Farce Book

The "F'' used to stand for something else, as in "Fuck off and die." Now it stands for something we all know and hate: Farcebook.

I personally lament this development. For one, it begins the process of our de-evolution into amoeba. Secondly, it heralds the start of our move back to the herd mentality I and sharks and lions and killers and OTHER predators thought we had evolved away from. Not so.

No, we all herd without a clue towards Farce Book. Unwary of what lies in wait just behind the bush.

Woe is me.

Here I am, still blogging like it's nobody's business -- Hey wait. It IS nobody's business. About three people on the planet still blog. They have all gone over to Farcebook. Well, excuuuuuse me. I can act like a tyrannosarus Rex or a Brontosaurus too.

Oh. They're extinct.

Me and part of my life

Well, we start off with me and my kids, Monica and Evan. Lovely Lis, my female accompaniment, has refused to let me publish pix of her. But I will get her back. You know I will. I am seeing less and less of my kids, but they ARE growing older and more independent.

Here they are again -- after the stroke.

Here are a pair of ostriches. Note how the male is doing all the work and the female, like a queen, is just doing nothing but bossing the male around -- poor guy.

Here is me, pondering life and my existence.

Here is a bunch of women doing what they do best. Ha Ha Ha Ha!

This is my fate.

Me looking angrily at my son, who's out of this picture.

Me still.

Me flying away.

Just some scenery, like a pictorial musical interlude.

We all are babies at heart...and we all wear masks of some sort.

Because otherwise, we'd all have to be ourselves, as hideous as that might be.

Wimmin--Gotta Love 'Em

I was going to post some funny guy stuff about wimmin -- emailed to me by my younger brother Gerry, who I entertained as a young boy with the finer points of farting and other uniquely male experiences -- but other issues got in the way.

So then I was going to opine on the finer points of the female gender, but something happened -- I went gonzo over one of them. Strange, that.

Because they really ARE so inferior to us.

Look...we start stupid wars over territory no one cares about, or fight wars over issues that no one cares about...in fact, no one cares about anything we do. But before you know it, they've got us washing dishes differently.

All they do is have our babies and give us sex -- minor details, both, in our warring ways.

What, you may ask, would we do without them? I don't know. I just don't know.

Donn's

See, Donn with two thousand n's secretly loves these posts I do about him, his silly antics, his family and more about his silly antics. Donn picked the hottest, sweatiest day of the year to have me over for a BBQ of hot dogs and hamburgers yesterday.

We kibitzed around as we usually do. Alice, his wife, LOVED IT! Poor Alice. Their son Ridley is slowly developing a sense of humour like us. Poor kid! No, I mean lucky kid! Two Donns with two n's! Alice will likely go insane!


So Donn came to pick me up and drive me to his place To pick up Alice, their son Ridley and Donn's unfortunate mother Carol and his stepdad, Brian. We went to see his oldest daughter, Nicole, dance. Then we went back to his place.

Poor Carol and Brian, below, and behind them, Alice and Ridz. They have Donn to deal with. I was stuck in the front with him.

We finally went to Donn's with two n's.

Donn with two n's and his lovely wife, Alice.

Brian being a guy or something.

Carol being a girl or something.

These are random pictures that I ASSUME were taken by Alice.

Below, this is me trying to take Donn with a whole lot of n's for a ride om his turn-of-the-19th century bike.

The two brainiacs try to figure out how to use the brakes.

Chris and Ridley Rock The Casbah.