My mother the bouncer
You haven't truly lived until you see
your own elderly mother toss an uninvited 83 year old woman who uses a walker out of a private party. And doing it loudly, because the old bat couldn't hear. Surreal? I think so.
This was last night. My mother got married to a wonderful old dude last weekend and since then, they've held a couple of receptions at the retirement community they live in. Last Wednesday was the "open to all the residents" acquaintances reception;
last night was the private by-invitation-only close friends reception.Anyhow, back to the story of
my mother the bouncer. So the uninvited
infirmed and feeble old lady shuffling by the party room
on her way back from gumming dinner sees the gathering and stops...turns very slowly...avails herself of the hand sanitizer conveniently available near the door...makes her way into the room, and starts to sort of roll her way towards the open bar. Mom gets her skates on and quickly intercepts:
Mom: "Kay, this is an invitation-only party."
Kay: "What?"
Mom: "An INVITATION-ONLY PARTY! The party for you was WEDNESDAY NIGHT!"
Kay: "What?"
Mom: "KAY, YOU'RE NOT INVITED TO THIS PARTY AND YOU HAVE TO LEAVE!"
Kay: "What party?"
Mom: "THE PARTY FOR ALL RESIDENTS WAS WEDNESDAY NIGHT. YOU GOT AN INVITATION BUT YOU DIDN'T COME! THIS IS FOR CLOSE PERSONAL FRIENDS AND YOU'RE NOT ONE OF THEM!" (ed. note--you can tell where I get my charm and tact from, hmmm?)
Kay:"I didn't know about that party Wednesday. I didn't get the invitation."
Mom: "KAY, WE SENT YOU ONE. NOW I'M SORRY BUT YOU HAVE TO LEAVE."
Kay: "WHAT?"
Mom, (leaning into Kay's one good ear): "YOU HAVE TO LEAVE NOW, KAY. SO GET OUT. GOOD-BYE!!"I'll be proposing
my mother for Secretary of State in the next administration, regardless of who wins the election. On second thought,
she's such a hard-ass that maybe Secretary of Defense would be better?
Best book title ever!
I nearly peed my pants laughing when I got a look at the title of this one.
Available at Amazon.com:
"If You Want Closure In Your Relationship, Start With Your Legs"
I'll be buying this book for a certain person I know. Right now, she's in the middle of another one I got for her (and she's
really, really liking it, which may result in some wholly unintended consequences):
The Big Book Of Lesbian Horse Stories.
Got a handy-wipe?
It's lonely out there. So, last night I spent 15 minutes:Performing diagnostics on the Polish salmon
Boxing the Bonzo
Flipping Isaiah
Smacking the Injun
Doin' a loner with ol' Josh
Shaking coconuts from the rope
Scalpin' Jimmy Dean
Cranking the mink
Scouring the crusader
Punishing the one-handed air guitar
Shining the Jocelyn Elders Midterm
Slapping the Jesuit
Nerking the czar
Taking my turn at the cow
Arm-wrestling Yoosef
Squashing Stonehenge
Coating Oscar
Getting to know the Buddha for good luck
Clobbering the wire
You get the idea.
I've had it up to HERE with midgets!
The ropes course and other motivational nonsense
Yesterday at the funeral home we endured one of those
"how to be a better manager and pump everyone around you up while you improve productivity and by the by, let's take a ropes course while we craft our very own mission statement" bullshit motivation sessions.
The home's owner, Mr. Wiges, has decided that we're all too goddamm selfish and that we need to
work better "as a team." This "as a team" crap
doesn't move my give a shit meter one bit. I'm not even sure how
what I do qualifies as a team task -- after all, embalming isn't really conducive to "attaboy, way to go" camaraderie -- but me being the all giving guy I am, well, hell, I just had to take part. I'm slightly dazed and rumpled after the fact. And I've got
some unanswered questions:
What's with the fucking ropes course? Since Carmella in casket receiving got fired, there's not even one woman I work with who I'd consider, er...tying up. I was ready to use the ropes for hangman's nooses by the time the whole flaming silly business was done. So, a complete waste of time.
