It's Oscars time. Somebody wake the Grouch.

Monday, July 24, 2006

It looks like we had one of those weekends again...

...meaning there is a dearth of posts, which does make it hard to keep up the readership (all 4 of you).

I know I was picking up the Littlest Fando from church camp. She returned home tired, except for the occasional war cry for her camp tribe, and informing us that they did an activity called "blobbing" that involved a huge inflatable bouncy pad, water, and a large tower to jump off of. More to the point, she informed us that the key to successful blobbing was the use of one's buttocks. Apparently "bum" is not in frequent use at the camp.

I also mowed our garden (lawn for many of you). I did have to use a machete to get through part of the back. I found an old driver's licence for a J. Hoffa and some bones, if anyone knows what that's about.

I did see "Mr. West Lile" on the golf links yesterday, disguised as Stew Miller and smashing 300 yard drives with the ease most of us reserve for scratching our buttocks. "Chico y Jose" was there also and played fairly well. He's about to begin an Abe Lincoln specialty tour of Upper Illinois with several family members. He didn't mention whether there would be any "wrasslin'" or not.

No word from Nuffy Noe, who appears to be hot on the trail of a certain Mr. Mark Northover. Mark, do yourself a favour and come out of hiding. Otherwise, the infamy will be more than one man can stand. Plus, Nuffy has a world tour planned.

Zimpter remains an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, wrapped in a press junket. You'd think he could at least e-mail the blog.

Jorge Carlito Vega is still either incarcerated, or in the Witness Protection Program. We are trying to make contact but they are changing his name and address frequently. He's checking into various hotels under the code name of "Brad Pitt" these days, and asking if "Jennifer" has been snooping around. Some sort of practical joke I expect.

I also expect that posting will pick up around here. If only we made enough money to where I could hold a paycheque over people's heads. Well, I could, but it'd be mine, from my real job, which would hardly inspire any fear in anyone.

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