Well, dear readers, I must tell you of an
annoying thing that has been annoying me. It
is always annoying when an annoying thing is
annoying, isn't it? And what is this annoying
thing you might ask and I might tell you
because frankly I am annoyed and when one is annoyed one must speak of it.
So, I am sitting
here on my handy-dandy couch writing this
here column. You all remember my handy-dandy
couch which I purchased last year? If not,
here is an activity photo of my handy dandy
Of course that is not me sitting on my handy-dandy couch, no, that is
Mr. Mark Bakalor
sitting on my handy-dandy couch.
Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, that is Mr.
Mark Bakalor sitting on my handy-dandy couch
like so much handy-dandy fish. However, Mr.
Mark Bakalor is not currently sitting
on my handy-dandy couch, I am. Why is this
annoying? Because the cushions of this couch
are filled with down. Not filled with
up, mind you, no, these cushions are
filled with down. Because these
cushions are filled with down, what happens is
that little feathers poke their way through
the cushions and stab me in my buttcheeks.
Then you have to pull said feather out of the
couch, which I suppose is preferable to pulling them out of your buttcheeks.
I have been pulling a lot of feathers
out of these cushions because they have been
stabbing me in the buttcheeks ads nauseum. Now, I don't
know about you, dear readers, but I do not like
to be stabbed in the buttcheeks by feathers
or anything else. These feathers have sharp
pointy bits on them these feathers do. Oh,
yes, sharp pointy bits on these feathers. In
any case, there's really nothing to be done,
but at the rate I'm pulling these feathers
out of this couch,
soon there will be no feathers at all and I
will be sitting on featherless cushions and
what is the point of that? I believe
these down feathers come from chicks or ducks
or geese or something with feathers.
Well, these chicks and ducks and geese better scurry
because soon I will need more feathers in my featherless cushions.
There. I have vented. I feel better although
there is currently a feather wth a sharp pointy bit stabbing me in
Heavens to Betsy, it has become frighteningly apparent that I will not
be able to finish this column before leaving for New York. Yes, you
heard it here, dear readers, I am off to New York yet again. And
heavens to Betsy I simply have no time to write, what with all the
packing and the doing and the going. "Heavens to Betsy". This would
certainly have to go into the pantheon of ridiculous sayings. Who is
Betsy? And if we've got "heavens to Betsy" can we also have "hells to
Bertha"? I want to know who this Betsy is and why she has a saying.
In any case, as Betsy by now knows, there will be no column this week.
So much for being regular. But we will return next week with an
extra-special brand spanking new column filled with extra-special
brand spanking new drivel. Meanwhile, picture me sitting at Table 20
at my beloved Joe Allen, eating my beloved Coconut Custard Pie with
Whipped Cream, and I will picture you picturing me and we will all be
having a picturing moment, won't we, dear readers? Please forgive me,
but I had intended to finish the column before I left but time got
away from me. I hate when time does that. And I had just sung
"You'll Never Get Away From Me" to time and then time has the
unmitigated gall to get away from me. Not the mitigated gall,
mind you, no, the unmitigated gall. And by the way, whatever
happened to Betsy? For that matter, whatever happened to Baby Jane?
Or Dainty June? Don't I have a plane to catch? Have you ever caught
a plane? They're heavy, let me tell you that.
Until next time, I am, as I ever was, and ever shall be...