How to open an English muffin

Posted on December 24, 2015 by PMcG

Step 1. Get an English muffin. Now.

Step 2. Stand near a window so you can see what you’re doing. Make sure you are decent.

Step 3. Hold the muffin in one hand by its edges and gaze upon it as if you were assessing the tread on a stolen tire from a little red wagon. If a red wagon is unavailable, pretend you are gripping a stolen whoopie pie.

Step 4. Using your other hand, gently rotate the muffin clockwise as if you were unscrewing the top on a jar of pickles–but not a jar that hasn’t been previously opened. Opening a previously unopened jar of pickles takes super-human strength, the grinding of molars and many, many, many ejaculations of Jesus, Mary and Joseph Magillicuddy!*

This often triggers the onset of madness and/or the sense that an inner wall of your intestine has blown out. Per the instructions on the pickle jar, pull up your shirt/blouse/scales and look for a small bump-out in your Tropic of Cancer. If you see nothing, quit whining.

However, it may appear as if a fat gerbil has suffered a fatal coronary inside your out-goes-the-bad-air channel. An indelicate image, to be sure. It may help to think of it as a leg on a pair of your long johns. If long johns are contrary to your beliefs or in the wash, you may think of a pair of panty hose.

Whichever, the fat gerbil inside is still dead and not moving. And, don’t forget, imaginary. As is your emergency trip to the Hernia department at your closest Intestinal WalMart.

Step 5. The purpose of rotating the muffin is to find the invisible line (think of it as an equator) that separates the top half of the muffin from the bottom half. When you divine its presence, take a Sharpie and draw a line around the perimeter of the muffin. This makes the equator really pop.

Step 6. At this point you need help. Serious help. Call for a volunteer among the residents of your home. (Not the dog). Pick the one who most closely resembles K-Mac, if not K-Mac herself.

Have her stand facing you. Have her raise her hands to eyeball height and extend the index finger on each hand so they are pointing at each other and are about a quarter-inch apart.

She should move the two pointing fingers to about an inch in front of her eyes. She should now see a floating Vienna sausage in between her two fingers. If she sees a floating Vienna Boys choir, consider having a donut and a shot instead.

Step 7. Place your muffin between her fingers–as if they are an axle on a motorcycle and the muffin is the wheel. Try spinning the muffin to make sure the fit is correct. If incorrect, try throwing a fit.

Step 8. Take your Dremel tool and attach one of those mini cutting wheels. Turn it on to high (or 11). Start spinning the muffin. Hold the screaming cutting wheel against the equator so that the spinning muffin does all the work. (Side note: Poor Dremel. Every time he goes out, some bone head shouts “Hey Dremel, how’s your tool?”)

Step 9. Almost done. Take a clean crowbar and insert the flat end into the equatorial crack. Gently pry the northern hemisphere from the southern hemisphere. Enjoy!

Be sure to look for the next in our “How to” series: “How to open an account in a river bank.”

*(300 days off your Purgatory stay, when dead. Act now! Operators are standing by).

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2015, all rights reserved.

Posted in Absurd and/or zany, funny, News You Can Use (Sort of), The human comedy | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Loose screws

Posted on December 16, 2015 by PMcG

When I awoke this morning, I glanced at the sports page and discovered I am still mathematically alive.

I went to have my blood drawn. The artist on duty suggested water colors because she likes the way they bleed.

Out through the back door of Rose’s I ran, out where the horses were tied. I caught a good one, he looked like he could run, up on his back and away I did fall on my whoopie cakes. Forgot the dang saddle.*

I don’t often admit this, but I was very young when I was a kid. Heck, there was a time, for about 12 months, when I was only four years old. Is that crazy or what?

I wondered “What is the difference between a real man and a real rich man?” After giving it some thought, I stopped wondering.

You oldsters out there might want to read the bestseller by the late Robert Kardashian, esq. “Trouble At The Pearly Gates: When to call a dead lawyer.”

It pays to be observant. But be advised: they still take taxes out.

When birds tweet, it proves that they are self-aware. They understand choices. They can dig worms or dig the jazzy vibe they are laying down. If birds can be self-aware, why can’t we?

If I were you I’d change your name and your Christmas wish-list to mine.

Have you ever barked up the wrong tree? Have you ever barked up the right tree? Have you ever had your snout rapped with a rolled up newspaper and been told NO! Are you a dog? If not, a piece of advice: lose the bark, go with the bite.

Have you ever been beside yourself with excitement? With anyone else?

Have you ever felt miserable and looked out the window and seen your freeloading in-laws pull into the driveway unannounced? And wondered why they say misery loves company?

Is jetsam the type of plane assigned to Sam? Does flotsam mean Sam’s last name is Flot? Does Samsonite mean Sam’s boy has already eaten dinner in Australia? Does Samsung really mean Sam sang but somebody was out sick the day they discussed the concept of participles?