- Mission statements suck the pus oozing hose. No one believes them 5 seconds after they've been written. Here's my personal mission statement: "Spend as much time as possible not crafting mission statements." My first attempt at a mission statement for the home was met with steely glares from Mr. Wiges. It went like this: "Weston Wiges Funeral Home is committed to selling you the most expensive goddamm gold plated casket possible. Our services include overcharging for flowers, billing you for the Kleenexes used by grieving relatives, and charging you for premium gas for the limos when in fact we only use regular. We put the "take" in "undertaker" and we're really, really good at it. Will that be cash or credit card?"
This pissed off Mr. Wiges for some reason. He can't handle the truth, apparently.
It's prom time, and I've got the vapors
Ah!
A shiver and a sigh......oh, shlubbies, my heart is FULL, full, I say, beating pitter patter, faster than even this morning, when I
combined the methamphetamine with the benzedrine for maximum effect, yes, I say. Oh!
For it's...
PROM season! That time of year when kids who've worked hard all year long at the Dairy Queen pool their money to buy....well, nothing. Because they've managed to
guilt their stupid parents into shelling out for the dresses and the tuxes and the goddamm limos and hotel rooms, where much underage sex and drinking does NOT ensue. Perish the thought that our little snowflakes would be involved in depravity such as
that.
Prom is for 17 year old shitstains. The girls pretend they're Vivian Leigh in Gone With The Wind while the boys pretend they're Cary Grant in The Philadelphia Story. These very same asshats, once in college, go through "rush" week and pledge the
most popular fraternity or sorority..
And then they grow up to be stockbrokers who play golf on the weekends and hate Jews and tolerate Negroes ("we don't HATE the Negro, you see...we just want to keep him in his place) and who start off driving Buick LeSabres but aspire to that new Cadillac STS and who live in disgusting split level suburban McMansions with mistreated Mexican illegal immigrant yardworkers and who are busy fucking their next door neighbor's wife because in the Bible, see, it says "love thy neighbor as thyself" and of course they're getting all the fucking neighbor loving they can. They go to church on Sundays but mainly for the eucharist (the free wine, natch) and to mack on the wife of the next door neighbor from the other side of the house.Fuck the load of them, and if any of YOU bastards went to "prom" then I say: buff my scrotum. And I bet YOU hate Jews and tolerate Negroes, too.
(as a side note--God, it feels good to be back, pleasant, and firing on all cylinders again!)
Been busy, back to normal soon
Apologize for the lack of witty and entertaining observations; I've been busy with family in town. A marriage yesterday. Things back to normal later today and I hope to have my head back where it belongs, planted firmly up my ass, beginning tomorrow....
What do you think about this advice?
Someone sent me this, undoubtedly because of the recent kerfuffle I experienced. It's lifted from a craigslist entry titled
"Advice to Young Men from an Old Man.".....
20. Don’t bother with “emotional affairs.” They are just a vehicle for women to flirt and have someone make them feel good about themselves. That’s the part of a relationship they want. For you it is a lot of work and investment in time. If they are having an emotional affair with you, they’re probably fucking someone else.
21. Becoming a woman’s friend and confidant is not going to get you into an intimate relationship. If you haven’t gotten the girl within a reasonably short period of time, chances are you won’t ever get her. She’ll end up confiding to you about the sexual adventures she’s having with someone else.
22. Have and nurture friendships with women.
.....
What do you think about this advice? Does it strike you as true? This business of "emotional affairs" I find fascinating. I've certainly been through that, and what the old guy says about it has proven out, at least for me. So, I'll be
interested in your comments!
Dalai Lama to resign? Wait, what?
I see where the
Dalai Lama is pissed off about this latest
China-Tibet contretemps. Buddhist
monks are going...well...apeshit...and there's all kinds of alleged this and alleged that going on in the capital city of Lhasa.
So Tenzin (that's the Dalai Lama's real first name) is
now threatening to resign. I don't get it. Resign...from what? Being a holy guy? Isn't his position sort of like being the Emperor--you're born into it; it's not something you can renounce?
