I wear English Leather Cologne which keeps me smelling very attractive at all times.
Too bad he couldn’t hang out longer before taking his jesting to infinity.
In 1956, while barhopping with Ingmar Bergman in Shanghai, Charles Lane struck up a conversation in a particularly shabby establishment with a defrocked Peruvian shaman. Instantly taking a liking to Lane’s sunny disposition, the shaman asked his age. The puzzled Lane replied, “51.” Thereupon, the shaman produced four twigs from his poncho and arranged them into a lopsided trapezoid on the bar. He spat in the trapezoid’s center and said, “Double, amigo, double.” That’s all there was to it, for Lane at that point had to support Bergman in the general brawl which had recently expanded to reach their end of the bar.
Charles Lane lived to the age of 102 because:
a. of his size. (That’s a life-size photo. In all of his movie and television appearances, trickery was used to make him appear to be properly sized.)
b. on his 21st birthday and every day following for the rest of his life, he started the day by eating a single chocolate covered cricket.
c. he couldn’t afford the alternative, never having been cast as a romantic lead in any of his several million appearances.
d. he was pretty healthy.
e. of something having to do with Ingmar Bergman and a careful arrangement of twigs.
Before descending into the evil woods, the loon paused to pluck up a significant amount of extra courage.
The clammy hand of dread caressed the loon’s neck as he followed the path of death.
When he came upon the rope of strangulation, the loon wept in terror. His skin turned into baying wolves.
OH, THE HORROR!
Salvation taunted beyond the barbed wire. And yet, alas.
This is the triffid’s Aunt Harriet. The loon visited her one evening last week and had a long discussion with her about the upcoming triffid takeover of the world. The loon was reassured that he would be allowed to live on as an historically amusing harmless relic. The loon’s sense of well-being was boosted even more when Aunt Harriet, moments after this photo was taken, saved the loon from being attacked by that killer snowman. She killed and ate it, hat and all, before resuming her patient vigil.
Loon Resolutions
Modify exercise program to non-existence.
Paint head a different color every other Thursday.
Make something out of nothing.
Pour honey on the sneakers of strangers.
Party like it’s Wednesday morning.
Live more like a giraffe.
We live at the mercy of a malevolent word.
Pithy, Joe, pithy.
‘Surprise! Now you know why the rear-facing seats are such a bargain.’
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Doc's Lunacy
5 of 5 stars to The Great Train Robbery by Michael Crichton goodreads.com/review/show/55…
