Some of my younger, luckier readers likely have no idea who Gary Puckett is. I apologize for destroying your bliss, but that's what Bad Music Thursday is all about.
Here's a vintage video that captures the horror:
I have some very specific complaints about Mr. Puckett. For one, he is creepy. If you listen to the song example I just gave you above, I shouldn't have to explain why.
For two, almost all of his songs sound the same, at least the ones that became top 40 hits. I couldn't find audio or video samples to prove my point, but you can either trust me or look them up yourselves.
Did I already do a Bad Music Thursday on this guy? Am I making any sense? Am I writing in English? Good Lord, the doctor gave me some strong medicines.
I've been sick for the past week. Let Johnny Pipewrench mock my pain; it's been pretty bad. In fact, I welcomed my menstrual cramps last week as a diversion. Sure, it was pain, but it was a different kind of pain.
So the doctor gave me three different kinds of medicine today. I took my first doses, but so far, my ears still feel like someone stuffed a pound of sausage into each of them and swallowing feels like childbirth (only this time I'm trying to push something in through a narrow fleshy opening).
However, I have every hope I will feel better tomorrow. Or I'll die. Either way, my misery should cease fairly soon.
Sweet, sweet Hillbilly Tapas. Would the holidays be complete without it?
While my cupped balls with prison dip recipe did not win the coveted "Best Of" prize, I still managed to enjoy myself immensely.
Here I am, with Fat Drunken Cupid. He's dropping his pants. Surprise! He never does that! Actually, the surprise is he kept his underwear on.
Do you like myholiday ensemble? White fishnets and red fuzzy slippers completed my look.
What's that hanging from Fat Drunk's mouth, do you ask? Why, it's a clove cigarette! To make him yet more attractive to women, Fat Drunk smokes smelly cigarettes. Hands off, ladies! He's got a steady date. We'll let you know when she wises up, which should be any day now.
Here I am making my singing debut, with Dilf at my side. The woman next to me used to work with Dilf three jobs ago. I don't remember her name; I'm bad with them under the best of circumstances.
I do remember the John Deere hat, though. Reverand Jack has quite the collection.
It's my old pal George Michael. Have I mentioned I'm very anti-sex-in-public-bathrooms? Because I am. It's very unsanitary. And rude. And an improper use of space. Aren't there zoning laws or something? Anyways, this song sucketh mightily:
In general, I hate Christmas songs that moan incessantly about the private love life of the singer on Christmas. What the fuck do I care? We're not celebrating your feelings. Frankly, you're not that interesting.
And this song takes it further by featuring George Michael's high-pitched still-in-the-closet Wham voice to boot. Hooray! Everyone knows if George Michael were to give a body part to someone, it wouldn't be his heart; it would be this:
They bleeped the word "dick" on Saturday; I assumed they said "Cock in a Box." That would've been funnier. Oh, well.
... and the next thing I knew, I was in bed trying to jimmy open a piggy bank with the Übergirls, and Dilf runs in and says, "Girls, quit taking advantage of your mother when she's in an altered state!"
I Will Not Eat It on a Train, I Will Not Eat It on a Plane...
Well, the Cuntzilla Warning has been downgraded to a Cuntzilla Watch. An elevated threat level of Cuntzilla activity, if you will. Conditions are ripe for a Cuntzilla attack, and chatter has suggested Cuntzilla activity in the works, but as for now, Cuntzilla has not chosen to act. So, we wait.
A more imminent threat exists, and that threat is tofu.
I have often toyed with the idea of becoming a vegetarian, not for idealogical reasons, but because I don't trust our nation's food supply, and it's easier to find locally-grown produce from people you trust than meat.
But one thing has always stood in my way ... tofu.
I hate tofu. I hate the thought of tofu. I hate the texture, smell, and appearance of tofu. It's a curd from a vegetable? A plant food with meat-like protein and vitamins? This isn't something God made. It's the devil's trick. It's what Adam and Eve actually ate in the Garden of Eden that got them kicked out. I bet their bad gas helped give them away, too. Tofu is evil and squishy -- two things I don't like.
And now its health benefits are in question! Ha! After years of being cajoled and threatened into eating tofu because of its supposed powers to cure everything from bunions to cancer, it appears tofu is bad. It's baaaaad! And we should've guessed it would turn out this way.
Every time a new diet fad comes along, it turns out to be dangerous. High carb, low fat? Obesity. Low carb, high protein? Heart disease. Tofu? The research results are a bit murky, but I'm putting my money on slow, painful death.
Whenever someone keeps urging you to "eat it, drink it, come on, try it," it reminds me of the malevolent presence from my past, who has since been lost to the mists of time, who convinced me to try Southern Comfort in a bar once. Straight up, no chaser. (Was it Gazoo? It might have been Gazoo. Gazoo, if you're reading this, fie on you!)
