUS. . . Before I tell everyone why you’re not in 10th grade. . . Pee Wee. . . “

THAD, scared by the threat and visibly shaken by this blatant afront to his “manhood”, said nothing. . . He didn’t even look at us. He took one more step back, turned around and walked out of the locker room. . . never to return.

We all let Jeffrey go first the rest of the school year and waited for him to finish, before entering ourselves. . . It became an unwritten rule. . .
I don’t remember much more about that year of school. . . “Jeff” and I talked occasionally. He would tell me about Chicago and about “girls”. I guess you could say we became friends. I even began being picked a little higher in the draft for “Dodgeball”. . . But most of the the remnants of that year have melted with time. . . I remember a few years later my body caught up just like everyone else’s. But I remember thinking somehow a little of my innocence was gone. . . Jeffrey Harsh moved away after the school year was over. . . I think I heard he became a veterinarian in Alaska. . . I don’t know. . . I heard something about a “moose”
 . . . ba dum bump. . .

I played football for a couple of years in high school. But by and large I participated in NON-SHOWERING sports like Baseball, Golf and Tennis. . . I don’t like to sweat. . . EVER.

. . . In the beginning of this baseball season, I can’t help but ask pro athletes. . .  “What’s up with your nuts guys? Why are you always diggin’ and rootin’ around in there like you’ve got some sort of fungus?” Don’t get me wrong, It’s not just baseball. . . it’s not confined to the sports fields, arena’s and stadiums around the world. You see it every day. Guys hangin’ on for dear life or scratchin’ around down there like it’s on fire or like his junk is some sort of prized possession. (get over yourselves) 
MY JUNK NEVER NEEDS THAT MUCH ADJUSTMENT! (and I’m sure I’m not alone) Maybe because I paid attention to “the video” in 6th grade. . . and I “bathe”. . .

Let me tell ya’ something fella’s:

“They” ain’t goin’ anywhere. . . “It” ain’t goin’ anywhere. . . Take care of “your business” before you leave the house or at the very least, take care of it before you “stand up”. For the love of God, stop doing it when I’m trying to watch a game with my family. . . NOBODY needs to see that. . . Don’t make my kids ask. . . “Dad. . . Was that a ‘Hootenanny’?”. . . Thanks. . .

‘Til Then. . . Go Figg’r!

Peace Out. . . Later

D A N 

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I’m Going to Judge the “HELL” Out of You!

Posted in comedy, Entertainment, humor, satire, Uncategorized with tags on May 22, 2010 by danof89

. . . So who am “I” to judge you?. . . To be honest, I thought I’d “laid it out” for you pretty well. . . You really should’ve been paying more attention. Rather than repeat myself for the entire class, I’d like to meet with some of you after school for a “tutoring session”. It shouldn’t take too long. Just make sure you bring a sharpened #2 pencil. . . and some band-aids. . . This might get “messy”.

So what am I talking about. . . exactly? Well, it seems that I have outdone myself in the “Pissing People Off Department”. . . Go Figg’r! Last week, while the folks at FACEBBOOK and YouTube decided to go and get themselves banned from providing their internet services to the very good-natured and “always up for a laugh” population of Pakistan, a few members of a somewhat “intense” group of people in that area began scouring the internet – looking for other ways to “Get All Bunched Up” by people that didn’t share their “views”. I found MYSELF the recipient of several emails and comments about some of the “work” I do here at “Go Figg’r”. I have to say, I was fairly impressed that “little ol’ me” was capable of drawing the ire and ridicule of people I don’t even know. Usually, you have to know me for at least 5 minutes or more before I can elicit that much hatred. Initially, I was uncertain how I should respond to these “comments and suggestions”. Should I publish them? Should I notify my local law enforcement agency? Should I be worried? The fact of the matter is I WAS worried. . . but not about myself or my family. I was worried that “these people” didn’t seem to understand “WHAT I DO IS FUNNY”. You don’t have to AGREE with me. (few people do) You don’t have to LIKE me. (even fewer) But most importantly, YOU DON’T HAVE TO READ ME. . . (or kill me)

I thought it was important that I carefully gauge my response. . . I thought a “12 gauge” would probably do nicely. . .
 But that was a “knee jerk” reaction (which I assume means a “reflex” – unless it means I find one of these “jerks” and “knee them” in the nads) Violence doesn’t really solve anything. My new-found “Friends of a Different Faith” don’t seem to “get that”. . . for like THOUSANDS OF YEARS now, they don’t. I have a suggestion of my own. . . Some of you said that you were a “peace-loving” and “God-fearing” bunch. . . “not prone to violence”. Indeed, I know several NON-RADICAL members of the faith that are “cool”. I would like to believe that to be true for ALL of you. But you might have a LOT stronger case, if you weren’t “lopping people’s HEADS off”. . . and by threatening me, you aren’t accomplishing a whole lot. The mere fact that even your threats are required to have “veils”, does little in NOT perpetuating a negative stereotype. I’m afraid if you were trying to “prove a point” in the “words” you used – your point was lost. . . somewhere between the words “you” and “dead” or maybe it was between “pig” and “die”. . . no matter.
After a few more “messages” I decided that instead, I would offer up a carefully “measured” response. . . Unfortunately, this proved to be difficult. I am really uncertain what “unit of measure” is appropriate when describing the distance between “Me Being RIGHT” and “Them Being Dumbasses”. Is it “miles”?. . . “knots”?. . . Well, not unless the knot is the one used to cinch the rope around my neck. (according to the group that seems to find me SO DELIGHTFUL)

SO. . . In an effort to share my frustration, I chose to pick ONE of the “messages” I received this past week. Before I do that, I would like to explain that I have edited it. . . there were some “expletives” that made it inappropriate for my blog. (I like to keep it in the PG Rated Family – Which, again, is NOT the ABC FAMILY – they seem to be leaning towards a “Hard R”) Nevertheless, please find below one of the more “tame non-threatening suggestions” from this last week. It is “apparently” in reference to the “Easter Bit” that I offered last month. . . “apparently”. . .

Anonymous has left a new comment on your post “A Look at Easter. . .Yep, It’s Still There. . .“: Hi, for those of you who made that cartoon. I am an Islam follower. I don’t think what u have made seems right. It’s awful {word that rhymes with “Truck”}. For the God shake, Mohammed never sit on her bride’s shoulder. Her bride Aisyah who sat on his shoulder, not him. Dear Mother {“Trucker”} there, Our God : Allah will never regret ur decision not to be a muslim. And Prophet Mohammed never forced his people to believe his religion with that king of sword. There was no violence. The war was only for nonbelievers who against his people at that time.
I hope that God will bless u and forgive ur sin, U have to know that you have made sin to all people especially muslim around the world. 

. . . okay? . . . “Thank You?”. . . I am uncertain how to respond to this. . . But I’ll TRY. . . 
Let’s break it down point by point, okay? .

  1. I am not the creator of the “cartoon” in question. . . I merely thought it was hilarious. Especially when it got to the “punch line”. . . “Nuggets of Fowl”. . . that is some good stuff!
  2. I am HAPPY that you are a follower of Islam. . . Good for you!. . . I am a follower of Christianity. . . have a nice day!
  3. You don’t have to think what I “did” was right. . . in fact, I don’t even recall ASKING you
  4. Is it REALLY AWFUL? or just awful {word that rhymes with “Truck”}?
  5. Okay. . . you’re starting to lose me here, Punchy. . . It seems you may have used some sort of translator software to scribe this “gem”. . . “For the god shake?”. . . what does that mean, exactly? I don’t remember that verse from Sunday School . . . “created the heavens and earth” – sure – no brainer. Unless, you mean the NEW version of the Bible where it said, “God got ‘torked off’ and decided to ‘shake things up’ “
  6. As far as who sat on who’s shoulders?. . . I don’t care. . . not really interesting to me
  7. (another reference to “truckers”) Dear Mother Trucker there – have you ever seen “Ice Road Truckers?” It’s a pretty cool show. . . it might satisfy all of your {“trucking needs”}
  8. It appears that at this point you decide to let me know that Allah will NEVER regret my decision NOT to be of “your faith”. . . I was a little confused again. . . I’m NOT. . . your faith, I mean. . . so , yeah. . . uhm. . . was that “all”?
  9. OKAY, I haven’t brushed up on my Mohammed history lately, so I’m not even going to get into his “back story”. However, I DO seem to remember studying him in my “Religion and Sociology” class in college. . . and again, when writing my Thesis on “RELIGION IN THE MEDIA”. I will only say that I seem to recall several of “his scenes” being eerily reminiscent of the one found in “STAR WARS-EPISODE 3”, when Hayden Christensen’s character, Anakin Skywalker took it upon himself to “knock off” a village of “Sandpeople” singlehandedly – and later on decided it would behoove him to wipe out a class of “Young Jedi” at the “Jedi Training Preschool. . . what?. . . I’m a “Fanboy”. . .
  10. “THERE WAS NO VIOLENCE”. . . really? Then explain to me what the hell is going on in the Middle East EVERY DAY for as long as God (excuse me – Allah) knows when? That war “only against the nonbelievers”? Yeah Punchy, that’s still going on. . . Only this time. . . it’s getting a little “personal”. . . They’ve decided to bring it “home”. . . “MY home”. . . and a LOT of “YOURS”. . . GOD has forgiven me for my “sin” – thanks for your concern. But it had NOTHING to do with my “opinion”. . . I ONLY comment on what I “SEE”. . . As far as me sinning against “ALL PEOPLE, especially “your faith” world-wide”?. . . Ah, shucks. . . but I think you’re giving me too much credit.
. . . I’m a “bus driver”, Punchy. . . Oh, sure – I’m a brilliant writer and a terrific artist. I am a gifted comedic conversationalist. . . but what I think, doesn’t really affect the “WORLD”. . . Well, not yet. . . But I’m working on it. . .

