Mr. Buff and his oversized hound dog were at it again.
Heading home in the Haybinemobile after a long day spent over the stover, our hero’s nostrils twitched.
“Smell that, E-biscuit?” Buff inquired of his white and black companion.
“A Rog Rarm?” the great dane asked.
“Beside the hog farm.”
“Ranother Rog Rarm?”
Mister Buff sighed. He knew that there was a mystery in the air, and if he could smell it, any one could.
The Haybinemobile whirred into the Iowa night. All of a sudden, there came a great clattering, and the van lost all its torque. This was a bad sign. To make matters worse, heat lightning crackled across the sky, illuminating a spooky house on top of a spooky corn-covered hill.
“Ruh-roh, Robbie” E-biscuit said, “Rhris rosen’t rook rood.”
Cursing Hanna-Barbara for their dog-imposed speech impediment, the amazing Mr. Buff and his canine companion wandered up the gravel path to the eerily lit farmhouse. A whirring, not unlike a Lego helicopter buzzed from inside. As it did so, green light glowed out from its lacey curtains.
Being a Shaggy and Scooby clone, They didn’t think too highly of creepy green lights coming out of abandoned buildings. However, also being a Shaggy and Scooby clone, when they saw the two pies cooling on the window sill they knew they had to knock. It takes two pies to find torque, you see. With those pies, not only could they fix the Haybinemobile, they could also have dinner (with room for enchilada casserole). Yes, my friends. This was the most important pastry-related plot device since Back to the Future 3.
An old guy answered the door holding a pitcher of glowing green gunk.
“Don’t drink this,” he warned. You guessed it. The Blendtec dude. Music and lights similar to The Price Is Right started spinning around the countryside as we cut to commercial.
We returned from break to find Buff and E-biscuit hard at work trying to convince the other to take a drink of a nice frothy glass of cokechicken.
The Blendtec guy sighed. “I would have thought the two of you would have jumped at the chance to try real bird in a blender,” he said.
Our heroes stopped their bickering and immediately struck a pose while saying everyone’s favorite catch phrase – GO CYCLONES! And the cokechicken disappeared from sight.
Immediately, the Blendtec guy grabbed the mug and blended it before our hero’s amazed eyes.
“Glass Smoke,” he said. “Don’t breath this.”
“Amazing,” said Mr. Buff. “Is there anything you can’t blend?”
“Well, there is one thing.”The Blendtec guy dropped a crowbar onto the table. “The evil ghost who haunts this house won’t let me blend crowbars.”
“A roast!” cried Emmet hopefully, “A rowbar rocking roast!” The black and white monster licked his chops. In the distance, someone opened up a can full of laughter.
“You’re in luck, Blendtec Guy,” Mr. Buff said with a puff in his chest. “The Amazing Mr. Buff moonlights in mysteries, we’ll take the case!”
In the distance, something squealed. Our heroes and special guest looked around worriedly as the lights went suddenly out!
“Robbie?” E-biscuit called into the darkness, “rare are rou?”
In the distance – but less distant than the squealing, (because good god, the writers have never heard of anything happening close by, eh?) a refrigerator opened. Alien special effects that might have taken up half the budget glowed from a pitcher in Mr. Buff’s hand.
“Don’t drink this,” he said, holding aloft his makeshift glow-stick lantern. “Hey, where’s the Blender dude?”
He was gone! Cut to commercial!
The scene rose again as the masterful Mr. Buff held a loft his green lantern made of pre-blended glowsticks.
“Where’d the Blendtec guy go?” He asked Emmet.
“Ron’t rask re,” replied the wonder-mutt.
“Oooga-booga,” said the ghost in the corner.
And a chase scene commenced. It was a standard one as chase scenes go… until something in Rob Snapped. Yes, Snapped, with a capital “S”. As the ghost chased our heroes past the neighborly hog farm, Mr. Buff grabbed a tin panel and turned to face the aggressor.
“Come on,” He snarled, “Come on, you BLEEEEP. You don’t scare me!” The monster of the week charged Rob and he jacked it in the face with the tin panel. The monster snarled and charged again. Our Haybine hero slammed the panel in to it again, shouting a sting of cuss words not printable on children’s TV.
E-biscuit didn’t know what to do, so he chased the pigs around the hog lot, like a good dog.
Sick of being buffeted, the ghost gave up.
“Don’t hit this,” he said, “Anymore, please!”
It was the Blendtec guy!
