Things I May or May Not Have Said to Myself While Riding My Bike in the City

Whoa!

Hey…Cu-u-u-te.....Whoa!

Perhaps I could become a superhero on this bike. Because apparently, I'm invisible right now.

I wonder if I could have saved the money I spent on this tear-drop-shaped top-of-my-head multi-colored latticed bike helmet by making my own instead, using, say, an old mixing bowl, a leather belt, and some wadded up TV Guides. The result would be more stylish, that's for sure.

(Breathing hard)…Okay, I now…(breathing hard)…hate dogs…(breathing hard)…even more than those nasty worms…(breathing hard)…that sometimes…(breathing hard)…come out of dogs.

I wonder if the REI bike repair shop has a designated spokesperson.

They say you never forget how to ride a bike, but every once in a while I do.

Maybe I should try a little Tri-Flow on my knees.

I wonder if I could make a bullet-proof belt out of one of these Kevlar tires.

Note to self: E-mail bike manufacturer suggesting they add the following line to their pre-ride safety check instructions: Never ride your bike while drowsy from performing the recommended pre-ride safety check.

27 gears and nothing on.

The closest I’ll ever get to extreme is ex.

I understand that you’re in a Camaro and I’m on a bike, but doesn’t that just mean that it is I who should be throwing half-eaten fruit at you?

Conveyancist!

Owww!

Scary Movies for Weak Stomachs*

The Texas Chainsaw Altercation

Seven Sins Not Listed as Deadly, But Still Pretty Bad

Pleasantries with the Vampire

The Really, Really Strong Longstanding Disagreement

The Kind of Dream Where You’re Unprepared for Your Final Exam or Something Like That on Elm Street

Theater of Saliva

The Blair Witch Proposal (First Draft)

The Fall of the Guest House of Usher

The Mummy Was Going to Return, But Something Came Up

The Telltale Appendix

The Attack of the Unusually Tall Woman

Wait a Moment, Then You Can Look

Predator vs. Bluto

Michael Myers’ Day Off

The Heartless (Figuratively Speaking, That Is) Horseman

Dressed to Wound

The Wolf-like Man

Harry Potter and the Order of Sashimi

Baby Mad Scientists


*Note: A similarly-themed list, "Not Very Scary Movies" (not by Listmore), appears at www.mcsweeneys.net/links/lists.

Mistakes Clark Kent Has Made While Looking for Work

Accurately reported his top typing speed

Wrote his S's kind of funny on a job application

While being interviewed, failed to control a superfart and rose two inches off his chair.

Mesmerized by some nose hairs jutting out of an interviewer’s left nostril, inadvertently set them on fire with his heat vision

Used Martian Manhunter as a reference

Showed up a day early for an interview because he forgot that earlier in the week he had reversed the Earth’s rotation

Complimented an interviewer on her diamond pendant, then boasted he once made a similar one from a piece of coal

Inflated his resume by claiming he came from Bigville

When asked about his career goals said he wanted to become the Man of Tungsten.

Came directly from a rescue with a piece of his red Cape peeking out above his shirt collar. When questioned, he claimed he had cut himself shaving.

Was running late for an employment interview and tried to make up lost time using superspeed.  Was blurry, but not invisible like The Flash 

 

Ideas for New Book Topics, Along with Possible Titles (Taking a Lead from the Topics of Henry Petroski's Books*)

Topic: Pushpins
Title: Taking Another Tack: The Pull of Pushpins

Topic: Swizzle Sticks
Title: Swizzle: A Generation Stuck on Sticks

Topic: Fasteners
Title: Cleopatra’s Hasp and Other Famous Fasteners

Topic: Bristles
Title: Brush with Destiny: A History of Bristles

Topic: Eyelets
Title: Aye for Eyelets: A Book About Nothing

Topic: Grommets
Title: The Hole Truth: The Origin, Evolution, and Future of Grommets

Topic: Lugnuts
Title: Lugnuts and the Lugs and Nuts Who've Loved Them

Topic: Bottle Stoppers
Title: There’s No Stopping Stoppers

Topic: Slats
Ttile: Slats Life: The Lure and Lore of Louvers

Topic: Lanyards
Title: The Spaniard and the Lanyard: Lanyards in the Cultural History of Spain

Topic: Hairpins
Title: The Hairpin’s Turn

Topic: Valve Stems
Title: Ruling the Air: The Story of Valve Stems


*Most notably: The Toothpick: Technology and Culture (2007) and The Pencil: A History of Design and Circumstance (1990)

From the Conversations of Birds on a Wire

See that guy getting out of the pickup truck over there? He is a lineman for the county. You can tell by the rhinestones.

