Unfinished Rambler

That's me, circa 1979-1980, the years that the Steelers won back-to-back championships with Terry Bradshaw et al.

As you can tell by the gaudy ornaments at right, it was Christmas and I had just donned one of my best Christmas presents that year.

Why I say one of my best Christmas presents is because of this photo, also undated, but that I think might have been the same year as the Steelers jacket photo:



Yes, the honky boom box.

This was pre-Do The Right Thing and Radio Raheem:




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My blogroll has been out of control for a while. So to simplify it, I've lumped you altogether into a group called the 4400 (also because I don't like separating you into castes, and I think all of you are funny-- or at least mildly amusing ;) ). The top 25 posts from the blogroll will be listed in the far right sidebar on my blog, and the entire blogroll will be listed here with a new link at the top of the page (just to the right of my logo).

Why I called the roll the 4400 is because this way, I can leave it open for as many as I would like to add. I was thinking the 144,000 as the Mormons Jehovah's Witnesses believe in 144,000 being selected for the roll call in heaven, but then opted for the 4400. Plus many of you, I believe, just may have been abducted by aliens, because I cannot put a finger on your sense of humor.

If inhaling is good, exhaling is even better.

Unlike inhaling, which like I said in my last post that I have never done, I have exhaled...

...a lot.

The time I remember most when I dodged all those bullets after that agent fired his gun right at me on the roof of that building, and then my partner, Trinity, shot him in the head. Just before she pulled the trigger of her gun, she said: "Dodge this."

Whew! That was close, I thought to myself as I exhaled. I dodged more than a few bullets that day.

Okay, that wasn't me. That was Neo in The Matrix, but I've seen the movie so many times that I feel like it was me, you know?

I mean, watch it, don't you feel that same way?



I don't know if I'm The One, but I am No. 1 at Humor-Blogs.com, until The Architect builds back his following. The real One, though, may be The Nemesing One. I'm sure I don't know. Or even the hungry like a wolf Lobo. Perhaps I'm just a pretender to the throne.

As I once said, and will now say again, paraphrasing myself: Where we go from here is a choice I leave to you.*

* or at least I think I did, as many times as I've seen the movie.

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In the spirit of today's Bizzarre/Weird WTF-was-I-thinking Picture Day over at Bee's Musings (for more bizzare/weird WTF-stuff, check it out), I present to you these undoctored, unPhotoshopped creations:





I did this for a post where I made fun of Humor-Blogs.com, but have since deleted. Now it's back in all its manboobage glory. I'd say enjoy, but um...not really. And no, I wasn't lactating in that second photo.

Perhaps I should consider breast reduction surgery (click first photo for more information), and if you want to be even more disturbed with a combination of the bad teeth from the last post and more manboobs (as if you didn't get enough here), then click the second photo.

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Part II: Exhale is still on its way later today. Hopefully, you're not holding your breath from yesterday. As I said, that wouldn't be good.

The other day The Wife joked that I have to blog about everything, even when I breathe, so this is part one of two.

Inhaling is good.

Or so I've been told.

The only "inhaling" (wink, wink, nudge, nudge, know what I mean?) I've really done is tobacco, and that was for a short time in college as I've mentioned in my New Year's Resolutions earlier in the year.

College was Messiah College, yes, the same place from which Monica Goodling graduated, but unlike that other place, Regent University, Messiah was accredited and didn't rank in the bottom of colleges in the country...

...and while it wasn't Liberty University (founded by this dead guy) or, God forbid, Bob Jones University, they still frowned upon smoking, drinking AND dancing (when The Wife and I went there; the latter since has changed).

Students, though, of course, found a way around the rules and went out to nightclubs in neighboring Harrisburg (Pa.) where we smoked, drank and, yes, even danced.

I'll be honest, I probably was put off by smoking for the longest time because I had a grandfather that died of lung cancer, plus asthma runs in our family. I think what finally broke me down to was a woman.

No, it wasn't The Wife, although we did smoke together, but she didn't send me down the path of perdition.

It was a red-haired vixen named Vicki that led me astray.

She and I would smoke in her attic/bedroom of her house, listening to the Dead, discussing The White Goddess by Robert Graves, and then we'd go out for drives and smoke and drink and sometimes dance in the middle of the road.

Actually, I remember once we laid in the middle of a back road beside a creek and watched the stars. Unfortunately for me, but fortunately in the eyes of The Wife, it was all platonic.

I must admit there was nothing like inhaling a good cigarette during a night of drinking.

Of course, now I can't stand the smell of smoke and thanks to commercials like the following, I never want to smoke again.





When I think of smoke, I think of smoke signals or smokestacks like in Auschwitz.

However, for some reason, Pope Benedict XVI yesterday chose to ignore the Holocaust on, of all days, what is known as Holocaust Memorial Day as he reinstated a bishop who doesn't believe the Holocaust happened.

So now:



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Tomorrow: Part II: Exhale. Don't hold your breath until then, though. That wouldn't be good.

This week's Shout Out is brought to you by the letter S, as I bring you two bloggers new to me within recent months:

First, new to me, just this past week is Scott's Tip of the Day. He actually sent me a personal e-mail asking if I could link to him, and on the same day, someone also introduced The Wife to him. I made him no promises, but said I might would give him a shout out this Sunday, if he was funny enough.

Well, I guess I deemed him funny enough because here he is. Scott, who humbly calls himself "All-Knowing Guru," gives a tip each day that is short, to the point and often pretty darned funny.

Second is a blogger I discovered maybe about a month ago: A Spoonful of Shut Up.
He calls himself The Josh and from what I seen in his archives, he's been blogging for a couple of years now, but with only a handful of posts each month. Personally, I want more posts than that and if you read him, I think you'll want more posts from him also.

This week's favorite posts (in no particular order):

Diesel @ The Mattress Police confesses "I'm Huge In China."

Chelle B. @ The Offended Blogger launches yet another offensive, this time against Obama, in The Tell Your Mommy Obammie is a Commie Offensive.

