A BRONX CHEER FOR THE DAILY POST

Next in Line — A second #RoyalBaby will soon be joining the Windsors in England. Given the choice, would you rather be heir to the throne, or the (probably) off-the-hook sibling?


Are you kidding? Seriously?

Heir to the throne of England. Right. Even in my wildest imaginings, I never so much as posited the proposition of finding myself royal. I would as soon imagine myself a sirloin steak … sooner, really.

raz raspberry snoopy cartoon

Snoopy demonstrates the raspberry.

And what, pray tell, is an off-the-hook-sibling? Is that like a disconnected telephone? Are you trying to sidle up to illegitimacy? Or do you mean one of the family that can’t inherit? If that is what you mean, why don’t you say so?

I feel my self-expression being stifled this morning. So, in an ongoing need to give fuller rein to my feelings (and you would not want me to bottle them up — that’s so unhealthy), I would like to offer you a raspberry. I cannot think of any other way to express how I feel about this prompt.

The “raspberry” — razz or Bronx cheer — is a noise we make with our tongue and lips. It is used when we have run out of words to express how we feel. It speaks for itself. It isn’t a compliment.

Follow these simple instructions:

  1. Place your tongue between your lips.
  2. Blow until you produce a sound like a fart. You may have to practice until you achieve the desired resonance.
  3. You should be able to hear a fully matured raspberry across a moderately large, crowded — even noisy –room.

You’re welcome.

NOTE: What happened to the Weekly Writing Challenge?

I actually got an answer from WordPress (surprise!). Turns out, Weekly Writing Challenge has moved — as of September 1st — to Tuesdays. Which is better because I’m not challenge-ready on Monday.

UNDER THE DOME – IT’S SHRINKING!!

Everyone nearly froze to death on tonight’s episode, but were saved by … something. The besieged citizen’s of Chester’s Mill are facing starvation, but I guess freezing is off the table. Because it warmed up.

It’s like the Perils of Pauline. Every week, another climactic crisis with no explanation. No motive, no reason. Stuff just keeps happening. And apparently will continue to happen. Do they give awards for the most illogical show of the year? If so, Under The Dome is the hands down winner.

Garry looked at me. “What could possibly happen next?” he asked.

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I was laughing so hard I had trouble speaking. “Alligators,” I said. “It’s going to rain alligators. Huge alligators will fall out of the sky and start eating people. But don’t worry, because no one will really die. After that, moose. It’s Maine, so moose will fall out of the sky. The moose will be very confused by this … “

That was when the dome started to shrink and they said there would only be two more episodes this season. Which means they intend to run this show another season. Another year of pointless catastrophes, false climaxes. And miraculous, last minute saves. Everyone will continue to return from the dead.

One more season of weird shit happening. I’m not sure what the point of the show is, but I have to admit, I haven’t had such a good laugh in quite a while.

I think Under The Dome is now officially … (wait for it) … a comedy!

DO YOU COME HERE OFTEN?

Greetings, Stranger 

I’m sitting at a café when a stranger approaches me. He asks my name. “Marilyn,” I answer.

The stranger nods, “I’ve been looking for you.”

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I gaze into his soft, brown eyes “Well,” I reply, with a hint of teasing, “I’ve been looking for you, too. Do you come here often?”

“Not nearly often enough, it would seem,” he says, juggling the bags he’s carrying. He pulls me to my feet and loops an arm through mine. “I think there’s a burger joint over there. I’m hungry. How about you?”

As I rise to my feet, he continues: “You were supposed to meet me by Kohl’s. Where were you?”

I organize my own packages. “I’ll never tell you. You’ll have to kill me first.”

Garry and I go hand in hand through the crowded mall. He says: “I hate shopping this close to Christmas. It’s a madhouse.”

“I know,” I respond, giving his hand a squeeze. “But it’s worth it  … because I get to meet such a handsome stranger.”

WHO’S ON FIRST

It’s nearly over for the year. Summer and baseball season. The Red Sox are in last place in the division. Although they’ve perked up a little, the only thing left for them is the role of spoiler. I suppose making the Yankees unhappy is a goal, but regardless, we are not going to The Show this year.

We might as well laugh ’cause there’s no crying in baseball.

WHO’S ON FIRST — Abbot and Costello at their funniest. They run this bit in the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. It’s on a continuous loop. Yup, it’s that good.

NCIS – UXBRIDGE EDITION

NEW THIS SEASON! — NCIS – UXBRIDGE

75-Got Jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect 200 dollars.

Welcome to our first network season. We’ve been long awaiting this opportunity. Let me introduce you to our cast.

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Uxbridge, a small town in south central Massachusetts, has no Navy or Marine presence. No Naval station or training camp. No docks, though we sure do have a lot of river. No seaport. So this is going to be a somewhat less energetic version of the show, but I’m sure we can make it entertaining for you.

Oh, and we don’t have a lab for forensics, but we can build one. It may take a while. I’m pretty sure we can rent some space at a local hospital for a morgue. And, as you can see, we do have a jail.

With Mark Harmon’s sudden retirement, Garry’s lifelong ambition to be a star has finally arrived. In his new role of NCIS team leader, the pace will be a little slower. Also, Garry will have serious trouble keeping a straight face as he runs his lines. His deadpan humor will nonetheless win the hearts and minds of fans throughout the world.

I shall play the role of the crusty old medical examiner. My bad back, heart, and hips make me an unlikely choice for a field agent, I’m afraid. But the dead don’t run fast and with all the medical knowledge I’ve gleaned from being sick for years will come in really handy when I have to use those twenty syllable medical terms.

My friend Cherrie will be the very special agent, Tony’s role, but much less annoying. I’m pretty sure if she were to get the Gibb’s back-of-the-head slap, she’d hit him back and he’d KNOW he’d been hit. Hands off, big fella.Cherrie shooting

Kaity HOFI’ll throw my granddaughter into Abby’s lab. Though she knows nothing about forensics, she’ll really like the costumes and she has more than enough attitude for two or maybe three laboratories.

Finally, there’s the mandatory geek agent. I’ll give that to my son because he knows his way around a computer and he likes to fix stuff anyhow. He will fit right in as he explains exactly how things should work and whatever you did wrong to screw up the machine.

See you next week, same time, same station!!

 


THE DAILY PROMPT: CAST CHANGE!

FIVE CENTURIES DOWN THE LONG AND WINDING ROAD

IN 500 YEARS? DIGGING UP THE DIGS


pottery Qianlong-1736The diggers will find more remnants of the dogs than us. Dog toys, dishes, food. Mountains of dog hair.

When they come to our stuff, they will suspect we were archaeologists too. What a strange mix of ancient and modern. Very old Chinese and other Asian pottery and artifacts. Toys from a hundred years before.

And the mix of technologies: digital cameras and photographic prints, computers. Oil lamps and a woodstove. Electric lights and linoleum floors.

Fireplaces and logs.

Carved wooden cabinets, modern upholstery, hand-hooked rugs.

Glass and plastic.

Copper kettles and microwave ovens.

Acoustic guitars and an electric piano. Wood flutes and recorded DVDs and CDs. Thousands of paper books, but also odd little computers for reading.

Not a single flying car.

New and old. Perhaps after all a realistic picture of who we were, at least in terms of the stuff we needed and the toys with which we played.