I Wish I Knew the Second Verse to "O, Canada"

This morning two Canadian Mounties knocked at my door. At first I thought they were Salvation Army or something, but to my shock I soon learned otherwise. They were here---what arrogance---to arrest me, after having finally tracked me down in Delaware---for having "assaulted" (sent to the hospital) two Canadian guys who picked a fight with me in that small town of Goosewing, Ontario way back in the '60s when I was draftdodging in Eastern Canada. So the Old Gargoyle will be "incommunicato" for awhile defending himself in Ottawa. During my absence, readers Jennifer, Chris, Nathan, etc. will take turns both hosting and cleaning this blog room (no graffiti, please).

-Old Gargoyle

Graveyard Shift

Last night I worked late at my job as a part-time night watchman at the glue factory. So on my way walking home, I decided to take the shortcut through the cemetery. I was moving gingerly among the headstones in the dark when I heard a man's voice in the distance saying, "Whoo wee, it's cold down here!" Lord, I froze. I listened quietly and heard it again, "Whoo wee, it's cold down here!"

I then slowly followed the sound of the voice, and came upon an open grave which had a pile of dirt surrounding it. I forced myself to look down into it, and could make out a man's body down there in the dark. "Whoo wee, it's cold down here!" he shouted up at me.

"Well, no wonder you're cold," I stammered, "you done kicked all the dirt off you!"

-Old Gargoyle

Yet More Mensa

lymph (v.): to walk with a lisp

balderdash: a rapidly receding hairline

rectitude: the formal, dignified demeanor displayed by proctologists

pokemon: a Rastafarian proctologist

oyster: a person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms

frisbeetarianism: the belief that after death the soul flies up onto the roof and becomes stuck there

-Old Gargoyle

Yes, Sir, Coach

That high-school football coach in Kentucky has been acquitted of negligent homicide or whatever by a jury. He had overworked his team in their practice in the August heat, resulting in the death of one of the boys on the team. Thank goodness for such coaches who know how to toughen up our boys. They gotta be protected, or next thing we know we'll have parents "upset" over, say, the coaches showing their teams "Rambo" movies before a game. Gotta weed out the sissy boys, and prepare some of the players for their future role as Army soldiers in endless, winless wars in hellhole foreign countries.

-Old Gargoyle

Czech, Please

I read that B-16 (Pope Benedict XVI) is visiting the Czech Republic and particularly Prague. This reminds me of a dialog I had with my colleague, which I previously posted, and repeat here:

I told my colleague, "Look, it says here that the Archbishop of Prague has been censured by Rome for ordaining a batch of immoral priests."

"Really?" he replied with some shock. "How did that happen? What will the Vatican do to him?"

"I don't know," I said, "but this clearly is a case of a bishop riting bad czechs."

-Old Gargoyle

Abs So Lutey

As I previously commented, we Americans are addicted to shortening our words; we try to limit even three- or four-syllable words to one or two syllables. One notable exception has been the popular "relationship," a whopping four-pounder which we keep intact. But I still await the day when Oprah or Dr. Phil will be speaking about how we can improve our "ship" or "re" with others. Another four-syllabler lately has crept into our speech, and now is overly used by news commentators, politicians, entertainers, interviewees, etc. The word is "absolutely." What the heck is wrong with the one-syllable "yes"? Using "absolutely" does not differ in basic meaning from the simple "yes." Moreover, "absolutely" locks you in---it does not have a fudge factor, whereas "yes" probably does.

Am I confident enough about this to put it into print? Absolutely.

Punch Drunk

I finally obtained my license as an amateur-boxing referee. Refereeing my first fights (four of them) last night wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. And when I left the arena through the back door, two of the dissatisfied boxers caught and beat the hell out of me. Maybe I should switch to Little League.

-Old Gargoyle

To Call Buffett?

I suppose it had to happen sooner or later. My pet parrot, Holyghost, now is asking me if he can have a cell phone.

-Old Gargoyle

Reflection on Sunday, September 13

First, a comment on a couple of Sundays ago. Unbelievable. The gospel reading for that day featured Jesus' disciples being criticized by some of the Jewish leaders for not washing their hands before meals, followed by Jesus' explanation that it is not what enters the mouth but what exits it which is unclean, etc. "Oh, boy," I said to myself as I sat back in my pew. "I want to hear his (my homilist's) analysis of this."

"Today's gospel has the Pharisees complaining," the homilist began, "so I too have the right to complain." Then he spent ALL fifteen minutes of his preaching time reading his list of petty complaints about his congregation's behavior in church: you arrive late, you let your kids stand on the pew, you let them walk around the aisles, you dress improperly, you chew gum, etc.---including a comment which almost caused me to lose it: "When you leave the church before the service has ended, you might as well be walking out like Judas did at the Last Supper."

Dear Lord, how can an ordained minister be allowed to pervert by such nonsense the precious little time he has to preach the word and to instruct his people in the gospel?