Then he says, “I meant to do that.“ Ha! What a manbrain!

Human offspring play this game with balloons they fill with water, but I can’t see how that doesn’t take all the fun out of it.

You really expect me to believe that what you have there is a forty-year-old chunk of Tippi Hedren’s left earlobe?

I think he's flown into one too many windows. Yesterday I saw him talking to a pair of tennis shoes.

I always end up back in Capistrano, even though I swear every time I leave I‘ll never come back. But I always do come back, though I don’t know why. It‘s like I‘m caught up in forces beyond my control. Maybe I’m trapped in some kind of cycle, like Bill Murray’s character in that movie we watched through the old woman’s open window down in Goya. Maybe there’s some lesson I have to learn before I can break free of Capistrano. But … bird! … I can’t for the life of me think of what it might be.

I don’t condone violence of any sort, mind you, but that mockingbird had it coming.

Sometimes I feel sorry for Sylvester. Am I a bad bird?

I just flew in from Chicago yesterday; I got pluck-searched going through security.

Curse you, early bird!

She could have told me she just wasn't interested. I could accept that. But no, she comes up with this lame excuse about having to migrate.

Feebly Humorous Christmas Songs That Haven't Been Written Yet

Feebly Humorous Christmas Songs That Haven't Been Written Yet
by R.D. Ronstad

I Won’t Be Working for You This Christmas, Mr. Walmart, So Hang My Stocking

Grandma Got Run Over by Mannheim Steamroller

Have Yourself a Very Merry The Holiday Formerly Known as Christmas

The Twelve Days of Christmas Remix, or, The Twelve Days of Christmas Not Necessarily in Order

I Want a Hypothalamus for Christmas

The “You’ll Shoot Your Eye Out” Polka

The Short Sweet Life of Frosty the Snowcone

They All Said Oh! When I Walked into the Tannenbaum at Bausch and Lomb

I’ll Be Home for Christmas (You Can Rag on Me)

Health Nuts Boasting … C’mon an’ Open Fire

Santa Made My Chimney Weep

Baby It's Cold Outside, But We're Fur-bearing Animals So Who Cares (written and sung by Sandy M. Cheeks and Alvin the Chipmunk)

The Maid Who Wouldn’t A-Milk

The Elf Fell in the Pretzel Dough, And Now the Elf is Pretzelly

I’m Feeling Rather Jingleless This Christmas

I Heard Mommy Dissing Santa Claus

Santa was Pissed as He Put Me on His List

Wheeze Mr. Postman

My Thumb is Numb (The Bell Ringer's Lament)

They Wanted to Return My Presence

Santa Claus is Bummin' Around (Sung to the tune of...Well, you know)

Why I'm Not Afraid of Jack Bauer

I’m operating on eight hours of sleep; Jack Bauer’s operating on eight hours of operating.

With all he’s been through, and despite appearances, he’s got to have the body of about a 200-year-old man. Jack Bauer is ready to crumble, literally.

Jack Bauer has experienced an endless string of victories. I have experienced an endless string of defeats. I figure the law of averages is on my side. Way on my side.

Jack Bauer is probably overconfident from reading all those fawning lists people are writing about him.

I have a useful contact at the Chinese embassy. A lunch counter server there (the beggar's chicken and sometime naked oats noodle lady), whom I met on OkCupid, says that in an emergency she can smuggle me into the embassy in an empty pig livers container. (She says the embassy is much more prepared for a Jack Bauer onslaught now that they’ve hired Johnnie To as director of security.)

I’ve begun to suspect I have some latent superpowers. For example, I've noticed I can see what’s going on on both sides of the locked door Jack Bauer is about to break down.

The theme music from 24 does the same thing to me that "Pop Goes the Weasel" always did to Curly of the Three Stooges.

Believe it or not, Nina is not dead. I know because I ran into her at a Dave and Buster’s last night. I think she likes me.

I have a bargaining chip. In the file they keep on me at CTU (these days, everyone has one), I’m officially classified as “no potatoes” (one level, as you might suspect, below “small potatoes”). However, I know someone who plays basketball with a guy whose brother thinks the husband of someone he works with may be “potatoes” (not a “big potatoes” or "Mr. Potatoes" type security threat, surely, but a seriously dangerous individual nonetheless). I would have no scruples about ratting out that potatoes guy to save my own no-potatoes skin.

