Generic Photo #1.

Don't you wish you were here instead of on this blog?

Wait. We will replace these pics with something good.

These pictures are beautiful, aren't they? They mean nothing as of yet.

I have to think of something earthshattering to include right here.

Enjoy these lovely generic photos until they are replaced with something more humorous and fitting.

Something important will happen here.

These are not photos of my last family vacation.

Default slides are boring.

I think I'll replace these photos with pictures of llamas and geese. Or something.

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

This Book Is Funny and Cavemen, a Blog Post Combo Extraordinaire

It is true, all the hubbub you've been hearing: I have published my first ebook, This Book Is Funny. It's a collection of humorous shorts, satire, and scripty sorts of things. As to avoid getting all advertisement-like, I'm instead sharing one of the short stories here, A Cave With a View. I hope you'll enjoy it. I hope you'll enjoy it, become a huge fan, purchase all my further works, and talk about me all the time. But I hope you won't stalk me. Please don't.

Okay, maybe a little.

A Cave With a View

“And this is the great room. As you can see, it offers plenty of living space, what with the fire pit in the middle and the ample seating area.”
John did a 360 in the middle of the room and took it all in. It was the twelfth cave he’d viewed that week, and quite frankly, he was getting tired. The agent his wife had insisted on choosing was a forceful woman who leaned toward leopard print and seemed determined to shove every dwelling they viewed down their throats, thus ridding herself of what she said were their “impossible desires, considering today’s housing market” and pocketing her tidy sum, which appeared would be at least half a mastodon.
“Yes. Yes, this is a fantastic room. But the view…” He gestured through the opening, his frustration building. The last cave she suggested faced due east, and the rising sun would surely wake the baby, whose early dawn cries might alarm the nearby animals, thereby severely limiting their breakfast options. This one faced a neighboring cave, and the inhabitants appeared messy. The front yard was littered with discarded stone tools and half a rotted short-faced bear carcass. Every now and then, he caught a whiff of their cooking. Neolithic. He hated foreign food.
“There’s nothing wrong with that view, Mr. Rockwell. It would do you a world of good to have neighbors. Just think of the hunting buddies. And they have kids! I assure you, they’re longterm renters so there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, don’t be a snob. Did you check out the interior design? The last couple did a fantastic job on the paintings, don’t you think? Just look at that graceful buffalo herd. You can almost smell the barbecue.”
John did like the cave paintings. They were a bit rustic for his taste, but a vast improvement on the series of hand prints where they lived now. His wife, Lydia, considered herself an aspiring artist, but she’d been stuck in what she called her “hand print period” for over five years, and he yearned for something new. Perhaps with the walls already decorated, he could break her habit. Besides, he was tired of having to explain his wife’s blood red palms to everyone.
“Well… I don’t know. The bathroom is a bit close to the cave opening. I mean, look at that.” He waved toward the stand of brush not 50 feet from them, where a man he supposed was from the rental was squatting, his face scrunched and red. “And you know I’m not keen on a community toilet.”
“Oh, that.” The agent waved it off. “You must understand, Mr. Rockwell, the population is exploding. Why, just yesterday during our department meeting, my boss was telling us that they fully expect the world population to hit 8,500 people by the end of the year! Do you know how many caves we need to house all those people? And don’t even get me started on private bathrooms. If you want a private bathroom, an extended fire pit, quality cave paintings, and that vaulted ceiling Lydia’s dreaming about, you’re talking at least an increase in price of about….” here, she reached up and scratched her lice, “a half dozen antelope.”
“Yes, that’s right. Although there is something on the other side of the ridge within your range that has a private bath and vaulted ceilings. And it does have a southern exposure, but. …”
John’s unibrow shot up. “Well, why aren’t you showing me that?”
She shuffled her feet and hesitated. “It’s a bit of a fixer-upper, and it’s been empty awhile. The last inhabitants met, shall we say, an early demise.”
“Neighboring tribe?”
“Saber tooth.”
John cringed and felt the hair on his back stand up. “Saber tooth!”
“Yes, but that was at least seven or eight moons ago, and there haven’t been any sightings since then.”
“Still, I’d have a hard time convincing Lydia. Her mother lost her left foot to a saber tooth and we’ve been dragging her around ever since. It’s been a real inconvenience.”
“As I can well imagine.” She paused. “You’d like to see it, wouldn’t you?”
“Would you think I was crazy?”
“No, I wouldn’t. Now that I think of it, it could be just the place for your little family. There’s a sandpit out back and some great vines for swinging. And the walls are done in a lovely wild horse motif. Fire pit is large but could use a few more rocks. Let me just grab my club and we’ll walk over. We’ll be there and back before sundown.”
“Do you mind if I quick whittle a spear or something? Maybe we’ll be able to squeeze in a little dinner after.”
“Sounds good to me. I spotted a sloth out back a few days ago. I’m sure he’s still there.”
“Great. My baby loves sloth. The toes are a special treat, as he is teething.”
The agent grabbed her trendy bog lemming skin satchel bag and swung it over her shoulder. “Then let’s get going. If this location works for you, perhaps we can get in an offer and have you settled in before the holidays. Lydia tells me her whole family is coming this year!”

