A Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Willie story
Manny pulled his hands away from his face and smiled. “Mr. President, we couldn’t do any of this without you. Al Gore campaigned for two years for airport slavery and he got nowhere. And he never even thought of confiscating the picnic knives! You’ve given us more tyranny in a week than Clinton and Gore gave us in eight years, and this war of yours is barely started. The one becomes the other, inch by inch, hour by hour, episode by episode. Thirteen weeks? Mr. President, I predict this show will still be getting great ratings in thirteen years!”Photo by: Kevin Dooley
September 16, 2001
“Mr. President, before we begin I need to remind you that reality television is still television.” Manny Kant said that. His hands were folded together, his thumbs pressed tightly to his lips. His hair was slicked back and his tiny black eyes were hidden behind tiny mirrored sunglasses.
Dubya wore a look of profound confusion, which is basically the ground state of his face.
“What I mean is, the pilot got great ratings, phenomenal ratings—”
“But not one cent in advertising,” Fishman interjected. He was sitting to Manny’s right at the conference table, Continue reading
A Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Willie story
“You adorn your body with comical uniforms and undeserved medals, and you plaster your name with ridiculous titles, all to make up for your fundamental emptiness. You live your life as the empty puppet of an empty doctrine, and everyone in North Korea – everyone in the world – will love you best when you are assassinated by your own Glorious Successor.”Photo by: Tom Babich
December 16, 2014
“Sucks to be you.” I said that to Kim Jong-un. I was standing to his right on the plaza that overlooks the undersized gondola pond by the Doge’s Palace at the spectacular Venetian Hotel and Casino Resort in scenic Las Vegas, Nevada.
To his left was an an enormous black bodyguard who was poised to snag me by the collar and jerk me back to reality.
To the Shining Sun of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea I said, “There are cameras everywhere, including thousands of smartphone video cameras. Do you really want to cause an international incident? Does anyone even know you’re here?”
The short, squat man gave the tiniest wave with his left hand and that was that.
Christmas at the Venetian is everything you’d expect from Vegas – Continue reading
The headline is not enough of a tease? See me on The Joy of Chastity for an appetizer.
Meanwhile, here is yesterday’s homily from The Church of Splendor:
Why does all-the-way-married love-making make all the difference? My full answer is in Loving Cathleen – on sale until the end of the year for 99¢.
I get mail. Not very much, but I get good mail. This is a young man who entrusted his mind to my advice. I hope he doesn’t feel let down by it:
How can a young person find better love, enduring love, a lifelong love? Stop shopping for anything else and increase your own market value until you and your perfect love find each other.
If this video elicited a response from you, spread it around. Watch it again with your friends – or with your kids or with your kid brother or sister.
A thought for thoughtful men: What if girls decided to make a fashion of chastity? Good on ya for building your value proposition ahead of time.
Ladies, here’s a link to the Hitachi Magic Wand discussed in the video and here’s a way to make it more fulfilling, so to speak.
Moms and Dads, the gift note can read like this:
My Dearest Darling Daughter,
We don’t ever have to talk about this if you don’t want to, but watch this video and we won’t have to:
Love, You Know Who
Meanwhile, to Continue reading
“There is only one Christmas, isn’t there? Holly and mistletoe. A golden retriever by the fire. Mom bastes the bird while dad carols with the choir. Icicles cling to the branches of birch trees and fat, wet snowflakes tumble down, lit by the yellow glow of gaslights. Horses nicker and children giggle and lovers nestle and sigh. We’re all dreaming of a white Christmas — and we’re all dreaming.
From the Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Willie Christmas story collection, available at Amazon.com
“And why not? Over the ghetto and through the industrial park doesn’t sound like a very nice way to get to Grandmother’s house, even though the highway really does go that way. There are no trails of tail-lights at Christmas, glinting and glowing in the drops of muddy drizzle on the windshield. The snow is white and windblown into drifts, not plow-piled and gray with soot. The children don’t squabble, the drunkards don’t wobble and the lovers don’t quarrel or cry.”
Who doesn’t need a little inspirational brutality for Christmas? Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Willie’s Christmas stories are free today, 12/13/14, to celebrate my wife’s birthday, and the book is on sale for 99¢ for the rest of the year.
My vow: You’ll Continue reading
A Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Willie story
I can be counted upon to walk, after all.
When everybody’s nowhere and even the laundromats are empty. When the respectable stores are closed and the line at the 24-Hour Slurp ’n’ Burp is 15 deep with people craving cold beer and hot salsa and high-octane unleaded. When there’s one lonely mailman in an immense empty truck delivering insanely last-minute gifts sent via God-Help-Me-If-I-Screw-It-Up-Again Express Mail. When the streets are empty and the highways are empty and the parking lots are empty and, for once, even the bars are empty – I can be counted upon to walk. You’re at home with the yule log blazing, with a glazed ham baking, with a Bordeaux breathing, with the children seething to tear into that cache of treasures parked beneath the tree. And Uncle Willie’s out walking on Christmas Eve, dragging his pencil on the pavement for no good reason at all.
“Storm windows,” John Prine sings. “Gee, but I’m getting old. Storm windows, keep away the cold.” And that’s a silly enough thought in the great outdoors. I was cutting through an apartment complex and the closed-for-the-holidays supermarket next door had left its parking lot speakers blaring. And the radio Continue reading
The big bad wolf figured out that, if he could muck with the real estate market enough, he could get the puerile little pig a home of his own – and then he could count on his vote forever…
Once upon a time there were three little pigs, and, although they were brothers and looked a lot a like, they could not have been more different.
The first little pig was hard-working and thrifty. He spent very little of his income, saving and investing as much money as he could. He lived with his mother well into adulthood, helping her with her expenses. He finally bought a home of his own when he could afford to pay for it all in cash. As you might expect, the thrifty little pig’s home wasn’t flashy, but it was all his, free and clear.
The second little pig didn’t save very much of his income, but he earned a lot of money as a rising executive, and he had an uncanny luck in the housing market. He bought a condominium on his 18th birthday, then traded up to his first single-family home before he was 21. By the time he was 30, the Continue reading