My original blog theme was all well and good, much like my old pair of well-worn royal running shoes. While the theme may have been both familiar and comfortable, as with the aforementioned footwear, it was also starting to stink a little.
I’ve moved in a slightly different direction with this new look. If you have any problem with it, please don’t hesitate to let me know. I promise to give any constructive criticism the consideration it deserves, but I can’t guarantee that I’ll do a stinking thing about it. In case you’re interested, I squandered all my blog-theme-upgrade savings on lottery tickets and booze, so I went with one of the free themes (For those of you who enjoy reading blogs but don’t actually blog yourselves, the theme is essentially the typeface and graphic layout and yes, there are actually ones which cost money).
So check it out, kick the tires, see what you think of the new blog crib. Please use a coaster – I don’t want anyone leaving a ring on the new header. I made it myself. It’s comprised of distorted photos of yours truly as well as the oft-ridiculed, slew-footed Lucy. In addition, there is a frosty snifter of ale which I thoroughly enjoyed on a recent junket down south.
While you guys look around, I’m going to try to figure out which carton has my toothbrush in it and then decide where to put the sofa and velvet Elvis painting.
Enjoy that new-blog smell before it’s replaced by the all too familiar scents of stale coffee and diesel exhaust. No matter how snazzy things might appear, I’m going to have to write something to fill this space. Once I find the toothbrush, I’ll have to find the box I packed my ideas in.
I thought my last post was pretty good. It had lots of great ingredients including a bubble-headed newscaster, Lady Gaga, Academy Awards and racial slurs. In my book, that’s a can’t-lose recipe. I tossed that crap in my handy WordPress Lazy Blogger Crock Pot®, set the timer and toddled off to work. Eight hours later, I’d open the front door and be greeted by the savory aroma of delicious comments and a bountiful platter of steaming “likes”. I knew better than to hope for any Freshly Pressed action – this post was discomfort food, not French-Asian fusion cuisine featuring fair-trade organic lemongrass and sustainable free-range snails [Food analogies inserted to whet the readers’ appetites and make blog writing seem as effortless for me as slow cooking. Analogy of Freshly Pressed as some sort of trendy, politically-correct restaurant is due to my being a bitter man who can’t get a reservation]
I followed the instructions to the letter, adding a little extra salt and a pinch of cayenne, then left for my day of toiling making the world a better place for special-needs youngsters [Shameless self-promotion inserted to make people feel crappy for not reading my last post]
I trudged through the door that night and rushed to turn on the laptop. I was greeted with a mere four likes and a handful of comments from a few of my more ardent supporters. Four likes?! A fifth like showed up later, but it was clearly a “sympathy like” at best. I responded to each and every comment, and waited patiently for the momentum to pick back up. I jiggled the cord to make sure it was plugged in and touched the side to see if it had warmed up [Appliance malfunction analogy inserted to hint at my disappointment and grumbling stomach. Grumbling stomach analogy inserted into aside to imply that I’ll starve without positive reinforcement. Rushing to my laptop involved ignoring the greetings of both my long-suffering wife and gimpy-but-faithful dog]
It’s been too long now, there may be more likes trickling in and possibly a comment or two, but by this point, the post is buried and the expiration date on the topics has come and gone. My post before that one was over at The Nudge Wink Report. It had just a few words and was mostly comprised of cut-n-paste images of Kim Kardashian and her ample tushy being put in a bunch of silly places. It was far from my best work and I was fully prepared to be accused of having “smart-phoned it in”. Despite my doubts about the quality, the post got a butt-load of likes and a bumper crop of comments! Mrs. Kanye West’s ass pasted onto my dog’s nose is apparently blog gold. [Kim and Kanye reference inserted to allow me to put them in my tags for this post with a clear conscience – thus increasing my hits exponentially. Choice of using the words “butt load” and “bumper crop” in reference to ass-themed post responses was entirely intentional]
My first instinct, as a born pleaser, was to try to figure out what I’d done wrong. Surely there were errors in my less successful post and some sort of mysterious appeal to the more popular one. This is far from the first time I’d wondered what I’d done to displease the masses. [Self-reflection reference inserted to paint the author as being a little deeper than someone with an apparent fascination with Kim’s sizeable fanny might otherwise appear]
