Living in the Moment.


Today I wanted to live in the moment. The first one was ok, the second one was better, the third one stank, as moments go. I tried to get back to the second one, but it was gone and then I got lost, so I decided to live yesterday all over again. It’s more predictable and the end was fun.


My Great Big Hunting Dog…


Pic by Droopy Dog Fandub on Youtube

As I was taking my pooch for a walk this morning, I remarked to myself that he seemed to be getting entirely too blimpy for his own good and decided to let him off the lead (we were in the woods) and told him to go hunt for himself for his brunch. He barked an: “Aye, aye, Sir!” and sped off to the nearest tree and started sniffing and circling it, not realising that treat trees are out of season! (silly dog…) He finally got so disgusted with the tree’s reply to his en-‘treat’-y that he lifted his hind leg and pissed against it. “Serves him right!”, he barked. Next he stopped a rabbit and tried to threaten it into revealing the whereabouts of its eating bowl, but lucked out again, as the rabbit fell over stupefied.

He did get directions to the nearest supermarket from a passing turkey and took me there post haste. I lost sight of him as he was stalking a roast chicken, which had been waylaid by a fellow hunter, after he whispered to me, droolingly: “Hunt your own, manling!” (I guess in actuality he was stalking the hunter, but I won’t belabour the point) I found him again at the checkout, where he told me that apparently I had to pay a fee for his hunting permit. It was either that or leave half a leftover chicken behind for the scavengers. I was rather proud of my great big hunting dog and dutifully forked over the fee!

Baldric is Smart.

English: Turnips (Brassica rapa) Français : Na...

English: Turnips (Brassica rapa) Français : Navets Español: Nabos (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Baldric is smart, just like a weed that knows how to grow: upwards!

No, I won’t sell Baldric short. There are no buyers.

I mean, Baldric is smart, like a dog that instinctively knows how to bark, or lie down for that matter.

He is like a cell that, when faced with a decision, will automatically divide.

Baldric’s intellect is like a sun that went supernova, long ago.

Some really smart people are in agreement that Baldric is very probably alive.(still)

The way he gets things is uncanny, like when he couldn’t teach his pet turnip to sit up and beg, he correctly surmised that it wasn’t hungry.

Did you know that Baldric’s pet turnip, Harry, is inconceivably courageous? One day it so passed that Harry was faced with a roaring lion and he did not flinch! Baldric told me so.

And there’s an added bonus: Harry doesn’t get jealous of other turnips, not even of an orange. Harry is one fine turnip and so is Baldric.


Of Mountains and Valleys 2.


Mountain (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

A mountain and a valley were having an argument.

When the mountain felt that he could not win the argument, he told the valley to ‘kiss his side’.

The valley answered: “But, Mountain, I do…” That shut him up!


Related Articles:

Of Mountains and Valleys.

Zugspitze von der Alpspitze aus gesehen. Links...

Zugspitze von der Alpspitze aus gesehen. Links der Jubiläumsgrat (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Mountains have ever been envious of valleys and vice versa, which seems incongruous, seeing that they’re basically one and the same.

What is a valley, but an inverted mountain of air, with at its deepest point the tops of mountains!?

A million years to a mountain is just enough time to take a quick nap.

A mountain never rests.
It is always busy
being a mountain.

Youngsters Suck Egg!

Nederlands: keldervondst: Oude Sunlight (zeep)...

Nederlands: keldervondst: Oude Sunlight (zeep) geproduceerd bij de Lever Brothers (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

What with all the rules and regulations and safety features for kids nowadays, I wonder how I ever made it through childhood alive. When we used to climb trees, it was without a safety net, helmet or elbow and knee protectors. I guess you could say that we were a kind of little league SAS in them days. Our parents thought nothing of it. I toughened you up. If you got a cut or a bruise, somebody would slap on a band-aid, kiss it well and out you went again. Instead of going into observation for three days in the nearest hospital. Kids these days are wimps!

During school vacations we would hike through swamps and catch salamanders and maybe wrestle the odd crocodile…(just out of the egg ones, but still!) The municipal dump was out favourite playing ground, where we would drink toxic waste for elevenses. It gave all our gang three nipples, but who cares. We would bend metal bars with our toes back then. My Gran tought us to wrestle mature bulls to the ground, using only the one hand. Using two hands was for wusses.