Margaret @ Nanny Goats In Panties pleads with the Chinese and the rest of us to Say No to the Year of the Ox but yes to the Year of the Goat among other ideas of what the year should be called.

Canucklehead also weighs in on the Year of the Ox in Knock Your Ox Off.

Captain Dick returns to The Bad Ones Hurt Forever with yet another ill-advised tattoo in Sweepin' The Clouds Away.

Out of the Mouth of Dave comes Obama's Presidential Breakfast analyzed.

Harris Bloom @ Why Me? The Life and Times of Harris Bloom gives a concrete example of just exactly how The Times They Are A' Changin'. Harris is one of my favorite bloggers and comedians. You have to read him over time. He'll grow on you.

In a worldwide exclusive, Grant Miller @ Grant Miller Media releases letters written from Bush to Obama.

AmyOops compiles a list of Bushisms, complete with pictures in a way only Amy can.

I have to give a special thanks to Starcasm.net for Stumbling my own answer to a meme that I was sent last week from Soggy Doggy Bloggy.

Here was my answer: 25 Things About You, Interwebs, The Train Obama Rode In On, in which I didn't quite follow the rules in revealing much about myself, but instead turning it around to put the spotlight on the humor blogosphere, well, sort of, where I poked a little bit of fun at the following groups: Humor-Blogs.com, Humor Bloggers and Blogerella.

On a serious note, I'd like to thank all of you who have voted for me over at Humor-Blogs.com and helped me reach No. 1, at least for a short time. I'd also ask you to stop by my page over at Humor Bloggers and give me a review (you don't even have to register), if you could. Even though I've said it too many times, it's true: Without each of these groups, I wouldn't have met many of you (wiping tear from my eye). Thank you again for your support.

In the 1970s into the 1980s, as I was growing up, I wasn't like other boys.

No, I don't mean that way. I'm not coming out, although I have admitted in the past that I liked disco music, but I had no idea what those men dressed up like a policeman, cowboy, Indian chief, biker, construction worker and military man were up to down at the YMCA.

While my male counterparts were listening to decadent rock n' roll or maybe even some of them disco (hey, I'm not here to judge), I was listening to country and western before it became country and pablum.



That is me in 1977 (BEFORE I knew about that aforementioned group with a cowboy, by the way) at the age of 8.

Don't ask about the purple teddy bear. I don't know. I honestly don't remember that bear. No, really. I am not coming out!

The cat's name was TLC, Tender Loving Care.

The big hits in country and western in 1977 were "Lucille" by Kenny Rogers, which was awarded the single and song of the year by both the Academy of Country Music and the Country Music Association and "Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Blue" by Crystal Gayle.

The next year, though, is when I really "got into" country and western, the same year incidentally that those strangely-dressed men "came out" with their big hit. That was the year Kenny released "The Gambler" and Willie and Waylon released "Mamma Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys." and then the movie The Electric Horseman came out in 1979, featuring the same song.

You'd think by the time I was 11, I would have been over dressing up like a cowboy, but no, as this picture from 1980 is evidence, that wasn't true, with my mamma obviously not heeding Willie and Waylon's warning.



We didn't play cowboys and Indians (they were still Indians then and not Native Americans), but we played cowboys and S.W.A.T., yes, even four years after the show ended although in our defense, it probably was still on our black and white TV, with rabbit ears, in reruns. That's my sister in the helmet and our friends Tommy and Kari Rose VanDyke, and yes, you don't have to say it. My family didn't know anything about home decorating.

That year was the beginning of the end of my love affair with country and western as Queen came out with the album The Game with the song "Another One Bites The Dust," which, according to that great resource Wikipedia, originally and ironically was about cowboys and was a rock-disco crossover.

And no, I didn't know that their lead singer was like those other strangely-dressed men-- and I am not trying to imply that since I liked both rock AND disco that I am bi.

I mean, come on, I liked AC/DC. Oh, never mind.



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I was tagged by dzzblnd at Soggy Doggy Bloggy for some meme that asked me to tell six random things about myself and then tag five other bloggers, yadda yadda yadda. You and I both know the drill, and you probably know that I don't follow the rules of memes too well (well, if you don't, you do now) so I decided to adapt it to something I've seen hitting Facebook: 25 Things About Yourself.

Instead, I thought it'd be cool or at least time diverting to post 25 Things I've Learned About You, Blogosphere, Since I've Gotten Here, Wherever The Hell Here Is.

1. You are white bread and eschew any kind of bread with the slightest dark grain, but you say you can "tolerate" other grains.

2. You are a suburban housewife or a cranky old man.

3. You don't like rap unless it's "old school rap".

4. You like country AND western.

5. You like to fly your flag, whatever it may be, except if it's this freak flag:



6. You are a stickler for grammar, punctuation and spelling until it suits your purposes and you choose to go off a tangent say into a run-on sentence and randomly Capitalize or not like A text Message I believe we could be BFF (if you could text me at....then I would I know or leave a comment in the box below

7. (oh, didn't I say? you like parentheses too (or parentheses within parentheses)...and ellipses...basically you cover all the -eses...

8. You like to talk about yourself A LOT and your children or lack thereof your husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend/partner/companion your lack thereof your job your lack thereof your pets your lack thereof.

9. You are cynical to the point that if the rich man who used to give out wads of cash to random people on the street came up and gave you money, you'd be skeptical and wonder what strings were attached. "You want me to blow you, old man, why didn't you just say so?"

10. You reduce everything to its most base element. You enjoy bathroom and sex humor, veiled in the guise of high brow humor. You enjoy watching George Carlin reruns.

11. You either are up on the news so much that you feel you have to regurgitate it to us with your own spin or into the news so little that you ignore the obvious import of what's going on around you (like the newspaper that chose not to do a story about Obama becoming president; of course, not to be outdone, yesterday an entire country ignored the inauguration).