“She did, did she? Would the cave happen to come with a tar pit?”

Monday, December 2, 2013

The Office Party

Ho ho ho, everyone, and welcome to the fifth annual "Da Bomb" Office Christmas party. Jingle Bells! Hey, Joe, refresh my eggnog, will you, ol' buddy? This stuff makes me feel like a bull at Pamplona, and I'm seeing a red dress over there, whoa Nellie!

I want to thank you all for coming this evening; the party's been a real blast so far and -- whoops, there goes my nog! Somebody better clean that up before the Congo line gets going. Say, Joe, you better get me a fresh one, eh? Top off the ol' nog, I'm coming in for a landing.

First, let me say that as your fearless leader, your big kahuna, your head cheese, I feel a swell of pride this evening. Just look at you guys — all dressed up for the holidays like that. Wow, especially you, Candice! You're usually so shy, so reserved, so... turtlenecky. But tonight you look scrumptious! What's that you're wearing, cleavage? Beautiful. Just like a high class lady of the evening. Or a news anchor.

I — what is this? The podium? It keeps moving. Someone hold this thing down before it gets away. 

The buffet is just tremendous, and I appreciate you all bringing a dish to pass this year. That really helped stretch that Christmas party budget, which is great because we were able to afford those lovely decorations at a sizable discount. I just wish it woulda been something more Christmassy, but hey, they sure set a festive and somewhat patriotic mood, what with that firecracker of a spread. Just don't try Bob's special mock seafood salad. We think that's what gave the guys in accounting the trots, and we're very sorry about that. As a rule, don't eat anything with the word "mock" in it and you'll be fine. Just for future reference.

Okay, what've we got here? Christmas bonuses? Yes, this is usually when I pass out the bonus checks, isn't it? And — Joe, someone seems to have emptied my — thank you.

In lieu of Christmas bonuses this year, I thought we'd try something a little different. I've composed a song and I'm going to sing it to you now. I've brought along my ukulele so's I might serenade you with a lovely ditty. Ed, my ukulele, please. Where's Ed? He's not still hanging out in the supply closet with Janice, is he? If Ed's wife is still around here... oh, there you are, my dear. Maybe you can fetch me my ukulele. Just ask Ed where it is. Supply closet's the second door there on your left. Just past the drinking fountain.

Maybe someone should take that coat rack out of her hand first? Thank you. 

In the meantime, I'd like to propose a toast. A toast to all of you, my wonderful employees. As soon as Joe gets this tumbler filled. There we go. I've worked with you all these many years, and you've stuck by me and this company through thick and thin. And thinner. I'll be so very sad, indeed, when I have to spring it on you that we're going under. Oops. Did those words just fall out of my mouth? Gosh, I'm sorry, folks, and here I meant to break the news in song, all peaceful and Kumbaya-like. Probably just the 'nog talking. 

HO HO HO! Don't worry, layoffs won't begin until after the New Year, so you can just relax and enjoy the holidays. January second is a long way off yet. Hey, everybody, look on the bright side: You won't be fired till next year! So cheers! I think I’ll sit down now. Kumbayah.

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Mel Brooks & Carl Reiner - The 2000 Year Old Man

Friday, May 3, 2013

A Page from an Amish Girl’s Diary

So, I’m totally chilling out by the chicken coop, right? And my mom hands me this dumb journal with a picture on the front of it with two little kids sitting by a stream, except the kids don’t have faces. ‘Cause I’m, like, Amish. And she tells me that if I don’t “straighten out my attitude right now, young lady,” and “think very, very hard about thine actions of late,” she’s gonna ground me until I get married, which is, like, three whole years away because I’m only 15, which really isn’t that young if you think about it ‘cause I already have responsibilities and everything, like taking care of my three brothers and six sisters, four of which are twin parts. And that is so totally unfair because I haven’t been able to go out with my friends after I gather eggs in forever!

