Wednesday, November 30, 2011
I was saddened to hear about a recent robbery at a Southern California convenience store. "Your onion-laced potato chips or your life!" This was no ordinary heist, folks. Far from it. Not only did a couple of scoundrels steal money and take goodies without paying, one did so in disguise -- dressed up as Gumby! Yes, that Gumby! MY Gumby. That cute little green guy that brought joy and happiness to so many kiddies' lives -- mine included. What's this world coming to? Is there no shame? What that guy did was sacrilegious. "Thou shall not steal -- especially when dressed in green, with a slightly askew head." I'm surprised his accomplice didn't gallop in as Pokey. (I'm told the real Pokey was grazing on Kentucky bluegrass, minding his own business). Frankly, folks, I'm flummoxed. Next thing you'll know, someone dressed like a famous Orange County mouse will be jacking cars. How sad... But getting back to Gumby, wonderful childhood memories were ripped right out of me when I heard about that Gumby impersonator. Thanks to him, I have recurring nightmares of a panic-stricken Gumby running away from flashing police sirens. "Stop! -- or we'll roll you into a big ball of clay!" Oh Gumby... he was my friend, my confidant. I worshiped Gumby, I shared with him my innermost thoughts, all my secrets (okay, maybe not all my secrets). I swear, I'm suing that convenience store crook for emotional duress. "You bad guy, you! You're gonna pay for this, including all my therapy sessions!-- and they ain't cheap!"
Friday, November 25, 2011
Dear friends, family, and yet-to-be-friends, did any of you read about the guy who found a winning lotto ticket in the trash? I did. And it makes me wonder about what else he found. "Where are my latex gloves when I need them..." See, when I go digging through trash -- I try not to make it a habit -- I tend to find squiggly, wiggly things that appear to be alive... "Kids, we're going fishing today!" (don't knock it, it's quality time) While I'm on the subject of trash, it sure would be nice if the kids took it out once in awhile. "Quick! -- I hear the garbage truck!" My kids are fully capable of helping, from what I can tell. "In a minute, Dad..." Ah, that elusive minute... "I'm tired, Dad." Yeah, from resting too much. And then there's: "I would, Dad, but child-labor laws prevent me from doing so." (great, a future lawyer in the family) Beside fish bait, something else I discover in our trash bin are clothes. My clothes. Clothes I still plan to wear. I won't point my finger at anyone specifically -- my wife -- but I don't think it's very nice, to dump my favorite clothes like a bag of half-eaten leftovers. "Hey, that's my good-luck shirt!" And please, don't go saying that I haven't worn my "I Love AOL" Tee for the past ten years. That's irrelevant. And so are the holes. "I only wear certain articles of clothing on a special occasions, okay?" That reminds me, I may just have to sneak a peek in my neighbor's trash bin. He wears pants about about my size. "That's gross." Hey, easy on the criticism. It sure beats going to the mall during the holidays. Live and let live is what I say -- and leave my clothes alone! By the way, "Has anyone seen my 'World Champion Dodgers' sweatshirt?" What's so funny? It's only 23-years-old...
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
And I thought all my cousins outside the U.S. resided in Mexico... That's not exactly true. You see, one of my primos surely made the mistake of asking Mapquest for directions. "You were supposed to stop when you got to Rosarito!" Instead, this poor guy ended up in Africa. Let me explain: Just the other day I received an e-mail from Nigeria. Yes, that Nigeria! (I'd always thought I only knew people from Niagara.) I stumbled upon some spam that was just a click away from the recycle bin. What did I do? Why, I did the smart thing -- I opened the e-mail. Good thing I did, because a frantic, long-lost cousin was trying desperately to contact me from the African nation. Why? -- he had incredible news for me! Yay! His sincere, heart-felt e-mail explained that $10-million belonged to me -- and he had it all at his fingertips! Can you believe that? I mean, what are the odds that a bunch of loot would be in my name at some far away bank? "Ooooh! You're so lucky!" That, I am. And here's the best part: I don't even have to go to Africa to collect my dough. Nope! I just have to send this cousin $98.00 and he'll make sure to forward me my millions. Isn't that sweet of him? -- I don't have to spend one dime on food or travel! For a shade under $100.00 I can have $10-mil all to myself! It's almost too good to be true! The moral of the story, boys and girls? Good, honest people still exist in this world. I mean, my cousin could've kept the millions all to himself. He didn't have to reach out to me. But nooooo, not my favorite cousin. As a show of gratitude, I'm going to send him $98.00 every month until my big pay day arrives (the money's being delivered via elephant). It's the least I can do, right?
Sunday, November 6, 2011
You should be glad you're not me. Really glad. You see, I'm in the middle of a big scare. That's right -- a shoe scare. Simply put, I can't find my shoe. My new shoe... It's really disappointing -- and costly, too. "Shoe, where are you? I miss you." Did my new shoe vanish into thin air? Should I distribute MISSING SHOE fliers? Then again, there's always the chance I purchased one shoe and simply forgot (another reason to save your receipts). Just to be safe, I continue to look for my shoe (a right shoe, should anyone care to join in the search). The more I think about it, I'm almost certain I purchased two shoes. I usually do. Unless I went with one to try something new -- or to protest Wall Street. It's so sad to see my left shoe sitting in a corner, all alone... I can only imagine what it's thinking: "Hey, where's my other half? I can't function without my sole mate..." Yes, it's truly sad... So, what do I do? I weigh my options: 1.) I can give up the search and hook up with another pair of shoes, or 2.) I can adapt and walk/hop around on one foot. There's nothing to be ashamed of: "I got hurt playing rugby and now I can't wear a shoe on that foot." But that would be lying. I'm not a good liar. "You lost your shoe, didn't you? What a dork." Uh... I can always practice my lying: "Why do I wear only one shoe, you ask? It's something I picked up in the foothills of Europe." Then again, maybe I can come up with something more believable, more creative: "I'm training for the Hop Scotch Olympics." Yes, I can go with that explanation -- if I choose to lie. In the meantime, "I miss you, new shoe. I hardly got to know ya, much less wear ya..."