As the cops were handcuffing him, the Blentec guy explained how, to his great shame, Blendtec blenders can’t actually grind up crowbars, so he created a ghost persona to scare away anybody who asked.
“And I would have gotten away with it too,” he said, “If the Amazing Mr. Buff wasn’t a pig farmer’s kid.”
“Thanks a lot, kid,” said a random cop, who gave Mr. Buff two pies out of gratitude.
“Sweet!” said The Amazing Mr. Buff, who now could fix the torque on the Haybinemobile.
E-biscuit wandered up with a comically distended stomach.
“Why do I suddenly smell bacon?” Asked the cop holding the two pies. The Harlequin hound grinned at the camera as an artificial studio audience roared.
As the Blendtec guy is put into a police car, Mr. Buff and E-biscuit strike a pose as the episode ends with everybody’s favorite catch phrase – “GO CYCLONES!”
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Silt
Everywhere he went, Larry left sand behind him.
It didn’t matter that he had never been to a beach.
Nor did it matter he never saw the desert. All across the office, the sidewalk and particularly his apartment Larry-shaped sandprints appeared, like the dotted line that follows Billy around in the Family Circus.
Old Jeb sat on the stoop watching Larry walk by. I asked him what was going on. For a song on my harmonica, told me.
Larry was settling, and like silt at a bottom of a mill pond, the sand was drifting to the floor. I thanked Old Jeb and continued on my merry way – content on having solved the mystery.
It just so happened on that day, I wore my nice white woolen suit to work. This was foolishness on my part as I was not used to wool and itched my way from nine to five. When I finally could stand it no longer, I found that Larry and I had something in common.
Guess I should probably spend more time on the beach.
It didn’t matter that he had never been to a beach.
Nor did it matter he never saw the desert. All across the office, the sidewalk and particularly his apartment Larry-shaped sandprints appeared, like the dotted line that follows Billy around in the Family Circus.
Old Jeb sat on the stoop watching Larry walk by. I asked him what was going on. For a song on my harmonica, told me.
Larry was settling, and like silt at a bottom of a mill pond, the sand was drifting to the floor. I thanked Old Jeb and continued on my merry way – content on having solved the mystery.
It just so happened on that day, I wore my nice white woolen suit to work. This was foolishness on my part as I was not used to wool and itched my way from nine to five. When I finally could stand it no longer, I found that Larry and I had something in common.
Guess I should probably spend more time on the beach.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Weekend Adventures
A remarkable time:
On Friday night, I held a feast.
Chicken wings, onion strings and Venison sausage, aged to perfection. There was singing and dancing. There was baseball on the radio and checkers on the table. It was a time of peace and joy before the wonders ahead.
The adventure began on Saturday. While the squirrels chased one another up and down the Maple trees, we set off on bicycles for the Forested Hills, and the Cemetery within. There we played hide and seek with partners immobile. Bemapped and bemused, we wandered across the yard, feeling like pirates on a treasure hunt. I got to meet e.e. cummings and view Snow White in her glass coffin, but Eugene O’Neil remained hidden from sight. The long day meandered into darkness, lit by the words of Alan Moore’s children stories.
Sunday was devoted to the religious experience that only a circus can bring. A husband and wife, 15 years my senior, wrapped themselves in silk ten feet above the ground, and hanging by only their ankles, gently kissed. Jugglers stood across from each other on top of broken glass and calmly spun and caught machetes flickering in the sun. Pirates sang of the joys of freedom, pillaging and… pirate things. There were Gymnasts, brass bands, and hoopers. A contortionist creeped the audience out, and a remarkable man with a flute got the silent, wondering children to laugh and play for ten beautiful minutes.
When it was over, I sat with my loved one and ate Ice Cream until it was gone.
A remarkable time, Indeed.
On Friday night, I held a feast.
Chicken wings, onion strings and Venison sausage, aged to perfection. There was singing and dancing. There was baseball on the radio and checkers on the table. It was a time of peace and joy before the wonders ahead.
The adventure began on Saturday. While the squirrels chased one another up and down the Maple trees, we set off on bicycles for the Forested Hills, and the Cemetery within. There we played hide and seek with partners immobile. Bemapped and bemused, we wandered across the yard, feeling like pirates on a treasure hunt. I got to meet e.e. cummings and view Snow White in her glass coffin, but Eugene O’Neil remained hidden from sight. The long day meandered into darkness, lit by the words of Alan Moore’s children stories.