The bigger question eventually rises to the surface and sits there waiting to be acknowledged, like a turd in the punch bowl which can’t be ignored any longer. Here it is; Who exactly am I writing for? [Rhetorical question inserted in hopes of eliciting cries of “Me, Dave! You’re writing for me – I simply can’t get enough of your snarky brilliance!”. Turd in the punch bowl analogy inserted because, you know…poop humor]
I’ll be the first to admit that most of my blog posts are not exactly the stuff of literary artistry. I have written a handful of serious posts and some marginally humorous fiction in the past, but my blog identity is largely that of a smart-ass commenting on the news and/or the idiocy of the world. I enjoy making people laugh or even just smile. I like the thought of being the sarcastic voice of people who are annoyed or amused by the goofiness of our world. [As if to imply that most folk simply can’t read news stories and shake their heads in amazement without checking for my two cents first. You really should be insulted]
If I’ve learned nothing else from drawing and writing, it’s that people are going to like what they like, and not necessarily what I find appealing. The differing tastes and opinions of people is part of what makes the world go ’round. [Reference to my occasional drawing inserted to portray myself as something of a renaissance man, albeit one who had to try three times before finally spelling “renaissance” correctly. Reference to “making the world go ’round” is a bold-faced lie – we all know damn well that people with poor taste should not be tolerated, and couldn’t have less to do with the rotation of a planet]
Please don’t think this is some kind of a “Read my blog or I’m gonna quit” threat-fest. [Actually, that’s exactly what this is – you damn people better start coddling me a little or I’m going to take my mad writing skills over to the “Rants and Raves” section of the local Craigslist and hang out with the illiterate crowd. They’ll appreciate me even less, but there’s no like button there, so I won’t know]
Here are a few links to some of the posts I mentioned – no obligation, I’m just happy you actually got to the end of the post:
By now you may have heard about the Fox News anchor who used a racially derogatory word in her discussion of Lady Gaga’s performance at the Oscars. The beauty-pageant winner turned newscaster said it was hard to really hear Gaga’s voice with all of the “jigaboo music” accompanying the singer. I missed seeing the Academy Awards again this year. I think my streak for skipping that show for 56 consecutive years is impressive, but I’m not here to grandstand.
Since I didn’t see it, I guess there’s a slim possibility that Gaga’s back-up music was so raucous and bizarre that the standard English language was simply insufficient to adequately describe it. If that was the case, the reporter had little choice but to resort to jerky hand gestures or funny sounding slang words like “razzamatazz” or “badonkey-tonk”.
When criticized for her use of the slur, the news anchor Tweeted her little heart out, spewing apologies and offering the explanation that she didn’t actually know what the word meant when she said it (twice, but who’s counting, right?). The guy to her left seems to be a little more familiar with it.
In these N-word sensitive times, many white folk simply aren’t up to speed with the broad selection of racial epithets available out there to insult most any group. In truth, there’s no shortage in colorful words and phrases with which to simultaneously flaunt both ones racist leanings and impressive vocabulary. I’m not interested in helping popularize any of these lesser known terms and will keep them to myself, unless someone cuts me off in traffic.
As a lifelong speaker of English, I understand that we sometimes say things we don’t mean to. I say the wrong thing fairly often, such as “Hell yes!” to the offer of yet another pint of beer when I meant “No thank you”. The difference is that I know the meanings of the words, I just chose the wrong ones.
When I go to Starbucks, I order whichever coffee drink I’m interested in having, and specify whether I’d like a small, medium or large. I do not order a yeti or a grande. Though I’ve certainly been to enough Mexican restaurants to know that grande probably means large, I’m not positive, so I don’t use the word. To further complicate things, Yeti is another name for Bigfoot, which has the word “big” right in it. No wonder people are confused. Besides, the whole thing smacks of pretentiousness, but that’s for another blog post.
