And Now ... Puppies!

And my new favorite movie line from The Waterboy: "I invented electricity! Ben Franklin is the devil!"

And in other, non-depressing news, She's Having a Baby!

On Second Thought, You Can Take That 'Bright Side of Life' Crap and Shove it up Your ...

So, after all the sleepless nights, hospital beds and nursing staff, dreaded late night phone calls, flower arrangements, constant stream of family, friends and misc. well-wishers, plates and plates and plates of potato salad and deli sandwiches, eulogies (and ratings of those eulogies afterwards), and just enough pomp and circumstance, sound and fury to send her off ... we're left with a refrigerator stuffed with pies and casseroles and sandwiches and a house full of not as yet wilted flowers ... and a huge hole in everything else.

A huge hole that will soon be filled with estate taxes, paperwork, meetings with bankers, accountants and lawyers, endless sifting through a lifetime's worth of collected ... stuff, and at least one huge-ass garage sale. I'd say this would make one helluva good script for a comedy, if it didn't suck gi-normous donkey balls.

And then, there's still the hole.

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

Well, after these last few days, I've learned that people have some strange requests for their funeral. That being said; when I go I'd like to be buried in a spacesuit, and I'd consider any less than 3 Shetland ponies at the mass simply disgraceful. Oh, and I'd really like to have Stifler read my eulogy. No, not this Stifler, this one. What, do you think I'm crazy?

Thank all of you who left such kind comments. Everyone else can just bite me.

** Addendum: I don't need to point out that I was joking, do I? Oh, good, I didn't think so.**

Bite me hard.

We Interrupt This Interruption ... Whatever.

So, that's that. After a lifetime of living, my grandmother is not so much doing that anymore. And, after a nighttime of drinking, I'm not so much feeling my fingertips anymore. (Fine, this is not exactly true, I'm just now working on my second, but it's good to have goals.) Anyhow ...

We interrupt this soon-to-be-drunken rambling to drop this little hint off to Medical Personnel Who Are In The Process of Telling People That They Can Cross One Name Off Next Year's Reunion Guest List: Either turn your cell phone off, or switch it to vibrate mode, especially if your ringtone is set to La Cucaracha. No, not even if the scrawny little chick in front of you is struggling to keep from laughing, it's still not a good idea. Really.

We further interrupt this getting-steadily-drunker rambling to warn certain home-health care givers who refused to change a certain scrawny little chick's scrawny little grandma's soiled undergarments because "I'm busy!" that that same certain scrawny little chick KNOWS WHERE YOU LIVE.

There will be no more interruptions, firstly because the word 'interruptions' is rather difficult to type when one has scrawny as well as numb fingertips, and secondly because the interruptions have now become the entire drunken rambling. So, to the nurses and misc. staff at the nursing home that the above mentioned scrawny grandmother was transferred to just about 5 minutes before there was one less incredibly busy home-health caregiver left in the world, and to the EMTs who drove her to the nursing home ... thank you for not being busy, and for calling her by her first name, and for announcing that "We're going over a bump!" and for allowing me to ride in the ambulance with her, and for not pointing and laughing when I wandered out of her room at 3 in the morning in my polar bear pajama pants, and instead asking me if I wanted to sit and watch Will and Grace with you till I was able to sleep again (which actually never happened, but you know what I mean.)

Thank you for giving her pain meds whenever the fuck she wanted them, and thank you for apologizing to her when you had to move her and it hurt, and thank you for not being asshole shitbags who kicked her out of the unit because you got tired of her, (I STILL KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE, AND IF YOU'RE READING THIS, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE), and also thank you for cleaning her face and pretending that you just now discovered that she was gone, when my mother walked in from the visiting the bathroom, even though you had already called me 5 minutes ago and asked me NOT to tell her so she could hear the news from a human rather than a voice over the phone.

Once I find my fingers, and the phone, again, I'm SO inviting the lot of you out for beer.

(For everybody else, I'll be taking a brief hiatus, and will be back ... later. We can discuss the beer, and the invitations to partake of, then.)

Q and A

Celti-How can we possibly get to the point of the perfect amount of cowbell?

There is no way to achieve this. The only one who has gotten close was John Belushi, with his Samurai Delicatessen bit, but the strain was too much for him, and we all know the results.

Derek-Do you, in fact, have access to a "streetwise Hercules?"
If you do, does he work on Thursdays?
Do you know what movie I vaguely referenced with that last question?
Small dogs fetching firecrackers and dying horrible deaths: for or against?

Yes, but he's doped up on crack and marshmallows, to keep him off the furniture.
No, but he can work on your car (but only if it's a '76 Gremlin, otherwise, never mind.)
Yes. Yes, I do.
I'd have to say 'for', simply because I don't want to be against a small dog when it's dying a horrible death. Ew.

MPH-First, where's the sandwich?
Second, isn't Blog Jesus already doing this?
Third, sandwich?

No, Why is the sandwich, Hoo's on first, and Where's in left field.
I'm stumping to be your replacement, a la Letterman/Carson, and I fully expect to be hosed over for the job just as Dave was, but at least I'll have a crappy TV movie of the week made about it.
Um ... still no. (Insert witty reason why here.)

Pops-Why all the disdain for "phoning it in"? This is some kind of passive-aggressive way to tell me you don't like my blog, isn't it?

No, this is: "Gee, your blog is really ... interesting. It's amazing what some people do with their spare time, isn't it?"

Kevin Hayden-What are you wearing?

A pirate hat, bright pink mukluks, and a smile.

Kif-What are you NOT wearing?

Dentures, hence the smile.

Flamingo Jones-Hmm...I have no question, but you CAN count on me to spray milk out of my nose. I'll have a tall glass and some oreos at the ready.

No question = No soup for you! Unless you fork over those Oreos, then we'll talk.

Kim-Can you explain what incredible coochie-super-power Paris Hilton has that keeps her in the media spotlight?
and while you're at it is there anyway to stop her and her evil from spreading?

Don't quote me on this, as I do not want to be pursued by her evil monkeys, but she has crack and marshmallow mojo. Powerful stuff, but I have a secret weapon consisting of mayonaisse, Nutter-Butters, and a super-secret-sauce that will cause her old nose to grow back, which will of course stop her evil from spreading. It worked on Barbra Streisand, after all. Everybody loves Babs.

As always, I look forward to ripping off more of MPH's material.

Where Have All the Good Posts Gone?

And where are all the fans?

I have little, if any, funny going on in my life right now. I could try and put together something, 'phoning it in', as the kids are saying nowadays. I could do a lot of things, but I'm not gonna. Instead, I'm going to just rely on you, my loyal and dedicated fans (all 6 of you). Ask me questions, I'll answer them, and hopefully I'll be able to make at least one person spray milk out of their nose (hopefully from laughter, and not some unfortunate medical condition).

What?!? It could happen!