That guy is all mouth and trousers and a bit of a big girl's blouse, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers
They deserve a break today
*The long-bearded band ZZ Top was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. It was a nice break for them to be away from Camp X-Ray.
Not the same
*Happy St. Patrick's Day. It commemorates when St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland. Sadly, their legal system hasn't ever recovered.
St. Patty's health tip
*St. Patrick's Day is a scary day for a lot of guys. See, in a darkened bar, they don't realize they're drinking green beer. Later, when they get sick in a well-lit bathroom, they scream; "It's green. Call a doctor, I'm dying!"
*More cadavers were delivered to UCLA. The football team held Spring practice.
Don't o'miss it
*There is going to be a very special post St. Patrick's Day "Apprentice" tomorrow night. Donald Trump tells a contestant "You're O'Fired."
*Courtney Love had a bizarre court appearance yesterday. I think Courtney was a little wasted. After court she tried to dance on top of an SUV but she kept falling off.
*Celebrity court behavior just gets better and better: Michael Jackson dancing on trucks, Robert Blake singing folksongs, Courtney Cox dazed and confused. I can hardly wait until record producer Phil Specter is in court. When it comes to acting nuts, he'll really take a shot at it.
There is no At at Athens
*With five months to go, it is not looking good for construction to be complete for the Olympics. How bad is it? The construction in Athens won't be finished before the construction on Cher.
(Get the rimshots ready)
How bad is it? They haven't even inflated the pool yet.
Runners might want to roll up and bring their own lane of track.
The swimmers could get road rash
Gymnatics will just be called Nastics. No gym.
Since you asked:
My Mother still had traces of her aristocratic Louisville Southern accent, but when I imitate her, I make her sound like the principal's secretary in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off."
". . . the sportos, geeks, sluts, motorheads, they all think Ferris is a righteous Dooooooooode."
During a Christmas trip home to Chicago from San Diego during my wildly independent single-guy years, I sat in my parents den one morning wearing my Cubs t-shirt and Bears boxers, while slurping and shoveling Cheerios in my face and scratching and rubbing my head while audibly moaning from the previous night's one-too-many welcome home drinks.
Just then, my cheery, sweet Mom burst in:
"Oh, now sweety, I wish you hadn't stayed out so late, we have a lot to do, yaknow. You want an egg?"
Looking down at my cereal and back to her I mumbled' "No thanks." Then Mom launched into the day's busy itinerary:
"Well, we're having lunch with the Reichelderfers and I promised the girls you'd play tennis with us . . . you sure you don't want an egg?"
"No thanks, nope, still no on the egg." I said a bit louder to make sure Mom heard.
"Well," Mom went on, "we're going to the Detmer's open house and then drinks with the Van Arsdales and we have Church . . . are you sure you don't want an egg?"
Suddenly channeling Gene Wilder's Victor Von Frankenstein telling the overly persistent Cloris Leachman's Frau Bluecher that he doesn't want a nightcap, I loudly grunted:
"NO . . THANK YOU . . . I DON'T . . . WANT . . . AN EGG!"
Mom then vanished into the kitchen and I felt bad I may have been too harsh, so I walked into the kitchen to rinse my bowl and there was Mom, happily humming frying away.
"So how do you want your egg, Sweety?" she asked.
"Over easy, thanks Mom. "
Moms, you gotta love 'em.