. . . For the rest of you out there, I KNOW that I’ve said I rarely respond to comments given by people to my “BIT”– but I had to make an exception. . . or an “example” out of this chucklehead. . . and to the few that decided to let me know that I am nothing but a “Godless S***kicker”
 or tried desperately to put the “Fear of Allah” in me – I’m not going anywhere. . . no, seriously. . . I’m a “bus driver”. . . Nobody in HOLLYWOOD will return my calls (it says so every day at the top of my blog) So if you think you’re going to intimidate me. . . you’re WRONG. . . I only published ONE of the few “comments” because I don’t like validating anything that I find completely RETARDED. . . (unless it PAYS WELL) but I just wanted to send a message to those that think I don’t believe in the same GOD they do, that “I DO” . But I don’t really remember seeing a whole lot of “Protestant Uprisings” going on out there. Not a whole lot of “church folk” needing to KILL for what they believe in. . . You might be better off drawing a nice warm bath, lighting some candles and putting in a Jazz CD. . . You really NEED TO RELAX. . . if that doesn’t work, just pull the CD player into the tub with you and ELECTROCUTE yourselves. It might be the only “shocking” thing you can do that is “worthwhile”. . . 

‘Til Then. . . Go Figg’r!

Peace Out – Later

D A N     

P.S. I wanted to work on my book and some other stuff this week, but felt I needed to address my “detractors”. I will continue with the “LIST OF THINGS I CAN’T STAND ABOUT PEOPLE” soon. . . But somebody had to go and ruin it for the rest of the “class”. . . PEACE (no, really)    

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How Many Fingers Am I Holding Up?

Posted in comedy, Entertainment, humor, satire, Uncategorized with tags on May 17, 2010 by danof89
I’ll give you a hint. . . One. . . Okay, sometimes Two. . . But “which ones”? I find the problem lies in the fact that I ONLY have two “free ones” to aid me in “saluting” those that find a way, come hell or high water, to really mess things up for the rest of us during the course of any given day. It occured to me recently, that I am going on my third straight week of trying to be NICE. . . I am starting to get a little edgy. Any time that I focus on my “Children’s Book” or “Animated Film” pursuits, I tend to gravitate away from what is at the “root” of the majority of my humor. . . Sarcasm.
Please don’t get me wrong, I think there is plenty of room for sarcasm in ANY one of the many of my artistic endeavors. However, when I write for children (or people that can’t handle it when I use the ‘harsh-side’ of my brain) I tend to “tone it down” a couple notches. It’s actually quite remarkable that I am able to “dial it back”, when all I REALLY want to do is “let everyone have it”. You should be impressed with this ability (as I am sure you are). It’s a gift. . . But enough about me. . . I’m kidding. This is ALL about me. I would like to share something with you, so that you could better understand me. . . Let me start by saying, “I DON’T HATE EVERYONE or EVERYTHING”. (Wow, that felt pretty good ) I am also not even HALF this EGOTISICAL in “real life”. (That didn’t feel “half” as good)
The reason I felt the need to “purge” myself of some of these feelings is because I am about to “hunker down” and really throw myself into my “Children’s Book and/or Full Length Animated Feature Film” writing. There is a distinct possiblity that by doing this little “pet project”, I may appear, to some, to be a little bit “crass”. Those in the “industry” that I hope to be working with, one day soon, may (at some, imaginary point) READ something that I have written during the course of this “pet project” and thereby (unfairly and without justification) deem me “DIFFICULT TO WORK WITH”
I want to be like STEVEN HILLENBERG (Creator of SpongeBob) or STEPHEN SPIELBERG (Creator of a LOT of Money) But I CAN’T fail. . . I WON’T. . . To me, it is just inconceivable that I was BORN with this “talent”, so that I could DRIVE A SCHOOL BUS . (keep in mind, I won’t much longer if the “higher ups” read this and think I don’t consider my job, the TOPS) There are “plenty” of people out there that would be “eager” to have my job (scratch that – “A” job) Unfortunately (or fortunately) I am NOT “plenty of people”. . . I fully understand that HOLLYWOOD is filled with talented people that never “made it”. . . I truly feel “sorry” for them and wish them “all the best”. . . It can be difficult to draw unemployment or fake a disability claim. . . (Good Luck with that) .The POINT is, they aren’t “ME”. I grew up “knowing” that I was going to do something “BIG” 
. . . I’ve “worked” my whole life, knowing that it was “temporary”. (Especially, if my bosses read THIS) When I added a “family” to the mix, it became obvious that I was “working” for a REASON. . . It also crystalized in my mind, that NOW I needed to pursue my “DREAM” with a renewed vigor and zeal. No longer thinking “The Future is MINE” but realizing that NOW, “The Future is ‘OURS’ “. . . NO stupid, not YOU and me. My wife and kids and me. . . sorry, to get your hopes up. But the fact is you will ALL benefit, should my hopes and dreams be brought to fruition. Because, as much as I entertain my family and friend (yes, “friend” in the singular… and in actuality – my wife) I want to provide the WORLD with AS MUCH OF ME AS THEY CAN STOMACH. . . A bold endeavor, for sure, but if there’s anyone out there capable of filling the world with “THEM”. . . it’s “ME”. Sure, there are people out there who don’t “GET ME”. . . Even a couple (I believe they live in Missouri) that don’t even “LIKE ME”. . . but that’s. . . OKAY. Because I’m good enough. . . I’m smart enough. . . and dog-gone it (I really almost went for it there)  
What I REALLY wanted to let EVERYONE know, before I finally get my “BIG BREAK”, is that it couldn’t happen to a “Nicer Guy”. . . I’m sure you will all be pleased with the outcome. I hope to provide you and your families and friends with endless hours of entertainment and joy. I am NOT an “OGRE”. I DON’T “HATE” EVERYONE and EVERYTHING. I am REALLY easy to work with. Just ask anyone I’ve ever worked with. (on second thought, let me know who you’re going to ask and I’ll tell you what they were going to say. No sense in bothering them) THAT’S exactly how considerate I am with my coworkers. . .
You know something? (obviously, you don’t or you wouldn’t continue reading this crap) I REALLY wanted to show you just how much I “CARE” about people by making a LIST of “Things That I LOVE About People”. I put a LOT of thought into it. However, when I got to #2 on the list, I developed something that I have never before experienced in my LIFE. . . “Writer’s Block”. . . As a matter of fact, it put me into a really “foul mood”. . . I was actually starting to get a little worried. I went nearly TWO WEEKS without being able to come up with “anything” more for my “List”.Then – just yesterday, something happened that “inspired” me. During the course of my “working day“(the part of the day when I go out and actually earn “money” to support my family) I received a “GIFT”. I arrived at a school loading zone (remember, I am a school bus driver – not a predator). It was the second school pick-up and my last of the afternoon. I was sitting there waiting for the school to “release” the students to my custody so that I could deliver them to whoever cares about them. . . (I said I was in a “foul” mood) I sat there in the loading zone, facing the street, watching the people go by. Some driving by. Some waiting in cars to pick up their little “heathens”. (Oh yeah, I was LOVING life) At one point, I noticed a woman “jogging” with her dog on a leash across the street. The neighborhood I was picking the kids up in was in an area filled with “Prime Real Estate” (well, by Bakersfield’s Standards) Though, because of “redistricting” (bussing kids from poor areas to wealthy ones), a LOT of the kids that attend this school live in neighborhoods across the city – neighborhoods that the “Richies” in this one would scarcely think about driving through, let alone “look at”. (like mine)
Anyway, “Little Miss ALL THAT” was jogging pompously (you can do that, I SAW her) across a side street. I had “just” enough time to assess that I was repulsed by her very existence, when it happened. To my delight (and seemingly in ‘slow-motion’) she suddenly (and wonderfully, without warning) tripped over her own feet(clad in expensive ‘kicks’) and proceeded to do a “face plant” onto the sidewalk. I can only tell you the utter “joy” that consumed me at that precise moment was. . . Indescribable. She arrogantly peeled herself off the the sidewalk and rose to her feet (any ‘normal’ person would have laid on the ground writhing in agony – and indeed, if it HAD been a normal person, I might have felt a twinge of actually “giving a toss” – It was quite a “header”), while her dog looked at her as if to say, “You sure you’re up for this?” After a quick status check of her “podometer” and her requisite “vital sign arm band thingy”, she picked up the dog leash and gave her dog a tug (almost breaking its “well-dog-groomed” neck), her nose fully-engaged in “upward thrust” and was off on her merry little way again. (Apparently, no-less humiliated by the experience) There was even a parent sitting in the car next to the sidewalk she’d just used as a landing pad for her face, who took the time to “NOT LAUGH” and ask if she was okay (or comment on her form – I can’t read lips) She ignored his attention and trudged along. . .

I carefully monitored from across the street thinking, “I don’t care if you’re embarassed – acknowledge the guy’s existence! He didn’t laugh at you! He’s obviously the ‘Patron Saint of Sympathy’ !”

But she just “kept on -keepin’ on” like her feces didn’t retain its malodorous properties. . . At THAT moment, I knew my day was getting better. . .

“At least THAT wasn’t me,” I thought thankfully.

