(Yes, I know. All y’all been waiting with baited breath, no pun, for this post)
The problem really isn’t the tooth per se. It’s the rebar that the dentist pounded into it some years back. The tooth even then was pretty much gone and I had not the time nor inclination (nor money) to have a root canal, so I just told him to patch it up and let me get on with it.
He sank that rebar into my tooth and tried to build something around it.
Worked great.
Until a few days ago when all the ‘tooth’ fell away and I was left with just the rebar, sticking up and shredding the underside of my tongue everytime I tried to swallow.
Which is problematic for someone who likes to drink. (But never fear: I found a work-around: A straw.)
I tried to file it down with a file from one of those toe-nail clippers.
No dice.
Then I found a pair of dikes and while holding a small flashlight in one hand and the dikes in the other, went at it.
No dice.
Just could not find a proper purchase.
And by the way, to quote Lenny quoting Will Rogers:
“I never met a dyke I didn’t like.”
Anyway…
The rebar remains.
And it is painfully reminding me that I should invest more in my oral hygiene.
It is when you go to flush the toilet and that handle snarls back at you, rather limp-wrist’d, as if to say,
“Not tonight Asshole. Go back to sleep.”
(Now, in some truth, I could probably improve this post. For example: I should not have referenced ‘limp wrists”. In truth, y’all know how it is when you go to flush that toilet and there just ain’t no resistance. “Limp Wrists’ was just about all I could manage at the time of publishing…. (Isn’t that funny? Like I am a fucking news paper?) Dead-lines!
Some one shoot me!
(Make it quake! Head Shot! Right thru the mouth–or better…the mouse.)
God and some foll’ers will thank you.
Foretelling ‘Foreboding’ (See? I tend to edit as as I go… My father once tole me, “Lance! Enuff! Enough! It takes an editor to be smart; that is why we make more monies.”) some deep sea-toilet trolling (trolling?) diving to fix.
Yeah…
Really?
Don’t think so.
Maybe tomorrow…
(There are three (other) toilets in this ‘Mouse-House’)
“So, fuck off.”
(My toilet did not reply)
Yes, I talk to my toilet… don’t we all?
“Take your hand off that mouse Mister! Don’t make me come over there.”
“Yessir! Please don’t shoot me; I’m just the piano-player.”
“Sounds like bullshit to me. What do you think, Jim?”
“Yeah. Bullshit. Shoot him.”
“OK.”
Bang! Bang!
“He gone.”
(Sorry, Si Robertson; some of this … this is probably out-of-context)
Then again…
Maybe not.
We will not even begin to speak about your brother.
Damnit! I miss Christopher Hitchens!
Even more embarrassing:
You know the toilet is broke dick dog.
Yet…
You still try to ‘visit.’
And it takes three tries to get into the door.
(Yet, it is a really small door–just sayin’– and not so easily navigated, drunk nor sober)
Only to be so disappointed (yet again) over the the whole toilet experience.
OK.
Fine!
Resist?
Naw!
Below, please discover Lenny’s take on toilet-training.
(and of course: entertaining, or reasonable facsimile)
Are these two men the “stupidest” One and a Half-Men in America?
In The World?
In The Solar System?
In The Galaxy?
IN THE UNIVERSE?
I say…
YEAH. Fuck Yeah! (To paraphrase Phil, “Git dem genes outta da pool!”)
What say y’all?
(Disagree. I love it when y’all disagree)
But to me, Their brains and their arguments appear as if two marshmallows were colliding in mid-air.
“But The Bible says….”
Slavery Allowed:
However, you may purchase male or female slaves from among the foreigners who live among you. You may also purchase the children of such resident foreigners, including those who have been born in your land. You may treat them as your property, passing them on to your children as a permanent inheritance. You may treat your slaves like this, but the people of Israel, your relatives, must never be treated this way. (Leviticus 25:44-46 NLT)
Oh Please!
And unlike ninety percent of the ‘Christians’ out there, I have actually read the Bibles–yep–both of them.
“Convert them or kill them.”
