Morty New Year

Morty at the Movies with Morty the CatMorty offers a sneak peek at what's in store for his Welcome 2009 Meow Mixer.

Cats do know how to party, as seen in these instructional motion pictures from Japan.

via YouTube

via YouTube


Gifts Senior Moment Santa Forgot to Bring Me: Time for Toast Clock

I yearn to tell folks, "I overslept because my crust didn't go off."

"Sorry, I'm late. I'm on Daylight Raisins Time."

"I had to put new batteries in my butter."


Christmas Cartoon Carnival

Tweety and Sylvester in "Gift Wrapped" (Friz Freleng, 1952)
via YouTube

Grampy in "Christmas Comes but Once Each Year" (Dave Fleischer, 1936)
via YouTube.

Donald Duck with Chip and Dale in "Toy Tinkers" (Jack Hannah, 1949) via DailyMotion



Cat photos: Where's Morty?

Morty's recuperating from the swirling excitement of Santa Cat's annual Christmas visit.

Let us prey.

It was a glorious celebration for the very good boy who received not one, but two catnip meeces!

Morty stalks the new, mysterious blinking ball!

Best friends forever.


Christmas Memory 1958

100 Things About Me #164
It was 50 years ago this Christmas week when my family moved into a new home in the faraway land called Atlanta, GA.

I was six and quite emotionally apprehensive Santa Claus might not know where to find me. As a budding humanitarian, I didn't want to cause him grave concerns with any undeliverable gift packages, of course.

Last year, when we were clearing out the very same house to finalize our mother's estate, intuition told me to peruse a huge pile of aged papers headed for the trash heap. I'm so gratified I did because I uncovered a document I had not recollected in decades.

My eyes welled as I recognized and reunited with something that means more to me now than any words can ever capture.

He continues to "fine" me, too. He's the finest.

I love you, Santa Claus.

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For All Your Last-Minute Mikey Shopping Needs!

There has never been a more perfect gift for me, combining my deep love for animals, Cheetos, and dust-catching knickknack eyesore clutter!

And thanks in advance!

Cheetos Pet via YouTube


Christmas Cartoon Carnival

Mickey Mouse, Pluto, Chip and Dale in "Pluto's Christmas Tree" (Jack Hannah, 1952)
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"The Pups' Christmas" (Hugh Harman, Rudolph Ising, 1936)
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Tom and Jerry in "The Night Before Christmas" (William Hannah, Joseph Barbera, 1941)
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And I had so looked forward to begging snapshots.


A Camel'd Walk a Mile for I

I had never heard of commercial camel rides in America. I knew of pony rides and big horsie rides. Did those, even mule rides.

I've flown Dumbo at Disney, too. My official airline, by the way.

So, when word filtered down camel rides were coming to my tiny community, I was raring to go. We don't get much excitement in the mountains. (Chiquita stickers on Walmart bananas is recurring spectacular.)

Wild Thing. That would be me.

But the high hump strut was not meant to happen. I was forced to decline.

My dromedary had a pink safety railing.

It was a girl's camel!



My Recent Confessions and Observations on Twitter, Where Everything Must Be Said in 140 Characters or Less

I pride myself as The Prince of the Procrastinators -- or I will just as soon as I get around to it.

Item: "Baseball-logo caskets hit the market." Going to Heaven? Get buried at home plate. Hell? Plopped out foul. Purgatory? On-deck circle.

News item: "Shopper stops carjacker with frozen turkey." Stuffed the kicking out of him.

I was going to get one of those Batman suits & call it a Mikeman suit 'til a tailor referred to my inseam measurement as "The Stark Blight."

Prepping for the new 007 movie, I've rewatched "Casino Royale," punched out thugs, doomed megalomaniac kingpins & bedded princesses. Showtime!

News item: "The average person passes gas about 14 times per day." I've always known I was meant for greatness.

Follow Mike on Twitter


My Own Private Elves

As much as it grieves the Mikey, I got my clones seasonal jobs alongside me.

I said, "Look, the government is not going to give you a bailout. You're clones, not giant American automakers. Besides, you were given life in 1996. You're 12. You have no votes. They don't need you. You can't even get driver's licenses, yet."

Dumbass clones.

So, not only do I have to steward these freeloaders, I have to chauffeur them around. That's Lester prancing on my left. Connie's the one mugging for the camera.