Sunday was devoted to the religious experience that only a circus can bring. A husband and wife, 15 years my senior, wrapped themselves in silk ten feet above the ground, and hanging by only their ankles, gently kissed. Jugglers stood across from each other on top of broken glass and calmly spun and caught machetes flickering in the sun. Pirates sang of the joys of freedom, pillaging and… pirate things. There were Gymnasts, brass bands, and hoopers. A contortionist creeped the audience out, and a remarkable man with a flute got the silent, wondering children to laugh and play for ten beautiful minutes.
When it was over, I sat with my loved one and ate Ice Cream until it was gone.
A remarkable time, Indeed.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
*p00f!*
I live at the bottom of the orange line. At times, this is not the safest neighborhood to be in. At times, I’m stretching my legs across Boston in the middle of the night where only those who are up to no good and feelin’ good are out and about. In my travels, I’ve never been molested, requested, divested or arrested –
Now, you might be sayin’ to yourself, “Self, what’s he doing out at the middle of the night?”
Easy. I’m not getting into trouble. How’s that? Why I have an invisibility cloak!
It’s a formerly iridescent brown winter coat, with a big white button pinned on it. Throw that thing on top of me, and regardless how fancy everything else I might be wearing, I suddenly look like a homeless person. It’s QuaMoflague!
Unfortunately, this invisibility seems to have invaded other aspects of my life.
And now, it’s time to disappear.
Now, you might be sayin’ to yourself, “Self, what’s he doing out at the middle of the night?”
Easy. I’m not getting into trouble. How’s that? Why I have an invisibility cloak!
It’s a formerly iridescent brown winter coat, with a big white button pinned on it. Throw that thing on top of me, and regardless how fancy everything else I might be wearing, I suddenly look like a homeless person. It’s QuaMoflague!
Unfortunately, this invisibility seems to have invaded other aspects of my life.
And now, it’s time to disappear.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
A rant.
Last night, I went to the Theatre, and realized how much I hate it.
It was so safe, this theatre. Big, comfortable chairs. A warm, rich hall. A proscenium. Funding that totaled millions a year in tax-free contributions. The patrons, grey-haired and professional alike, seemed to know one another and the actors. It was community theatre for the six-figure set.
In a lot of ways, it helped confirm my theatrical beliefs. In others, it turned my stomach. Perhaps I was Tired, Hungry and Cranky, perhaps I was just jealous, but my teeth continued to grind until the curtain went up.
I go to the theatre to be entertained, and I was. The play was well written, designed and acted.
I go to the theatre to be inspired, and I was. The physicality of the actors made me want.
However, for all the opulence, I wasn’t filled with wonder.
For the rest of the night and this morning, I’ve wondered why that is.
Perhaps Brecht has the answers. Perhaps Banksy holds the keys. Perhaps this isn’t my passion, after all.
If it ain’t, methinks I’m in a world of trouble.
It was so safe, this theatre. Big, comfortable chairs. A warm, rich hall. A proscenium. Funding that totaled millions a year in tax-free contributions. The patrons, grey-haired and professional alike, seemed to know one another and the actors. It was community theatre for the six-figure set.
In a lot of ways, it helped confirm my theatrical beliefs. In others, it turned my stomach. Perhaps I was Tired, Hungry and Cranky, perhaps I was just jealous, but my teeth continued to grind until the curtain went up.
I go to the theatre to be entertained, and I was. The play was well written, designed and acted.
I go to the theatre to be inspired, and I was. The physicality of the actors made me want.
However, for all the opulence, I wasn’t filled with wonder.
For the rest of the night and this morning, I’ve wondered why that is.
Perhaps Brecht has the answers. Perhaps Banksy holds the keys. Perhaps this isn’t my passion, after all.
If it ain’t, methinks I’m in a world of trouble.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Qouth Movement
I’ve decided I’ve had enough of growing up.
Don’t get be wrong, there’s something to be said about blossoming into a full grown person; but at the same time I feel like I’ve gone to seed.
I think it’s time to start growing down.
You know, re-examine my roots, see if there’s room to grow underground, like Willy Wonka’s factory.
Learn to play and to take myself less seriously.
I don’t want to abandon my responsibilities, just the stupid ones.
I can’t tell if this is a partial-life crisis or a good idea.
Don’t get be wrong, there’s something to be said about blossoming into a full grown person; but at the same time I feel like I’ve gone to seed.
I think it’s time to start growing down.
