Tag Archives: Uncle Creepy

Writer’s Block #2

14 Aug

August 14

I have writer’s block.

What? The pair of reruns this week didn’t give you a clue? Sheesh, take a brain cell out of petty cash, ok?

Anyway, I have writer’s block, and if you doubted it before that lousy brain cell zinger should be all the proof you need. So I went back to the list of odd writing prompts I found online and picked one at random.

Are we alone? (Tufts, 2009)

And for that Tufts charges about a bazillion dollars admission. Anyway, here we go.

Are We Alone?

Are we alone? How should I know? I have no idea who you are or where you are or what you’re doing or even if you are doing it without pants. If you have a secret to tell me and you don’t want anyone around to know it, just back off. I’m not interested.

I hate that question. “Are we alone?” It conjures up images of creepy uncles I won’t talk to any more, strange old men with lotion on their palms, restraining orders, and other memories I work hard to suppress every single day of my life, thank you very much. “Are we alone?” I sure as hell hope we are not.

May News Roundup

4 May

May 3, 2011

___________________________________________________________________________________________

STUPID NEWS PLAGUES COUNTRY

Mr. Blog to Mock Headlines Nationwide

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Ah, those wacky Turks.

Makes you wonder how Turkey manages to stay an independent country. One day Iran may knock on the door.

“Who is it?”
“Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. Please sign this.”
“Okay.” (Signs long legal document without reading it.)
“Hah! Now all your base are belong to us!”

Good luck, Turkey!___________________________________________________________________________________________

Ah, a true silent but deadly fart.

But all joking aside, this is a serious danger. Poison gas has a long history going back to antiquity but it was perhaps the battlefields of World War One where it reached its gruesome apex. But some good came of it. Take the case of Rondo Hatton. Once he was your average good-looking guy. Dime a dozen. But the war came, and Hatton, fighting on the front, was gassed by the enemy. Later he developed acromegaly, the same disease that brought fame and fortune to The Elephant Man. His features grew big and distorted. Hatton, who was once voted the Most Handsome Boy in school, became an ugly hulk. And of course a movie star. He went on to fame as The Creeper, a character he played in a Sherlock Holmes film. Money and celebrity followed. He could often be seen tooling around Hollywood and New York in his solid gold Rolls Royce, bikini-clad women dangling from him like bling to a rapper. Women wanted him, men wanted to be him, bi-sexuals went either way. When he died in 1946 he got a Presidential state funeral and his body embalmed and put on display in the White House Rotunda.

Or he had a short and sad life, his disfigurement exploited in a series of small and cheap films. Take your pick.

Either way, I choose to end not with a picture of the tragic Mr. Hatton, but with a picture of Captain Kirk fighting a killer fart.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

How come Ghost Hunters never deal with this?

This then is the final proof that ghosts do not exist. Sorry, no ghosts, spirits, or poltergeists.

However, it is certain and unequivocal proof that houses are sentient creatures. They live and breathe, they have hopes and dreams, they hate it when you paint them ugly colors, chaff when you install aluminum siding, and see everything you do in the privacy of your bedroom, you weirdo.

Next time you see a construction worker tearing down a house, you are seeing a murder. A building collapse? Self-preservation. Think about it. Animals have PETA, but what about homes? Who will speak for the houses?

Not me.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Ah, the fearsome Steven Seagal. Who wouldn’t tremble in fear at the sight of this guy riding a tank?

For a short while he had a bit of a career. He was never much of an actor, but before he got bloated he was a pretty good karate guy. Unfortunately he was gassed during World War One and developed acromegaly. His features grew big and distorted and Seagal, who once had a slightly promising movie career, became an ugly hulk.

What? That’s the same thing I wrote about Rondo Hatton? OK, take out the World War One thing and it still stands. Bloated? Check. Features grew big and distorted? Check. Ugly hulk? OK, ugly is in the eye of the beholder, but hulk? Check.

Anyway, now he has a career pretending to be a policeman riding a tank to a cockfight.

He must be proud.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

I don’t know what that means, don’t want to know what that means, don’t want you to tell me what that means.

Dave Cummings?