12. You like using the word "Obama" in your blog posts and blog titles, even if said blog post has nothing to do with Obama, because it will guarantee somebody will click on your post even though it's not about Obama and has nothing to do with Obama. It might not even be Obamesque in nature.

13. You like making up words using Obama - Obaminator, Obagasm, Obamagate and think you're clever like you are the Second Term of Obama, you Obamamentalist.

14. You like to refer yourself in the second or third person to distance yourself from who you really are.

15. You've got issues and you like talking/writing about them for the entire world to see: "I am a drunk Twitterer basically. E-mail is so passe."

16. You are a 2-year-old child who likes to listen to yourself shout "me, me, me." You are a Reaganite underneath that Obama suit of many colors.

17. You don't believe in God or if you do, you don't say it too loudly on your blog because you don't want to be labeled a right-wing religious nut. You'd rather be a left-wing agnostic bolt, just for the sake of being argumentative.

18. You like to Google yourself even though you think Google is the new Microsoft.

19. You like to use Googlesque applications to blog, to see who is reading you by what keyword and from where they are coming and what makes them "bounce" and what makes them stay and what socioeconomic/cultural demographic to which they belong (uh, white, white, white, middle class, middle class, middle class-- okay, also two black guys, a Latino woman and a pair of lesbians who are "aspiring" to be upper middle class, but mostly white as in lily-white).

20. You like lists, memes, tagging, poking, throwing sheep at, friending, following, unfollowing, making "connections" with others.

21. You have no IRL friends.

22. You are not a role model.

23. Sometimes you say things that are inappropriate.

24. You disobey your own established rules of not putting a link to any one blogger (besides dzzblnd since she tagged you) which you established so as not to exclude all of the fine bloggers that are out there, but you say, "To hell with it, it's my blog, I'll do what I want," because that's how you roll and after all you, you are not a role model.

25. You like to be member of different online "communities" like Humor-Blogs.com, Humor Bloggers, Blogerella to show how ecumenical you are within the white bread humor blogosphere to which you belong, or at least did until you wrote a post like this and got your ass kicked out.

So click there on any of the three links to see more crackers and honkys like me.

When I saw this at the local supermarket, I knew I had to pick it up, just for the shtick value and because it reminded me of the kind of thing you'd find at Unfortunate Names.

On the way home, The Wife tried it.

"Well, at least, I can say I had your Bawls in my mouth today."

Oh, and if you're wondering how Bawls taste? It wasn't half bad actually.

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This morning I had to go in with The Wife to work to pick up our car to take to the shop. On the way there, we were listening to NPR's pre-coverage of the inauguration and we, being white people who live in the middle of a county where no black people exist except on TV and only in sporting events because after all, they real good at 'dem sporting events, couldn't help but think a few inappropriate thoughts and then say them out loud.

Well, when I say "We," I mean, "me" of course, mostly me.

The correspondents made note of the large number of black people in the crowds there. They said something to the effect that they never had seen so many black people in D.C. and so many young people too.

The Wife: "I think they mean 'unthreatening Nego youth'...like at a Howard University graduation."

Me: "Oh, yeah, they're scared. Don't want 'bands of roving Negro youth,' you know."

Of course, I couldn't stop there.

"You know that Million Man March that they said there weren't a million? Well, I bet there are now."

"And did you notice that all the announcers today have those names: Meshell and Inette? and then there's Vakshmir Sling."

The Wife (trying not to laugh): "Lakshmir Singh, you mean."

I've also since learned that Meshell is how you say it, but she spells it Michele (Norris).

I probably would have said much more but that's when we were struck from behind by a local university student not paying attention to what was going on in front of him (i.e. my wife braking at an intersection).

Justice? Like Dr. King paraphrased Amos 5:24: "...justice will roll down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream." The original verse stated: "But let judgment run down as waters, and righteousness as a mighty stream."

Maybe it was judgment. Maybe it was.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OaiSHcHM0PA



And lest you think this is completely serious, and to prevent spam from the PC Police, let me also point out that I am a member of these fine organizations with a common word at least among two of them:

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I know that it's Monday. Thank the two NFL conference championship games for ruining my Sunday. While a much-anticipated Pennsylvania matchup (at least by me and the rest of the denizens of our fair Commonwealth) didn't happen, my Steelers got through and it will be up to them to shut down the Cardinals who have been flying high on 30-plus point performances through the playoffs, but I believe the Steel Curtain will be up to the task.

Anyhoo, back to the real reason I've brought you all together for this post, I've split this week's Sunday Shout Out between two new blogs I've added to my blogroll:

1. Blicky Kitty
2. Soggy Doggy Bloggy

Go check them out. Why? Because I said so, and they both seem to be pretty funny, if first impressions count for anything, which I hope they do.

I had a stomach flu most of last week, so I wasn't as diligent about my blog reading as I usually am. However, here's some of the funny posts that caught my eyes as I was scanning through Google Reader:

Pistols at Dawn @ Save Your Generation tells about Giving the Gift of Disappointment in a post that is Heavy On the use Of "Randomly Capitalizing Things in O'Er Long Sentences" but light on The Eyes and the Heart for his analysis of Christmas gift-Giving.

Matt @ That Tears It... shares his 7 New Laws of the Universe, in a post in which he shows us that he spends way too much time eating out (Arby's, McDonald's) and shopping (Wal-Mart) and problems he has encountered at said establishments.

Janna @ The Jannaverse gets my vote for the weirdest post of the week for I dreamed I was Carrot Top's girlfriend. The girl has issues. Just read the post, if you don't believe me.

DrowseyMonkey posts a link to a video of a recap of Star Wars trilogy by someone who hasn't seen it in Going to the Dark Side...or Whatever.

Anonymous Doug @ Renal Failure is an old school pervert in I can't get off it's not Times New Roman.

Charlie Hatton @ Where The Hell Was I? says Thanks for the Memory (Card), but no thanks to his dog for helping him unpackage the new memory card for his cellphone.