You often hear it said about a person that he or she was the Class Clown. But you never hear about someone being the Class Actuary.

Have you ever beaten a dead horse…in backgammon? Feel pretty good about it, did you?

Have you ever been told to hold that thought? Yes, but do they ever tell you when to stop holding that thought? Are you still holding it? Go ahead, you can put it down now.

Have you ever been told to hang on but never told specifically what to hang onto? Have you ever been told to “Just let it go,” or “Drop it, ” without further explanation? Have you ever dropped it on someone’s toe and been called a jerk and when you blubbered an apology, the toe owner said “Get lost.” Have you ever been found?

Have you ever dreamed the impossible dream? Have you ever watched a car commercial that promised you would get “the fuel economy you dream of.” Was that your impossible dream? Now what?

Have you ever been elected to Congress and found yourself alone in your office, looking out the window, thinking “What does Congress do again?”

I went to see my urologist. I waited so long I had to use the men’s room. Five minutes after I came out, the doctor was finally available. I was handed a cup and sent to the men’s room. I’m still there, right now. Waiting for the sound of music.

*Apologies to Marty Robbins, writer and singer of the classic cowboy song El Paso

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2015, all rights reserved.

Posted in Absurd and/or zany, Mockery and derision, News You Can Use (Sort of) | Tagged , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

It’s nothing, really

Posted on December 9, 2015 by PMcG

Scientists have a fairly straight-forward rule. Before they are allowed to make a major announcement (“Hello? Is this thing on? Attention everyone: water is composed of two parts hydrogen, one part oxygen. That is all. Thank you.”) they have to prove it.

Not just to their colleagues or the skeptics at the parts store. Not even the unwashed masses who have not yet heard of water. No, they first have to convince a psychotherapist, who will tell them on the spot whether their Bunsen burner has flamed out.

It used to be a fail-safe system. A therapist, for example, quashed the theory of his scientist-patient that the speed of light was faster than the mass exodus from a bar whose keg has blown.

More recently, a scientist named Wilbert Higgs, PhD, stuck out his hand to his shrink and told him he was holding a very tiny particle that had just fallen out of his boson. He called it the Higgs boson particle and described it as “The quantum excitation of the Higgs* field.” The shrink looked into that empty, sweaty palm and immediately screamed for his in-house SWAT team.

(Ironically, before psychotherapists were invented, scientists had to run their theories past a panel of psychopaths such as the Spanish Inquisition–well-known for being evil, sometimes to a fault).

Lately, however, there are rumblings that the shrinks are falling down on the job. First they okayed the silly Big Bang theory. (“Attention everyone: One day there was no universe, okay? The next day, in the middle of raw nihility—aka nix, nada, zippo—a rude noise was heard. Suddenly there we were, naked and riding wooly mammoths to a Justin Bieber concert. Thank you.”)

But that was nothing compared to, well, nothing.

As you know, scientists with telescopes and flashlight apps have been looking skyward for years, searching for stuff like new stars and donut holes and signs of extra-terrestrial life. (One scientist even claimed to have discovered a blinking red neon sign that read “Live extra-terrestrial life ahead, no cover.” He was immediately jettisoned from Mt. Palomar.)

Anyway, back to nothing. Given the success of the Double Bubble Hubble telescope, scientists were running out of space objects they could discover to win a Nobel prize. That’s when an astronomer named Tycho “Taco” Johnson made a mockery of astronomy by discovering nothing.

“How’s it going Johnson?”

“Great. I discovered nothing today.”

“You bastard, I discovered that last week but didn’t say…”

“You didn’t say nothing.”

“I was going to. Really. But…”

“But you were afraid people would think you didn’t discover anything. Which is worse than nothing.”

The discovery of nothing wasn’t Johnson’s only brilliant act. That came in his decision to call nothing something else. Drum roll please:

Hello Dark Matter.

As Johnson notes in his autobiography “Cosmic or Comic?” dark matter is everywhere, even between your toes. It’s wherever there isn’t any light matter. Think of a closet or a black hole or your brain trying to explain to itself why umpires don’t have seeing eye dogs.

But that’s not the best part. Just in case you can’t find any, Dark Matter is conveniently invisible, making it that much harder to disprove or clean.

At his Nobel Prize acceptance speech, Johnson explained his discovery this way:

“It’s been in front of us all the time, like a laundry basket full of darks that you keep forgetting to bring downstairs to be washed. You don’t see them because they’re more or less invisible, especially to men who don’t do household chores. So I say to my fellow scientists, it’s time to wake up and smell the laundry.”

*You think I make this stuff up? https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Higgs_boson

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2015, all rights reserved.

