Guest of Horror

My friend Kathy's birthday celebration turned into a surprise party -- for me.

I sat quietly, chatting with the revelers assembled. After about 40 minutes of pleasantries, I heard a loud thud and clanging noise at the exact moment I suffered a mighty blow to my head.

A heavy, wrought iron candle holder had vibrated itself off of the shelf two feet above and toppled down into my flesh.

"Are you okay?" my wife asked, making a mental note to give Goodwill my entire wardrobe and plush toys.

"Oww. $#!*," I exhaled, clutching a batch of scalp.

When I could proceed, I removed my hand from the pulsating pain. I felt blood flow swiftly down my forehead. There was an alarming puddle of crimson in my palm.

Fortunately, a young man with medical training attended to the wound in the lavatory and made the immediate danger and my concerns go away through fast action.

I returned to the party in the nick of time. The cake was almost history.

As I forked dessert, I heard whispers on my near-death experience, "It was Mrs. Jackson in the living room with the candlestick."


100 Things About Me #64

Scared Shtick
I admire performers who are able to go out in front of an audience and face agony. I wish I had that courage, but my stage fright is sheer, impenetrable horror, stunning in its maniacal promise of rabid, toothy doom.

If anyone needs some, I've got extra!

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100 Things About Me #63

Battle of the Bulges
Fire laws require I must be clothed in nine pairs of underpants at all times.

It's in regard to public safety, the fear of gang swoons.

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100 Things About Me #62

Undercover Angel
Boxers and briefs.


Same time.


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Ain't That a Kick in the Headshot

About.com posted my new smiling face on the Humor site today. I mentioned the recent session with a photographer in "Photo Finish."

I guess this picture is fine, however the print is alarming on the pale side. Already this afternoon, my wife has emailed twice to ask how I'm feeling and if I laid out my good suit and urn.

She had the neighbors come over and hold a mirror under my nose.

The cats busied themselves by perching on my wrists. I'm sure they were checking for a pulse.

My brother is in the living room with a sofa dolly. He seems disappointed I made him bring his inheritance back.

I've color-corrected the image, as you can see here, and I do look a bit more vital and the salesmen have stopped knocking on the doors with oxygen cannisters and flexible tubing.

Nevertheless, I am disturbed. I seem to be aging. It's no secret 27 sucks.

Oh, well, chins up, Mike, and these other three, too.

The irony is my previous About.com photo was published far off into the other extreme, way too dark. I look like I'm from Kabul and made a deal on a yak.


From the Album, "Mike Durrett Sings Music to Make You Misty"

A concerned reader in Placebo, CO writes:

"I saw something on your Web site alluding to a singing career? You've got to be kidding!"


Welcome Home, Discovery

"CAPE CANAVERAL, Fla. — NASA's efforts to put the international space-station program back on track took a major step forward Monday with shuttle Discovery's safe return from a near-flawless 13-day mission." -- "The Orlando Sentinel"

The return of the Discovery almost slipped by me. Having been a child before and during the Mercury flights and the early Apollos, it's surprising how the world has become so nonchalant about space travel. It used to be a very big deal. Our minds were in the skies, filled with wonderment and hope.

Cover via Mike's Amazing World of DC Comics


Re: 100 Things About Me #61 #3

I'll say this for my cats, Morty and Kelp are all boys. (Well, in the original packaging, I mean.)

They hate school and love sports.

Whenever I so much as hint we conjugate verbs or recite our vowels, they stand up, turn around, and practice their synchronized sleeping routines.

100 Things About Me #61


Re: 100 Things About Me #61 #2

Prof. Kelp is pushing 20. He has been steadfast in his refusal to learn English, or so he mocks in a patois reminiscent of Elven.

That gnawing and tom droolery he does on our flashcards is cute, yes, however I suspect he's holding out on me. It's an act. We could chatter, if only he would.

Kelp occasionally meows something that sounds like "galt."

Maybe "Who is John Galt?" I had no idea of this until I read "Atlas Shrugged."

And when he gets truly angry, he roars! It sounds like "roark!"

"Howard Rourke," maybe? I had no idea of this until I read "The Fountainhead."

I try to be objective. Sometimes I think he doesn't choose to conform.

100 Things About Me #61


Re: 100 Things About Me #61

As mentioned previously, Morty and I speak different tongues. Mine is smooth and English. His is like sandpaper and whiffs of salmon.

My life is decidedly diminished because we cannot discourse with precision. Alas, I shall never know his thoughts on The Algonquin Round Table. I believe he does quote Alexander Woollcott, but I can't be certain.

Edna Ferber was not available for comment.


100 Things About Me #61

Chatty Catties
I wish I could converse with my cats, even if only on a ninth grade level.

Morty Cat does not have a clue of what I am talking about.

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100 Things About Me #60

Fonda My Face
The celebrity I most look like is Henry Fonda, according to the face recognition gizmo at MyHeritage.com. That's a computer talking, but, as I've pointed out before, I'm actually one of those Men Who Look Like Bea Arthur.

When I was younger and my hair was longer, I often received comparisons to Michael Landon. So, as I did in those days, I now have to wonder which is it? Are they telling me I look like the live Henry Fonda or do I look like the dead Henry Fonda?

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Photo Finish

Two weeks ago, About.com engaged a professional photographer, a wardrobe consultant, a cosmetologist, and a hair stylist for a special session. After booking a time and hotel suite, they told me to travel to Atlanta and take my face with me.

I don't want to say I required much pancake makeup, but it came with a side of bacon.

The shoot went smoothly, incorporating many of my most perky poses, gut sucks, and breakdance spins.

The nudity was tastefully done and will be a sensation. I've alerted the paparazzi and I can't wait to chomp gum and weep white trash tears at Matt Lauer.

I had planned to share the photo proof sheets with you this morning, publishing them in this very space, but NO-OOOOOO! My headshots are not available.

Looks like I'm taking the day off.

Mike Returns Tomorrow!

Today's Fill-in Hottie:
Award-Winning Motion Picture Writer-Director
Randy Stewart


Re: 100 Things About Me #59

A concerned reader from Placebo, Colorado writes on an earlier confession:

"Tell us you don't eat Mennen Speed Sticks."

My epiglottis has never smelled fresher!


Premature Droopy

While "Deputy Droopy" is a terrific cartoon, it should be noted Tex Avery originated the basic concept three years earlier in 1952's "Rock-a-Bye Bear." This time, another MGM dog, Spike, must keep absolute silence so as to not to disturb his tyrannical employer's quest for sleep.

Some viewers term "Deputy Droopy" a remake, but I think "Rock-a-Bye Bear's" premise was so sure-fire funny, Avery couldn't resist using the blueprint again with mostly new gags and set-up plugged into the screenplay. That's fine and not much different than Bluto stealing Olive from Popeye, or Wile E. Coyote pursuing the Road Runner, or Bugs pestering Elmer, Daffy, and Yosemite Sam in picture after picture. You do what works.

Unfortunately, the superb "Rock-a-Bye Bear" is not currently available on home video.

I'm going to bed, so hold it down, will ya?
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