I don't think she even likes me. But she LOVES outfitting me!

 

"I just saw this, Perry, and it's perfect for you!"

It  was a Saturday afternoon and I was lamely trying to come up with my latest humor post when the phone rang.

"Perry, this is Sandra. I just saw some tops at Nordstrom's that are perfect for you and I'd like to bring them over."

"Gee, that's swell, Sandra," I said, "but I'm kinda busy right now and ..."

"'Great, I'll be right over!  I think you'll love them!"

There's only one problem with this situation.  Sandra isn't my girlfriend. In fact, she broke up with me several years ago.

I don't think she even likes me.  But she loves outfitting me!

There came that familiar knock at the door. You know that rhymthic knock, knock <beat> knock, knock, knock that people execute when they have something with you or perceive they have  something with you.

"Here you go, Perry, try these on," Sandra chirped brightly. "I got them for you in navy blue, powder blue, dark gray, light gray, medium gray, and a few other random colors in between."

"Sandra, umm ... I think this has got to stop," I said. "We're not dating and yet you insist on buying me clothes."

"It's my passion, Perry, and you know I always offer to chip in on them. Look, because you're so slim you look great in so many things."

"If that's true, Sandra, why did you describe me as scrawny back in the day when you dumped me? "

"Maybe you've put on weight," she said, for sure knowing it wasn't true.  "Didn't you like the slacks I bought you last month? I see you don't have them on; please, please. please for once can I see you out of  those omnipresent jeans?"

"Sandra, shouldn't you have an actual boyfriend to be buying clothes for?"

"Oh, there's nobody out there.  Say, could you use socks? And how about some new underwear in a variety of colors?"

"Umm, Sandra."

"Yes, Perry?"

"I think you should stop buying me stuff."

"Oh, BTW, l saw a great puffer jacket that to me fairly well screamed Perry!"

"Well, uhh, I guess I could use a new winter jacket."

"Great, I'll pick it up tomorrow! You busy tomorrow afternoon to try it on?"

Turns out I wasn't gonna be busy.  Would it kill me to try it on?

No, I don't think Sandra even likes me.  But she loves outfitting me!

And, y'know, beats having to shop.

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If you liked this post  you might also like The Story About Cupid on Page One.

If you hated this post, I hope Sandra starts buying you clothes and doesn't offer to pay for a damn thing!

All My Friends Who Aren't Real But I Love Them Anyway

                                                 

                                             

        At least I know he's real.  I think.

It's been about a year since I decided to ressurrect my long dormant blog  and I'd like to reflect upon the exciting adventures I've had in that regard over the past year. 

There are none.

But I did want to stop and take stock of some personal writerly things over the year, which means this post is solely for my benefit and I'd bale on reading it if I were you. 

Imagine me telling folks not to read my stuff!  That's something that's hardly ever been necessary in the past.

The past year featured the return of some old friends:

The Legendary Jewish Vampire Vlad the Retailer. Thanks to AI we could finally depict him, as previously he just looked like warmed over Bela Lugosi.  Now that we can see him: Funny, he doesn't look Jewish!  

Rabbi Debbie King, the Progenitor of  "Hello Yahweh,"  the newest branch of liberal Judaism based loosely on characters from Seinfeld.  Eat Your Heart Out, Orthodox Judaism!

Professor Kropotkin and his Protege Maya Majoun, among whose many scientific achievements are the discovery of the fabled Book of Norman and the factoid that snowflakes may possess evil twins. 

Don't ask.

My Muse.  Yes he sleeps late, eats and drinks me out of house and home, and supplies me with lousy ideas like what if we have Ginger and MaryAnn mud wrestle. But I can't fire him because he's union.

Cupid, who's resigned as a Greek God becaiuse he could no longer  handle the incessant lawsuits from disgruntled lovers for whom his arrows just plain screwed everything up and who approaches me about writing his memoirs. Why me? Because I'm cheap and he's flat broke. 

Batman.  Yep, that Batman.  I know him, not to brag.  But I can't for the life of me figure out his secret identity.

So don't ask about that either.

And of course, for a time, I controlled the media.

Add to that a few newer friends like:

Julie, My Favorite Barista, who will be leaving me and my favorite coffee shop behind to become a lawyer but not before I teach her never to wish me or anybody else to "Have a Great Day" because nobody ever has a great day!

  

My Bathroom Mirror Bob, who does his best to bolster my confidence about my looks.  In other words. he lies his ass off, if only he had an ass.

