Sunday, August 13, 2017

Put The Ban---On

The below is given New meaning as this situation continues to fester (Aug 13, 2017):

by: Dag Ah. Radigan! (Feb 8, 2017) Everyone has an opinion, like elbows & @ssholes...

immigration cartoon

immigration cartoon

immigration cartoon

immigration cartoon

(While this is an easy target and oft overplayed, it bears keeping in mind that some classics are timeless, while classless has seen its time expire, bell sound and all the pupils sent scurrying for the doors--)
Go away kid yer botherin' me...

>>Updating: Bannon's gone....but back to breitbart it would appear. The nose knows... *sniff* *snort* *belch*

Saturday, June 17, 2017

Keeping it Mum

Source: - The Mummy

Not sure the CinĂ© quality of this attempted rebirth of monsters-galore; it was a big deal years ago.  But definitely is a sight for sore eyes and faded memory to revisit these suckers---if you recall:::?

A vintage model of the original Universal monster movies-era...

Aurora Model Kits

Et al. of Tangential relation...
It's still likely a project of some conjecture to ponder what was the more affecting to the minds of youngsters and their model depictions of the entertainment fare from those days. If one hasn't the control on what the still-forming minds are watching, hearing, temperance in other areas possible, or is the horse too far gone from the barn at that point?

More to the point, is the horse huffing?? After all, the toxic chemical fumes from the condiments of model making, inhaled either willfully or accidentally, alone, likely accounts for more brain cell damage and then-&-now behavioral problems than could ever be accurately evidenced. I mean, that on top of the government spraying kids from roving trucks of DDT, or tykes playing with the foot X-ray machine in the shoe store------well, it wasn't Gamma Rays....but then it didn't have to be!

We may never know, but sperm count in N. America, Europe and other countries of these similar 'Western' cultures has dropped by half; so if you were planning to pass on your glue n' paint-addled genes you might not even get the chance. And this new Dark Universe may be our only lasting legacy...

Mummy Sperm

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

It's A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad Libs World

Rating: PG-13-ish

A filled out game sheet---An Awkward Encounter
~~The movie from which I incorporated the title was literally the funniest thing I'd ever seen upon first viewing; not at a first-run theater, but on TV rerun. I recall laughing so hard I couldn't stop....& breathing? Fuggedit!... It dawns on me that I & sibs had a babysitter that night and she was practically on the edge of rushing us to the hospital if we didn't come up for air----soon...

Gif from 90s Tv show of baby dinosaur laughing while eating a bowl of cereal

But with a CAST like this who could blame us~~

Still from the film, Jonathan Winters character and 'W' marks the spot trees

MadMadMadMadWorld Tribute

{this isn't mine, btw...}

Tuesday, March 1, 2016

Hitler had a deformed micro-penis and only one testicle, medical records reveal

'If the theoretical condition “Napoleon Complex” was named for Napoleon’s small stature, perhaps hypospadias can be renamed for one of its most famous sufferers.'

Me: Yes, the "Hitler Complex" ---- I think we ALL knew this was coming. 

Modeled after Napoleon, Hitler & others of 'small stature'

Wednesday, February 24, 2016

H'ween in February:: Reaper Bowl

It's like Xmas in July, never 2 early to get in the spirit of the season!

Ghosts & Haunted House Halloween eCard

Jack-o-lantern Halloween eCard

>>On a more grounded looking-ahead note, following are some notes my brother, Teff, managed to purloin from the diaries of one S.T.G. when he was out and T. was doing a bit of Spring Cleaning (he's the one done all the work). Anyway-has-it, T. was only outdone by his hero worship of the Big roller(role model), by S. who authored these----Before they hit the presses, or even a decent editor's desk::

