Friday, November 30, 2012

The Wrong One

The lights were sparse at the entrance to the mall, but that didn't matter.  Somehow they were still causing excitement among the happy folk beginning to flock there for early evening holiday shopping.

He had never understood this holiday.  Never felt the excitement or the joy. Never understood why so many people were glowing, bearing smiles radiating from one red cheek to another, one person to the next. 

He felt so alone.  Parties, gifts, friendship, love --- he experienced none of it.  Why was he an outcast at the festivities that seemed to gladden the hearts of all around him?  And what of the event the lights were supposed to commemorate?  The birth of a Savior? A Redeemer, the Messiah?  

Damien, the Dark One.  Some Messiah!

Sometimes he felt he had just been born into the wrong parallel universe.


The above is my contribution to the Fabulous Friday Fictioneers. Picture prompt up top, story right below it. Still can't get my entries down to the prescribed 100 words,  but maybe I can line up a bit of special help for next time.

All Hail to you, Damien!

I'll give you this one shot, dude.

My Luncheon with Barack

Today for the first time since the Presidential election, President Barack Obama and Governor Mitt Romney got together for a luncheon meeting at the White House.  With Americans at fever pitch to know exactly what took place, White House Press Secretary Jay Carney issued the following statement late Thursday:

"I am pleased to announce that  President Barack Obama and Governor Mitt Romney joined together today for a special luncheon meeting to discuss their respective ideas for the future of the United States of America.  

After greeting one another in the Oval Office,  Mr. Romney offered his gracious wishes to the President for a successful four-year term to which the two toasted with a glass apiece of  Moet and Chandon Dom Perignon White Gold 1995, both men pronouncing it to be 'exhilarating yet not pretentious.'
Retiring to the White House Dining Room for the formal meal, Mr. Obama enjoyed oysters with carbonated lemon and fennel and Mr. Romney a salad of fall greens with English cucumber and bell radishes for which he selected a discrete dash of pepper from a properly over-sized wooden pepper mill. Mr. Obama declared his first course 'molto bene,' and Mr. Romney adjudged his 'excellent roughage.'

For their main courses, the President feasted upon grilled longfin tuna with pumpkin seed, eggplant puree, and sganarelle and Mr.Romney upon the slow roasted quail with creamed cunegonde, broccoli, and gremolataEach man next eagerly loosened his belt to make ready for the final course of Turkish Coffee and Flaming Bananas Foster prepared table side and tres forte on the rum!


The President and Mr. Romney then  retired to the Oval Office where they enjoyed a snifter of finest White House brandy and a couple of excellent but odoriferous Nicaraguan cigars and agreed that everything possible must be done to avoid going over the fiscal cliff because the finest and most succulent seafood is on this side of the cliff!

The President and Governor Romney shook hands and agreed they would meet again shortly for another meal,  Governor Romney promising next time he'd pick up the check provided Mr. Obama doesn't raise his taxes too much.


"Yummy, Mr. President!  Double Yummy!"

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

It's a Quarter to Three ...

It's a quarter to three,  and there's no one in the place except you and me.  So set 'em up,  Joe ....

Joe: Okay, fellas, it's almost time to close up.  One more  for the road?

General Petraeus:  Sure, Joe.  Gimme a double scotch and pour another bourbon for my diminutive friend here.

Joe: Y'know, I never would have figured you for a scotch drinker, General.

General Petraeus:  Sure am, Joe.  Paula and I used to pound down the scotch until she'd go "Ready for that drone strike, General! Here's your coordinates!"

Joe: And you, young man, of all things --- a bourbon drinker!

Elmo:  Oh my yes,  Joseph!  Elmo been guzzling bourbon ever since Elmo start trolling gay bars in the Village back in the Seventies.  Elmo l0oooove sucking down the bourbon! 

Joe: Well,  glad you two found each other.  Shame what happened to you guys.

General PetraeusI just can't believe it, Joe!  One day I'm running the entire Central Intelligence Agency, next day I can't get a call back from George Lazenby!

ElmoYou think that's bad, General?  Elmo called every homophobic name in the book by Bill Moyers!

General PetraeusSay, Elmo, I need a job.  Think there's a place for an old military man on Sesame Street

Fade Out to >>>>>> 

[Sesame Street Theme Plays]

Big Bird:  Maria!  Luis!  

Maria: What is it, Big Bird?

Big BirdHere comes General Dave.

Big Bird, Maria, Luis:  Hi, General Dave!

General Dave:  Hi, Everybody! I'm General Dave, the Fornicating General!  Today's show is brought to you by the Letter A for Adultery.  