Posted in Absurd and/or zany, Mockery and derision, News You Can Use (Sort of) | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Yawning cleavage

Posted on December 3, 2015 by PMcG

If we can pinpoint a single meteor taking a whizz across outer space–and land an entire outlet mall on it–you’d think we could locate a single pen in our homes and not have to write our grocery lists, our MacArthur Genius Grant applications and our ransom notes with a green crayon.

More than 150 million pens are produced every year. Why? Because last year–as in the year before and the year before that, yada yada yada—as soon as those 150 million pens were dropped by helicopter to the teeming masses, they immediately disappeared into black holes, parallel universes and open-pit davenports faster than you could say What the Bic?

While the National Losers Confederacy estimates that a mind is lost every 13 minutes (slightly less in the torrid zones), someone in this country loses a pen every 8 seconds.

Eight-seven-six-five-four-three-two-one. Kiss your ball-point goodbye.

Look, as responsible citizens who went to school and learned complicated stuff like who is buried under the Jersey Turnpike’s Vince Lombardi Service Area, we must ask ourselves why are pens always missing?

Did you know that the average person possesses and loses 7,853 pens by the time their death certificate is signed with a stolen pen?

BTW some people refer to a pen as an ink pen. Stop it. Stop it right now. Calling it an ink-pen is like talking about a bullet-gun or a striped-mime or an unwelcome-banjo player.

Of course, not all pens are created equal. There are pens and there are good pens. We’re all familiar with the frustrated cry “Who the Frank Furt took my good pen?”

What makes a pen good? Usually, a good pen is the one:
• In your hand right now
• In your hand just a farouking minute ago
• In the dog’s mouth

Where do pens go when lost/kidnapped? Scientists list these as the most likely places:

57%: Slipped into the yawning cleavage between sofa cushions.

23%: Buried in the landfill on top of the resident man-child’s dresser.

14%: Sitting right there in plain sight you blind idiot (If it were a snake it would have bitten you.)

17%: Eaten by vegetarians (with humus)

6%: Filched by communist bastards.

2%: Acquired by pen pals for socialization purposes (sing alongs, book discussions, dressup parties, etc)

115%: Dumped in the kitchen drawer along with the Philips screwdriver, the Allen wrench, the Johnson pump, the needle-nose pliers, flashlight batteries that may or may not work, a needle, 150 feet of twine, a tape measure, a measure of good sense, a gorilla suit, the family bayonet, seven Doritos (Cool ranch), the deed to the house, the guest pillow, a mousetrap with dried peanut butter, a dried mouse, Uncle Bob’s stalled career, a mind that may or may not be yours, the Hope diamond (sans Hope), a hole punch, a rabbit punch, a Kaiser roll, a dried Kaiser, an extra ammo clip and a spare nose.

Oddly, some say lost pens should stay lost because the pen is mightier than the sword and, by inference, the M60 machine gun. Get rid of pens and machine guns, they argue, and we’ll see a dramatic drop in the number of heavily armed zagnuts writing poems that don’t rhyme.

However, the powerful Pen Lobby—powerful enough to get the name Pencilvania changed to Pennsylvania—disagrees. “Pens don’t write bad poetry,” they argue, “people write bad poetry.”

If you outlaw bad poetry, they say, only outlaws will be able to write “There was an old man from Nantucket…”

Who can forget their ultimate sneer: “Sure, you can take my pen–from my cold, dead, ink-stained fingers. Hope you don’t mind, I used it to get the wax out.”

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2015, all rights reserved.

Posted in Absurd and/or zany, Mockery and derision, News You Can Use (Sort of) | Tagged , , , , , | 3 Comments

The 5 Biggest Myths about Thanksgiving

Posted on November 25, 2015 by PMcG

1. The Indians arrived in a Plymouth.
A very common misconception. In fact, The Puritans sailed from England in The Mayflower, which hit a large rock just off Massachusetts. It sank within sight of the Cape Cod Plymouth dealership.

Because cars hadn’t yet been invented, the only Plymouth at the dealership was the visionary colonist Walter Plymouth, who was 300 years ahead of his time. Which was too bad because did he ever have a deal for you. He was so distraught that he went on to invent Plymouth Rock and Roll.

At his court-martial, the Mayflower captain claimed to have shouted “Reverse thrusters,” but got no response from the engine room. He was also said to have failed an Early American “Blow the Man Down,” breathalyzer test, which involved counting the number of colonists who fell over when he opened his mouth at point-blank range.

The Indians, meanwhile, arrived at the Thanksgiving feast on foot. They kept removing their moccasins at the dinner table, fanning their smoking feet with moose feathers. To make them feel welcome, the colonists also removed their shoes.

