Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Palm Sunday

…marked, as always, by resisting the temptation to tickle the neck of the person in the pew in front of me with a palm. As opposed to last week, when I just coveted the rose-print sweater of my neighbor.

Nick refused to give his soon-to-be-born daughter my name. He is a hurtful person.

PARTS OF SPEECH WAR, NEVER-ENDING

–“Discover your happy.” HAPPINESS. The word is HAPPINESS.

–“Beauty responsibly.” Since it lacks a comma, I have to assume that they think “beauty” is a verb. They are wrong.

Should I have another can of ale? Too bad this is not some type of internet venue where you can respond in real time. I will just have to make this decision myself. I guess I should have asked the question on Facebook. Maybe I will.

Well, I did ask, and no one’s answered yet, and in the meantime I almost forgot I have this post going. Maybe I shouldn’t have another one.

LEGGINGSAREN’TPANTSLEGGINGSAREN’TPANTSLEGGINGSAREN’TPANTSLEGGINGSAREN’TPANTS

Hmm, still no answer from Facebook. Apparently no one on Facebook cares how drunk you are. I will just have to crouch on top of Facebook, awaiting permission to drink more.

No, I have not done my taxes yet, but thanks for asking.

SOMETHING I OVERHEARD ON THE BUS

“Your little boy sure is cute.”

“Yeah, he’s asleep now, but when he wakes up he’ll bite and kick and throw things! He’s all boy!”

“Yeah, when I told my little boy that he was going to have a little brother, he bit me! And he meant it, too!”

Um, that doesn’t seem like “all boy.” That seems like you’re raising a future sociopath.

And, lest you think it’s better for girls…

“I finally told my daughter, ‘I don’t care if you only bathe once a month.'”

“Yeah, my daughter’s at the Youth Care Center.” (a/k/a Teenage Jail)

Sigh. Nick, you owe it to your daughter to give her my name, or who knows what will happen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ours Is Not To Reason Why

I am full of opinions today, and you need to hear them.

Leggings are still not pants, no matter how many women wear them. “I work out, so my butt is cute” is not a counterargument.

It occurs to me that my plan to grab the pervert’s cellphone from under the restroom stall is actually a pretty good one. I’d be barricaded in my stall, and I’d use his phone (with the incriminating evidence still on it!) to call 911. I now yield the floor to Officer Nick, who will explain why my plan wouldn’t work.

By the way, that last sentence is the only time you will see me use the words “I yield to Nick,” under any circumstances.

PROGRESS FAILS SPECIFIC SENSE

That is an R.E.M. line which often occurs to me these days.  Ways in which progress fails:

–The new buses have computerized change-counting machines to put your fare in, which, I suppose, enabled them to lay off the person who’d been counting it all at the end of the day. This means that only one coin can be allowed to pass through it at one time, so the machine can keep track of it, and this means the slot had to be made extra-narrow to ensure that only one coin goes in. Which, of course, means that if you put more than one coin in at a time, it jams up.

–Why, in this age of environmental correctness, are even more things made out of plastic? Fences, mailboxes, grocery bags…? I was reminded of this when a fellow bus passenger’s Walmart bag, being made of plastic, sagged and dumped his purchase of Axe body spray (in the Anarchy scent) onto the floor. Axe is the biggest-selling line of men’s grooming products in the world, but it’s called Lynx in every country but the U.S. Why? Do they think we won’t know what a lynx is, even though they live on this continent?

Why is the sky blue? I know, the visible light spectrum reflects blah blah blah, but that only explains how it’s blue.

I Can’t Think Of a Title! Stop Pressuring Me!

AT CVS:

Display captioned, “Fun! Festive! Fabulous!” The products so designated? Cotton swabs and adult diapers.

It is St Patrick’s Day. I am only 25% Irish, but I am 100% drunk. (Disclaimer: Ancestry claims have not been confirmed by any genetic-testing kit.)

AT MCDONALDS:

…on St Joe (slogan: 50’s Furniture, 70’s Colors, 80’s Music–Boomer Medley!)…Adult trying to explain to a child how Snoopy can also be Joe Cool. Kind of like explaining how Jesus can be both fully God and fully man.

