Memories of Saturday Mornings Past

When I was but a young rock child living in Romania, we had no cartoons to watch.  A great uncle, Basalt, took pity on me and my fellow pebbles, and sent us many a VHS tape* containing hours and hours of nature programs.  Marty Stouffer's WIld America, PBS' Nature, and various Richard Attenborough narrated series entertained me when Romanian propaganda held no interest.  Now, in the fullness of time, one third of the way around the circle of life, Richard Attenborough entertains me yet again:



* Kind of like a DVD that only goes one way, youngsters.

Like No Other Feeling in the World

...and I have felt every feeling, even if I will later deny this statement. There is nothing quite like being momentarily famous, even if I did not reach the level that Mr. Oats did. A few years ago, my father gave me a box set of The Onion books, specifically so I would point out the article in which I was a model and he could then bring them in to work. His PostIt note on the page said, "This is my son. What a way to waste your fifteen minutes of fame." Little did he know...

Ahem Pinko

At least this remake stars the original cast.

Attenuation, or I AM STRUNG OUT

Like a heroin addict in a mormon temple.

I am starting to get pretty antsy at The Cottage. The Old Lady takes off every morning from work, and returns in the evening with grand tales of social interactions with actual, living, human beings while I can only discourse about the day's events on The Days of Our Mockingbrids. She doesn't listen well to my tales of territory encroachment and infidelity among our yards most common aerial inhabitants. I really empathize with the chicks, how can they develop good and civil morals when their mother acts like she is on a telenovella, and their father fights constantly with the neighbors. The crickets, stink bugs, and ticks make far less interesting television, and the network disregards all of my correspondence on the subject of cancelling these programs in favor of a greater variety of avian-oriented shows.

I have not yet been able to convince a telecommunication company to sell me internet and phone service. How did people survive in the time before time? Trekking five miles to the library is already getting seriously old, and my antivirus program is still out of date, Windows keeps asking to be allowed to connect to the internet to check for updates, and my firewall program is also annoyed that it can't annoy me with a constant stream of antivirus and version updates. My guild is meandering, foundering even, without my guidance, and my friends haven't heard from me in far too long! I haven't received a communique from Sadi Fansa about the status of our sponsorship request to the corporate office, and I am afraid that he has joined another band.

In long, I am fiending.

I Miss Your Comments, Too

But sending me blank text messages is an odd way to generate more hits, Brando. I'm out looking for a hot dog stand that also sells buckets of cold spring water, when I get back to my neighborhood, I'll hit the library and leave some comments on your hilarious bloggio.

Facial Bronzing Cream? That's Aisle Six Mr. Carlson

Once again, I find myself in a position to ridicule Tucker Carlson. This is not a habit or hobby for me, but once some dude threatens you with destruction, you have to make hay while the sun pelts you with lemons. Or in this case, tubes of bronzing cream.


I was waiting for the bus last night and talking with a friend when he/she regaled me with a 100% true story about seeing Tucker Carlson in one of the neighborhood CVS stores.¹ This friend said that he/she/it had seen Tucker Carlson in line with a packet of Neutrogena Instant Bronze face cream. This is sweet, sweet confirmation of my previous statements on Tuck a l'Orange's suspiciously even skin tones. This is also extremely sad for me. All of my experiences with Tucker Carlson left me with the distinct impression that he is the kind of guy who has a full staff of primpers and preeners to perform all the unpleasant chores of his life like chewing his food, powdering his balls and applying his tanning creme. I figured with the kind of money that his wikipedia page claims that he has, Tucker would have some exotically accented butler following him around and picking up his discarded McDonald's wrappers, maybe even calling him sir. I guess times really are tight for everyone and that may be why no one has seen him at the video store, Netflix is indeed cheaper if you watch more than 1 movie a week. Of course, he may not go to that video store anymore because he was such a publicly raging asshole, but I digress. Honestly, if the economy has gotten so bad that the inheritors of multiple massive estates can no longer afford the soft, supple, manicured hands of Jeeves to apply their artificial bronzer and must now rely on Wagner Power Painter Wide Shot Max to do the job, what is next? Will Tucker Carlson begin standing around stop lights with a wash rag and some Windex? Damn the irresponsible fiscal policies of the past for Tucker's sad fate!


A Personal Note to Tucker Carlson: Before you get all snippy while ego-surfing and send out your inept lawyers² again, Agent Orange, remember that you are a public figure and quite open to ridicule. If I were to ever meet you in person again, Tucker, I am more inclined to help you avoid any Tropicana goon squads after your deliciously ripe noggin than I am to do anything rash or rude, like yell at someone in a video store.

1 I do not shop at this CVS store if I can avoid it because the building was a neat old movie theater before being sold to CVS. We all have our lines in the sand.
2 If anyone wishes to send me any legal documents in regard to this or any other post, please contact me at geniusblogs AT sluggy DOT com. If anyone wishes to fucking destroy me, they can contact me at orangeskinnedblowhard AT whinywasp DOT org.

Radio Ruined My Post

I was working out a post in my head on the way across the street to my coffee shop this morning. It was about the detritus on my floor and the somewhat humorous qualities therein. After ordering my coffee, I was standing over by the news rack looking over the latest issue of the Post and the excitingly uninvestigative news when Concrete Blonde's Joey blurted out of the speakers. An actual live radio station chose to play a Concrete Blonde song. This pretty much blew my mind and I forgot the series of jokes I had laid out about how much of a mess my apartment is and how fulsome still beats me in that regard.

I thought AG was the only other person in the world who actually chose to listen to this band.

So anyway, tonight Snag, Clif and I going to solve all this shit going on in the world. There may be signs. There may be drinks. There may even be some form of pork.

That Transformers Movie Thing

Hey Steven Spielberg? Next time you want to make a Transformers movie, shoot me an email and I'll give you a movie that won't leave the smell of Michael Bay's ass on the screen.

Also, the sequel should maybe involve the Dinobots? Cuz they are freakin' sweet, especially GRIMLOCK.