Life gave me lemons. Again.
But I had it with Life. So I delivered a swift Daniel-san crane kick in the general vicinity of what vivisectionists in biology textbooks grimacingly refer to as The Groin, and...
“Down goes Life! Down goes Life!” yodeled Howard Cossell. Or maybe that was just me pretending that I heard Howard.
Well, as I watched the lemons and two other un-lemon-y objects roll down the hill, I wondered if Life felt any shame. All these years, lemon after lemon, and me making lemonade, Life never got a clue that what I really wanted was a lime. A lime and a styptic pencil.
Tequila and lime. Key lime pie. Lime margarita stirred with a styptic pencil. Hello?
But then I realized, maybe I am not like everyone else who just loves lemonade. The Wife still thinks I am a bit of a misanthrope, in that I do not much care much for humans. Or lemonade.
Of course, that is so not true. I do not care much for animals either. I see every dog as The Resurrection of Cujo, and cats, well, “A cat,” as a Dan Aykroyd character once said, “is just an effeminate dog!”
If Spock was a novice at three-dimensional chess, why couldn’t Kirk master Curling?
I think of odd things. Or maybe not. Perhaps you have thought of them too, but all that means is you are odd too.
Like why George Reeves, who played Superman back when it meant something, stood unflinchingly tall when some villain fired six bullets into his chest, but then ducked when the villain in his infinite wisdom and what is known in the trade as a “Hail Mary” throws the gun at him.
Could Bruce Lee have taken on Ba Ba Wa Wa? How about Ba Ba Wa Wa and Ed Schultz?
What would Baby Dracula do to combat global warming, IF it turns out that the actor who played Hoss was actually older than the one who played Ben, his dad?
Big if, eh? (The Editor would not permit a bigger if, sorry!)
Is a “dog eat dog world” necessarily cannibalistic? If not, do rocks ever say “human fickle?”
Why is it that anytime someone mentions Einstein, the Pavlovian response is “Oh yeah, E=mc², right?” as if that explains everything.
Also, why do bakers get their own dozen? Just so that they can ruin “six of one, half a dozen of the other" for everyone else?
Does Keynesian macroeconomics really illustrate the Fallacy of Composition, or is that just an urban legend?
While I’ll never get to see Dean Martin star in a blockbuster as Dean Martin, is it too much to ask for a critically acclaimed box-office flop starring Tom Cruise as Tom Cruise? Or Tom Cruise as Dean Martin, even?
Wait, I got it, how about Bruce Lee taking on Ba Ba Wa Wa and Ed Schultz but in a martial arts fight?
Are soda manufacturers involved in a secret Tasmanian plot to convert us all to the metric system? It certainly appears so given that they sell 2 liter bottles. and not 67.628 oz bottles.
Something’s really fishy there! You then factor in the fact that most countdowns start at 10, and go 126.96.36.199... and it becomes intuitively obvious.
Did Josephine suffer from a Napoleonic complex as well, and if she did, does it mean that it is a communicable disease?
I am bitter that no one ever asked me “Have you paid your dues, Shri?” Because I once saw this movie Big Trouble in Little China, and memorized the perfect comeback.
"Have ya paid your dues, Shri?"
"Yessir, the check is in the mail."
If Batman visited you, would you offer him lemonade, or tequila? Tequila, right?
As you might have guessed by now, I am angry at Akira Kurosawa, too.
“Akira who?” you ask.
Akira Kurosawa, the renowned Japanese director of "Dreams" and "Ran" fame. He should have made one more movie. A movie in which he illustrates how to wound yourself with a rusty spoon. In agonizing detail, with subtitles for those who normally miss subtleties. Then, instead of trying to avoid engaging my frenemies in meaningful discussions, I could simply ask them to watch that movie.
Then I’d get to rub salt in those wounds.
Aleve or Tylenol? Or wait, maybe Advil. No, no, just an aspirin perhaps. Oh heck with it, this intricate decision process is giving me a nasty headache!
Since we all long for the “good old days”, should we resurrect the Indiana Pi Bill?
I am having enough problems dealing with Life. But should we really “leave well enough alone?” Isn’t it hubris to think that something is perfect? For example, consider the Heimlich maneuver. Wouldn’t a swift punch to the gut be more satisfying?
If Bizarro Superman visited your neighbor, would you offer him fake lemonade, or fake tequila? Fake lemonade, right? Since fake lemonade is tequila.
Oh wait, the London Olympics are on and what is this? Surely this is a joke! Mary Poppins is taking on Voldemort?
GO VOLDEMORT! (I always root for the underdog.)
Harry Potter, you are next. Life, trust me, you want none of this.