Important Things

So, yes, it’s Christmas this week.

Like in two days.

Maybe it was nine. I really can’t recall. (Don’t laugh. When you get my age, this sort of thing starts to happen. That’s what I’ve been told, though. How age affects the mind is still a mystery. But it does.)

Now, here’s the thing:

I’ve decided to announce a few things of importance.

First off, the Patriots won the AFC East. Again.

Steelers deflate balls, too.

Second, it’s the season of the Krampus.

This excites me lots and lots.

They say the best way to get the Krampus to pay a visit is to insult his brother, Santa Claus.

This doesn’t work.

I’ve tried.

Thirdly, and lastly…

…well, I did have something, but I forget what it was.

I’m old, remember.

Oh I remember!

Merry Christmas, everyone! Make sure to eat a few cookies for me.

Each.

The professor Fights

“Look here,” I said, and I must admit my frustration was growing lots and lots, “I’d like to rent this book.”

“Can’t,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because this particular book only has the buy option.”

This professor was standing in a bookstore on a college campus. Let me tell you now–like right now–college books are very expensive. And renting college books is expensive.

Just a little less expensive.

So, I tried from a different angle.

“Check this out, the sudden,” I said, “this book is called ‘The Life, Death & In-Between Space of Dr. Lewis Dayton Clark.'”

“So?” And she pursed her purple lips together (I don’t think they were natural, mind) and put her hands on her hips.

“So,” I concluded, “it follows that no one wants to buy a book about the in-between space of Dr. Lewis Dayton Clark. Therefore, it must be available only to rent.”

There were a few chaps that started to laugh behind me.

The girl pointed a finger in my direction. “You have an attitude. I’m getting the manager.”

And she flounced off.

I left, of course. With the book.

But I ran into the manager and the girl outside.

The manager chap, I must say, was a bit puffy and fat. He was eating something. Must’ve been interrupted. He was cranky, too. Red cheeks, see.

“YOU!” he bellowed. “You’re not allowed to rent that book!”

And he tried to snatch it from my hands.

But this professor being quicker than a snake swimming around in an ice pond, snatched it away before he could gain possession of it.

Check it out! Snake on an ice pond. See, kids, I DO NOT make this stuff up.

“Look here,” I said, “look here right now, you puffy, ignorant Yucketh!”

That took him–and her–aback.

“I happen to be a professor. The professor. I told my students they could rent this book. And you…YOU! You dare?! I shall turn you both in to the Union at once.”

So, that’s when everything went downhill.

They didn’t exactly buy my story and I didn’t exactly buy the book.

#Won/Lost

Introducing my new spirit animal!

Why Conor McGregor is like Tom Brady

Okay.

So, this professor just thought he should say a few words about it.

Not that it matters much one way or another.

But this fellow:

Conor McGregor

Has something very interesting in common with this fellow:

Tom Brady (with blurry background)

You see, both fellows bucked authority and fought the bad guys. McGregor, the UFC (Ultimate Fighting Championship) and Dana White; Brady, the NFL (National Football League) and Roger Goodell.

And this is the funny part, see.

While that looks grand and all that, here’s the thing: It’s all a setup.

In truth, that’s true

The NFL created deflategate for publicity; McGregor said he was going to retire for publicity. See, and many sees, it had nothing to do with the fact that footballs were deflated a few PSI, and it had nothing to do with not wanting to do any more press conferences.

Which means, McGregor and Brady did not buck authority.

That’s right.

They followed authority.

Like mooses in the field.

Following authority

So, they’re alike because they follow authority not rebel against it.

What a thing.

I did not see that conclusion coming myself.

Moral: If you’re going to buck authority, don’t do it because you’re following authority. That’s just messed up. And the professor is wise to you, too.

Okay, that’s the professor’s conspiracy theory for today.

PVJ out.

So Cold…I Lied

The professor put on a t-shirt, then a dress shirt, then a sweater vest, then a velvet jacket.

I did this ’cause it was sorta cold out, you know.

And like Scrooge says, garments were invented to protect against cold.

Though I sorta doubt this, the sudden. See, the garments didn’t do too much to protect against the cold, I felt. Then again, I’m sure it was better than nothing.

See? Every story has two sides. I persuade myself freely from side to side, depending on my mood at the hour, minute, or even second.

Anyways and a sum of half the total, this professor was on the march through a college campus.

It was lightly snowing and quite gray outside, see.

I hear that muscles shiver to protect against the cold. You know, they sorta shiver to build up heat. This is wrong of them. If they didn’t shiver, I wouldn’t be cold. See, shivering causes my coldness.