When the lads and I passed a meadow with cows in it, we would go in and you might hear one mate tell the other: “Oy, pass me the udder, pal!” We’d eat mushrooms and wild flowers and we’d pee where we pleased. The local grizzlies were scared of us, cause we went armed with pocket knives. Many a fine day you’d catch us abseiling from cliffs or swinging across rivers on vines. And this even with a sore throat or a tummy ache.

In our teens we didn’t use conditioner, perfume or any of that carp. We smelled of honest, fresh sweat and afterwards of a good scrubbing with Sunlight soap. I won’t tell any of the young bucks that strut around now about the sex we had in them days, for it might give them permanent erectile dysfunction. Oral sex for young folks today is talking about it and I’ll bet they use lip-condoms for kissing. Nah, youngsters these days suck egg!

A War of Strange Worlds.

Gram negative cocci in pus from eye.

Gram negative cocci in pus from eye. (Photo credit: Nathan Reading)

From his platform on the endocrine gland Strepto, the King of Cocci, addresses his tribe:

“You all know that we had to leave our last habitat, due to overpopulation, after the arrival of those dastardly viruses. Finally, since our exodus from the Primal Crap…”

The crowd answers in unison: “All hail the Stinky One!”

And Strepto continues: “…we have found a rather microbe-friendly human, who has tolerable chemical levels and an over-ripe liver.” Cheers from everyone. “Let us sup and make merry!”

The party lasted all through the human’s sleep period, but then the scouts, under the command of general Bac Illus, came in with some appalling news. Apparently, their arch-enemies, the E-colli, had found this delicious morsel first and were headed their way in attack formation. Strepto addressed his people anew:

“Colli, mount your blood cells. The evil Colli have found out our bed of diseased joy. We’ll head them off at the aorta. bloody battle is at hand and possibly afoot aswell. General Illus, take the lead!”

Bac answered: “Aye, aye, Mire!” (=Title of honour amongst bacteria)

There ensued an epic battle, but sadly the Cocci were running out of oromones, the only effective defense against the dreaded Colli. (Note: Oromones are like ferromones, but made of gold. Much more effective and rarer.) They retreated and hid in the ventricular valve to hold their war council. General Illus reported that they were outnumbered fifty to one, but thankfully an exchange of fluids was in progress. Their only hope lay in escape.

The Colli were decimating their numbers and the Cocci made a hasty retreat through the Valley of Poop, all the while gorging themselves on manna, for Shit only knew where they would land next. Strepto shouted:

“General Illus, hold them off as best you can, while we head for the nearest exit. Our fate lies in your hands!” The old soldier was a dour Cocci, whose whole family had been lost, during an untimely dump. He swore to hold out as long as he possibly could.

The remaining Cocci population were holed up in the scrotum, awaiting transportation, when report came that the brave general’s troops had been overrun and their annihilation was imminent. Missus Strepto wailed:

“We can only pray for premature ejaculation to save the day!” And thank the Holy Crap that it did come timely and the Cocci tribe were consequently transported into a strange new womb, where none of their kind had ever gone before.

They lived to greet another day, thanks to the sacrifice of General Illus, who shall forever be remembered in the anus of the tribe, where they found a new home and lived shabbily ever after. Amen!

Reality is Relative.

Just saw this 21/08/2013

Just saw this 21/08/2013. From How to Raise Your Vibration

My head was spinning with thoughts about the meaning of the universe and such, as it does sometimes. I am going to give you some of these jumbled-up thoughts and let you make of them what you want:

– Is light the carrier of reality? We see/perceive through light, physically and spiritually.

Each reality depends on our choice, whether to participate in it or not. Whether to shed the light of our thoughts, our attention on it? Interest = inter + esse = to be in the middle of it. (From science: the act of participation changes the outcome of an experiment!)

– The key is still TIME ! Figure out the TRUE nature of time and everything should fall into place.

– Energy in relation to time = reality. Which relation?

– Energy moving through time, moving through energy(moving through time).

– Matter is an illusion: it is a slow-moving construct of fast-moving energy.

– We die and are reborn every instant, but so does everything around us and everything interacts.

– Matter = energy – slow
– Thoughts + choice = energy – fast
– Light = energy – faster
– Time = ???

– Choice is a change [in direction of energy]=reality?
– Energy transformation through interaction with other transforming energy?

– Matter is an always transforming(from one form to another) construct of energy?

