Filed under bird, Cartoon, child, humor, Philosopher, Random Access Thoughts, Uncategorized
If money were no object
Filed under blathering idiot, Cartoon, figment, humor, imagination, paycheck, satire, word play, words, writing
The blathering idiot was helping Xenia get her breakfast. Xenia was his on again, off again, on again girlfriend’s six-year-old daughter. Why Xenia’s name didn’t begin with a “Z,” like her mother’s – Zelda – the blathering idiot didn’t understand, but he didn’t and it was a school day, so it was a question for another time.
While helping her with breakfast, the blathering idiot thought he would impress Xenia. He found a one-serving box of her favorite cereal, and the box had perforations on one side of the outside that formed an “I.” When he opened the box using the perforations, it instantly turned the box into a bowl.
Dinosaur on the way to the Bowl Museum
Xenia looked at the box with the flaps folded back and the cereal floating in milk. Then she looked up at the blathering idiot. “So, this was what you used before they invented bowls?”
The blathering idiot was dumbfounded.
Xenia had a piece of toast for breakfast.
Later that morning, when the blathering idiot was walking Xenia to school, he told her stories about his walking to school, and he often had to do it all by himself and how it was a long walk full of wild animals and dark places and not nearly as easy as it is today.
Xenia nodded, and as they stood outside the front door of the school, she looked up at the blathering idiot and asked, “Did you see many dinosaurs back then?”
The blathering idiot and his girl friend, Zelda, decided that the first day of Spring was the perfect time to go out into Nature, to experience the Wilds. Except, it was not as easy as either one of them would like. As the blathering idiot found out, Zelda was allergic to rag weed, tree pollen, broad-leaf grasses, and short-leafed flowers just to name a few of the offending items. The blathering idiot, too, was finding he had allergies to many wild animals with fur or feathers or scales, as well as a strong allergic reaction to poison ivy.
They had both also heard of the smog alert creeping up even into the mountains, the need for more sunscreen due to increased global warming, and the invasion of fire ants and even killer African Bees.
At first, the blathering idiot didn’t know what to do. And after a while, it was beginning to look more and more like the trip into Mother Nature wasn’t going to happen. Then the blathering idiot had an idea. It took him a while to fashion on the pieces of the idea into one final whole, but when he was done, both he and Zelda agreed that it was the only way they could both get out into Nature.
"Honey, isn't Nature wonderful?! We really should get outside more often."
The blathering idiot was sitting at the kitchen table doing his taxes, when in a fit of confusion and boredom at the inane complexity of a form, he fell asleep.
When he woke up, he was in heaven. He knew this was the case because the disciple Matthew greeted him. The blathering idiot sat up and looked around. Heaven was not like anything he imaged. The primary thing that struck him about it was how rundown it appeared. The pearly gates looked rusty and slightly out of plumb. They didn’t close tightly. Some things that looked like trash tumbled from heavenly prominence to heavenly prominence, making slight rustling sounds like empty plastic shopping bags. Even the angels’ wings looked sooty and their gowns looked frayed and not quite as dazzling as whitest of whites sound be. One angel was even wearing a frayed t-shirt that read “Angels are people too.” Infrastructure neglect was everywhere.
Matthew had a sad and besmirched look on his face. “We cannot get God to pay attention to heaven. He says he is constantly fighting an endless war with Satan, and sending hurricanes to New Orleans and earthquakes to Haiti and such to punish people for their wicked ways, even if they are already long dead. He says he has no time to keep up heaven. But we have a plan and it involves you.”
The blathering idiot listened to the plan. He wasn’t sure if it would work, but if the blathering idiot succeeded, he could stay in heaven if he wanted.
“And if I don’t succeed?” the blathering idiot asked.
Matthew, the former tax collector, frowned, and then slowly shook his head.
The blathering idiot practiced over and over what he was going to say, and when he was ready, Matthew and some angels, including the one with the t-shirt, dressed him in the most scary costume they could think of, and then they sent him to see God.
"Well, Almighty, our records still show you owe back taxes for several million years."
Shortly after that, or so it felt like, the blathering idiot woke up, an IRS form stuck to the side of his face.
Once he removed it, he glanced around. The world looked like he was back exactly where he had always been, back where he was before his trip to heaven. The blathering idiot didn’t know if that was good or bad, if that meant he had succeeded or not. He once again read over the form that had been stuck to his cheek, and he continued to wonder.
The blathering idiot sat in the coin-operated launder mat watching his clothes dry. It had been a tough time since Valentine’s Day. He had forgotten to get his girl friend anything: no card, no flowers, no gift no matter how inexpensive, and though she was willing to forgive him, she said they needed to talk, and they would do so on the day he brought his laundry over.