Big BirdAnd by the number 69.

Fade Back In.

Elmo:  Or what if Elmo decide to join the Army? 

Fade Out to >>>>>> 

[Army Fight Song Plays]

Soldier No. 1:  What are your orders, General Elmo?  

General Elmo: Men, our next tactical move will be to initiate a Surge!

Soldier No. 2:  A Surge, General? 

General ElmoYes,  a great big strong thrust forward, hard and straight and penetrating and deep  .... and...... and ....

Soldier No. 3:  General Elmo!  General Elmo!!!  What's wrong, sir?!!!!!

Fade Back In.

JoeYou know what you fellas should have learned from the messes you got yourself into?

General Petraeus: What's that, Joe?

Joe: Reason flies out the window when a man's pecker is straight.

Elmo: And that goes double for Elmo!

Joe:  All right, guys.  Closing time. 

Elmo:  Gracious thanks, Joseph!  C'mon, General .... Elmo and General go to hot after-hours club.  

General PetraeusKnow a good one, my furry little LGBT friend?

ElmoElmo sure do!  Same one Anthony Weiner and Lance Armstrong  get thrown out of every day at dawn.

General Petraeus:  Works for me.  Goodbye,  Joe. 

Joe:  Goodbye, fellas! 

Elmo:  Arrivederci, Joseph!

Joe:   Well, who knows, folks?  There just might be a sunny day for those two after all!


Elmo,  think I'm gonna be sick!       General just can't hold liquor like 

Sunday, November 25, 2012

The Most Interesting Man in the World

Stay annoying, my friend.

To him, no one is a stranger, except for people he hasn't met yet.

He generally misses the point of things.

He is seven degrees of separation from Kevin Bacon.

To him,  you are
The Most Interesting Man in the World.

He wouldn't miss a rerun of Everybody Loves Raymond.

He is cautious  about looking through a People Magazine in line at the supermarket for fear the cashier will yell at him if he doesn't buy it ..... and she usually does.

He masturbates to pictures of women he could actually get.

To him,  you are
The Most Interesting Man in the World.

He thinks seer sucker will come back in.  No, he thinks it never went out.

When he doesn't understand the directions on his GPS,  he is too embarrassed to run it again for fear it will think him stupid,  and returns home.

He has a rabbi who has tried desperately to convince him to become an atheist.

To him,  you are
The Most Interesting Man in the World.

He is fond of saying "everybody talks about the weather but nobody does anything about it" and then saying "And you can quote me on that!"

His resume lists writing his resume as one of his major accomplishments.

His dishwasher creates drops that spot.

To him,  you are
The Most Interesting Man in the World.

When he plays with his Tickle Me Elmo, he insists a third party be present.

He never accepts second place, so he never enters anything that awards places.

He procrastinates procrastinating.

To him,  you are
The Most Interesting Man in the World.

He would never ask a cashier for change without at least also buying a Mounds Bar or if there is no Mounds Bar, a large appliance.

He watches Saturday Night Live, but hates himself for it.

He looks forward to the Winter Olympics,  for the curling.

To him,  you are
The Most Interesting Man in the World.

When he goes to a petting zoo,  he won't pet a llama unless they've first been formally introduced.

He leaves a half open book lying around he has never read to try to impress people.  It is  Fifty Shades of Gray

See the two hot women above?  Photo shopped in. 

To him,  you are
The Most Interesting Man in the World.

"I don't always drink beer, because it makes me nauseous and I wake up with a headache. 

But when I do, I drink  .... 

Dos Equis?  No f*cking way! 
I cannot even spell it! 

 Dos Equis is only for 

The Most Interesting Man in the World


Stay suggestible, my friend.  

"Now I think I'm going to take  me a nap .... and then go out for a walk, or maybe not.... and then kind of  sit around or something or other ... "


And for all the real Dos Equis commercials, click here. Remember to always use alcohol responsibly, my friends!

Thursday, November 22, 2012

The Return of Han Solo

Han Solo Encased in a Block of Carbonite.

From Episode 7 of Star Wars:   The Return of the Shut Eye 

Damn shame!  This time around Harrison Ford didn't come through this nearly as well as he did when he was 38.  

Wonder why ....

The above story and prompt that inspired it are my humble offerings in this week's Friday Fictioneers Holiday Extravaganza.

Try to have a Happy Thanksgiving, Harrison!


Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Don't You Pardon that Bird!

You're free, Squawky!

This year, as in many others, the President of the United States will on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving  good-naturedly but officially pardon a turkey. 

Mr. President, don't you pardon that bird!