Thoughts are energy
Actions are determined by choice
choice moves [matter]=energy
Energy interacting with energy

The hole is whole.
The hole needs no repairing.
Does the shoe need repairing?
That is choice.
The shoe is irrelevant.
The reparation is irrelevant.
The choice is void!
Denounce the importance of matter.
Matter is irrelevant.

– What is the sound of one hand clapping? Whatever you choose it to be!

– Choice causes a shift of energy. If the Universal energy is constant, balance is automatically restored through relocation in space/time of energy. [= Karma]

The entire universe has changed, because I have changed. My choice changed reality.

Extremely Vegan! :-)

Ralphie the Buffalo, Folsom Field, University ...

Ralphie the Buffalo, Folsom Field, University of Colorado (Photo credit: Ken Lund)

From Ralphie(as in: me, moi)

Annie, our local vegan, was knitting a jumper for her favourite tree. Bright orange it was, to attract the winter bees. She’s blonde, you see… Winter bees, tsk, tsk!

A Non-event!?

Sugar Mountain

Sugar Mountain (Photo credit: BlueRidgeKitties)

A dear friend is planning to leave his den, that comfortable haven where his cortex is safely connected to the web, to venture into the netherworld. I knew I had some weird friends, but this one absconded with the whole cooky jar. He plans to disconnect himself, temporarily one hopes, from our virtual reality and wander unknown planes, ipadless, cell-less and… (there’s worse!) cameraless. I told him with wringing hands: “But my dear chap, this does not compute!” He responded that this was the point (calamity and blasphemy). Dear Readers, my friend has obviously taken leave of his keyboard. He’s gone and planned a non-event and, one is ashamed to say, one that is not even sponsored.

We shall sadly never know the sound of his one hand clapping, as the sound-byte soft and hardware will be absent, a common mistake in the olden days and the reason why most of Man’s history is largely deemed irrelevant, as belonging to those fabled lands of imagiality and realination. He plans to go where no self-respecting cyborg has gone before, to a place of rumours only, estranged from the grid, to a parallel universe of undocumented unreality, at best found in a very few forgotten comments on some Unix platform of a tenebrous yester-millenium.

Why did He-who-must-not-be-named (because his name is protected by copyright)come from the Sugar Mountain, bringing us the tabloids of the Book of Many Faces, if not to warn us that such behaviour is unvirtual in the extreme and just not on! He would turn over in his archive, should he hear of unwarranted SPAM-less wanderings, uninterrupted by a commercial break. One despairs at the thought that the fool might actually be doddering along without a sufficient popcorn supply, possibly even wienerless!

We, who are well-linked persons and shall therefore not go missing, know that to leave the safety of one’s net is to invite disaster. One might very well bump (and quite harshly at that) into remnants, who are relics of that pre-existence period from before the Cinderella, brought to us by our Fathers from the Holy Wood (this is even pre-Oscar time, folks!) These mutated remnants may turn my delirious friend into a heathen, forcing him to read actual paper cartoon editions or turn him into a worshipper of the anti-Cyborg… *shudders*

One wonders, shall he forget our proud ancestry, shared and liked by millions, our illustrious forebears: the first, the one and only Fred and his mate Wilma? *sobs* I fear for his immortal matrix, forever out of GPS-reach, unmonitored by even one solitary cctv. Yes, if the unfiltered air does not do him in, the withdrawal symptoms surely will. And now, over to the studio!

Missing a Screw.

English: Screw from scooter.

Screw from Ralphie. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I must be missing a screw,
I noticed this surprising fact
just now over breakfast.
I was searching for my sleeping cap,
yes, just like that I do things
that make me sit up and wonder…
Hey, isn’t that chicken defrosted yet?
‘Cause this egg is much too cold!
~ Hunhh…??? ~

I wrote this originally in Dutch:

Ik ben zeker een schroefje kwijt.
Dit hoogst opvallend feit
merkte ik net nu bij’t ontbijt.
Ik zocht toen naar m´n slaapmuts…
Ja, zonder erbij stil te staan
doe ik dingen van je weet maar nooit.
Zeg, is die kip nou al ontdooit?
Want dit ei is wel heel erg koud!
~ Hè??!! ~

Statement from a Master of Inactivity.

Clutter's Cave. Hewn out of granite. Probably ...

Clutter’s Cave. Hewn out of granite. Probably a hermit or shepherd’s cave. Start of a ley line through Woolhope. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There once was a hermit, who had been living in a cave high up in the Himalayas for turtles’ years(=eons). Devout people from a tiny village, which lay three  days’ travel from the good man’s abode, brought him food at regular intervals, taking care not to disturb him in his meditations. However, one winter, due to heavy snowfall, the cave was unreachable for four months and the villagers feared for the venerable hermit’s life.

After the thaw, when a small delegation of worshippers finally found him still alive, one of their part, a very humble and well-meaning individual indeed, entreated the holy man to leave his cave and take up residence in a small grotto close to their village, where they could see to all his needs.

The hermit was a sight to behold: his bedraggled rags had become indistinguishable from the spider webs that seemed to emanate from them. If one looked carefully, one could just make out tiny stalagmites forming on his head and on his knees and a family of mice had taken up residence between his buttocks.

It was then that this Master of contemplation made his first and final statement to the outside world:

“My dear brothers, I have just started to take root here. I have plugged myself into Mother Earth and this is giving me no end of satisfaction. My mind is floating on a sea of perpetual ecstasy. The entire universe is at present residing in the tip of my little pinky finger. My skin is finally starting to take on that translucent quality of parchment,, which is so sought after by hermits everywhere.

The air that I breathe contains particles of pollinated love, which sustains me in body and in soul. I want for nothing and I desire nothing, except for the continuation of contact between my arse and the cave floor that by osmosis nourishes me even further. Any plan that requires action, I have long since put off untill some other lifetime, where hopefully I shall be reincarnated as a rock or preferably a small hill.

I have reached the ninth level on Nirvana for all procrastinators, where even the postponement of action is too much bother. I am become inactivity personified! To ask me to move, now or ever, would be tantamount to sacrilege of the highest order. I ask only to be left in peace!”

After these words of infinite wisdom, the delegation left in the understanding that the man was forever beyond their worldly reach. And for all we know, he might still be there…

Easter Bunny Accidentally Killed!

Easter postcard circa early 20th century

I was out hunting trolls with my bow and arrows. This is the only hunting sport that I indulge in. Or should I say, this is the only species that I can hit with me weapon of choice. You all know that trolls are about as big as a barn and as my eyesight not being what it used to be…

There I was, letting fly of my broom-sized arrow, when the famous Easter Bunny jumped up right in between and I’m afraid it took a fatal hit. I sincerely apologise for the demise of this Easter Icon, but I swear it was an accident! Anyways, I never really understood why a bunny should go around distributing eggs in the first place! Surely this is an activity, which is much  more suited to an animal that does not hop up and down all the time, thus turning the children’s presents into scrambled eggs.

I put an ad in the paper for a  replacement and boy, do I have a surprise for you all! I am extremely proud to present to you, for the first time ever…. the Spotted Easter Warthog!

Now, be reasonable, ladies and gentlemen, does this not make a lot more sense than a hopping bunny? It is universally known that pigs are great are uncovering truffles. Therefore, if this one should bring you one of these by mistake, you could sell them for a thousand quid a kilo! While every holiday is being commercialised to the hilt, I thought I would contribute my thousand bucks worth.

All that remains is to think of some suitable attire for our Hog. All suggestions are welcome! I do not have Photoshop at my disposal, so for those of you that have, please enjoy yourselves dressing this one up to your heart’s content! Let us know what you come up with. Toodeloo from a remorseful Ralphie.

Wiring Expert Needed!


Image by Laurabot_ via Flickr

Why is it that my mouth runs off by itself, without my authorisation?

Why is it that my thoughts come so fast that my tongue can not keep up?

Is there something wrong with the cabling?

The distance between the two is not that far!

The shortest distance between point A and B is a straight line, is it not?

Well, not in the case of the wiring between my chatterbox and my mind!

Perhaps the connection has been scrambled or the translator has gone home!

In any case, I’m in a right pickle and this mess should be sorted out. A wiring expert is needed. I shall place an ad and pray that the right one comes along, for to fix this quagmire of inconsistencies a genius should be found.

An additional problem springs to mind: what if said genius were to show up, how would I get my blither-muscle to cooperate in explaining what I need? Another conundrum indeed!

Stuff your Political Correctness Up…

Butterfly - by Google/imgres

You’ve done it now, yes, YOU! You’ve pissed me off, I, who am normally as equanimical as a mountain, as softly spoken as a blade of grass and as understanding as a hole in a tree! Have you ever in your life tried to have an argument with a hole in a tree? You should really try it! My point is that calling a turd by any other name, will not make it any less smelly! And conversely, calling a butterfly a bucket will not make it any less beautiful. It is all a matter of perception, but above all of embracing your being different from that most foul of things: the norm!

