Spring Fever

We have a minor-league baseball team and park not far from here. Folks who were at the spring-training game yesterday all are abuzz. Many say it was a miracle: St. Francis himself appeared, and knocked the next pitch clear over the centerfield fence. But I myself think it was just a lucky swing.

-Old Gargoyle

St. Louis Saint

Thank you, thank you, anonymous reader, you who mailed me the Christmas fruitcake which arrived yesterday after having taken seriously one of my December blogs. The fruitcake's special ingredients---don't ask me which ones or how---really have improved my mad-cow disease. The thrashing of my arms and legs and the loud bellowing from my mouth much decreased after I gulped about half the cake. Just what the doctor ordered! As I say, you didn't give your name, and I barely can read what seems to be a half-scratched-out return address on the cake's package: "Minnebago Street, St. Louis, MO." The little woman too thanks you. Maybe other readers will be inspired by you.

-Old Gargoyle

Awe

You know what I miss? Don't laugh. Awnings---awnings for house windows and awnings for car windows. You promised not to laugh. Awnings were great---ugly, I guess, but practical. You could have your car windows down in a light rain while the awnings did their work---refreshing. You could have your house windows open even in a heavy rain---refreshing. Write your auto dealer and your furniture store; demand the return of awnings. You won't be sorry.

-Old Gargoyle

Wasted Popcorn

Boy, am I confused. I saw a special offer on t.v.; a well-known d.v.d. direct-mail company would send me for only $5 all the current big-name movies involved in this weekend's Academy Awards. They arrived a couple of days ago, and I began viewing them. But why are they such strange cartoons, dumb documentaries, or weird, badly-acted plots? I double-checked their titles: "The Curious Case of Benjamin Mutton" (a badly-drawn cartoon about a lamb named Mutton, who leaves his farm for the city, and is quickly hit and killed by a truck); "Goubt" (a disgusting documentary on an ugly medical disease); "Frozen Liver" (the camera watches a cold bodily organ slowly melt); "The Wrassler" (a non-understandable Mexican midget who cleans dirty boxing rings); "The Dark Night" (another motionless camera, watching a brief sunset followed by almost two hours of just darkness); "Slutdog Millionaire" (a disgusting doc about backward Southerners betting on a winning pitbull in dogfights); "Silk" (a boring doc featuring poor Chinese at sewing machines); "Revolutionary Toad" (another stupid cartoon like "Benjamin Mutton," this one about a frog which leaps out of its pond); "The Reeder" (instructions on how to cultivate bamboo shoots); "Frosty/Nixon" (90 dull minutes of watching a snowman named Nixon slowly melt); and "Gram Torino" (a pointless doc about a grandmother in Italy who still cooks pizza the old-fashioned way).

Arrrgh! What a disappointment! I returned to the website company, Nitflex, from which I ordered these so-called hit movies. Nitflex---seemed legitimate. Where did I go wrong?

-Old Gargoyle

Dog Day Afternoon

I read that Loki, the 17-year-old chihuahua of my old buddy, actor Mickey Rourke, died this week, a few days before Mick's appearance at the Academy Awards this Sunday. What a shame. But a chihuahua? Aren't dogs supposed to look like their human owners? A chihuahua? Have you seen pictures of Mickey lately? He ain't no chihuahua look-alike. Weird.

Mick, if you can read this: If you win the Oscar this Sunday, please, please don't thank Loki, and please don't have the camera man show a picture of you holding the stupid chihuahua.

-Old Gargoyle

Bringing Home the Bacon

My favorite current t.v. commercial just might be the one in which the household dog begins yelling, "Bacon! Bacon! I smell bacon! I love bacon! I gotta have bacon! Bacon!" as he lunges at his owner holding a bag of bacon bits (the voice of the dog belongs to a comedian whose face I can mentally see, but whose name I forget). This commercial cracks me up---maybe because I act and shout in exactly the same way as the dog does, when I smell the little woman cooking bacon at the stove. But Jonka doesn't act like the commercial's lady; Jonka screams, "Stop smelling my bacon!" as he bonks me with a large stir paddle.

-Old Gargoyle

Dead Woman Walking

Jonka convinced me that, having withstood the January onslaught of commercials for me to lose weight, I still should do some walking. So off she and I went down the block. Before long, we merged on the walk path with the young bleached-blond woman who lives several houses away. From the tall trees nearby began to come the cries and chirps of early-spring birds. The blond suddenly became so agitated at the crows among them. "They're calling my name! They're calling my name!" she began shrieking with fright.

"You go on ahead of us," Jonka then told me, "I'll stay here awhile with Caw."

-Old Gargoyle