It was reported 0619 that we lost yet another member of The Firesign Theatre comedy troupe.
This time, it’s PHIL AUSTIN, the voice of Private Nick Danger – Third Eye
Even though I was growing up ‘in the 60’s and 70’s’, I was never a drug culture kind of guy. But, that didn’t mean that I didn’t appreciate their humor. (Sometimes, alcohol was involved, though!) Being a fan of PI fiction and wanting to become one (I eventually did) added to the joy brought by The Firesign Theatre.
I guess we’re all eventually bozos on this bus, eh?
h/t Dave the mechanic, LA Times
In the opinion of blog contributor/reader Tomi…
I would like to point out, that he was apparently successful in scaring away any vampires in the area. But did he get any thanks? No!It’s a shame that such a public-minded citizen would be arrested for his efforts!!(Methinks he was probably “attacked” by several “Vampires” a bit before the incident. You know, the kind made of tequila, tomato & citrus juices…)
The really big shoe, the sequel!
I’ve been in need for a replacement big shoe for over seven months, now. Bought the shoes, but simply didn’t have the funds to get the orthopedic build-up needed.
Until a couple weeks ago.
I now present to you, Ed Sullivan II, the sequel! :-)
I’m feeling the need for a good few GUFFAWS! Frankly, It’s been too long.
Some time back, I wrote regarding the cat, and her predilection to walk, stand and suddenly change direction in front of a cripple (THIS cripple) whilst I trying to descend the staircase. Or walk anywhere. I came to the conclusion that she was trying to murder me, and, that if I were found at the bottom of the stairs, she should be considered a feline of interest!
Of course, as she has gotten older (and larger – resembling an 18″ long beanbag) these attempts have lessened.
Lulling me into a false sense of security, as though I’d been forgotten.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Enter into this equation the puppy dog. Now just over a year old, a wiggly, wriggly, jumpy, licky, all manner of puppy.
False sense, I’m tellin’ ya!
The other day, in a surprise search of her kennel, THIS was discovered:
(For the uninitiated) a shiv! A makeshift knife, manufactured through gnawing on a piece of disposed-of plastic cutlery.
Of course, she denies any complicity in the making of this implement, and continues to be all licky. As if she and the cat aren’t in this together! (She LOVES the cat!)
SO, if I’m found at the bottom of the stairs with such an implement imbedded in me, you know whom to question – both the cat AND the puppy!
I’M WATCHING YOU!
(Seriously, pets are the greatest! Just ask Brigid.)
I think that was first labelled as such by Rudyard Kipling.
Borepatch led me to Goober’s thoughts on the matter…
Goober on “Social Justice Warriors”:
You take a guy that lived his entire life in the Amazonian jungle, fighting for every meal he’s ever eaten, making his own living/clothing/abode/etc at huge expense of labor, and living every day with the fear of that next cut becoming septic and killing him, or that next sniffle being the cold that brings him down, or the next monsoon not being monsooney enough and his family starving to death, and you give him a pair of Levi jeans, some tennis shoes, a first world education, and modern medicine, and HE WILL CUT YOUR FUCKING THROAT before he will let you stick him back in that jungle.
But SJWs want to keep him there, unmolested by western “cultural pollution” like modern medicine and central air conditioning, in order to “preserve his culture”, without giving him an educated say in the decision at all. More of that SJW superiority.
This idea of “allowing the brown people to stay in their place” smacks an awful, awful lot like “keeping the brown people in their place.” (end)
I had two directions I wanted to address this. One was simple agreement with Goober, (with perhaps a tip of the Hatlo hat to Firesign Theatres’ Temporarily Humboldt County*), the second going sideways regarding the invention if the term Social Justice Warriors, aka SJWs. Conservative/libertarian/gun culture shorthand.
Not unlike JBTs for Jack-Booted Thugs.
And I’m not even touching the Star Trekian Prime Directive, or Jean-Jacque Rosseau’s ‘Noble Savage’ meme…
“All over the map – Geez, he’s all over the map!” (from inside most of your heads)
I’m still dealing with this sinus/throat thing. Forgive me.
