Note to self

When you think about it, life is almost always about eluding the Inquisition. Which Inquisition, you ask? (If you didn’t ask but you asked your spouse or significant other to ask for you — because you’re too embarrassed and you’ve heard it would lower your credit rating — you’re exactly the kind of intellect the Inquistion is counting on. Don’t worry. It’ll find you.)

By the way, knowing which Inquisition it is, isn’t as important as knowing which it aint — or isn’t, if you prefer. Listen up. I’m going to repeat that.

That.

So. Just a little tip here to help you on your way in life: If someone ever asks you to “Listen up” don’t waste your time listening up, down or out in the yard. Because you won’t hear anything other than dogs or loud kids or people with “issues” and or cranky old guys shouting “Get outa my yard,” or drug dealers getting shot, shooting or both. Which is why it’s always safer when you listen up, up in the aviary. (Note to self: look up aviary.)

Remember, a wise man once said “I can’t believe I bit the head off the milk chocolate rabbit I’ve been saving for a special occasion but couldn’t help myself — and locked the door to keep away people who wanted to help myself — and I ate the rest of it alone and it was no special occasion at all, and now the rabbit is all gone and they tell me I’m no longer considered a wise man.”

Like, what is wrong with this world?

So, let’s wind our way back to the Inquisition. Okay. Take the Spanish Inquisition for example, which it isn’t, but which it used to be until licensing fees and the cost of teaching people like you to speak Spanish became prohibitivo.

What really killed it, though, is the simple fact that nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition any more. So nobody answered the door when the Inqy men dropped by unannounced. Nobody responded to Inqy text messages or opened up cleverly designed Inqy junk mail saying you won a free organ transplant – you pick the organ, as long as you don’t piq your nose.

But I will say this.

This.

And, while people may or may not expect the Spanish Inquisition, they still expect it to be run by the Spanish. Now, you might want to hold onto your underpants, because The Spanish Inquisition is no longer run by the Spanish.

Q. What? Why that’s…that’s just nuts.

You can look it up. The rapper Grunthead just bought the rights to the name Spanish Inquisition and is marketing it to conspiracy nuts, like “LMNOPQ-Anon,” “HillaryEmailsGalore.com,” “The Oat keepers,” and the “The Unknown Boys” (formerly “The Spoiled Brats.”)

In previous eons people spent time trying to elude The Dinosaurs, The Freeloaders, The Elvis impersonators, The Brother-in-law (includes the Freeloading dinosaur) and The Men Who Mooch.

Here’s a bonus thought: It used to be if the Spanish Inquisition or a nun with three yardsticks taped together was on your trail, people would tell you “Your ass is grass.” What did that even mean?

Sorry, no one ever explained it to me when I was young and terrified when big, mean kids kept warning me “Your ass is grass.” No one else seemed to have a problem understanding the ass-to-grass concept. I certainly wasn’t going to ask my mother, or worse, one of the nuns what it meant. Talk about your ass being grass, whatever that means. (Note to self: look up that.)

This entry was posted in Absurd and/or zany, funny, Mockery and derision, News You Can Use (Sort of) and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Note to self

  1. Tom Urtz says:

    I am on tenterhooks awaiting the answer. I am not sure why I am on a tenter’s hooks, as I thought one would be sufficient. As we pray your hinie isn’t grass, what are we hoping it will be? A nice bed of 4-leaf clover? Tom

    Like

  2. PMcG says:

    Something without a crack in it.

    Like

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