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Saturday, March 30, 2019

Followers Where I Can Get Them




   
    You may have noticed (perhaps not) that, since my return, I tend to write less frequently here.  Oh sure, I spew (pretty much a correct term) two posts a week.  But, really, it's only one.  The "Sign Language" posts I regurgitate (a more correct term) every Wednesday are all delayed posts and just throw up (an even better term) old pictures that I had laying around in my computer.

    So, in reality, I only write one new post a week.  Even then, last week's offering on ghosts was a repeat of something I wrote several years ago.  I'll avoid doing that, because it seems like cheating, but as I've said in the past, if you've never read it, it's new to you.

    Still, I'll try to avoid doing that.

    I was even considering taking part in this year's A-Z Challenge,
I may repost Xerxes.
Just because he's my kind of freak.
but decided against it.  It takes up a lot of time that I wasn't prepared to give.  So, I may post entries from years past (there's that cheating thing again).


    No, I'm not feeling morose or otherwise gloomy (annnnnnd I've repeated myself).  That is so 2018.  I've put the melancholy parts of my life in the past (don't you love Microsoft's "Synonym" feature when you're writing something?).

A sample Instagram post.
This is the type of comedy you just can't buy.
Nor should you.
    Actually, I'm busy cracking wise on other platforms.  Like I've said in the past, I enjoy myself quite a bit (most times with my clothes on) on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.  In fact, I've been posting a weekly video "observations" every Sunday evening.  Because, what better way to celebrate the Lord's Day than with a little bit of Ken/Al?

   My apologies to Robyn, she of the Chosen People.

    All that said, I very much intend to continue on Blogger.  After all, I can't get out of the multi-year lease that I signed (NOTE:  there is no such lease).

    With that said, I don't want to write in a vacuum because that would suck (see what I did there?  Yeah, it's not just on Instagram where you can find this type of thigh-slapping cleverness).  Unlike some Republicans and Rachel Maddow, I am a human being and crave personal interaction.

No.  Not that kind.
Although...

    Therefore (we would also accept 'so.'  Love that synonym tool), I use one of the features on Blogger to see who my audience is.  As I'm sure you all know, I can check who's here at this moment and all the way to who (or is that "whom?"  Oh, eff it.) has visited the past month.

    Obviously, most visitors come from the United States,
"Wait.  Aren't you American?"
"Yeah, but I suck so..."
although a fair percentage come from Canada (thank you Pat and Birgit).  Others are from the United Kingdom and occasionally Australia, which makes sense, I suppose, because we share the same language (although Brits call being drunk "pissed."  Which we Yanks routinely do in the corner when we're drun....ohhhhhhhhhhh).  Plus, Batman is Welsh, Superman is British, and Wolverine is Australian.


    So, there's that.

"Pretty funny stuff.  For an infidel."
"DEATH TO AMERICA!"
"Well, clearly, but Penwasser makes me piss my robes."
   But, I also see followers from Germany, Poland, Indonesia, Taiwan and other countries who are wanting themselves a little stuff and nonsense although they probably can't read English.


   The followers I get from China, Russia, and the Ukraine make me a little nervous, I'll have to admit.  Maybe they're looking to finagle their way into our bit of the cyber-world?  Or, some foreign (I know, I know, Americans are foreign to Canadians.  Get off my back, Pat) agent hopes to glean something classified from me, considering the job I once held? 

"Note to self:  never let Lynch drive the boat again."

    Perhaps Communism (or whatever TF they have in Russia and
"Nyet.  He is the shits with the making funs 
of the Barack Bahamas 
and the Orange Julius 
knowings how the winds works."
Ukraine  now) is so sucky, they gain a small bit of solace from this nonsense?


     What gives me the most pause is that some of my followers (or at least visitors) come from what Blogger calls "Unknown Region."  This amazes me.  Is Blogger reacting to a map which is perpetually changing so it's hard to keep up?  Is this Blogger's version of "Oh, f*ck it.  Why go through the trouble of figuring out where these visitors are coming from?  I mean it's not like anybody reads these crappy audience statistics anyway." 
Poland.
Second Place.
I'll resist a gratuitous joke here.

"And, coming in at #3 this week, 'Unknown Region.'"



    Or maybe, just maybe, "Stuff and Nonsense-A Penwasser Place" is being read in outer space?

    I guess I'd better not post any Martian knock-knock jokes.
    
    Who knows what offends those people? 

"Knock, knock."
"Who's there?"
"Uranus."
"Uranus who?"
"Earthlings can't probe Uranus because we don't have one."
"Sheesh, Lou, don't quit your day job.  You suck."

Wednesday, March 27, 2019

Saturday, March 23, 2019

Spooks

 No, not that kind....

This kind

  Like the word "queer," I'd like to bring the word "spook" back to its original meaning.  You know, like "faggot."

Apparently has his own jet airplane.  
And is a millionaire.
But, I don't see an earring or makeup.
But, I digress.....

    My daughter loves to watch “Ghost Adventures.”
   
