No, Skippy did not kill me — though the means, and how he’d hide the body, did seem to jump quickly to mind, there Skip’, eh?
Frankly, the Skipster is much more talented than I in the whole writing-of-the-words thing. And much more entertaining. The whole idea for the blog came from the fact that Skippy is a 33rd Degree Master Rant-ster. I’ve been laughing at him his ideas his comedic stylings for YEARS. He’s Komedy with a Kapital K!
Yes; I have been preoccupied for the last little bit, and I have been neglectful in letting the juices flow on our little page here. Too much work; which in this economy is a good thing. My current projects at the office are taxing on my little brain, so when I get done at the end of the day I have sufficient neuron firing capacity to play with my kids, watch the Magic Picture Box, and follow the on-field heroics of my beloved BoSaux.
Also, I forgot the password, but luckily my wife’s machine had it memorized, so here I am!
So I’m enjoying my brand new Latitude/Longitude DoorMat,
and I think to myself, “Why don’t people go to museums more.” So today I decided to fix that and took Boy 2 and Girl 1 and meandered on down to Ye Olde Air & Space Museum.
And what I found was, actually, lots of folks go to the Air & Space Museum on a Saturday in June. So, we’re walking around, enjoying the national treasures, historic achievements and overall museumy goodness, and as I’m wandering through the narrow hallways of the Aircraft Carrier display–next to a Vulcan Gatling Gun used for carrier point defense–I get a whiff of B.O. that would kill a goat. I look around to spot the culprit and it’s obviously the middle-aged gentleman in the khakis and blue oxford with the David-Crosby-right-before-he-left-The-Byrds-full-head-of-bushy-shoulder-length-hair, and I’m thinking, “Dude!?” I mean, this was stink that even stink would think was stink. I could almost see the BO cloud seeping off this guy. It was like a mix of carrots and throw-up, with shards of little stale yogurt and hair cream. So here I am, with my children, in the narrow confines of the fake Aircraft Carrier thinking, “How do I get out of the display, with kids in tow, and NOT have to wade through this guys wake?” Lucky for me this guy was way into Aircraft Carrier point defense (or else he saw my involuntary retch), because he did not try to follow as I pushed my children through the hatch into the Pri-Fly display and out onto the “bridge” to escape the guy.
But what I’m thinking is, “Does this guy not know that that stench he can’t escape is him?” How does that work? I mean, after a day of exertion I can get ripe–I’m not saying that man-stink is not a fact of life we all deal with. But it’s not like I was in a 7-11 at midnight, or in line at the DMV at 6:30am — it was 10:30 in the flippin morning in a museum! I don’t expect the museum going public to dress in their -Sunday-go-to-Meetin’ clothes, but some awareness of personal hygiene is simply safe for the Common Good of society, no? And we’ve all smelled these guys. Do they have no one in their life who’s willing to say, “Hey, Emmett, you stink. Here’s a hot shower and some Lava. Keep scrubbing until the water runs clear, and then slather on Old Spice until your skin burns.” If the guy was homeless that may be one thing, but this guy was obviously not homeless — just hopelessly clueless, or criminally uncaring of the welfare of others.
So, please, Emmet, or David, or whatever your name was — if you’re out there within the sound of my voice, please, for the sake of the children, get some help. And maybe a trim, because, man, not even David Crosby can rock the David Crosby look.