Tiggy @ Tiggyblog.com gives a review of an oldie-but-a-goodie (?) in Tiggy's Hit Parade - A Dead Good Record.

Nanny Goats in Panties admits she is a Honky without the Tonk.

The road goes ever on and on... for my wife @ Dispatches from the Northern Outpost in this random post of notes she took while on the road for her job.

And last, but not least, JohnnyB, in a timely post for Martin Luther King Day, gives us Movie Review: MLK! in this tribute, well, sort of to the great civil rights leader.


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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mopkn0lPzM8

Even though John McCain's advisors obviously believed it, can we really?

Not according to Hal Lindsey, the author of The Late Great Planet Earth, in an article last April. However, Lindsey did say:

Obama is correct in saying that the world is ready for someone like him – a messiah-like figure, charismatic and glib and seemingly holding all the answers to all the world's questions.

And the Bible says that such a leader will soon make his appearance on the scene. It won't be Barack Obama, but Obama's world tour provided a foretaste of the reception he can expect to receive.

He will probably also stand in some European capital, addressing the people of the world and telling them that he is the one that they have been waiting for. And he can expect as wildly enthusiastic a greeting as Obama got in Berlin.

The Bible calls that leader the Antichrist. And it seems apparent that the world is now ready to make his acquaintance. [emphasis mine]

Pleased to meet you. Hope you guessed my name, oh, yeah.

I also don't think that it was a coincidence that it was in Berlin!?!#$!#$$^*(+)##@!@ Do you? You know what happened in Berlin? Yeah. This. Talk about abomination.

In light of the upcoming inauguration of what some view as the Antichrist, I thought it might be good or at least funny (because no matter what some of my dear Christian brethern and sistern believe, it is laughable) to explore what the world of wackos believes about the Antichrist.

These are just a few of the "theories" being bounced around about the Antichrist, many specific to Obama, some just thrown in for gits and shiggles since this is Superfluous Surfing Saturday:

1. http://www.countdown.org/armageddon/antichrist.htm: According to this group, the Antichrist is a homo from Russia. So no dice for BHO, unless BHO is another acronym for Babylon Ho, which as we all know refers to the Whore of Babylon—which could be ushering in the Antichrist, just as Lindsey says. OR maybe BHO stands for Bisexual Ho, which means, he’d still be in the running for Antichrist with this group.

2. http://www.barackobamaantichrist.blogspot.com/: This dude, though, believes that Obama is the Antichrist and the New World Order is starting with RFID chips implanted in your arms.

3. http://o.bamapost.com/: You gotta see this to believe it. I think the first page alone says it all. No need to further explore. The hilarity ensues in the red letters.

4. http://www.godlikeproductions.com/forum1/message483746/pg1: Any doubts? His Chicago address has three sixes in it. OMG! Scroll through the post for responses I wish I had written.

6. http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/video/2008/oct/27/barack-obama-antichrist-conspiracy-theories: An ethanol plant manager tells a Guardian reporter why Obama is the Antichrist.

7. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ptufoMx7EKE: Prince Charles? Hmmmm. Convincing argument. As a Democrat, I like the diversion from Obama.

8. According to this video, the Antichrist is the computer.



Note: My wife told me not to write a post about this, that the election was over, implying that some might not believe anymore that Obama is the Antichrist. Unfortunately, I believe it's far from over as evidenced by the number of sites still out there, and I, for one, just wanted to say what a bunch of malarkey-- and that's putting it mildly, I think it is.

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It commenced on the afternoon of Nov. 23, 1996 at the Salem County Sportsmen's Club [1] in Deepwater, N.J. It wasn't planned as a convention per se, but that is what the wedding reception for The Rambler and The Wife became that day.







The man on the far left [3] "got the party started" when he tossed his coat aside reminiscent of Tony Manero. That was the signal for all the white people in the room to get on the floor and dance or do some semblance thereof. Of course, being that some of the folks in the room were septuagenerian didn't mean they got out there too quickly or did the Humpty or anything.

No honky dancing convention is complete without The Train:



Or The Macarena:



That was the last straw for this honky. I think I just went to the bar and nursed a Captain and Coke (okay, two or three) the rest of the afternoon after this.

Can you blame me?









[1] Despite the note on the front page that "The Bar is looking fo a couple of experienced bar tenders.", this place was as honky as they come. Did you not see the giant fish in the pictures and the flagpoles in the background? Only thing missing: a framed photo of Lee Greenwood.

[2] I have to give credit where credit is due. I couldn't have thought up the name of this post if it hadn't been for this post at Nanny Goats in Panties bringing the term to mind recently.

[3] It would be one of the lasting memories of our dear friend, Chris, who died of throat cancer less than three years after this photo was taken.

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That is what The Wife says.

I think it's about to arrive right on time for my teasing her earlier in the week for the violent stomach flu she had.

I'll keep you posted or not. If you don't see me for a few days, it's not because I'm ignoring you (well, I am, but not on purpose; I still love your work, and I'm sure after I read it, I'll exclaim to the entire world as I always do: "I laughed, I cried, it was much better than 'Cats!'").

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Last week I posted a special award to the most evil newspaper company on the planet: Journal Register Company (JRC), after I learned from a former coworker that the company was closing the weekly papers for which I once worked in southeastern Pennsylvania.

In the telephone conversation I had with my former coworker, she said one of the articles written in the Philadelphia Inquirer about the company closing other weekly papers in the Philadelphia area called JRC "famously frugal". That was an understatement. Take tightwad multiply it by 10 and you still wouldn't come close to what JRC was.

How tightwaddish were they?

Adapting Jesus' saying "Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God," it would be easier for a camel to go through an eye of a needle than for a box of pencils or an entire package of reporters' notebooks to be allocated to a JRC newspaper.

Let me explain.

As an editor for one of the company's weekly newspapers, I had to fight to get reporters' notebooks not only for my "reporters," of which I was afforded no full-time reporters, but also even for myself. In addition to my duties as editor for two weekly papers, covering two suburban areas, I also was editor/reporter/photographer/sports editor (after a string of unsuccessful sports editors).