THIS SPACE UNINTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW HOW TO MAKE THE CURSOR GO UP.

 

Spellcheck keeps telling me McDonald’s is not a word. I don’t know how to deal with this.

BESTIAL NEWS

Nick will soon be the proud sire of his first female cub. (You can tell because the egg is smaller, since there doesn’t need to be room for the tiny wings.) I have the feeling that she will someday say, “Well, I grew up with 2 older brothers…” as an explanation for whatever kind of person she turns out to be.

ADVANCE NOTICE

I will most likely be live-blogging the doing of my taxes, since I anticipate they will be the most difficult of my lifetime, unless I someday become famous and have to reconcile my newfound riches with my Social Security. HELP ME, PLEASE!

…And now it turns out that an 18-year-old pervert has been taking pictures of females using the restroom at the Walgreen’s on St Joe. I have the feeling that, if I saw a cell phone appear under the wall of the stall, I would lose my temper and grab it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chaos Theory

SCRATCHY GLITTER IS BACK IN SESSION

…although who knows for how long. I thrive on chaos, right? OK, except for the thriving part.

NEW PRODUCT NEWS, EASTER DIVISION

Question 1: Why did we need a poop emoji? I can’t think of any communications need that was previously unfilled.

Question 2: Why do we need a plush representation of the poop emoji?

Speaking of which, why do we need a “Wind It Up and Watch It Poop Candy!” toy? Sure, children will always think poop is funny, but we don’t need to encourage them. And sure, it would be nice if people pooped candy, but I don’t care to follow this train of thought any further.

And, for those decrying the commercialization of Easter (someone must be decrying it somewhere), we have 1.) the milk chocolate cross, and 2.) the cross-shaped tin full of jellybeans, in supposedly-symbolic colors. That is just odd.

The body wash I’d have to use in hell: Olay Star Apple and Hibiscus. Smells like spiced apple rings and licorice. I would use it only if there was no other body wash available. I might even skip showering for a day, in case some other scent became available. (Nick tries to think up some bet he could make where I’d have to use up a bottle of this if I lost, then remembers that he’s not a betting man.) 

Just heard the “Experience Amazing” commercial. AMAZEMENT! IT’S EXPERIENCE “AMAZEMENT”! WHY MUST I KEEP TELLING YOU?!!

 

You’re So Vain…

…you probably think this post is about you.

As you may just possibly recall, we left Nick at bay at the White House.

Well, they called me.

“Do you know how to manage this thing? We can’t get close to him. We’ve brought in a couple females, and he just lashes his tail.”

I laughed. “Don’t you know that they mate for life?”

“OK, so then could we get his mate and spray-paint her silver? Mr. Trump wants to know.”

I laughed again. “You can try.”

“Well, the females don’t have wings, right?”

“That’s not what you have to worry about. It’s the claws and teeth.”

“OK, then how do we get rid of this thing?”

I sighed. “Just leave the door open. He’ll get bored and leave.”

So they did, and a little later, there was the expected landing in my yard.

“Um, what did they do to you?”

“Splendid, aren’t I?” Nick flexes his newly-golden wings.

“O Splendid One, your magnificence overwhelms me.”

“Really? You’re not being sarcastic?”

“Of course not.”

“Good.”

“I see where the paint is flaking off, though.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Oh well, it wasn’t very tactical anyway.”

IS NOT THE ABOVE A PRIZE EXAMPLE OF SOMETHING NO ONE WOULD UNDERSTAND WHO HADN’T BEEN READING THIS BLOG ALREADY?

Yeah, I’m drunk.

NOTE ON RAZOR PACKAGING:

“This is not a toy.” C’mon, Nick, let’s play!

 

Blogging Addiction

I was digging through some stuff from my retirement party (YES, IT WAS LAST JUNE, WHY DO YOU ASK?), and came across an unsigned note expressing the hope that I would “keep feeding our blogging addiction.” I sure hope no one’s actually addicted to this thing. They must be in a bad way by now.

