Saturday, July 27, 2013

The Commodore

  I was walking down the path in the park behind my apartment, minding my own business, when I felt a sting.  It was a Red Army Ant.  I slapped him dead and the little bastard was still there on my leg, biting me despite being all kinds of dead.  What cajones on this little creep. 

  I got mad as hell.  Not just at the one little jerk, at the whole species.  They should have taught that one more manners than to bite me for no reason.  Now, they all have to pay. Hoo hoo ha ha ha hoo hoo (scary laughter)

Commodore Agent 54
  I immediately commissioned myself the Commodore of the Arizona Ant Naval Academy (AANA).  Our one and only mission, to teach as many Ants to swim as possible.  This task would be hard but, sometimes, I’m a hard man.

  I would teach the Red Army Ants to swim the old Pennsylvania Dutch way.  The Pennsylvania Dutch will take their young men fishing.  A father and an uncle or two will row the boat out to the middle of the lake or pond where they throw the young man into the water and row back to shore.  The youth learns to swim most of the time.

Ant grabber
  The Red Army Ant’s nest are easy to find.  They eat everything around it and when you drop something on the hole, they attack with the tenacity of tiny wolverines.  I used my trash grabber stick ($19.97 at Home Depot) to put wet pinecones from the pond on those ant holes.  The water seeps in and within seconds every ant gets the message “we’re under attack!”.   They swarm the cone and when it’s completely covered with ants, I grab it with the stick and toss it into the canal or pond.  Some ants bail as the cone is airborne but, most stay until “Ker plunk!” into the drink.

  This is the point where the Red Army Ants are most severely tested and where they always fail.  Yes, they try.  They flail their legs and antennae and whatever else they have but, it is useless.  They don’t know what the heck they’re doing.  They can’t coordinate their movements to get themselves headed in any direction even if they could figure out what direction they wanted to go.  The ants can’t follow instructions in English at all.  They just don’t listen! 

  So the Red Army Ants float on downstream at the surface or slightly under it until the fish come.  The ants that have the most energy often become the first to be fish food.  Blue Gills, small Trout and tiny young Bass begin to feast.

  I shake my head and go get some more ants hoping one day one lousy ant will swim to shore and give me a wink. Hoo hoo ha ha ha hoo hoo (scary laughter). 

  For it is only then, when I can show the world that I, Commodore Agent 54 have taught a Red Army Ant to swim, making me a celebrity amongst men and landing me on the Curvy Couch of the Fox & Friends CAN Morning Show, only then will the Red Army Ants have redeemed themselves.  Then, I can retire as Commodore and finally go back to my normal life. Hoo hoo ha ha ha hoo hoo (scary laughter).  

Monday, July 22, 2013

The Porkypine Report

  A million years ago when my kids were still in high school I didn’t know squat about the internet.  Today my daughter Nicole reminded me that I once gave her an assignment to do a report totally from the internet on Porcupines to prove that the internet was really useful.

  Of course she blew me off and I never got the report.  However, since then I’ve gotten 5 or 6 different jobs and started a blog and joined Facebook and Twitter and have become a social media junkie, all using the Internet like a madman.  “Okay Nicole, the internet is useful”.

  So, now I have to do the report myself and post it to my Blog to prove that I am still useful and relevant to my daughter.  Fine!  Here it is:

 TORONTO, July 17 (Xinhua) -- The Toronto 2015 Pan American/Parapan Am Games' new mascot, a colorful and prickly porcupine designed by four young Chinese and Japanese students, was unveiled Wednesday in the Canadian city of Toronto.
Pachi the porcupine, who made his public debut in front of over a thousand children at the unveiling, was the final winner chosen out of a slew of mascots sent in by young designers across the country to represent the Pan Am Games, the world's third largest international multi-sport Games.

  I don’t know why but, people all over the world love Porcupines (pronounced Porkypines)  I like their funny name and strangely they make me hungry but, other than that I think they are just rats with spikes.

  Wikipedia says: Porcupines are rodents with a coat of sharp spines, or quills.  See, I told you so.  Porkypines eat salads and climb trees to find food.  (Don’t we all?).  

