But With THESE Bananas, There's Something Special

Methinks the fine folks at Piggly Wiggly were grasping at straws when they came up with this particular way of making their bananas seem like they've got a value-added feature.

Such...a Nice...Guy!

Stupid Stories™ are told before every performance that Giant Step Theatre does. We gather the 80-or-so second-through-tenth-graders together...mostly so we can make sure everybody's there and nobody has to cover anybody's lines...and get them all settled down by having them listen to me tell some shaggy-dog story with a groaner of a closing line.

For instance...

Juan was such a nice guy. He never beat his wife, never yelled at his kids, and he had an aardvark in the back yard as a pet.

One day, the leaders of his community asked him to run to be the mayor of the town. Juan was shocked. "Are you kidding? Who would ever vote for me to be the mayor?!?"

"Everyone would vote for you, Juan! Well, why wouldn't they? You're such a nice guy! You never beat your wife, never yell at your kids, and you treat that aardvark in the back yard just like a regular pet...like a dog or cat or mongoose or something."

They talked Juan into putting his name on the ballot and believe it or not, everybody voted for him. Well, why wouldn't they? He's such a nice guy! He never beat his wife, never yelled at his kids, and he treated the aardvark in the back yard better than you treat your own mother...though that might not be saying much. I don't know.

Juan did a good job as mayor. So good, in fact, that the party leaders convince him to run to be the governor of the state.

Election day came, and he won by a landslide. It seemed like everybody voted for him. Well, why wouldn't they? He's such a nice guy! He never beat his wife, never yelled at his kids...gave the aardvark steak for dinner three times a week. (Had to cut it up in teeny tiny pieces...like ant-size...slurp.)

Juan was a great governor and eventually the day came when The Powers That Be talked him into running to be the President of these United States of America, long may they wave. Of course, he won the election hands down. It seemed like everybody voted for him. Well, why wouldn't they? He's such a nice guy! He never beat his wife, never yelled at his kids...gave the aardvark a perm just before the election...looked absolutely stunning.

He served well as President, and when he ran for reelection, it was the greatest landslide victory in the history of victories. More people voted for Juan than for any President of any country at any time. Well, why wouldn't they? He's such a nice guy! He never beat his wife, never yelled at his kids...he had built an air-conditioned bungalow for his pet aardvark in the Rose Garden. 

About halfway through his second term as President of these United States of America, long may they wave, something happened with no explanation. Nobody understood why, and there was no apparent reason for it, but Juan just kind of snapped. He walked into the Oval Office, grabbed the First Lady by the hair and threw her through the window. I mean...through...the window. What a pane - er - pain!

He took his kids, nailed them by their thumbs to the rec room wall, and called them every vile, vicious, horrible name you can imagine...but probably shouldn't.

He went out to the Rose Garden, grabbed the aardvark by the tail, pulled him out of the air-conditioned bungalow, shaved him with an old, rusty blade, sprayed him with Bactine, doused him in kerosene, dipped him in gasoline, lit a match and WHOOSH...barbequed aardvark.

This shocked the nation! They couldn't believe it. What happened? He was such a nice guy!

Well, they put him on trial, convicted him, took him out back and shot him with a golf gun.

What's a golf gun, you ask? I don't know, but it sure made a hole in Juan!

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Now, I told you all that so I could tell you THIS:

I was serving as the dean of a week of church camp, and I was using cookies, milk, and a story from the dean as a reward for whichever cabin was the cleanest that day. One night, I used this particular story about Juan being such a nice guy...went through the whole thing with great animation and a fine eye for detail.

When I let loose with the final sentence ("I don't know, but it sure made a hole in Juan!"), the entire population of the cabin said, "I thought his name was Jose?!?"

Yep...I had inadvertently started the whole effort by saying "Jose was such a nice guy..."

The mind is such a terrible thing to waste.
 

We Don't Need No Steenkeeng Clones

I have created a practically perfect reproduction of myself, with all my idiosyncrasies, beliefs, preferences, and talents intact.

But then, I've told you about my son, ActorBoy, before, haven't I?

The replication process began in the normal biological way, but quickly moved on to introducing him to the finer things in life so he would learn to not only appreciate them as I do, but emulate my infusion of them into the very fabric of my being.

First, there was getting him to fall in love with Skyline Chili...an easy task, considering it is a nectar of the gods.

Second, I had him watch all eleven seasons of MASH so we could revel in the shared appreciation of esoteric quotes like "You oughta be in pictures...wha-wha" and "Here's some shampoo, because we couldn't find any real poo."

Added to these fundamentals were a semi-deification of Dick Van Dyke and a growing fascination with Rhett & Link (Look for me nine minutes into the video that link will take you to.), making the duplication process almost complete.

My crowning achievement, and the true sign that my hard work has been worth it, is when ActorBoy began displaying not only an appreciation for puns but a propensity for them, as witnessed by his creation of the following gem (his idea; my execution. For the uninitiated, the two gentlemen in the picture are the aforementioned Rhett & Link ):

My bid for immortality is safe and sound...and I didn't have to use strands of DNA from bisexual frogs to do it, either. (See Jurassic Park.)   

Record Label Multitasking

I'm not saying that Entertainment Weekly is a sketchy place to get your updates on pop culture, but they DO have a tendency to be known as EWWW. (Wait...too many Ws there...or maybe not.)

With that said, EW was cool enough to be the occasion for a bit of time travel yesterday morning, July 3, 2014, because I was reading the July 11, 2014 issue. Great Scot!

But that's not what this post is about. What this post IS about is the disturbing developments in the land of entertainment wherein agents and publishers and managers are taking over the roles and responsibilities of certain public officials.

Here's a case in point, quoted exactly from page 27:

Legendary R&B singer-songwriter Bobby Womack was confirmed dead by his label on June 27. He was 70.

So what's the deal? Are there no county coroners anymore?