Oh, by the way, we have a new child. We call him Toby (names have been changed--his name is actually Kunta Kinte). He's two-and-a-half months old now. He's got a monkey nose, a monkey face, and a monkey bum. Actually his body parts are human. I guess what I mean is that he is cute, cute like unto a monkey.
Measurements: 10 lb. 1 oz., 23 inches!, which means--for those of you unschooled in the sizes of human offspring--he was size fifty huge!
Ike, Mimi, Kitty, and Cubby agree with me and Lady Buffington that he is a great addition to the family. We will continue to feel so until such time that he becomes overly bothersome or burdensome at which time we will excuse him from being in our family, and he will find familial relations elsewhere. We do not anticipate this happening because we are far too accommodating of new family members during their years on probation, and up to this point have become stuck with them as we have let them all come off probation rather than terminate them. After probation, the process of terminating family relationships is difficult, so we just put up with whatever shenanigans we are forced up with to put.
PS Toby smells so good! He's an angel from heaven with hilariously suspicious eyes.
Monday, April 1, 2013
Pitch
IDEA FOR A SITUATION COMEDY:
Peter Wilson is a professional roof raiser. His roof-raising boss is a high fiver. Peter does such an amazing job raising roofs that one day his boss high fives him so hard that it breaks his shoulder and he has to go on disability. Soon we learn that his career as a roof raiser is over. To make ends meet, Peter finds a job lowering floors.
Meanwhile, his boss feels so bad that he moves in with Peter to be his part-time, after-hours, unpaid house keeper. Peter continues to refer to his former boss and current housekeeper as Boss because he doesn't know his real name. Peter claims it's out of respect, but Boss suspects there is something else behind it, a speech impediment issue with the letters R, W, and J.
In episode three, Peter's mom comes to visit--played by an actress that the audience is vaguely familiar with (because she played the mom/grandma in several other sitcoms)--and she decides to move in with Peter. She says it's because she wants to help Peter through his injury, but really she is romantically interested in Boss (a courtship arc begins that is later abandoned when Mom gets a better job as a mom on a one-hour drama).
Meanwhile, the floor-lowering business really takes off and Peter becomes a sought after floor lowerer. In the final episode of the first season, Peter receives a check for $114 Million for a floor lowering project he completed in Mumbai. Peter is surprised because he thought the job was for $114.00. At the same time the roof raising industry collapses, literally (i.e., all of the raised roofs since Peter's departure from the company fall down), and Boss is fired.
In the final scene of the season, Peter hires Boss to be his permanent, paid butler. They make plans to move to India where floor lowering is very lucrative. A second season set in India is promised.
The show is cancelled while on hiatus. No India-set episodes are taped.
Peter Wilson is a professional roof raiser. His roof-raising boss is a high fiver. Peter does such an amazing job raising roofs that one day his boss high fives him so hard that it breaks his shoulder and he has to go on disability. Soon we learn that his career as a roof raiser is over. To make ends meet, Peter finds a job lowering floors.
Meanwhile, his boss feels so bad that he moves in with Peter to be his part-time, after-hours, unpaid house keeper. Peter continues to refer to his former boss and current housekeeper as Boss because he doesn't know his real name. Peter claims it's out of respect, but Boss suspects there is something else behind it, a speech impediment issue with the letters R, W, and J.
In episode three, Peter's mom comes to visit--played by an actress that the audience is vaguely familiar with (because she played the mom/grandma in several other sitcoms)--and she decides to move in with Peter. She says it's because she wants to help Peter through his injury, but really she is romantically interested in Boss (a courtship arc begins that is later abandoned when Mom gets a better job as a mom on a one-hour drama).
Meanwhile, the floor-lowering business really takes off and Peter becomes a sought after floor lowerer. In the final episode of the first season, Peter receives a check for $114 Million for a floor lowering project he completed in Mumbai. Peter is surprised because he thought the job was for $114.00. At the same time the roof raising industry collapses, literally (i.e., all of the raised roofs since Peter's departure from the company fall down), and Boss is fired.
In the final scene of the season, Peter hires Boss to be his permanent, paid butler. They make plans to move to India where floor lowering is very lucrative. A second season set in India is promised.
The show is cancelled while on hiatus. No India-set episodes are taped.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Re-store-ical Questions: A Storey Storie
What if Walmart only sold walls?
What if Target was constantly being shot at?
What if Costco was a company that only accepted carbon monoxide as payment?
What if Little Caesars only sold small salads?
What if Energy Solutions only made caffeinated eyedrops?
What if the Dress Barn was a place where farm animals go to put on their clothes?
What if Smiths only shod horses?
What if Panda Express only gave train rides to pandas?
What if Del Taco was actually Delta Co, a company that deals with real estate issues in the gulf region?