Here’s the most interesting fact about Porkypines that nobody knows.  This may change your perception of the lovable rodent so read with caution: Wikipedia: A male porcupine urinates on a female porcupine prior to mating, spraying the urine at high velocity.  Yeah, you asked for it.  Take that!  I can hear you all going eeewww gross!  Don’t you just want to hug one now.

  My favorite Porkypine factoid is, Wikipedia:  Porcupines have become a pest in Kenya and are eaten as a delicacy.  Yeah, I knew it!  Porkypine stew, uummm uumm good.  Wait, does that mean I have Kenyan blood in me?  Cool!

   I’m sure some of you knew this one, Wikipedia: A regional American name for the animal is quill pig.  Duh!  It has quills and smells like a pig.  Duh!

  So Nicole, there you are.  I just proved that if you want something done right you have to do it yourself.   Maybe if this blog takes off I can come to Boston and take you out for a Red Sox game and a Porkypine burger.  That would be nice.

WARNING: Imitating Porkypine mating rituals can be rude and hazardous to your social standing.

Baked Porcupine Meatballs - Southern Food - 
Looking for a porcupine meatball recipe?  These baked porcupines are meatballs in a simple tomato sauce is a great choice.

Sunday, July 21, 2013


(7/5/2013)  Agent 54 was at work thinking about comedy when I remembered that I came up with a funny modification to an existing slogan for something.  That's all I can remember about it right now.  I have so many comedy ideas buzzing around my shiny head that I don't know which one to write up first.

 Anyway, It suddenly came to me.  I’ll send one of the voices in my head to look for the slogan that I thought up on Wednesday.  At least it will keep the voice busy for a while and maybe it will come up with the data.  Then I remembered, I forgot to name that voice or give it a security code.  Now, how do I know if I’m receiving the correct data from the right voice or if one of the other voices is pranking me?

At least it’s not the voice that stutters.  That one is so annoying.  It’s like Ti,,Ti,,,Ti,,,     Hey! Write down already! (apologies to Dave Attell)

  (7/12/2013)  I’m starting to worry, as any parent would, about the voice that I sent looking for that lost comedy idea I had.  I’ve heard nothing so far.  Where could the voice be?  There are so many deep dark and depraved crevasses in my mind where a poor little whisper of a voice could be jumped by a thug of a thought.  Let’s hope for the best.

  (7/14/2013)  I found it!  Shivering, cold and naked, huddled in a crevasse on the far side of my Right Temporal Lobe.  I picked the voice up, wrapped it in a mental blanket and carried it to my consciousness.  The only thing it could barely say in a whisper was “coffee”.  I’m brewing a cup as I type. 

  (7/15/2013)  The voice has had nearly 24 hours to recover.  It’s time to start the debriefing.   “Covfefe” it says as always.  I reply “It’s brewing”.  Tell me, where did you go, I asked.  The voice in slow and low tones replied:  I cannot give you directions nor draw a map however, I can say it was long ago and far away and I don’t ever want to go there again.  After a few sips of coffee I asked:  You were supposed to retrieve something from 2 days in the past.  How did you get so far off track?  "Hey!  I screwed up!" it shouted angrily, “Maybe I should have toined left at Albuquerque”.  Stunned, I replied Albuquerque?  That was 2005 the last time I was in New Mexico.  "So sue me!" Shouted the clearly agitated voice as it stomped off.

  Did I make a mistake in sending a voice to do a man’s job?  Possibly.  Will the voice ever fully recover?  Only time will tell.  Should we continue to search the deepest darkest corners of our minds in the quest for comedy?  Undoubtedly, because it is only when we laugh and let go of our inner sorrows that we are truly happy and carefree.

                                         Too Many Emotions

Friday, July 19, 2013

That's a Terrible Lie

Agent 54 here again.  My boss, H. Cuffs said I could listen in on anyone so today I’m listening in on him and his golf buddy Barry.  This should be fun.  We pick them up on the 18th hole where we see H. Cuffs wearing his usual white shirt, black tie and black wingtips (no spikes).  He has his sleeves rolled up.

H. Cuffs:  Chief, that’s a terrible lie.

Barry:  As I told the press, I did not know that the IRS was targeting my political enemies during an election year even though the head of IRS visited the White-house 157 times that year.

H. Cuffs:  I meant your ball sir, it’s in pretty deep grass.

Barry:  Oh, is it?

Turning his back to H. Cuffs, Barry gives his ball a little side kick.

H. Cuffs:  Chief, your lie is getting better and better.

Barry:  H. Cuffs, what do you know about Ron Burgundy?

H. Cuffs:  We’ve heard he’s one classy dude and his hair is a work of art.

Barry:  H. Cuffs, what do you know about the Ron Burgundy campaign?

H. Cuffs:  Not a heck of a lot Chief.  We have an operative on it but, he hasn’t had much luck getting close to the campaign.  In fact, the last time he tried to get something he was run off the Santa Monica pier by an angry Jack Nicholson.

Barry:  I see.  Do you know who’s behind the campaign?

H. Cuffs:  It appears to be a Technician named Tim.  Apparently he works in a machine shop during the day and runs the campaign in his free time.

Barry:  Really?

H. Cuffs:  Chief, I don’t think the Burgundy campaign poses much of a threat to anyone.  I think that once the campaign pressure hits, they’ll fold like a tent, collapse like a lung, cave like a…..

Barry: (cutting H. Cuffs off)  Okay H. Cuffs, I get it.

Barry hits a pitching wedge shot to the green and ends up 12 feet from the hole.

H. Cuffs:  Nice shot Mr. President, 

H. Cuffs plays a Sand wedge shot from 40 yards and leaves it 10 feet from the hole.

Barry:  You dirty dog,  you had to get inside me.

H. Cuffs laughs: Ha!

Barry:  H. Cuffs can you keep an eye on Burgundy for me?

Max:  Yes we scan!

Barry:  Not funny.  Not funny H. Cuffs.

Max:  Sorry about that Chief.

Barry hits his putt missing by 8 inches to the left and rolling 6 feet past the hole.

Barry:  That’s a gimmie, right H. Cuffs?

H. Cuffs:  Anything you say Chief.

H. Cuffs putts his ball directly into the center of the hole.

H. Cuffs:  Good, Another Par.

The two men are walking towards the Presidential golf cart.

Barry:  H. Cuffs, how do you think this match went today?

H. Cuffs:  You lost by 14 strokes Chief. 
Barry:  That’s not how I see it.

H. Cuffs: Okay, I won by 4.

Barry:  Check again.

H. Cuffs:  Alright, we tied.

Barry:   Now that’s what I’m talking about when I say “Yes we can”.  See you next week.  Keep up the good work.

Thursday, July 18, 2013

Sharknado Review

Agent 54 here again.  Slow day at the NSA so I took some of my friends to see a movie.  Now, we’re chillaxin by the pool (or in it) tossin back a few cold ones and dis-dis-discussing the film.  Here’s our review of SHARKNADO!

Agent 54:  So, I thought that was a huge waste of money.  This stinker will probably be on cable in about 20 minutes.

Shamu:  You said it bro!  Freakin sharks is really slumming it now.  Can’t find no good roles nowhere.

Flipper:  Yeah, they’ve really gone down the drain, ha ha chuckle chuckle.

Rest of  the group moan in unison. 

Agent 54:  How about you Mr. Limpet, what did you think?

Shamu:  (to Mr. Limpet)  Yo, who is you anyway?

Mr. Limpet
Agent 54:  My friend Mr. Limpet was the star of the 1964 movie The Incredible Mr. Limpet.  

Mr. Limpet:  That’s right boys and girls.  My movie was one of the first to have live action mixed with animation.

Flipper:  1964! Man, that’s so old when that was made Moby Dick was a minnow.

Shamu:  Yeah, was dat a silent movie.

Mr. Limpet:  Oh, hush children.  I was the star of that movie and I played a war hero.  I had more lines than the two of you put together in all your work.  Ah, You don’t see roles like that anymore.  You know they’re trying to remake it but, I guess I’m a hard act to follow.

Agent 54:  Let’s get back to the Sharknado, huh?

Mr. Limpet:  Oh yeah, uh I thought that was a waste of film.  I give it one Starfish.

Charlie Tuna comes back into the pool area.
Charlie Tuna 

Flipper:  Yo Charlie, where you been?

Charlie Tuna:  Hey I got good taste, I don’t pee in the pool like some fish do.

Flipper:  Whoa, hoity toidy ooh ah.

Shamu:  You bess not be talkin trash about me cuz I’m getting hungry and I could go for a Tuna fish sandwich. Ha ha

Flipper:  Shamu, you’re always hungry.  I think you’d eat a shark if nothing else was around.

Shamu:  Damn straight!

Agent 54:  Charlie what did you think of the movie?  How many starfish?

Charlie Tuna:  What’s to say, it had no plot, no class and no taste. No starfish. I’d rather watch seaweed grow.

Agent 54:  Flip, Sham, any starfish for the flick?

Flipper:  No.

Shamu:  Hell no!

Agent 54:  Well I can’t give it a starfish either so the grand total is 1 starfish from the five of us and that’s only cuz Mr. Limpet is a nice guy.  I guess we would recommend doing your laundry or cutting the grass instead of seeing Sharknado.

Nemo sticks his head out of the door of the cabana.

Nemo:  Hey guys, I was just watching the Animal channel and they reported that they’re gonna make a sequel to Sharknado in New York City.

Flipper:  Get out of town!

Shamu:  Only in America baby.

Mr. Limpet:  Oh my.

Charlie Tuna:  This country has no taste.

Agent 54:  Guys this may mean jobs.  Maybe they’ll have roles for you all.

Shamu:  Where’s my cell phone?  Calling my agent right now.

Flipper:  Me too.

Monday, July 15, 2013

Dumbest Question Ever Asked

  Agent 54 here again.  I was on Jeopardy yesterday.  I was!  This shit I’m makin up is true. (Okay, I stole that line from a great African American comedian named George WallaceI did! This name I’m makin up is real). 

Alex Trebek:   And the answer is Who wants to be a Millionaire?

Like a flash of lightning I hit my button with all the confidence of Superman.

Alex Trebek:  Agent 54

Agent 54:  What is the dumbest question ever asked?  I replied fully expecting to have earned $400.00 in the category Dumb T.V. shows.  (not really, it’s just that all the shows in the questions were dumb shows)

Alex Trebek:  Sorry, No, (to another competitor) Prince, uh I mean the artist formerly known as Prince.

Alex Trebek
At that moment all time stood still.  Absolutely still.  I mean stopped dead.  I could only think “huh”, “what the” “no?” No No No that was the right answer, uh I mean question to the answer.  Oh don’t confuse me any more damn it! I had the correct response!

  Then it occurred to me that there could be a being that didn’t think that “Who wants to be a Millionaire? is the dumbest question ever.  This is a concept that still troubles me all those years hours later.  The debate in my head started.

  C’mon , even the lowliest Occupy whatever, moron protestor, if offered $1,000,000.00 in cash with no strings attached would take the money and run.  Right?  I mean I want to be a Millionaire just so I can always wear a brand new pair of underwear.  If I were a rich man I would have 300 pair of new underwear (Fruit of the Loom briefs, colors only, no whites) in stock at all times.  Take a shower-new pair.  Take a dump-new pair.  Sit in computer chair for hours writing dumbass comedy bits-new pair.  Surely there are more reasons to want to be a Millionaire than there are dollars in a Million dollars.

  Could there be a reason for NOT wanting to be a Millionaire? I asked myself. The answer came back HELL NO!!! 

  That raised a new question.  Did that Canadian Bacon shit Alex Trebek rip me off?  No, no that could not be.  Alex Trebek is one of the nicest people from one of the nicest countries in all the Universe.  He’s doubly nice and I should and I do repent for typing the word shit next to his revered name.

  Still, how the hell did I get that question answer question wrong?  It came to me in a flash.  I remembered when I got hit right between the eyes with a baseball at practice.  The first moron to look at my broken proboscis and two black eyes  asked me “Are you okay?”.  That’s it!

  So it is not that “Who wants to be a Millionaire? Isn’t a very, very, very dumb question.  It’s that there is an ever dumber question that is universally asked far more often in every type of calamity and at exactly the worst time to ask it.

  Are you okay? Is the dumbest question ever asked. For how many of us, excluding Alex Trebek, can say that we are truly okay in every sense of the word.  Ten, Fifteen of us, maybe.  That could be a stretch.

  Having solved the most troubling riddle of my life-time, I resumed my game of Jeopardy where I proceeded to lose $728,000.00 to Alex Trebek.  Care?  I do not.  Like I said, Alex is a nice guy and he’s letting me make payments.

Thursday, July 11, 2013

The Zero Acre Woods

  I have been inspired to tell a tale of another IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome) calamity and so is the tale of The Zero Acre Woods.  

  Every state in the Union probably has it’s South Mountain and Pennsylvania is no different.  Yes, it is true that I have pooped outdoors on the peaks of South Mountain in both Arizona and PA.  How many men can boast as much, I do not know.  However, this story is more unsettling, more startling and more bizarre for it is the tale of The Zero Acre Woods.

  I was heading down the back side of South Mountain toward Center Valley when with the speed of lightning IBS struck and I was forced to look for a place to poop.  I had planned a delightful round of golf on this early April day.  It  was unusually warm and sunny though many of the Pennsylvania trees and shrubs had no leaves yet.  I knew that at that time that Center Valley was mostly forest land and so I was confident that I could easily find a place for relative privacy to do what I had to do do.

 I pulled over on a flat area, slammed the truck in Park, grabbed my emergency roll and with the dexterity and quickness of Peter Rabbit disappeared into the woods.  By this time IBS was pushing poop with the force of The Incredible Hulk on steroids.  I found a small clearing, dropped my draws and let loose without the ability to stop even if I had the intention.

 I relaxed a little and looked up.  Imagine my surprise to find that I was a mere 10 foot through scant woods and brush from squatting on someone’s freshly mown front yard.   Yes, before my eyes were about 40 brand new homes that hadn’t been there last time I drove by.  Stately homes they were and many had the telltale signs of life like cars in driveways, dog houses and swing sets.  The one closest to my position had a large picture window with pretty, open curtains facing directly toward me.
 I could not see anyone in the window, nor did I observe a living soul anywhere and for that I thank The Lord.  However, I cannot help think that if someone did happen to look in my direction from a vantage point that I couldn’t see, they could not help but see me in my bright Yellow golf shirt and bright yellow golf hat squatting in what had become The Zero Acre Woods.

  Without further incident I finished my business, scurried back to the truck and off to the golf course where a shot a very nice round of 86.   On the way home as I passed The Zero Acre Woods I thought how lucky I was to have not encountered an angry homeowner with a bow and arrow.  The thought of myself pictured in the local paper, pants around my ankles, still squatting, clad in bright yellow with an arrow pinning me to a tree still haunts my dreams to this day.

Don't Curse a Stinker

Monday, July 8, 2013


Holy crap! The first 3 posting on my blog reading list today were all about Poop. No shit, Damn, what happened this past weekend?

Anyway, Agent 54 suffers from IBS so I can play this game all day long.

The last time I almost crapped my pants was on South Mountain in Phoenix Arizona. For an 8 year old kid I guess it's pretty funny when you find yourself outside with your pants around your ankles letting loose while starring at a city of 2 million people.  For a 48 year old, not so much.

 I had run out of emergency TP which I always have in my hiking back pack (yes, ran out as in used it all) so I had to waste my favorite orange do-rag.

So, if you are ever hiking in Phoenix and you see a small orange flag in the bushes, you will know Agent 54 was here.

They call it the Garden State.  When you see wild flowers there, remember that many of them have been grown with a very special fertilizer, for many a time I have pooped outdoors in New Jersey, the state of my birth.

My worst New Jersey experience was when the poops hit me hard just before I drove onto the Tappan Zee Bridge which was backed up like the Hoover dam backs up the Colorado river. With nowhere to go I just had to hold on with excruciating pain until we got to the New York side. (20 mins.) I must have threatened to kill my wife 8 times just because she was there.

That was the largest outdoor monument I have ever left anywhere. I swear an Elephant would have been proud of that one and if I had had a cell phone camera I would have posted a pic of it here.

There are many more states that I have decorated in my own personal way. I guess I’ll save some of those stories for an appropriate time. (is there such a thing?)

The Zero Acre Woods

Friday, July 5, 2013

What the Hell is wrong with you?