Jack Bauer is sort of predictable. Sometimes it almost seems like he’s following a script.

I, on the other hand, am completely predictable. This would mess with Jack Bauer’s mind.

Jack Bauer is, like, about fourteen inches tall! I mean, c’mon!

Things Your Barber May Be Doing While You Have That Hot Towel Covering Your Face

Flipping a coin to determine your fate

Wondering how that picture of Oopsy Bear got on your towel

Trying to think of a word that rhymes with Brylcreem

The Barber Hop

Playing with his clipper ship

Reading a pamphlet on how to get a barber’s license

Adding your fallen hairs to his wig in progress

Getting up in your towel

Upping the price in the window

Giving the high sign to his plant, Audrey III

Punnyography

Note: Any similarities between these books and books in the real world are beyond coincidental.

Synopsis: A historical fantasy about a brilliant novelist who, disillusioned by the lack of public recognition of his talents, retires from the writing life to run a poultry farm in the French countryside. Two years later, a former literary rival, still bearing an old grudge, absconds one dark night with several of the author’s prize-winning chickens. After several days of captivity in the back of a beat-up Volkswagen minibus, the chickens effect a daring escape, and begin an arduous, danger-filled 900-mile trek back to the only home they have ever known, and the master they adore.

Title: The Chickens Come Home to Proust


Synopsis: Intergalactic man-eating aliens the Kanamits return to earth after a 40-year absence and eat all the inhabitants of Chicago except, owing to their respect for the arts, Chicago’s brightest literary light. Alas, the Kanamits well-documented love for bad puns eventually overcomes their literary taste---a tragic turn of events that leads to the famous author’s demise.

Title: There’s Always Room for Bellow


Synopsis: A family of modern-day trapeze artists, who have gained notoriety by reciting from The Canterbury Tales while performing high-flying acts of daring, suffers a series of unfortunate performance-related accidents.

Title: Earth vs. The Flying Chaucers


Synopsis: A biography of sixteenth-century French philosopher and essayist Francis Bacon, with a decidedly anti-Bacon slant.

Title: The Bad Side of Bacon


Synopsis: A cold-war tale about an Iowa farm boy who hides his love of Russian literature from his xenophobic father by pasting false covers on all his books.

Title: The Chekhov is in the Mailer


Synopsis: Focuses on a little-known period in Mark Twain’s life during which he made his living as a maitre’d in St. Louis’ trendiest bistro. Fired for regularly getting patrons to do his work for him by convincing them it was “fun,” a fistfight ensues in the kitchen between Twain and the owner of the eatery, during which the owner falls into a rack of skewers, suffering a number of fatal wounds. Twain is banned from the hospitality industry for life. A period of depression ensues.

Title: Never the Twain Shall Seat


Synopsis: An autobiography by J. R. R. Tolkien.

Title: I’m Tolkien to You


Synopsis: A highly unflattering biographical portrait of Truman Capote.

Title: Capote Ugly


Synopsis: Amusing story of a man who, over 10 years time (1895-1905), tried to pass himself off as Irish playwright George Bernard Shaw, with absolutely no success.

Title: George Bernard? Pshaw!

From the Auditions of a Goose Who Never Made It as an Actor

From the Auditions of a Goose Who Never Made it as An Actor
by R.D. Ronstad

For the role of …

James Bond: HONK-Honk, Honk Honk

Mr. Miyagi: Honk HONK, HONK Honk

Mary Poppins: HONK Honk-Honk-Honk HONK Honk-Honk-Honk  Honk HONK Honk-Honk

The Lone Ranger: Honk Honk HONK-Honk, Honk-HONNNNK!

Kato, Inspector Clouseau's houseboy: HOOONNNNNNNNNNK!!!

Taxi #1 in Taxi Driver: Honk Honk*

The Terminator: Honk Honk-HONK

Goose #3 (Fly Away Home): HONK…HONK…HONK…HONK…HONK…HONK...HONK…HONK…HONK…Honk…Ho...*

Replacement for Roger Ebert on At the Movies:



A bystander spotting Superman: Honk-Honk HONK, Honk-Honk HONK, Honk HONK Honk-Honk!

A member of the Wehrmacht (no dialogue):
Goose-step, goose-step, goose-step, goose-step, goose-step, etc.**

An extra in a crowd at a basketball game singing along with Gary Glitter‘s “Rock & Roll - Part II (The Hey Song)”:
...............HONK!..........
...............HONK!..........
...............HONK!..........

