we didn't have the bogeyman when I was little.

We had the tushy-faced doctor. Or at least, I had him.

My dad would speak of the tushy-faced doctor. I am not sure in what context he would speak of him. I think just part of the sort of stream of consciousness gibberish that I am also apt to speak. Maybe my sisters will remember what, if any, function the tushy-faced doctor was supposed to have.

Whatever he was supposed to be is irrelevant. I had a picture of him in my mind and he scared me. A doctor with all the usual accoutrements: robe, stethoscope, that mirror thingee that straps around your head. Only it was strapped onto the top of a giant ass, mounted on a neck. I would picture myself lying on a gurney watching the tushy-faced doctor walk down the hall on his way to examine me.

Now, I think he might make a good comic book character.

give 'til it hurts

I am sure by now you have heard about how Oprah Winfrey was denied entry to the Hermes boutique in Paris. She showed up after hours just like celebreties are supposed to do. The boutique has offered a lame excuse about having to set up for a private public relations event. According to the Grand Dame herself, it was "one of the most humiliating moments of her life."

We all have been there. I remember kids throwing pennies at me and yelling "Pick em up, Jewboy!" All those people roaming freely inside the boutique must have seemed to have that same snarling face I remember.

Like me, many of you are probably wondering what you can do to help. Look no further. I am forming the Help Oprah Shop Foundation. Contact me on how to donate.

Have a blessed day.

off-season

I haven't golfed in years. I started golfing at a very early age. One of my earliest memories is a snippet of a legendary family tale about the time I sat in the middle of a big field and put all my dad's clubs through the slats in a drain. The only part I remember is that the woods and the putter wouldn't fit.

At two years old I had a plastic set and would go out in the field with my dad and hit balls back and forth. I had a real set of clubs (Northwestern's Chi Chi Rodriquez junior model) at five and was soon out of the field and on the course. There were times when I was so small that the starter didn't want to let me out. My dad would have me hit a ball to prove that I could play.

He and I played all over Long Island and anywhere else we went. I probably outdrove him at ten but didn't beat him until I was thirteen. I saw him hit one in the cup from about 100 yards out while getting soaked by a sprinkler and he saw me break a club in half. Togoether, we played entire rounds when there weren't any flagsticks because the course was closed for the off-season. He got immense enjoyment watching me ricochet a ball off a tree into my throat.

I stopped playing a few years ago. I hate the sheer numbers of golfers out there these days. I hate the prices. I hate the Big Bertha poser hacker fuckers.

But really, it just ain't fun for me without my dad. He and I went out and hit a few 9-irons in a field a few weeks ago. First time I picked up a club in a long time. He's got back problems and really just doesn't have the stamina for the game anymore.

So, I am making it official. I am on hiatus until there is someone that important to me for me to play with.

playtime iv: the winners

There are three winners this time. And none is marybishop!

Here is the answer:

Car: new, maroon Corvette with a few tricked-out aftermarket additions.

Driver: male, white, 50ish, a little plump.

Hat: A black Callaway Big Bertha cap.


here are the guesses:

Car: convertible Miata or Sebring; Lincoln Towncar; convertible Audi or Saab; 7 Series Black BMW, convertible Mustang, Hummer, slightly beat up red Camaro, stretch limo.
Winner, car section: Miss Kate (only muscle car of the group)

Driver: retiree; chauffeur; blonde female; 30's male; 28 yr old white male; late 20's-early 30's male; 17 yr old male; 50ish male.
Winner, driver section: nils (marybishop had this one till nils came in with a last minute entry)

Hat: jaunty little cap; chauffeur's cap (implied); Britney Spears-ish Kangol; beret; black baseball cap; old looking, but not actually old, frayed black baseball cap, chauffeur's cap (implied).
Winner, hat section: paintergirl (right color, right shape)

Congrats to all of our winners!

WAIT! LATE BREAKING NEWS!!
Capt Underpants wins latest guess. I encourage you to check it out as it is as descriptive and entertaining as usual.


ps Sylow wins nothing. NOTHING!



OK. He wins the Honorary Award For Achieving High Standards in Honorariness.

playtime iv

The jist:

I report on a personalized license plate I saw during my commute and you all guess on the kind of car.

This week's plate: 2BU SUCS

And an added element this week: the driver was wearing a hat.

passing the torch

My grandfather loved to tell bad jokes. An anxious mother of the bride is worried that everything won't be ready for the wedding which is just hours away. All the drinks have arrived but the cold cuts haven't been delivered. She expresses her concerns to the caterer who tells her, "Don't worry! The wurst is yet to come."

He passed the enjoyment he received from making others groan onto my dad:

Trapped in a car with my dad driving, he recently made us listen to each song the album Classically Sedaka. This album is Neil Sedaka singing his own lyrics to classical music hits. It may be the worst album in the history of the world. He literally had us screaming in the back seat. I wish I could find a place for you all to hear it but take a look at the album cover and imagine that guy singing over Chopin.

And on it goes:

Just last week I forced Miss Kate to sit down and watch the last minute of Four Weddings and a Funeral. The part where Hugh Grant and Andie MacDowell are standing in the pouring rain and Hugh says something about it raining and Andie says, "Is it still raining? I hadn't noticed." It is a poor line and it would be difficult for someone who possessed the ability to act her way out of a wet paper sack. But in the hands of Ms. MacDowell, I think it is the worst line ever uttered on film. Miss Kate had never seen it before and she was quite upset with me.

I was giddy with pleasure.

more commuter distraction

I like to write and sing parody songs. A lot of them are about our dog, a process we call shmookafication.

This morning, a fellow commuter who had made a bad lane decision inspired the following:

Crammed between two busses
Driving like a fool
Getting to work is tough
When you're dumber than a mule

I am particularly fond of that one and felt it needed sharing. I know the rest of you engage in this sort of thing as well. Feel free to share some of your best work.