Friday, April 21, 2017


Getting AHEAD of the social media wave on this one (because I've not seen any FatBeatles hashtag).

Correction: while doing some actual research on the subject, I see there WERE a few tweets with this hashtag in 2015 and early 2016.


Once again, I am on the back side of a minor trend, but that's far better than being on a minor trend's backside.

What songs would John, Paul, George, and Richard have recorded if they were on end of the continuum?

  • All My Oven
  • All You Knead Is Dough
  • Baby, You Can Drive My Car to McDonald's
  • Blackbird (Under Glass)
  • Can't Buy Me Non-stretch Pants
  • Carry That Weight (Around Your Hips)
  • The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill's Never-ending BBQ Buffet
  • Eight Shakes a Week
  • Full on the Hill
  • Get Baby Back Ribs
  • Getting Butter
  • Got to Get Guac Into My Life
  • Happiness Is a Warm Bun
  • I Want to Hold Your Ham Sandwich
  • I'm Down (To 265)
  • Lady Fingers Madonna
  • Love Me Mountain Dew
  • Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Sandwich
  • She Came In Through the Drive-thru Window
  • Strawberry Pies Forever
  • When I'm Two Hundred Sixty-Four
  • With a Little Hellman's from My Friends
  • You've Got to Hide Your Snacks Away

Friday, April 14, 2017

In My Beginning

I was born at about the same time as Rock-n-Roll...but without the African influences.

I'm told that, at a few ounces over eight pounds, my delivery was difficult enough to make my mom glad that I was the fourth and final child. (Little did she know that ten-and-a-half years later I would lose my claim to the "Final Child" title.)

For the first four-and-a-half years of my life, we lived on a little farm on the north side of the county line road, in a house with a wrap-around porch and linoleum floors. There was a barn with some dairy cows, a couple other outbuildings, and a nearby creek from which to fish with a length of string and a bent paper clip. (Never caught anything except a stern talking to for standing on the bridge while a tractor drove over it.)

Because I was 4 years, 5 months old when we moved from there, I don't have a lot of memories of "the house on the county line road," but there was one incident that was planted in my brain and still remains.

Having begun its multi-year run of annual television screenings in 1956, The Wizard of Oz was still a fairly new TV event. My dad, FlatulenceKing, was sitting in an over-stuffed chair, directly in front of the television, eating popcorn and watching Dorothy and friends wend their way down the yellow brick road.

I'm assuming my three older siblings were in the room, but all I actually remember is coming up behind my dad and the TV screen gradually becoming know, like all those shots in the movies when the camera moves closer to a cliff until you can finally see Los Angeles laid out before you in all its twinkling splendor.

What I saw on that screen was not a beautiful landscape of nature and electric lights, but the Wicked Witch of the West standing on the roof of a cabin, throwing a fireball at the Scarecrow.

I never got to my bedroom faster, either before or since...and that was even while needing to step around the small puddle at my feet.

I'd like to say that's the reason I avoided green vegetables for twenty years, but our TV was black and white.

(To hear the author reading this post, go to SoundCloud by clicking here.)

Friday, April 7, 2017

Whoopsy Daisies

Here I sits
No thoughts a-stirrin'
The early-afternoon-nearly-a-nap jerking my head upright
Calling it quits
My eyesight blurrin'
Wondering why my bedtime routine doesn't start earlier at night

Glasses off
My eyes a-rubbin'
And knowing this attempt at a blogpost needs to turn funny soon
Nervous cough
Desire to go clubbin'
And just start this thing over tomorrow; maybe 'round noon

Leaning back
Fingers all a-laced
Staring at my laptop; the Dell, not my legs, of course
Head goes crack
Hits the floor apace
Staring at the ceiling; calling for help till my throat gets hoarse

Friday, March 31, 2017

Almost Hotel California

Went to see former youth group member, Doug Toddless, sing at a local restaurant the other night. We talked to him before he started and found out he was suffering from a cold and a raspy throat. Amazingly, though, when he started singing, you couldn't tell at all...though Beloved and I did notice that he chose to sing a lot of lower-register songs like Elvis, Johnny Cash, and Barry White.

Between sets, I told him if anybody requested Hotel California ("Augh!" he coughed. "No way!") that I would be there to take care of the vocals for him.