(Elf Yourself via About.com)


Oh No I Di'n't!

I romance under the name Nate the Hapless Grifter.

I saw Mommy validating Santa's parking.

I lived "Marley and Me." He slurred reggae. I dreaded his locks. He was stoned, munchied my Crispix.

I was a celebrity endorsement / product placement agent. I represented Checker Cab Calloway and Britney Vlasic Pickle Spears.

My cat's older. He's losing his hairballs. I remedy the situation, feeding him tiny wigs.

The reason I have no children: double-sided tape.

Not only can I snap my fingers, but I can also snap my toes, however neither summons me a garçon.



Actual Letters to Mike Durrett
My California buddy, Rich, sent me a clipping from the "Pasadena Star News," detailing a new movie theatre in his area.

PASADENA - At a time of general belt-tightening, Australia-based Gold Class Cinemas is betting that movie audiences in Old Pasadena will shell out $22 to $32 apiece to enjoy what they call "the ultimate luxury cinema experience...."

Patrons can meet in the lounge or bar, [businessman Rob] Goldberg said, then eat dinner cooked by an executive chef - Kobe beef and lobster, perhaps - while watching movies from a reclining armchair in a 40-seat theater....

And no, he said, it's not like sitting in your recliner at home, eating dinner on a tray in front of the big-screen television.

"Number one, people probably don't have butlers, and a 30-foot screen ... and they probably don't have Dolby 5.1 digital sound," Goldberg said. "If you get cold, you can press a call button and they'll bring you a blanket. Seriously!"

"...It's like a movie and a spa at the same time," he said. "You can truly relax and be good to yourself."

I hate to snap a wet towel at the spa spin, but I would be avoiding this theatre with a passion.

I don't want to hear or smell people masticating while "Bolt" gets sidetracked by their doggie bag fixin's.

I also do not desire melted butter splattered onto my 3-D glasses in a lobster claw munch gone horribly wrong.

I do like the $32 admission price, as that amount gives me permission to use the ticket money to buy the Blu-ray instead. I'll watch at the house with my own damn blankie, thank you.

And the wife gets in free! Seriously!

Movies are definitely a better overall viewer experience in home high-def. It's not the size of a screen that is most important. It's the quality of the image -- and the quiet far away from strange, annoying social climbers talking with their mouths full of London Broil and Twizzlers Au Jus.

The movie should be the focus of going out to a movie. At a so-called luxury cinema, it is not. The motion picture would be a disraction. You'll be looking at your gravy puddle more than Matthew McConaughey--

Wait a minute. I just broke my argument.


Free Trick-or-Treat Waffle

As I bounced from house-to-house in my Little Lord Fauntleroy suit, wearing a Joe "Stinky" Besser mask, I became disoriented and must have appeared less than cocksure. I had ventured into unknown territory on this decidedly dark Halloween night.

I knocked on another door and held up a hollow plastic jack-o'-lantern, manufactured with a machine-tooled grimace to scare suburbanites into filling it with my candies.

"Trick-or-treat," I squealed at the gentleman of the welcoming abode.

He produced a bowl of giveaway delights, teeming with miniature toy dinosaurs and snack packs of ramen noodles. "Pick one," he said.

"Uh," I adlibbed with a fresh air of uncertainty, "I can't eat dinosaurs past their shelf date, and I don't know what a ramen is, so I certainly won't suck its noodles. Do you have anything else, mister?"

"I have this," and with that phrase I heard a fife pipe and a wind chime tinkle. My exposed knees knocked, all goose pimply, in the late October breeze. The man held out a business-sized card and motioned for me to take it.

"Aw," I read from a prepared statement, then adlibbed, "did I win another beauty contest, get out of jail, or take a ride on the Reading?"

"No, sonny, you have been gifted a rare and glorious treasure, the otherwise elusive Free Waffle!"

It was true. A Free Waffle with my butter on it was waiting at one of the hundreds, if not thousands, of convenient Waffle House locations near me, sorta near me, or out there beyond me. Good Food Fast.

"Thank you, oh, thank you, kind sir. I shall cherish my Free Waffle until the day I squeeze it down the gullet and move on to Quiznos coupons. Consider this a treat. I won't h-h-harm you."

And I was off.

Several weeks went by, while I had visions of Free Waffle dancing in my head. I believe it was doing the Frug. Maple syrup flung everywhere. I'd heard of sweet dreams, but never sticky ones.