. . . Does that make me a “bad person”? Taking delight in the misfortune of others? . . . I don’t think so. . . Because those whose misfortune I revel in, tend to be on the “fortunate” side to begin with. So what if I didn’t know this “clumsy RICH jogger”?! I know her “type”
. . . So “I” have come to the realization that I am not EVIL. . . Do “You” still need some convincing? I’d love to help you out, but we’re still talking about “My” dilemma. Witnessing that clutz really isn’t what got my “creative juices” flowing again. . . but it got me thinking. . . Why do I have to be so nice, when the WORLD isn’t nice to ME?. . . Doesn’t really seem like a fair or equitable trade. I mean, I think I remember the “GOLDEN RULE” being of some sort of significance in my upbringing, but what could that POSSIBLY have to do with me at “this” stage of my life? The WORLD has already done its best to “Beat the Tar” out of me. . . Isn’t it only fair that I return the favor?. . . with “interest”? So, I decided that rather than knock myself out trying to come up with a “List of Things I LOVE About People”, I’d work on a “List of Things I TOLERATE About People”. . . This list netted 3 Items (none of which I will share with you at this point) It also “ate up” another entire week of my time (I REALLY tried to put some thought into it). But being the eternal optimist that I am (isn’t it obvious?) I had an “epiphany” (an overused word for an idea or realization – which, by the way, has not happened to ANYONE since the 1940’s) I decided that I would make a “List of Things I CAN’T STAND About People” and call it a day. . . But I couldn’t do that. . . WHY? Because there are WAY too many things for ONE LIST. . .

So. . . I’ve decided to start off with a FEW. . . and go from there. . . I will update the LIST when it appears some of you decide I haven’t thought of enough. . .
Things I CAN’T STAND About People (in “no particular order”, but “categorized” for Quick Reference)

  • The stupid “I Go ~ No, You Go Dance”  – This occurs when you find yourself traveling in one direction, then come across someone traveling from an “opposing” (not opposite) direction, trying to occupy the “same space” that you are at the “same time”. This occurrence is NOT limited to being in a car (at say, a 4 way stop) In fact, it happens to me quite often while walking in “ANY and “ALL PUBLIC PLACES”. (A GREAT example is the MALL – Which, is precisely #1 on my list of “WHY I HATE THE MALL”) You will be strolling along and see someone walking in your direction, with NO CLEAR sign that in a matter of seconds you will be staring awkwardly at each other’s feet, paralyzed like an idiot, because neither of you had “any idea” WHERE the other was walking; and NOW you’re at standstill until “someone” relents and says, “You First”. I personally REFUSE to engage in this idiotic “dance”. If I am in my car, I ALWAYS have the right of way. I will “look off” the other driver or consequently rip their bumper off with the grill of my car to let them know, “Oh, but I insist”. If I am “on foot”, all I really need to do is throw a “hip check” or “push them to the ground”. . . I hate to “dance”.
  • the ridiculous “Endless Goodbye”  – Tends to happen in “Overly-Occupied” locations. Say you are at an amusement park with your family. (If you were with mine, it would be weird) You are “Mindin’ Your Own”, buying your kids some over-priced Amusement Park-style Crap, when you feel a ‘tap’ on your shoulder. You turn to “take a swing”, until you realize that “right here“, a good “150 MILES AWAY” from your “place of business” stands a fellow “Co-worker” of yours. With his/her family in tow – all dressed much “nicer” than you and your family. After exchanging cursory pleasantries, you introduce them to your family, talk about meaningless ‘work-related nonsense’ – while your spouses “size each other up” – then stand and stare at the ground, trying to think of a way to get away from someone you “Hate at the office” – LET ALONE in a “Social Situation”. Finally, luckily, one of your kids harpoons one of your other kids in the eye with a “Silly Straw” or pees their pants. . . thus giving you “the opening” you need to get the hell away from this person. . . You say, “Goodbye, Nice Meeting You, We’ll Have to Get Together Sometime, See You at the Office. . . okay then. . . goodbye” (etc.) . . . So that’s it. . . Right?. . . NEVER!. . . Seeing how you “ran into” this person 5 minutes after the gate opened, you end up running into them 37 (possibly 82) more times, before you leave the park that day. . . “Hey, Guys! Great Park, huh? We’ll Have to Stop Meeting Like This! You Again?. . Ha! Ha! Oh Crap, Here They Come! Go This Way!” (etc.) When you have the misfortune of seeing the person at work, the following week, you have to “compare notes”, tell them how “great” it was to see them for a WEEK before you can go back to secretly “loathing” them.
  • the annoying “Take a Frickin’ Picture!”  Another “event” that can take place while you are in a vehicle or simply having a conversation with someone “Face-to-Face”. I haven’t decided which one irritates me MORE, but they both have a place in my “What is WRONG With You?” file. (which is apparently starting RIGHT NOW) I call it an “event” because the perpetrators of this particular activity seem to enjoy the practice of “Gawking” (Like they purchased tickets for “Looking at YOU” and they are “non-refundable”). It can even be subtle sometimes. . . Have you ever had a conversation with someone, that for whatever reason, becomes “fixated” on something other than “What You are Saying”? (Ladies, I don’t necessarily mean what you think) I am talking more about something obscure. . . Something, that you-yourself are unable to identify. Like. . . “your hair” or “your teeth”. They MAY even get “bizarre” with it and decide that they want to survey “your wardrobe” during the course of a “discussion”; NEVER seeming to take any interest in what you are saying. They seem like they are “taking in the BIGGER picture”. Usually after talking to someone like this, I run to the nearest available restroom to do a “nostril/teeth/fly” check. When I find that I wasn’t talking to them with a “side of beef”  wedged in my teeth, a booger hangin’ out of my nose or any “dangling participles”, I am usually even MORE bewildered. (and often, disappointed) WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?”, I’ll question myself. . . when, in all likelihood, the better question posed would be, “What was wrong with THEM?” – The other time that I notice this practice (though, they seem to have “perfected” it , with little-to-no “practice”) is when I am driving. Actually, when I am in my car, the first in line – “sitting” in a left-turn pocket at a STOP LIGHT. Since, I am waiting on my left turn signal to change (by LAW, I am not allowed the “right of way” – stupid rule) I have time to fidget with my radio, look up my nose in the rear-view mirror or anything else that suits my mood at the time. HOWEVER, I have noticed that when cars turning onto the street that I am waiting on pass in front of me, The driver of the vehicles (and sometimes the passengers) STARE at me as they turn. . . I KNOW that I am not the only one to have experienced this phenomenon. I am unsure sometimes if we have “met” at another intersection at some point or if they feel “slighted” because of my “devilish” good looks. . . whatever the reason, it drives me NUTS. Perhaps, they think that I am unexplicably going to stomp on the gas pedal, thus “screwing up their day” by killing them in a freak “Oops, I Didn’t See You There” accident. . . Believe me. . . I “see” you there. . . I just don’t make a “BIG DEAL” about it. . .
. . . SO? . . . SO. . . You can imagine my surprise (well TRY, for the sake of  ‘understanding my ramblings’) I was genuinely mortified when I thought I’d lost my “Creative MOJO”. In all my years of doing “artsy-fartsy” stuff, I had never experienced being a “Creative Cripple”. (I am sorry – become “Creatively Challenged”)
So how many fingers am I holding up? Well, that is actually debatable. How many have I “freed-up” in the last year, since I started writing “this thing“? (“pet projects” now seem more like installing new rain gutters or making shelves for a hall closet)
Let’s start with “Which Fingers Are Available?”
. . . I’d say that my “ring fingers” are already taken. I’m married, so that is my left ring finger (I have the right one on reserve, unless I lose the other one in an industrial accident) I typically use my “index fingers” for pointing out things that are WRONG with people, picking my nose and (of course) for “indexing” things. I have kids, so my “little fingers” are usually pretty well booked with “pinky swears”. I guess, I could use my “thumbs” to give everyone a good old “Thumbs Up” (or down – probably “down”But instead, I think I will hold onto them for when I need to occasionally “Thumb my Nose” at the occasional Societal Idiocracy, Ideology and Imperfection. . . In addition, it is also “widely recognized” that “thumbs” are not considered “fingers”. (and yes, I have begun researching who decided that, so I can “thumb my nose” at them) . . .Which leaves me with “2 digits”. . . I think you knew where this headed from the “Get Go”. . . Though “those 2 fingers” are reserved for no ONE in particular, they are “At the Ready – All the Time. . .
Though my “heart” will ALWAYS be with the pursuit of my DREAM to be a “Children’s Book Author and Illustrator”; and even though I will continue to do everything I can to “Take a Crack” at being the “NEXT BIG THING” in “Children’s Television & Film” – I will ALWAYS be “ME”. . . and I will always “Thank God I’m not YOU”. . . I very much DISLIKE the words “Rants” or “Observations” when referring to a “BLOG”. I don’t think that’s what “I” do. . . That is probably why I very rarely refer to “this” as a blog. A “Rant” has always seemed like “Complaining for NO Reason” and an “Observation” has always been something one does when they try to assess whether or not they have sufficiently blown their nose, by examining a kleenex or kerchief or if it’s going to take another swipe of T.P. after the “Thunder Down Under” (a reference to “commencing with the poo”).
 More often than not, there IS a point to my shenanigans. . . There is a REASON I think you need to “SEE what I SEE”. . . Maybe in time, you guys will finally “GET IT”. . . I’ll keep “Coughin’ Up the Good Stuff”. . . AND. . . I’ll add to my “LIST”. . . But every once in a while, I need to “Take Care of Some Business”. . . 

Thanks for reading. . .

‘Til Then. . . Go Figg’r!

Peace Out – Later

D A N  

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The Fly By Knights – I’ve got it “ROUGH”

Posted in comedy, Entertainment, humor, satire, Uncategorized with tags on May 8, 2010 by danof89

Hey Guys. . . I’ve been busy over the past couple of weeks. I’ve been trying to get the New Site up and running. However, I wanted to take this opportunity to share a “rough” of the first few chapters of the Children’s Book (and Hopefully FILM) I have been working on, of late. . . I understand that this is a departure from what most of you have grown accustomed to with my usually “Snarky Bits”. . . But, I just wanted to get it out there. . . To be HONEST, I have been getting jerked around by a “Publishing Company” (I SO needed an agent) for the last couple months and thought rather than GIVE them my idea, I figured, I’d share it with you. Feel free to share any comments or critiques. . . If this ends up meaning I don’t get the idea published – at least someone saw it. . . Let me know if you think I need to keep going with this thing (at the very least – take the unscientific poll in the right sidebar – the results aren’t going to make much of a difference, but it will be “fun”). . . I will be back after Mother’s Day with a Brand New and relatively amusing “Bit”. . .