Four songs into his second set, I got my chance. Problem is, I figured he would have the words to the song on the iPad he kept looking at and scrolling through. Turns out he was just keeping track of his March Madness bracket, and I was on my own to try to remember all the words.

This was my best effort...

On the dark info highway, You Tube makes me stare
Warm smell of my hard drive, data streams through the air
Up ahead on my monitor, I saw a glowing blue light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I hadn't eaten all night.
There it was on my browser; an ad for Taco Bell
And I was thinking to myself,
"I could do worse; guess I might as well"
So I searched for a coupon, 'cause I just roll that way
There were voices in my brand new earbuds
I thought I heard them say...

Welcome to where Google can inform ya
You think it's a private place? (Such a private place)
Just search for your face
Plenty of info that Google can inform ya
What you did last year (What you did last year)
You can find it here

Your mind is def'nitely twisted, both the means and the ends
You're just one of the pretty, pretty boys following trends
How they rate in the rankings, how their tags get them clicks.
Some are dancin' with the stars, some are glued to Netflix
So I called out through Twitter,
"Check out my hashtag"
They said, "We haven't been trending that since your eyes began to sag"
And still solicitors calling from far away,
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to hear them say...

Welcome to where Google can inform ya
You think it's a private place? (Such a private place)
Just search for your face
They livin' it up here where Google can inform ya
They get their revenue (get their revenue)
From ads they show you

Mirrors for your ceiling,
The pink champagne on ice
And I said "We are all consumers here, hey, that sure looks nice"
Got a full shopping basket,
Got some food for a feast
Got me three sets of ginsu knives,
Got 50% off, at least

Last thing I remember, I was
Told that I was poor
I had to find a way to cure
My depressing credit score
"Relax, " said the hacker,
"I can fake all the facts.
You can purchase anything you like,
Hey, babe, I got your back! "

Friday, March 24, 2017

Stupid Stories™: Alligator Shoes

When I was in my twenties (back when the Earth's crust was still cooling), I lived in Florida and worked at a shoe store, and I'll never forget one particular customer.

She was fairly good looking, which is an excellent memory aid all by itself, but the real reason she sticks in my head is because of how strongly she reacted when I told her how much the alligator shoes she was wanting would cost.

"HOW much?!!?" she screamed.

I repeated my clear, distinct reading of the price tag.

"That's ridiculous! Can't you give me some kind of discount? Isn't there a 'buy one shoe, get the second one free' thing going on?"

As calmly as possible, I replied, "I'm sorry, but no. That's the price I have to charge for those shoes."

She loudly announced that she would get her OWN pair of alligator shoes, spun around, and left in a huff. (It was a late model Huff; had a dark cherry red finish with a spoiler on the rear.)

My route home ran along a levee, and as I was enjoying the view to my right, I noticed the cranky customer, standing knee-deep in swamp water, holding a shotgun.

"Good NIGHT!" I thought, "She's really trying to get alligator shoes do-it-yourself style!"

Well, I just HAD to see this, so I pulled over to the side of the road, got out, leaned against my car's fender, and watched.

It wasn't long before I noticed a large alligator slowly swimming toward her from behind. I was about to warn her when she spun around, snapped the gun to her shoulder, and blasted the amphibian right between its eyes.

She waded over to the dead gator and pulled it to shore, where she huffed and puffed and grunted and strained to get it out of the water. Then she dragged it over to where, I just noticed, there were three or four other alligators, all belly-up in the grass.

She got down on her knees and shoved the beast onto its back, took one look at it, raised her face to the sky and screamed, "You've gotta be kidding me! THIS one is barefoot, too!"

Friday, March 17, 2017

Observed Absurdities™ 28 - He's Got a Point There

Now that I've noticed how Stephen Colbert has kind of a Spock thing going on with his right ear, I can't not see it. 

Friday, March 10, 2017

This Is Keeping Me Awake

I may be opening a can of large, unwieldy worms here...

I do not want this space to become politicized or militarized or pasteurized, but I've got an honest question about an extremely controversial, sensitive, potentially-explosive issue.

I am not joking.

What with all the gender-fluid, "I don't agree with my birth certificate", love-is-love-no-matter-what, stop-being-a-neanderthal stuph going around, I am absolutely and honestly confused about something.

What if someone identifies as the gender opposite to what his/her genitals would indicate AND is homosexual?