  Agent 54 here again.  It was a slow day at the bureau so I was thinking that we here at the Nominal Secrets Apparatus (NSA) aren't really much different than all of you out there.  Yeah, maybe we’re a little smarter and a little better looking but, you know, in the same ballpark.  We still stress over the same things.  So, with that in mind, I wrote a song about one of my stresses with the hope that my new internet friend will get our band called OGWB going so I can record it.  It’s probably not the best song you ever heard.  I’m no Paul McCartney but what the hell, there’s a lot of crap on the airwaves, why can’t some of it be mine?

What the Hell is wrong with you?

You get off the bus everyday
Slow as a snail, you stroll into the motorway
When the light turns green you’re always in my way.
You walk even slower if it’s Friday

   What the Hell is wrong with you?
   I wish somehow I knew
   What the Hell is wrong with you?
   Are you missing an important screw?

Someday you’ll get run down
And I hope I’m not around
Cuz while others are slowing down
I’ll have the urge to plow you into the ground

   What the Hell is wrong with you?
   I wish somehow I knew
   What the Hell is wrong with you?
   Are you missing an important screw?

Yeah, I know, it ain't Freebird but, it's mine.

Thursday, July 4, 2013

Zombies are People Too!

Agent 54 here again.  The Nominal Secrets Apparatus (NSA) likes to keep an eye on Hollywood from time to time.  We spied a creepy movie set this week.

Scene:   Movie set with Cemetery head stones, mossy trees and a creepy, dilapidated old caretaker’s shed.  Around the set are lights, sound equipment,  cameras on tracks, a dozen folding canvas chairs and a lunch table.  Actors, the Director and various staff hurry about.  Two zombies are sitting in folding chairs with paper plates eating lunch.   A third zombie approaches them with a plate of food in his left hand and his right arm tucked under the left arm.

Zombie Allan:  Hey guys.

Zombie Max:  Hey bud, have a seat.  Looks like you had a little accident in the last scene.

Allan:  Yeah, the girl wacked me with a huge axe that weighed more than she did.  I got to get it (his right arm) put back on for a scene I got after lunch.

Zombie Brad:  I know, I’m in that scene too.  I just had get my knee fixed.

Max:  Oh, I’m sooooo tired of these same old scenes.  When are zombies finally gonna get some good roles!  I mean, my last 4 movies I had the same lines.  “Brains, brains, moan, groan” it’s always the same.

Allan:  Whadda ya want, to be the next Indiana Jones?  Fuggedaboudit!  Ain’t happenin.  Zombies ain’t leading man material.  No starlet wants to kiss nobody who’s lips might fall off at any moment.

Max: (chuckling)  That’s funny,  Hey, why not some comedies.  Huh, I mean you know zombies can be funny too.

Brad:  Maybe someday but, for now this crap is all we got.  We have to pay our dues before society will accept us for better roles.

Allan:  Bullshito!  Society ain’t never gonna accept us.  Don’t kid yourself.  This is it.

Brad:  No, no you’re wrong.  Look at black actors.  For 80 years all they could do was play butlers and chauffeurs and shit.  Now you got Jamie Fox playin the President.

Max:  That’s true.  25 years ago that would have seemed silly but times is a changin.

Allan:  Not for us they ain’t.  I mean, C’mon, they still think we’re gonna eat their brains for Cripes sake.  Like that’s all we eat and like you can’t find brains in every asian market all over.

Brad:  Yeah well, I don’t think it will happen in our undead lifetimes but, maybe our kids will get to play the nosey neighbor or a cop or something.

Allan:  Yeah, in your dreams!

Max:  You know, I do love brains.  That Brainloaf that Jerry’s wife made for us last Labor day was out of this world.

Brad:  Aw, you know it.  My wife got the recipe from her.  No good, I don’t know what she did wrong but, it didn’t work.

The Director shouts out:  Zombies!  I need you in make-up and wardrobe now.  Hustle up before we lose the light.

The Zombies rise and start to shuffle over to make-up and wardrobe. 

Allan:  Yeah, here we go, payin dues again.

Max and Brad together:  Brains, brains, moan, groan.

Allan:  Knock it off!  Damn comedians.