Anyway, to make a long story short, tofu is the Southern Comfort of the food world. Tastes bad, could kill you, overall scourge of mankind.
Don't be like this guy in the picture. It's not good for your health. Really.
I’ve been in comfy cozy mode for a while now, and my viewing choices have reflected my mood. Last night I watched Rick Steve’s European Christmas, which, as the title suggests, shows how different countries in Europe celebrate … well, obviously.
A particularly charming custom to my mind came from Italy. In the small towns and neighborhoods, children bring a holiday cake called Panettone to widows without any nearby family. I thought it was a wonderful tradition: the widows got a breath of fresh, young air and the kids got a healthy dose of wisdom. How beautiful.
Then I told Double Post about it, and she said, “That could never happen in America. Some thugs would show up to the old ladies’ doors pretending to be kids, and then robbing them. Then some old people would abuse the kids.”
Thank you, Double Post.
But she has a point. How many towns and neighborhoods have residents who know each other well enough to trust? Do you talk to your neighbors? Do you even talk to your families? We are sorely lacking in cohesion, because cohesion has its bad side, too.
When people are tightly knit, they know one another’s business. They annoy, judge and bother each other. But by turning our back on those negatives, we have given up some very vital positives.
We don’t care for each other, play with each other, or protect each other. We don’t understand each other, help each other, or make time for each other. Much.
And why do we roll our eyes at spending time with our families? Not fakey "phot-op", pretend togetherness, but time when you truly talk and listen and interact fully. Family is a basic building block of humanity. How many of us neglect it?
Granted, some people have truly poisonous situations in their lives – alcoholism, abuse, and violence, for example. Yet how many of us avoid family togetherness because people are fussy, bossy or intrusive. They get on our nerves. They know all the buttons and how to push them.
I’m not discounting how quickly some of those habits can become painful. But if your family is so debilitating, you need to replace it with something real and meaningful. If you’re putting on a “mask”, it’s not real. You have to put your real self out there, vulnerabilities and all, and allow people to both love and irritate you.
I wish I still had my great aunt and grandma around to complain that the coffee’s not hot enough this Christmas, or insist on a full Polish meal instead of the funky hors d’ouevres I plan on serving. It wouldn’t bother me nearly as much now.
I'm open to trying new things. Well, if those new things are cookies, that is.
Now, I know I must bake those sugar cookie cut-outs so ÜberGirlies can decorate to their little hearts content, but I'm looking for something more. Fresher... edgier ... something new. Something to excite me.
So, I'm turning to the freshest, edgiest, most exciting people I know -- you guys. What should I bake this year? Tell me, tell me do.
Apologies to Miss Kendra, whose dairy and egg allergies make cookie eating treacherous.
Of all of my weekly features, I felt sure Dilf would pick to do this one. Perhaps he knows not where I keep my secret stash of pinup pics, but I highly doubt that. Dilf loves him some old-timey pinup girls, with their busoms and their curves and their wholesome goodness mixed with maximum minx-iness.
Thanks Kendra Some pretty pretty baubles came today. The missus was very excited about a bag and some magnets. I became interested after she informed me that both the bag and the baubles were ho-made. The baubles featured blog images and the bag even had an inside pocket. I guess they're supplemental income or something. Anyway, She was happy and that's always good.
Last year we had retailers selling "Holiday Trees", this year we have them adding "Merry Christmas" as a disclaimer on each TV ad, just as Budweiser adds "Drink Responsibly" to the end of theirs.
What is happening, people? Look, I'm glad to see the silly practice of changing every mention of Christmas to "holiday." It fooled no one and offended many. Everybody knows what's "Christmas," what's secular, what's Kwaanza, and what's Hannukah. If you're selling decorations, label them appropriately or you just look stupid.
On the other hand, do we have to go overboard? Do sales clerks have to hastily and fearfully wish customers "Merry Christmas" or risk a boycott? Why can't they just say, "Thank you, here's your change?" If they see someone loading up on candles, gold-wrapped chocolate coins and a dreidel, they can decide to say, "Have a Happy Hannukah" if they so please, "Merry Christmas" to the guy buying a Nativity scene, or "Enjoy Kwaanza" to the lady buying her red, green and black candles. Does it have to come down from corporate? Is there no common sense left in this country?
If you're a zealot about this time of year, get help. You're making life unbearable for the entire month of December.
What's a zealot? Let me give you a couple of examples.
Normal person: I saw a really interesting presentation at the library this weekend. It was about how winter holidays are celebrated throughout the world...
Zealot: You mean Christmas.
Normal person: Well, yes. But you know what they do in Southeat Asia? They...
Zealot: I can't believe I'm hearing this. I never pegged you as an anti-Christian before, Stan.