Trying to acquiring pens and pencils wasn't much better than getting notebooks.

We'd order boxes of pens and be told we only could have individual pens, and while this next tale didn't happen to me, I believe it happened because of my own experiences.

One of our "sister" papers requested a box of pencils.

The editor was asked how many people worked there. When he said, "Two," the manager for our group of papers told him that he could have two pencils.

I guess, if one of those pencils broke, then one of those reporters was, as my wife would say, lit out of shuck (or LOS).

Now unfortunately, all the employees, including hopefully that manager, who are left and who didn't jump out of the burning building previously like myself, are all LOS.

As for JRC, fortunately, it is reaping what it sowed. You get what you paid for: nothing.

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Peer pressure.

I'm feeling it from my fellow humor bloggers, of which I am the least-- similar to what St. Paul said in I Corinthians 15:9: "For I am the least of the apostles and do not even deserve to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God."

Likewise, I am the least of the humor bloggers and do not even deserve to be called be a humor blogger, because I have persecuted this fine blogger whom I'm featuring here today in the past with posts like this and others which I have since deleted when I thought I might leave the enclave of humor bloggers which he runs (since then, I haven't left, but have continued to kiss his ass with posts like this while also stabbing him in the back by joining another humor blogging community).

My point, if there be one, is that many of my fellow humor bloggers are writing entries to tell you, dear reader of the funny blogs, to vote for Diesel, president, owner and chief executive officer of Humor-Blogs.com, for his blog Mattress Police for the Best Humor Blog in the 2008 Weblog Awards (THIS IS THE IMPORTANT LINK; IF YOU CLICK ON NO OTHERS IN THIS POST, THAT'S ALL RIGHT, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD OR WHATEVER YOU WORSHIP, PLEASE, PRETTY PLEASE WITH A CHERRY ON TOP, CLICK ON THIS ONE-- oh, and then vote for Mattress Police, of course, because the dude is getting his ass kicked in a major way).

To date, at least five bloggers of whom I know have endorsed Diesel:

• Bee from Bee's Musings (even though she has been on his "bad side" recently
  
• John J. Savo from The Authoring Auctioneer (complete with an interview)
• Johnny B Truant from The Economy Isn't Happening (with an excerpt from one of Diesel's books)
• Joel Bezaire from Crummy Church Signs (who is a major kisser of Diesel's ass as evidenced by his post Vote for Mattress Police!)
• Howard Semenos from The Web Pen Blog (who says to Vote for the Funny)

Now my name can be added to the list: Unfinished Rambler from Unfinished Rambler (no link needed since you're already here at my kiss-ass post).

If nothing else, let's get the Diesel dude to at least 1,000 votes. He's barely breaking 750 last time, I checked, and the front runner is pushing 10,000?!? It's shameful and isn't at all funny (snicker, snicker-- hey, that wasn't me). In fact, it's a travesty. You can vote once a day through Tuesday.

Polls close this Tuesday at 10 p.m. Greenwich Mean Time (GMT), 5 p.m. (EST) and 2:00 p.m. (PST). So get on the stick, guys and dolls and vote.

You thought the presidential election was important. Feh! This is even more crucial to our lives as humor bloggers. I beseech you, brethren and sistern (?), vote for Diesel NOW...

...okay, no one can say I didn't do my part.

Humor Bloggers (that other humor blogging community, of which I spoke earlier, that I've joined to stab Diesel in the back)

Blogerella (which is yet another of Diesel's projects in the blogosphere and is a must-miss, I mean, must-not-miss)

Okay, I didn't really lose consciousness, but you know that feeling when as you're falling after you slip on ice and time slows down a la The Matrix and you step outside yourself for a moment and think this would be cool if he was dodging bullets until you realize that he's not dodging bullets, he's only slipping on ice in his own driveway, and that he is you and that you are about to hit the ice hitting the ice with your shoulder blades and suddenly the pain goes up to the base of your neck to your brain where it registers into one word and that word isn't God, well, isn't just God? Yes, it was like that.

Then after he I made it to the car and went to the post office, I then fell down in the ice-covered parking lot there. As I was walking into the post office, I turned to wave to a man in his truck. Did I know the man? No. Being the friendly person that I am, I just turned to wave and as I did, my feet once again slipped out from underneath me. This time, I was lucky enough to catch myself with my left elbow.

Funny thing or not so funny, depending on how you look at it, is that the post office doesn't own the parking lot next to the post office-- Whaaaa? Yes, that's what I said. It's owned by a local hotel in town, who owns a lodge on the other side of the parking lot, but they don't use the parking lot and they don't block off the parking lot so unsuspecting boobs like myself don't fall there. I only discovered this after I went into the post office, where they told me all this, probably to insure that I didn't sue their asses.

The moral of the story: Watch what you're doing.





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Click photo for a bonus video, something I have a feeling Sue from Farvel Cargo will like.

Believe it or not, as manly as I might have appeared with my 'stache in high school, I was tortured by my share of female bullies throughout the elementary school years.

It all began...

...back in about 1973 when I was in first grade, maybe even kindergarten, with my archenemy Robyn Richards. She SAT on me! On my back! And punched me, and, yeah, probably spanked me like Leigh did this past year over at Humorbloggers Fantasy Football League Blog.

While now I dream of having a woman (uh, my wife, I hasten to add before she reads this post) do that (hmmm, I can't imagine why), back then in my formative years, it wasn't cool.

Sure, it was cool to chew tobacco, but not to swallow it, then throw it up and then never want to chew again. Oh, wait, that was later in fourth grade. I digress (check the name of the blog, it's what I do, ramble).

About that same time, in third or fourth grade, I encountered two new archenemies: Wendy and Julie, not to confused with Wendy and Lisa. Even though both were younger than I was-- maybe two grades below me, that didn't stop them from harassing me.


Above is a photo of Wendy and me before she met Julie, who soured our relationship forever.

