Running From a Silent Red Robin

Ahh...it's been a while since I've had anything to say. I'm getting ready for the annual jaunt to the Caribbean with the wife...we leave on Sunday. No doubt I'll have lots to say upon my return.

I'M BEING STALKED BY A SILENT RED ROBIN
My wife and I are quite lazy when it comes to preparing a daily supper. We eat out ALOT. One of our favorite places to dash to for a quick dinner is a little burger joint called Red Robin. The food is reasonably priced and it's very good.

Recently, we've noticed a Red Robin mascot at the restaurant. Let me start by saying this:

Mascots, now matter how cute, or how well intentioned, are creepy.

In our past couple of visits, the mascot has been there. We spy it walking around, pausing at tables and moving on.

A physical description: The bird is red. Bright red. It stands approximately 5 ft 10 inches in height, and it wears tennis shoes at the ends of its spindly legs. It's head is disproportionately large and it's beak protrudes outward from its face at least ten inches. Its eyes are dead and lifeless. Cold and black, they emit an aura of an emotionless killing machine. It wears little clothing, maybe a sports jersey.

Now, the other night, while we were engaged in a fairly deep conversation, the Robin approached our table. It stopped, looked at me, made some kind of gesture, and didn't say anything. I rebuffed its advances and thought it would move along to harass another table. No. It just stood there. Not speaking. Not moving. Just standing. And staring.

What is the point of this? You're making diners uncomfortable!

My wife and I quickly finished our meal and paid the check. We scurried to the door and didn't look back. As I gazed ahead at the glass exit door, I saw we weren't alone. Behind us, closely, was that FUCKING BIRD.

Seen Today

I've always marveled at the fact that in spite of any formal training or education, Hoosiers employ some very advanced engineering techniques. One of my all time favorites is the "smoking window". Check the January archives for the complete tale.

Today, plodding along northbound on Jefferson avenue, I spy what appears to me as a post for this blog. Creeping along, in a green Geo Prism, with one tire extremely low on air, is an eager looking gentleman. He's obviously got his mood set to Let's Have a GREAT Day!, and his radio is obvioulsy tuned to something peppy. The sound, pouring through his speakers and straight to his heart, is being harnessed through the capture of airborne radio waves and delivered to our delighted driver via the rusty coat hanger he's fashioned into a radio antennae.

Rusty. What's that tell you?

Seen Recently

In my mother in law's neighborhood, a truck sits parked on the street. Affixed to the back window of the vehicle is what appears to be a custom decal, which states:

ONCE YOU GO WHEELCHAIR, YOU NEVER GO BACK

Screeching and Whistling on the Telephone Line

I despise telemarketers. I understand they've just got a job to do, but that doesn't mean their job should involve me. Lately, I've been receiving a call from some telephone number in Oregon, at least three times nightly. Every night. Let's just say the call comes often enough that it piqued my interest enough to determine that the (248) prefix was assigned to Oregon.

I've decided that if I can't stop the calls, I'll make the caller suffer. So, every time this number pops up now, I stand from my chair, fill my lungs with air and emit an ear splitting SSSSSCCCCCCRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECCCHHH!!!!

My wife witnessed this last night and began rolling on the floor laughing. Claiming that not only was the sound frightening, but that my face contorted in a maniacal manner, she had tears streaming down her face, banging the floor in hysterical laughter.

She then shared with me that her late Aunt Frances shared my detest for telephone buggery and employed a similar strategy. First, allow me to share a few facts about Aunt Frances. Although I never was blessed enough to meet the angel on earth, I've been filled with enough stories to paint an accurate picture of the woman.

Frances never married.

Frances lived with her sister Marie, who strangely enough never married either.

Frances and Marie had a snow white pomeranian named Tiny.

Frances and Marie wiped Tiny's ass after he did his business.

Tiny had a place at the dinner table, complete with his own placesetting.

Frances and Marie lived to be VERY old and were most likely whisked past the undecideds lined up to see St. Peter, and were given a personal audience with Christ himself.

It's the goodness and purity that make the story my wife told so funny.

Apparently, when a telemarketer would call Frances, she would grab her whistle (right near the phone mind you), and not just any whistle. No, this whistle was provided to Frances by Oscar - Meyer. It was a wiener two inches in diameter and five inches long. She'd wrap her lips around the wiener and blow. Not gently mind you. Frances wanted to get the telemarketer off, so she'd blow with everything she had! If the first blow didn't do the trick, she'd blow again! The wiener blowing climax would end in a stream of excited, spurting language. It was then, and only then, that Frances would pull her pursed, bruised lips away from the wiener. No wonder she got so many calls!

Nice Guys DO Finish Last!

Below is an email exchange between my friend Mary and I. Her fiance, Vince, has been my best friend since high school. In my email, I'm asking Mary how her son Timmy did in last week's Pinewood Derby. Vince, who had enormous aspirations regarding the construction and detailing of the car quite...well, no pun intended, but it sounds like the wheels fell of his Ambition-mobile.

Enjoy.


Me: How did Timmy do at the Pinewood Derby? What did his car look like?

Mary: it was the american flag. vince got some kind of fancy decal to put on it. he came in 8 out of 12. someone made a Jesus car. it came in last.

Well, at least the kid learned some valuable lessons.

#1 Mediocrity is present in all of life's efforts
#2 Nice guys DO finish last

Iraqi Eyes

I know by now everything I'm about to express has been extolled by media pundits worldwide, but I feel I need to share my joy over the successful elections in US liberated Iraq.

For many months now, our President, our soldiers, along with our coalition partners, have been subjected to divisive hatefulness. The world has mocked them, the naysayers have doubted them and the uninformed have disrespected them. I have four words for all of these small people. SHUT THE FUCK UP. There's little chance that my request will do anything to combat the vitriol, but an exercise in democracy that shames our own, should.

For all of you opposing the liberation of Iraq and calling our troops part of the problem (see Ted Kennedy), how can you now justify your commentary? Did you see the lines of Iraqis, miles long? Did you see the men, women and children, casting their ballot with tears in their eyes? Did you see the outward jubilation, the dancing in the streets? These brave citizens, under the threat of certain death, turned out in droves to shape the future of their country. When, Mr. Kennedy, was the last time THIS COUNTRY had voter turnout approaching 70 percent? When was the last time you and I walked for miles to cast our vote? Do we stand for hours, waiting to approach the ballot box? Does exercising our right to vote result in death threats? And in spite of the abscence of these obstacles, we can't muster voter turnout greater then 50 percent. Pathetic.

Do you remember where you were when Bagdad fell? I sure do. I stood watching men and women who were twelve hours earlier oppressed and fearing for their lives, smack with their shoes, a statue of the oppressor. I was nearly brought to tears. Did you see newly liberated Iraqis drag the head of Saddam's statue through the streets? Would any of this have been possible without the efforts of the coalition forces? Or, should we have continued failed diplomatic efforts, and let Saddam continue to murder his citizens (there are WMD's. If not, how did he gas the Kurds with Sarin and VX?), violate UN sanctions and steal billions of dollars that were given to Iraq to feed its people? Are you too cynical to absorb this or too proud of your convictions to admit you were wrong?

The elections on Sunday were an event I'll never forget. These proud men and women now control their own destiny. And our brave soldiers made that possible.