According to recently classified documents obtained by Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute, pardoning a turkey serves only to release back into the general populace a terrorist bent on the overthrow of the United States and the destruction of everything we hold dear, including Betty White!   

                                                                 Who?  Me? 

Turkey Nation,  as we have now learned,  has sought to destroy the United States from a time before there even was a United States.

How did it all begin?   

When the Pilgrims first landed at Plymouth Rock in 1620, indigenous American turkeys were terrified by the pale-skinned,  non-feathered, non-turkey necked* New Kids on the Rock.  Turkey Nation feared that before long they'd be forced to wear shoes with annoyingly cute little buckles and read boring poetry by Longfellow. 

Their leader, known as Squawky, devised a cunning scheme in which he feigned friendship with the settlers and actually encouraged them to pound down the turkey on Thanksgiving Day. Once saturated with typtophan,  the dozing Pilgrims would be no match for Turkey Nation's plans for murder most fowl!

Two days after Thanksgiving 1621, Squawky led a raid known to history as Gobblers' Gambit in which 16 soporific settlers were killed, another eight wounded, and 14 more smeared with mashed potatoes and giblet gravy. Additional raids followed, some of which involved  frontal assault with pumpkin pie, which has no other purpose aside from warfare.

Squawky feigns friendliness toward the Pilgrims at the First Thanksgiving, 1621

During the Revolutionary War, Turkey Nation continued its treachery by remaining loyal to the British Crown. Squawky (not the original Squawky) convinced General  Benedict Arnold to slip secret information concerning "basting techniques" to British spymaster Major John Andre, thereby causing the name "Squawky" to become forever synonymous with the word "traitor!" 

(Occasionally the name "Benedict Arnold" is used for similar purposes as well.)

And what of today? 

Your Thanksgiving Dinner is  enabled each year through the efforts of millions of kamikaze turkeys willing to give their lives and gizzards for the cause. Aided by their evil partner in crime, the National Football League, Turkey Nation seeks to get you so sleepy Thursday afternoon that it can seize power before you can say "fuckin' turkey  leftovers again?"

Fortunately the CIA has been able to counter their plans by covertly orchestrating disturbances to keep you awake.  Think your loud bigoted uncle at dinner, your vomiting St. Bernard, and your daughter weepily telling you she's pregnant by General Petraeus are all coincidences?   It's the U.S. government keeping you safe!

At least until now.

And so, Mr. President, don't you pardon that bird!  

And to all of you:  this Thanksgiving,  please be careful when you hit that living room, undo your bulging fat belly pants, and shut your eyes.  

You might just wake up marching to the beat of a different drumstick.




 Squawky (not the original Squawky) greets close buds
 in Berlin, 1937

*except for one Captain Newton Gingrich

Monday, November 19, 2012

The Costa Rica Casanova

Watch out, Hotties: 
Here Comes the Costa Rica Casanova!

When my 17 year old son Brandon and I left for vacation in Costa Rica last August, I was quite explicit with him about what might happen during the 11 days ahead. 

"Brandon," said I "we're going to have great father-son bonding during this trip, but there will be occasions I may seek out the company of a woman or two."

"I understand, Dad," offered Brandon.  "On trips like this there's always women 58 years old or more, kinda desperate, looking for ...."

"No, no, no, Brandon! I've still got it for the babes! And if something should happen, well, there may be a few times you'll have to fend for yourself."

"Got it, Dad," replied Bran. "I'll be cool."

Our first stop was Tortuguero on the Caribbean coast. This place isn't just off the beaten path,  it's off the beaten lagoon.  You get there via a long bumpy drive to an even longer boat ride up an Amazon-like river, and when you finally get there, the there you get to is a scenic but highly remote collection of smallish villages and hotels along a very rustic waterway.

"Very Apocalypse Now, Bran, don't you think?" I remarked as I began stumbling off the boat.

But Brandon wasn't there.  I saw him off a ways down the dock,  talking to an affluent-looking family consisting of mother, father, young  brother, and smoking hot brown-haired teen-aged daughter!

I completed stumbling into the arms of the hotel greeting party consisting of the hotel manager and a couple of irate iguanas. "They're from Spain," Brandon said as he ran over to me, "and the daughter Claudia is just my age!"

That night Brandon and I went on a Turtle Nesting Tour, a very special experience  in which one gets to view a 300 pound Green Sea Turtle climb up on the Caribbean Sea beach, lay hundreds of eggs, and skedaddle back into the sea before being eaten by a 350 pound Green Sea Turtle predator.  