Wendy and Julie stole my lunch money, then chased me around the playground with whiffle ball bats (okay, I'm making the whiffle ball bat part up, it was all a blur, morphing from one female bully to the next).

However, I do recall vividly the twin sadists pushed me down on the monkey bars so that I broke my teeth on the top rung of the ladder. I bled profusely and cried like a girl. Of course, they just laughed and claimed they didn't do it.

One time they chased me up and down our elementary school playground, which was split into two sections. One section had the equipment such as the notorious monkey bars; the other section, a large open grass field that went down to a nearby creek (which at the time had no fence, from what I recall, with lawsuits, I guess, not being considered in the 1970s?).

The field abutted a forest. I think I even ran up into the woods above the baseball/softball diamond near the field to try to escape them.

I've even had dreams with this memory in them, with which Freud and Jung would have a field day (that is a whole story for another time: Field Day, where students from our rural elementary schools gathered at the local high school for a day of track and field events).

But of course, Wendy and Julie knew I had to return to the other side of the playground before recess was over...

...and it probably ended with them pushing me down teeth first on to the monkey bars.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PotNv1e2a-I





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Humor Bloggers

Blogerella

Editor's Note: This post was adapted with slight changes from a post over at Humor Bloggers Fantasy Football League Blog.

And another plug for Diesel: Don't forget to vote for him in the 2008 Weblog Awards where his blog, Mattress Police, is up for Best Humor Blog. Vote here. Please. He needs YOUR vote.

Awhile ago, I left a comment on Muskrat's blog, asking him to interview me. No, I wasn't just being a freak, which means, yes, I was being a freak, but not just a freak. It was all part of a meme which he received from Avitable.

Here and the Muskrat's questions and my answers, as much as possible off-the-cuff, with little thought like most of my posts:

1.) Your whole family seems to blog. As a child, did your father blow a whistle, signaling all the children had to line up, plop down on the ground, and start writing? Did y'all ever sneak out of Germany via a convent?

Actually only my sister and my wife (no relation to me or my sister originally, contrary to what you might think, we're not inbred) blog. My mother and father don't blog. My father has a difficult enough time with Facebook. "How do you send a private message?" "Does everyone see what you put up on somebody's wall?" I usually just answer: "My name is Manishankar. How may I help you, sir?"

And that's not be to confused with Ravi Shankar, a common mistake.

No line of children. Only two children, which meant when we'd line up to go to bed, we never got to the part, "I'd like to stay and taste my first champagne," not that my parents, being the teetotalers they were, ever had the Devil's Drink in their house.

2) Your posts seem to fit within categories named with alliteration. Is that how you communicate verbally to your wife?

Yes. "Bitch, bring me a beer" is common around the homestead, followed by "Please place this pie in your piehole" from her. Sometimes without the "please," though, and sometimes just for gits and shiggles, as she says, she'll say "Please cram this cake in your cakehole."

Aside: my favorite kind of pie: Cherry Pie.
My favorite cake: Poundcake.

3) I have a vivid image seared into my head of some old guy running and blowing snot everywhere thanks to you. How do I get it out?

It has to be done while running yourself and then just cock your head to the right or left, and let her rip -- but away from people.

To see how's it done, click on this video and go to the 1:50 mark.

4) You're currently reading "A Year of Living Biblically" by A.J.Jacobs, I believe. Could you live Biblically, like he did, for even a month?

I tried to grow a beard once. It only took about two or three days. No, really. I was a freak of a nature.

In your parlance, Exhibit 1:




This was when I was about 15 or 16. My sister at left was 7 or 8. And, uh, yes, I'm coloring! And no, those weren't my dolls and those eyebrows aren't penciled on either.

If I tried to live "biblically" like he did, for even a month, you wouldn't be able to see my face.

5) You're Catholic. Does my blog's confessionals offend you? If not, why not? What can I do to remedy that?

No. I believe that you're acting in good faith, my son. I don't believe there's anything you can do except bring up sodomy or bestiality or better yet, both.

And although I've been good so far and didn't embed any YouTube videos, and tried to keep this original as possible, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to show one of my favorites when you brought up confessions.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KgmQM9cDPHk





Want to be part of it? Follow these instructions: 1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me." 2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions. 3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions. 4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post. 5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.


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A fellow blogger, The Nemesing One, has a regular feature called Saturday's Sorry Sack of Shit.

I'm not adding another alliterative-themed day here, don't worry, or bogarting from you, O Nemesing One, but I am for at least this one day, tossing out my own Sorry Sack of Shit Award.

The recipient: Journal Register Company. Click there if you want to see what a sorry sack of shit newspaper company's website looks like: complete with lack of news on any of the news I'm about to share with you.

The front page of the website includes priorities for 2008, including 1.) Execute new business model and 2.) Debt reduction.

Execute: In mid-December, the company closed three weekly newspapers in Philadelphia with no warning. If you don't want to click on the link, let me summarize succinctly: They fired four editorial employees who were putting out the three papers in 16 editions a month without any warning 13 days before Christmas. Best and worst quote in the article from a former sports editor for the paper:

"The suddenness of it was stunning. There was no farewell edition or anything on the Web site. We cleaned out our desks and left in two hours."

Debt: The company is $650 million in debt and already has closed several of its 300-plus weeklies (I can't seem to find clear numbers yet on exactly how many, for some reason-- perhaps because there's no one there to report on it).

How I learned of all this is because I once worked for weekly newspapers owned by Journal Register Company for about 10 years in the suburban Philadelphia area (before I decided to get the hell out of what I considered a burning building) and a former co-worker called me to tell me that several of the papers for which we worked are being closed. I'd provide links for the papers, but by the time you read this, they most likely will be gone.

I will write more about Journal Register or JRC in an upcoming Meandering Monday post when I look back at the life of a weekly newspaper editor, in a post that hopefully will be funnier than this one. But now I'm just too shocked to think.