You know, re-examine my roots, see if there’s room to grow underground, like Willy Wonka’s factory.
Learn to play and to take myself less seriously.
I don’t want to abandon my responsibilities, just the stupid ones.
I can’t tell if this is a partial-life crisis or a good idea.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Want to read a joke?
A rat walks into a bar.
The bartender says "Hey, didn't I vote for you?"
I never said it was a good joke.
The bartender says "Hey, didn't I vote for you?"
I never said it was a good joke.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Workin' it
the Old electric inkwell is sparking like there was no yesterday.
"Get on with it," it crackles at me, "Don't you know it's time for an upgrade?"
It has a point. I should really switch to digital.
not that blogging is obsolete, but it's not 2004 anymore. Blogspot of the Aughts was the geocities of the nineties.
in no way shape or form does this mean I'm abandoning this post/stump/soapbox/sweater. I happen to like ye olde schoole. If i had the talents of my brother, I'd totally be into steam punk.
thank goodness i don't have the talents of my brother!
Ok, it's time to get crackin' sleeper street doesn't sleep, ya know.
waffles!
"Get on with it," it crackles at me, "Don't you know it's time for an upgrade?"
It has a point. I should really switch to digital.
not that blogging is obsolete, but it's not 2004 anymore. Blogspot of the Aughts was the geocities of the nineties.
in no way shape or form does this mean I'm abandoning this post/stump/soapbox/sweater. I happen to like ye olde schoole. If i had the talents of my brother, I'd totally be into steam punk.
thank goodness i don't have the talents of my brother!
Ok, it's time to get crackin' sleeper street doesn't sleep, ya know.
waffles!
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Season 24, Episode 1
Mr. Buff and E-Biscuit were in a bit of a jam.
“Oh Lord,” Mr. Buff said, “Rhubarb and Strawberry. Our secret weakness, Emmet.”
The Great Dane nodded its Harlequin head, lolled its tongue out of its mouth and said “Rell, Ret’s Reat!”
And so they did. Since it’s going to take a while for them to finish, here’s a bit of back-story:
Yes sirrie Bob, Bob and Bobby, these two were a couple of crime fighting Adults-disguised-as-teenagers that made Shaggy and Scooby look like Charles and Snoopy. (I don’t actually know what that means)
In this particular adventure, the Amazing Mr. Buff – Haybine Mechanic Extraordinaire, and his trusty sidekick E Biscuit went off to investigate the mysterious goings on in the big mansion outside of Pella.
They expected the plot would resolve itself as they usually did – the Monster of the Week would be revealed as Old Man Stover in a rubber mask, who would end up going to jail because he was lame.
Sadly, the findings of this case were a bit different. The villain turned out to be The Sis (not in any way, shape or form like a Svaag, a Jatsis or a Pharmasister – just so you know) and unlike most times where Buff and E-Biscuit would walk in, confound the monster by pretending to be something wildly fanciful (like Elvis and a hound dog, a lion and Toto, and a two-person donkey) and eventually victory was theirs; our heroes were put in a defensive position by The Sis, and frankly, it sucked.
Nearly beaten at the commercial-break cliffhanger, the show came back as we found them, up to their necks in their secret weakness, Rhubarb-strawberry jam.
Now, when I say weakness, I don’t mean that it weakens them, I mean that they can’t help but eat it on sight; a handy trait in this situation!
And, since this is a Scooby Doo rip-off, the amazing Mr. Buff and his goofy Great Dane finished eating, (complete with comically distended tummies) and continued advancing the plot - which included a chase scene involving office chairs, skid loaders, dragon boats and rolling on electrical cable spools. Eventually The Sis was defeated with an appropriate use of thermite, marshmallow fluff and mangos.
As The Sis is sent away, Mr. Buff and E-biscuit strike a pose as the episode ends with everybody’s favorite catch phrase – “GO CYCLONES!”
Tune in next week as The Amazing Mr. Buff takes the Haybinemobile across country to investigate the disappearance of Mortimer Q!
“Oh Lord,” Mr. Buff said, “Rhubarb and Strawberry. Our secret weakness, Emmet.”
The Great Dane nodded its Harlequin head, lolled its tongue out of its mouth and said “Rell, Ret’s Reat!”