ASTROLOGY ’78

Career for Taurus: “Form a partnership with a talented chum and invest last year’s savings in a doll hospital.” Is there even such a thing? I had no pal talented enough in ’78 to tell me. Good thing I didn’t invest ’77’s savings, if any. I think I was unemployed most of the year, except for the summer spent at the massage parlor. This is where having lower-upper-class parents comes in handy.

Interior decorating for Sagittarius: “Old piano covers can still be found at thrift shops, make an interesting centerpiece for your living room.” I’ll say. What do you do with those, anyway? Wouldn’t you have to buy a piano? Or do you just pile them up on your coffee table?

THE THING I’M LEAST LIKELY TO WEAR

A t-shirt I saw an ad for saying “I Pooped Today.” For one thing, wouldn’t you have to wear it most days? I refuse to define myself by whether I’ve pooped on any given day.

THE WAR ON PARTS OF SPEECH CONTINUES

“Discover your sexy.”

“Realize your awesome.”

WHAT IS WRONG WITH NOUNS? STOP GRAFTING ADJECTIVES IN THEIR PLACE!

CANNIBALIZATION OF PAST POSTS CONTINUES

In March 2013, I was preoccupied with a sign I saw advertising the Grim Reapers’ house party. Especially since they forgot to include the date.

In April, in honor of Nick’s recent birthday, I admitted that I owed a whole room of dispatchers dinner from Canton Inn because I hadn’t realized that his message “Going to Canton. Jealous?” was actually an offer to bring us some. I also noted, based on bitter experience, that my beloved Woa Dip Har was impossible to eat at work. Reading that gave me a voracious desire for Woa Dip Har, now that I don’t work (unless you call writing this post work), but I fear it will remain forever unsatisfied.

The actual date I was writing was the birthday of the Foxy Lady, whom I called “my fellow connoisseur of the absurd.” In her honor, I illustrated the post with a picture of a stir-fry captioned “Uploaded to Wikipedia to showcase baby corn.” And what deserves to be showcased more?

 

The Donald and the Dragon

You may recall that Nick was headed to the Capitol to stop the government shutdown, so let’s check in on him, shall we?

He charged in the doors without significant opposition, since the guards had never seen such a beast before. To get the attention of Congress, he flew in sweeping circles near the ceiling, then sailed down for an impressive landing before the podium. Lawmakers drew back, gaping.

“Wh-what is that thing?” Mitch McConnell said, drawing his turtle-like head into his shoulders.

“I’ve heard of these!” Paul Ryan said, coming closer. “Experimental use in police departments…but the one I saw didn’t have wings.”

“That one was a female,” Nick informed him, and he jumped back.

“It talks!”

“I’m not an ‘it,'” Nick said testily, but then everyone came crowding around, poking at his teeth and ears in spite of his terrible growls, which became louder when a voice in the back said, “I’ve heard of those, but it’s not as big as I was expecting.”

“The President has to see this,” McConnell said.

“Yes, the President! That’s even better than Congress!” Nick cried, and set off eagerly with them for the Oval Office.

The President was eating lunch and watching TV when they came in, but screamed and jumped under his desk when he saw Nick. “What is that?! Get it out, get it out!”

“Sir, this is the latest in law-enforcement technology. We think the model deserves wider application.”

Nick jumped onto the President’s desk, gulped down two cheeseburgers, knocked over the drink and lapped it with his forked tongue, said, “Eww, it’s diet,” and jumped down.

“And it talks, too?!”

“Yes, sir. At least, it appears to.” Nick’s tail began to lash.

The President, having not been devoured yet, began to recover his composure. “That thing’s an ugly color. What do you call that color?”

“I believe it’s navy blue, sir.”

“So you get these things from the Navy?”

“No, sir. They’re used for police work.”

“Hmm. I want this one for Mar-a-Lago. Have it gold-plated.”

“Sir, I’m not sure that’s possible–”

“Gold spray paint, then. But I want it gold. Crate it up and ship it down there. And get a couple females! I’ll start a breeding program!”

to be continued!

