Sunday, September 30, 2012

Beware He Who Comes In the Night

Well, if he's lucky, at least

Ladies:  You have been warned.

Friday, September 28, 2012

Facebook Funnies XVI

"So then the scale says 'Only one person at a time'.
So, I ate it."

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Got Some 'splainin' To Do

If you look closely, you can see that my nose really is out of joint.
"Hey! Leave me out of this, you whiner!
I got enough problems."
  As a lot of you know, I got my nose seriously bent out of joint (for my British friends:  my knickers all in a twist) last Thursday after a comment made by Mark in response to my latest 'Facebook Funnies.'  In it I poked fun at my favorite target (besides Anthony Weiner), Mahmoud Imadinnerjacket (or something like that).
  In the picture I posted, the fuzzy little lunatic bemoans the fact that he must have left his day planner in a pair of pants at 'Death To America Dry Cleaners.'  Mark commented that he hoped the profits from such a venture would go to promoting death in America.
"Me, too, yew crayshy pieesh a baloney, ya...huh, ossifer?
Don't yew know hoo eye am? I'm...huh?
Yep, a STAR!  Hellloooo!  Parent Trap?  Freaky Friday?
Big Fat Liar?  No, wait.  That wush Amanda Bynes.
Penwasser who?"
  When I read that, the synapses in the chia pet I call a brain started sputtering nonsensically like Lindsay Lohan at a sobriety check.  I determined at that time I wasn't having any fun and decided to end it all (whoa!  I mean stop writing....I'm not leaving the planet until I'm good and ready.  Which, at my age, will be relatively soon.  Have you seen the picture above?).
  Never mind that Mark offered a sincere apology.  He said that he, above most people, abhors violence.  And that's true.  He's a good guy who meant no harm.
  Then, it came back to whether I was really having any fun.  For a couple days I wasn't.  The world today is so full of hatred (and not just at the NFL replacement referees).  Especially in my country right now there is so much vitriol (NOTE:  snooty, pretentious term for "douchery."  NOTE #2:  "Douchery" is NOT a real word).  Obama sucks, Romney sucks, Michelle has a fat ass, etc etc.  (NOTE:  two of the preceding are true), I just felt down.
  Then, after reading your comments, I decided I didn't want to go away, after all.  I decided that I'm really having a good time here. And I hope you're having fun reading this.  Although, you may want to rethink things.
  So, at the risk of droning on and on (I know, too late), I wanted to 'splain myself before I once more launch into tales of piss heel creme, old man toe, testosterone gel (that's coming), and Canadian Thanksgiving.
  Thanks again for bringing me back.
  I hope you don't regret it.

Spelled like it sounds.

  Like last week, I would be remiss if I didn't mention an important date in the Jewish calendar which not only recognizes a solemn event, but gives me a day off from work:  Yom Kippur or Day of Atonement.
  Concluding the Jewish High Holy Days or Days of Awe, Yom Kippur begins tonight and concludes tomorrow night (I'm guessing sunset).  It is a 25 hour period of intense prayer and fasting (Al's Cultural Tip: those who sneak in a cookie or two are known to be "half-fasting").
  On Rosh Hashanah, God inscribes each person's fate in the Book of Life (NOTE:  and here you thought Life was just a board game or breakfast cereal.  Now you know).  He ('s always 'he") waits until Yom Kippur to seal the verdict (sort of like a divine replay booth).  However, Jews try to seek forgiveness during the Days of Awe in an effort to avoid damnation or getting served a briscuit that's "a little off" at the Feinman Bar Mitzvah.
"Enough with the praying, already. I get it.  I'm sorry.
I gotta catch that new Adam Sandler movie."
  Anyway, that's pretty much the extent of my knowledge of Yom Kippur.  I know there's no dreidel playing, no giving of gifts, and no speeches at the United Nations against Israel (oh, crap, that happened).  Basically, from this Catholic's (not a very good Catholic, though) understanding, Jewish people do in a week what it takes Catholics every Saturday for a year to do.
  In fact, from what I gather, it's not even completely appropriate to wish someone a "Happy" Yom Kippur.  That's like saying "Happy" Memorial Day or "Happy" Day Kennedy Was Shot.
  But, I did wish people a happy day off tomorrow.    

Saturday, September 22, 2012

The Lights Are Back On

I can't tell you how much I appreciate all your comments.  They pulled me back in.  But, even though I renewed my lease at Penwasser Place, I'm still going to take a few days to think about things.  This whole situation quickly became about much more than any comment (which was sincerely apologized for and I appreciate that).  

It became about me and how I do the voodoo that I do.  

In any event, I'll be back next week.

Thank goodness I didn't stop my cable.