The real story is not that some perky newscaster used a racist term. The big message is that this woman, who talks for a living, had no idea what she was saying! Thousands of viewers tune in to find out what’s going on in their corner of the world and this is one of the people who tells them!? She didn’t know what it meant, and said it anyway – at least that is what she Tweeted, but there’s a chance that she also types things she doesn’t know the meanings of.
It’s commendable that people turn on the news in the first place, considering the sensationally tragic nature of most news stories. Even if some of them are only tuning in to find out who won the game or to ogle the weather girl, at least they’re taking some slight bit of interest in the world around them and not parking themselves in front of a “13 Wives and Counting” marathon on A & E.
This talking head has done little to restore peoples’ faith in the news media. If only she’d stuck to the teleprompter. In other news, Walter Cronkite is still spinning in his grave like a rotisserie chicken on a cordless drill. When pressed for a comment, Chet Huntley and David Brinkley both stated they could do a better job handling broadcast news despite their mutual state of deadness. Stay with us for continuing coverage, we’ll be back with weather and sports after these messages (Pull back to studio shot and cue the Starbucks commercial).
It’s my turn in the barrel over at The Nudge Wink Report. My boss there is a broad who’s abroad, so I’ve thrown caution and good taste to the breaking winds. Feel free to buzz on over and take a gander at the latest exploits of a certain famous-assed person.
1. My boss just picked up and jetted off to Italy or Borneo or someplace, so our vague standards for good taste and decorum here at the Nudge Wink Report went with her. Luckily she was able to fit our standards in her carry-on.
2. I got a new cell phone, which I occasionally use to actually make phone calls, but mostly play with.
These three events are actually related, as I scoured the internet with my phone to find photos of the soon to be Ms. Jenner and his/her wacky Kardashian clan. I also used the phone to have some cut and paste fun, which my antiquated laptop is unable to do. My editor being in a far away land allows me free reign to post these Kimmy K butt…
Nothing says Happy Valentine’s Day quite like some unsolicited smut. Don’t ask me how I managed to get this into a heart shaped box, but now that you’ve opened it…
Over the days leading up to Valentine’s Day, the search topic which has sent the most people to my blog is “detailed penis drawing“. Apparently drawing hearts isn’t how everyone decorates their cards. Either that, or they’re hell bent on rendering Cupid just right. I’m fairly confident that those faceless web surfers out there have been disappointed by having their search land them smack dab ( umm okay – bad choice of analogies) in the middle of my award-winning blog post* which featured an interview with politician/e- exhibitionist Anthony Weiner’s weiner.
It’s funny if you think about it. I mean, the internet has no shortage, so to speak, of pictures of naughty bits. If you want to see what a schwantz, some knockers, a va-jay-jay, or a booty looks like, you’re in the right place. There are many folks who would testify that even if you don’t wish to see any such anatomy, the internet will be more than happy to show you anyway.
Someone who is actively searching for detailed drawings of a ding-a-ling is probably not expecting to find one with a jaunty cap, cigarette holder and an ascot. A quick creative aside, I had considered drawing Anthony’s pecker wearing a “dickey” instead of an ascot, but as it happens dickey is funny to say but not all that amusing to look at. Besides, an ascot gives an air haughty sophistication, and goes incredibly well with a tufted smoking jacket.
I’m not particularly choosey about who reads my blog, in fact, I don’t even care if readers speak English. I get the occasional notifications of new followers and I’m happy to have each and every one of them. That being said, I’d like to take a moment to welcome the latest ones, including pp-looker, durtydurtydude, mindifistare?, holdstillwhileIgetmysktechpadandcharcoal, and of course package-chekker34.
I’d write more, but I’ve got a card to make for my wife.
*In the spirit of full disclosure, I’m pretty sure that post didn’t win any awards, which was unfortunate, because I had one hell of an acceptance speech written. I also had a snazzy smoking jacket picked out to wear the the ceremony!