 

 

Writing Well Is the Best Revenge

Facebook asked me what my life motto is. The above title was the second thing that came to mind. The first was “My temperament is to believe in extremes,” but I didn’t write that, Michael Stipe did.

No, I have not posted since Dec. 14. I’ve been taking stock of things writingwise, as opposed to, you know, actually doing it.

BEAST IN SHUTDOWN, DAY 2

…brought to you (clenched in his teeth) by Nick, who couldn’t stand it any longer and finally asked me to write. (“I did nothing of the kind.” Yes, you did, you were just too proud to put it in the form of a question.)

Nick is sulking at my feet. “Why is the government still shut down? They won’t let me do anything.”

“Because…well, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Will they still buy my food?”

“For a little while, at least.”

“Will I have to gnaw off your foot to survive?”

“You never have to do that.”

“But it remains an option?” I frown at him.

“If I could breathe fire, I could go out and remove the rest of this snow.”

“Find yourself something to do. Go read my old blog posts.”

“You know I can’t read! Tell me a story. You never gave me a Christmas special last year.”

“I never told the story of you pouncing on that clown at the Fall Festival, either.”

“Wait, what?”

“Never mind. Go fly around the yard or something.”

“I know! I’ll fly to the Capitol and make them stop this shutdown.”

…to be continued…

 

 

ASTROLOGY INVESTIGATION CONTINUED, 1977

…brought to you, as always, by a Taurean with Scorpio envy.

Fashion for Gemini–“Wear a beige-and-white striped men’s cotton bathrobe loosely belted for exciting at-home entertaining.” Yes, the excitement of wondering when the hostess’ clothing is going to fall off. Plus, all her guests are thinking, “She couldn’t bother to change out of her bathrobe?”

Fashion for Scorpio: “Daring fashion that only Scorpio can get away with includes a pale wild rice-colored blouson in thinnest wool with a chocolate suede skirt, high matching boots.” Yeah, a gray shirt and a brown skirt is pretty daring.

Interior decorating for Scorpio includes “a rainbow-striped hammock for bedroom fun.” OK, would sex in a hammock even work? Of course, I’d probably fall out even if I wasn’t having sex. Of course, I’m not a Scorpio.

 

Sit Down and See What Happens

…is what I’m doing, though with the amount of apple ale I’ve consumed, I make no promises.

Black Friday purchase–toilet paper. Hey, Consumer Reports says Walgreen’s store brand toilet paper is the best, plus it has roses on it! Only get the Premium Soft, though (the one with a kitten on the package–it’s a win/win/win situation!).

The first residential Christmas decoration was spotted some time ago, like on the 12th (ED. …of November…!) or something. Yeah, I should have said something about it at the time. The theme of decorations this year is apparently Cheap Glitter Crap.

A WEEK OF L’S

I ran into former co-workers Laurie and Lori! Life goes on without me.

.,..taking this up again several days later…

…the apple ale is but a memory.

YOU’RE WELCOME

I was charged with a great responsibility. The other day at McDonald’s, two people were refused the new “holiday” pies, even though they had them in stock, because “we can’t give them out until we sell all the pumpkin pies.” My mission, did I decide to accept it, was to eat up those pumpkin pies. Success has crowned my efforts as of today. You’re welcome.

NO, I DID NOT EAT THEM ALL IN ONE SITTING.

Speaking of eating, I saw on the news where Owensboro police officers are waiting on people at restaurants for charity. I remembered that Evansville PD sometimes does that. Therefore, Nick, I command you to tell me when this opportunity next comes up. What fun we two could have! And by “we,” I mean me.

ASTROLOGY ’76

“Adventurous You” for Cancer: “You like to have delicious treasures–especially antique necklaces, rings in a secret trove only you know exists.” In your mind, one presumes.

Fashion for Cancer: “The home-loving you relaxes in navy velvet jeans with the tightest of t-shirts (no bra, natch), with the logo of your favorite perfume emblazoned across the breasts.” One hopes your favorite perfume isn’t Tom Ford’s Facking Fabulous. Yes, that is a real thing, yes, it is spelled out on the label, “u” and all, and no, I don’t know why I won’t spell it out, as if someone’s going to tell me I can’t cuss on the Internet.