I'm a proud member of

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Humor Bloggers

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Also last, but certainly not least, Diesel of the Mattress Police is up for a 2008 Weblog Award in the Best Humor Blog category. To vote for him, go here. Voting goes until Tuesday.

My sister was born eight years after me. I don't know if I resented her for interrupting my only child status or what, but for some reason, almost from the moment she was brought home from the hospital until now, I constantly have teased her.

"Do you want ketchup with that?" I'll ask her even though I know she hates -- always has-- ketchup. Aside: What true-blooded American hates ketchup? Mustard, sure, I can see that, but ketchup is the fake lifeblood of our nation. Think of all the B-movies that wouldn't have been made if it hadn't been for ketchup. Plus it has natural mellowing agents.



This photo was taken when she was about 18 months, I'm guessing, and I was 9, and might be the genesis of the cruelest jokes I ever "played" on her for the next...oh...10 to 15 years.

"Look in the mirror? Do you look like either Mom or Dad? You have red hair. Mom has black hair; Dad, brown hair. I think you were adopted."

According to my sister, I told her this well through her grade school years and possibly even into high school. To be honest, and I don't mean to feign innocence here (but I'm going to do it anyway), but I don't remember that.

One other time, and I believe I can say this now because the statute of limitations has run out and I won't get prosecuted for assault, I punched her in the stomach. I don't recall why. All I know is that most likely she deserved it.

I never realized how cruel I was being until one night I heard heard saying my name in her sleep. I went to the door of her room to see what she wanted.

"Yes, Lisa?"

"I hate you," then she said my name. She said it a few more times.

"Well, I..." I stammered.

Only after a few minutes did I realize she was talking in her sleep. To this day, she feels bad about saying it and swears she loves me, but I still don't know.

Of course, that's all right. She's not really my sister, after all. What should I care? She was adopted. She must have been. After all, she's the only one in our family that doesn't like ketchup on her fries.

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My adopted sister also has has her own blog, on which she'll probably tell you a different story later today. Don't believe her. Real members of our family only speak the truth.

Renal Failure

The first time I encountered this blogger, I'm not sure if I completely understood the concept. I'm not sure I even understand the term "renal failure." In fact, RF can tell you I didn't, because I had some kind of asinine aside about the blog in a comment and he slammed me (as I should have been) down for being an ignoramaus (which admittedly I was).

However, after that, I actually began reading this blog and was, and am still being, drawn into the strange world of characters with whom RF populates his blog from Anonymous Doug to Tina the Lesbian and a whole host in between.

I also got to know RF over at Humor Bloggers Fantasy Football League Blog where he battled a valiant, if ultimately futile, fight for The People-- and kicked his ass, thanks to Dallas Clark. But he was a good sport about it and didn't lash out at me like Leigh's husband did for the trash talk I instituted against Leigh, who won the league. Of course, in Leigh's husband's defense, I might have deserved it. But it was all in good fun.


Among my other favorite posts this week, besides the one from Leigh's husband:

My Angry Letter to A Candy Bar from John J. Savo at The Authoring Auctioneer

New Year's Resolution from Harris Bloom at Why Me? The Life and Times of Harris Bloom

Never Rub Wintergreen Oil on a Buddy's Testicles from Don Kingery at Beyond Left Field

Sheep To Sue Dictionary Over Use of Word 'Meh' from Hindleyite at Retroyakking

Suddenly Seeking "My Gays" from Angie at Cup of Snarky (if you're easily offended, then this is, I mean, NOT the post for you)

Of Cabbages and King's New Year's Irresolutions from Jenn Thorson at Of Cabbages and Kings

a celebration of 2008-a year of the muskrat from the muskrat at Father Muskrat (where you can find even more links, but they're all worth clicking)

Freakin' Florida from thinkinfyou at Writing Quiets the Voices in my Head

Happy New Year 2 U and Your Pets from Speedcat Hollydale --- if for nothing else, the great song! a must listen!

and last but not least

BIG NEWS from Catherinette at Bridget Jones Has Nothing On Her, in which Catherinette does her best drunken blogging impression (or does she, either way, it's funny)

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Blogerella

Humor Bloggers Come on over and give me a review, if you likey.

Today's Superfluous Surfing Saturday is being preempted by Essential Surfing Saturday. We will return to our regular feature next Saturday.

Wait, wait, don't be scared away by the photo of the mating zebras.

Come back. Not everyone there is into mating zebras. I'm certain there are some freaks there (in fact, quite certain after visiting the forum and chat room there), but not everyone there is a freak.

That's just one of many banners that were created by Janna of Jannaverse.blogspot.com to help promote one of the best new sites for humor bloggers THE best new site for humor bloggers in the history of the universe.



So what kind of funny sites will you find there at the center of the humor blogging universe? Click on the universe image above to find out.

You have other questions, Chelle B., cabal leader from The Offended Blogger and her minions (don't worry, they're not really that scary except after getting up in the morning; thank God, they don't have video access to humor bloggers in the chatroom, that would be scary, I tell you-- remember that scene in Aliens? Yeah, you know the one, well, yeah, imagine that times a hundred -- of course, not that I know since they don't have video, but I'm imagining what some of those folks there would look like after a night of tequila, vodka or B-52s) have the answers...

...RIGHT HERE.

If after reading them, and seeing all the features available for bloggers, from help with StumbleUpon and Entrecard, to name just a couple, plus a very cool gameroom to which you will have access, and you'd like to join, then I have the link for you for that too:

HERE. It's not automatic. There is a democratic voting process, but once you're in, let the fun begin.

You'll have access to not only full access to a community of funny bloggers, but also full access to a wealth of practical information from bloggers who have been there (wherever "there" is, but rest assured, most of the bloggers there have been to that other there of which you're thinking).

I could go on all afternoon, but I'd rather you spent your time checking out the Humorbloggers dot com site for yourself. So go, be, and above all laugh.

Oh, and don't forget if you do sign up, tell them Unfinished Rambler sent you.

P.S. Sorry if I shouted, but it's worth shouting about. Really.