Jimmy Dugan (manager of the Rockford Peaches of the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League): HONK Honk Honk-Honk-Honk-Honk HONK!

*Couldn't capture the animus of a New York taxi
**Hired for the part, but showed up drunk the first day of shooting and was immediately released
***Very nervous that day and stumbled repeatedly

Track List for an Album Titled The Moody Guitar

While My Guitar Gently Weeps

While My Guitar Whines Endlessly (Wah Wah Wah)

While My Guitar Throws a Twangy Fit

While My Guitar Gazes Uncomprehendingly into the Mirror and Picks at Itself

While My Guitar Sits Alone in a Corner Looking Fretful

While My Guitar Refuses to Come Out of Its Case

While My Guitar Cries into Its Beer Down at The Whammy Bar

While My Guitar Tries to Strangle Itself With a Popped G String

While My Guitar Goes All Staccato on a Roomful of Other Guitars Down at the Music Emporium

While My Guitar Shuts Itself Up in Its Room and Hammers Away Feverishly on the Final Chapters of a Novel Called The Strummer of My Discontent

I Answer Some Questions Posed by Popular Song Titles

Q: What’s new pussycat?

A: Well, for one thing, that’s the first time anyone’s ever called me pussycat.

Q: Do you know the way to San Jose?

A: Of course. First, you shave Jose’s head. Then, you grab a good-sized piece of emery paper and, beginning at the top of the front of Jose’s skull you . . . What’s that? . . . Oh, San Jose . . . Sorry.

Q: How can you mend a broken heart?

A: I don’t know, but I do know some people who have had their hearts broken, like, 27 times. So it’s a fairly simple procedure, I would guess.

Q: Who let the dogs out?

A: I don’t know, but I hope those dogs are big, and mean, and know where you live.

Q: Who are you?

A: Nobody special, really, but . . . you see that guy over there? He is The Eggman. And the scuttlebutt around the office is, he’s on a fast track to becoming The Walrus.

Q: Are you lonesome tonight?

A: Well . . . I am thinking up stupid answers to song questions.

Q: Why do fools fall in love?

A: Because if they didn’t we’d eventually run out of fools.

Q: Who can it be now?

A: Well, theoretically, it can be just about anybody. But it’s probably just Mr. Wilson here to complain about some of Dennis’s shenanigans again.

Q: When will I be loved?

A: Maybe when you stop whining.

Q: What kind of fool am I?

A: I know of only two kinds of fools: the kind that wears a floppy, multi-colored hat with bells and keeps a king amused, or the kind that is just a silly or stupid person. Since I don’t hear you jingling and there aren‘t many kings around here, I’m guessing you’re the second kind.

Q: Where have all the flowers gone?

A: Yeah, definitely the second kind.

Q: Do you wanna dance?

A: Well, I guess that would be all right. Just don’t call me pussycat. OK?

Q: Who do you think you are?

A: Nobody special, really, but . . . see those guys over there? They are the champions, my friend.

Q: Is you is or is you ain’t my baby?

A: You know, I really do don’t like you.

Q: Ain’t that just like a woman?

A: Actually, that is a woman.

Q: Who put the bomp (in the bomp bah bomp bah bomp)?

A: Probably some guy who had just taken a nasty tumble down some stairs.

Q: Mr. Bigstuff, who do u think u are?

A: Mr. Bigstuff.

Events That Could Signal the End of the Internet

 Worldwide shortage of dots.

Al Gore’s evil plan comes to fruition.

People stop wanting attention.

Attachments become increasingly, sometimes psychotically, possessive.

President Ron DeSantis.

Apple comes out with a new line of desktops called MerrieMacs, failing to consider what could happen when MerrieMacs come in contact with monitors.

Y3K.

A computer virus pandemic forces radio waves to shelter in place.

Weary of all the baggage that attends being an icon, computer icons withdraw from public life and hole up in Cornish, New Hampshire.

Almost no one believes in wizards any more.

Misinformation Hulk-smashes information. 