What if The Dollar Store only sold dollars for a dollar?
What if Dollar General only sold dollars with General George Washington on them?
What if Family Dollar only sold families of dollars (Dad: George Washington; Mom: Susan B. Anthony; Son: JFK; Daughter: Sacajawea; Granddaughter; Sacajawea's papoose)?
What if Trader Joes was actually Traitor Joes and every time you spent money there you were aiding and abetting known enemies of the United States?
What if Subway was an underground train?
What if Reams only sold paper?
What if Zions Bank was a river-front in Israel?
What if Chevron was the offspring of Chevy Chase and Ronald Reagan?
What if Marriott was short for Merry Otter?
What if McDonalds only made Scottish Donalds?
What if Arctic Circle only sold freezing cold rings and spheres?
What if Ross Dress for Less was a place you'd go to see David Schwimmer putting on clothes for Les Moonves?
What if JC Penny only sold coins bearing the likeness of Julius Caesar?
What if Smash Burger only catered to incredible hulks?
What if Jimmy Johns was a place where you go to hurriedly and haphazardly fix toilets?
What if Harmons only sold jokes from Jamaica?
What if Best Buy was actually Best By, an expiration date factory?
What if Barnes and Noble was sitcom about a farmer and an earl?
What if the Apple store only sold macintosh apples and PCs?
What if Sandals Resorts were vacation spots for footwear?
What if Albertsons was an adoption agency for kids named Albert?
What if IBM started out as an attempt by someone named Em to introduce herself?
What if Staples only sold essential food items?
What if there was a coup in the Banana Republic and the representative government was replaced by a dictator, what then?
And, What if Questar Gas was was short for Request Our Gas, and they are waiting by the phone, but nobody calls asking for gas?
What if Target was constantly being shot at?
What if Costco was a company that only accepted carbon monoxide as payment?
What if Little Caesars only sold small salads?
What if Energy Solutions only made caffeinated eyedrops?
What if the Dress Barn was a place where farm animals go to put on their clothes?
What if Smiths only shod horses?
What if Panda Express only gave train rides to pandas?
What if Del Taco was actually Delta Co, a company that deals with real estate issues in the gulf region?
What if The Dollar Store only sold dollars for a dollar?
What if Dollar General only sold dollars with General George Washington on them?
What if Family Dollar only sold families of dollars (Dad: George Washington; Mom: Susan B. Anthony; Son: JFK; Daughter: Sacajawea; Granddaughter; Sacajawea's papoose)?
What if Trader Joes was actually Traitor Joes and every time you spent money there you were aiding and abetting known enemies of the United States?
What if Subway was an underground train?
What if Reams only sold paper?
What if Zions Bank was a river-front in Israel?
What if Chevron was the offspring of Chevy Chase and Ronald Reagan?
What if Marriott was short for Merry Otter?
What if McDonalds only made Scottish Donalds?
What if Arctic Circle only sold freezing cold rings and spheres?
What if Ross Dress for Less was a place you'd go to see David Schwimmer putting on clothes for Les Moonves?
What if JC Penny only sold coins bearing the likeness of Julius Caesar?
What if Smash Burger only catered to incredible hulks?
What if Jimmy Johns was a place where you go to hurriedly and haphazardly fix toilets?
What if Harmons only sold jokes from Jamaica?
What if Best Buy was actually Best By, an expiration date factory?
What if Barnes and Noble was sitcom about a farmer and an earl?
What if the Apple store only sold macintosh apples and PCs?
What if Sandals Resorts were vacation spots for footwear?
What if Albertsons was an adoption agency for kids named Albert?
What if IBM started out as an attempt by someone named Em to introduce herself?
What if Staples only sold essential food items?
What if there was a coup in the Banana Republic and the representative government was replaced by a dictator, what then?
And, What if Questar Gas was was short for Request Our Gas, and they are waiting by the phone, but nobody calls asking for gas?
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
Schmeck Shme Schmalls
Merry Christmas!
Here is one more video from Voice Male's TV appearance on kjzz tv, Sunday, December 23, 2012.
Here is one more video from Voice Male's TV appearance on kjzz tv, Sunday, December 23, 2012.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
The rest of the story
Here is that story I wanted to tell two posts ago, but didn't because I couldn't stop talking about feudal chair societies. As it turns out the story is not that great. Oh well, here it is:
I was on a plane last month, just minding my own business when the flight attendant offered the person next to me a beverage. That person asked for water. The attendant filled a cup with ice, then added water. As she was handing the water to the person, the cup and its contents fell from her hand. As a result, the ice and water spilled forth out of the cup and landed safely on me.
This was very lucky for the attendant because I'm really nice, and I like it when weird things happen to me.
That's all. Not the best story, I know.