I happen to have a slight problem with my eyesight, in that I have to wear glasses. Does calling these glasses, spectacles make me more respectable? And more importantly, does it allow me to see better? You can call me four-eyes, if you so choose, but that would not change one iota of my humanity. It would only prove to me that you’re a fool! But should I get upset over it, for that is the question? That is up to me. If I feel insecure about something, then I can get upset over any word and at any moment in time. But changing the word will not change the circumstance.

I’m going to go out on a limb now and I don’t give a damn if a get a lot of flak about it. I shall take the for instance of black people. I happen to admire black people and I think they are beautiful, but calling them “people of African descent” does not change the lovely colour of their skin! And please let’s leave out the hypocrisy, it will not change the past! Bloody lighten up everybody, will you! I am called white, but I just looked in the mirror and I don’t see anything that suggests the non-colour white, when I look at my skin. Again, calling me that does not change anything about my being a human being, like all the rest of my brothers and sisters.

In fact, I am not at all proud to be numbered amongst the white race. Because, when you look at history, it must be said that we are the BEST! The best at taking what is not ours, the best at corrupting and/or  utterly destroying other cultures, the best at genocide. No, I am not proud about what the white man has done. We seem to be the worst subspecies of Homo Idioticus, in that we seem to want to destroy everything that’s beautiful and sincere on this planet and if we get the chance, we’ll take our arrogance out into space. But when push comes to shove, it’s only a label, for I am my own MAN and I take responsibility for my own actions.

Alright, I shall join the club of labellers and make up my own. I henceforth insist on being known as a member of the species known as U-man, as in “I love U”! And U and U and all of U! And I don’t give a shit, if you’re short or tall or white or polka dot, as long are you’re part of my worldwide family of U-mans…

P.S.: After realising that I might have formerly maligned turds, I should say in their defense that I have seen some quite interesting looking ones!

P.P.S.: I should also state that I have some friends that are white and they seem sort of Ok! Hey, even my family is white, but I refuse to take the blame for that or they for me, for that matter.

P.P.P.S.:  By the way, isn’t “politically correct” an oxymoron? Whoever came up with that one: Richard Nixon? I’m going to rechristen it “politically expedient” right now!

Running With the Pack…

Somewhere between where the day and night so briefly meet, I slid into a the consciousness of one of my canine brothers, I melded with a wolf. It was only for a moment, but one can learn a lifetime of knowledge in a moment’s time… It felt strange and exhilarating to run like the wind on all fours, to feel an abundance of strength in my muscles and sinews, to move with supreme grace and without effort. I remember answering the call of the Moon, the boiling of my blood, the craving, the fearlessness.

I remember not thinking, just feeling, just being, just there. I was conscious of myself in relation to my surroundings, of space and time and movement, especially of movement. I could sense the living beings and their exact location in the surrounding landscape. As if I had a map in my mind’s eye and could place every living being in it. I felt instantaneously whether they formed a threat or were friendly and whether they were still or in motion, moving towards me or away from me…

I was connected, connected to the clan, with a communication of the spirit, that sprang from the mere fact that we are family and thus are linked, in the blood. I could sense my brother on my left and my sister on my right… and they in turn could sense me. In effect the whole clan knew where every other member was located on the hunting ground.

I could feel everything, because everything was alive, all beings, all things. First off all there was the clan and then the other blood-beings. Then there were the plants that felt slightly less alive, but not much! I could even feel the elders that were there already before us, our ancestors. And I felt the earth on which we ran and ran, and the still, patient rocks, and the living water, always moving. And then there were the strange things that were almost non-living, the man-made things, which felt somehow not quite right. As though they did not actually belong, as if they had been mislaid…

And then came the sense of smell… Everything I needed to know about my clan was bourne on the wind by their scent: Is my brother sick or in good health? Is he angry or content? Is my niece in heat…? And then there was the scent of the prey of course, most necessary and respected of beings, who help us survive… Who can run, but can not hide!

Yes, I had a good run with the clan, if only for a moment! And I respect and admire them all the more for it.

Feet-lickingly Scrumptuous!

Ralphie the Buffalo, Folsom Field, University ...