The blathering idiot knew what talk meant. It meant that he, the blathering idiot, would need to make amends. He came prepared to offer everything: two-dozen flowers, three cards, an expensive dinner, an entire weekend watching “chick flicks.” Only thing she had to do was tell him what she wanted.
What she wanted from him was something he hadn’t anticipated. She simply said he wasn’t being romantic enough in the relationship and what did he intend to do about it?
The blathering idiot thought about it.
His girl friend waited.
“If I wore my heart on my sleeve, would you launder it?”
He stared at his pile of dirty laundry, hoping for inspiration.
Finally, he remembered that she’d often told him that while she wore her heart on her sleeve, he seemed to keep his tucked away somewhere, so he said something he thought was witty, something he thought would break the tension, something that might make her laugh and then they would forget about the question.
He said, “If I wore my heart on my sleeve, would you launder it?”
For the foreseeable future, the blathering idiot was laundering his own heart at a coin-operated place of his choosing.
He found no inspiration as he watched his shirts tumble dry.
Filed under blathering idiot, Cartoon, humor, observation, satire, story, words, writing
The blathering idiot saw the ad on the Internet, click on it, and was transported to a web site where the promoted product promised to…
Build a new, high-efficiency body:
Say NO to Memory loss
Say NO to Arthritis
Say NO to Pain
Say NO to short lives of 75 years max
Say NO to Ugliness.
Activate your dormant codes for advanced human ability and appearance.
Override the death code based on the carbon grid.
Make dominant your crystalline grid.
Make your DNA perfect again.
“I will show you how to self-heal,” Dr. Ben T. Err said. “My secret product formula, Dunthat, helps you create a new advanced physical form!”
Err then went on to talk about his advanced studies as an, Iridologist, Nutritionist, and Herbologist.
Best If Used By...
The blathering idiot placed an order, which eventually arrived. When he opened the box, it contained a DVD, an instruction booklet, and a series of containers containing a series of products, all very herbal looking. And on the bottom of each container there was a sticker that read: “Best if used by” and a date. They all had the same date and that date had already passed.
Filed under blathering idiot, Cartoon, humor, story, the perils of writing, words, writing
The blathering idiot was visiting his shrink one day and started talking about his attempts to write and why he wasn’t successful. The shrink asked why he, the blathering idiot, thought he wasn’t yet published in a magazine like The New Yorker?
The blathering idiot said, “I asked myself that question almost every morning when I looked in the mirror. ‘Mirror, mirror, on the wall,’ I said, ‘will The New Yorker come my way?’
Doc, I asked myself that question every morning when I looked in the mirror.
“And one day a New Yorker was delivered to my house by mistake, and from then on, I quit asking. I don’t even look in that mirror any more, for fear it might read my thoughts and make something else come true in its twisted way.
“But I fear it may have already happened, for I once asked it to make me wealthy beyond my wildest dreams … and from then on I didn’t dream any more.”
The blathering idiot sat in the diner trying to figure out the organization of the company that had hired him and where he fit into things. He had the organizational chart “Org chart” of the company and the menu of the diner out on his table. He also had a glass of water that he had already spilled once and was still wiping up when the waitress approached.
She asked the blathering idiot what he wanted for breakfast.
“Org Over Easy,” the blathering idiot said.
She stared over the top of her glasses at him and canted her hip slightly. “Sir, that’s not on the menu.”
“Yes, it is. Over Easy or Sunny Side Up.”
“Org?”
“Yeah.”
She sighed. “That won’t be available until 8 o’clock.”
The Org Over Easy
“Eight o’clock. That’s outlandish.”
“And they’ll be a Sir charge.”
“A surcharge?!” The blathering idiot felt the heat rising to his ears. That always happened when he got embarrassed or angry. He felt a little of both now.
“Yes, sir, a charge on top of our normal Over Easy price.”
“Why?”
“Because orgs are always hard to get over easy.”
Filed under blathering idiot, Cartoon, humor, Random Access Thoughts, satire, words, writing
Booker's Blog 
The Blathering Idiot and Discovery
The blathering idiot went to work for an advanced scientific and technology firm. One day, when he passes the door of a leading scientist of the firm, he found a note tacked to the door.
Upon further examination, he saw it was not a note, but a memo, on official company letterhead, from the legal firm that this company used when discussing patent and invention issue.
In short, the memo said: All discoveries must be registered with this firm before they are discovered. All inventions must be registered with this firm before they are invented. No patents will be issued unless the proper form has been filled out in triplicate and registered with this firm. We must be notified at least six months in advance of any discoveries, inventions, ideas, or potentially patentable issues. Those who fail to follow this memo will be properly punished.
After all, he needed the work.
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