–Phil Robertson (0:3:41 on the video)
Huh??
(Jeepers! I really cannot comment on the obvious here.)
“We’re not even ‘over there’ in the Middle East.” –Phil.
Even that statement is wrong. It presupposes that religious folk do not have a sense of humor, or that they are intolerant of not-religious folk. I know of only one religion which is totally intolerant and not open to sense of humor. I don’t need to name it, but we all know its name (Shhh…. Don’t tell. But it starts with an M and ends with an ‘um’. Yeah! You guessed it:“Methodist-um” )
(Now I know, I have been uncharacteristically silent on the ISIS CRISIS in specific and ‘Religion Poisons Ever’Thing’ in General. I am ‘back-building’, much like that volcano in Iceland. What you may experience here, today, is just a fissure, impotently spewing. ‘Fissuring’, if you will. Don’t worry: The Big Bang is coming folks and it ain’t gonna be nothin’ nice.)
Shhhhh…. don’t tell. Keep yer head, and yer wits, and yer tits, and yer clits about you.
So… Don’t speak. Bad for your health: ‘Speaking.’
Listen / Watch Here Below: And Christopher’s last line (in case you missed it)
“Stay cool.”
So ‘be cool’ and watch it, for it is timely, given our present present.
And as a completely different aside: I got some very good advice from a very, well not very, not even a very good friend, let us just call her ‘an acquaintance’:
She chastised me.
Why?
Because I employ too many parentheses…. “Makes me hard to read.’ She said. ‘Madman,’ She said. Truth, she spoke.
I generally spend about ten minutes ‘writing a post’. Then three minutes waiting on ‘spell check’ to remind me that I cannot spell ‘cat.’ Then two minutes (except for the upload wait) to upload photos/videos.One minute at the ‘final’ look. Then: Click that ‘publish’ button.
Done.
Rinse and repeat the next day.This bothers me.Why?Because, as all of us (may) feel, we can write so much better.
Alas, I am lazy. I just want to get it out there… Catch the likes; catch the comments. Fuck the quality! “They” know what I mean… Don’t they? I mean, they read me! Not too much need for exposition, ya? ‘They git it, eh?’
Just some musings from an amusing wanna-be writer/blogger. Take with some grain of salt. (And Comment), if you are of a mind to, and have an opinion on the ‘writing/blogging’ process.
Cheers,Lancers
“I have never had an original thought; I don’t live in a vacuum.”
Today’s Daily Lenny is about Uncle Earl, Guv’na of the Great State of Louisiana.
Now…
Uncle Earl was nuts; that is why we lovedUncle Earl. Especially us Texans loved Uncle Earl, because he was just like our Governors: Whacked Out. Only wors’er.
“If Louisiana eventually elects Duke (David Duke) governor, don’t expect any sympathy from Texas. They sent us one of their barmy governors once before—Earl Long, who was Huey’s crazy brother. Earl finally got so bad his own family shipped him off to a nuthouse in Galveston. We kept him for six weeks and then let him go; he looked like a perfectly normal governor to us.”
Bob (The Most Interesting Man in Iraq) is my life-long frin…
I miss his dumb ass (and ‘dumb-ass’ is a term of endearment where I come from)
If one is lucky, really lucky, one meets maybe one, two, or three or four people in life that transcend funny.
Bob is one such ‘transcendent’ lucky for me.
He saved my fragile sanity.
****
My mechanic (Of Parsons Mechanic fame) came by to have some ‘chat’ with me:
The most Interesting Mechanic in the World
“Way’ll… I have a natch’ral disaster on my hands.”
“Ok Bob,” I said, “I’m ‘bout to bust with anticipation.”
“Yep. A natch’ral disaster.”
“You mentioned that already.”
“A real-life natch’ral calamity.”
“Do I have time to go to chow while you go through your preamble?”