Normal person: I AM a Christian, it's just that I found it educational to see...
Zealot: I'm afraid I can't just stand here and listen to your hate speech any longer. I hope you enjoyed that slideshow at the library, Stan. Too bad it was your one-way ticket to hell.
Kids, step away from Santa! He's not real! He's a tool of Satan to separate you from Jesus! Your parents are lying to you!
(frightened children start to cry)
Normal person: Would you like some eggnog?
Zealot: I can't believe you're trying to force your religion on me. This is America and I can believe what I want. I mean YOU believe (rolls eyes) that a virgin gave birth to God, who doesn't exist by the way. I can't believe you're an adult and you still believe in fairy tales, fairy tales that have been the cause of every war mankind has known. You're just a tool of the corrupt establishment.
Normal person: Is that a "no?"
Zealot: Kids, step away from Santa! He's not real! He's a tool of retailers to separate you from your core values! Your parents are lying to you!
(frightened children start to cry)
We should put aside our differences and work together to ask the important questions of the season, like, "Can't Santa put a stop to Bratz?
She ran in front of the convenience store window, wildly waving her arms, desperately trying to get the clerk’s attention. He never looked up, engrossed as he was in his comic book and iTunes. She could’ve run inside…why didn’t she run inside? But no one could blame her for not thinking straight at that moment. She continued running, hoping to find a gas station with a more attentive attendant.
She didn’t look behind her, but then again, she didn’t need to. She could hear the low, throaty chuckling, labored breathing, and heavy footsteps. She knew he was still after her.
Who could’ve predicted that her guilt-induced visit to her childhood friend would’ve ended such horror?
Twenty years earlier, it was she pursuing him. They were children then, playing a spirited game of tag. She chased him into the street, tagging him just as he was struck by a delivery truck. She didn’t realize, as she tearfully watched the paramedics load him into the ambulance, that it would be the last time she would see him.
Until tonight. She had heard neighborhood rumors that haunted her, that he had suffered severe brain damage, that he was institutionalized, that he was insane. She couldn’t bear to discover the truth; but then, with adulthood came responsibility. She had to make amends.
She contacted his parents. Jimmy would be thrilled to see her, they had said. Jimmy didn’t get many visitors, they added. It will do Jimmy such good to see her again, they claimed.
So, she headed to St. Dymphna’s Hospital for the Mentally Impaired. She looked down at the crumpled paper clutched in her hand, upon which she had scrawled his room number. She gathered her courage, pressed the elevator button, walked into his room. She doubted he would recognize her.
How wrong she was. As soon as he caught glimpse of her, he leapt from his bed, shouting gibberish. Three orderlies tried to restrain him, aiming a syringe at his neck, but missing. He threw them to the ground and lunged at his long-lost best pal. While the other portions of his brain had long ceased functioning, whatever lobe housed the need for revenge clearly lived on.
He lumbered noisily after her as she ran for her life, managing to stay just ahead of his outreached, grasping arms. At 11 p.m., the streets of their sleepy little town were empty. There was nowhere to run, no one to hear her cries for help.
She decided to take a shortcut through the cemetery, beyond which lay a new subdivision of mini-mansions. Surely someone would be home to answer her pleas for safety.
Growing tired, she could sense him gaining on her. She panicked, and turned her head to look over her shoulder, failing to see the newly dug, empty grave in front of her.
She fell into the hole, landing with a thud, paralyzed both by fear and the broken ankle she felt snap beneath her. Unable to defend herself or attempt escape, she could do nothing but wait to be ripped apart by the hulking maniac who rightfully blamed her for his condition.
His face loomed over her, breaking into a malevolent grin. As she saw him reach for her, she closed her eyes, not wanting to witness her own demise. She felt his heavy hand on her shoulder, and heard him triumphantly bellow….
Sorry about that. But, if you'd like to see some better stories, ones that
DON'T incorporate my dad's old jokes into them, click here and check out JJ's Purgatorian site.
Remember that room mom I complained about? The one who never does anything? Well, she decided to do something for the school this morning, and that was to call me at 5:55 a.m. this morning to tell me that school was canceled today. And could I please call the other students in Elder's class with last names starting with A through G? Thanks so much!
(Actually, Dilf spoke with her, because I was heading to my desk downstairs to find the phone list. Also, Younger was screaming because she had been awakened suddenly. Then Elder started asking, rapid fire, "What's wrong what's wrong what's wrong what's wrong?")
Dilf wound up making the calls, because Younger had dissolved into hysterics and she insisted only I could help her. Then, we turned on the news, where our school closing was announced. Then, we received two auto-dialer calls from the school district telling us the same thing -- at the much more humane hours of 7:30 and 8 a.m.
To clarify why this woman annoys me so much, let me tell you who she resembles in both physical appearance and behavior: