Once again, I give the masochistic... no that's supposed to be faithful, viewers of my blog a break. More pictures; fewer words.
And as these pictures were sent to me on Facebook and other sources - less Headley content in general.
For some reason, several things I get from "friends" follow a certain theme.
Others have a vocational tilt.
Given those choices, I'll take the pirate job, which for some reason leads us to grammar.
And puns
Did
you hear about the Buddhist monk who refused Novocain during a root
canal? He wanted to transcend dental medication.
And for a reason I can't fathom, this -
And finally these stupidities
For today's video - here's Ellen from 28 years ago.
Four years ago, Go Figure
Reads asked me to put together two chapbooks, one of
stories, and one of old columns. Being a diligent fella, I handed
them in a couple months later, thinking they’ll want to publish
these shortly after Trouble
in Taos finally gets released.
Then two years later they told me to start this blog. After a few
months of the blog, the chapbook with old columns got thrown out.
Then they went to work on the remaining chapbook, gutting most of my
work, adding stuff, and dividing it in two.
Well, at least I was going to get some money out it…
Nope. (%^$*@@&!Z*QQQ##*) They’re free.
Postage isn’t, but they’re free.
If you want your own copy of The
Money Mountain (and other stories) along
with Mortified (and
other stories) send me a stamped self-addressed envelope
large enough to enclose two 9x6 (actually 81/2”x 51/2” but by
saying 9x6, I will hopefully avoid those who send a tiny envelope
suitable for Tinkerbelle’s hankie and expect two honking chapbooks
to be stuffed inside by magical fairy dust.) The postage on your
SASE should be 182 cents (AKA a dollar – eighty-two,) in whatever
postal denominational configurations you choose to employ.
Send your request to:
Headley Hauser
c/o Will Wright
5765-7 Hickory Knoll Dr.
Winston-Salem, NC 27106
Helpful tip: If you put two dollars and twenty-eight cents on the
outer envelope, the post office will cancel all the postage – not
just the forty-six cents to get your letter to me. They’re just
that way. You won’t get any chapbooks from me – though I
might mock you in a later post. I’m just that way.
So… you aren’t asking, so I’ll ask to cover your embarrassing
silence, when do the e-books come out so we can save our one hundred
and eight-two pennies, our honking big envelope, and the pain of
addressing and licking stuff.
Well – based on track record, I’d advise you to check back in
about four years.
MORTIFIED
(and
other stories)
In
This Book
The
Only Roach: One
roach has enough sense to avoid the exterminator’s trap. Now can
he learn to live in a house of humans?
Toto
in Munchinland: You
know the story. Now see it through the eyes (and nose) of Dorothy’s
little dog.
Mortified:
Stan
Plotz tried to play it safe. He died anyway. This is going to
require some adjustment on his part.
The
Money Mountain
(and
other stories)
In
This Book
The
Money Mountain: Commerce
could get confusing in the land of Monet, but how much “help” was
too much?
Doeg’s
Story:
A songbird meets another bird in a lovely garden. There’s
something about the other bird’s golden tether that seems
disturbing.
The
Crow and the Weeping Man: The
kingdoms of Plenty and Bountiful fight for the Bay of Piscane. The
Crow can bring victory – but what of the weeping man?
Here's a little help when you're counting up those old 5 cent postage stamps.
In the life of any blog, there are going to be days you just don’t
feel like it.
Blogging, that is.
I don’t feel like blogging today.
I could be telling you about the poodle that raised me which is the
reason I still feel the urge to urinate when I see a fire hydrant.
But I don’t feel like it.
I could tell you how a cabal of scientists has conspired to infect
disinfectant wipes with a virus that causes OCD.
Nope – don’t feel like it.
Then there’s the representative from Oregon that joined a monastery
and took a vow of silence. He’s become so popular that his fellow
congress-people have nominated him for speaker.
You won’t hear about it from me – I don’t feel like it.
Why do shelf and cheap furniture makers find it easier to glue
millions of specks of sawdust into board shape than to just use…
boards?
I won’t tell you – don’t feel like it.
Then there’s the mighty condor that flies everywhere and eats
anything. Why is it endangered, but bugs that insist on flying into
your mouth when you’re breathing hard remain too numerous to count?
Don’t ask me. I might know – just don’t ask. I don’t feel
like talking about it.
So, celebrities that don’t want to talk to admirers are ‘blowing
them off.’ The admirers they blow off are called fans. Fans are
things we use to… blow things off. Do you think that’s strange?
If so, please don’t bring it up.
As I might have mentioned - I don’t want to blog today. I don’t
want to talk about sticky spots on the floor, the glories of
finishing second on reality TV shows, or why the Department of
Education needs a SWAT team.
I don’t know why I laugh – drones are killing people around the
world, but we’re assured they won’t be killing us Americans
(unless we really bug the politician in power at the time.) Drones
are also spying on us – not only the NSA, but Google, which is fast
becoming the corporate version of Big Brother.
The internet porn industry loves drones. There’s no such thing as
discrete sun-bathing anymore – Just ask Kate.
But still, I laugh when I think of drones – little flying mopeds
giving off an occasional beep for no apparent reason, carrying
cameras, packages from Amazon, Italian food.
If I had a drone, it would look like Marvin the Martian. It would
threaten random people with its space modulator. It probably
wouldn't last long - shot down by one of those Duck Dynasty guys.
People just can’t take a joke any more.
I had breakfast with some fellow starving artists this week, and we
discussed drones.
“I heard one crashed into this gorgeous lake in Yellowstone,”
said the nature photographer.
“Maybe it’ll start a coral reef,” I offered helpfully.
“I don’t believe Amazon’s using them to deliver packages –
just a publicity stunt,” said the only one among us with any
promotional savvy.
The playwright and the poet were strangely quiet, but I think both
were taking notes, as was I – the humble blogger, easily identified
as a blogger because I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu.
“I envision a world full of flying shrapnel,” I told them,
“gleefully careening just above our heads. A book from Amazon and
a pizza from Luigi’s crash in mid-flight showering pepperoni and
poetry on a geriatric hippie. The hippie sifts through the carnage
for food, thought, and spare parts for his Vespa.”
That’s when they moved to another table marked, “blogger-free
zone.” It’s pretty bad when even starving artists won’t
associate with you. It was almost as bad as the time I was sniffed
and snubbed by a yellow Labrador retriever, who then proceeded to
roll around in deer poop.
“I’m also a novelist!” I cried to my ex-table mates. Sound,
apparently didn't carry the seven feet to their table. The
novelist bit didn't impress the Labrador either.
If only I could grow little mechanical wings, maybe I could hang out
with Marvin and the other drones.
No, they probably shun bloggers too.
So here's the star of today's blog - my favorite hostile ET.
So it’s late on a Wednesday night and I’ve got a blog post due in
8 hours. I could use something one of my helpful colleagues at Go
Figure Reads offered, or I could try to come up with something new.
But so far – all I can think of is stuff that won’t work. Stuff
like…
Traffic Safety
I’ve never seen anything intentionally funny on traffic safety.
When I was in school (and especially in Driver’s Ed,) I saw plenty
of film strips that were hilarious about traffic safety, but none of
them were intended to be. Our Driver’s Ed teacher, Mr. Dripple was
perhaps one of the most amusing people I’ve ever met. His class
was like a Steven Wright monolog, and he made the best noises when I
drove the training vehicle.
But none of it was intentional. Traffic safety is just not a funny
subject.
Congress
I know that late night comedians have a wonderful time with congress
and politics in general, but all I can think of is the small army of
immaculately dressed porters on the Titanic, elegantly keeping the
lounge chairs in place as the ship sinks.
Kim Kardasian and Kanye West
While I’m certain that funny stuff about this couple is abundant, I
am unable to share it. I’m certain because every time I’m in the
checkout line, I see their photos staring at me from just above the
Skittles. The reason I can’t share it is for better or worse, I
installed a personal news filter on this engaging couple that’s
been so effective that I can’t even tell you why they’re famous.
There has to be a reason – right?
Muslim Extremism
Actually – there is tons of hilarious material on this subject. I
had a hundred and twenty thousand word novel written entitled, To
Allah, With Love. It was far funnier than Trouble in Taoslink and Volition Man link combined. I sent it off to my friend Salman
Rushdie who agreed it was first rate comedy, but then he listed the
body parts I would lose for publishing it.
Perhaps not.
Gourmet Cooking
You really should know something about a subject before you write
about it.
Baby Prince George
I’m of the opinion that if all members of the royal family remained
barely ambulatory and pre-verbal, that Britain’s movement to dump
the royals would die in a great cascade of cuteness.
But just like his grandfather, the royal baby is not really funny.
Sex?
Yeah… See Gourmet Cooking.
Blogging
So here I am on an even later Wednesday night, just finishing a post
on the least appropriate subject of all – writing a blog post. As
someone I didn’t bother to Google once said, “It’s like
sausage; focus on the product, not how it’s made.”
Here’s a bit from Steven Wright. What a Driver’s Ed instructor
he would have made!
It’s been a rough week at Amalgamated Monster (see last post,) and
I've had little energy left over for post writing. I thought you
might all enjoy a small preview of my third Genre novella, Dirk
Destroyer’s Less Destructive Brother.
If you don’t enjoy it – well, it’s all you’re getting, so... sorry.
I should probably give you some background on the story here, but
that would take more than one post – so again... sorry.
On her bed of soft earth, Ono’s eyes opened and met
mine. “Why did you do that?” her eyes said figuratively, because
of course, her eyes didn’t say anything literally.
Only a rare breed of chipmunk have eyes that can
literally speak words, and they rarely say anything other than
either, “please keep your cat indoors,” or “have any nuts?”
I saw one at a traveling circus once. His cage was so full of nuts
that the little guy could barely move around. I waited around for a
couple of hours to hear his eyes say real words, and all the time I
was there people kept coming by, saying things like – “hey, it’s
an eyeball-talking chipmunk! Throw him some nuts.” Frequently,
they did just that, more completely filling the poor creature’s
already smallish living quarters.
Gamely, the little fella would munch on a few nuts,
though he was already paunchy for his breed. When people saw him
eating, they might say something like – “I heard about those
eyeball-talking chipmunks. Look at him – he sure likes nuts.
Throw him some, will you Hortense?” And frequently Hortense would
respond by throwing yet more nuts into the hopelessly over-filled
cage.
After spending the afternoon watching, though not
throwing any nuts, I leaned against the poor fella’s cage and
offered him a sip of my ice tea which he gratefully accepted.
“So,” I said finally, figuring the ice tea had
broken the… “So,” I said finally, “do you have anything you
would like to say?”
Lips formed grotesquely below the pupils, probably
because there are not many non-grotesque ways that lips can form on
eyeballs. “Please keep your nuts to yourself,” he said softly,
before putting up an “on break” sign and burrowing into his
massive nut pile.
I spent a century or five meditating on the words,
“please keep your nuts to yourself.” I mentioned the words to
Dirk, who was not impressed; though I’ve never found Dirk willing
to give intelligent rodents all the credit they’re due.
I later learned that the species developed a nut
allergy and were now extinct. I decided I wasn’t much for
meditation, and had not thought about the eyeball-talking chipmunks
until that moment when I faced Ono’s literally silent, but
figuratively accusing eyes.
As I anticipated, my encounter with the extinct
rodent was no help to me at all.
Here's a disgustingly cute video. How is it related? It has animals... sorry.