I look for blog topics everywhere I go. A case in point, while looking through a trash can near the Santa Monica pier for half eaten burritos and/or aluminum cans, a wadded up piece of paper from a yellow legal tablet caught my eye.
I unwrinkled and smoothed it out as much as I could. After reading it over a few times, I’m convinced that this random piece of trash may in fact be Bruce Jenner’s Bucket List. Give it the once over and decide for yourself (I took the liberty of adding a few pictures – the original only had some doodles of hearts, unicorns and Olympic rings in the margins).
1. Win Olympic Gold Medal – Done 1976
2. Grace the cover of the Wheaties box – Done (Twice, but who’s counting?)
3. Get involved with a zany family – Done – Married Kris Kardashian 1991
4. Become a reality TV star – Done – After various attempts, finally hit the big time with “Keeping Up With The Kardashians” in 2007
5. Give Kim all the relationship advice I can – I’ve tried, Lord knows I’ve tried. She’s Kanye’s problem now!
6. Get safely past the menopause years before changing my gender – As a 65 year old gal, I’ll avoid hot flashes and qualify for an AARP discount at The Fashion Hutt! Since I technically still have my boy parts, I can’t cross this one off the list just yet!
7. Become a woman just in time to take advantage of the Bea Arthur estate sale – I haven’t seen any flyers posted down at the community center, I hope I didn’t miss it!
8. Find the most sure-fire way possible to get back on the front of the tabloids – Done! Those rags are gobbling this story up! The only celebrities who have weirder stories than me are Michael Jackson and Elvis, and they’re both (supposedly) dead.
9. Piss off the Wheaties people by going both gluten free and penis free – Almost done. I assume I’m close to achieving this, their people haven’t returned my people’s calls in a few years
10. Get on “The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon” – Done!
11. Get on “I’m A Celebrity – Get Me Out Of Here!” – Done!!
12. Get on “My Strange Addiction” – They haven’t called yet, but I’m thinking they will
13. Talk to Kim about how to get some junk in my trunk – Maybe when she’s done breaking the interweb and naming her kids after directions on a compass, she can give me some booty pointers
14. Play Pebble Beach from the ladies tees. Soon, baby…Soon!
15. If I’m going to throw the javelin, I need to learn to throw it like a girl (and not one of those East German chicks from back in my Olympic days).I saw on that Super Bowl commercial that it’s not politically correct to talk about “throwing like a girl”, but if I’ve learned one thing from this “journey” it’s that just growing my hair long and smearing some Mary Kay foundation over my 5 o’clock shadow doesn’t make me a woman.
16. Learn how to walk in heels – I won the Olympic decathlon, for crying out loud! How hard can a nice pair of pumps be?!
17. Make America proud – Done! That gold medal in ’76 certainly did the trick
18. Make America throw up in its mouth a little- Working on it every day. I can do this, I know I can!
19. Take advantage of these incredible cheekbones! - This rouge is tricky stuff. If I don’t get the hang of it, I’m going to end up looking like Leona Helmsley
20. Start peeing sitting down – This one should be easy, after teetering around in those heels, I’ll take any chance I can get to get off my feet!
I know it’s the sign of a lazy blogger to re-post something they wrote a long time ago – so sue me! Since the weather forecasters seemed to over-estimate our snow totals by a foot or more, this seemed like a good time resurrect this nugget.
I’ll just gobble down this pile of fat and sugar, then get going shoveling the driveway. (Image from every day with honey cake dot blog spot dot com)
A lot of people shrug their shoulders and say it was just the way these things go. They figure that despite the best computer models and professional judgement, sometimes things don’t go the way the pretty geniuses said they would. I choose not to blindly accept the sketchy excuses of these so-called experts. I look at the bigger picture and try to see what’s really going on.
After careful consideration of all the factors, I’ve come to a conclusion, and it’s a doozie.
Let me step back and set the stage for you. I live in the greater Philadelphia area. We’re far enough north to get snow, yet far enough south to squeal like a little Nancy-pants every time there’s any of it predicted.
Latin TV weathergirls are seldom bundled up in fleece…