And so they did. Since it’s going to take a while for them to finish, here’s a bit of back-story:
Yes sirrie Bob, Bob and Bobby, these two were a couple of crime fighting Adults-disguised-as-teenagers that made Shaggy and Scooby look like Charles and Snoopy. (I don’t actually know what that means)
In this particular adventure, the Amazing Mr. Buff – Haybine Mechanic Extraordinaire, and his trusty sidekick E Biscuit went off to investigate the mysterious goings on in the big mansion outside of Pella.
They expected the plot would resolve itself as they usually did – the Monster of the Week would be revealed as Old Man Stover in a rubber mask, who would end up going to jail because he was lame.
Sadly, the findings of this case were a bit different. The villain turned out to be The Sis (not in any way, shape or form like a Svaag, a Jatsis or a Pharmasister – just so you know) and unlike most times where Buff and E-Biscuit would walk in, confound the monster by pretending to be something wildly fanciful (like Elvis and a hound dog, a lion and Toto, and a two-person donkey) and eventually victory was theirs; our heroes were put in a defensive position by The Sis, and frankly, it sucked.
Nearly beaten at the commercial-break cliffhanger, the show came back as we found them, up to their necks in their secret weakness, Rhubarb-strawberry jam.
Now, when I say weakness, I don’t mean that it weakens them, I mean that they can’t help but eat it on sight; a handy trait in this situation!
And, since this is a Scooby Doo rip-off, the amazing Mr. Buff and his goofy Great Dane finished eating, (complete with comically distended tummies) and continued advancing the plot - which included a chase scene involving office chairs, skid loaders, dragon boats and rolling on electrical cable spools. Eventually The Sis was defeated with an appropriate use of thermite, marshmallow fluff and mangos.
As The Sis is sent away, Mr. Buff and E-biscuit strike a pose as the episode ends with everybody’s favorite catch phrase – “GO CYCLONES!”
Tune in next week as The Amazing Mr. Buff takes the Haybinemobile across country to investigate the disappearance of Mortimer Q!
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
I'm...
Often, I suspect I’ve got a secret agent, a Tyler Durden if you will, working with a completely different agenda than the one I’m conscious of.
Normal people might call this the “Subconscious”.
Jung would call this “The Shadow Self”.
I’m gonna call it (for the length of the blog) my hidden Batman.
Alter-Ego sound waaay too legit.
Anyway,
While I mentioned Tyler Durden earlier, it’s not a case of f’ed up insomnia; it’s more like I feel compelled to do things that are out of character for me. These actions happen right out of the corner of my mind’s eye, so it takes me a bit too see what it is I’m doing, and even longer to figure out why.
For example, a couple of months ago, I started lending out books. Lots of my books. I was like a one-way Library! I don’t know how well you know me, but that’s like Scrooge McDuck giving to charity at the beginning of an episode – BaM! Adam west, you are my hero.
I can’t help feeling like I’m hiding something from myself, like there’s a cave of wonders that will make everything suddenly make sense if I can only figure out that by setting the clock to 4:44 a secret passage will open up and my world will change forever. What will be down there, I wonder? A super computer and garage? Tons of treasure and a magic carpet? A folding table with a chess board on it and a note that says, “Checkmate, Bitch.”?
Whatever’s going on, I need to figure it out soon. I’m getting awfully tired of the old guy in the tux calling me “Master Dick.”
April Fool!
Normal people might call this the “Subconscious”.
Jung would call this “The Shadow Self”.
I’m gonna call it (for the length of the blog) my hidden Batman.
Alter-Ego sound waaay too legit.
Anyway,
While I mentioned Tyler Durden earlier, it’s not a case of f’ed up insomnia; it’s more like I feel compelled to do things that are out of character for me. These actions happen right out of the corner of my mind’s eye, so it takes me a bit too see what it is I’m doing, and even longer to figure out why.
For example, a couple of months ago, I started lending out books. Lots of my books. I was like a one-way Library! I don’t know how well you know me, but that’s like Scrooge McDuck giving to charity at the beginning of an episode – BaM! Adam west, you are my hero.
I can’t help feeling like I’m hiding something from myself, like there’s a cave of wonders that will make everything suddenly make sense if I can only figure out that by setting the clock to 4:44 a secret passage will open up and my world will change forever. What will be down there, I wonder? A super computer and garage? Tons of treasure and a magic carpet? A folding table with a chess board on it and a note that says, “Checkmate, Bitch.”?
Whatever’s going on, I need to figure it out soon. I’m getting awfully tired of the old guy in the tux calling me “Master Dick.”
April Fool!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
In like I'm Lyin'
Eddy looked out his window on the first day of spring.
