Reblog Day at Down the Hall With A
New post on bluebird of bitterness
Reblog Day at Down the Hall With A
New post on bluebird of bitterness
I HAVE HEARD THAT IT IS A GOOD PRACTICE to go through your computer every so often and root out old and duplicate files. It is like digging into the back of that closet to pitch whatever no longer fits or is so out of style you’ll never wear it again. The last time I ventured into my closet I tossed out all of my 1970s Double Knits and Disco Duds.
As far as doing that in my computer hard drive I uncovered some long lost but interesting stuff. Old stories that never got finished, and links to sites and people long forgotten. In the midst of all those antiquated items I found a couple of gems. Well, maybe not gems, but things that still work and are worth keeping. One thing I resurrected was a short Stand Up piece that I used to do in days gone by. The date on the file was 2007.
I AM A BIG FAN OF LAUGHTER. It is much better than crying and Giggling is superior to Growling. Even the occasional Snort is acceptable although having coffee shoot out of my nose is not pleasant.
When I feel the need for a good sustained laugh I go to YouTube and pull up a few episodes of “The Vicar of Dibley.”
Today I offer a Reblog from the Wild and Wonderful Mind of the Bluebird of Bitterness !
“Blessed Are The Geeks”
New post on bluebird of bitterness
GETTING OLDER IS NOT for sissies. It takes guts and imagination. But it also demands that, as Dirty Harry Callahan hissed in one of his films, “A man’s got to know his limitations.”
I know that I can no longer play golf like I used to, and that is a blessing, because I was a terrible golfer. People always claim that it is such a sociable game. Well, the way I played it I was always off by myself somewhere. So – No more golf, no great loss.
A lot of the things that I can no longer do, I really don’t care about: golf, tennis, tap dancing (scratch that. That’s a lie. I never tap danced in my life).
I have had to use my imagination to add things into my life that give it spark and entertainment value while eliminating the need for special equipment – This blog being one of those things. Another being high-impact people watching.
Being a writer, in one way or another, I have always been a people watcher, but now I do it with the enthusiasm of Michael Phelps looking for a fresh bong.
This trip to Texas has presented me, the people watcher, with a target rich environment – The Airport!
A Great Reblog from the Bluebird of Bitterness
Some people say that puns are the lowest form of humor. Well, they’re wrong.
The opinions expressed are those of the author. You go get your own opinions.
A musician on a cruise ship had trouble keeping time with the rest of the orchestra. Finally the conductor said, “Look, either you learn to keep time or I’m going to throw you overboard. It’s up to you. Sync or swim.”
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A single mother with three small children had to juggle several part-time jobs while attending college to get her degree. She managed to survive it all with the help of an espresso machine given to her by a sympathetic friend. After four years of heroic effort, she graduated, summa cum latte.
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A teddy bear was working on a construction site. He took a lunch break, and when he returned, he found that his pick had been stolen. The bear was upset and reported the theft to the foreman, who said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you — today’s the day the teddy bears have their pick nicked.”
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Several of the attendees at a chess masters convention were loitering in the hotel lobby, bragging about their past victories. The hotel manager came over and ordered them to disperse. When they demanded to know why, he informed them that the hotel rules strictly prohibited chess nuts boasting in an open foyer.
Today we take Extreme Pleasure to post a hilarious Reblog from the unique point of view that is: THE BLUEBIRD OF BITTERNESShttps://bluebirdofbitterness.com/2018/02/20/bar-jokes-for-english-majors/
“When I read this I just laughed out loud. People stared.” – Krafty
A dangling participle walks into a bar. Enjoying a cocktail and chatting with the bartender, the evening passes pleasantly.
A bar was walked into by the passive voice.
An oxymoron walked into a bar, and the silence was deafening.
Two quotation marks walk into a “bar.”
A malapropism walks into a bar, looking for all intensive purposes like a wolf in cheap clothing, muttering epitaphs and casting dispersions on his magnificent other, who takes him for granite.