Can the Pope resign? I thought he had to die to get out of wearing the robes and the scepters? I know he's elected to fill the shoes of St. Peter, but can he take those shoes back to Bloomingdales for a full refund? Confused, I am.
At left, Pope Benedict (who's German by birth) performing the
ancient liturgical "Blessing of the Beer and Pretzels".
Happy St. Patrick's Day, shlubbies!
In honor of
St. Patricks' Day, my best wishes and felicitations, and as is said affectionately throughout the "Auld Sod" on this day:
"Téigh trasna ort féin". This well-used and much appreciated Irish-Gaelic phrase, translated, means:
"Go and fuck yourself".
Seriously, though,
the Irish are great. My paternal great grandmother was Irish and it was from her I inherited my prediliction for consumption of vast amounts of alcohol. So there's a soft place in my heart (and what's left of my liver) for Ireland and all things Irish.
I'm even shitting green today.A couple of posts back, I republished an excerpt from P.J. O'Rourke's masterpiece,
Foreigners Around The World. Being today is what today is, I thought it only appropriate to find his entry re: Irish, and put it up for all to enjoy. And I do this with love. Really.
Irish
Pie-faced, bandy legged sots who almost never fuck. Ignorant and superstitious, they are in the utter thrall to the vile, conniving priests of their dark and barbarous religion. Their women have their legs on upside down and no man in the country eats anything but potatoes, and only eats them when he is out of strong drink. The principle delights of the Irish are in quarelling and fighting and killing each other with bombs. They can be trained to do nothing useful that a dray horse can't accomplish in half the time, and they spew out a continuous stream of mumbles and grunts which they fancy to be "poems". The sell their children for whiskey.Good pointsMany Irish are dead.Proper forms of addressBogmouth, peat-face, Mr. Potato Head, nun-buns, dumb Mick.There you have it, shlubbies. Drink up, eat corned beef and cabbage, and for all you lovely ladies out there, do me a favor:
erin go braless.
Pearle Vision goes Biblical
Nothing to do last night so
I'm watching a movie set in about 300 A.D. -- lottsa blood and gore. Sword fighting, etc. But it got me thinking: apparently
everyone back then had perfect vision. Plus, they never needed sun glasses! No eye-wear in sight, anywhere, throughout the movie.
So I thought, how would it be if
we got real here? Take for example,
The Last Temptation Of Christ. Here's a still from the movie, with the luscious Barbara Hershey as Mary Magdalene, Willem Dafoe as Jesus, and Harvey Keitel as Judas:
So what if poor
Mary was nearsighted,
Jesus was into extreme sports, and
Judas fancied himself one cool dude and
wanted prescription wraparounds? Mighta looked like this:
Kind of changes the whole feeling of the thing, eh?
Think YOU'RE having a bad day?
You could be this guy. From ohio.com/news:
Avert thy gaze, ye of weak stomach!
I've often wondered about
"firsts". And of course, every
Jerry Seinfeld wanna-be comedian/blogger leverages that to the hilt. You know the drill: "Who was the first person to go up to a cow's teat and say, 'hey, that looks yummy...let me suck on that for awhile!' What's up with that?" And the audience laughs.
Today I'm interested in this photo. When d'ya think this guy first discovered he could do this? What must it have been like, the
first time he did it and looked in a mirror? Blecch, as they used to say in Mad magazine....
Spitzer? I hardly even KNEW her!
Let me begin by saying:
I'm all for graphic gay sex.
So long as both women are good looking.
Ever see the movie
Bound?
Gina Gershon and Jennifer Tilly created a couple of serious
pants-tightening moments for your Nigel in that otherwise awful film. It was perhaps my first Gina Gershon experience, but certainly not my last. Here you have this nice Jewish girl from Los Angeles who attended Beverly Hills High School and then whammo! Off come the clothes and much
writhing and moaning occurs in numerous crummy movies...not just Bound, but also in perhaps the dumbest film ever made:
Showgirls.
I love Gina Gershon.