It was snowing.
“Ah,” he said, “It’s gonna be one of those years.”
Nonplussed, he got suited up, went out side and made snow angels.
The neighbors later wondered about the eighty year old man laying in the yard, laughing like a child with its pants on fire.
Some of the grown ups called it Alzheimers.
Some of the grown ups worried that he might catch his death of cold.
All of the children wondered how such an old man could be so Intense.
Eddy just laid there in his snow suit (snug as a bug and dry as a fly for those readers who might be concerned) and smiled.
It was going to be one of those years.
It was snowing.
“Ah,” he said, “It’s gonna be one of those years.”
Nonplussed, he got suited up, went out side and made snow angels.
The neighbors later wondered about the eighty year old man laying in the yard, laughing like a child with its pants on fire.
Some of the grown ups called it Alzheimers.
Some of the grown ups worried that he might catch his death of cold.
All of the children wondered how such an old man could be so Intense.
Eddy just laid there in his snow suit (snug as a bug and dry as a fly for those readers who might be concerned) and smiled.
It was going to be one of those years.
Monday, March 30, 2009
The Groove
Wow, it’s March 30th all ready? Where did the time go?
A year ago, I made a promise to blog all the time. So much for that.
I was in a groove (spring), stumbled a bit (Summer), got distracted (Fall) and then totally lost it(Winter).
If I was a blues player, I’d sing:
I found my goove, sittin’ under a tree;
Yeah, I found my groove, sittin’ under a tree;
It was there all along, just waitin’ up for me.
Somehow, all the in’ makes me imagine Sarah Palin with a blue fedora and a Harmonica.
I think I just got the heebie jeebies. Ol’ Little Walter must be crying in his coffin at the thought.
And I might have just killed my groove. Oh well, there’s always tomorrow.
A year ago, I made a promise to blog all the time. So much for that.
I was in a groove (spring), stumbled a bit (Summer), got distracted (Fall) and then totally lost it(Winter).
If I was a blues player, I’d sing:
I found my goove, sittin’ under a tree;
Yeah, I found my groove, sittin’ under a tree;
It was there all along, just waitin’ up for me.
Somehow, all the in’ makes me imagine Sarah Palin with a blue fedora and a Harmonica.
I think I just got the heebie jeebies. Ol’ Little Walter must be crying in his coffin at the thought.
And I might have just killed my groove. Oh well, there’s always tomorrow.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Ques Flash!
Good Morning, World.
I woke up today trying to mash together the songs “The Time warp” and “old MacDonald Had a Farm.” This was ultimately less successful than a couple of weeks ago when I realized you could sing “Sweet Transvestite” to the tune of “Sympathy for the Devil” and vice versa.
No, I don’t know what my deal is with Rocky Horror.
In other news, Today marks the Day-na-versery (Dana-versary?) of moving out of the Hancock tower.
My friends, you can tell it’s an exciting news week here at Fox Ques.
United States possibly invading Mexico?
Flooding in North Dakota?
Change in the location of an international gathering because they wouldn’t let the Dali Llama in?*
Piffle.
Fox Ques cares about Things that Matter to You!
Please stay tuned as our internet correspondent JumpinJoe64 reports about spring training in Ft. Meyers, FL – live and lifted from ESPN.com
Take it away Jj64!
*Fox Ques can’t remember if it’s a rugby, soccer, cricket, or world peace gathering, and can’t be bothered to look it up anyway, because he’s a true modern internet journalist.
I woke up today trying to mash together the songs “The Time warp” and “old MacDonald Had a Farm.” This was ultimately less successful than a couple of weeks ago when I realized you could sing “Sweet Transvestite” to the tune of “Sympathy for the Devil” and vice versa.
No, I don’t know what my deal is with Rocky Horror.
In other news, Today marks the Day-na-versery (Dana-versary?) of moving out of the Hancock tower.
My friends, you can tell it’s an exciting news week here at Fox Ques.
United States possibly invading Mexico?
Flooding in North Dakota?
Change in the location of an international gathering because they wouldn’t let the Dali Llama in?*
Piffle.
Fox Ques cares about Things that Matter to You!
Please stay tuned as our internet correspondent JumpinJoe64 reports about spring training in Ft. Meyers, FL – live and lifted from ESPN.com
Take it away Jj64!