And since I have this journal and I have to write in it anyway, like, right now, because she’s watching me this very second to see if I’m doing it, the old hag, I might as well tell you that she already punished me once today, unless you count this stupid journal which I would, so that’s punishment number two. But the first time was when she told me no more messaging my friends so she took away my homing pigeon. The joke is on her, because she thought she took my homing pigeon, but it was really Bethany’s, right? Which is totally hilarious because I’d already tied a note to its foot, so when my mom threw the pigeon out the window, it took my note with it so Bethany will be all, “Oh, look, it’s my pigeon and here’s a note from Hester,” and my mom’s back at the barn tee-heeing and stuff, saying, “Oh, look, I got rid of my daughter’s only contact with the outside world, aren’t I evil.” But really, I just wanted to tell Bethany that Matthew Yoder is all into her and wants to be her special friend and she doesn’t even know it, and that she’d better drop her hankie or something soon, because Judith so has her cap set for him, I can tell you. I saw the way she was looking at him last Saturday during the barn raising, all, “He’s sooo cute and he knows how to swing that hammer, and look at how he dovetails.” Which is totally cool, I get it, really I do, but Bethany would look so much cuter with Matthew, I can just see their twelve kids now, all Yoderish and stuff.

And here’s another thing, my mom gets her apron in a bunch just because I like to hang with Rachel Stoltzfus after council service, and who wouldn’t? I have to sit behind her for three hours during service, so by then we’ve passed, like, a gazillion notes and we know each other super, super well. My mom, she’s all, like, “Why don’t you hang out with Ruthie Hershberger, and I’m, like, “Duh, her brother’s a sheep’s bladder and he smells like blutwurst.” Plus, he hangs out by us all the time and spies on us when we’re trying to make pie, which I hate to do but Ruthie has to do every single day because her family runs a pie stand. And the English tourists are at her house all the time, just standing there staring and trying to take pictures of us when they think we don’t notice, which is so totally rude to try and steal our souls and everything, because, like, what are you going to do with an Amish soul back in Chicago? Pluck a chicken?

Besides, I can see it written all over Ruthie’s face that she’s gonna go all Rumshpringa any minute now, doing her teenage wild oat sewing off in Indianapolis or some such, and I’m telling you, she won’t come back. She’s so grossfeilich. She keeps talking about some place called Chuck E. Cheese she heard some tourist kids talking about; that and something called “Wee” or maybe it’s “Us,” I don’t remember; some stupid game that sounds so lame but she totally wants to do it, and everything she says just gets me all ferhoodled. And I’m so not going on Rumshpringa because it is so lame unless you’re into, like, shopping and driving in cars. I can’t imagine leaving my horse! I mean, I have my own pony named Muslin and she’s so sweet! I couldn’t leave her, not for some stinky old Buick or a dirty apartment that I’d be crammed into with three other Amish girls anyway, no thanks. I already know how that is because I have to share a loft with my little sisters and they’re total slobs. So I’ll stay here with Muslin, thank you very much. Although, I so wouldn’t mind it if Ruthie brought me back maybe a yellow bonnet with a little bee motif on it. That and some glittery shoe buckles. But don’t count on it because once she sees the big city, she’ll be gone, I’m telling you. She’s trouble with a capital T and no one ever takes her homing pigeon away. 

Monday, April 29, 2013

Pardon Our Dust

It's you! I'm so glad you came to my new blog. Just watch those boxes and don't trip on the ottoman. Things aren't quite ready yet, but let me show you around.

Uh... I guess this is pretty much it. Kinda small, huh? I mean, it looked so much bigger when the Realtor brought me through last week, but then, she had it all tricked out. I think they call it "staged." Too bad, really, because then it had all these cool widgetty things in the sidebars and a header. I mean, you can totally imagine it with a header, right? Maybe something all funky like a Madras plaid or a batik print. Although I was thinking of being all hip and minimalist. Which it sort of is now and that's just... well, that's boring.

Okay, maybe I should just offer you something to drink. At least I would, but I'm not sure where the movers put the cooler. I don't have the fridge cleaned out yet. The last renters were total slobs, so unless you want what I think used to be Kung Pao Chicken, you're out of luck. Oh, hey! I do have half a can of lukewarm green tea. No? You sure? Alright. 

I'm thinking of putting a banner ad over here. What? Yeah, you're right, that's just what I was going to say. Totally tacky, huh? Maybe a little quiz or a Twitter feed thingie over next to the window. With a goldfish bowl! That'd look great, yeah.

Not much here, is there? I mean, there's that post down there that I experimented with but it needs about four more passes of editing, and I just got so impatient. No one likes to live in a place with absolutely nothing on the walls at all, you know? Yeah, I'll probably replace that right after you leave...

So, what do you think?