Hidden Desire for Sagittarius: “To be made love to while astride a magnificent black stallion, back to front and front to back, in a moonlit forest.” Yeah, nothing could go wrong there. If it’s even possible. Back to front, front to back…I’m confused.

TIME MARCHES ON

So I haven’t posted since, gulp, November? I actually began this one a couple weeks ago and have added to it several times. Because the best way to get something done is to wander back to it intermittently. Apparently nothing short of Nick pointing a taser at me will motivate me. But wait…

TREXA COMES TO THE RESCUE!

…with this story, available only here, until someone posts a picture of it on what is known as the Internet.

Trexa, driving on the Northeast Side, spotted a dead raccoon, notable mainly for its feet sticking up in the air. Coming back by several days later, she saw that someone had tied a helium balloon to its wrist saying GET WELL SOON! I love this sort of thing. (“We know,” they say. “You were the one at work who’d say, ‘That dead bug sure is big! Let’s put it in someone’s mailbox!’ To which I respond, I never actually did that..because there was always someone else willing to take my suggestions. And it was the mailbox of The Nemesis. I’m not proud of it, but there it is.) And for those of you wondering, Why hasn’t it been picked up yet?, that would be because no one has called it in. Animal Control does not go patrolling for dead animals, being too busy tending to abused and neglected living ones.

DISGUSTING NEW-PRODUCT NEWS

I walked by the skincare aisle at CVS, and had to turn back, thinking, Surely I did not just see the word “Snail” on a package. Yes, it was “Organic Snail Gel” for “Healthy-Aging.” (Need I mention that no hyphen was required there? Yet there it was.) Snails are, of course, known for their youthful energy. The actual ingredient list said it contained “Snail Secretion Filtrate.” Well, as long as it’s filtered. And organic. And–EW EW EW THEY’RE PUTTING SNAIL SLIME IN COSMETICS.

Yeah, I should have broken this into several smaller posts to keep myself on a regular posting schedule. I’m not proud of it, but there it is.

 

 

 

Environmental Enrichment Required

I seem to have a dearth of material now that I’m retired, unless Nick were to kidnap me and take me on some horrible Adventure, I suppose. After all, how often do you need to read my opinion of holiday decorations?

BUT YOU’RE GOING TO HEAR IT ANYWAY

‘Tis the season for gag-inducing cinnamon candles at the dollar store, the candle they would make me burn in Hell. Especially since they’ve had problems with the glass in their candles exploding when it gets hot. I bet all glass in Hell explodes when it gets hot.

OK, I guess candle-burning in Hell is an interesting topic.

HARKING BACK TO YE DAYS OF YORE WHEN I DID HAVE MATERIAL

On I guess March 21 2013 (I don’t know what time zone WordPress is in, but it sure ain’t mine, so all their dating is suspect), I reported a caller saying that someone needed to be “cemented” (they meant “committed”), and a caller saying, “There’s been a suicide….I’m the victim.”

HARKING BACK TO YON DAYS OF YORE EVEN FURTHER

Astrology for ’75:

Taurus woman/Cancer man: “He’ll lick your belly button when you’re not looking.” I don’t advise anyone to lick my belly button. Even if I am looking.

Taurus woman/Leo man: “Wear emotional sunglasses to avoid burns.” Where do you get those glasses?

Secret Wish for Aquarius: “Having a tall, silvery humanoid/astronaut go to the moon and back to prove his devotion to you, having him proclaim his love for you on network TV.”

ANOTHER DISSATISFIED CUSTOMER

The guy in front of me at McDonald’s was making a complaint. The manager said, “I’ll replace your entire order, sir.” He said, “I don’t want my order replaced!” (I’m thinking, Shut up, let them replace your order, and let us all get on with our lives and lunches.) Then he said, “Where’s the dude I talked to on the phone?” Ah, the Dude I Talked To On The Phone. I used to work with him.

McRib is back! Tastes like a weiner, shaped like a bone!

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