Ralphie - by Ken Lund via Flickr

Well, this was certainly a first in Ralphie’s life! Have you ever been awakened by something or somebody licking your feet? I have, this morning! I was right in the middle of dreaming a now forgotten dream of astounding inconsequentiality, when the realisation pierced the wall of my fuzziness that something strange was going on around my southern extremities. How about them onions!? Continue reading

Pictogram Language!

I was travelling on the train today and I noticed several pictograms, denoting several objects and actions. One sees them more and more these days, because they are universal, in fact they are a kind of language in and of themselves. I predict a world where youngsters will say: “Who need the English language, with its apostrophes, who needs to know what a gerund is and who cares about hyphenated ding-dongs!” Will they even speak to one another any longer? They might just communicate on their technothingies!

With my zany mind I immediately started to think of a sequence of these pictograms to convey a simple message, just to spoil the future  generations even faster and  get them used to the idea! This was not so hard to do. It’s a bit like chinese, which is very far from being simple, but these are! I shall show you a very simple one. I can not put them next to each other, so I’ll put them one under the other, but the result remains the  same:

This translates into: “How about dinner and a movie?”

Btw, all the pics are by

Don’t you think that anybody anywhere in the world would understand this? This could enable us to communicate without having to learn 357 different languages, admittedly on a basic level.

Could this be a handy tool for the deaf, I wonder? I am not into this, I couldn’t say!

A-ny-way, it’s a nice bit of foolishness, isn’t it? Why don’t you have a go?

Sexy Etymology…

Uhum!!? - from

Apparently, according to the Online Etymology Dictionary, I have not been very busy the last couple of centuries!*sighs*

Their entry for “busy” is the following:
O.E. bisig “careful, anxious, busy, occupied,” cognate with O.Du. bezich, Low Ger. besig; no known connection with any other Germanic or Indo-European language. Still pronounced as in M.E., but for some unclear reason the spelling shifted to -u- in 15c. The word was a euphemism for “sexually active” in 17c. Of telephone lines, 1893. In M.E., sometimes with a sense of “prying, meddlesome,” preserved in busybody. Busy work is first recorded 1910. The verb is O.E. bisgian.

The last time I had any whoopy appears to have been in the 17th century!


Note: Online sex in 1893????

If you combine this notion with the explanation for “busybody”, I’m definitely buggered… Btw, I am NOT bisgian!

Bring me a Kind Thought!

Holding Out Hand - by

How about it? You most a kind thought in a comment and I’ll post them in a separate article! Doesn’t have to be to me in particular. What the world needs more of, is kindness, no?

Btw, this is another way of trying to be more interactive. blogging gets kind of lonely sometimes, don’t you think? Everybody(including me) trying to do their utmost to shine is commendable, but without communication where does it get us?

Careful What You Sniff!

Dgo biscuits - stampcollectingroundup.blogspot

I was at Walmart buying a bag of Purina dog chow for my dog , in the check-out line when a woman behind me asked if I had a dog. Why else would I be buying dog chow, RIGHT ??? So on impulse I told her that no, I didn’t have a dog, I was starting the Purina Diet again, and that I probably shouldn’t, because I ended up in the hospital last time, but that I’d lost 50 pounds before I awakened in intensive care, with tubes coming out of most of my orifices and IVs in both arms.

I told her that it was essentially a Perfect Diet and all you do is load your pockets with Purina Nuggets and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry. The food is nutritionally complete so it works well and I was going to try it again. (I have to mention here that practically everyone in line was now enthralled with my story.)

Horrified, she asked if I ended up in intensive care, because the dog food poisoned me. I told her no, I stepped off a curb to sniff a poodle’s butt and a car hit me. I thought the guy behind her was going to have a heart attack he was laughing so hard. Better watch what you ask me and be prepared for my answer. I have all the time in the world to think of crazy things to say.

Now that you’ve read it I have to confess, I copied it from someone else. Share and make someone else smile today. ;-p

The Summer of 96.

4 Seasons - from

This summer is still bookmarked in the annals of Ralphie, the intrepid. It was during one of my infrequent wilder periods, when I was into sex and booze and rock-and-roll. Of course, Ralphie was a bit younger then, than he is today. I was involved with this honey called Nadine. My attraction to her was not based exclusively on her lively personality, if you catch my drift. I was quite fit then, due to lots of exercise of the reclining variety. Mmmm…. Ralphie! Snap out of it! We turned many a head, when we strolled down Main Street hand in hand, she in her tight-fitting mini skirt and yours truly dressed to the nines. There seemed to be an epidemic of drooling males and envious females around that time, I do declare!