‘Til Then. . . Go Figg’r!. . .

Peace Out – Later


The Fly-By Knights – Story and Illustrations by Dan L Freeburg 


“The Fly-By Knights” There’s a small orange orchard nestled in a far-off corner of Northwest Florida. The farm is inhabited by a rag-tag motley collection of birds. These classic-underachievers all aspire to bigger and better things. They are sub-contracted by a parcel delivery service, headed by a stern and underhanded Eagle,named “Sal”, and his 2 “Crow-nies” (crows – “Ace and Deuce”). Our beleaguered bunch use the orchard’s converted crop duster (at night) to make deliveries. Short local runs around the Southeast. Sal decides to “downsize” and pulls their contract, calling them a “fly-by night” operation and leaving them jobless. Because of the competition from bigger companies all seems lost for our friends. Delivery comes to a halt and their base of operations (the orchard’s hangar) is stripped (by Sal and the crows) of all packages, SAVE ONE. Left behind, among the old orange crates, is found a package marked “TOP SECRET”. Its address. . .the White House. Thinking this their last chance to save their business, our crew decides to make the special delivery themselves. They must fly their broken down plane,against the odds. A rough Everglades, an impending Hurricane, a meddling former-boss Sal, who puts them in further peril when he notifies the military and the President of an “unauthorized” plane heading for Washington. Not wanting to look like he dropped the ball, by non-delivery, Sal makes it look like the crop duster has less than good intentions. The military scrambles to send fighters to intercept the plane. The nation is put on “lock down”. Unbeknownst to anyone involved up until now, there are other problems beginning to take shape. In the waters off the east coast of the United States. A small submarine controlled by a Rogue Evil Commander (Abidab Ahdoo) and his crew have been sitting and waiting with plans of his own for our nation’s capitol. He’s also been watching the drama of our heroes playing out via the internet. Thinking this the “perfect” diversion, the Evil Commander decides it would also be his best opportunity to carry out a diabolical attack. The nation watches as our heroes unwittingly become news on every major syndicate. The nation watching spellbound. Because of faulty communication equipment aboard the old, small plane, the pilots mistakes the fighters jettisoned to stop them, as a convoy meant to escort them personally. Just then, the Evil Commander decides to seize this opportunity to begin an attack. . .”Feathers Fly”. Outsmarting everyone,”accidentally” thwarting the Rogue Commander’s plans and with some nifty flying-the Knights make the delivery. The Commander and his crew are captured. Sal is exposed and fired, the country is safe and the President receives the package. . . postmarked for last Christmas.(It’s July). He opens it to find his Grandmother’s Homemade Fruitcake. Oh yeah, so impressed by their bravery, grit and determination, the President names the Knights the new “Ministers of Defense”. . . 

Chapter 1 – The Man and the Moon

A full moon shone through the window as a heavy rain poured outside. . . The man, seated in a large leather swivel chair, sat back and watched the rain patter against the pane. The man’s eyes fixed on the moon as he sat in the stillness of the early morning. Save for the occasional crackles of thunder in the distance, all was quiet. . . too quiet. Occasionally the wind would gust. The branches of a large tree, standing outside the second-story window, would brush against the glass and temporarily cause him to break his stare from the moon. How large, it had seemed to him. How large and distant. He briefly thought back to the days of his youth. How he, as a boy, would stay up for hours with the telescope he’d gotten for his 10th Christmas and look at the moon and the stars. He’d wanted to be an Astronaut. . . a Space Explorer. He chuckled to himself at his boyhood ambitions. When you’re young, you think you can do “anything”. Just then, the phone on the desk he sat next to began to ring. He reached for the receiver, noting the time on the clock sitting next to the phone. . . 2:00 AM. 
“Yes?” he answered. . . “I see. . . thank you for the information General. . . give me a few minutes”.
He hung up the phone and stood to again catch another glimpse of the moon through the window. A large cloud had started to form and moved in front of it, seemingly “stealing away” some of the its light. He sighed. Sometimes, he thought, he’d wished he had become an Astronaut. A lone silhouette had quietly crept into the doorway of the room, as he watched the moon, now almost completely sheltered from view.
“What are we going to do, Sir?” the silhouette asked, turning on a corner lamp so that he could see her.
The man, turned to her slowly and smiled reassuringly, “I wish I knew”.
“Step up the Alert, Sir?” she asked.
“For now,” he replied, “We’ll go over all of it at the briefing in an hour.”
“And the Press?” 
“They’ll know before we do,” he answered.
“Yes, Sir – I suppose they will. . . Thank you, Mr. President,” the woman said, starting out of the door.
“You ever want to be something else when you grew up, ?” he asked, stopping her momentarily.
“Excuse me Sir?” the woman asked, unsure what he meant.
“When you were a kid, I mean. Was there something you wanted to BE?”

After a moment, the woman replied, “I’m not sure I can answer that, Sir”.
“C’mon Trish, how long have we known each other?” he offered; setting her at ease.
She smiled knowingly, “I wanted to be President. . . Sir.”
“That’s what I thought,” he said teasingly as he slowly eased himself back into his chair and exhaled. “I wanted to be an Astronaut, did you know that?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir – I think you may have mentioned something like that before. I’ll prepare the Press-Room,” she walked to the lamp and turned it back down, “I’ll see you down there.”
The president again sat alone, in the dark, and looked at the clock on his desk. . . 2:15 AM. . . “Too early for this sort of thing,” he thought. It seems that the General who’d interrupted his “lunar musings” a few moments earlier had very good reason to. There had been another “Threat” to the United State’s National Security in the “wee-hours” of the morning. He was “sure” that it was like all the others that had been issued over the past several years. It would be talked about on Television and in the News for a few weeks and then. . . inexplicably, would disappear from the Nation’s consciousness. . . just as quickly as it had arrived. But he knew THAT kind of thinking could be dangerous. Just when everyone thought things were going to be okay, well, that’s when there could be “trouble”. . . for “real”. He reached for the red phone on his desk and pushed a single number and held it to his ear.
“Step up the alert,” he stated to whomever was on the other end. . .
He again moved his chair around to face the window. It sounded like the rain had let up a little bit. The clouds that had covered the moon just moments ago, had dissolved and moved on through the night sky. He could again see the moon. A few stars also joining in to make the sky seem especially bright and clear. His chair made a muffled creaking noise, as he sat back and pondered his boyhood dreams, one last time. How small the moon now seemed. So small and so distant. . . “I should’ve been an Astronaut,” he thought to himself. . .

Chapter 2 – “This is a Tough Room”

The room was bustling and noisy. Several reporters and camera persons had already filed into the Press Room. Having received the call from their “close sources”, well before they received official word from the White House, that the president was expected to deliver a message concerning the nation’s newest “mounting crisis”. A handful of reporters, trusty press passes on lanyards around their necks, waited for the president to make his entrance. The reporters going over the notes, containing questions they hoped they would be able to ask the leader of the country. Camera persons steadying their equipment on tripods, trying to ensure that they would get the best possible angle of the president, when those “tough” questions were asked. Then the announcement:

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the United States”, flashbulbs going off and the low hum of video equipment being turned on, filled the room. Everyone’s attention drew towards the door from which the president entered. He walked in solemnly, and with deliberation, headed directly towards his spot at the podium. He looked quite different than he had, hours earlier sitting in the chair in his office, pondering the night sky and  the promise it had held for him as a boy. Several reporters started barking questions at him, before he even had a chance to settle in. Pausing, only briefly to let out a resigned sigh, he approached the bouquet of microphones before him. . . 

“I received a call earlier this morning from General Sampson overseeing the involvement of our troops abroad”. The room filled with reporters and press people beginning to buzz, like a small swarm of bees. He continued, “It was brought to my attention that a group of soldiers, under the direct supervision of the General, had intercepted a small band of enemy soldiers bound for a remote mining village in the Pugor Province.” (Cameras flashing, the reporters voices starting to grow from whispers to nearly full volume) “It is my understanding that these enemy soldiers were transporting weapons to their allies across the border in a neighboring demilitarized zone. . .”
“These soldiers were captured and taken prisoner with minimal gunfire and have been detained for questioning. However, I think it is important to note that among the belongings recovered by our troops were detailed plans for a large military strike to be carried out against our allies and the people of these United States.”
“While these prisoners are being held, EVERY effort will be made to obtain whatever further information is necessary to ensure that these plots can not be carried out. I believe that whatever information is ascertained by the General’s soldiers will be of great benefit in thwarting the enemies attempts to scare or intimidate us as a Nation.” The room was now at a fever pitch. Reporters clammering over one another, jockeying for position. One that would give them the best opportunity to gain the president’s attention.

“I will take a few questions,” said the president, his eyes scouring the room for a friendly face. 

“Yes, Rusty?” he said, settling for a familiar one instead.
“Thank You Mr. President. With the National Security Threat Level raised again for the 3rd time in 8 months, ‘several’ are questioning your commitment to our country’s well-being. . . How do you respond to that?”
The chatter-turned-barking in the room was now deafening. Reporters practically stumbling over themselves, as if they didn’t get within arm’s reach, they might not hear his answer. 
“Well Rusty, I’d have to ask WHO these ‘several’ folks are?” a little annoyed by the question, “Is it YOU Rusty?” the reporter shrugging it off, “How about YOU, Jillian?” as the female reporter quickly shook her head in embarrassment. “Bill, did you want in on this?” as Bill, obviously did NOT, evidenced by the reporter immediately taking his seat in a folding chair amongst the gaggle of reporters left standing. 
“I’d say by raising the alert level, we are doing our job. I’m positive the General and his troops did theirs. We are letting our nation and the world know that we will not stand down to veiled threats or threats of any kind.” the crowd of reporters quieting a little, but only momentarily. Soon they were begging again to be called on, some yelling the questions and interrupting one another. Never being one to like “rude people”, the president rarely called on these guys. . .