P.S. Steve (aka the The Chubby Chatterbox)?  I got my smile back.  Thank you.

"Be honest.  Does this door make my butt look big?"

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Sorry. Not Feeling It Today.

I just sat down at my computer and was all set to enjoy your blogs. Then, I read this comment....

"I really hope there is a Death To America Dry Cleaners.  Where the profits go to bringing about death to America."


I don't have a thin skin and I think you know I like to kid around.  But, I don't wish death on anyone.

I don't know what I'm going to do, but I'm going to go away for a little while now and think some deep thoughts.  When it starts to make me feel badly, maybe it's not the thing to do anymore.

Maybe I'll play 'Words With Friends.'

Facebook Funnies XV

"Okay, hang on.  Is that one stoning today?  Or...two?  Aw, frik!!  I knew I shouldn't have left my day planner in my other set of pants.  Which I just dropped off at "Death to America Dry Cleaners."

Monday, September 17, 2012

In Order To Form a More Perfect Blog. Or This.

NOTE:  I've been super-busy trying to put toothpaste back in a tube, so this is kinda late.  But, since it's still September 17th (at least in the United States), this post is current.  For those of you in Europe it's the 18th, so why aren't you at work (Greece:  we'll give you a pass)?  But, I hope you still may learn something by reading somebody else's blog in the paragraphs which follow.  

"Dammit, Jefferson!  We only have a few sheets of parchment!
10-pitch font!  10-pitch!!"

   A few years after the close of the American Revolution, it became clear that the fledgling nation was in a pickle.  Not only did slavery fly in the face of that whole “all men are created equal” thing, the United States didn’t have much to go on when it came to governing.  Well, beyond the ineffective Articles of Confederation, instructions how to powder their wigs, and some old recipes for eel pies left over when the British left.

    So, delegates from throughout the former English colonies and some visiting Japanese tourists met in the stifling city of Philadelphia to hammer out a plan “of the people, for the people, and by the people.”

    Unless you were a black people.  Then, you had to wait a few more years.

    Over the course of several months, each of the representatives haggled over what freedoms each state would have, how much power the federal government would enjoy, how frikkin’ confused future generations would be by the Electoral College, and how they could talk Benjamin Franklin into just shutting up already.

"Okay, Representative Clinton,
did you draw a picture of boobs
under the section for President?"
    “Okay, we get it, you got lucky in France.  Now go and fly a kite, why don’tcha?”

    Finally, on September, 1787, the Constitution of the United States was ratified by 11 states (the other two having stepped out for a smoke).  It became effective six months later when New York signed on after Congress banned large sodas.

John Jay
Forgotten author of the Federalist Papers,
sleeping aid for high school students. 
One of the others became a president,
the other was killed in a duel.
So, on balance, he was cool with it.
    Bowing to pressure from the states to insert guarantees of rights, ten amendments, known as the Bill of Rights, were inserted in 1791.

    NOTE:  It was originally planned for the Bill of Rights to include twelve amendments.  But, Benjamin Franklin’s “Right to Party” and Massachusetts’ “Right to Burn Witches” initiatives were voted down by the other notoriously tight-ass delegates.

"Hmm, think if I do this people will forget
I was in the Ku Klux Klan and
voted against the Civil Rights Act?" 
    So, it was in 2004, after only 217 years, that Senator Robert Byrd of West Virginia declared September 17th to be “Constitution Day.” 

    When reminded that it was also “Citizenship Day,” he declared that it would henceforth be known as “Constitution and Citizenship Day.” 

    After speaking with some lobbyists, he stated it would now be known as “Constitution Day and Citizenship Day Sponsored by GEICO.”

    Six years later, he died.

    Coincidence?  I think not.

    So, for my American friends, Happy Constitution Day!  For my non-American friends, Happy Middle of September!

    And would it kill you to get some coverage for your automobile, boat, or motorcycle?  After all, 15 minutes can save you 15% or more on your car insurance.
At least we won't have hangovers in the morning.
     I would be remiss if I didn’t also wish all my Jewish followers (both of you), a Happy New Year!  Or Happy Rosh Hashanah!  Or Joyous Head of the Year!  Or Feliz 5773!  Or Merry [Some Hebrew writing which my keyboard doesn’t recognize, but I think is L’Shana Tovah].

"Spaniards wiping us all out with smallpox?
That's crazy talk!
Now let's talk about this end of the world thing."
    Beginning with the 1st day of the month of Tishrei and concluding with the end of the 2nd day of the month of Tishrei (let’s see what those smarty-pants Mayans think about that), Rosh Hashanah is believed to be the anniversary of the creation of Adam and Eve.

    This is only an estimate, of course, because Adam had no place to put his pen and, thus, couldn’t write anything down.  Plus, his ribcage was killing him.