I wanted to revel in the anticipation, so I waited until the Free Waffle availability was about to expire. I made my move. I selected a lucky Waffle House, entered, and plopped myself down at the counter. I was among them, the society of waffles, free.

"What'll you have?" asked the waitress.

"I would like a Free Trick-or-Treat Waffle!" I smiled wide, showing off my incisors, the very teeth I would be crispy, indented lattice design, promotional item-gnashing shortly.

"My card, madam," I added, presenting madam my gratis battercake credential. "I understand the kitchen will prepare to order?"

"Sure. How would you like it?"

"Free Waffle."

She looked at me, put the pencil behind her ear, and barked my exacting instructions to the fry chef.

"Would you like anything else?"

"Yes, what kind of coffee, double cream and sugar, and hash browns smothered in onions go with Free Waffle? Oh, surprise me."

I hear you salivating, reader, and envying, so I'll cut to the chase. Free Waffle wins!

Dinner was served. I craved a keepsake of the festivities, so I snapped this photograph of my Free Waffle.


Mmmmm, delicious, gridlike goodness, too. I had learned a lesson well. Waffles taste better free and accompanied by hand modeling.

The hash browns, coffee, and sales tax set me back $3.42, plus a one-dollar tip -- a small price to pay for Free Waffle.

I slipped outside and kept moving. Those rubes forgot to charge me. Ha! Free Water!


I Got Nuthin': Morty Edition

I got nuthin'. I got no consolation video neither, but Morty, he's got nuthin' and a video. I call it "Cat Taking a Leash."

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'Cat Flushing a Toilet'

Morty at the Movies with Morty the CatMorty and I, a couple of guys sitting around, one white, one tabby, talking about movies.

Morty bristled and howled when I told him the early Oscar buzz is growing on "Slumdog Millionaire" to win Best Picture of the year.

He said, "No way!" or gutteral mewlings to that effect.

"Pads down, the winner is," he pawed a moment for emphasis, "'Cat Flushing a Toilet.'"

Let's take a look, shan't we? I hope it's a musical....

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The Imp Possible Dream

I have engaged holiday employment.

With my curly toes, I was a shoe-in.

(Elf Yourself via About.com)


And One Dalmatian

I love to romp in the snow, but I'm thinking this Colorado gal may have me beat.

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Thanks to Stan Malone.


Living Color

After inhabiting a monochrome world for an afternoon, thanks to a snow shower, it's amazing to note, only a blink ago, we were surrounded by sumptuous color viewing.

These pictures were snapped near evening on Nov. 2 at Amicalola Falls State Park, just down the forest from Dahlonega, GA.

The colorful foliage was savory, a nice topper for Fresh Haircut Day* festivities. Rinse. Repeat.

(Bring Your Own Bangs)


Duck Season! Goose Season! Fish Season! Bear Season!

Alert eyes may have noticed the large bird lounging next to our creek in the previous photograph. That's our goose, commonly known around here as, of course, The Duck. I've written about him before, as you may recall.

The Duck weathered the snowstorm calm and cool. He's a decoy, which floated on the current from up north about five years ago and washed onto our shore. He's not much maintenance, although once a year I have to trudge down to the water bank to right him. I suspect he gets knocked over by a bear gone fishin'.

Hmmm. Anyone seen our greeter?


Up the Creek Without a Snowman

Continued From: "100 Things About Me #162: White Out"

We didn't receive ample accumulation to make a snowman, but I did manage enough to roll a snowtot and several snowembryos, so that was nice.


100 Things About Me #162

White Out

I still get excited whenever there's snowfall -- and I don't have to go to school!

100 Things: #1 | Previous | Next


What the Heck Was I Thinking?

Actual Messages I Wrote, Forgot, Then Found While Cleaning Out My Email Folders


I'll go, but renting a car for three weeks (or more), gas, PEZ, and all those motels will add up.


He is not my daddy!

Who my daddy?

I'm my daddy!


Yipe. That woke me up.

I'm rethinking the beard and nose hair trimmer.


How My Thanksgiving Day Was Ruined Beyond Despair

We all had a lovely Thanksgiving feast and, afterward, I was reminded of a recent revelation which had put me on the path to changing my life for better health and mental pleasure. Apparently, Flintstones Vitamins are not only good supplements for growing girls and boys, but also they're ideal for adults.

