That Really Bunches My Panties…by Brendon Marks
I’m sure you’ve heard about the Kopi Luwak coffee that is made from beans recovered from Civet Cat dung. I have always been curious about the guy who first picked through a dung heap in the jungle, recognized the coffee beans and thought it would be a good idea to make a pot. Firstly I assume it was a guy, because even though I have known some women who buy into weird ideas, like wearing a shirt that buttons up the back, I can’t blame this idea on a woman. Secondly, he must have had a powerful craving for coffee…
That Really Bunches My Panties…by Brendon Marks
That’s A Nice Looking Lawn. When I lived in town my neighbors had lawns in front of their homes. I make this distinction because I didn’t have a lawn; I had desert landscaping. Gravel, cacti, sagebrush, and a few other drought-resistant, and more importantly, low-maintenance plants. Each neighbor had a different approach to taking care of his lawn. One neighbor did the job himself. I remember when he moved in. It was a new home, he moved in on a weekend. The next Friday he had sod delivered, Saturday he put it down, and a week later he mowed it….
That Really Bunches My Panties…by Brendon Marks
KEEP IN TOUCH… At company going-away parties, retirement parties or even when the employee who’s leaving isn’t well-liked enough to qualify for a party, and spends the last week on the job going from office to office saying good-bye to everyone who doesn’t see him coming, the last thing said is, “Let’s keep in touch.” Since I hate to make promises I don’t intend to keep, I need some ground rules. An instruction manual would be even better. What exactly does “keeping in touch,” mean? What is the minimum level of contact that fulfills the obligation of that phrase? A…
No News From Doodlebug Island…by William F Jordan
The small crowd gathered in front of Jenkin’s drugstore waiting for it to open had found a source of amusement, and as I approached, I could see that the fun seemed to revolve around a neighbor and friend of mine, John Wetzel. For some reason, John was holding his hand to his face, and I at first thought he must be trying to dull the pain of a toothache, but I shortly learned different. It seems that, unknown to most of us, John wears a bridge, and, on a recent trip to Fort Lauderdale, one of the two teeth on…
That Really Bunches My Panties…by Brendon Marks
I used to own one vehicle from each of the four major manufacturers, (Chrysler, Ford, General Motors and Japan), so I expected to buy four different oil filters. I was not prepared for what I encountered. The auto parts store where I shop has a bazillion different oil filters. So many that they have a big book, hanging on a chain from a shelf, that you use to find the oil filter for your vehicle. You scan the charts to find the make and year of your vehicle, then narrow it down using other factors such as engine size, number…
No News From Doodlebug Island…by William F Jordan
Their ranks swollen by the addition of a fourth member as irresolute as themselves, the Geezers, as they are affectionately called by other residents of Doodlebug Island, lolled on the grassy banks of Oak Creek, taking the sun and paying only scant attention to their lines. “Fellows,” said Frank Gadston, “our credit is all used up, Spud’s and Fred’s social security checks aren’t due for a week, and our treasury amounts to little more than these poles and the clothes on our back. We gotta do somethin’ fast!” “We could maybe resurrect that idea you had about starting an escort…
That Really Bunches My Panties…by Brendon Marks
Almost every article I write generates some sort of feedback, and I am amazed at the diverse range of the reactions. No article is universally liked or disliked, and almost every article elicits a response from one person saying it is the best I’ve ever done while another person says it’s the worst. Those two people are different from one article to the next. I’ve also gotten pretty good at predicting who will like or dislike an article. I have long since stopped trying to make every article appeal to every reader, because I realize it is an impossible task….
No Means No…by Will Durst
An avalanche of revelations concerning public figures engaging in various sexual assaults has tumbled down upon our heads and the airwaves are consumed with accusations, recriminations, equivocations and ethical gyrations, not to mention the threat of career annihilations. And it couldn’t happen to a more deserving aggregation of guys. Since early October, after numerous women came forward to accuse Hollywood producer Harvey Weinstein of sexually abusive behavior, huge numbers of high-profile males have faced similar charges and either been fired, allowed to resign, lost committee leadership positions, had projects canceled, entered rehab, become incapable of speech or were favorite to…
No News From Doodlebug Island…by William F Jordan
For three men so remarkably different from one another, Nebs Dolfinger, Howard Doaks, and Tracy Burliner were alike in at least one thing. They all wanted to know how the parking meter got from its moorings in front of the First National Bank of Doodlebug into the back of Rick Nesbitt’s truck. And Rick wasn’t saying. Island policeman Nebs Dolfinger rather thought it signaled a new wave of street crime. Prosecuting attorney Howard Doaks was of the opinion Rick had put it there himself, intending to rob it later; while Judge Tracy Burliner thought it could be either of these…
That Really Bunches My Panties…by Brendon Marks
One of my former co-workers, Exudahagen (not his real name), X for short, can jump into any conversation and keep talking until every possible discussion point for that particular subject has been eliminated. He moves from one subject to another without leaving a gap, without even taking a breath. It’s impossible to hold a conversation with him–you can only listen. If you do decide to say something, you must watch closely for the signs that he is nearing a transition point. Usually he starts to talk a little slower. His brain is now furiously multi-tasking. Part is controlling his tongue,…