Herschel Shofar
Devastated when he realized
it meant ram's horn.
    Certain observances for Rosh Hashanah include blowing of the shofar, the sacred ram’s horn (lucky ram), counting the seconds it takes for a blintz to drop from Bloomingdales, and the eating of delicacies such as apples dipped in honey.

    NOTE:  I personally find this a tad ironic.  Eating apples on a day commemorating the creation of Adam and Eve.  Think about it.

    Still, much like “Constitution and Citizenship Day,” there is no time off from work granted to federal employees who either must call in sick or provide proof of circumcision.    

    But, in any case, let’s all party like it’s 5772!

    Just make sure you’re back at work in the morning.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

Facebook Funnies XIV

"Oh yeah?  Well, I may be the shortest dude here, but at least I don't have pit stains and can keep my pants tucked in my shirt.  And, by the way, are we doing some sort of Bollywood dance thing?  Because, if we are, we suck."

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

The Morning After

8 AM
September 12, 2001
Hangar 831
Naval Air Station Keflavik, Iceland

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

September 11th

  The following is a repost from last year.  
  It doesn't contain any Penwasser "ha-ha's" or pull my finger jokes because none of what happened that September morning was funny.  If you haven't read it, please read.  If you read it last year, please read it again.  And if you don't think our world changed forever 11 years ago, read it a third time. 
  I'll be back in a couple days.  
  I promise.

     It's my generation's "Where were you when Kennedy was shot?" moment.  
    Just before one o’clock in the afternoon on September 11th (a sad commentary: we don’t even need to identify the year anymore), my maintenance supervisor stuck his head into my room to wake me as I snoozed away in preparation for the night shift.
    “Sir, someone just flew a plane into the World Trade Center.”
    Not soon after, I watched, horrified, as a second plane struck the South tower.  And then, as both of the monstrously huge structures tumbled to the ground as if kicked by a petulant child.
    My unit and I were participating in a multi-nation exercise at the Naval Air Station in Keflavik, Iceland (this explains why it was the afternoon).  A round-the-clock operation, the "Keflavik Tactical Exchange" gave us a unique chance to evaluate each other’s capabilities should we ever needed to flex our respective militaries.  
    Little did we know that we were preparing for a type of war which belonged to the past.
    Because the 21st Century came roaring into each of our lives on that late summer day.
    Naturally, the exercise was immediately cancelled.  Foreign aircrews (funny that I call them “foreign” since we were actually foreigners, too) beat hasty returns to their home bases.  We were told that American airspace was closed for an indefinite time.
    Station security went into their highest readiness posture.  Watch teams at the main gate beefed up, rings of barbed wire cordoned off perceived sensitive areas, and armed patrols roamed the perimeter.
    My watch teams and I, on the other hand, remained at our billeting.  Only in Iceland for the exercise, we were considered non-essential personnel who’d only get in the way.
    And so we spent the next few days.
    I received a worried phone call from my wife during this time.  She fretted over my safety.  I assured her that I was fine, but omitted the fact that I was more concerned for her and the kids.
    You see, my family lives only a couple hours from New York and only a few from Washington.
    The ensuing few days was a frantic search for whatever updates we could glean from the news and how in the world we’d get ourselves and thousands of pounds of equipment back home.
    Most importantly, we desperately wanted to know how we could get into the fight.  Whatever the fight was.
    Four days later, U.S. airspace was opened to military traffic.  As I glanced through the window of the Navy patrol plane which took us home, I was struck at how empty the sky was-with the exception of the one plane which approached us as we crossed into United States airpsace.  It came no closer than a few miles before it disappeared.
    I think it was a fighter aircraft.
    What’s more, the radio circuits, normally full of the chatter of countless air traffic controllers, were eerily silent.  The only ones “on the air” were the handful which guided us home.  All else were hushed into silence.
    Our route of flight took us just south of Manhattan, well out of sight of land.  At that distance, even at the altitude at which we were flying, it was impossible to see any of the city skyline.
    But, we did see a huge pall of gray-brown smoke lingering in the air like the death shroud it was.
    As we touched ground at the air station we called home, there was nobody to greet us.  There was really not much of anything by way of an acknowledgment that we were back.  Somehow, it seemed fitting.
    After all, we all had something much more important to do.
    Go home to our families.

In memory of:
Commander Bill Donovan, USN
AW2 (NAC/AW) Joseph Pycior, USN
and the thousands whose only crime was going to work that day. 

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Burt Reynolds is 76

  Since Tony Van Helsing asked, I did a little digging.  Believe me, in this day and age of Google, it wasn't hard (that's what she said).  
  If I didn't have a computer, I would have just said, "Eff it." and gone to watch football.  Then again, if I didn't have a computer, I wouldn't be able to write on Blogger. there's a grim thought.
  Anyway, Tony, since you brought it up...

