Whooooie, all those folks on the cruise ship and all that poo-poo hitting the whirly dirley, man-man.  The wife and I booked a cruise the other day, it is scheduled tentatively for this summer on the South Canadian River in McClain County.

It should be okay until we run into the sandbars, then I don’t know what we will do.

A friend of mine and I, have been swapping emails and discussing proper grammar.  Which got me to thinking … often a dangerous thing, let me tell you.  From time to time, I get bad at two things, run on sentences and repeating myself.  Really do not have a clue as to why I am doing this, but I have noticed here of late, I am repeating some of my words in my posts.  This can be fixed.  I will do my best to correct this in the future.  Here is something interesting I came across the other day, the entire post had something like 500 words and a great deal of it read just like this:


“In the sour tangy scent of gasoline and spilled oil and the glare of the lonely lights, I felt for a moment as though I was standing in the cold wind at a truck stop somewhere at some nameless exit off some nameless highway, anywhere along any of the routes I’ve driven in past three years, from little towns in the middle of the midwest en route to or from Wyoming, or somewhere in the dark of the night in the mountains of Pennsylvania or Virginia, filling the tank of a passenger van or wrestling the truckers’ pumps into the diesel dually, a horse trailer swaying softly in the darkness as the animals within shift their weight, resting their joints from the jostle of motion. I’ve driven nowhere near as many miles as my former-truck-driver father, who I am sure spent countless night standing in the cold to fuel his truck, his breath rising and vanishing in a white cloud about his bowed head, hands shoved in pockets, mind moving from point A to point B, thoughts on the goal destination, the miles traveled, miles left to go, condensing breath mingling with snowflakes in dull gas station lights.”


This might be why people are so stingy with the Like Button or pull up short on commenting.  Now if you are a regular reader of this electronic-digital-rag, then you know I am not known as Mr. Language Person, but this?  Man, something has to be wrong with this.  The first sentence has 125 words before you find a period (.), and the entire paragraph close to 200 words.

Who has time to read stuff like that?

I suppose that is what a reader is all about, it gives you the ability to see the good, along with the bad, and in the course of things, it also shows you what to do and what NOT to do.  Anyway, speaking for myself, I know I can do better on this site and I am going to make an effort to do just that.

All of this reminds me of the old story where a guy decided to check out of the Rat Race and become a Monk.  So he traveled to Tibet, found a monastery and joined the order.  One of the requirements of the monastery he was told he was to limit all conversation to just two words per year.


The first year he was there, he told the head Monk, “bed hard.”  The second year he was there he again told the head Monk, “Food Bad.”  At the end of the third year, he looked at the Monk and said, “I Quit!”

The head Monk looked at him, shook his head and then replied … “Well, it is no small wonder, all you have done since you got here is complain.”

See you at the Water-Cooler.


Today’s Wordplay – Twisted Tunes

Looks like it is going to be one of those days.  I come in here, and the first thing I find is a 500 word comment from some guy in India using made up pretend words and wanting to argue.  Brad & Jolie Phone Home has him all up in a tizzy.

No sense of humor I guess.

When I wrote the piece in question, about channeling dead spirits, I messed up.   I should have conjured up some mystic shaman type from the deep inner regions of Central America instead of using an Indian/Buddhist/Asian Role model.  People in Central America for the most parts, speak Spanish, and therefore I would not have to contend with any kind of nonsense from them.

inchicuacetonatiuh0651Might have been better to have used an Inca/Aztec Priestess type, someone like InChicuaceTonatiuh, could have been more specific with the gender, and could have outfitted her in a thong and the whole nine yards.

That would have solved a lot of my problems with the piece and with my attitude.  Maybe next time.

My barn now having burned completely down to the ground, I can clearly see the moon.  I won’t make that mistake again.

Oh well, just one of those days.

We have been devoting a lot of time and effort toward Christmas Music this week, might talk about that for a change of pace.  I don’t feel like doing anything newsworthy today, mainly because the news is so downright depressing and almost comical.  People are throwing shoes everywhere now, not just at Bush, but at councilman at town meetings, transit officials in New York.

The new political statement of the times …. “If The Shoe Fits!” …. Incoming!

Let us talk about wordsmiths and music instead.

Lately I have been getting hammered by what I like to call pseudo intellectuals, people that seem to know it all, and feel compelled to use a vocabulary that is clearly a cut above the rest of us.  I often get tired of going to the dictionary because some closet intellectual wants to say invidious instead of discontent, animosity or envious.  I am as you may have already guessed … not impressed.  Guess it just comes with the territory.

Here is another … When someone says, “I liked this …. BUT … well, y’know it isn’t going to be good.”

Each day I wander all over the net, and I find stuff that just irks me to no end, I find material that literally in some cases makes my blood boil because of ignorance, racism, outright stupidity.  8,000 words on why I cannot stand Oatmeal and my mother messed me up.  But I don’t stop to criticize it, leave a terse or nasty comment.  I just say to myself, that really sucks, and make a mental note to never go there again.

What is the point?

I don’t leave a comment that is hateful, rude, indiscreet or insincere.  It seems there is a different standard when it comes to this site, I don’t know why, but it often appears that way to me.

Word games are just that.  They can amuse or they can hurt.  They can be fun or miserable, choice is up to the author.  That is the way I see it.  Nine times out of ten, I cut the verbose or nasty right off the bat.  Often I will allow something I consider borderline as long as it stays within reason.

But when it reaches the point of just outright bickering or bitching, argumentative intellectual word speak then it is time to grab your hat and head for the door. You are history.  When all you have to add to the collective mix is nothing short of rude complaining, it is time to as my friend is fond of saying … Cut ’em loose.

My house … My rules.

Having said all that, for no real apparent reason, other than to increase my daily word count.  Let us move on to more productive banter.  It is Christmas, pick out a tune and sing!


There that is better.

SCHIZOPHRENIA: Do you hear what I hear?

MULTIPLE PERSONALITY DISORDER: We three kinds disoriented are.

DEMENTIA: I think I will be home for Christmas?

NARCISSISTIC: Hark!  The herald angels sing about me!

MANIC: Deck the halls and walls and house and lawn and streets and stores and office and town and cars and busses and trucks and trees and fire hydrants ………..

PARANOID: Santa Claus Is Coming To Get Me.

PERSONALITY DISORDER: You better watch out, I’m Gonna Cry, I’m Gonna Pout, Maybe I will tell you why.

DEPRESSION:  Silent Anhedonia, Poly-Anhedonia, all is flat, all is lonely.

Then there is OBESSIVE-COMPULSIVE DISORDER:  Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock ….(Please start over) … Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock,

PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE PERSONALITY: On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me (and then took it all away).

BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER:  Thought of roasting on an open fire.

So as always, leave a comment but please keep in mind … “A merry heart doeth good like a medicine, but a downcast spirit withers the bones.”

If you have some kind of ax to grind …. Please stay on the line, one of our representatives will be by Saturday to help you.  If none of this works for you, we understand, go back to popping your bubble wrap and leave us alone.