the hippy-dippy weatherman signs off

You're no doubt aware that George Carlin is dead. He'll be missed.

Carlin was a curmudgeon, and I mean that in the sense that Jon Winokur means it:

They don't hate mankind, just mankind's absurdities. They're just as sensitive and soft-hearted as the next guy, but they hide their vulnerability beneath a crust of misanthropy.


Carlin suffered a bit from "originator's syndrome"-- the style of comedy he created was so often imitated by lesser lights that his own comedy suffered by association. And, though in recent years his bitterness sometimes threatened to overshadow the humor*, when he did make me laugh it was a howl.

Please honor his memory by treating your workmates to this obscenity-laden lecture.

*I have a small problem with comedians who are so angry they no longer feel the need to be funny. This is why I don't belong to the cult of Bill Hicks.

the delicious snack that's also great stuck up your nose!

Further to the "what do you have in your mouth" posting below:

To the folks at Lego's and Kellog's:

Think you're pretty funny, don't you?

Is Irwin Mainway behind this?

while you're on Craigslist...

...you may want to look for a new therapist.

toe canada

Sure, everyone's been having a good laugh about all the feet washing up in Canada, because here you've got two things which are always funny: feet and Canada. But let's not forget, these feet, all six of them, belonged to at least five different people (unless one or more of them had two right feet), people who are almost certainly dead, and people with loved ones and family who want to know what happened to them. Just because this story involves feet, and Canada, is that any reason to make light?

Aw, screw it:

"At first, the talk about it was really humorous, but as more feet turned up, the talk became sinister," she added. "These are pristine islands, not the place where you would expect to find a bunch of severed feet."

That's setting the bar for "pristine" a little low, innit?

baby q

I don't post enough of the "amusing kid stories", mostly 'cause, heck, how to choose? So I'm just going to periodically pick one at random, not by degree of amusement or timeliness.

Lil' Griz is in a "getting into everything" phase, which, if childhood phases had slogans, would have the slogan "What Do You Have in Your Mouth?". I fully expect this phase to last for about 18 years, with the things she could have in her mouth only getting worse. Anyway...

One symptom of this phase is that, in order to get something from a closet or the refrigerator, you have to plan your foray in advance so that you can open the door, grab what you need, and close the door before Speedy Gonzales zips in there and you're all like "didn't I have a kid around here somewhere?"

The other day I was checking in the refrigerator to see if we had a particular thing. Since I didn't know whether or not we had it, I couldn't plan my attack beforehand and instead had to keep the door open whilst I perused the shelves. I didn't find what I was looking for, and turned to close the door, when I discovered Oona standing next to me, facing the door-shelves where the condiments are, and licking the outside of a bottle of Country Sweet Sauce.

Well, Maury, we won't be needing that DNA test after all. She's mine, for sure.

Bush and the Pope: 2 wild & crazy guys, with bonus earworm

"Your eminence, you're looking good," Bush told the pope.

We can only hope he shot him with the finger-pistol, and winked.

BTW, that eminence front? It's a put-on.

Iffy Pop

Maybe you can't pop popcorn with your cellphone, but I bet you can get it as a ringtone. My question: If they don't make popcorn, what good are they? Shouldn't every technological device make popcorn? Who will join me in a boycott: no more non-popcorn-making devices! Or at least toast!
(via Titivil, and all over the place)

cue "dueling banjos"

Not in shot: Mom and Dad, waiting their turn.

never give up, never give up, never give up that... ship

I suspend, but do not concede. I support, but do not endorse. Ain't I somethin'?

Clinton prepared to declare on Saturday that she is supporting the Illinois senator, but she is not expected to officially endorse him or relinquish control of her delegates.

When reached for comment, "the fat lady" whispered "Can't talk. Vocal chords shot. May need to call in understudy".

our stupid world...

...and the stupid reporting on our stupid world:

Preparation H, the topical medication used to treat hemorrhoids, reportedly is catching fire as the latest "drug" to hit the New York City club scene.

I think they should print a correction:
In the June 3 edition, we incorrectly reported that Preparation H is catching fire. Preparation H is no more or less flammable than any other hemorrhoid cream. We apologize for any panic our article may have caused.

all this and...

Andy Rooney is annoying, but he has my everlasting respect for an interview I saw with him years ago in which he complained about Joe Piscopo's impression of him, claiming that he had actually never uttered the phrase "didja ever notice?". The great part was that he kept pronouncing the name "piss-POE-co". I think the interviewer tried to correct him, but he persisted. I'm quite certain he was doing it on purpose.
But his 60 Minutes segments seem to get awfuler and awfuler, 'til it looks like one day he's going to show up in a bathrobe and tell us that he just crapped in his hand. Thankfully , someone has come up with an exercise that converts these embarrassing segments into flaming bags of bulldada for your enjoyment.
Rooney is the new Garfield!

I look like a farmer, but I'm a lover

Earlier today I emailed a friend and asked him if he wanted to get together and build some cigar box guitars.
Then, just now, I found out Bo Diddley had passed on.
Besides the coincidence, I felt this one in my stomach. I've seen Bo perform three or four times, and he always put on a great show. When compared to others of his generation (I'm looking at you Mr. Berry) who had a tendency in later years to phone it in, Bo remained vital, entertaining, and hardworking. I saw him perform with Ron Wood once, and Wood was clearly there more for the partying than the music. Diddley shoved him off stage after a couple songs and gave us the set we'd paid for.

Somewhere there may be a recording of yours truly at 17, singing Who Do You Love with a friend's band on a live radio concert thingy. My friend said he didn't have the Bo Diddley rhythms in his veins, implication being that I did, but I think it was more like I was the only other kid in our high school who'd heard of him. Though for awhile there I was in danger of wearing out the grooves on my copy of Chess Records' His Greatest Sides collection. My parents, whose bedroom was directly below mine, can attest to that.

Diddley is a figure that has loomed large in my pantheon for most of my life. I'm sad that I won't see him perform again.

So, from Grizzly Dad to Diddley Daddy:
Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits. Rest in Peace.