    For those who have lives and may not know, “Ghost Adventures”
When normal networks won't do.
The Travel Channel.
is a program on the Travel Channel that purports to show what the “living-challenged” are like.

  
    Oh, sure, some of you may smugly think you know everything there is to know about ghosts.  You’ve seen Casper cartoons, watched Bill Murray in “Ghostbusters,” and thought Patrick Swayze was the hottest spook (see?  There's that word again) you have ever seen.
      
    Poor Taste Department:  Of course as we all know, Patrick Swayze has since become a ghost.

"Insensitive prick."

    Anyway, “Ghost Adventures” follows the...uh...adventures of Zak (he of the big biceps) and his two sidekicks as they crawl around supposedly haunted places in the middle of the night (never in broad daylight.  I think that’s a law).  Using state of the art equipment, two cheesy goatees, and panicked gasps of “Dude!” from Aaron, they try to convince us that mouse farts are, in reality, calls from beyond the grave.
     
    Sometimes I watch the show with her just to make fun of it and poke her in the side screaming, “Boo!”  Our favorite episode was when the boys visited the abandoned Remington Arms factory in Bridgeport, Connecticut. 

It's looked better.  
Not in my lifetime, though.
For those unfortunate enough to be traveling through Bridgeport (Safety Tip:  Very fast, and with your car doors locked and windows rolled-up), you can see the factory just before you disappear in a pothole on I-95.  The reason I liked that particular show was that, since my personality was forged in that cauldron of urban decay, I recognized the area.  Which is why I moved very far away from it.

  
    

    I had to laugh at Zak and company.  Even though they tried to impress upon us that their immortal souls were in danger, they were actually safer locked inside.  I’m not saying Bridgeport is dangerous, but even the birds carry guns.
"Just so we're clear.  Nobody will be able to get inside, right?  
You know, because Bridgeport."
      The more I thought about the idea of ghosts, the more I thought about what do people do to get rid of them (especially if they’re stupid enough to build a house over an Indian graveyard.  Always Indian, never Amish)?
"It's never Amish, is it?"
"Ja, ve explode der dead.  Saves space."
"Jealous bastards.  Okay, who's up for cow-tipping?"
      For instance, are Catholics the only ones allowed to be exorcists?
  
    What happens if a priest isn’t available and you had to call in, say, a Methodist?
  
    OK, raise your hands.  How many think a demon would be intimidated by a Methodist?  That’s right, any self-respecting spawn of Satan would just yawn and put up drapes.
  
    Anyone plagued by denizens from beyond the grave would have
"I cast you out, Satan!  
Because I'm Batman."
to call in a priest (sort of like a theological Batman), wouldn't you think?  Who’d then sprinkle some holy water on the sofa, say a few “Be gone from this holy place, foul demon!” incantations, and hand out Bingo cards.  
 
    It's probably not that simple, though. 

    Certainly, there’d have to be Jewish ghosts.  Would a Catholic work then?  A crucifix would have no effect on a Yiddish evil spirit, I’m sure.  Maybe a Star of David?
  
    I gotta think, for a Jewish ghost, you’d need a rabbi. 
  
"I should be afraid of holy water?  
You sprinkle some on me, you're cleaning it up.  
What am I looking like?  The maid?"

    “So, Mr. Fancy-pants, you think you’re so special you can come in here and terrorize these nice people?  Stop being such a big shot, get your coat, and scram, ya schmuck, ya. And don’t forget to wipe your feet.”

   Voila!  Ghost is banished to eternal oblivion.  Or Miami.  Which may be the same thing. 

    Plus, what about Muslim ghosts?  How would even know your ghost was a Muslim?  Would you have a shoe thrown at your head in the middle of the night?

    Yes, I resisted the predictable "beheading" crack and went with "shoe."  You're welcome.

      How ‘bout Mormon ghosts?  I wouldn’t think that’d be so bad.  They’d probably only possess your bicycles. 


"I have some literature for you to read.  
As soon as I park this thing."

    Finally, how would you get rid of an atheist ghost?  Surely there have to be some.  Maybe all you’d need to say is, “You don’t believe in me?  Well, I don’t believe in you.  Swear to God.”  Problem solved.
  
    Just to be on the safe side, better keep the Vatican on speed dial, though.

  

Wednesday, March 20, 2019

Sign Language XII

Okay.  
We get it.  
You have fruit trees.  
No need for name-calling.

Saturday, March 16, 2019

Politically Correct

    My post last Wednesday prompted a couple of responses.  Even though they were all great, the first two gave me reason to possibly reconsider my attempt at humor.

A clear example of white privilege, if I ever saw one.


    Therefore, upon a recommendation from the highly talented and felinephilic (possibly Latin for "Liker of Cats..." maybe.),

"I don't know Latin.  Or cats.  Or Latin cats."

Pat Hatt, I've adjusted the picture.


Fixed it.

    I just hope I haven't offended any transgender folks.   

"No, no, it's cool.  
We just let the Puerto Ricans handle the recycling."


"Oh, boy, here come the letters."

   


Wednesday, March 6, 2019