Uncle Tim. Again.

So what's up with Uncle Tim? Stinky asks rhetorically. He says things like, "I went to the church bazaar to see a two-headed priest" and "The bakery was out of  Napoleons, so they gave me a Bismark."  Does this even make sense? Is he trying to be funny, or, due to his advanced age (nearly fifty-five), perhaps he is going senile? Stinky asks again, maybe not so rhetorically.

The other day I asked him if cursive should be taught in school, and he said absolutely not. He said if parents wanted to teach their kids naughty language, that's one thing, but it's not the responsibility of the teachers. See what I mean? Stinky is just a little worried.

Well, he is old. He says things like "nineteen-ought-six", and he remembers a world before Pringle's Potato Chips. He laughs uncontrollably when he tries describing something called "Wacky Packages", and he thinks bicycle helmets are a Communist conspiracy. The helmets are lined with fluorocarbons, which cause sterility and rickets, or some such mishegoss.

And yet there are moments of lucidity. He contributes movie reviews to a site called Unrated Film (spoiler alert: not all the movies reviewed within are unrated), and unlike his everyday conversations, his reviews are thoughtful and informative.  Stinky has nothing but respect for someone, even Uncle Tim, who can turn out several thousand words on  a Robert Wagner movie. You're a better man than I, Gunga Din. Or as Uncle Tim once said, "You can call me Gunga Din, just don't call me late for Gunga Dinner."

See? Stinky is worried.

Uncle Tim

I don't know if  Uncle Tim is a chucklehead or if he just plays one on the television, but I asked him what he thought of adult literacy, and he said he thought it was terrible, and no matter a person's age, they should always use a trash can.

Parade on Cleveland

Anyone who knows Stinky or anyone who takes a mere passing gander at my photo can tell I'm quite the physical specimen and sports-ball enthusiast, what with having the strength of a rhinoceros after a refreshing nap and the grace of a gazelle leaping on the savanna. Or in Savannah. Stinky gets those two confused. So naturally I was quite pleased to discover my hometown has what is called a basketball franchise. Basketball, as it turns out, is quite the exhilarating endeavor, especially the last twenty seconds or so. Gads of dribbling, mostly with a ball, break-fast action, and the forceful jamming of a ball in an open-ended basket, which I believe is called "spelunking".

And imagine Stinky's emotion, which very nearly approached something akin to pleasure, when I discovered that my local hometown basketball franchise (also known as a "team") won the annual post season challenge in a culminating seventh game (or "contest") victory, thereby being proclaimed Champions of the Basketball Universe. Huzzahs all around!

The transformation of my hometown was something to behold, not quite overwhelming, but fairly whelming. The indescribable bliss of everyone feeling like a winner, kinda like that time I got a word correct ("traipse") in a Spelling Bee, is bound to last minutes, if not hours. So congrats to everybody involved, especially Stinky myself, for accidentally turning on the television and watching several minutes of a game (or "contest"), which probably caused them to win.

But do we really need a self-congratulatory parade clogging up the vital arteries of Stinky's hometown? Think of the inconvenience. What if I suddenly had a craving for Peterson's roasted nutmeats? Stinky would have to go without, that's what. And Stinky does not like to go without.

And I think we all know how Stinky feels about parades. Nothing more boringer was ever invented outside of a Robert Altman film. Imagine standing amidst a crowd of 1.3 million (admittedly, in a city of 67 people, that's quite impressive), on a very hot day, crammed like smelts, this close to a bunch of people who forgot to put on their Mitchum. No thank you.

But far be it from Stinky to rain on anyone's parade. I leave that to The Man Upstairs, who frankly, let Stinky down today.

So congratulations are due the Cleveland Chandeliers, my new favorite basketball club, reigning Champions of the Basketball Universe. Yay.

Does not look like a good time to me.

Riddle Me This! Again!

What did they call the epileptic Roman emperor?

Julius Seizure.

I Said It!

Someone once asked me if I thought parades were exciting. I said I thought they were rather pedestrian.

Trump!

Whenever I don't know what to title a post, I just pick a silly word at random and add an exclamation point. Works every time.

After the recent horrific shooting, Donald Trump said in a press conference, and by press conference, I mean a modest group of non-expelled reporters gathered to listen to Trump badly read his incoherent ramblings off an apparently malfunctioning teleprompter,  “The killer, whose name I will not use or ever say, was born in Afghan, of Afghan parents, who immigrated to the United States..."

No, he will never say his name, but he will post a picture of him:

Hmmm. Look at that comb-over. Wonder if they're related.

The Return of Stinky

Lemme tell you something: Eating outside on a blanket on the ground is no picnic. Oh, wait. It is.