"This may be the closest I get to nesting this entire trip," I began to realize sadly.

"How do you say in Spanish 'Would you like dinner tonight?' " Brandon asked the turtle tour guide.

The next evening I enjoyed an authentic Costa Rican dinner alone in my television-less,  air conditioning-less  lizard-enriched hotel room followed by a stroll to the hotel bar,  which had closed at 8:00 P.M.  

Very Apocalypse Now.  Very little nesting

"Sorry, Dad," said Brandon as we next morning boarded the boat to begin chugging our way out of Tortuguero, "but we'll do lots more together now!"  

And during the next few days we did indeed manage some fine bonding experiences --- kayaking, zip lining,  swimming in a waterfall ---  all sandwiched in though they were among Brandon's  numerous and varied interactions with diverse folks from locales around the world, many of whom were of the young and female persuasions.  

I on the other hand proved to be about as popular in Costa Rica as a Donald Trump press conference announcing plans to build a 1,ooo room hotel and casino in the center of the Arenal Rainforest. Finally in our next to last stop in Monteverde I did manage to connect with a couple of sisters from Cincinnati who regaled me at length with tales of quilting during the Roosevelt Administration, although  I'm not sure which of the two such named Administrations they were actually referring to.

Our last port of call was the lovely beach resort of Manuel Antonio on the western Pacific coast.  It's loveliness for me, however, was somewhat marred by my being laid low by  a travel malady I am sometimes prone to which is known in technical medical circles as "I'd Sell My Soul to the Devil for a Poop!"

"Brandon," I said,  turning my head slightly as we sat as one of the resort's three pools, "think I'll go take a walk and try to..."

But Brandon wasn't there.  I saw him a few deck chairs down sitting shoulder to shoulder with a smoking hot blonde teen-aged daughter! (of someone)

"Go right ahead, Dad, I'm fine here."

I walked the grounds, swam in each of  the resort's two other swimming pools, gritted my teeth like Kirk Douglas in Lust for Life, and finally, when a long awaited sense of opportunity presented itself, returned to the room.

"Dad!!!  Umm, can you come back another time?"

"No, I can't!  For a couple of reasons,  the main one of which is: 


Afterwards, Brandon and the young woman,  one Lucia from Italy, mostly hung out at the pool or at the beach. I mostly hung out in the bathroom.

"Know what I liked best about Costa Rica, Dad?"  Brandon said as we settled in on the first of our two flights back home.

"I'm not sure, but I'd guess it was either Italy or Spain?"

"Nah, neither of those.  It was the things we did together, whenever we could."

Well, if I can't be the Costa Rica Casanova myself,  at least I'm happy I was able to bond with the genuine article.

And better still,  to get to live vicariously through him as well ....  


All the Costa Rican sex I can handle!

Friday, November 16, 2012

Bottle o' Batteries

I got very charged up when I saw the prompt for this week's Friday Fictioneers and thought I'd be positive rather than my usual negative about it.

Yeah, I hate that sentence too. 

But I'll push it further:  hope you get a charge out of the story below powered by the prompt above.  

If you don't, frankly I'll be shocked.

Bottle o' Batteries

Exiting the neighborhood hardware store with a large glass jar clasped under one arm, Ted ran into his friend Michael Farris in the parking lot.

"Hey, Ted," said Michael, "I see you bought the new Eveready Bottle o' Batteries too."

"Well, when you see how jammed full of all different types and sizes of batteries it is, how can you go wrong for a buck?" 

"Yeah, that's what I thought too," began Michael ....

"Problem is it's a crap shoot, you can't really tell what you're getting."

"Actually, Ted, it's worse than that."


"The center of the jar doesn't contain any batteries at all!"

"Oh, gee, what is it, full of cardboard?"

"Nah.  Hundreds and hundreds of wrapped Godiva chocolates."

"Damn, ripped off again!" shouted Ted, dropping the jar to the parking surface below. 


Wednesday, November 14, 2012

How to Secede from America Without Really Thinking

There is a Brotherhood of Dumb!

Broadway Beat
by Nels Noodleman

There's a brand new smash hit musical on Broadway these days,  and it's one with a very unique distinction.  

It is the first ever all-singing all-dancing all-moron Broadway musical in history.  It is:


Starring the greatest assemblage of idiots ever seen in New York City since any two or more people who take Donald Trump seriously, How to Secede tells the story of one J. Pierpont Simp, a young man who believes that President Obama is a Socialist-Communist-Muslim-Gay-Lesbian-Transgendered-Pickup Truck Hating-Agent of Satan Who Collects 15% on Every Booking He Makes for Satan maniac, who is also black.