“Yes, Jessie,” he called out to a young reporter he remembered from the campaign trail.
“Thank you, Mr. President,” pleased with himself for being recognized, “Sir, many are asking if we aren’t ‘jumping the gun’, that is to say,  There have been no incidents in nearly 10 years. Aren’t we just playing the ‘Boy Who Cried Wolf’?” 
“Jessie,” quickly re-categorizing this reporter into the “rude people” column,”I must not be a privy to ‘you fella’s’ information. In fact, I think that’s the first of anything like that I’ve heard. What was that you said about a ‘Gun’?” the reporter taking his seat next to Bill as the president pressed on, “We don’t ‘Play’ in this White House. . . unless it is with my children,” the room laughing nervously, “There is no ‘Playing’ in this administration when it comes to National Security. . . But there IS a Wolf. . . and we are doing our best to safeguard the nation.”

“So does that make us a Chicken Coop?” blurted Jillian, (Of Rusty, Jillian and Bill fame) and immediately upon asking, began to take her seat next to the rest.
“Woah there! Jillian,” said the president, “Don’t sit down so quickly. You were just getting interesting. What did you mean by that?”
She reluctantly rose from her seat next to her bested colleagues, “Sir, I just meant that because of the recent reductions in defense spending and declining numbers of those enlisting in the Armed Forces. . . Well sir, some think we don’t CARE anymore. That maybe we have forgotten what it is we are scared OF. I just ask – if the threat is still REAL. . . then who’s out there protecting us?”

Pausing for a moment, to take the question in, the president replied, “That’s a good question, Jill. . . But, let me assure you that we take EVERY threat as a REAL threat and let me go on to ensure our great nation and the World, that we have OUR VERY BEST on the job. . . “

Chapter 3 – The Chicken Coop 

The bright early morning sunrise rose to greet the crystal blue summer sky. A few white wispy clouds drifting lazily on the horizon. The sounds of crickets chirping in unison, then fading, then chirping again. It was warm, but not too warm. A light breeze blew through the trees of a small orange grove. Beside the grove stood an old barn, at least it looked like a barn – save the large over-sized air sock perched atop its facade. Painted in large, red letters above the door was a sign. It read: “Lendell Fester Farms”. Below it, in much smaller letters was an addition in a different shade of red and not quite as neatly scribed, that said: ” . . . & Knight’s Airborne Delivery Service. A low hum, echoed in the background then began to grow louder. . . and closer. . . An old dilapidated water tower barely stood next to the barn now turned “hangar”. On the narrow walkway someone stood, looking to the horizon with a pair of binoculars. Trying to spot where the noise was coming from. Suddenly she caught the plane in her sights. Then she noticed something, no “someone” hanging from the bottom. “THUMP. . . thu. . . thu. . . THUMP!” Two Big Orange Webbed-feet struck the tops of the orange trees, dangling just inches from the treetops. 

“Dag Nab it!” THUMP. . . thu. . .thu. . . THUMP! “OUCH!” A small biplane skimmed the tops of the trees over the orchard, carrying underneath its landing gear, a reluctant passenger. An ANGRY, reluctant passenger who desperately wanted to be anywhere else at that precise moment in time. “Put it DOWN!” cried the terrified (for a platypus) platypus hanging from the plane’s underside. “Larry! Put it down NOW!” The pilot of the aircraft, a unphased (for a pigeon) pigeon, seemed oblivious to his passenger’s plight, unaware of his friend’s screams. . . or perhaps unsympathetic to his dilemma. “These instruments are all wrong,” the pilot said to himself, in an accent reminiscent of an English stage actor (a BAD one), “If I weren’t so humble, I might find another flying organization to align myself with. One more deserving of my expertise”. 
“Larry! Put the plane DOWN,” the voice from the pilot’s headset sternly instructed.
“No, need to get snippy Gail,” he said to the girl on the water tower, “I can handle this one. I just zigged, when I should have zagged. No problems here.”
The plane began to sputter and stall, drifting wildly from right to left. The wings of the biplane rocked up and down. Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, the plane rocketed upward, jerking the pilot back in his seat as he found himself staring straight into the heavens. The plane blasting straight into the sky – as if it had been shot out of a cannon. The Platy-passenger beginning to lose his grip as gravity and the speed of the plane, began to work against him. 
“Oh, dear,” mused Larry, “This is new!” trying to regain his bearings, without letting on that he was.
“Level it out!”, he heard from his headset. He eased up on the wheel and he gained a little bit more control. He started to circle and descend, preparing to land. 
“Woah, woah, woah!” he heard from under the plane, “What do you think you’re DOING?”
 He tried to look under the plane, but only saw a pair of big orange feet. However, towards the earth below, he could see a few “dots” scurrying about on the ground. He assumed his friends in preparation for a “triumphant landing”. 
“Righty then,” he proclaimed, taking a moment to choke down a much needed swallow, “I’d say it’s about time to put this bird down.”
“Ya’ THINK?”, he heard the voice from under the plane, frantically and sarcastically ask.

“Not YOU,” yelled Larry, “I wouldn’t put YOU down, dear boy!”

“I’m. . . NOT. . . a. . . BIRD!” managed the platypus, holding on for dear life.
“Apples and Oranges,” replied Larry, “ORANGES? . . . Get It?” . . . the platypus tightened his grip on the landing gear. He wanted to make it through this disaster alive, so he could KILL him.
Below them, the “ground crew” prepared for an Emergency Landing. Gail, a golden and “well-kept” (for a chicken) chicken, had now joined the rest of the group from her “Bird’s Eye” view at the “Control Tower” – a beaten up water tower, near the hangar. Karl, a hungry (for a buzzard) buzzard and Dwight, a plucky (for a duck) duck also stood below, looking around for anything that might help their buddies get out of this mess.
“Is there anything we should DO?”, asked Gail.
Looking around, Dwight spotted a tractor and some hay in a horse pen nearest the hangar. “I’ve got an idea,” he said, “When I give the word, Just tell him to buzz the hangar.”
“WHAT?”, cried Gail and Karl together.
“Just do it!” He said, “I saw this on Most Amazing Videos and Plane Crashes once”. Then Dwight scurried (as ducks don’t run) over to the tractor, hopped on the driver’s seat and started it up. The engine roared to life as he quickly began moving the hay around into a large pile.
Karl, slowly began to creep away from Gail towards the hangar. “Where do you think YOU’RE going Karl?” Trying to hide a knife and fork he was holding behind his back, he coyly looked at her, “You know they’re my friends, right?”
“Yes, Karl,” she replied, not wanting to really know where this was going, “Where did you GET those?”
“And sometimes, accidents happen, right?”, he ignored her, “Like, sometimes those in trouble don’t always ‘Make It’?”, he asked, taking out a kerchief and tying it around his neck as a makeshift bib.
“KARL!” she screamed disgustedly, “You need HELP!”
“Okay, Okay,” said Karl, “Mom, just always said to be prepared for an emergency.”
“That’s NOT what she meant, Karl,” Gail snapped, looking at him with the shame reserved for his “disgusting moments”.
“I’m a Buzzard, Gail, ya’ know? Emmerrrrggencccies?”, now tucking away his dining utensils.
“Then wear clean underwear Karl,” said Gail sharply, “. . . and your mom was a vegetarian!”
“Rest her soul,” said Karl. Gail shooting him a suspicious glance, as he looked to the plane in the sky. 
“What?”, she asked.
“Oh, nothin’ “, said Karl, “Hey. . . I think they’ll be okay”, pointing to the distressed plane as it circled above, trying to rid himself of Gail’s “evil eye”. 

