Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Monday, August 30, 2004
I Need a Lift; I Also Need Help With Subjunctive Construction
Sunday, August 29, 2004
Beans Beans the Musical Fruit
I Know What Michael Howard Wants
Saturday, August 28, 2004
I Use Positive "I" Messages To Communicate With Mark Thatcher
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
I Take a Bite Out of Crime
Pshaw, you say. Too easy. Too predictable. Well pshaw to you, then. Come over and trim my shrubs with that big mouth.
Monday, August 23, 2004
You, There! To the Left of New Zealand!
Cry and You Cry Alone
Sunday, August 22, 2004
Win a Boat
August is Give Me Presents Month
Would That I Had a Casual Acquaintance
Saturday, August 21, 2004
I Spoil and Clarify
Nb: If you ever read his book, and you find that the story differs from the one I’ve just related, remember that your reading comprehension skills are probably very poor. You could also blame me for making it all up. Because now I can't remember if this is his book or not. In fact, I think this story actually happened, and had nothing to do with Owain. I might have heard it on Dr. Phil. No, I don't watch Dr. Phil. Very mysterious. Let's eat.
I Ask the Tough Questions
Friday, August 20, 2004
You May Have Heard of Wade Parks
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
Helpful Household Tips
I Can Help You
Monday, August 16, 2004
Another Fae Wellington Success Story
Sante Kimes before prison
Anna Nicole Smith
An Assortment of Mafia, Borscht Belt, Las Vegas, and Florida Ladies
Tammy Fay Baker
Liza Minelli, almost but not quite
It’s a bare-bones list, but I have to start somewhere.
The real moneymaker in my museum will be the Children’s Underwater Sleepover, modeled after the Aquarium Sleepovers that are so popular with the bourgeoisie. My sleepovers will take place in the Painted Zoftig Underwater Viewing Area. Kids will learn about the ladies, eat pizza, and fall asleep to the hypnotic blue glow of the Painted Zoftig Life-Size Wax Figure Underwater Tank. The children will wake up screaming, I suppose. After they calm down and roll up their sleeping bags, it’ll be Frosted Flakes time.
If this electrifying vision appears a little desperate, that’s because I thought of it while running without my walkman.
Saturday, August 14, 2004
The Only Souse Allowed On My Sidewalk at 3 a.m. Is Me
“I hereby solemnly promise, God helping me, to abstain from all distilled, fermented and malt liquors, including wine, beer and hard cider, and to employ all proper means to discourage the use of and traffic in the same.”
Dues are ten bucks. That could mean a loss of about five happy hour beers. If you take the pledge seriously, it means a loss of a lifetime of beers. I don’t want to lose a lifetime of beers. I want my neighborhood to lose a lifetime of beers. I need only one bar for my purposes. The other 39 bars have got to go. I’m making a list of the things I’m going to do when I get my time machine, and number 144 is “Transport Carrie Nation to my neighborhood for one merry afternoon of saloon smashing.” I would have her back home by dinnertime.
Let's Get America Moving Again
The campaign season is too long. It distracts voters from Scott Peterson in Paris. WAS he in Paris? EEEE! I’m sure I’LL never know! Anyhoo, during a Levitra commercial, I devised an improved campaign structure:
1. First, each candidate for President completes an application in his or her own handwriting. I suggest we cut costs by using that free art test where you draw the turtle pirate. Candidates can write their ideas for the future on the back. Candidates mail a copy of the application to each voter.
2. Urine sample collected on live TV, tested by Maury Povich’s lab staff.
3. One month to stump.
4. One 8-hour debate on live TV. Open bar for debaters. No food or water served.
5. We vote.
6. Loser sacrificed to sun god on live TV.
7. Winner violently hazed by current administration on live TV.
Excellent, isn't it? A brief campaign that reflects American values and frees up time for such autumnal activities as: back-to-school shopping, stowing patio furniture, locating and airing out sexy cat costume in time for Halloween, frying smelt, winging crab apples at cars, et cetera. Maybe you don't know what smelt is. Maybe smelt is fried in the spring. I can't help you with any of that. It's not my thing. My thing is getting America moving again.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
I've Taken to Things
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
Tea For Me
Monday, August 09, 2004
Sunday Afternoon, Plague of Flies
Sunday, August 08, 2004
I'm High On Whalebone Corsets
August is Ghost-Finding Month
1. If you draw chalk circles around household items, you will notice when the ghosts move your stuff.
While I’m not too lazy to draw chalk circles around my stuff, I am too lazy to locate and unearth my cache of hoarded chalk. My carefully monitored chalk circles would surely draw the attention of Anne, who would begin to underestimate my sanity, if she has not begun to do so already.
2. Use a compass to detect any unusual electromagnetic business in your home.
Every time I take a step forward, my compass needle jiggles. What does it mean? Am I unsteady on my feet? Do my ghosts suffer delirium tremens? Yes.
3. Use a digital thermometer to find ghostly cold spots in your home.
I don’t have a digital thermometer.
Other factors indicating the presence of ghosts in my house: The floors creak when I step on them. Key snacks go missing long before they ought to. Small piles of mixed change become piles of only pennies. My phone never rings. Hair in the drain. The cats don’t like their food. The servants have all left in a fright. Tap water tastes ghosty.
Saturday, August 07, 2004
Mayor Goldie Wilson Is Going To Clean Up This Town
Each Day Brings More Joy
Or would she? After all, her Munchausen School By Proxy was a smashing success.
The Salad Days, or, When A Thong Was A Thong
Thursday, August 05, 2004
My Clarinet, Myself
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
AND He Preserved the Blessed Union of These United States
“I like President Grant,” I said.
“A WARRIOR?!?” El Jefe cried, foam flying from her chops, teeth gnashing.
A warrior. Reader, you were not even there, but you blood boils, eh? Of course it boils! U.S. Grant was a man of exquisite fortitude, tremendous passion, and mind-boggling physical beauty. Which is why I could not defend him properly in the office: My mind was boggled by his bold, passionate beauty.
Monday, August 02, 2004
I Will Call It "Fae Wellington's The Bed & Breakfast Experience"
While bunking at my B & B, you will have to follow my rules:
1. Your shoes must not make noise
2. You are never allowed to whistle, sing, or hum, even if you think I can’t hear you
3. If you wear sweatpants and trainers, you had better be working out
4. You are not allowed to work out on the premises
5. You are not allowed to drone on about your medical problems
6. You are not allowed to say “my bad”
7. You are not allowed to say “somebody called me from this number”
8. If you wet the bed, I will tell no one as long as you buy the mattress and take it with you
9. If you do evil in my B&B, I will visit it upon you threefold. Perhaps fourfold, depending upon the severity of the evil. Twofold for funny evil.
10. If you see Zoe playing in the sandbox out back, remember: She may have the body of a grown woman, and the mind of a grown woman, but she is not a grown woman. Wait, yes she is. Just stay out of the sandbox, that’s rule #10.
11. If you have children, they’re going to have to sleep in your car.
12. No parking on the premises. Park at Arby’s and take the shuttle.