Around the same time, I had become involved with a colourful character called Joe, who used to sell articles on our weekly market of the, what I shall charitably call, artistic variety. This man was a true salesperson, born and bred, who could sell snow to the Inuit. Every week he would have the same kind of paintings for sale, namely of the four seasons. They were the kind that looked as if they had just rolled off some production line, but that had actually been painted by some human being, who’d  had to forsake art for its own sake, to make a crust.

One day I was listening to his sales pitch and almost cracked some ribs from holding in the laughter, but he sold! You see, for some reason, he only had three of the required four seasons, but he laconically stated that it had not snowed that winter and therefore number four was missing. The buyers nodded their wise heads in mournful understanding and even remarked that indeed they remembered that particular winter. It’s indeed easy to part a fool and his money. I insisted on buying him a drink, to celebrate this feat of salesmanship afterwards.

I almost fell over backwards, when he showed me some of his own work. He was an excellent draughtsman with pen and ink and had sold a lot of his work , prior to becoming a “marketeer”.  He’d even contrived to receive a subsidy from the municipality for an almanac, which sported all the local historical monuments  and buildings. He knew that I was a fellow artist and asked if I would consider working with him, to supplement our income. I was unemployed at the time and therefore immediately accepted. No need to tell the unemployment office of our added income though! This money would come in handy to treat our respective women folk in the style to which they had trained us of treating them. As pure coincidence would have it, both ladies worked in an institution(for the mentally challenged or some such cute thing), where we could both fit in nicely, but only visited to pick up our sweethearts.

I’d never really worked with this technique before, but after a demonstration from Joe, I quickly took to it and even outdid my teacher after a short while. This  was fortunate because this way Joe could concentrate on the selling and myself on the production, which I did, ensconced in his makeshift studio in the kitchen of his apartment. He very sensibly made sure that the fridge was never lacking in beer. The method was simple: he would take a Polaroid picture of the façade of a restaurant or café, make a coloured enlargement and  then I would first draw it in pencil and then complete it in pen and ink. After that we went back to the copier to make miniatures to use as business cards, menus and the like. It worked like a charm, but for one thing: Joe told everyone that their pen drawing would be included in the next municipal calendar, but he had neglected to inform the mayor and his deputies of this, as you do. Probably just an oversight! We did have to leave town in a hurry about a year later though.

We had us some magnificable times that summer, with impromptu barbecues and the partays all over the place. As ever though, all good things must come to an end.  My turn came with a visit from the Inland Revenue, around the same time that Nadine had left me for another woman. Now, that was a first for me! Ralphie moved on to greener pastures in another part of the country and was never seen or heard of again in our town. I do have itchy feet!

That ud do me!

Caboose turned into a cozy home and comfy by the looks of it.

Go and take a look: <lick> (left that typo on purpose!)

Caboose Home - Oddity Central.

Or I wouldn’t mind having Bilbo for a neighbour!

Check this out: <slick!>

Real Hobbit House from Oddity Central

Or how about Fred and Wilma?

Go Yabadadoo! <bambam!>

Fafe Stone House - Oddity Central

Let us Start a Fanclub!

Another WOW and WAW!

Another BIG thank you to Lieven for finding this little  jewel!

This a a story that lies close to my heart, having been homeless myself. It does not get any better than this. A story about an orphan boy, who at the age of five ran away from the orphanage, because he was being beaten there. Since then he has lived on the street, for more than ten years, supporting himself by selling chewing gum, but sleeping in stairways and in public toilets.

This story takes place in Korea. The boy heard a singer in a nightclub and decided to give it a try, by himself and to himself. He finally got up enough courage to enter in the national talent competition and boy did he ever make an impression! The judges and the audience were crying during his performance and so was I. The lead judge of a panel of three’s first reaction was: “Young man, I just want to hug you!” This phenomenon humbles me in a way that I can not express. He reminded me NEVER to give up your dream. One reminder to whom it may concern: Never judge a book by its cover.

One wonders how many homeless wonders are out there that nobody will ever hear or read about! I challenge anyone to listen to this artists account, listen to his song and not be moved. His name is Sung-Bong and he has since won the finals. You will definitely be hearing more from him.

I rest my case, over to him:

Do me a favour everyone and Press This!

One wonders how many more homeless people out there have something to offer?