 The Reaper Bowl

I had never known my friend, Joe Lopp, to be a particular enthusiast of the more popular forms of sports, nor of the popular culture of society, in general, for that matter. So it was with some surprise when he sprang upon me, one dreary fall day, the particulars of our next assignment, or ‘case', as he preferred.
“Well, Stanley, we have quite an outing to prepare for,” he said to me.
“Oh? What’s this?” I asked, normally channels along which potential clients pursued Joe’s services tended to run through me, as his apprentice and personal secretary, so this was indeed coming from out of left field.
“Why, our newest case, of course. And this one will be a bit out of the ordinary.”
“How so, Joe?”
“The clients, for one thing, will be new to our rolls.”
“Are you going to fill me in?” I was going along as I always did. Joe’s theatrical background and nature caused him to draw out dramatically such moments as this. Whenever he had interesting news of any kind, it was easy for me to get swept along in the wake of his own enthusiasm.
“We have not one, but two, new clients. They are working in tandem on this particular venture.” This was not unheard of in the mystery shopper industry, though somewhat uncommon.
“Who are they?” I pressed him, “Names, man, names. And what’s the case?”
Joe chuckled, holding up both meaty paws in a gentling gesture, “Whoa, Mr. Greene, pull up, please. One thing at a time.”
Still rumbling with mirth, he hoisted himself from the depths of his vinyl armchair next to mine, and waddled across the fine Samarkand reproduction rug to the fireplace. Grasping the poker, he prodded the burning logs in the grate to renewed flame, the dancing light flickering about the walls and ceiling of Joe’s study.
“First off,” he began the slow drip-drip of information leaking, always so reminiscent of Chinese water torture, “our client tandem.” He seemed to be choosing and savoring his words here, resting an arm on the mantelpiece. I nestled back in my own chair, watching, waiting. “The first name may be unfamiliar to you. They are the General Consolidated Vending Corporation. Based in Michigan, I believe you’ll find in your researches as we prepare for this case.”
“Sounds somewhat familiar,” I mused.
“They put the vendor into vending, supplying the food and beverage courts at various sporting and entertainment venues around the country.”
“Of course, with such a generic company name, they’d almost have to be in that line of work,” I remarked.
“Just so. And the other client and partner to GenCon in this endeavor is a somewhat more well known, dare I say prestigious, entity.” He smiled down at me.
I sighed, “Who, Joe?”
“The Mid-Mountain Athletic Conference, otherwise known far and wide by the acronym: MMAC.” He drew out the ‘m’ sound as, “mmm.”
“The MMAC?” I, too, drew it out in imitation of him. I sat up in my chair, shaking my head. Was I supposed to know this name? “Who are they?”
“A college sporting conference, Stan,” he replied, with some exasperation, “They’re quite well known for their athletics and business success. A model conference and member of the NCAA. FYI Stan, they are the governing body for college athletics in the U.S. The MMAC and its member schools are looked to by other conferences and their members, for tips and guidance in running a profitable college sporting concern. Honestly,” he turned his back, shaking his own head now at my ignorance.
Not a great sportsman myself, I felt somewhat helpless in the face of this minor dressing down. What could I say? I really didn’t give a hoot about such past times. Still, from the way Joe was talking, this definitely sounded like a big fish in a big pond. I had heard of the NCAA, of course. I wasn’t entirely stunned that he would land such a big client, at this particular point in his career Joe was the best in the business. The mystery shopper everyone tried to emulate, and it was to be the most productive period of his illustrious career. Truly, 'The Golden Years'.
Yet, for all that, if I had never been much of a sportsman, Joe was even less so. How would he relate to such a testosterone-induced industry? It must be noted here that Joe’s sporting experience (and, yes, Joe did regard himself as a great sportsman), was almost totally devoid of much physical exertion. His games and diversions largely consisted of card and parlor pursuits, as well as board and puzzle games. Some darts, arcade, pool and bowling in his youth, to be sure. But, nowadays, croquet and a rare round of golf were all he was up for, when not on a case, or enjoying an evening out at a touring Broadway show, or barbershop quartet rehearsal (where his occasional catcalling had gotten him ejected more than once, I can tell you).
“Indeed,” he continued, “they sought me out specifically. By name, I might add,” he was that good, “yes,” he actually bounced up on the balls of his big, flat feet, preening himself, “they knew me by reputation.” Then he looked over at me a bit sheepishly, recovering himself. “Obviously, Stanley, you’ve had a great hand to play in my success, to date.” He proffered a small, bobbing bow in acknowledgment.
I laughed and stood, stretching. I moved over to the sideboard to pour us a couple of whiskey sours. “Not at all, my friend. I’m a mere mite in your shadow. But, pray tell, what’s the case that would bring together these eminent entities to seek your services?” I asked.
“Well, as to that ...”

On a cold, overcast Friday, during the early hours of October 30th, less than a week after Joe had explained the details of the assignment to me, we boarded an Amtrak passenger liner headed south to the coast. We would not be traveling all that way, however. Our stop was the next afternoon at a mid-size university town in the Appalachian Mountains. After we were taken to our sleeping quarters by the porter and settled in, it dawned on me that tomorrow we would find ourselves at an evening college football game on Saturday, October 31st--
“--Halloween?” I blurted out loud.
“What’s that, Stanley? Er, oh yes, tomorrow is the date of that quaint folk holiday. I hadn’t thought of it, frankly,” Joe was wrestling a bag into the overhead rack.
“This will be my first football game, and on Halloween, even,” I remarked.
“Now don’t get superstitious on me, Stanley,” he finally managed to secure his luggage. Heaving a great sigh of relief, he collapsed into a seat, where he took out his handkerchief, flipped it open so that it billowed like a sail, and proceeded to mop his streaming face.
“I’m not superstitious, Joe --.”

“Morgan, please,” he corrected. “Morgan Bellevue, remember?” (Cont.?)
cartoon football

[These notes date from pre-2008, it's safe to say. There is more to this story...Reaper Bowl, make no is simply a matter of acquisition, and transcription. But I will try my best to get the whole thing...]