This tuneful romp follows Ponty as he climbs the corp-hate ladder of an organization known as "The Brotherhood of Dumb," which seeks to secede from the United States because Barack Obama has just been elected President instead of a man whose major presidential credential was faking a middling love of NASCAR.

As Ponty, Broadway newcomer Ralph "Guns & Tats" Ferbish gives a performance that is so stupid he actually manages to drool saliva upward because he doesn't know up from down.   He is joined by Delilah Dimmish as Rosemary, a  woman who refuses to share a nation with anybody who doesn't believe the Constitution was written by Jesus and the Second Amendment given by God to Moses on Mt. Sinai but suppressed by the Jews. 

The show starts off with the rousing "How to" ...

This book is all that I need,
How to - how to- secede!
(Wait a minute. Book?) 

and wraps with the showstopper "The Brotherhood of Dumb" ...

There is a brotherhood of Dumb,
Up your ass you stick your thumb!
Oh, aren't you proud to be
Dumb for Eternity
That Great Big Brotherhood of Dumb!

"We're proud to put dumb front and center on Broadway," said producer Perry Block, a man often associated with dumb in his own right, "when it usually exists more naturally in Washington D.C." 

"We feel that in the annals of dumb, How to Secede from America without Really Thinking compares favorably with the actions of some members of Congress who feel it's no big deal to go over the fiscal cliff because, after all, it'a only a ride at Disney World!

Go see How to Secede from America without Really Thinking, folks! 

You'll feel like a Rhodes Scholar. 

From your very own Broadway Buddy, 

Mr. Nels Noodleman


Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Hey, Paula: My Biography's Waiting for You

Paula Broadwell and I hard at work on my biography.
(Notice the firm, erect positioning of my right hand)

When a man reaches the "Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute" years of his life,  it comes natural to him to want to leave behind some sort of testament of his life and times.  This is true both for those men who have actually "done stuff" as well as for men such as myself whose major lifetime achievement has been breaking the habit of fingernail biting  at age 57. 

But how to create that testament?

With personal memoir eliminated as a possible option since writing one involves "doing stuff," I created a short list of competent biographers consisting of:

1) David McCullough.  My first choice was golden-throated master historian and PBS superstar McCullough,  envisioning his magical narration on the followup Ken Burns feature about me ... 

"Faced with the recurring prospect of being savagely beaten up on his way to school, Perry chose an alternate route across the Gingham Pass and through the Bernsteins' back yard, unaware that two of the fourth grade girls lay in wait for him."

Unfortunately Mr. McCullough declined to author my biography as his historical research led him to side with the fourth grade girls.

2) Doris Kearns Goodwin.  The esteemed author of the book No Ordinary Time about Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt had to be eliminated from consideration after her projected title for my bio was "Very Ordinary Time, If That."

3) Paula Broadwell.  Though you've probably never heard of her, Ms. Broadwell had authored a book about General David Petraeus, the renowned US. general with an impeccable reputation. When I first looked her comely resume over up and down,  I began to get immediately excited.  The woman had a firm grasp of history, and she had come ... umm, I mean ... had come well recommended by the General himself!

We arranged to meet  and she flew to Philadelphia.  As soon as I laid eyes on her,  I realized that if I were to ever have the opportunity to discover how well my biographer made fried eggs and toast, I'd rather it be Ms. Broadwell than David McCullough.

"UCCHHH!" she said as she got off the plane and greeted me.

I suppose she was tired from the long flight from Washington D.C. to Philadelphia.

Gradually, however,  I came to win her over While we initially worked over the phone with me in Pennsylvania and her in North Carolina, we drew closer and soon began working from opposite ends of North Carolina. Continuing to communicate over the phone,  later we began working several blocks away from each other in North Carolina, although I didn't realize at the time she had built a moat between our two houses.    

As we approached the end of the project and page 37 of the book (with illustrations), I could contain myself no longer.

"Paula, why don't you dig me?" I pleaded. "You know all the special things about me that make me me, such as that I write a blog that no one reads and I no longer bite my nails!"

She then explained that she had a thing for General Petraeus!   She'd even been imbedded with him! Also it was then that she told me about the moat.

My collaboration with Paula Broadwell ended, I've decided to give it a couple more years until I try again to have my biography written.  Next time I'm going to get me a really hot biographer who hasn't yet written about anybody exciting or interesting. 

Someone who spends all her time around Republicans.

And in a couple of years, who knows?   Maybe I'll actually have "done stuff." 


I'll get myself an even hotter biographer.  You'll see.