So now to the topic at hand, and that's New York's Eliot Spitzer, at right, he of the $4,000 hooker nights with a certain lass by the name of "Kristen". It's all over the web now;
Drudge has everything you'd ever want to know about the case
including photos of this Kristen.
So I'm looking at the photos and I'm thinking:
Kristen reminds me A LOT of Gina Gershon. Same kind of face, same kind of look. Here, compare for yourself, but remember: Gina is 20 years older than Kristen.
 |  |
| This is Kristen... | ...and this is Gina |
I'm betting now ex-Governor Spitzer
got a look or two at the lovely Gina in Bound and couldn't get those lips out of his mind. At least, that's my theory, and I'm sticking to it.
Unwanted Foreigners....
One of my all-time favorite authors is
P.J. O'Rourke, pictured at right.
By God, is he funny. Perhaps his greatest achievement is the May 1976 edition of the
National Lampoon (back when it was funny...) titled
"Unwanted Foreigners", and in particular, the treatise "Foreigners Around The World". It's near impossible to find now except
maybe on e-Bay, or you might try the link above for the torrent .pdf. It's well worth searching out.
In "Foreigners Around The World", O'Rourke took on...well...everyone. Each highlighted
nationality and/or racial group received a full page of vitriol. Guaranteed to make you pee your pants laughing. Here is one example, lifted directly from the magazine:
GermansRacial Characteristics: Piggish-looking, sadomasochistic automatons whose only known forms of relaxation are swilling watery beer from vast tubs and singing the idiotically repetitive verses of their porcine folk tunes-both of which amusements probably harken back to a pre-human state. Germans have never successfully been Christianized. Their language lacks any semblance of civilized speech. Their usual diet consists almost wholly of old cabbage and sections of animal intestines filled with blood and gore. Once every two or three decades, they set forth, lemming-like, on pointless military adventures during which great numbers of them are slaughtered-much to the improvement of the world in general. Their lardy women have long, tangled masses of sticky hair under their arms, and the men shave the sides of their heads.Good points: They kill a lot of French.Proper Forms Of Address: Kraut, Hun, Heiny, Spike-head, Sausage breath.Is that great or what? You can imagine what he has to say about Africans, Arabs, Israelis...the list goes on and on. Funny, funny stuff, and not for those easily offended. Which of course, you aren't--right?
Ain't it great...to lose some weight?
Don't be hatin'I'm losin' weightin'Yo yo word to yo fat mamaOk, ok, I can't write hip hop lyrics. I was trying for something that you could jam on to the tune of my favorite
Lupe Fiasco song, "Where Be All The White Womens?" I admit my attempt here blows dead hippos, but the message comes through, eyah? See, I am becoming a
shadow of my former self as I am losing weight
faster than you can say "He must have a tapeworm!"This is my latest
attempt at self improvement. Oh, I've tried all the others: Eckankar, running in place while cutting what's left of my hair with my Flobee, watching Dr. Phil. I even once took in laundry for a family of Scientologists. But, to no avail. My new way is pretty simple and here it is:
- I'm barely eating;
- I started smoking again.
And it's working.
My fatboy jeans are now getting, dare I say...looser. And, stop the presses: I haven't seen
Little Percy, the wife's best friend, in at least two years, and this morning in the shower I looked down, and (*sob*)...there he was!
Now, I imagine I'd do a lot better with this weight thing if I
cut back on the 8--10 Guinnesses a day. But some things, hey, that's just asking too much. Buff my scrotum if you don't agree.
My new favorite t-shirt!
Now, my loyal and lovable shlubbies,
THIS is more like it! I plan on wearing this out and about over the Spring and Summer. It's just another way your buddy Nigel tries to
win new friends and influence people!
You haven't truly lived until you see your own elderly mother toss an uninvited 83 year old woman who uses a walker out of a private party. And doing it loudly, because the old bat couldn't hear. Surreal? I think so.
Mom, (leaning into Kay's one good ear): "YOU HAVE TO LEAVE NOW, KAY. SO GET OUT. GOOD-BYE!!"
