Dear Diary,

Does anybody remember that drama on one of the
networks a couple of years ago about a blind man
that's a detective that solved mysteries 'n shit and I
think he had a white dog?  Well do ya??  The reason I
ask and the reason I write is that I swear to oh
heavenly dog I just saw a commercial on my local PBS
station advertising what is said to be "the first
cooking show for blind people."  The title of this
show?  I'm glad you asked.  It's "Cooking Without
Looking."
But I digress.  That show about the blind detective
guy?  It's kind of far-fetched if you ask me.  And
quite frankly, and as you might expect, nobody bought
it.  The series had an impotent 12 episode run that
ended in May of 2005, I checked.  The show was missing
some things that would make the entire concept a
ratings juggernaut.  What things?  These fucking
things.
Of most chiefly importance, we must work on the
believability factor.  I believe that this was the
death knell of the series.  Make this believable and
you've struck gold!!  Let's cut right to it.  Who in
holy-himmel-fuck would ever hire a blind detective?!
I wouldn't hire a blind man to bag groceries much less
hire him to "sleuth around" with his fingers and his
mangy, supposed well-meaning fart-hound trying to
solve who poisoned gramma.  So we change the story to
be about a blind detective who can't get anybody to
hire him and his roto-pooch.  Of course, we also have
to change the whole fucking thing to a comedy.  Cause
this shit is ludicrous.  Every week is kinda like
"Groundhog Day," beginning with our would-be detective
with his eyes full of hope, but of not much other use.
The end of the show is him getting turned down for
the job in some hilarious fashion for the umpteenth
time, in the umpteenth precinct.  That's right,
because he's blind.  Now we've got believability and
low-brow comedy.  Recipe for success.  Speaking of,
when's "Cooking Without Looking" on??

Reality TV.  Ain't it great?  We've had at least a decade's worth of this clusterfucky genre and well, its unfortunately devolved into a formula that seems to just get repeated over and over a-fucking-gain.  A drug addict, a whore, a midget, a beefcake, a bitch that needs a sandwich and the super-homo with AIDS, (a) move into a huge fucking house, (b) travel all over the fucking place or (c) fuck each other while traveling or alternately after they move into the huge fucking house.  Maybe I'm simplifying a little but you get the idea. 
And while I'm on the subject, Reality TV has visited upon us a somewhat newer phenomena.  Actors, musicians and the like have begun starring in these reality series's's.'  What a crock of heapin', steamin' shit.  Takin' jobs away from simple, honest, real folk who just want to find their one true love or at least get to eat a lizzard's gizzard.  Plus, you know what???  If I wanted to watch actors on television, I would watch a fucking movie!!!  Can't we just get back to a simpler time when actors, actresses, musicians, famous magicians, illusionists and jugglers in order acted, acted, played music, did their magic, illused us and juggled everyday fucking household items???  Please, try to stick to your True Hollywood Stories and Behind the Fucking Musics to fuel your hopelessly ill-fated comeback hopes.  That way, at least you don't have to fuck Flava Flav.

Good day folks!!  It's time for Fish Wish Dish!!  Sure it's hard to say, but it sure is fun to play!!  Let's check in and see what Fish Wishes they're dishing today!!

"I'm Lish.  I'm a rainbow trout from the Mississippi Valley area.  Much like you might expect, I have several wishes I must get off my chest.  I have decided to title my presentation "Lish Fish Wish Dish."  Without further ado here are my wishes...."

1)Lungs - you know so maybe we can avoid the fate of so many in my family by being able to breathe if we are ever out of the safe confines of the wet stuff.   "Flop like a fish."  We've all heard that phrase.  Do you know why we "flop(!)" around like that??  Because the level of our suffering is utterly, mindnumbingly outrageous, as we fight for our last breaths with these fucking useless gills!!!  Yep!  There's going to be some flopping!!  Get us some lungs bitches!!  And no, not instead of gills, in addition to gills.  Hook a Fish Wish up!!

2)Legs - walking sure looks like a lot of fun.  Hook a Fish up with some wheels so he can get around on dry land (of course, AFTER obtaining the required lungs; this is important). 

3)Teeth - this is a big one as teeth could be very useful in breaking down the disgusting foods we ingest instead of what we normally do which is eating worms whole, slurpin' on squid (which would be a great name for a band) and suckin' on chili dog (which would be a great line in an iconic rock n' roll tune).

Well that's it for this weeks Fish Wish Dish.  Join us next time when we catch up with an Alaskan Snow Crab in his natural habitat, boiling in a pot of scalding water. 