This is a fact.

Then I ran into a group of students, I think.

“Where are you going?” one asked.

Sorta brazen, I thought.

“Too far in this weather,” I answered.

“Where?”

“Yeah, where?” another joined in.

I find that when you’re getting asked lots and lots of questions, the best thing to do is talk lots and lots. This stops your attacker from asking more questions.

But don’t you know, at that exact moment, my mouth was too cold to move much.

Dadblame the weather.

“What’s in the bag?” one of the girls asked.

And I was carrying a bag.

Okay, it didn’t look like this, obviously. But this is what came up first for secret bag…let me have another locketh…

This isn’t right either. I assure you.

Aha! This is something like what I was carrying.

So, what was in the bag?

“Enough dynamite to blow up your college, I fear.”

That fetched them.

They were off in a jiffy–which I hear is a tenth of a second.

And this professor was alone again.

Few seconds later, a police car sorta pulled up.

Lesson: Don’t make up dangerous lies.

Moral: If you lie, make sure everyone knows it’s a lie.

Rats and a Heifer.

I’ve decided I lied because I was so cold.

*nods*

 

Causing Trouble is Fun

“I’m so mean. And dirty. Very dirty. Filthy, even.”

“You always say that; I don’t believe it.”

“Why not?”

“Prove it.”

“How?”

Nick Warren paused for one to three moments, leaned forward a bit, then said, in a low voice I’m sure the big rotten wolf adopts to scare the little piggies, “See that table over there? Join them. Just walk up and sit down.”

Now, this professor must get a few things out-of-the-way. First, the professor is not a little piggy. I could see where you might think that ’cause of the words above and whatnot. If you were thinking it, please cut it out of your brain, the sudden.

Use this, if you must.

Next, the professor and Nick were in a restaurant, and the room Nick had pointed out was a private room within the restaurant.

You know, the rooms that big parties go to just so people won’t go and bother them. The doors were shut, but everyone could see through the glass. Not sure what the net gain was there.

It didn’t look like this. I just threw this in here, ’cause I think it’s a funny picture. By the way, for those of you who care about such things, Brett Herbert dined in that room.

Anyways and some…

“Well?” Nick pressed.

“It’s a private party in there.”

“I know.”

“Full of old women.”

“I know.”

“They’re the meanest.”

“Oh don’t I know.”

“Okay, I’ll do it. Dadblameit.”

“Really?” Nick was surprised.

“Yeah,” I said, “this professor is a filthy warrior, and I’ll prove it.”

So, two short ticks later, the professor was at the door.

Now, here’s the key: When about to do something, always look confident. Confidence is worth five more than you think it is.

I swung the door open.

The ladies looked up. There was about six or so of them.

“Can we help you?” one lady with red hair said.

It was dyed, I’m thinking, mind.

I closed the door and stepped into the room.

“Not at all,” I said, adopting the tone of the big rotten wolf. “I’m just going back and forth throughout the earth is all.”

Another of the women–obviously the leader of the group–said: “This is a private book club. For women. No men are allowed in.”

“That’s something,” the professor said, pulling a chair out and sitting next to her. “How do you suppose I got in, then? Nice earrings, btw.”

She liked that. But the earrings were ugly. I lied. I do that every other day, you know.

“Did Nancy invite you?” a tall skinny woman said. “Did she?! We explicitly told her no men!”

“How explicitly did you tell her?” I asked.

That got her.

“Humph! We’ll see what Nancy says when she gets here! I, for one, don’t believe you! We’ll see what Nancy says!”

“I hope it’s not explicit again,” I said.

And I shouldn’t have. I was being mean. It’s all Nick’s fault, see. Such a bad influence, he is.

Then I did the clincher: “I’m actually her nephew, twice removed from where I should be.”

That got them. I’d won at the point. The professor wasn’t leaving, and they weren’t going to make me.

The red-haired lady took up the conversation:

“So…” she said, searching for something. “What’s your favorite novel?”

“The shortest one on table,” I replied.

And that’s when Nancy walked in. There was an air of disapproval about her. I was terrified, of course.

#ProfessorKids

“We were being entertained by your nephew,” the lady with the ugly earrings said.

“My nephew?” Nancy looked about the room like a naked mole rat.

Naked Mole Rat

Then she spotted me. “He’s not mine! I won’t take credit for that!”

“I left the water on!” I shouted. Not the best line, but I was thinking fastly fast.

And I bolted.

“Won.”

“Nah,” Nick said. “You didn’t stay in there long enough.”