*FREAK: Hey, man! Don’t let him bring you down, now. There’s a lot of young people in this country, just like myself, who really know where the Indian’s at. And don’t worry. Soon we’re all gonna be out here on the Reservation, livin’ like Indians, ‘n’ dressin’ like Indians and doing all the simple, Beautiful Things that you Indians do. Hey – got any peyote? (link)
Is it out there, anymore?
I remember my Father ranting about the dearth of customer service when I was a teenager – and that was in the 60’s.
Back then a guy in a uniform (or at least a uniform shirt) filled your tank, checked your oil, and cleaned your windshield. And no tip was asked or expected. Now, IF there’s a monitor/cashier at the self-service gas station behind the bulletproof glass, it’s an effort to get them to look up from their graphic novel to take your card for purchase.
And waiters/waitresses? One would think when they are first being trained, they would be instructed that the more courteous and efficient they are, the better tip they will receive. But most these days are barely capable in getting your food to you at all. Need extra napkins or a refill on that beverage? Good luck with that.
And getting the order correct in the first place? Fuggedaboutit!
Retail stores? Just try to find someone who has any idea where stock might be, or even be able to direct you to it.
Call centers? Pshaw.
And we who chat regarding firearms on the Internet are familiar with H & K’s (in)famous lack of customer service.
One word. OBAMACARE. And government services in general.
And, while I’m on the subject – do any of these aforementioned folks speak American English? This assumes I don’t have to migrate through a computer-generated menu prompt resembling a RPG in Urdu to get to a human.
We now return you to your post-holiday festivities.
Old NFO (via JP) brings us geekery of the first order, coupled with first-rate humor!
The heaviest element known to science was recently discovered by investigators at a major U.S. research university. The new element has been named Hillarium. The chemical symbol of Hillarium is Bs.Hillarium has no protons or electrons and thus has an atomic number of 0. However, it does have one neutron, 125 assistant neutrons, 75 vice neutrons and 111 assistant vice neutrons, which gives it an atomic mass of 312. These 312 particles are held together by a force that involves the continuous exchange of meson-like particles called morons.Hillarium’s mass actually increases over time, as morons randomly interact with various elements in the atmosphere and become assistant deputy neutrons within the Hillarium molecule, leading to the formation of isodopes. This characteristic of moron-promotion leads some scientists to believe that Hillarium is formed whenever morons reach a certain quantity in concentration. This hypothetical quantity is referred to as a Critical Morass. When catalyzed with money, Hillarium activates CNNadnausium and MSNBCobnoxium, elements that radiates orders of magnitude more energy, albeit as incoherent noise, since each has half as many peons but twice as many morons as Hillarium. Hillarium has also been reported in some war torn countries to inexplicably draw sniper fire out of thin air where no snipers are present, and to cause shoes to catapult across the room as a result of intense attraction to Hillarium.
The Firearms Blog just advised me I’ve been saying at least SOME of these names incorrectly. Some, I have gotten correct.
Where do YOU stand? Or do you care?
Of course, I knew a guy years ago who pronounced another brand SMITH AND WESTERN! :-)
Essentially, it describes a kind of malaise.
Why blog anymore?
Between Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook*, blogging is being re-defined as the ‘buggy whip’ of social media. Who blogs, anymore? I mean really…
For me, it returns me to why I began blogging in the first place, and what I expected to get out of it.
I began blogging because it gave me something
constructive with which to waste my time. A personal daily discipline. And the ability to share my politics, philosophy and history with family and friends. I had no expectations then, and certainly don’t now. And have been met with a wonderful community of friends I didn’t know I had until I began blogging! Some of whom have become friends and confidants off the Internet. In the real world.
Many folks have voluntarily or involuntarily removed themselves from the blogosphere since I began. And that saddens me. It means time is passing, and people have removed themselves from our lives. That is their choice. Or Fate’s.
Guffaw, your humble blogger, will continue blogging. At least for the time being.
Weather permitting. :-) (“They’ll be a rain dance, Friday night. Weather permitting.” – George Carlin, The Indian Sergeant) See, there’s always guffaw in there, somewhere. :-)
*Facebook – Guffaw is on FB, in his real name. But, the more I blog, the less I am there. Guess I’m doing this backwards(?)