From inside the hangar, a clanging noise sounded. Like someone was knocking together pots and pans. Karl, hearing this started towards the sound with curiosity and more than his fair share of hunger pangs. “Where are you going NOW?”, Gail called after him. “I’m just wonderin’ who’s rustlin’ up some grub!”, he replied, as he headed towards the noise. Through with his nonsense, Gail directed her attention towards her friends in the sky. “Are you ready!”, she hollered over to Dwight, who was finishing moving the hay into place. “Almost!” he yelled, “Tell Larry to go ahead and buzz the hangar! But NOT to hit it! When he gets to it, tell Shredder to JUMP!” Gail looked at Dwight incredulously, “Are you SERIOUS?!”, she asked. “Just tell Shredder to aim for the haystack!” Dwight had seen Karl running into the barn and wondered what “else” was going on. The banging and clanging stopped, a pig suddenly squealed and ran from the barn, looking back over its shoulder in anger. Bouncing out from the hangar’s large door (not so much bouncing, as bumbling and stumbling) nearly knocking over Karl, came a bright pink (for a flamingo) flamingo carrying a LARGE bucket filled with water. He loped clumsily towards Dwight spilling most of the water along the way and yelling, “I got an idea boss!” 
“You gonna’ put out the fire?” Karl asked, following behind him.
“Nah,” he answered, “Shredder can JUMP into this!”
“Oh, Brother,” responded Dwight, “Never mind that! Get over here and give me a hand!”
Gail, figuring this was as good a time as any, spoke into her headset, “Okay, Larry! Dwight says you need to buzz the hangar. Get as close as you can to the horse pen. . . and LOW! When you’re comin’ up on it, tell Shredder to jump!”
“Larry!. . . Larry, can you hear me?” she asked, worried that there was something wrong with their equipment, “Larry?!”
“Ha, ha, ha,” she heard him bellow through her earphone, “THAT’S your PLAN?”
“Larry, just DO IT”, she scolded, “Dwight says he’s seen this done before. It’ll work!”
Suddenly, the plane began to sputter again. Larry glanced down at the instrument panel and noticed something he hadn’t before. . . the fuel gauge. . . and it read EMPTY. “Gail, my pet?”, he said looking over the side of the plane, making sure he could still see the big orange feet, “I hope he saw this WORK! . . . I’m coming in!” Black exhaust began to chug from both engines as the plane began to stall and shift violently from its holding pattern. “What’s going on up there?” yelped Shredder, swaying back and forth. “Nothing to worry about, I assure you. . . are you SURE you’re not a BIRD?” Larry asked. Lining the plane up with the hangar, Larry began a descent. A little faster and less steady than he might have liked. “WHAT?”, cried Shredder, noticing their altered flight path and his friends, scrambling around in the rapidly approaching distance. “When we get over the haystack, JUMP, my friend!” exclaimed Larry. They were closing the distance. . . fast. The ground below growing closer beneath them and the smoke from the propeller engines now billowing and gasping, the wings rocking back and forth. Larry putting his flight goggles down to shield his eyes, prepared for impact, “Oh, dear!”, he said. As the plane approached, everyone knew it wasn’t going to land gracefully. Scattering to the side,to avoid being landed on, Dwight jumped over the pen’s fence. Karl followed suit. Leaving the flamingo standing directly in the path of the oncoming plane. . . frozen in place. Gail watched from a safe distance, as the plane swooped from the sky, heading straight for her friend. . . and his bucket. “DUCK!” she yelled to the bird, “DUCK PACO! DUCK!” The flamingo didn’t move, holding his bucket firmly as the plane made a beeline for the hangar. 500 feet . . . dropping. . . 400 feet . . . falling . . . 300, 200. . . Larry, still trying his best to guide the plane, now decided it was best if he closed his eyes. Below him, Shredder saw the haystack now coming on fast and decided to close his eyes too. Paco, stood his ground and felt the air from those big orange feet whiz by his head and over the pen. Shredder yelling, “AAAAHHHHH!” Larry, bracing himself. . . and . . . .”BAM!”

Smoke and dust filled the air. Feathers from the many chicken cages lining the walls inside the hangar filled the sky. Dwight, Gail and Karl all picked themselves up from the ground where they had taken cover. They all looked towards the hangar. At first unable to see anything for the dirt and smoke. Then it began to settle. They all looked at each other and were afraid to look back at the barn, for fear of what they might see. Then they heard something. “Very Nice!”, they heard, now able to make out the tail of the plane sticking out from a very large hole in the side of the hangar. It was Larry. “Very Nice indeed! Wow! That was TERRIFIC!”, they heard him coughing. Then they saw him emerge from the door to the hangar, brushing himself off as he walked towards them. “Did you SEE that? I nearly missed the building altogether”, shaking his head in feigned disbelief, “If ‘I’ hadn’t done it myself, I’d say that was nothing short of Brilliant!” 
“Where’s Shredder?”, asked Dwight abruptly shrugging off his cocky friend, “Is he okay?”
“Shredder?” asked Larry, “Oh yes, I think you may want to locate that one.”
The threesome followed Dwight around the corner and there they saw them, sticking out from a decimated haystack . . Two Big Orange Webbed-feet. . . moving. Slowly sitting up spitting bits of hay from his bill, Shredder cleared his throat. He was intact. . . intact and UPSET. He dusted himself off and slowly got to his webbed-feet. He was battered and sore; and whispering angrily underneath his breath. Looking at Larry, he said, “JUMP? Are you MENTAL?” 
“It was Dwight’s idea, my dear boy. If you should blame anyone for your misfortune it should be your pint-sized cousin.”
“Zip it Larry! We’re NOT related!”, said Dwight elbowing past Karl towards the pigeon.
“I’m. . .NOT a BIRD!”, said Shredder standing at Dwight’s side.
“Well, I think that goes without saying after THAT performance,” Larry replied.
“Why, I oughta’. . . You nearly KILLED me!” said Shredder trying to push through Dwight’s minimal arm restraint.
“And it seems as if you NEARLY repaired the intake manifold. Good thing you finished the landing gear”.
“Finished it?. . . I was working on it when you TOOK OFF!” 
“Guys, guys! Knock it off, I think there something wrong with Paco,” said Gail motioning to their flamingo companion.
There, standing in the center of the horse pen, bucket in hand, was Paco. . . staring at them vacantly, mumbling to himself. . . “I got a bucket,” said Paco, “. . . I got a bucket”. 
Gail, concerned for her friend, walked over and waved her hands before his glazed-over eyes. “Paco, are you okay darlin’? . . . Paco?”
They joined her in front of the flamingo and took turns trying to get his attention. Nothing seemed to work. 
He just kept staring straight ahead, visibly shaken by his “close call” saying, “I got a bucket. . I got a bucket. . . “
After a couple of minutes of this Dwight, grew visibly frustrated and grabbed the bucket of water from his hands, hoisted it above his taller friend and turned it over, drenching the flamingo. Paco, shaken free from his trance-like state, looked at his friend.
“Are we good here?”, inquired Dwight.
The newly-alert and very wet Paco shook his feathered brow. Snapping out of it, he answered, “Oh. . . Hey Dwight!. . . You got a bucket. . . did it WORK?”
“Worked great, buddy,” Dwight lied. 
Then the bunch, having just narrowly escaped disaster, turned together to survey the damage.
“If you folks will excuse me,” said Larry, “I think there’s somewhere ELSE I need to be. . . Oh yes! Now I remember!. . .May I borrow someone’s cellular phone?”
“Zip it Larry!”, said Dwight, “. . .We’ve got some cleanin’ to do”.
“Are you SURE, you two aren’t related?”, Larry said, motioning towards Shredder. . .

Chapter 4 – The Hammer Falls

It was late in the afternoon. The team had spent most of the day using the tractor to carefully pull down the side of the barn and extract the plane from the large hole it created when Larry “landed it”. It wasn’t easy. The front end of the plane had seen a lot of damage. But when they finally got the plane out, Shredder (the mechanic of the bunch) was shocked at how few repairs it would take to get the “bird” up and flying again. The plane itself was a mess, beaten up and old. But as far as he was concerned, it was “Air Force One”. He’d spent a lot of time keeping that old plane running. After all, they had a job to do. . . 
“How’s the plane look, pal?”, asked Dwight walking up to Shredder who was tinkering with a propeller.
“Just a couple rolls of duct tape and a couple spot welds oughta’ do it,” he replied, turning a wrench in one of the prop engines compartments.
“And you?. . . How you doin’?”, asked Dwight, noticing Shredder’s tattered and dirty overalls.
“I’m cool Cuz,” he replied, “It’s all good, but you REALLY need to talk to Larry. He’s gonna’ kill one of us one of these days. . . or himself.”
They looked at each other and shrugged, laughing.
“I KNEW it,” Larry chuckled, as he strode towards them confident and beaming, “You two ARE cousins!”

They turned towards him, looked at each other. Dwight rolled his eyes and spoke, “Larry. . . give it a rest.”

“Right then,” he said, “No matter. I thought I felt my ears burning. Were you chaps getting my flight plan ready for this evening?”

“YOUR flight plan?”, Dwight yelped, “That’s rich! It’s MY turn in the rotation Larry. . .MY night to fly. . . and you don’t even HAVE ears”

“Yeah,” Shredder added, “and if it wasn’t for me,” turning back to his work, “well. . . you’re lucky to be flyin’ anything oughta’ here tonight”.
Larry continued on as if they hadn’t said anything of any importance, “Someone needs to get Gail in here. As I recall, I was given a ‘short run’ last night. I hardly call that a mission!. . . and I HAVE ears, you just can’t SEE them”

“Mission?”, Dwight scoffed, “We’re a Delivery Service Larry! …And your ‘short run’ practically took all night! You got lost… again!”
“Lost?”, challenged Larry, “I assure you, I followed the flight plan I was given by your girlfriend, to a tee!”

“She’s not my. . . ” 
“What’s going on guys?”, Gail said strolling up and surprising them, “Are you at it again?”

“Speak of the temptress,” cooed Larry, “I was just informing these boys that the flight plan you furnished me with last evening was impeccably conceived.”

“It’s NOT a flight plan Larry,” corrected Dwight, “It’s a ‘list of addresses‘ “. You drop the packages at the addresses. Then you LEAVE.”
“You make it sound so demeaning lad,” Larry countered, “Parcel delivery is a time-sensitive operation!”
“And you got LOST. . . again! Who ever heard of a “homing pigeon” with NO sense of direction?” asked Dwight, not so much asking as declaring.
“Boys, please!”, Gail crossed her arms, having heard enough, “Is the plane ready Shredder?”
“I could use a hammer,” he replied looking back at the plane.
“A hammer?”, she asked?
“Yeah, I need to knock some sense into these two!”, he said shaking his head.

Dwight looked at Larry, “It’s MY night,” he whispered.

“Mine.” countered Larry.
Gail looked at the two and shook her head. She looked towards Shredder and smiled, “Let’s find you a hammer.” . . . 

(To Be Continued?. . .)