Of course, when seen through rose-colored glasses, he doesn't look a day over 75.

Just An Observation

Note:  This is NOT political commentary.  I loathe political banter, especially this time of the year. Rather, it's just an observation (like how I worked in the title of my post just now?  Yeah, I'm sneaky that way) about how time marches on for all of us.  If you want hard-hitting political analysis, by all means switch over to,, the,  or (which really isn't news, but you'll feel better about yourself).  Read this first, of course.  And then read anything written by my fine, fine list of followers, some of whom are from Canada.  And New Jersey.  

   During a commercial break for The Big Bang Theory, I switched over to have a looky-loo at the goings on at the Republican National Convention.  Imagine my surprise when I saw Clint Eastwood at the podium addressing the delegates.  Next to him was an empty chair (NOTE:  a perfect spot for a political joke, but I'll resist).
  After checking that TBS was still hawking feminine hygiene products, Cialis,and Beggin' Strips (at the same time), I returned to watch Clint.
  However, instead of listening to his words, I was actually more shocked at how he looked.  Great Googli Moogli (borrowing a term I learned from Sherilin, one the aforemetioned fine followers), did the guy look old!  Did someone switch the Crypt-keeper for Clint? 
"And then I said, 'Well, do you feel lucky, punk?
And then I took a nap."
  To me, whenever I think of Clint Eastwood, I think of Moses as he struggles to convince the Pharaoh to let his people go.  Although why he chose to marry Lily Munster instead of...oh, that was Charlton Heston?  Oops, my bad.
Left over from the A-Z Challenge
   Well, at least Clint is still alive.

  Anyway, where was I?  Oh, yeah, I still think of Eastwood as that young cowpoke (NOTE:  "Cowpoking" is actually illegal in most states.  Except Nebraska.) from Wagon Train or "The Man With No Name" in all those Spaghetti Westerns. 

"Wait a minute.
Does fongul mean what I think it does?"

  So, it was a bit of a surprise to see him looking as wrinkled as Madonna's tuckus in a steambath (NOTE:  thankfully, I've never seen that, but I'm just imagining.  Oops, just made myself sick there).

  Thinking on, I realized that I often still think of myself as that fresh-faced youngster who was trying to talk Mrs. Penwasser #1 into marrying him (NOTE:  Much to my horror, she did).

"Sure, she may have a face like a hat fulla assholes,
but have you seen her rack?"
   I was shocked when I had a gander at the prune pie I call a face.

"Could be worse.  Could be Moses."
   Then I realized...maybe I should cut Dirty Harry some slack?

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Facebook Funnies XIII

"So then the infidel says, 'That's no pig, that's my wife!'. But, I kid. You folks have been great.  Now, on to the stoning!"

Monday, September 3, 2012

Happy Labor Day

For my followers from Canada, the UK, and Texas:  Labor Day is an American federal holiday, held the first Monday in September.  Also known as the "Unofficial Last Day of Summer," it celebrates economic and social contributions of working men and women.

Peter McGuire
Noted Labor Figure, Canadian watcher, and Dead Person
"Betcher ass I came up with the idea.
Plus, it's McGuire not Maguire."
  The idea of such a day was first proposed in 1882 by Matthew Maguire, a machinist who was then serving as a secretary for the Central Labor Union.  

  Some folks say this honor more properly should be given to Peter J. McGuire who got the idea while observing the annual labor festival in Toronto, Canada (which pretty much only involved flapjack tossing and rolling on logs in the river).
"Anything to get these labor people off my ass.
I wanna go get me a sandwich or something."

  Faced with huge labor unrest, highlighted by the Pullman Strike (look it up if you feel like)  and the great "Should They Be Called Yellow Stickies or Post-Its?" controversy, President Grover Cleveland signed the Congressional proposal to adopt Labor Day as a national holiday in 1882 (which you would have already known if you read the second paragraph).

  As a result, backyard barbecues throughout the nation proliferated as legions of schoolchildren began bitching that they had to go back to school.

  Oh, yeah, and labor people got a day off.

v.  labored, -boring, -bors  
1.  To work; toil
2.  To clean your garage because it's a big frikkin' mess
n.  1.  Physical or mental exertion of a physical nature
2.  Snooki reproduction
3.  The internal conflict which arises when trying to decide whether to clean the garage or make use of that empty couch

Okay, I made some of those up, but still...

No brainer on #3

Labor Day:
The Bad News:  It's the end of summer (I know it doesn't really end until the end of September, smart-ass).
The Good News:  Only 35 more days until Canadian Thanksgiving.