*Fox Ques can’t remember if it’s a rugby, soccer, cricket, or world peace gathering, and can’t be bothered to look it up anyway, because he’s a true modern internet journalist.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Soon to be Next Door to a Barking Crab
This week feels like a series finale on some David Kelly show.
My company, after five years at the tower standing like a blue flash drive above the city of Boston, is moving. The parent company, CRA who let us go at last season’s cliff hanger, it doing as poorly as ever, but morale remains high as the March Madness Pool goes slightly out of control.
Beloved characters from the first season have begun to filter back in to make their final appearances, Dwight on FB, Kathy at Open Doors; and some continue to put in golden performances like Suzanne, Brian the loading dock fellow, and the Spanish lunch lady.
In true and proper fashion, nothing has really changed or been resolved. The CEO continues to be the fellow who played the part of the town priest in Indee, Phil, the boss, answers to Phil, the boss; hijinks and mystery ensue among the underlings. I still can’t shake it from my head that everyone I work with has a secret life as an assassin, perhaps a vampire or maybe the crown prince of some far off land. So please join us for our next season where the antics and personalities of Helmes & Co take on the shenanigans of Sleeper Street!
My company, after five years at the tower standing like a blue flash drive above the city of Boston, is moving. The parent company, CRA who let us go at last season’s cliff hanger, it doing as poorly as ever, but morale remains high as the March Madness Pool goes slightly out of control.
Beloved characters from the first season have begun to filter back in to make their final appearances, Dwight on FB, Kathy at Open Doors; and some continue to put in golden performances like Suzanne, Brian the loading dock fellow, and the Spanish lunch lady.
In true and proper fashion, nothing has really changed or been resolved. The CEO continues to be the fellow who played the part of the town priest in Indee, Phil, the boss, answers to Phil, the boss; hijinks and mystery ensue among the underlings. I still can’t shake it from my head that everyone I work with has a secret life as an assassin, perhaps a vampire or maybe the crown prince of some far off land. So please join us for our next season where the antics and personalities of Helmes & Co take on the shenanigans of Sleeper Street!
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Moral of the story?
So,
Big MaMa Q just fixed me a nice, tangy glass of coco.
That’s right, tangy. It took me the whole cup to figure out what fruit I was tasting.
Apple; my hot chocolate tastes like a tangy apple. Unexpected but delightful.
However, now I’m jonesing some caramel
And if you give a Q a caramel…
Well, you know how it goes. People end up dying.
Whiskey’s probably involved somehow.
And a vacuum cleaner. It’s a bad thing all around.
Never give a Q a caramel.
“But Myque,” you might say, “Didn’t this all start because Big MaMa Q made you a glass of coco?
“Yeah, so?” I’d say.
“And didn’t Big MaMa Q make the coco all hippy-like with Rice Milk, local honey and Organic Cacao dust harvested off the sweaty brows of malnourished, poverty stricken workers?”
“What’s your point kid?” I’d ask with an uneasy sense that someone might be mocking me…
“Easy. It’s not a case of Never give a Q a caramel, it’s Buy American.”
“Kid,” I’d say. “I like your style. Wanna grab a whiskey?”
"Sure!”
Moral of the story:
Never give a Q a caramel.
Big MaMa Q just fixed me a nice, tangy glass of coco.
That’s right, tangy. It took me the whole cup to figure out what fruit I was tasting.
Apple; my hot chocolate tastes like a tangy apple. Unexpected but delightful.
However, now I’m jonesing some caramel
And if you give a Q a caramel…
Well, you know how it goes. People end up dying.
Whiskey’s probably involved somehow.
And a vacuum cleaner. It’s a bad thing all around.
Never give a Q a caramel.
“But Myque,” you might say, “Didn’t this all start because Big MaMa Q made you a glass of coco?
“Yeah, so?” I’d say.
“And didn’t Big MaMa Q make the coco all hippy-like with Rice Milk, local honey and Organic Cacao dust harvested off the sweaty brows of malnourished, poverty stricken workers?”
“What’s your point kid?” I’d ask with an uneasy sense that someone might be mocking me…
“Easy. It’s not a case of Never give a Q a caramel, it’s Buy American.”
“Kid,” I’d say. “I like your style. Wanna grab a whiskey?”
"Sure!”
Moral of the story:
Never give a Q a caramel.
Monday, March 23, 2009
I know, I know.
" Hello, This is your captain, Emilious Q. It looks like that patch of turbulence is over, and you are free to walk about the cabinet. "
“What a relief,” David Dishman said to his beloved.