Ignoring me, he continued, “That Six Kay (‘6K’ as in six thousand pound lifting capacity) forklift is all a-pieces. hamorr’agin’ parts all over th’ place. The Boys (Filipino mechanics times two) tol’ me it was the fuel injector pump. So, I kin’ly smiled and said ‘Okaaay…,’ and let ‘em go at it. They need ta learn how ta fix thangs without me onct in ah’while. Well, they dun got tha’ forklift tore all ta pieces. Now, I dun give ‘em all mornin’ to dick ‘round with it, an’ I’m gonna give ‘em all this aftr’noon to dick ‘round with it some more. Then first thing tomorra, I’m gonna ask ‘em, ‘Boys, how come that forklift ain’t a-workin’ this fine morning?’”
“I’m hip Let’s keep it real.”
“Your ‘personnel management style’ is showing Bob,” I said.
“Yeah, whatever… An’ tomorra’s Thursday. An’ day after that’s Friday. An’ I ain’t doin’ nothin’ on Friday. Tomorra, we gonna start our dee-cent inta th’ day off.”
“Kinda start slowin’ ‘er down ‘round mid-noon time, eh?” I said. (I can do ‘Southern’ just as slick as you please when I want to.)
“X-actly. We start double-clutchin’ and dee-celeratin’ an’ bring her in nice and slow like.”
“And what about my forklift?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
“She’s all ‘In’shalah’d’ out Boss.”
“Dead in the water?”
“Tits up.”
“Broke dick?”
“Send her saddle home.”
“I need to call Baghdad?”
“She ain’t lookin’ none too fav’erble.”
“Call HQ an’ tell ‘em we need another forklift?”
“Now, jes hol’ on. Doan git ’em all wadded jes yet.”
“Ok. I got it. Thanks.”
“We’re Parsons’ Mechanics an’ jes watch how we roll,” he said on his way out the door.
I love my job.
I have a “Ten Kay” forklift that still works. So I should be alright for now. Besides, Bob just loves the drama and we do this little dance everytime there is a crisis in the motor pool. If I were a betting man (And actually I am) I’d wager two of my pay checks that come Friday if that 6K forklift is still down, he’ll be out there bright and early with his boys working on it until it is repaired even if it means giving up his day off. I’ve seen him do that already too many times over the past year and a half he has worked for me. There is no man made of better stuff. An’ he sure do entertain. Yessir, he certainly does. And I’d never have been able to keep the operation afloat without him.
I love all my crew and wouldn’t trade a single one of them for a pile of cash money or a case of Johnny Walker Black with the authorization to drink it.
This song is dedicated to Bob, wherever he may be:
OK: Ed. Note:
Y’all gotta love how ‘Texan’ this vid is—look at the ‘ensign‘-Texan Flags-behind the sage, er…stage.
(and if you look really close–for you guitar players out there–you will notice the hole in the guitar. Willie tells some stories ’bout the gee-tar. He tells one about a drunken party with Leon Russell in a hotel room, when Leon almost broke it. Willie, in classic form, invited Leon to stop touching that guitar.)
Here is Lance: ON the Record. (and on a rant; a long overdue rant)
I do not give two warm cups of spit, ‘Bout the politics of the Dixie Chicks. But I love them. They are all… Texas. And, after-all, Home-Grown. Hey! Texas! Git over it! Texas was built upon the backs of strong wimmens… Jes sayin’. Y’all know this (Texas!)
I love everything which pukes itself from Texas. Even them Dixie Chicks. I stood by them then. I stand by them now.
Watch the vid, then tell me there ain’t no Texan Talent There.
Dare ya! (‘Tis a fight I will join–try me!). But, bring the big guns. I will fuck debate you up, if ya don’t. I have some ducks all rowed up.
And y’all know… well, ya know, I am just joking (’bout the guns) This is a fight, I will only join in the vestiges of parlay… and discourse. (Seems I have grown a… well, I still have some fight in my, for certain ‘issues’–this being one.)
Cheers!
Lance (true lover of Texas Women) Lord knows I have known many (Biblical sense and otherwise, sidewise), and they all, to a woman, scared the ever-loving shit outta me.
