OZZY OSBOURNE MEETS JAMES JOYCE

I wonder what Ozzy's blog would look like. I bet it goes something like this:

Izzzz Sharon iz ma fa goo me bray my sizz milkyway bah snizzle.

A drunken James Joyce reading his own "Finnegan's Wake".

DID YOU EVER?

Laugh at the dumbest things? Purely immature things? Things that you feel that no one else in the planet would find funny? You feel all alone, as if you're sitting in a dirty street alley against the wall, laughing to yourself, enjoying the sound as it echoes off the bricks? I've been.

Maybe it's a change for me. But my problem is I can never figure out if it's good or bad. Maybe because I'm laughing for all the wrong reasons? Or laughing at something totally inappropriate? Who's to judge what one finds funny or not? What is there, a law on the books for that? Show me the motherfucker (and it doesn't matter; I won't obey it anyway).

Goddamn Family Guy anyway! Watched the Star Wars parody last night and laughed through the whole thing. Why? I've seen it ten billion times.

Here's a theory: the later at night it is, the funnier stuff seems. You're punch drunk after 10 or so - at least I am anyway. I bet if I watched it again at this hour - 12:44PM, December 30th, 2010 - I wouldn't even crack a smile. Crack my brain, yes, but not a smile.

Signed,

Blogger B. Boogershit.

TV STARS WITH NO JOBS

Ward Cleaver. Had an office he went to but what he did there no one knows. Was probably a bookie.

Ozzie Nelson. He didn't even have an office. The bulk of his day was spent milling around the house. In real life, he and Harriet would've killed each other.

Fred Mertz. Just exactly what did he do? I bet he collected from Ricky for the mob. No nightclubs stay open very long unless one pays 'tribute'.

Shirley Partridge. What did she do before she became Shirley Partridge? Besides that, you can't raise five kids on gig money alone. And that's not even counting Reuben Kincaid's 15% or 20% cut. Then you got that dilapidated bus nickel and diming you to death. She may have killed Mr. Partridge - whoever he was - and collected the insurance money.

Anyone in the Gomez household. And they were rich enough to afford a butler yet! You can make money being ghouls?

Speaking of stuff like that; what exactly did Herman Munster do at the funeral parlor? He couldn't have been a mortician. What mortician carries a huge lunchbox to work with him? ( unless he's bringing stuff home! )

On a final note - and off topic: Was Gilligan his first or last name?

DUKES WITHOUT JOBS

Okay, just what the fuck did Bo and Luke Duke do for a living? "Been in trouble with the law ever since they been born"? Arrest them for fuck's sake! Blowing up buildings, leading police on high speed chases (a felony). Fucking Uncle Jessie: what the fuck does he do for a living? Sits on the farm and bitches about Boss Hogg's land grabs. Well, what the fuck you want? You can't grow no crops so sell the son of a bitch!

Surely Bo and Luke were wanted in the lower 48. And cousin Daisy? Cousin? Get the fuck outta here! Know damn well they were tapping her every chance they got. Catherine Bach or Jessica Simpson; either one, or both - yikes!

DEPARTMENT STORE SANTA

This job surely doesn't pay enough. Don't they have a union?

CHRISTMAS SANTA RAMBLE

Were we taught to believe in Santa in preparation for believing in God, Moses, Jesus, etc.?

We didn't have a chimney. We had a heat duct that ran from the floor of our living room to the upstairs apartment. I was told that that's how Santa got into the house. I asked "well, how does he fit inside?" Mom tells me "it's magic."

What a day, what a day. Felt like someone ran over my legs. A new pain that's been going on for a few months now: poking pain in the rear rib cage (is there such a place?) I'd tell the DX about it but he'll only tell me to take Tylenol; stupid since I have been taking fucking Tylenol. Spasms, he says. My whole body is one big fucking spasm.

I've been in this physical condition for about 12 years now, and I've often thought about what would happen if all of a sudden everything just went away, i.e, the pain, the rotting bones, the stomach problems - everything. It would be a very surreal. It wouldn't even feel right! I think I'd lose my mind - would have to become institutionalized. How about a little of that? Fucking no more pain, discomfort, back to somewhat physical tip top shape and I'd wind up shuffling about in an R wing, wearing a hospital gown and waiting for the next round of medication.

Christmas indeed.