Oh, I forgot to mention that the place where the water and ice landed on me and the way it soaked certain parts of my clothing was... well, let's just say that I haven't sported that particular wetness pattern since first grade. Luckily, back then I wore Toughskin jeans, which, I think, were manufactured out of plastic because if you ever got them too hot they would melt, literally. Wet or dry, Toughskins looked the same.
This time I was wearing blue jeans. And, as I inspected myself, I realized that no matter what had actually happened on that plane--to the people I would encounter over the next several minutes--I had essentially wet my pants. The signs were unmistakable, a dark patch that started in the central pant region and spread outwardly in a circular pattern.
I calculated how much longer I would be airborne before having to deplane. Was there enough time to dry?
It would be close.
I took solace in the fact that I was heading to Seattle. The only better city in the Western United States for wetting one's pants: Portland. Surely, neither the hippies nor the nerds would judge me harshly for my apparent bladder-control issues, I imagined.
The plane landed. I stood. I deplaned.
For some reason, as I wandered through the SEA-TAC airport, doing my best to stagger as if I were drunk--thus giving plausible reason for grown-man-wet-pants--the old jingle for Pull-ups repeated in a continuous loop in my head, "Mommy, wow! I'm a big kid now."
I was on a plane last month, just minding my own business when the flight attendant offered the person next to me a beverage. That person asked for water. The attendant filled a cup with ice, then added water. As she was handing the water to the person, the cup and its contents fell from her hand. As a result, the ice and water spilled forth out of the cup and landed safely on me.
This was very lucky for the attendant because I'm really nice, and I like it when weird things happen to me.
That's all. Not the best story, I know.
Oh, I forgot to mention that the place where the water and ice landed on me and the way it soaked certain parts of my clothing was... well, let's just say that I haven't sported that particular wetness pattern since first grade. Luckily, back then I wore Toughskin jeans, which, I think, were manufactured out of plastic because if you ever got them too hot they would melt, literally. Wet or dry, Toughskins looked the same.
This time I was wearing blue jeans. And, as I inspected myself, I realized that no matter what had actually happened on that plane--to the people I would encounter over the next several minutes--I had essentially wet my pants. The signs were unmistakable, a dark patch that started in the central pant region and spread outwardly in a circular pattern.
I calculated how much longer I would be airborne before having to deplane. Was there enough time to dry?
It would be close.
I took solace in the fact that I was heading to Seattle. The only better city in the Western United States for wetting one's pants: Portland. Surely, neither the hippies nor the nerds would judge me harshly for my apparent bladder-control issues, I imagined.
The plane landed. I stood. I deplaned.
For some reason, as I wandered through the SEA-TAC airport, doing my best to stagger as if I were drunk--thus giving plausible reason for grown-man-wet-pants--the old jingle for Pull-ups repeated in a continuous loop in my head, "Mommy, wow! I'm a big kid now."
Glory be to KFC
Hello, Folks,
This is one of the weirdest things I've ever seen. We'll need to talk about this when you're done viewing. Meet me below.
Ok. Um...I'm not sure where to begin. I want to first and foremost say, WOW! This is simultaneously the best/worst, most awesome/terrible thing I've ever seen. The performance (i.e., voice, passion, timbre, verve, etc.) is amazing. The words (i.e., what she's saying) are crazy.
A few favorites:
This chicken died that we might live.
Breastesses!
I wanna be thick for you, Lord.
Don't let me die skinny.
The sheer number of times she says, "mac and cheese"
As I think about it though, I am not appalled by this song. I am in fact weirdly endeared to it. This woman loves chicken. She also loves Jesus. Her life's activities, even the mundane aren't separate from her spiritual life. I like that.
So tonight, when I eat my chicken, rice, mac and cheese, and collard greens. I am going to turn my thoughts to the chicken who gave its life for me.
Then I will think of my Savior.
Mmmm. Finger-licking-goodness.
This is one of the weirdest things I've ever seen. We'll need to talk about this when you're done viewing. Meet me below.
Ok. Um...I'm not sure where to begin. I want to first and foremost say, WOW! This is simultaneously the best/worst, most awesome/terrible thing I've ever seen. The performance (i.e., voice, passion, timbre, verve, etc.) is amazing. The words (i.e., what she's saying) are crazy.
A few favorites:
This chicken died that we might live.
Breastesses!
I wanna be thick for you, Lord.
Don't let me die skinny.
The sheer number of times she says, "mac and cheese"
As I think about it though, I am not appalled by this song. I am in fact weirdly endeared to it. This woman loves chicken. She also loves Jesus. Her life's activities, even the mundane aren't separate from her spiritual life. I like that.
So tonight, when I eat my chicken, rice, mac and cheese, and collard greens. I am going to turn my thoughts to the chicken who gave its life for me.
Then I will think of my Savior.
Mmmm. Finger-licking-goodness.
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