Not going to go over the top here, but I am taking myself out of the ‘Daily Lenny Business’ business. (not many enjoyed it anyhow. I did. But I did not ‘write’ for Lenny. I ‘wrote’ for me, and for the edification of a few of my readers.)
No matters…
So.. This is your last ‘Daily Lenny’. I do hope you have enjoyed the previous seventy or so.
There will be no more.
This makes me sad. (because there is so much more Lenny I want to share, but alas, I am tired.)
–Lance
This video really sucks. I will search out a better one. (Maybe tomorrow) I do it for the children..
“And it took LBJ six months to learn how to say ‘negro’.” Yah! You will have to listen to Lenny to get the bit… Sorry. Price of admission here at TT&H.
I am an arrogant Texan, but I love Lenny Bruce: A man just about as far from removed from Texan as one could ever be. (Except maybe George Bush the Elder)
Lenny was no friend to Texas or Texans
The Scar He Was So Proud Of
LBJ:
Thanks Lenny
The Real Scar
R.I.P.
Please listen (and comment)
(If you never listen to any other Lenny Bruce, Please listen to this one)
So take a break from writing that-soon-to-go-viral post that we all have in us,
“For, No Profit Grows Where is no Pleasure Ta’en”
And since I slacked off on Yesterday’s ‘Two For Tuesday’, Here is Sarah Now, but be thee forewarned: This may offend some in the audience. (Ha! Who am I kidding!? If you have stayed with TT&H this long, well you probably are not so easily offended)
Arrived Tel Aviv one afternoon Late ‘78. Soon to be Stoned, Dazed and Confused and somewhat abused. One of my fellow SFM drivers, Perry, a good bud of mine, had convoyed with me into TA. Each of us driving deuce and a’halfs and at dangerous speeds.
We checked into the Pal Hotel which SFM had retired to after the New Sheraton had made it plain they no longer desired nor needed the patronage of Sinai Field Mission types, specifically the Texan ones. I preferred the Pal Hotel anyway.
“Screw you Sheraton New Hotel!”
Of course for both of you Lenny Fans out there in ‘Radio Land’ I just had to drop this audio bit in. It really is not germane (nor certainly not German) to the point, but it do expand on the title somewhat.
It occurred to me that when using the term ‘Tits an’ Ass” some would not know the etymology. Lenny first coined the phrase. (Bless his heart). He did some jail time too… for his transgressions.
After settling in, Perry called me from his room, “Hey Lance. Got anything goin’ tonight?”
“Nope,” I replied. “Not a damn thing. You know Gladys done dumped me for that Venzu-walon dude.”
“Come on up to my room. We’ll smoke a bowl.”
“On my way,” I said and hung up. We smoked a few bowls of hash, drank some Amstels, and decided to head over to Dizengoff Street to check out the action. And sate some munchies. Just yet another night in TA.
Dizengoff Cafe
We stepped out onto Hayarkon Street just after sundown and proceeded to float on toward Dizengoff, a few short blocks away. We were stoned beyond repair. As we tried to navigate across the busy Hayarkon four lane, we noticed more than the average number of folk on foot. As soon as we had arrived on the leeward shore of Hayarkon, a teenage girl came running up to us and smacked us both on the top of our heads with a little plastic mallet. Then said something unintelligible in Hebrew and ran giggling away.
“What the fuck was that?!” I asked Perry.
“Dude, I gots no idea, but look yonder!” he said pointing up the street. Sure as shit, there were people everywhere; all armed with similar plastic mallets, just wailing the shit outta each other’s heads.
“Dude! We gotta sort this out. This is just too weird. Must be some kinda religious ritual.” This is what my hashish soaked brain was telling me anyway. We made our way to Dizengoff, after having our heads bonked repeatedly by overzealous religious fanatics. I spied a street vendor displaying the plastic mallets with aplomb.