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Thinking on My Feet, Without Stepping on Your Toes

Posted in comedy, Entertainment, humor, satire, Uncategorized with tags on April 25, 2010 by danof89

In a Sea filled with IDIOTS, I am an island alone. . . Where everyone gets stranded. . . trying to figure out how to drink their own pee. . .  
In my estimation we have become a society of “Hypocritical Wussies”. . . or is it “Hyper-Critical Windbags”? At this point, I am not really feeling too awfully bad about where I “fit” in all of this. Let me tell you why . . . and isn’t that what we’re all here for? (I know I can’t wait to see where I’m going with this) I’d just like to know how a society that, from outward appearances, seems to be so calloused – can have such a “thin skin”? EVERYONE is a “Victim”. We ALL seem to be bitching and complaining about SOMETHING. . . But “Heaven Forbid” someone bitches or complains about “YOU”. . . “Our Society” doesn’t have a whole lot of “room to talk”.
We are a SOCIETY of IDIOTS. . .
For someone who writes these little “bits”, voicing more than its OWN fair share of complaints, it may seem as if I, myself, have little “room to talk”. (That is why I “write”- I need far less room and am quite a bit less demonstrative) But I “notice” things some of you don’t. Or maybe you DO notice them, but have a hard time verbalizing your disgust. Or maybe you CAN verbalize it, but you get pigeon-holed into a “category” as a “trouble-maker”, “busy-body” or just someone who likes to hear themselves “TALK”. . . You see, “I” can live with that. . . Though, I don’t like the sound of my voice. I sound a lot like Ben Stein and
“Urkel” had a kid. . . with a deviated septum. . .
As a humorist (one who “notices humorous things”, notes them, then relays that information to others, so that they can laugh so hard that they could quite possibly blow a “snot bubble”; thus enhancing the “humor enjoyment” for those not necessarily targeted with the initial “Humor Offensive” – unless they found themselves sitting within “snot shot” and suffered “collateral moisture”)
“HUMOR OFFENSIVE” ~ as defined in the Danof89 Dictionary of Verbal Sock-Puppetry:
 ~ When laughter is derived from an unsuspecting “victim” through coercion, tactical deception or an occasional “fart joke”. Not to be confused with OFFENSIVE HUMOR.
The word OFFENSIVE, on its own means, to be “Disagreeable to the Senses” and THAT, my friends (and people I don’t know) is what is at the heart of this week’s offering. (For the record, A humorist, is what I am calling myself this week. It is subject to change at any time without warning. In fact, I think for the remainder of the bit, I want to be known as ‘Olof’. . .thank you) I sometimes like to “key in” on things that I think are “Social Deficiencies”. Areas that WE (meaning YOU) really need to “work on” before we (again, you) should even consider “Holding Hands” with OTHER SOCIETIES. Let alone ask to take one of them to the “Spring Formal”

If our society even attempted to “pin a corsage” on say, “SWEDEN”, Sweden’s dad would probably step in and say,
“Let’s save a little something for the Wedding Night, Okay there, Sporto?”
. . . Only he would say it in Swedish. . . Now that I think about it, Sweden’s dad probably wouldn’t say that at all. . . Sweden’s dad probably would’ve “weeded us out”, in the “courtin’ process”, while showing us its extensive “gun collection” or asking us to come over on a Saturday afternoon and help rebuild a VOLVO engine in their driveway. . .

“So what are your intentions for my girl?”, Sweden’s father would say, cleaning a rifle while making you hold the end of the barrel to your forehead. . .
“I notice you and my baby have been seeing quite a bit of each other lately. . . Are you planning on getting a ‘real job’ anytime soon?”, wiping the engine grease from his hands with an old ABBA t-shirt, “. . . Can you hand me a 3/8’s drive and another quart of Quaker State?”

If my analogy of ‘Our Society’ as a horny teenager (I guess that’s what that was) has “thrown” you. . . You’re not alone. . . well maybe you are. . . but hopefully you’re not “lonely”. . . But if you’ve read any of my recent stuff, you know that I consider our Society to be in a WHOLE LOT OF TROUBLE. . . just like a horny teenager. . . By the looks of our ENTERTAINMENT choices, whoever is in charge of providing them MUST be a horny teenager. . . Or maybe he used to be. . . and now he’s ‘REGRESSING’
 . . . or “receding”. . . or “BOTH”
But back to the analogy. . .
For starters, anyone that knows SWEDEN (or her dad) knows that they are a peace-loving society. The chances of Sweden’s dad actually having a gun collection are pretty remote.
Secondly, If you know SWEDEN like “I” do (I don’t), you KNOW that ABBA is sacred there. If someone were to desecrate or “besmudge” a garment depicting the band’s name, image, or logo – they would be convicted of “Sacrilege” (a chargeable offense) and receive SWEDEN’S harshest punishment. . . They would be exiled. . . to either Holland. . . or Branson, Missouri. . .
But what am I really getting at?. . . What is at the crux of this week’s “effort”? What is at the heart of. . .
Wow. . . my train of thought got “derailed” somewhere around “snot bubbles”. . .
Oh, yeah!. . . People are way too uptight. . . or ARE they?. . . ooooohh
(nope . . . not even close to “deep”)
I don’t know. . . It just seems to me that there seems to be a major “Catch-22” going on in our world. . .

  1. We are a world that is easily offended. . . 
  2. Every conceivable form of “Entertainment” or “Mass Media” known to man is. . . offensive (to somebody)
  3. . . . “Some People” can’t take a joke

There is a monumental difference between “Crackin’ Wise” and being OFFENSIVE. . . 
There was a “situation” that occurred this past week, that illustrates my point perfectly. I just wanted to mention it briefly, then move on. . .
Trey Parker and Matt Stone, the creators of “South Park” torked off a “GROUP of People”
 . . . by releasing an episode of their “cartoon” depicting a “Person of Religious Significance”(to “some people”) in a somewhat “unflattering way”. So angered by this “direct threat” to everything that they believed in, “THE GROUP” posted their (Parker and Stone’s) home addresses, work schedules, dates of birth, Social Security Numbers and a phone number they could be reached at after 8PM (NOT on the ‘opt-out’ list). Then “THE GROUP” said, they did NOTHING to incite violence or try to manufacture a “repeat” of what happened to “Vincent Van Gogh” in 2004. First of all, I thought Van Gogh went crazy and cut his ear off a LONG time ago. I didn’t realize that “THE GROUP” had any involvement in his untimely death. . . whatever people. . . GET A GRIP. . . all they “didn’t” do was give them ammo and the use of their own personal “suicide bomber” battalion.
. . .Trey and Matt, have LONG been offending people of EVERY religion. I personally have a “few issues” with their views. . . Do I want them dead because of it?. . . Nope. (I’d actually like to meet them sometime) Some may say I can’t be on “both sides of the fence” on an issue. SURE I CAN! That’s what makes this nation GREAT (if not, slightly confused) That doesn’t make me indecisive or “wishy-washy” – It makes me “well rounded”. The only PROBLEM I see is that sometimes there is a difference between being OFFENSIVE with the intent of “getting a laugh” and being OFFENSIVE for the sake of being “offensive”. After the “shock value” has worn off, you run the risk of becoming “irrelevant” asking yourself, “Was that even funny”? (not that I would know) I have always subscribed to the theory that you can (and should) be “funny and irreverent”. . . but NOT IRRELEVANT. . . I thought the episode was funny (minus the Jesus part) but not their best. . . so MOVE ON. . .
. . . DON’T “threaten”. . . Better yet, don’t perpetuate a negative stereotype by divulging that “something bad might happen”. (I guess that’s still a threat, but when they did it, it was EXTRA creepy) As an aspiring illustrator and author of children’s books and potential screenplays for FULL-LENGTH ANIMATED FEATURE FILMS (see “Stay Tuned” in the sidebar – I am shameless) I am only offended by Matt and Trey reaching a “Children’s Audience” with “Adult Material”. As “Stand Alone Comedy”, I have found “South Park” to be pretty entertaining (some of the time). As a “human being”, I take issue with “A GROUP” deciding they want someone DEAD, because they “Don’t Get It”. . . Lighten UP!. . . or figure out how to work your remote. . .
But any way you “cut it”, I wouldn’t want to “Die” to get a laugh. . . Luckily, I don’t have to. . .
BUT WHY?. . .
Well, I don’t get “PAID for this” for ONE THING. . . (If you mean why don’t I have to “DIE”, well you’ll have to wait, just like everyone else)
PLUS, I always try to “cover my a**” by ensuring that when I say something that might be “potentially offensive” I offer a brief “DISCLAIMER”. . . you’ve seen them
The fact I have to do this is insulting to me. . . Where is MY “Apology-Ahead-of-Time”?
. . . The simple fact is I used SWEDEN
 at the top of this for my example, because. . . they are SWEDISH there. . . (what are they going to DO?) Do they even have an ARMY? . . . If so, do you honestly think they would mobilize all 15 of the soldiers to “snuff me out” for making fun of them? Maybe they would. I’m not up on their “foreign policy. But I AM “half-Swedish”. I bet they can “take a joke”. So who does that leave. . . How about the population of Branson, Missouri? Well let’s assume they can read. . . Therein lies the “rub”. . .
By and large (but mainly “by”, ‘cuz Branson ain’t very large) they could have easily become offended by  me stating that being “exiled” there would be a horrible fate. (it would) They are “corn-fed”
  Which means they are also easily provoked and agitated and more than “one” of them probably has access to a small “arsenal of weapons”. They could easily book a plane to California (with slowly read and detailed instruction, of course) and “track me down”; emptying the contents of his (or her – but probably his) legally registered and concealed weapon into my head. . . quickly emptying its contents. . .
OR. . .
They could unleash “The Osmonds” on me. . . thereby “sealing my fate” in a similar fashion to that of my heroes in the climactic conclusion to 1985’s “Ghostbusters” (the copyright laws are still pretty strict – You’ve seen it)
. . . If I was told to “choose my own fate” and tried to think of the most harmless, benign and utterly “useless” group of people with which to “Bring the Pain”. . . I more than likely would inadvertently have a “Brain Fart”, just like Dan Akroyd’s character “Ray”. But instead of unleashing the “Hounds of Hell”, by way of the “Stay Puft Marshmallow Man”, I would accidentally pick. . . “The Osmonds”. More specifically, “The Love Puppy and Soldier of Love”. . . Donny Osmond(you’ve GOT to watch this video)
. . . and Branson. . . NO, People that GO to Branson LOVE that family. . . but enough is enough already. . . Branson needs to be held accountable. They are facilitating devastating and socially-retarding “Pay in Advance Events”. . . in MASS numbers. . . The Osmonds owe a few “Apologies-Ahead-of-Time”. . .
Quick question. . . When did we become a SOCIETY that needed this much “Breaking News” on the Osmonds? When did our “Entertainment News Providers” ordain them “American Royalty”? Did somebody have a “meeting” to decide this?. . .

