Commentary - Humor - Nonsense - Sarcasm - Satire - Whimsy
On the Road with DR. EVIL
Vol. III, No. 12, 1 December 2001
A Missive of Irregular Frequency
and Questionable Worth
MY PERSONAL STUFF
I have a lot of little
personal treasures in my office as well as in a "jewelry" box on my
dresser. None of them are of any real value - that is, to anyone but me. Those
in my office include my little collection of toy cars, including a desert
patrol VW Beetle, a black and white police cruiser, a Ford
Thunderbird stock car (No. 16), and a rescue ambulance. All are equipped with
undying power supplies driving sirens that sound off when the front wheels are
depressed. They all still work after about 8 years. Then there's the little red
Radio Flyer wagon with a gum paste rose made by Mrs. Evil inside. The still-life
includes a small stylized glass frog. The "Scare Bug," was also made
by Mrs. Evil. The MiCubano cigar was given to me on the occasion of
some now-forgotten, but, I'm certain, very significant event about 5 years ago.
The little 2-inch trophy cup, also given to me by Mrs. Evil, was in recognition
of my remodeling efforts on the house. The inscription reads "JOE - Carpenter/Craftsman of the Year 1990." Joe, of course, was that carpenter
who filled in as Jesus' sociological father. I picked up the small piece of
fossil coral on a beach near Corpus Christi, Texas. The "Wind Breaker"
is not a light weight jacket, but a gob of play-dough-like stuff in a plastic "glass."
By scrunching it around inside the glass, a fantastic variety of very personal
and private sounds like that guy behind you insists on making. Several warnings
are printed on its sides: "Do not take to church, Avoid classroom use and
Keep away from family gatherings." Homie Simpson is standing tall on one of
the upper shelves - right up there with "Charlie," my glass dunking
canary wearing a top hat. Mementos of no lesser significance can be found in the
box on my dresser. My shot record is the bearer of unrealized good news. It
shows that I was revaccinated for smallpox in 1968 and again in 1972. My freebie
Lewis Rukeyser watch stopped running about 2 weeks after receiving it. There are
keys to my long gone '88 Toyota Cressida and my old '77 Buick Skylark. A couple of
packages of foam ear plugs. Some great die (I prefer to say "dice")
that I picked up in Las Vegas. There's a clicker - like the ones used by British
Commandos to communicate with each other in the dark. But mine has a caricature
of a duck on it, so doubt that it is authentic. Several foreign coins - from The Netherlands, UK, Spain and
France. A chrome letter "K," from that same old '77 Buick. A little tin of
Cigarette Loads. You stick them into the end of a cigarette and when the smoker
lights up, the "butt" blows up in his face. And finally a dog whistle.
You know! One of those tiny little whistles that only dogs are supposed to be
able to hear. Really impressive stuff - 73 years of careful collecting. Smithsonian
stuff?
NASAL TRUMPETING
My uncle Frank had developed
to perfection the fine art of sounding off like a trumpet when he blew his nose.
A real Harry James, he was. At about age 8, I was very impressed. So much so
that I was determined to also develop the skill - much to the chagrin of
my mother. After many practice sessions and sore nasal passages, I was finally
able to make a feeble little buzz, but nothing of the window shattering quality my
uncle was able to produce. With continued and dedicated labor, I finally reached the zenith of my
nose trumpeting at about age 12. With my younger and smaller nose, I'm happy to
say that I was more of
a Louis Armstrong. Unfortunately, it was downhill thereafter and by age 40 I had lost
much of that great skill. Although I worked at it from time to time, I have been unable to
duplicate the musical technique I had at age 12. The legacy is that, unless I consciously try, I
now can't seem to blow my nose without trumpeting.
WHAT'S IN A NICKNAME
Why is it some kids acquire nicknames and others don't. In my old neighborhood, we and our buddies had a plethora of special handles for each other. Some of us had multiple ones. I, for instance, had several: Four Eyes, Penrod, Maud, and Frog were the longest lasting. Frog came from the fact that my voice changed at about age 9. Like the homely little four eyed kid in the Our Gang movies. My three older brothers shared Heck, Coon, Red, Cob, and Stud. The latter three were hung on just one of them. My Dad was Buck and Ches. Better one of those than Chesley, his real name. I have never heard of anyone else named Chesley. The neighbor kids were Hank, Hod, Bud, Red, and Chuck. The two girls in that family didn't have nicknames. We had a Butch in the neighborhood, of course. He lived across the street. Another Chuck and his sister, Sissy, in another house across the street. One of the best nicknames was Slurp. Using a horse weed with the roots still holding a clod of dirt, Slurp speared me right in the face as I and the rest of my army attacked him and his army in a fort on top of a hill. It knocked me clean down to the bottom. Slurp's brother, Russell, was another who never acquired a nickname. I think it's an honor to have a nickname. Multiple nicknames? I don't know. Could mean you're a popular kid - or just weird.
For a look at Osama bin Laden's incoming mail, click on http://www.x5.ca/bin2.swf . It may take a while to load up, but worth the wait.
See you at the next rest stop.
Dr. Evil
Why yes, I'm Evil.
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