Hyperbole totally rips into this insane bar and absolutely destroys everything.
A question mark walks into a bar?
A non sequitur walks into a bar. In a strong wind, even turkeys can fly.
Papyrus and Comic Sans walk into a war. The bartender says, “Get out — we don’t serve your type.”
A mixed metaphor walks into a bar, seeing the handwriting on the wall but hoping to nip it in the bud.
A comma splice walks into a bar, it has a drink and then leaves.
Three intransitive verbs walk into a bar. They sit. They converse. They depart.
A synonym strolls into a tavern.
At the end of the day, a cliché walks into a bar — fresh as a daisy, cute as a button, and sharp as a tack.
A run-on sentence walks into a bar it starts flirting. With a cute little sentence fragment.
Falling slowly, softly falling, the chiasmus collapses to the bar floor.
A figure of speech literally walks into a bar and ends up getting figuratively hammered.
An allusion walks into a bar, despite the fact that alcohol is its Achilles’ heel.
The subjunctive would have walked into a bar, had it only known.
A misplaced modifier walks into a bar owned by a man with a glass eye named Ralph.
The past, present, and future walked into a bar. It was tense.
A dyslexic walks into a bra.
A verb walks into a bar, sees a beautiful noun, and suggests they conjugate. The noun declines.
An Oxford comma walks into a bar, where it spends the evening watching the television getting drunk and smoking cigars.
A simile walks into a bar, as parched as a desert.
A gerund and an infinitive walk into a bar, drinking to forget.
A hyphenated word and a non-hyphenated word walk into a bar and the bartender nearly chokes on the irony.
Throwback Thursday From March Of 2015 – “Congratulations, You’re Still Alive!”
I WENT TO SEE MY DOCTOR this morning. I see him about every three months. He likes to keep tabs on me because of my high blood pressure and the veritable buffet of meds that I take.
The last time I saw him my BP was 120/60 – which is pretty darn near perfect for a human being. This morning it was 110/60 – a tad low. Compared to what it was a few years ago when I first went to see him, he is happy. Back then it was something like 180/170 – not bad if you are a cheetah chasing down a springbok, after having had a half dozen espressos and a pound of licorice.
Throwback Thursday From Feb. 2015 – “Stop The Freakin’ Presses!!”
“THE AMAZINGLY INTACT REMAINS of a meditating monk have been discovered in the Songinokhairkhan province of Mongolia, according to a report in Mongolia’s Morning News.”
I can’t speak for anyone else, but when I want news from Songinokhairkhan province, I turn to the Mongolia’s Morning News.
Throwback Thursday From Feb. 2015 – “But Wait! There’s More!”
IS IT ALMOST CHRISTMAS AGAIN?”
It must be because our mailbox is crammed with catalogs every day. Catalogs from places we’ve never heard of are arriving at a dizzying pace and almost all of them go straight into the recycle bin.
Throwback Thursday From Feb. 2015 – “And The Award Goes To…”
I WAS JUST RANDOMLY TIPTOEING through the Internet the other day when I came across a news item that made me stop.
“Police say a 55-year-old southwestern Michigan woman who died after accidentally shooting herself in the head in January was adjusting a handgun in her bra holster at the time.”
I’m familiar with the practice of carrying a concealed weapon, but I would think that you would want the gun to be easily accessible. But, then again, I wasn’t there to see just how accessible things were with her. I’m glad I wasn’t there. I would have called the 911 emergency line, but I think I might have had trouble explaining what happened.
I’VE BEEN WORKING on a sequel of a novel I wrote a couple years ago and I’m trying to gather some technical information about cell phones to use as a plot device. You’d think I was asking for info on how to construct my own H-bomb.
“Employee of the Month – Heather.”
Nothing really unusual about that except that Heather has been the Employee of the Month for two months in a row there. She must be something special. Perhaps she can make tacos faster than anyone else. I don’t know, and to be honest – I don’t really care. Anyway I offer my Congratulations to Heather. I just hope that her obviously superior skills don’t have a negative impact on the other employees. People can be so petty sometimes.