WATCH THOSE SHIFTY EYES

Never leave your drink unattended - least not next to ole' Earl.

WEATHER COREFAST

What a freakin' mess is comin' this a-way. I wonder how forecasts were made before doppler radar. I imagine it was one of those things like "if y'all see the full moon turn purple, it means that a storm is a-comin' this a-way." Or maybe simpler: "lookee up there in the sky! It's a-startin' to snow".

Wooden doppler radar satellites. Buckets with hash marks to measure precipitation (although I think that was used; my stupid joke just backfired but fuck that!)

If you see the wind blowing through the trees at such an angle as to show the underside of the leaves, it means that rain's coming. That one is courtesy of Mom.

THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS KINK

A while back I recorded my version of this song on Garage Band application. I didn't know the words so I went to one of many zillion lyric websites - most of them are probably reprinting them illegally - and printed them out. As I was singing it into the microphone, the ghost of my great great great grandfather told me that if I continued to do this, I'd...

... seriously, I was taken aback a little by the words by the fact that this song was from 64 or 65 (I refuse to accurately post dates in the middle of ranting). It's funny how so many people leaving comments on youtube screw with the lyrics just as much as "Louie Louie" (which, BTW, I recorded my own version of that, too - but singing my own mishmash of the mythological lyrics).

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

CURIOSITY IS A HEALTHY TRAIT... XCEPT FOR...

Franklin Delano Roosevelt - Pearl Harbor Address

I really, really, really hate the unprovoked attacks on the U.S.,, namely this and September 11th, 2001. I would never make it as a Defense Secretary or any of those in position to plot out war strategies. My reactions would be way too knee jerk: kick 'em in the ass and keep kicking until you see your foot coming out of their mouths.

In order to have peace, there must be war. Or something like that. I'm really bad on quotes.

EVEN MORE FUN TOONS

MORE FUN TOONS

FUN TOONS FOR A SNOWY DAY

WHAT'S IN A NAME? I GIVE UP!

Here is a partial transcript of a letter the INS sent to my cousin after he requested documents concerning our grandfather:

'Our records indicate that Mr. Gombatta has used the following names: Philip GOMBATTA, AKA: Filippo GAMMETTA, AKA: Filippo GAMBETTA, AKA: Philip GOMBATTO, AKA: Philip GOMMETTO, AKA: Philip AMATO, AKA: Philip GAMMETTA'.

Okay. You're an immigrant, arriving in this country; turn of the 20th century. You want to fit in. You want to simplify your name, sometimes going as far as Anglicizing it. But this? Are they kidding? And, if so, who was doing the kidding; my great grandparents or the INS? Christ! There's only one way to say it: gahm-MET-tah.

In as far as simplification is concerned, I would have went with either a) Gammetta or b) Amato.

Maybe the INS were playing a twisted game with the immigrants: choose a paper slip randomly from a bingo-type rolling cage and whatever you came out with, that was your name.

Side note: every time I see the letters INS, I think of The Independent News Service, the agency who did the wrong thing back in the 70's of hiring Karl Kolchak as one of it's reporters.

Calogero Gammetta indeed!

WONDER HOW MUCH SANTA GOT FOR THIS ENDORSEMENT

GRANDMA'S MARRIAGE BOOKLET ENTRY

Found a little golden nugget whilst going through some scrapbooks and photos and such: the marriage service booklet of my grandmother from 1923. In the back of the book there's a blank space where one can list all of their wedding guests. This is what she wrote:

My Darling Husband and I did not have no wedding guests. So I decided to mark this small space as my diary of the wonderful time we had. The first night He went to the squire’s and got our (word not legible ) Then the next day at. 3.10 we started for our papers at Clearfield Pa - Got there about 4pm went to the Court House came out and went to a restaurant got our supper came out when to the Station arrived at DuBois and 8.00 pm was met by me. Mrs Carlson went to Rev Hilliary Parsonage was married went home went to bed Lived Happily ever afterwards.

Mrs Wm Lockwood

Mr Wm Lockwood

Born Jan 5 1887

married 14th Dec 1923

Mrs Wm Lockwood

Born July 28. 1906

Married 14th Dec 1923

Fairly uneventful to say the least, except maybe for the "went home went to bed" part. Living in Shawmut during the depression.

GRANDMA