Gun Sanity At Last!

Senator Chuck Schumer (D-NY) shakes hands
 with National Reasonable Association's Wayne LaPierre

Flanked by the leadership of both the Democratic and Republican parties, President Obama today signed the Sane Armaments and Firearms Elucidation Regulations Bill (SAFER) in the While House Rose Garden to the generous applause of all present.

"How foolish we were ever to oppose this!" exclaimed an exhilarated Wayne LaPierre, CEO of the National Rifle Association. "These are common sense measures to protect all Americans and fully consistent with the Second Amendment."

Mr. LaPierre praised New York Senator Chuck Schumer for helping him to see reason. "Chuck's persuasive logic and rationality convinced us that we were wrong in our prior bone-headed opposition to a reasonable level of regulation of the use of firearms," remarked Mr. LaPierre.

Indeed dialogue and understanding among all parties on the gun issue is being credited as the reason the new law has passed.  SAFER provides for:

1) Universal background checks for all purchasers of firearms
2) Mandatory training in safe and responsible use of firearms for all who seek to own and use them, the NRA to be a leading provider of such training.
3) Banning of all semi-automatic military style weapons.

"All of us at the NRA are so thrilled with what has happened we are changing our name to the National Reasonable Association," said a beaming Mr. LaPierre.

"I am indeed gratified," said President Obama, "to at long last see rational thought and bi-partisan unity operating in an exemplary fashion to foster the safety and best interests of the American people."

And then I woke up.

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The Secret of My Blogging Success

Welcome  to Perry's Blog!  

And tell 'em Groucho sent ya!

You've read all the recommendations all across the Internet and elsewhere as to how to drive traffic to your blog like they drove cattle across the Old West in the TV show Rawhide, and you feel you know it all.

Content is king, write about what you know, blog regularly but not too often, write about boobs (not that I would ever stoop to that!), and schmooze regularly on social media. But this is one  sure-fire secret that only I  and I alone know!

It's written right above:   tell 'em Groucho sent ya!

Back in June during the midst of the presidential campaign, I wrote a luke-warm political post called Whatever It Is, I'm Against It. the premise of which was that Mitt Romney --- whom some of you might remember ---  managed to criticize all of President Obama's  policies without offering any of his own. In the post, Mitt sings the famous Groucho Marx song from the movie Horse Feathers to interviewer Bob Schiefer in response to any question he's asked about anything remotely substantive.

I thought the post was mildly mirthful but apparently others did not.  It garnered little interest and no comments,  although that is certainly not unusual for a blog so comment deprived that even derogatory comments with personal and ethnic slurs are highly prized. So I gave it no mind and pressed on to further blogging disasters.

Then a curious thing happened.  While checking stats on Blogger, I noticed that Whatever It Is, I'm Against It was garnering more clicks than a tap dancing troupe in a hurricane. Clocking in at as many as 100 or more a day, it was getting more daily hits than most of my posts get in their entire meager and pathetic lifetimes.

How'd all those folks get there?  To paraphrase the catchphrase of Groucho's 1950's TV show You Bet Your Life ... 

Groucho Sent 'Em! 

All those making apparent pilgrimage to Perry were coming via Google in a search for the song and mustachioed comedian who warbled it. I had hit upon a niche area in the career of the fabled Marx Brother in which many people were interested but which had such sufficiently few search entries that mine prominently showed up.

Here's your Takeaway, Class:   Write about something  or someone that's popular but zero in on a relatively limited aspect of your subject.  For example:

Don't just write about  "Nicholas Cage."  Write about "Great Performances by Nicholas Cage." 

Don't just write about "ABBA." Write about  "Songs that don't suck by ABBA."

      Don't just write about the "NRA." Write about the "NRA and ideas that are not batshit!"

There's only one problem.  None of those people clicking onto Whatever it is, I'm Against It has the slightest interest in my post. No one has yet to leave a  comment or is likely to even read far enough to get the premise, much less like it. They want Groucho, not Blocko!

That's 16,437 people to date clicking into a site they had no intention of going to, yelling "shit, who is this asshole?!!" and promptly clicking out.  

