The view of this picture reminds me of a really cool restaurant I visited in Haifa. It overlooked the Mediterranean. So, since it reminded me of a restaurant, I thought I’d dig out an oldie. This story first appeared on September 25, 2014.
Photo is courtesy of Rochelle’s friend from way back, Lucy. Thanks, Lucy!
John’s blind date never arrived. He waited in his favorite restaurant for one hour, 55 minutes, five glasses of water and three breadsticks.
Julie, his favorite waitress, saw his sad look. “Um …maybe her phone didn’t charge. More breadsticks? More water?”
“No thanks, Julie. I’ll give her fifteen more minutes. After that, I’m going home.”
“My shift’s over now. I’ll have Brandon see to you, OK?”
“OK. Have a good night.”
Fifteen minutes later, Julie emerged from the kitchen spiffed, dressed splendidly and drop dead gorgeous.
She sat down by the stunned John. “Sorry, I’m late. I had to work.”
Nothing was campier than the old Batman TV series with Adam West and Burt Ward.
A nod to a one Mike “Franko” Franklin of Kansas City who came up with the ending line some thirty years ago for his comedy routine. I don’t know where he is now or if he continued in the biz, but, if by some miracle he’s reading this, thanks, Mike. Credit to where credit is due.
Rochelle is the Queen of FF. Her husband, the Jan, the Consort, provided the pic.
I called my brother. He came over, popcorn at the ready. We sat down and played it … my newly acquired DVD of the old Batman series. I slipped the disc into the player. No Batman.
Instead, of our beloved TV series we saw a guy dressed as a doctor talking about proctology.
“A training film? What in the good …?”
I checked the disc. It said, “Butt-man” in magic marker scrawl. Someone pulled a prank.
“Imagine … somewhere a group of doctors is watching Batman.”
Bro shook his head. “Yeah, expecting Butt-man and Boy Thunder Meet the Monster From Uranus.”
“Green door, what’s that secret you’re keepin’?”
OK, so the door isn’t green, but there IS a secret behind it.
Blog Queen Rochelle rules this kingdom of words and prose.
C.E. Ayr, the Mad Scotsman, provided the picture. I think his sense about what he writes inspired (the polite word for it) me to author this little tidbit.
The FF Jester has spoken. All depart.
“Will you hold that thing still? I can’t see anything!”
Brandon aimed the flashlight at the door. “That better?”
Bill continued scraping off the crusts of dirt, layered through the decades.
“I understand he hid the money here.” He finally forced open the door. Dust and must filled the air.
Brandon coughed. “Supposed to be some 7 million dollars, huh?”
Bill looked down and saw a body bound and gagged. He jumped. “Somebody got to it before we did.” He picked up a bottle of what looked like bathtub gin. He aimed the light at the body.
“It’s Geraldo Rivera!”
I was a music major (see my bio for confirmation) and it’s highly competitive in college in order to get distinction on your comps. I just got “dis-stink.” Actually, I’m a pretty decent musician. Functional, anyway.
This story is based on something that occurred several years after I graduated. Reprinted from January 10, 2013.
Thanks to Bjorn Rudberg for this picture because you know it’s “all about da-bass/ ’bout da bass/ no treble.”
When Aunt Wilma called Mom to ask me if I knew Donna Manners from my college days, I wondered what “Prima Donna” Manners wanted with my aunt.
Said she was an aspiring country singer. Could she stay with Aunt Wilma and Uncle Bob for awhile in Nashville while she worked it out?
I remembered her full of talent AND herself … making me look stupid in front of the music instructors who said she clearly had the superior voice.
“Tell Aunt Wilma no!” Being late, I headed for the theater. Gotta get there fast! They can’t start La Traviata without “Violetta.”
Hi. It’s me again.
The following story is true, everything said actually happened (as in, I couldn’t have written this because it’s too funny). I feel I have blundered into Russell Territory.
Thanks, Jean, for the great photo. Nostalgic to the hilt.
The cousin of Elvis Presley arrived promptly for his TV guest appearance. He had been imitating his famous cousin for years before there were Elvis impersonators.
Director Jerry riffled his scripts. “OK, Camera Three, get Elvis. Camera Two, stay where you are for now.’
Camera Three trucked down to the set a few feet away to get the shot.
Jerry yelled, “Where’s Elvis?”
Everyone within earshot responded with, “Elvis has left the building!”
“I’ll go find him.” The floor director ran off. She came back quick. “Elvis is in the bathroom!”
Jerry chuckled. “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On.”
This picture, provided by Roger Boltot, made me think of the Kauffman Center in Kansas City. It’s a beautiful venue, but more important is the man who gave the money, Ewing Kauffman. When I got the idea for this story, I went to do some research and whattya know! TODAY, as I write this, September 21 — is Ewing Kauffman’s 100th birthday anniversary! Who knew? I certainly didn’t! Thanks, Mr. K.
Below is an anecdote about one of his labs’ inventions. After the story, you’ll see a link as to what Ewing Kauffman’s secret formula for true business success was.
He sat down and wrote it on a napkin. His labs had made the supplement simply from oyster shells.
So, how to promote it?
Of course, this was a problem he maybe never anticipated as a former pharmaceutical salesman, who, in the beginning, filled bottles, labeled them with his company name and took to the streets of the medical world from his home garage.
Imagine. The founder of Marion Labs, now a huge and highly successful operation, writing a promotional on a napkin!
“Enjoy your oysters
We bid thee well
You need the protein
We need the shell
This link is called Leadership The Marion Way. You want to know how to truly be successful, this is it. Be inspired and go create your own businesses!
Like Ray Bradbury said about Fahrenheit 451, he was writing to PREVENT the future, not predict it. And, I doubt I’m the first to think of this idea, so …
This story contains no artificial ingredients. In short, no rewrites. It is what it is as I put it down on cyber paper. Photo by Shaktiki Sharma. They reminded me of little swimming pool robot cleaner-uppers instead of grindstones. Mea culpa.
“They did … what??”
“They copied my synapses. You see, since stuff is run by machines now, all they have to do is interview someone … like me … and copy my responses so the machine can run with human-type responses.”
Al thought a minute. “And they can actually do that now?”
Charlie lit a cigarette. “Yup. Best part is, they pay me a royalty for using my brain patterns in the robot. So, I get paid and I ain’t got to do nothing.”
“And if the robot breaks down?”
Charlie about dropped his cig. “Holy cow, I never thought of that.”