A Streak Of No-Funny

My friend Tony and I share in the misery of rheumatoid arthritis, degenerative joint disease and a shared place of employment in our past. He has been trying different medications to ease the pain and asked what I took to get relief from the suffering. When I told him I take baloney sandwiches there was absolute silence. Even the crickets tilted their heads and remained quiet.

Talking about an NFL player that has six fingers on his hand, I shared a thought that if I had eight fingers I could hold a banana and peel it at the same time one handed. I enjoyed that one by myself too.

Last night at the Phillies game, a woman was sitting in front of me that had some nasty fake fingernails all painted and pointy, toenails that hung over her flip flops, about 7 pounds of make-up, bleached and streaked hair all puffed out, wearing an obvious girdle not up to the task, big ole push up bra that had signs of stress cracks, rings on every digit and fraudulent gold around her neck, knock off designer clothes made from donkey-hair fibers, butt fat injected lips and a scotch-tape face lift drinking a Bud-Light. The only thing natural about her was the ugly. I kept quiet for fear of not getting any laffs at something so obvious funny, and/or getting beat up and bitten at the game.

The exterminator came by this afternoon to administer his death juice in the house to prevent a bug takeover as part of a regular maintenance service. I asked if he had anything for me since I had ants in my pants and I needed to dance. He looked at me with a stone face while Helen shook her head and said no one thinks I'm funny.

Could I be losing my stuff?

Bob Evans' Beef Stew with Vegetables

I am a firm believer in don't tell me what to do. If I ask, that's a different story, and one I don't write very often. I mostly ponder every situation - developing multiple possible plausible scenarios and play them out in my mind, weighing the benefits of each conclusion, and basing my decision on what I consider the best outcome for all involved. After going through all of that effort to determine an action, anything anyone else is going to offer has either already been regarded or rejected, and more frequently, offered long after the fact. I travel so deeply in my head sometimes that I play tricks on myself, win or lose, keep score, tweak the results, hit myself with some reverse psychology, play devil's advocate and deliberate on what would Jesus do, how would Coppola shoot this scene and is it news worthy. (FYI: for those times I appear awake but unconscious, eyes opened but glazed over, I am in "the process.")

All that being said, I open the refrigerator door this morning and see a container with a sticky note on it which simply reads "Do Not Eat."

What a cruel joke! Of course it is a food I normally wouldn't consider, but now I can't get it out of my head. I've spent about 50 minutes pondering prior to the 40 minutes I've taken to write this pondering. Looks like my day is going to be full so don't bother calling. I can't help you.

Dud

I've done nothing to speak about and I don't anticipate any changes.

I have no quest, I have no request, I have nothing to bequest. I am, however, going to have a burger today.

Simple

You cannot find what you don't look for.

What's That Smell?

Looks like I'm through with the Old Spice. Not only do I get the above question a lot, but I get the question WITH a disgusted look. My answer is usually, "Ewww, I think it's you," but I don't know how much longer I can get away with that. Apparently your grandpa never made you pancakes on a Sunday morning and your daddy bowled 4 times a week.

Once more the search is on. I wonder if there is a crisp bacon scent spray with a hint of citrus and shampoo?

The Thee Ah Tur

I hate the theater. Stagnant sets with countless limitations. Bad actors, poorly amplified, yelling their lines. Actor-Singers giving every song the opera treatment, which is even worse than theater. Scripts that are unimaginative, old and predictable, plodding along like a 20 year old K-car from Chrysler, if it starts at all.

On the other hand you have a festival. Says so right in the word ... FESTIVE!!! Good times are guaranteed by the very title of it! Now make it a festival of corn. Yup! You guessed it ... a corn festival! Nothing bad about corn.

This year both events took place during the same Friday evening. What would you choose if given the choice?

I wanted the corn fest. It is a long standing tradition. It has corn roasted on an open fire, dipped in a pitcher of melted butter with the husk already arranged for you as a handle to grip whilst enjoying the bursting flavor from the tender kernels as they explode happy times in your mouth. The dripping butter down your face is a badge of honor as you share this time, wearing a hairy smile of corn silk amongst friends and strangers of like mind.

Helen wanted the theater.

I went to the theater.

A compromise and torturous act self inflicted. I was the bigger man (although I complained like an annoying little barking dingo the entire time). I sat and squirmed for 2 hours to please someone else. I became selfless to spread a little joy in the life of another.

As I tried to tolerate a mediocre performance of Don Quixote - Man of La Mancha, all I could think of was that I am Bobbio - Man of No Cornya. I would have welcomed the Spanish Inquisition.

Good thing the corn festival ran for 2 nights and I managed to have a few ears on Saturday.

Friction Fighter

Nice to go back to the "shop" every once in a while to do some work and see my buddies. This round I was greeted with a gift that will keep on giving throughout the warm weather and my active lifestyle. It's so nice to know that when I am away I am still in the thoughts of friends (although I'm a little concerned that thoughts of a sweaty, swollen, red, monkey butt would remind someone of me). Maybe I should wear a different type of pants.

Mystery Solved

I think I know where Bin Laden might be hiding. The old PT 73 trick. If you can cook, you're in! After all, isn't George "Moosh Bushy" a bit like Captain Binghamton?

I'm sure some US crew that has aquired a taste for falafel has got Osoma in an apron hidden out back.