Save Our Beautiful Garden Gnomes!

Trump has recently announced that in addition to Confederate statues, America must protect the garden gnomes that are rapidly disappearing throughout the country. Here are his recent tweets on the subject:

Donald J. Trump  @realDonaldTrump 
Sad to see the history and culture of our great country being ripped apart with the removal of our beautiful statues, monuments, and garden gnomes. You...

Donald J. Trump @realDonaldTrump 
...can't change history, but you can learn from it. Robert E Lee, Stonewall Jackson, Grumple Hostlepfeffer, Boingy McPookin, Grabble Hickenhopper --- who's next, Washington, Jefferson, Whisker Wamplesucker? So foolish! Also...

Donald J. Trump @realDonaldTrump 
...the beauty that is being taken out of our cities, towns, parks, and in front of homes of rural riff raff, many of whom love my ass, will be greatly missed and never able to be comparably replaced!

Donald J. Trump@realDonaldTrump 
Especially Gerald Yowzapimples!

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Up On the Roof

Sometimes I’m just clueless.  And sometimes I’m brain dead.

There is a comedy law of threes, but I don’t feel like making a third self-deprecating statement right now so I’ll just let it go at that.

I had just stopped at the local Wawa convenience store and picked up a couple of cups of coffee for me and my friend Ellen. I wasn’t in a great mood because I’d just come from yoga on a day where downward facing dog described  not only one of the hardest poses for me to perform but also how I felt about myself in the world that day.

I was irritated about decisions I’d made and decisions I hadn’t made and decisions I was yet to make which I’d be irritated about tomorrow, and I spilled one of the coffees on myself and it was on a shirt I liked and I didn’t know if the stain would come out and I was late for Ellen’s place in the first place.

And she gets pissed off when you’re late.

I got into the car and put the key in the ignition and suddenly a car behind me started honking.

Why?   My driving isn’t exactly the best but I’ve never yet caused a three car collision before I’ve even started moving.

“He’s nuts!” I thought and I pulled out of the space.

The guy hit the horn again, and I looked around. There’s nobody walking behind me, no car coming in the opposite direction, and no anvil from a Warner Brothers cartoon isn’t about to fall on me.  Fuck him!

I drove out the exit of the Wawa and two more cars sounded their horns.  What the hell was I doing wrong?  You’d think I had a Trump sticker on the back of my car.  Hell, you’d think I had Trump on the back of my car!

I’m was going four miles an hour. What harm can I do at a speed like that?  Allow cobwebs to form that impede future traffic?

I gave ‘em both the finger.

But when I got on the road, a guy in a pickup truck behind me began blasting his horn.  I glanced back and I saw a bearded, tattooed guy the size of Paul Bunyan jawing away frantically!  Just what I need - a lumberjack anti-Semite!   

I turned the corner and he followed me and pulled up beside me! Big trouble now!  But for what?

The lumberjack got out of his car, came up to my open window, and reached out his hands.

My life began to flash before my eyes.  If only I’d had a more interesting life, the flashback would have lasted longer and I’d have more time. But no, the flashback had just started and already I was up to watching Baywatch in 1994.

Great, I’m going to be killed while staring at David Hasselhoff’s pecs, and I’m not even gay!

 “Please, at least wait for the end credits to run!” I cried. “I want to know who does such a lousy job on my makeup!”

I gritted my teeth.  His hands came closer, ever closer, so close I could hear them breathing, and hands don’t breathe!

But he didn’t lay a hand on me.

“Look, friend, I’ve been trying to get your attention for a few blocks now.   You left two coffee cups on your roof!  It’s amazing that they haven’t spilled.”

And he pulled two cups of coffee off the roof and handed them to me.

So that was it.  He was a good guy after all. So were the others, all trying to tell me I didn’t have a fiddler on the roof, but coffee on the roof.

Paul Bunyan was such a nice guy we stood there and drank the now cold coffee together.  Sorry I hadn’t left doughnuts on the roof for us too.

Sometimes I’m just clueless.  And sometimes I’m brain dead.

But from now on I’m going to keep the coffee in the car and not on the car. At least until the next time I don’t.

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Trivago Way to Go II!

I guess it was inevitable that the smooth "as his beard hair is not" Trivago Guy would eventually be joined by a Trivago Girl.

And in introducing her to the American public the folks at the Trivago Company have not only outdone themselves, they have also outdone almost anybody else who’s ever outdone themselves in the entire art of outdoing.

Why is that?

She’s gorgeous.