Yeehah! Time has not passed me by! All I need to do is visit a drug counter and acquire the pills shaped like beloved animated television stars ("The Leading Brand Moms Trust and Kids Love").

I have never ingested a Flintstones Vitamin, never. Being a first generation fan of the original prime time broadcasts of Bedrock, I've eagerly anticipated englutting me some Rubbles.

My mother refused to purchase these miracle cartoon pills when I was a child. She was skeptical of Stone Age medical practices.

I could not alter her perception, so, instead, I grew up fortified on The Untouchables Multiple Vitamins ("The Leading Brand Molls Trust and Gangsters Loot").

Mom had no trouble getting me to touch The Untouchables. All she had to do was mention a prohibition against the nutrients, so, of course, I'd sneak off and down a daily dose with a large slurp of counterfeit milk and a flapper named "Three-Fingers Flopsy" (who broke my heart -- and seven fingers).

Yesterday, following dessert, I picked up a bottle of Flintstones I found in the happy kitchen of my mother-in-law. There, the ingredient "gelatin" jumped off the vitamins' label and jolted me into the 21st century, much like I had been suddenly pummeled to the ground by Dino, the dinosaur.

"Oh, Fred," I said.

I heard that someplace and it seemed appropriate.

I cannot consume gelatin. I'm not allowed. I'm a vegetarian. Gelatin is made from animal hooves, leftover critter skins, and highlights from Rosie O'Donnell variety specials.

What a crushing disappointment. Did you notice my lips?

What had once promised to be exquisite is now disaster and unrequited.

I shan't ever chew on Wilma.


Why We Are Thankful

First, an impromptu production number ensued and then something massively fungal and pandemic occurred at the nearby campus. It happens every Autumnal Hop and Frolic.

The students are all sequestered in the gymnasium, awaiting podiatrists and algebra assignments and special lyric ballads, police said.

The general community at large is believed to be safe. National Guard officials credit volunteer thwarters of a feared outbreak of crunk.

Thank you, Homeland Security. Take some time for remedial spelling. You've earned it. See Miss Landers in Room 12.


I Got Nuthin'

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Art Fern's Tea Time Movie

"The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson" (1989)
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I Got Nuthin'

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Actual Letters to Mike Durrett
A Randy Stewart of a metropolitan Atlanta, Georgia writes to warn the new Daniel Craig motion picture, "Quantum of Solace," begins exactly where "Casino Royale" leaves off. He insists a viewing is in order before heading out to the theatre for part two.

I comply and respond:

We've rewatched "Casino Royale." We're up to speed on Jimmy Bond and Mata Hari Bond.

A Randy Stewart of a metropolitan Atlanta, Georgia, possibly the same combo, writes:

In honor of "Quantum of Solace," I think you should star in the next 007 movie.

Taking a hint from your previous theatrical billing, it could be called, "The Man with the Golden Weenie."

I had been a contributor of special material to the performers' publication, "The Electric Weenie."

My response:

Thank you for your interest. "The Man With the Golden Twinkie" might be the more appropriate title, or, perhaps, [in an allusion to creamy snack cake filling] the less product-placed, "Siphoned, Not Spurt."

I had appeared in Mr. Stewart's award-winning film, "101 Facts From the Book of Twinkie Knowledge."

Continuing my measured discourse:

I may have to pass on "Dr. Node," "Blunderball," "From Russia With AAA Rayovacs," and "Pullfinger."

A Bob Walker of a Kansas writes:

How are you? I've got a big weekend planned. I'm gonna load up my Water Pik and drown roaches.

No, actually, I'm gonna watch repeats of "My Name Is Earl" for fashion tips.

NO, really, folks, I'm going down to the Quick Shop and point at the dogs that are done.

A me of a wherever replies:

My weekend?

I'll be shaving. Fess Parker mistook me for his hat.

Since my throat is sore and my epiglottis is wrinkly, I'll be dunking cough drops in Preparation H.

And there's our party for the neighborhood mutts to show-off the new punch toilet bowl.

May your blood pressure pop your hair plugs.

That Bob Walker of that Kansas writes:

Why is Fess Parker's name funny? HA HA.

May Moms Mabley gum your breakfast nook.

That me of there writes:

May Joe the Plumber snake your juice box.

