Happy B-Day Gramps!!!

Today the old(er) man is seventy-seventeen years old. Good for him.

His humor is always penetrating. Here, for example, he convinced this Jehova's Witness that it was better to laugh at the coming darkness of the afterlife, rather than live in fear of it. Always, Always, he has been able to use his humor for GOOD and GOD.

I am NOT a Wig! You ARE!

It seems that not washing my hair for two days leaves it with a coarseness and volume that resembles a wig. While having coffee with Scrappy, an ol’ acquaintance surprised me from behind as he tried to give me a "hair-do".

What really surprised me was not that someone decided to grab me in public, but that this specific person was doing it. It had been a long time since we had seen each other, and the (welcomed) distance that had grown between us had been set through a natural course of events; it was an equilibrium distance.

For me, friends can be like planetoids that revolve around a central sun (I thank Meta-square-d for this meta-4 ). We are all the celestial centers of our universe, but as we enter into other peoples' universes we are transformed into the revolving planetoids for their suns. We are all both, no one is exempt.

The planetary physics: for these planetoids to become fertile with life, they have to have their own unique set of characteristics and float within an acceptable range from the center. That way the proper amount of solar energy for that uniquely configured planet will foment life.

Too much distance and the proto-planet will freeze. Too close and the proto-planet with burn

When the ol' acquaintance rang his fingers through my hair, he was acting Venus-like when he should have been more Uranus-like. He stepped in a couple of orbits too close.

The end result, he told me that my hair looked and felt plastic, like a Wig; I thought in response that his friendliness looked and felt plastic, like a Wig.

Huh?

BTW: When I give you some corn, this would be the proper response. My hat is tipped to two in my crew, Meta square-d and Scrappy, who never leave me hanging.

Whadda MadeMe Laf

One of the funniest SNL skits I have seen was one with W. Farrell as a Ka-ra-te instructor. After a soft and cushy warm-up, he attempts to punch through and break a board. The sound of his knuckle hitting the wood was right on. The rest of the skit is him screaming "What kinda wood is that? Huh? What kinda wood is that?".

I can think of quite a few people who seem to always ask that question, as if the type of wood could be blamed for thier inability to "break" on thru.

hOWLing Humor

The core of my funny comes from a healthy dose of corn. Every opportunity I get, I try to imitate and quote this owl.

Back from Death

This recent push to add some content to my blog is coming from an online friend. Thanks Rex-bikini for reminding me that 2 type is 2B.