Derogatory Names for Robots

Beta Data

Robot Ick

Ben Affect

Mechanical Pencil Neck

George "Scrap Iron" Johnson

The Constant Racket

Schmo Bot

R2-Stupid

Kevin McCarthy

Bugtopia

The Iron Fraidy

Tin Tin 

Toast in the Machine

Orville Overhaul

Klank

CCreepio

My Jack Bauer List

FREE grain of salt with every reading. Miss E__ cannot be held responsible for any lack of gullibility on your part. If our perceptions of you do not match what you know to be true of yourself, you must consider the possibility that you are an impostor. Just remember that Mr. N__ doesn't claim to be a Nostradamus. But then, even Nostradamus was no Nostradamus, right? We make no claim that palm reading is a science. But it is scientificish. If you are in the habit of reading the small print (like this) in advertisements, you are probably not a suitable candidate for our services. We will only give you information about yourself and those you come in contact with that we believe is completely true, or at least could be. Madame S__ always proves to be correct in the long run—she’s kind of like an economist that way. The endorsements cited above have been channeled. Mr. A__ is sensitive about his weight, so keep in mind that referring to him as a medium large may adversely affect the results of your reading.

The boogeychildren are afraid Jack Bauer’s in the closet. Santa always gives Jack Bauer what he wants, and nice ain’t got nothin’ to do with it. Jack Bauer could beat you to a bloody pulp with one of his arms tied behind Edgar’s back. Jack Bauer could beat you to a

 pulp with one of his arms tied to a rusty Buick at the bottom of Long Beach Harbor. You think the following events take place between 2 PM and 3 PM, but maybe that’s just what Jack Bauer wants you to think. Jack Bauer has a dark alley named after him. A suspected terrorist was picked up in Los Angeles after being seen wandering the streets dazed and pantsless. When questioned, he claimed he started thinking about Jack Bauer and it scared the pants off him. It never hurts Jack Bauer more than it hurts you. Jack Bauer once wrestled pi to the ground. If Jack Bauer were stranded alone for 1500 days on a desert island, he‘d find 1500 different ways to make Wilson confess. When Jack Bauer hits the road, the road says "uncle."

FREE grain of salt with every reading. Miss E__ cannot be held responsible for any lack of gullibility on your part. If our perceptions of you do not match what you know to be true of yourself, you must consider the possibility that you are an impostor. Just remember that Mr. N__ doesn't claim to be a Nostradamus. But then, even Nostradamus was no Nostradamus, right? We make no claim that palm reading is a science. But it is scientificish. If you are in the habit of reading the small print (like this) in advertisements, you are probably not a suitable candidate for our services. We will only give you information about yourself and those you come in contact with that we believe is completely true, or at least could be. Madame S__ always proves to be correct in the long run—she’s kind of like an economist that way. The endorsements cited above have been channeled. Mr. A__ is sensitive about his weight, so keep in mind that referring to him as a medium large may adversely affect the results of your reading.

Difficulties That Arose After My Time Machine Broke Down While I Was Visiting an Earlier Version of Myself, Forcing Me to Move in with Myself

I grew weary of hearing me go on and on about how much more difficult things were when I was my age.

Whenever I drove on the expressway with me as a passenger, I felt conflicted about using the carpool lane.

After a dispute over rental payments, younger me caught older me stealing money from younger me's dresser drawer. Younger me reported the theft to the police. They said auto larceny was definitely on the books, but they could find nothing about autolarceny. (Besides they said, the statue of limitations had expired before the theft was committed.

Whenever I rented a movie, I'd always reveal the ending to me.

I had a hard time being civil to certain of my “friends.” (I wanted to warn me about them, but I knew that would go nowhere.)

While I could always sit in my favorite chair, I could never sit in my favorite chair.

I couldn't have a conversation with me without referring to myself in the third person. I hated that.

The younger me was the only one who ever got phone calls or invitations. I hated that to. I couldn't help being jealous of me.

I suffered bouts of déjà vu reflux.

Whenever my two selves discussed events from both of our pasts, we'd get in heated arguments about what actually happened.

Some Things That Make Me Suspect I May Be Out of Step

If 50 million Frenchman told me to jump off s bridge, I might do it.

I don’t know the back of my hand all that well.

I’m never one of the two kinds of people in the world. Ever. I try not to think about it.

I never got that Trini Lopez song. Who the hell doesn't have a hammer? 

I'd rather have two birds in the bush.

If someone gives me an inch, I try to take three or four inches max.

I don't get "no news is good news." I mean, could you really say, "I have no news, and I have bad news."

Once while the cat was away, I spent the whole time doing yard work and reading Kierkegaard.

I would join a club that would have me as a member if it had a side door I could slip out of when I saw me coming.