Michael the Trump-Loving Stump. If only God can make a tree, we better kick God off tree-creating duty and take it over ourselves.  (We can't do worse, to coin a phrase of mine.) 

Hey, I've missed them all and I'm glad they're back. Or here for the first time. 

But the oddest thing is the person I've really missed the most is the fictionalized me. He's a hot mess for sure,  but the real me is an even hotter mess and a lot less interesting.

Hell, I'm kinda looking forward to growing old with him. That is, growing older with him who is me anyway so we're growing older together. 

And maybe one of these days one of us actually will have a great day.

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They Say No Two Snowflakes Are Ever Alike. Unless One Is An Evil Twin!

                                                 

       

"Professor I'm here," called Maya Majoun.  "I came as soon as you called."

"Oh, Maya, I'm on to something big here," said Professor Kropotkin "and I wanted you to be the first to know."

Professor Kropotkin, eminent archaelogist and now expert medical researcher, was sitting in his laboratrory peering thoughtfully into his microsope. Maya Majoun, once his young protege and now Adjunct Professor of Archeology at nearby Block University, entered the lab.

"Maya, I have now disproved an old adage."

"Which is?"

"That no two snowflakes are ever alike! Take a look at these two through the microscope."

"OMG! They look almost exactly alike! Except the one on the left looks like it has some strange formation at the top."

"Yes, that because the one on the left is an evil double!  A doppleganger."

"Professor, that exists even in the snowflake world?"

"Yes, Maya, it does. And left unchecked the evil snowflake will take over life of the good snowflake."

"But, Professor, it's just a  snowflake. What can it possibly do to the good snowflake?"

"Why, it can steal the good snowflake's life savings and have sex with the good snowflake's wife."

"But does a snowflake have a wife and money?"

"Well, I'm just surmising.  That's left to be discovered."

"Professor, in the time we worked together I know you to be a brilliant man.  But how do you know this is the evil doppleganger?"

"Take another look through the microscope, Maya."

"OMG! Professor! It's wearing a black hat!"

" Yes, Maya, and that means there's only one thing left to do!"

 "What, Professor Kropotkin?"

"Melt the mother-fucker!"

I defy you to tell the difference!

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A Visit With Michael, The Wise Old Soul Living In The Tree

 

                                

I was walking in my usually boring neighborhood of Havertown PA with my son's dog Bruno a week or so back when I came upon what looked like a wise old soul living at the base of a tree.

Do you see him too? He has a very broad mouth with a half-smile, his right eye bigger than the left and perhaps covered with an eye patch, and two outstretched arms almost entreating you to stop by and visit.

C'mon, dudes!  Where's your suspension of disbelief?

"Hello, kind sir,"I offered to the man in the tree. "Care for a visit from a friend?  I'm Perry."

"Of course I would," the man in the tree replied in a crusty but aimable voice that bespoke volumes. "My name is Michael." 

"Michael," I said, delighted that he did indeed speak as I'd hoped he would. "I bet you've seen a great deal over the years and you know much that you can impart to me and others."

"That's true, Perry. And I am indeed pleased to share with you the most important thing I've learned over hundreds of years of observation and study."

"Tell me, tell me!" I exclaimed exciteedly. "I want to learn from your wisdom. What ... what can you teach me?"

"The most important thing to know about life, Perry,"  Michael slowly intoned "is ..."

"Yes, yes, yes, Michael???"

"That Donald Trump is the greatest president in the history of our nation!"

"Excuse me?

"Every nation needs a brave, noble, and wise leader.  And we are blessed to have that leader, Donald J. Trump - a genius - a brilliant man motivated only by his love of country and humanity." 

"Are you sure this is the most important thing you have to tell us?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, thanks ... umm ... gotta go.  Bruno has an ... uh ... appointment with his parole officer."

"And that blondie Karoline Leavitt is quite a fox too!"

"I guess you would like someone who's wooden," I thought.

"Bruno," I whispered, "before we go, if you could ... pee on him?"

"Oooh, wet!" exclaimed Michael.

"Bye, Michael," I said. "Don't get up."

I walked several blocks and came upon a group of people who were pruning trees in the area with a nearby truck labeled "Matthew Domer, Arborist."

I went up to one of them and said "Excuse me, but a few blocks away on Hawthorne Street is an old tree with a trunk that reesembles a wisened elfin old man."

"Yes?"

"Woodman, don't spare that tree!''

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