A Bob Walker finds time in his busy Kansas day to write:

May Snooky Lanson splatter walnuts in your pie hole.

May Betty White only appear to you as Betty Eggshell White, or, I'm feeling generous, Betty Mauve.


I Got Nuthin'

I yield to Morty. Morty's got somethin'!

He's been bird-watching again.

Morty at the Movies

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Road Age

I've long felt we unleash drivers at too early an age. Young people are not safely equipped to handle the demands and uncertainties of massive speeding vehicles and modern traffic situations, especially when you consider the human brain is not fully developed until age 25.

I was professional driving schooled and licensed at 17. I should not have been driving until 18 or 19, if then. I was never a wild operator, but I made foolish mistakes and, fortunately, survived the errors of my highways.

That said, this kid did a nice job on the parking. I'll give him that.


I Got Nuthin'

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100 Things About Me #161

Total, um, Recall
My mind is not as quick on the retrievals as it once was. I know I know a name, but can't grasp it.

Then, all of a sudden, "Oh yeah, Mom!"

100 Things: #1 | Previous | Next



My Recent Confessions and Observations on Twitter, Where Everything Must Be Said in 140 Characters or Less

I got my first medical alert bracelet. Some of them caution "Diabetes" or "Coumadin." Mine says "Raisinets."

Just in: "Pope meets with Muslim scholars, urges better ties." Might I suggest some nice pocket squares & Gillette® The Best a Man Can Get™?

I guess you've heard, Paris Hilton was not elected President of the United States. She was going to lower necklines & raise hell. No Change.

The robocalls have stopped! No more: "Hello, this is Franklin D. Roosevelt, calling from beyond the grave for my good friend, Barack Obama."

Citgo gas fell half to $1.99 per gallon. It's like a 2-for-1 sale. Buy one gallon, get 2nd gallon free! C'mon, throw in a Hugo Chávez plush.

Sen. John McCain is coming, but I'll pass. The entire event is only an hour, so he won't be able to say much or sing his Streisand medley.

News item: "Man assaults girlfriend for opening his Vienna Sausages." Ahh, The Curse of the Little Wieners.

Follow Mike on Twitter


I've Heard the Whispers

We don't stay young forever, but I'm working on it, following fashions and making hunky.

Yes, I have had some work done.

I got an eye tuck, floss space, highlights, extensions, and a dome-over.

Don't hate me because I'm beautiful.

(PiZap via About Web Humor)


What the Heck Was I Thinking?

Actual Messages I Wrote, Forgot, Then Found While Cleaning Out My Email Folders


I am not on Facebook that I remember, so I can't invite either of you to be my "friend." You do, of course, have open invitations to be my "yard boy." There's a rake behind the shed.


Here's my address for our postmaster and her toothless, inbred brood -- and mutt, Fifi Joe:

Mike Durrett
[Address withheld]

We're in the market for new cell phones, too. We're looking for one that plays "Mike Stokey's Pantomime Quiz."

Thank you and have a Dippity Doo night.



You know, I was raised by wolves with wax lips.


I Got Nuthin'

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Way Way Way Way Way Out West

Morty at the Movies with Morty the CatMorty shares my love of westerns. What we enjoy most about them are the rugged vistas, the animals, and the sense of adventure.

Plus, jail cells, we like the jail scenes. There's often food.

Morty is especially fascinated by the horses. They are strange to him, much like robots are to me, since I have never met a robot, although I did briefly date a pastry squirter squirter.

Likewise, Morty has never seen an actual horse in the flesh. (He eats seafood, not dog food.)

For today's movie, Morty has uncovered a contemporary western. He says "Katt och Häst" has got it all: a horse and romance -- and, not that he needs to impress you, it's a foreign film.

Can't see the video? Try refreshing this page or visit YouTube.



Actual Letters to Mike Durrett
A Bob Walker of a Hutchinson, Kansas writes:

"I put nose drops in my ear. Now I can hear my cologne."

That happened to me, except I put ear drops in my nostril. I smelled mites and a pair of old muffs.

The sounds of silence gave whiffs oscillating from narrow streets of cobblestone to the cold and damp.

An Astroray of an Atlanta, Georgia writes:

"I've got one word for all of you, shoplift.

"Thank you and goodnight!"

Thank you for the advice. There is something to be said for-- HEY, WHERE'S MY WALLET?