“Je sais,” was all that she could say.
Really, she needn’t say anything else. Dishman knew how she could stir men’s passions; that’s what he loved about her. He’d watched from afar as she shattered other men’s hearts; and promised to himself that either he’d bend her to his will, or she’d leave him a broken man.
Because really, after doing nothing more than working in one kitchen after another for his entire life, David Dishman was sick of serving others.
“Je sais,” was all that she could say.
He met her in a café where they both worked. She wasn’t his, she partnered up with nearly everyone in the place. But when they’d lie together she was his and no one else’s. He loved her for it, and said so.
“Je sais,” was all that she could say.
With eyes as big as saucers, he saw that it didn’t matter how he felt. What mattered were the hands wrapped around her, using her, leaving her lying - dripping and sweaty and then gently wiping her clean. This was her nature, and if he could not accept it, then he was not worthy to be with her.
Finally, he could take it no more.
“I know you,” David Dishman told her as they washed up after work. “You’re getting bored.”
“Je sais,” was all she could say.
“You’re going to leave soon.”
“Je sais,” was all she could say.
“I’m coming with you.”
“Je sais,” was all she could say.
And so here they were, in Space and flying deeper. They were free to move about the cabinet, and he looked at her with his wide round face. He could see reflected in her his hope of being together, his realization that they might never be, and his fear of being just another crackpot who thought she could be his and his alone.
“Je sais,” was all she could say.
“Really?,” he asked.
“Non.”
“What a relief,” David Dishman said to his beloved.
“Je sais,” was all that she could say.
Really, she needn’t say anything else. Dishman knew how she could stir men’s passions; that’s what he loved about her. He’d watched from afar as she shattered other men’s hearts; and promised to himself that either he’d bend her to his will, or she’d leave him a broken man.
Because really, after doing nothing more than working in one kitchen after another for his entire life, David Dishman was sick of serving others.
“Je sais,” was all that she could say.
He met her in a café where they both worked. She wasn’t his, she partnered up with nearly everyone in the place. But when they’d lie together she was his and no one else’s. He loved her for it, and said so.
“Je sais,” was all that she could say.
With eyes as big as saucers, he saw that it didn’t matter how he felt. What mattered were the hands wrapped around her, using her, leaving her lying - dripping and sweaty and then gently wiping her clean. This was her nature, and if he could not accept it, then he was not worthy to be with her.
Finally, he could take it no more.
“I know you,” David Dishman told her as they washed up after work. “You’re getting bored.”
“Je sais,” was all she could say.
“You’re going to leave soon.”
“Je sais,” was all she could say.
“I’m coming with you.”
“Je sais,” was all she could say.
And so here they were, in Space and flying deeper. They were free to move about the cabinet, and he looked at her with his wide round face. He could see reflected in her his hope of being together, his realization that they might never be, and his fear of being just another crackpot who thought she could be his and his alone.
“Je sais,” was all she could say.
“Really?,” he asked.
“Non.”
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Mr. Buff, You have found me at last
Hello out there.
I do not know if this message will be found. I do not know if a sound will reach those ears that seek it, but Mr. Buff, the bloggies are back.
I see the Internet as one looking out into the night sky, and realize that this site is but an M class planet, third in a line on the fringe of the Blogspot nebula. I have no idea if anyone is listening; however, I fear alien nations all the same.
I feel that I must not shout, nor have a presence on all channels as I did before. Times have changed, and I too change into a different Q than I was before.
This morning I realized that when I use the computer, I interface with the world directly through hands scarred with episodes of careless stupidity. Does this make me unique? I would assume not; but the back of my right hand should remind me of assumptions....
So what's next, oh night of my life?
In the words of Robert Jordan, "Read, And Find Out."
I do not know if this message will be found. I do not know if a sound will reach those ears that seek it, but Mr. Buff, the bloggies are back.
I see the Internet as one looking out into the night sky, and realize that this site is but an M class planet, third in a line on the fringe of the Blogspot nebula. I have no idea if anyone is listening; however, I fear alien nations all the same.
I feel that I must not shout, nor have a presence on all channels as I did before. Times have changed, and I too change into a different Q than I was before.
This morning I realized that when I use the computer, I interface with the world directly through hands scarred with episodes of careless stupidity. Does this make me unique? I would assume not; but the back of my right hand should remind me of assumptions....
So what's next, oh night of my life?
In the words of Robert Jordan, "Read, And Find Out."
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