She has a unique and affecting Australian accent all her own.

Did you ever hear anyone say “remembah” like she does?

She looks great in a dress and great in a casual top and jeans and great dressed like a lumberjack, as above, and great in a burlap sack should she ever appear in such. She looks great with her hair up and great with her hair down and she’d probably look great with no hair at all.

Yeah, no hair. Great!

And I’d give my subscription to HBO during the season when new episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm are being aired to be able to use Hotel: Trivago to find the optimal hotel anywhere in the world to check into arm in arm with the Trivago Girl for a little TV commercial star/horny audience member sexuality par excellence!

Many of us did a double take when we first saw the Trivago Girl on the air.

Does that mean they’ve dumped the Trivago Guy, we wondered?   Watching him eating pancakes and stealing soap of late seemed to indicate that he was on the verge of “jumping the shark,” the term originating from when Fonzie actually jumped a shark on Happy Days indicating the show was fresh out of fresh ideas and about to bite the dust.

But no! The Trivago Guy came roaring back and the Trivago Girl and Trivago Guy became a tag team made in commercial heaven. Not only did she charm and entice we wonderful men out there in the dark but she also re-energized the Trivago Guy because now we saw him in regular rhythmic sync with her.

The Trivago people did one other thing super right and correct when they decided to implement a distaff version of the original Trivago personage who possesses a staff.  They never have the two of them appear in the same commercial.  That way both men and women are able to fantasize freely about each of them as appropriate without slamming smack dab into the boner killing (and whatever gets killed in women) prospect that the two of them might be into each other rather than us, god forbid!

Meanwhile I have never used Trivago and probably never will.  I don’t go anywhere.  But it doesn’t really matter.

Long live the Trivago Girl!

And the Trivago Guy?

We’ll let him stick around a bit longer too.

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I Hire the Mooch, for a Very Short Time

Having decided of late to do a self-published humor book, I thought I might need some marketing muscle to help get the book off the ground. I realized that my marketing muscle was the equivalent of that of a 98 pound weakling, and I didn’t need to get sand kicked in my face along with not selling any books.

 `

So I went on Craig’s List and found a guy who called himself a Director of Communications who was just out a job and eager for work. He shot over for an interview.

“Perry Block, it’s great to meet you, call me Mooch!” he exclaimed.

“Mush?”

“No, Mooch! I just love you, and I wish you well, and I hope you go on to make a tremendous amount of money.”

Boy, he was a really lively little guy with hair so black it practically began shining my shoes as soon as he came into the room. He was dancing around as if he had to take a wicked pee and hadn’t been informed that bathrooms had been invented.

“Well, Mooch, that’s very nice … umm … that you love me, but let me tell you a little bit about …..

“No need, I know you’re promoting a book!  Hey, Per, I’m going to build you up so fast you’ll be No. 1 on the New York Times Best Seller List quicker than I got fired at my last job!”

“But how can you do that?  This is just a humble self-published book.”

“Don’t be so self-deprecating, guy!   I love you, but you won’t sell any books that way!  Here’s what I’m going to say about you:

“I’ve seen this guy throw a dead spiral through a tire. I’ve seen him at Madison Square Garden with a topcoat on. He’s standing in the key and he’s hitting foul shots and swishing them, OK? He sinks 3-foot putts.”

“But that’s not true, Mooch!  Next thing you’ll tell them I have a three foot putz!”

“No, not exactly. I'm going to tell them you can suck your own cock!”

“No, that’s disgusting!  Besides, only Ron Jeremy can do that.”

“I know. I worked for him too.”

“Look, Mooch!  Can you tell me what it is you can do for me?”

“I can love you! Also I can fire all the leakers.”

“But I don’t have any leakers.  What would they leak about? That I’m doing my laundry and that I put in too much bleach? Who cares?”

“Too much bleach? Shows poor judgment! I worked for a guy who had poor judgment.  Actually he was a fucking paranoid schizophrenic, a paranoiac!  I’ll cock-block these leakers for you the way I cock-blocked Scaramucci for six months, and he’s me.’”

“I’m sorry, Mooch, I have a feeling this isn’t going to work out.”

“Oh, no, please I need this job! My wife just had a baby!”

“Oh, I see, well, in that case …”

“And the baby’s already got a big job at Goldman Sachs!  I have to keep up!”

Well, so I hired Mooch and it’s been three weeks now, the longest he’s ever lasted at a job so he says.  His communications skills aren’t all that great but my shoes are always shined beautifully.

And he just loves me to death.

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