My Favorite Hobby

My favorite hobby is getting together with friends and discussing excellence.  We then sometimes compare action plans that help us navigate the windy, treacherous (and quite often bumpy) road to ultimate excellence.  Next we usually pick out certain action items from the action plan and make sure that each action item is finely honed and tuned and always pointing toward our end goals.  Then, and this is the real kicker (or climax), we celebrate our successes (or triumphs) as we cross off more and more action items in our ultimate quest of finishing up the action plan and achieving our desired excellence.  Man, it's a crazy fucking good time.

Dear Diary,

Thanksgiving is once again upon us.  The following is a partial list of office supplies I'm thankful for in random order.

--staple removers

--masking tape

--bold non-smudging hi-liters

--press-it seal-it instant non-lick white envelopes (No. 10)

--pens (any)

--jumbo paper clips

If I've left any out, please remember this is only a partial list.

 

Speaking.  Speaking of speaking, I spoke with the speaker who spoke out against speaking out in spoken word.  And speaking of the speaker who spoke out against speaking out in spoken word, I spoke with his mother, who spoke only when spoken to except with the speaker.  With the speaker she spoke, sometimes spoke before the speaker and the speaker replied often spoke after his mother spoke. 

Dear Diary,

I know what you're thinking.   You read the title of the blog and said to yourself, 'isn't that the title of an old Rick Springfield album?'  The answer of course is no (his only hit album before falling into obscurity was "Working Class Dog").  But I'm glad you brought him up.  The following is a true and disturbing account of what I saw with me own two eyes.

 

You may remember Rick Springfield.  Jessie's Girl?  Halfway decent song amid clunker after clunker.  Rick didn't really make it into the 90's.  The public grew disgusted with Ricky like eating that certain kind of cheese that might taste ok on first bite but with repeated chewing causes gag reflexes to spiral out of control culminating with the inevitable regurgitated brie and apologies all the way around.  Rick was rejected by America.  America, it turns out, was not wrong.

 

You see I was watching the tele the other night, and I accidentally flipped to a concert, being broadcast in HD, of Rick playing what for the purposes of this blog we'll call music.  This is what I saw.  He's playing one of his  "classics" (I don't remember the title.  I made myself forget) and decides to invite his family (who were in attendance) to come up on stage and sing with him.  Like twenty of 'em.  He introduces his god daughter (about 21-22 years old).  If you have any animals, now is a good time to take them out of the room because beavers will be harmed in this tale.  He then slinks behind his god daughter, continuing to play guitar while bopping back and forth to the hopelessly catchy tune.  He is effectively dry humping his god daughter.  For five minutes.  I timed it.  I thought it was one of those kama sutra deals.  It was, needless to say, a perplexing display of a man attempting to re-capture his worthless youth by playing really dissonant garbage and HUMPING HIS GOD DAUGHTER.  Not usually a recipe for a comeback. 

 

Anyway, I hope everyone had a nice Halloween.  Don't forget to check your candy for guns.  And for that matter, don't forget to check your guns for candy.  Hooperman.

 

 

Dear Diary,

Sometimes things just have a nice ring to them.  Like "holy pants."  Or "proud bulge."   When you can put both together in a single thought, well, you have what we call "magic." 

Other phrases that may have a nice ring to them include "vicious infants," "kaleidoscope pope" and "the way to feel when felt."

"May Your Dreams Be Unrealistic, So When You Obviously Don't Reach Them You Have A Handful Of Pitiful Excuses"  -- Dickens

 

Dear Diary,

What are you wearing?  No really.  I, for example, am wearing a Ralph Lauren t-shirt, a pair of comfortable shorts from Old Navy and a pair of Colombia sandals.  Alright, to appease the sickos out there, I am wearing a pair of Fruit of the Loom boxers.  I only bring this up to illustrate a point.  It is because of the sickos out there that this information is not exchanged on a regular basis when visually seeing someone is simply not possible.  I, for one, would like to have a bit sharper of a mental picture of the person who just sent over their typewritten ca-ca.  I bet you would too.   I think it would really be nice if everyone would give a brief description of their current state of dress at the beginning of all their communications.  And I will certainly do the same.  Then others will too.  Soon, everyone outside corporate America will follow suit.  So please, any correspondence you send from here on out, begin with a prelude (its a very good place to start)!!  And no need to explain!  Eventually, it will kind of be like your signature, only it changes every day!!  What are you wearing??  Seriously, its nice to know.  When I talk to somebody in person, Im not exactly shielding my eyes.  No sir or ma'am.  Im looking at what youre wearing and trying to listen carefully to whatever the hell you're saying.  It makes for quite a nice cornucopia for the senses.  Therefore, please, when you send your next comment, e-mail, blog, column or free-form rap, wont you let us know?  What are you wearing??