Baby, baby, baby–where’s the giraffe baby? Baby, baby, oh baby–next week, maybe? The same giraffe’s been pregnant since 2015–what?
A giant chicken is allegedly scaring folks all over the world-wide web. Who’s afraid of the big bad rooster? Not I, said the Little Red Hen.
The “human Ken doll” guy had a few more surgeries. What’s a few more, when there have already been so many?
Wonder Woman’s new edition was up to her armpits in controversy. Had she, or hadn’t she? Couldn’t wrap my head around that one.
Some countries cared how their rivers flowed; granted them the same rights as humans. If this was to prevent pollution–then, I’m for it. The cynic in me wondered if they would be subjected to taxation.
Flip or Flop TV stars had more problems. Meanwhile, it was announced which of our favorite shows would flip into next season–which ones flopped.
My favorite TV mechanic, Edd China, from Velocity’s “Wheeler Dealers” is leaving the show. Saddest news since Jeremy Clarkson & Company left “Top Gear.”
Shaq’s world wasn’t flat. That was just a joke.
H. H. Gregg and Applebees, latest discards, tossed on the growing rubble pile of failed/failing franchises. Regurgitated from murky waters of competition, public tastes, balance sheets drowned in red ink.
Shining new faces atop the trash heap, fade in relentless summer suns, until washed away into the recesses of memory. Forgotten by most, except for a few nostalgia freaks, such as myself; waiting to spring out on some obscure trivia night. From dusty shelves, some reporters reaching for ratings, will find fodder for another “whatever happened to?” story to fill a slow news day.
The cemetery of fallen franchises grows ever larger. Still more are on the critical list–Sears and K-Mart come to mind. May the fallen rest in peace. I wish the rest safe passage on their way to franchise Valhalla.
Franchises failed for various reasons. Why Outback Steak House couldn’t make it locally is still a mystery. Speaking from my little corner of the world–what was with the proliferation of restaurants offering chicken fingers? “To franchise gurus, venture capitalists, wherever you may happen to be–help, we’re drowning in chicken finger restaurants down here!”
Have you ever had a day when good intentions went bad in spite of your best efforts?
This has been one of those days. To prevent victimization by negativity, I’m taking the rest of the day off.
Even news coming from my workshop radio sucked. Another errant motorist plowed into a local Mardi Gras parade this morning. Thoughts go to the victims. Sorry to think it–but, what the heck is going on with this stuff?
Is once again
Blowin’ in the wind
After all these years
Talkin’ bout people’s fears
Wond’ring ’bout governments
War, peace–too many cars
Potentates, cheshire cats
Politicians, stovepipe hats
Still asking the right questions
Choices drift like falling leaves
War, peace? Right or wrong?
Not since Mr. Rogers, has there been so much hubbub about sweaters.
Of course, I’m speaking about Ken Bone, the heavy-set, bespectacled guy, with refreshing, relevant, thoughtful questions at the last Presidential Debate.
The red sweater, a last-minute wardrobe choice, is as much an internet sensation, as it’s wearer.
What a relief from a campaign, thus far riddled with insults, was Ken Bone. Shouldn’t he be in the “Sweater Wearers Hall of Fame?” …Along with other famous sweater wearers?
In the words of Billy Sol Hurok, from SCTV, played by the late, great, John Candy.
In so far as, things didn’t blow up as much in the good old days; mainly because there were no smart phones; nor were there hoverboards. We had washing machines, but they weren’t prone to exploding.
Pinto cars had exploding gas tanks. Corvairs were deemed unsafe by Ralph Nader. A lot of us drove those cars every day.
I’ve been busy running errands all day and I simply have nothing to write–except about things blowing up.
It was 97, a few days ago. Finally, some cool autumn mornings are on the way. Max, the wonder dog will be happy. Mosquitos and gnats will be gone somewhere else.
This morning, illuminated by flashlight, was a black plastic fork in the road. “When you come to a fork in the road–take it.” Thanks Yogi for the suggestion, but I’ll politely decline. It appeared to have crusted food on it.
Speaking of Yogi Berra, there’s a family connection. My first cousin, once removed, attended high school with Yogi. She grew up in the same neighborhood as Yogi, Joe Garagiola, and Harry Caray.
When it comes to some tech–I’m mentally challenged. My goal as I age is to simplify my life. Are there Cliff’s Notes or Tech for Dummies books out there? There’s an answer for everything on the internet–whether it’s right or not.
Just in time for Thanksgiving; canned pumpkin isn’t really pumpkin. What? Apparently, it is mostly butternut squash, because of the smoother texture. What’s wrong with texture in food? That’s why I like pears-because of their grainy texture.
I’ve uncluttered my mind for another day. It’s OK, I’ll just clutter it up again.