On to September 13: a dramatic gospel reading from Mark 8:27-35 in which Jesus asks his followers, "Who do the people say I am?" and they reply, "Some say you're John the Baptist, others say you're Elijah, others say you are one of the prophets." After more discussion with them, Jesus then orders his disciples not to tell the people that He is the Messiah, and shifts his comments to his role as Son of Man, not Messiah.

Well, I predict that my and probably your Catholic (at least) homilist will say what they've been saying (or not saying) for the past thirty years I've heard this gospel read at a service. He or they will fail to analyze the fascinating answer the disciples give---i.e., fail to explain how Jesus could be confused with the then-dead Johnny Baptist and the long-dead Elijah. And instead of explaining Jesus' role as prophet, the homilist will focus on his role as Messiah, completely ignoring Jesus' shift to the role as Son of Man.

But I gotta admit, curiosity overcomes me---so I'll be back with itchy ears in my same pew this Sunday. And if I decide to walk out of church during the homily or before the service ends, I'll be sure to be wearing my Judas-look-alike mask.

-Old Gargoyle

Bold in One's Old Age

When I don't pray for rain for my beets and squash crops, it rains too much upon them. When it doesn't rain enough, I pray for rain, but it doesn't fall. Go figure. "The Lord works in mysterious ways," they say. Which gave me an idea; this time I'm gonna catch the Lord's attention, I thought to myself. So I had a nice, large, color flyer printed; it has a picture of a smiling old fart standing in front of a big truck. The flyer reads, "Tired of Moving in Mysterious Ways? Call Gargoyle's Van Lines in Seine, Delaware." Now I gotta figure a way to get it to heaven.

-Old Gargoyle

Divine Guidance

I see that those tacky WWJD ("What Would Jesus Do?") bracelets are still around---ugh. I can picture the historical Jesus in Galilee pondering the hungry, ill, ignorant multitude in front of him, then consulting his leather bracelet which reads, "WWID" ("What Would I Do?").

-Old Gargoyle

More, More, More Mensa

Yet more:

abdicate: to give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach

esplanade (v.): to attempt an explanation while drunk

negligent: absentmindedly answering the door when wearing only a nightgown

flatulence: emergency vehicle which picks up someone who has been run over by a steamroller

gargoyle: olive-flavored mouthwash

-Old Gargoyle

Come on, Be Optimistic

Just about every suitable city has hosted the Olympics by now. Nonetheless, I predict that Port-au-Prince, Haiti soon will make a bid for the 2158 Summer Games.

-Old Gargoyle

With God on Our Side

I've learned that rationality isn't possible with dog fanatics and with football fanatics in relation to their respective devotions. And so I think it's time for the football team of almost every high school and every college to run onto the field dressed more appropriately, i.e., with each player wearing an American flag as his cape and wearing a Christian crucifix attached to his helmet.

-Old Gargoyle

The Mouse in Prime Time

I was watching a Mickey Mouse program with my grandson when it suddenly occurred to me: I wasn't watching Mickey Mouse and friends---I was watching "Seinfeld." The level-headed Mickey is Jerry; the practical, funny, dark-"hair" Minnie is Elaine; the always-complaining Donald Duck is George; and the tall, goofy Goofy is Kramer.

Now I wonder if Jerry Seinfeld originally stole the idea for his television series from the long-
established Mickey Mouse franchise.

Leave Us Alone

I tolerate insurance companies as necessary evils, as I think most Americans do. Most companies connive for ways to delay or deny justified payments to customers. So when I filed a medical claim four(!) months ago for my writer's block, the company only this week finally replied with a denial. They said I had a pre-existent condition.

-Old Gargoyle

True Believers

Weird. The little woman and I decided to go to Atheists Cove, one of the restaurants in town. All we heard for two hours from patrons seated at nearby tables was, "I can't believe how good the food is," "I can't believe these prices," "I can't believe we've never come here before."

-Old Gargoyle

Take a Walken on the Wild Side

If I could spend a day with a famous actor, I think it'd be fun to hang around with Christopher Walken.

-Old Gargoyle

More, More Mensa

And more winning words from Mensa:

-dopeler effect: the tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you more rapidly

-beezlebug: Satan in the form of a mosquito which enters your bedroom at three in the morning, and cannot be cast out

-caterpallor: the color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating

-coffee: the person upon whom one coughs

-flabbergasted: appalled by discovering how much weight one has gained

I Knew Pope Spock

Yesterday at dusk I was surveying my squash field (I determined that my beets field wouldn't be adequate for my planned In Seine Rock Fest). The air was charged with early-autumn chill, and I was coughing a bit. It was then I met my neighbor, Emory, who was on his adjacent field with his niece, a college student, who was visiting him and his wife from St. Louis. The three of us talked, and the niece asked me what work I do besides tending these boring fields.

"I'm a Vaticanologist" (cough), I answered.

"A what?" she said.

"I track events in (cough!) Vatican," I said. "Do you know who lives in (cough) Vatican?"

"No. Uh, Vaticans?" she answered with sincerity.

I coughed again. "Yes," I replied, "the Vaticans. They're the descendants of the Vulcans."

"Oh? Cool," she said with yet more sincerity.

Yes, the niece is a bleached blond. Emory isn't.

-Old Gargoyle