“Well, most of the Kennedy’s are pretty much DEAD. . . What do you guys think of the Osmonds?”

The Osmonds, The NEW CAMELOT. . . nice.  . . I’d much rather get “Breaking News” on Ken Osmond(I bet he’d STILL “pitch” a Toyota)
 or. . .
Haley Joel Osment(not an Osmond at ALL – even better)

. . . So what have we learned today class?. . .
I think you have a better understanding of my frustration with SOCIETY, when I have to hold their hands and explain, “Okay, this is going to be a joke now. . . do you need your ‘blankie’?”. . .
BUT. . .
Our SOCIETY seem to gobble up stuff that “Insults our Intelligence”(provided you’re working with any to begin with) (isn’t that Stephanopoulos?)
and “Disagrees with our Sensibilities”. . . Okay? Do you agree?. . . Good. . . Now MOVE ON. . .
I can’t speak for others (but would often LOVE to), but maybe I add my “DISCLAIMER” or “Apology-Ahead-of-Time”, because I still have a “conscience”. Or maybe I just don’t want to “catch hell” from EVERY single person I “trash” (I mean satire) Maybe you don’t get offended easily. Maybe you get offended by some of the things I write. . . But, if I were to be perfectly honest, (instead of just perfect) I’d say I’m tired of apologizing for things that don’t warrant an apology. . .
. . . Because a Joke is a JOKE. . . We could ALL use a good “snot-bubble”. . .

‘Til Then. . . Go Figg’r!

Peace Out – Later

“O L O F”

a P.S. to SWEDEN (and her dad) . . . I am also half-French – but that was no good. . . The joke was too easy. Everyone KNOWS the French are arrogant, smelly and hairy. . . and that’s just the WOMEN. . . Don’t even get me started on the English. . .

a P.S. to Holland (or whatever you call it now) The Van Gogh guy killed in 2004 was Dutch. . . apparently NOT a good place to be from while making fun of ANYBODY

a P.S. to the “People of Branson, Missouri” . . . Hannibal is much prettier

a P.S. to “The Osmonds” . . . you ALL really annoy me. . . Shame on “Lara Spencer”
 . . . shame on you, Donny

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Petco is “Where the PETS GO”?. . . Have You SEEN My Carpet?

Posted in comedy, Entertainment, humor, satire, Uncategorized with tags on April 18, 2010 by danof89

. . . I have never been part of any “Get Rich Quick Scheme”. In fact, I was recently informed I have (unwittingly) been part of aStay Poor for an Indefinite Period of Time Ruse. So what have I done to remedy the situation? Well, I’ve been WORKING. . . in between “Delusions of Grandeur” . . . Trying to pay the bills, keep the kids fed, the pets spay or neutered. . . you know. . . living the DREAM.
 . . . I mention the PETS, because we seem to be amassing a small petting zoo (unbeknownst to my landlord) Oh, we’ve had more animals in our “custody” in the past. But my kids seem to think that we are the “Dr. Doolittle Clan” when it comes to animals. And They LOVE “NEW” animals. . . for precisely 1 week. After pestering my wife and I incessantly for the better part of “as long as I can remember”, with promises of caring for the pets, nurturing them, grooming them, picking up the occasional “Wedge-Whoppers, Sidewalk Sausages or Chocolate Blossoms” in our yard – we ALWAYS cave in. . . We purchase an animal (from wherever we can get them at bargain basement prices – cardboard boxes outside of grocery stores seem to always have a nice selection). My kids typically do pretty well for about a week, as far as feeding them and DESTROYING our bathroom in their futile attempts at bathing the critters. As far as “picking up their crap”? . . .We can count on our kids to handle this responsibility approximately (NONE) times.  Because when my kids are asked to perform “Dr. Doolittle Tasks. . . that’s EXACTLY what my kids DO. . . little. So the “honeymoon” is generally, short-lived.

I guess the relationship between our children and our pets, is A LOT like that between the “General Public” and the members of “Menudo” during the 80’s. By that, I mean just like the members of Menudo (when they reached a certain age and were deemed “uncute” or “weird looking”) they were cast aside and replaced by a younger, smaller and cuter Mexican child. So goes the life of a household pet in our. . . household. For example. . . you may be familiar with our chihuahua “MAYA”. (if not, that’s okay. . . you’re not missing much) We rescued her from the animal shelter a couple of years ago. When my wife and I brought her home, my kids were “Overjoyed”. They had never seen such a beautiful creature. My daughters’ plans soon started for regular dog-related “fashion shows” and numerous “dog-walking” excursions. . . none of this occurred. . . Fast forward two years. . . we’ve got a NEW baby chihuahua. We’ve had it for about 2 months now. We have YET to agree on a name. . . the puppy is starting off its life in “our family”, just like the rest of us did. . . very confused.
Maya has now been cast aside as an inferior animal. (though I still regularly offer her words of encouragement – like, “It will all be over soon” and “You had a good run there for a while”)

 Before I continue, I need to point something out to the members of the Latino Community. I am NOT drawing a parallel between people of Hispanic Heritage and animals. . . people can sometimes become hyper-sensitive or infer that I am making such comparisons, when that is NOT my intent. . . I am, instead, comparing “Chihuahuas” to the members of “MENUDO”. Now, if I may be allowed to continue. . .

Therefore, “Maya” has now become the “Ricky Martin” of our “familia”. . . But I doubt it likely that my 6 year old chihuahua will be enjoying the resurgence in her “career” that was enjoyed by Mr. Martin. Only to see her hit “She Bangs”, brutally and savagely attacked and repackaged by ONE – “Mr. William Hung”. . . the only thing Maya has in common with those two, is her obvious lack of any talent.

 . . . No, she will probably spend the rest of her life
“Living La Vida Heart Worm” in my yard. . . Growing old, fat and unwanted. . . actually she is a LOT like Ricky Martin. . . AND William Hung. . .

 As far as the “NEW” dog is concerned; I am growing a little leery of how he is being “broken in”. For starters, when it comes to how he “handles himself” in the house. . . he receives carte blanche. . . Whatever he feels is necessary to do at whatever time he thinks it needs to be done. . . GOES. In that respect, I understand how P Diddy lives. . . or at least his SON (Puffy probably has people picking up his kid’s poop too, but they are probably HAPPY about it) My “nameless” dog can Pee, Poop, Chew, etc. everywhere and anywhere that he wants and, at this point. . . it’s OKAY. Because he’s a BABY. . .

“No, No, he’s a DOG,” I’ll argue (to no one interested in listening to me) only to have my observation quickly dismissed as “DOGIST” (anti-dog)When in reality, I am “DOG CRAPIST” (anti-dog crap)

But the puppy is WISE beyond its puppy years. It likes to play a game. Not a puppy game. . . a deviously cunning game that could have only been thought of by a sly Fox-puppy hybrid. I have come up with a name for the game:

“I Crap Wherever I WANT To. . . LOOK at Me”

The rules are simple:

  1. It “goes” anywhere it wants (i.e. in my shoe)
  2. It lies in wait. . . until I’ve made the “discovery”
  3. It watches as I turn 6 shades of red
  4. It hides behind something (i.e. my wife or one of my daughters)
  5. It smiles at me (it can smile)
  6. It turns its head a quarter of an inch and looks at me as if to say, “You wouldn’t hurt me in front of all of these ‘witnesses’, would you?”
  7. It is lavished attention and love, while I go outside to regather my thoughts and find the garden hose

There are other versions and variations of the game:

“Yeah, I did that. . . What are YOU going to do,TOUGH GUY?”
“Hey! You Needed New Furniture Anyway”

After the “puppy” does something to our home, during one of these game-playing “Episodes”, more often than not, one of my girls will “Break the News”.

“Dad! . . . The puppy had an ‘accident’,” they will say, as the puppy starts to creep to “their” side of the room.

Let’s be honest. The puppy didn’t have an “accident”. “I” am convinced this was NO accident. I’m pretty sure that this was very intentional. The puppy also seems to be constantly “Geared Up” for something. It is Uber-Hyper. But WHAT is it so “Geared Up” FOR?. . . Not a whole lot going on at
“our house”.
. That’s also something I’ve noticed to a somewhat “lesser” degree from our older dog Maya. . . but I think “she” might just be “gearing up” to die. . . or escape. . . I think she and the cat are planning something, but I can’t be sure. In fairness, Maya isn’t exactly OLD. If I remember correctly, I think the ratio of “dog years” to “human years” is, like, 7 to one. . . the dog is actually about the same age as “ME”. . . which might explain a lot, now that I think about it.
The other day, while the puppy was inside eating our love seat, I went outside to “get some air”. I noticed that Maya was sitting by one of the numerous gopher holes in our “well-manicured” lawn. 
(I do all of the “groundskeeping” myself) The dog was just sitting there. . . content. . .  staring at a gopher hole. Rather than do anything about the gophers (I’m not allowed to kill them) OR fill the holes, “I” was content to sit in a chair and stare at the dog – sitting in the yard staring at the hole. . . for a VERY long time. . .

“Well, Maya. . . it will be over soon. . . We had a good run. . . “

‘Til Then. . . Go Figg’r!

Peace Out – Later


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