Darn e-thefts. Enjoy the photo of Bob Cummings.

A Frank of a Burbank writes on the passing of author Studs Terkel:

"I'm sad that I've now missed my chance to talk with him about 'Studs' Place,' his TV show from the early 50s. As far as I know, besides 'Kukla, Fran and Ollie,' it was the only completely improvised show on TV."

I never saw "Studs' Place." Our crummy TV only got "Gelding's Place." It was pretty scary. I remember the talking horse, Mr. Edna. Mom said he was nuts.

Photo credit: LetterJames.com


Hot Dog Sign

I try my best to slide through life, doing as I'm told. I guess I can be too literal.

1. I bought a ticket and watched the mutt movie.

2. Back outside--

Let's just say I'm blogging this from jail....


Election Buzz

Hey, what was the big deal with everyone early voting? In the long days leading up to the election, I heard numerous horror stories of folks standing in lines for hours in order to avoid crowds on Nov. 4, the official vote date.

I entered my polling place on election evening at 6:17, 43 minutes before the close. There were two people in line in front of me. One was my wife. The other was the guy I raced from the parking lot. I almost beat him, too, but, in fairness to me, his walker was sneakers-propelled.

Donna and I were exemplary citizens, casting our ballots and departing City Hall somewhat lickety-split. We could have exited sooner. I, of course, had dawdled awhile to field the poll workers' nice comments about my photo ID.

"Why, yes, that is my natural aura. And, no, I, nice young man that I am, am not available for debutante escorting."

I bid them all "a debonair adieu" with the bonus flourish of a toothy "cheese!"

We zoomed straight to Starbucks, which promised to reward all patriotic voters with a complimentary cup of java.

"Are you still doing the voter coffees?" I asked the barista, while pointing to my de rigueur "I'm a Georgia voter" lapel sticker.

"Yes, we are!" she replied, cheerily.

"Great!" I trumped her, enthusiastically, and at least three-quarters of an inch taller.

(Or in Starbucks-speak: I'm a Venti.)

"You know, my stunningly adorable lady of refinement," I added with a pleasing grin and my best "you betcha" wink, "we did vote three times each."

It didn't work.


From "The Christian Science Monitor," Nov. 4, 2008 -- and thank you, Jesus:

Well, not so fast. Seems there are legal restrictions afoot.

Take the State of Georgia where the motto is "Wisdom, Justice and Moderation."

Requiring someone to say they voted in order to receive a free coffee - that’s a felony....

No word if an individual would get the electric chair upon conviction. But thankfully Starbucks and Krispy Kreme have modified the promotion so you aren’t required to break the law in order to get free stuff.

"To ensure we are in compliance with election law, we are extending our offer to all customers who request a tall brewed coffee," said Starbucks’ spokeswoman Tara Darrow.

Krispy Kreme? What? Huh? I missed FREE DONUTS?!!

Drat. What's ACORN's phone number?...

And then I woke up.

It was all a dream!



My Recent Confessions and Observations on Twitter, Where Everything Must Be Said in 140 Characters or Less

I fed my cat the last of my yogurt. And I had some Jell-o. And then I couldn't remember if I changed spoons. Gotta go scratch the couch...

Our small town's Party Shop closed, we feared, but it's relocated up the street. Phew, what a relief. We still have our source for wax lips.

It was IRON MAN night at our house, my wife's idea, yay! So she plugged in the iron and had me press the wrinkles out of all of her clothes.

It pains me to say this, but watching IRON MAN made my dental work hurt.

New ABOUT WEB HUMOR: 10 Very Good Reasons Why You Should Grow a Giant Beard http://tinyurl.com/5lk9fn

People are asking me to put my fur where my mouth is and grow a giant beard. Hold on, I have! I've got one now! Unfortunately, it's ingrown.

Ringo Starr is refusing to sign autographs ever. I'm not signing autographs either, but mostly because no one gives me checks to endorse.

Headline: "Man shoots himself in arm after being denied sex." "When Masturbation Goes Bad" on the next "Springer."

I tell ya, masturbation doesn't always work, but don't take it out on yourself.

Follow Mike on Twitter


Something Wicked This Way Bums

It was fun to attend "Wicked" in Atlanta during the Halloween season, but the most wicked things we saw were the t-shirts in the lobby for thirty-five dollars.
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