“Oh, it has sound. What fun!”
Last night, at an ungodly hour, I grabbed the remote and tuned into my 173rd viewing of “The Producers,” a gem of a movie from 1967 with Gene Wilder in his first major role and the completely insane Zero Mostel.
If you have never seen this movie, Shame on you! Go to your room!
We have all known people who have retired only to take up permanent residence in a recliner in front of the TV. That is what they do – and they are dead within a year. These are also the same people who, if you asked them to tell you about themselves, would start off by talking about what they did for a living. I’ve never understood people like that.
I got there at a little after 9 AM, went through the usual litany of give and take with the nurse – “No, I haven’t spontaneously burst into flames since my last visit.” – and then I waited for my doctor to make his entrance.
Little did I know…
Throwback Thursday from 1/21/15
I’VE BEEN CREATING STORIES since I was a kid. I remember writing a Cowboys and Indians epic and showing it to my teacher, Sister Mary Something-or-Other. She was not impressed.
When I got to high school I signed up for all of the creative writing and journalism classes I could. My teachers told me that I could really spin a yarn, but…
I TURN ON THE TV AND THERE IT IS. I open my Facebook and there it is again. I’m almost afraid to open the garage door lest it is hiding there waiting to spring. Everywhere it is: “Who will be the new James Bond?”
If my sources are reliable, as they most always are – Daniel Craig has that job already. There is a new “Bond Movie” opening momentarily with Craig and he is contracted to do at least one more. That sounds like job security to me.
According to the latest publicity-driven hype that I’ve seen the speculation whirlpool is centered around these four actors to replace Daniel Craig.
Idris Elba, Damian Lewis, Michael Fassbender, and Tom Hiddleston
I am familiar with Idris Elba from the Brit Cop and Robber series, “Luther.” He’d be good as Bond. The other three dudes – No. For one big reason – they all look like a bunch of wimps who would need Idris Elba to help them keep their lunch money from being stolen at school.
I want a Bond who has a “lived-in” face, not someone who looks like he’s shooting the film between modeling assignments for the Sears Catalog. I don’t want a Bond who is constantly worrying if the camera is getting his best side.
Daniel Craig has a face that looks like it has been around the block a few times and it was in a rough neighborhood.
Sean Connery had that face and, like it or not, every actor since then has been held up in comparison to him. Few have come off well in that contest.
I know that this is just my opinion – but I’m right. Daniel Craig is the best Bond since Connery in my opinion – and again, I’m right.
Some people want a suave and sophisticated Bond who looks good in a tuxedo. After that, they don’t care. In that case I suggest they take that fantasy to the nearest tuxedo rental store and leer at the mannequins.
I’m not suggesting that Idris Elba is the only possibility out there to assume the role of 007 when the time comes. I’m sure that there are a hundred decent actors walking around who could do the job superbly without looking like a refugee from the advertising inserts in the Sunday newspaper. But of the four being touted by the Image Machine all over the place today, I would vote for Elba. He is a good looking guy, but when he looks at you, you know that you’ve been looked at. The other three look at you wondering if you’re an agent with a modeling gig for them.
Of course, it comes to mind that there is one man they are overlooking. One man who could do the job of making Bond come alive like no one since Sean Connery. One man whose presence would leap off the screen and slap you in the face if you looked away. One man who has thrilled audiences, chilled audiences, willed audiences to cry, willed them to laugh and willed them to tip their waitresses. One man who could take his Walther PPK and dispatch the bad guys without spilling his cocktail.
(Cue the Music.)
“Make mine Metamucil – shaken, not stirred. The name is Bond. James Bond.”
It could happen.
AS I GET UP THIS MORNING and turn on the TV all I see is hurricanes and candidates. There’s not much difference when you get down to it – a lot of hot air passing through, and people getting soaked. The hurricane blows down homes and the candidates blow down people’s dreams with nonsensical promises for things they can never deliver.