No News From Doodlebug Island…by William F Jordan
Of all the eloquent speakers who live among the leafy wonders of Doodlebug Island, none is more eloquent than a man who doesn’t speak at all! Struck dumb and with total hearing loss through what his doctors called “brain fever” when he was but a year old—a disease now more familiarly known as scarlet fever—Al Kinesian retained his sight and an inventive mind with which he has developed a language of his own, one that depends on gesture and intuition rather than sound. Furthermore, it is a language filled with more nuances than the average person would deem possible. To…
That Really Bunches My Panties…by Brendon Marks
I’d like to introduce you to a new term. The term is “scope creep.” This is not an obnoxious guy hooked on mouthwash; it has to do with the way projects are handled. Husbands should be very aware of this concept, because wives have a natural instinct for it. Wives ask husbands to do a project, husbands agree and start on the project, but long before it is completed, the project starts to grow arms and legs. This is “scope creep,” the “scope” of the project is “creeping” outward in every direction. An example will illustrate this concept. The week…
Scientific Team Creates Synthetic Sperm…by Blodwyn Smythe
For years, a small team of women scientists have been secretly working on the invention of synthetic sperm that could be inseminated into a woman’s fallopian tubes. As the ovulation process occurs, the spermites (as they are currently tagged by its creators) would then swim upstream on a quest to fertilize an egg. Women have argued for decades that the primary reasons for the existence of men was to mow the lawn, open jars with stubborn lids and provide sperm for procreation. Now that riding mowers are more affordable and an electric jar lid remover has hit the market, the…
F’ing Chutes and Ladders…by Will Durst
Here’s the deal: You don’t start out by calling someone an “f’ing moron.” That’s a final exclamatory heave after exhausting all other slanders. Fool. Jerk. Pinhead. Nitwit. Idiot. Nincompoop. Moron. Until finally… f’ing moron. It doesn’t quite scale the heights of “total f’ing moron” or “banana faced monkey dribbler,” but it’s close. So Rex Tillerson must have been at the end of his rope when he flung that particular phrase of scorn and contempt at Donald Trump. Sounds like a spontaneous human explosion stemming from a well of frustration so deep it echoes. The sort of expletive one blurts out…
No News From Doodlebug Island…by William F Jordan
A peppery centenarian, James Watchkiss, celebrated another birthday this week, and was given a ticker-tape parade through downtown Doodlebug, riding in a rickshaw pulled by barmaids from Barney’s grog shop. “Take me where you will, but I’m like an old library book and must be checked back in for my afternoon nap. Orpheus won’t wait!” Well, the parade ended at the plaza where we gave him a noisy welcome and where someone had arranged a microphone. There were a couple speeches short in length but long in praise, then James was asked to speak. “This has been very nice,” he…
That Really Bunches My Panties…by Brendon Marks
Downsizing, rightsizing, reduction in force, no matter what they call it, the end result is fewer employees doing the same or more work. A side benefit of this effort is less floor space required. Another approach is to maximize employee density. Managers, working with the facilities department, have become very creative when it comes to packing more employees into the same or less floor space. Constructing cubicles with movable partitions has been an effective tool in this effort for the last few years. The initial idea was very simple–just make each cubicle smaller. But there is a finite limit to…
No News From Doodlebug Island…by William F Jordan
Opening my mail one morning last week, I found what I considered a pointed but rather humorous ‘Letter to the editor’ written by a fellow Islander Monte Mastel, and, after much soul-searching, I created space for it in the next edition of the Doodlebug Run-on, which I edit and publish. The latter comes out weekly although the exact day of the week is something of a crap shoot. Tuesday is the target day, but if nothing newsworthy has announced itself, or if a story is taking its own sweet time coming together, Wednesday or Thursday will do just fine. And,…
That Really Bunches My Panties…by Brendon Marks
The seven-year-old daughter of a friend has reached a milestone in her educational program. She must learn to write cursive, or longhand, as some refer to it. We wonder why. As an adult I know that this is just one of many instances where it becomes necessary to learn something for no apparent reason. Take algebra for example. If it were not for my formal training I would not have been able to determine that the eighteen-ounce box of macaroni was actually a better deal than the two-pound box. But I wonder about cursive. When do you use it, and…
That Really Bunches My Panties…by Brendon Marks
While watching Jeopardy, that TV quiz show where they give you the answer and you have to make up the question, I started to reflect on another of life’s little inequities. On this particular occasion I was doing pretty well with the answers, but such is usually not the case. I thought about how, if I were a contestant, I would look pretty much like an idiot unless I was fortunate enough to get a bunch of categories that I knew something about. That’s what started me thinking. I know some pretty smart people that would never stand a chance…
No News From Doodlebug Island…by William F Jordan
When Dylan Thomas wrote: “Do not go gentle into that good night; old age should burn and rave at close of day; rage, rage against the dying of the light,” it’s unlikely he had in mind a group of older men meeting to rail against advancing age and its load of ills, but whether or not he did, a group like that has formed here on Doodlebug Island, and they carry on in a fashion that Dylan would most certainly approve. They call themselves, “The Railers,” and they meet the first Wednesday of each month unless one of their number…