Ooops, make that 16,632!  Anyway, give the secret of my blogging success a try.

And tell 'em Perry sent ya! 

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Let's see how today's post fares in the faux Groucho clicks category.  Pretty soon, Blocko may be the fifth Marx Brother!

The Palace Paillasse

"Are you sure this is the hotel you booked, Brandon?" I asked as we arrived at the fancifully stuccoed and bizarrely terraced lodging place to which we were headed for the evening.

"Yep, that's it," said Brandon, "the Palace Paillasse, and I think it looks cool!"

Well, the hotel did have a playful feel to it, but the  clerk with the pale off-white make-up seemed a bit odd. Checking our reservations, he reached behind the counter presumably to get the room key, but instead produced a bottle of seltzer and squirted me right in the face!

"What the hell!" I shrieked, wheeling around to see a lobby filled with men in baggy pants and floppy shoes, and Brandon aiming a pie straight at me.

"I've been meaning to tell you, Dad," said Brandon, "that I've finally made a career choice." 

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No clowning around, this is my weekly contribution to the Fabulous Friday Fictioneers and Clown School with picture prompt above and story below. I flounced in at 140 words this week, nothing to honk my horn about since the goal is a motley hundred.  

If you're ready for the Big Top, click on the link to sample the varied and daring acts of the many other Fictioneers to be found beneath.  

"Be a Clown?"  Well, Russell and I try.  And every now and then, maybe we succeed.

Captain Cautious Gets a Ding

Ah, for those carefree Dingless Days! 

I recently put a small ding in my one year old Toyota Camry. It's a bit of a blow for the man they now call Captain Cautious because of his "scrupulous to the point of wimp-like" driving due to the accident which precipitated purchase of the new car.

The Ding isn't that big, only about 1/4 of an inch long and not deep.  After all, that's why it's called a "ding." It's on the left front side panel of the car,  and most people couldn't find the Ding unless guided to it by Sacajawea.

But the Ding mocks and haunts me.  Day and night it calls out to me :

"DING! DING! DING, PERRY!  I am the DING you so carelessly and recklessly put in your almost brand new motor vehicle.  Loser, can't you keep anything nice? DING! DING! DING!"

Every morning the Ding greets me as if I were an old friend. Or more likely, an old enemy:

"DING! DING! DING! Good morning, Perry.  Hope you haven't forgotten me, your DING!  I can't believe you inflicted me upon your new Camry, the most trusted mid-size in America!  DING! DING! DING!"

As I drive away from my home, the Ding does not let up.  It holds forth with a glowing account of my complete and total driving ineptitude:

"DING! DING! DING!  Hello, Delaware Valley Drivers, one and all! I am the DING that the hapless driver behind the wheel imposed upon this virtually new but ill-fated Camry.  Avoid this idiot if you value your lives! DING!  DING!  DING!"

Now the Ding is intensifying, throbbing, growing ... it is two inches long and deep as a ditch ... three inches long and deeper than a crater ... 110 inches long and the Grand Canyon!!!  And now it resounds with a new voice, as though it is a schoolteacher on meth ringing the bell to call very tardy fifth graders to class: 

"DING DONG!  DING DONG!  DING DONG! 

Loser, Idiot, Douche Bag! 

DING DONG!  DING DONG!  DING DONG! " 

I round a corner trying to flee but it is no use.  I still hear the hideous Dinging of The Tell-Tale Ding!

"DING! DING! DING!  A new Hyundai and you, young lady, smash the hell out of the left side door panel!  You don't deserve the second most trusted mid-size in America!  DING! DING! DING!" 

Why, that wasn't for me .... no, coming my way is a light blue Sonata with a small ding in the side, being driven by a nervous looking young woman.  

 "DING DONG!  DING DONG!  DING DONG!" cries my Ding.

"DING! DING! DING!" screams hers.  

I wipe my brow and muster a smile, and she looks over and smiles back.  And suddenly all is silent. 

"Guess you and I need to fix these dings ASAP," I call to her.

"Maybe better we fix our heads first," she calls back.

I am not alone, and neither is she.  We are brothers. 

Brothers Under the Ding. 

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