Is That You, Uncle Emory?

I was thinking. I bet it would be embarrassing to the Feared One himself as well as to his visitee if the Grim Reaper had to go fetch a human, and it happened to be the Reaper's monthly laundry day, leaving him with really nothing much to wear.

Icribums and Inphezzles

From the Tough Way To Lose Weight Department:
"Dead Guitarist Now Slimmer and Trimmer" (newspaper headline in Fresno, California about a guitarist for the Grateful Dead)

From the Unanswerable Questions Department:
"And you are how old a woman, sir?" (courtroom transcript from a lawyer questioning a woman in Lansing, Michigan)

From the What Does Illinois Have against Horse Comedy Department?:
"A judge in early July upheld that law by the Illinois Legislature which forced the nation's last operating horse-laughter facility to shut down this year." (in the Arkansas "Democrat-Gazette")

From the So THAT'S Why You Didn't Serve in the Military Department:
"So many minority youths had volunteered . . . that there was literally no room for patriotic folks like myself." (former Republican U.S. Representative Tom DeLay explaining at the 1988 G.O.P. Convention why he and vice-presidential nominee Dan Quayle did not fight in the Vietnam War)

Back to the Confessional

I moved my butt to church this morning for Palm Sunday and Holy Week. When the little woman and I arrived, I had her drop me in front, and had her drive her way to the far back side of the giant parking lot, because, well, she just needs more practice in weaving in and out of lanes.

While waiting for her to walk back to the front door of the church, I could see inside that all of the many religious statues and pictures were covered with long red cloths. Four different couples in their 30s walked past me to enter, and upon seeing the covered objects, they themselves exclaimed to each other, "Look at that. I wonder why all the statutes are draped like that?"

I seized the opportunity to tell each couple, "Good morning, folks. Well, today begins Holy Week, and it's so important, all pastors have the duty once a year at this time to test the religious knowledge of their people. So after the service, our pastor will conduct an important quiz with the statutes and pictures. We'll have to name from memory all the saints and scenes under the coverings."

"Ohhh, no," was the response of every one of them as they proceeded with looks of surprise and apprehension to leave me to find a pew for seating.

Never underestimate the religious illiteracy of the American people.

Where's the Other One?

It was enlightening. In my dream last night, I temporarily "died" in surgery, and my soul visited not heaven, hell, or purgatory but limbo. Limbo, of all places. Enlightening because when I peeked into limbo, I saw thousands of unclaimed, unmatched socks.

Old Macs, Big Macs, and Last Snacks

As I was delivering Meals on Wheels to elderly shut-ins in Seine, I began to wonder as I handed each package of food to its recipient. In keeping with the subconscious trend in the American population to eat more and to be served bigger meals, were these packages larger than before, containing much more food than, say, in the 1960s or so? As far as that goes, I wonder if last meals for about-to-be-executed prisoners in U.S. prisons are larger than they were thirty or forty years ago? That wouldn't be healthy.

No-Bull Lock

I recently violated my own advice to you not to visit Austin, Texas. Temptation swayed me to go there for its music and film festivals. Let me tell you, days on a Greyhound bus from Delaware to Austin, stopping at every little town day and night, eating nothing but fried chicken and grits, made it doubtfully worthwhile. I can firmly advise you: don't travel more than one or two hours by bus to anywhere.

Anyway, I was in Austin when the news broke about the marital trouble between Sandra Bullock and Jesse James. Yahoo! At last, my chance to make a move on pretty Sandra. But after three nights of camping behind some trees across from her Austin house, I saw only a dark-window van enter and leave her place just twice. And after all the tickets I've bought to see her movies. Maybe I can mail her a request for a partial refund---or just leave it in her house mailbox. Still, I don't want to find myself lassoed, run over by a race car, or shot in the back.

Non-Jack of All Trades

Well, it's official. The count now stands at eight by "Big Brother," nine by "Survivor," five by "Dancing with the Stars," and eleven by "Jeopardy": rejections of my applications to be a contestant.

Who needs 'em anyway?