“Perry, we gots to git one ah them for self-defense.” We purchased one each and went to whackin’ pretty Sabras about the head. (Great way to meet women, I must confess—Kinda Neanderthal—but what the hell?) Later I was told we had experienced some joyful Israeli Halloween-Like festival. Mardi Gras, it weren’t but dammit! I had fun. (But I didn’t get any beads)
To this day, I do not know the holiday, or festival. Are there any out there who would care to enlighten me? Tis one-of-those-unknown-things that still haunt me today. Perhaps if I had not been stoned…
Purim
My Jewish Friends: Was it Purim I had experienced? My enquirin’ mind really do wanna know.
It was rather singed about the edges (not sure why), but I was able to resurrect most of it, and I with sincere humility transcribe it here:
Dear Mister Marcom (I love it when I am called ‘Mister’)
Mister Marcom,
I am certainly honored that you continue to plagiarize my work.
However, you do not seem to be getting much ‘play’.
Perhaps you need to advertise.
(or just fuck off and call it a ‘draw’. You choose.)
Has been my experience that contempoursely contemporary shit sells better. Maybe you should just go with Sarah? Hell! All us Jews look alike, n’est-ce-pas?
And of course I just had to hit that ‘reply’ button:
Here is more from his video recorded performance and yes, most of it is esoteric.
The only video of Lenny (real good video) is from when he was near death. He was most assuredly not at his ‘best’.
But this is all we have.
So we must run with it, because, in my not-so-humble-opinion, his worst was better than the best of Cable Guy, Foxworthy, and even fellow-Texan, Ron White. But that is just me. The only ones who can compare in my mind are George Carlin and Richard Pryor, and possibly Sarah Silverman or Sandra Bernhard.
To Clean Up My Act (and to save some bandwidth)I decided to cast this net out just one more time (before I deleted it)As I liked it.
Anyhow… here ya go. (Personally, I thought the historical significance was, well historical, especially for Texans and for Louisianians, but that was just me)
Hi Kids!
Today’s Daily Lenny is about Uncle Earl, Guv’na of the Great State of Louisiana
Now…Uncle Earl was nuts; that is why we lovedUncle Earl. Especially us Texans loved Uncle Earl, because he was just like our Governors: Whacked Out. Only wors’er.
Uncle Earl
Mollyspoke about him:“If Louisiana eventually elects Duke (David Duke) governor, don’t expect any sympathy from Texas. They sent us one of their barmy governors once before—Earl Long, who was Huey’s crazy brother. Earl finally got so bad his own family shipped him off to a nuthouse in Galveston. We kept him for six weeks and then let him go; he looked like a perfectly normal governor to us.”From: Molly Ivins Can’t Say That, Can She?
Here is your Daily Lenny and Your lesson in Yiddish.
I do realize this is Throwback Thursday. (“Yes Virginia… I will get to that. And No, there really ain’t no Santa. Sit down over there Dear. Now that’s a good girl…”)
Yes. I am “in the/a mood.”
Therefore, I am going to be busy searching for some moldy oldie to cast upon y’all.
Also, I am (because I promised someone) gonna post some original shit as well.
So…
“Fasten Your Seat-belts. It’s going to be a (busy) bumpy night.”
(Who among us, does not love Bette Davis?)
Oh Damn!! Almost Forgot.
Here is Lenny:
(And Please Listen to this bit; It may be my all-time favorite. Yes. Humor me.)
Today’s Daily Lenny is about Uncle Earl, Guv’na of the Great State of Louisiana.
Now…
Uncle Earl was nuts; that is why we lovedUncle Earl. Especially us Texans loved Uncle Earl, because he was just like our Governors: Whacked Out. Only wors’er.
“If Louisiana eventually elects Duke (David Duke) governor, don’t expect any sympathy from Texas. They sent us one of their barmy governors once before—Earl Long, who was Huey’s crazy brother. Earl finally got so bad his own family shipped him off to a nuthouse in Galveston. We kept him for six weeks and then let him go; he looked like a perfectly normal governor to us.”
On Donald Trump! (Kids, this is the audio you need to listen to. Yes, the names have been changed to protect the guilty) Click the little arrow and follow the Orange Hair Road to Perdition.
Harry
Once Again…
I throw this in (I already paid for it)
Why NOT?
Too tired…but y’all know the thrill drilll… more lenny here:
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