As usual, I walked in the door from work and Himself, the Rambler, was in mid-dither.

“I'm going to post about 'Play That Funky Music' because Kathy (from the Junk Drawer) mentioned it.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Although I don’t remember everything….”
“I tell the story better,” I said.
“Want to do a guest post?”
“Sure.”
“We have to have pictures though. Pictures of me being an ass. Dancing.”
“No need to use the wedding album,” I said, “ I have pictures from the day in question!”

So, after a brief robbery-worthy toss of the office, followed by a delicate straightening of the pins to the scanner plug with my good eyebrow tweezers, I bring you The Story.

The year was 1995, the place, Baltimore Inner Harbor. My mother, sister, friend Julie, Bryan, and I all bought tickets for a country music dinner dance party cruise, compelled to do so by a mutual friend who was selling them as a marching band fund raiser.



My mother, a fan of CMT’s Wild Horse Saloon and a line dancer extraordinaire, was excited about the country music dance party part. My mom turned 50 that year and it was all about Doing Fun Things With Mom Because She Was 50. The rest of us were less possessed of an "Achy Breaky Heart" and more excited about the open bar.

There are a few things about the Rambler you should know that you may or may not have picked up from his blog.

1. He’s a very gregarious person in public and talks to everyone. He gets this from his father.
2. He is not a big drinker. He gets this from both his parents, who do not, and, as far as I know, HAVE NEVER consumed alcohol.
3. When he does drink, see number 1, multiply it by 10, and enclose it in stars and little wavy exclamatory lines and smiley faces.

On this particular day, we set out in fine weather and sailed out into the Harbor to take in the sea air and discover a bit of Baltimore history. Himself discovered the Melon Ball. With each foray to the bar his return trip was slightly longer, as he added ‘new friends’ to his rounds. At one point, convinced he’d fallen over, I found him deep in conversation with two realtors from Glen Burnie.

Dinner was uneventful, and the music started. It didn’t take us long to discover that even if we DID want to dance, the dance floor was too crowded and the music sucked. Himself and I drifted outside. As we looked out at the lights, we heard it.

Different music. Better music.

“Hey!”
“What?”
“Let’s go to THAT party!”
“No! We can’t just….”
“Oh, they won’t care! C’mon!”

Before I could stop him, he’d thrown open the door to the upper deck and waded into the humanity. I had no choice but to follow him. Into the All You Can Eat Shrimp Party Cruise, hosted by the Sheet Metal Workers local, GM Plant, Wilmington, Delaware.

Now.

I’m pretty sure these people knew we didn’t come with them. It could have been Himself’s oxford shirt and sweater looped around his shoulders a la J Crew. It could have been the fact that neither of us looked capable of building a Saturn.

Or it could have been the fact that the black folks to white folks ratio in the room was 125 to…us. The Rambler pressed on in cheerfulness to the bar and got us a couple of drinks. We found ourselves on a small deck chatting with two guys who looked like they might just bend metal without use of machines, just for a smile. They, and everyone else we met, were very nice.

We danced. And danced. Himself is quite a dancer with Midori as a muse. I was dancing with him, facing the DJs. I saw them watching us. One of them thumbed through a case of CDs, pulled one out, and showed it to the other guy. He laughed and nodded.

The song ended, and there was silence. Then it started.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lmH61C



Rambler’s eyes grew wide. “I LOVE this song!” He pronounced to all in hearing. Then, in the words of an instructor in ‘Center Stage’, a film I’ve seen far too many times, he “danced the sh*t out of it”. At one point, shortly before I stopped looking at them (or anyone else, for that matter) I caught a glimpse of the DJs, gripping each others arms, laughing hysterically.

From that day forward, at every wedding reception, banquet, or party where this song was played, he would jump up and dance because they were playing HIS song. He’d dance with so much joy that I waited eight years to tell him that it had been chosen for him as a joke. He didn’t, and doesn’t, care. When that familiar bass line drops, he still jumps up, gets out his thumbs and funky overbite, and ‘dances the sh*t out of it’.

Himself, the Rambler, and Myself, the Shieldmaiden, can be found at

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Himself also can be found at

Blogerella

Humorbloggers

Everybody's doing it. Call it peer pressure. A look back at what they consider their best posts of 2008. Without further adieu, here are mine, beginning in April, when this blog began (just tell me what you hear)[*]*:

April: Do you suffer from Sudden Wallet Awareness Disorder? I do.

May: The salad guy, the crazy pen guy: That's me. I'm obsessed with this one salad and this one pen (I know the picture of the pens is too big; I migrated from a previous blog and didn't change the size of the photo, I'm too lazy to go back and change it.)

June: "Pilots come out of the sky and stand there" and other misheard things: The Wife misinterprets the lyrics of a Yes song.

July: I tell you How to be a supercalifragilisticexpialidocious...blogger.

August: I share one of the few photos of me on my blog and it's a doozy in Senor Largo Calcetines: Last in cross country, first in your hearts.

September: One of my more popular posts this years, Springtime for Hitler in South Korea, thanks to my college roommate Joe who now lives there.

October: Another one thanks to Joe, sort of, and my first Flashback Friday: That Time I Took My College Roommate To See Kenneth Gorelick (Kenny G).

November: Another popular (surprising to me) post WTF Wordless Wednesday #5: 20-million-year-old poop. Who knew poop could be so popular?

December: My Day of the Ninja.

And one bonus, courtesy of The Wife: WTF (Mostly But Not Wordless) Wednesday #8: My Little Pony Felicity: what I saw one morning sitting in her company van and her explanation.

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Humor Bloggers Come on over and give me a review, then check out the rest of the site for other funny bloggers, many much, much funnier than I.

[*] As for what I hear, I think it says "Satan eats Cheez Whiz."

With that asterisk and all the hyperlinks I'm already breaking my New Resolution's (scroll down to previous post for complete list, now with footnotes fixed so you can actually click back and forth between the asterisks -- oooooh).