In a spontaneous outburst of “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” Bob, the colonist, shouted “This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home, this little piggy had roast beef, this little piggy had none, this little piggy cried wee wee wee all the way home.” The Indians later complained that their homeward wee-ing was caused by sadness that no one ever passed them the roast beef platter.

2. The Indians and colonists got into a food fight during the first Thanksgiving dinner
False. The so-called “fight” was a slight misunderstanding over who got to sit at the big table with the grownups and the gravy, and who had to sit with the kids and the squash at the three-legged card table. Only one—repeat, one—Indian was put in a time-out–for throwing a handful of squash, after shouting “I am so sick of squash.”

3. The first Thanksgiving Day Packers-Lions football game was blacked out.
Look, there was no television then, so nobody could watch the game. In fact, the Indians didn’t mind because they had never heard of football. As it turned out, the colonists hadn’t either.

Until that was pointed out to them, a bit of friendly horseplay developed over who got to sit on the couch and recliner and who would be stuck sitting on the butt-breaking wooden chairs borrowed from the local funeral home. Oh, and the stupid bean bag.

4. No Turkey was served at the first Thanksgiving.
Actually, when the colonists first invited the Indians to dinner, their chief replied “How could it hurt? What are you having?”

His wife then jabbed him in the ribs and cleared her throat menacingly. The chief then said “Oh, right. Can we bring anything?”

Bob, the colonist, replied “Why don’t you bring the turkey.” When they showed up with spaghetti and eel balls, Bob the colonist asked menacingly “Where’s the turkey?” The chief pointed to his brother-in-law and said “You asked for him, so don’t come whining to me when he starts throwing squash.”

5. The Indians weren’t really Indians, but freeloaders from Scranton.
Partially true. The name “Indian” was the name applied to them by Bob the Colonist, who thought they were in Indiana. Actually, the Indians lived just two doors down and preferred to be called Wampanoag–the name of their tribe. Either that, or simply “Native Americans.” To which Bob said “Good luck with that, Red.”

No Indians were forced from their land onto reservations or attacked at dawn in the writing of this blog.

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2015, all rights reserved.

Posted in Absurd and/or zany, News You Can Use (Sort of), Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Ten Steps To Becoming a New York Times Bestselling author*

Posted on November 16, 2015 by PMcG

1. Sit down with pencil and paper and say “Hmm.” Don’t think “Hmm.” Say “Hmm.” Louder. (Don’t stand up. Research shows that standing-up tricks your brain into thinking you’re going out for a beer or upstairs for a nap, or out for a beer followed by a nap on the pool table at Sal’s. Sitting down with pencil and paper, however, fools your brain into thinking you’re Shakespeare, or possibly an actuary named Mel.)

2. With your pencil (in your hand), write down “Hmm” (on your paper), being careful to include only two ems. In some cultures, Hmm is spelled with anywhere from three to 17 ems. (Example: Hmmm or Hmmmmmm or Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” are all misspelled.

Caution: there are people whose lives are so full and beautiful that they spend hours counting other people’s Hmm ems. If you misspell Hmm, they’re going to let you know and they will pass along some of their honking fullness. Set your firewall to stun.)

3. Write down three words corresponding to the three letters in Hmm. (Example: Hold My Modigliani.)

4. Think about something other than Hmm without actually saying or thinking Hmm. (This is essential. Both Hemingway and Aesop were masters of this. Ironically, they are both dead.)

Whether it takes you a minute or a month to get this down, once you’re down you are also funky–unless, like Papa, you put a shotgun in your mouth and pull the trigger with your big toe. (Avoid Papa’s embarrassment: Remember to clip and sand your toe. Important: remove shoe and sock before jump starting the hedge trimmer.)

5. Hold that thought about something other than Hmm. In the meantime, write down the word something followed by a colon (example: something:).

6. Now the tricky part: write down the something other than Hmm that you held before you wrote the word something followed by a colon, after the colon. Make sure you don’t write the word something, but the actual something you actually thought about other than Hmm and held because I told you to. (Example: Something: Two-ton Tony Galento (Note: no Hmming).

Note Note: If you forgot to hold that thought because you are puny or you have Carpet Remnant Syndrome or you’ve never had to think and write something and then write something you were thinking, get out.

7. Think about a white horse. Write down the words “white horse.”

8. Stop thinking about a white horse. Write down “I’m not thinking about a white horse.”

9. You’re still thinking about a white horse, am I right? That’s because YOU WEREN’T LISTENING. Just like the would-be writer  Lobotomy Larry Lewis. He used to be just plain old Larry Lewis but he couldn’t stop thinking about a white horse. I think you can see where I’m going with this. If not, try reading the 247 blank pages of his biography “HMMMMM: My Forehead’s Got a Hole in it.”

10. The Money Step. Upon completing this step you are officially a world class writer—but only if you follow this program religiously. If you’re allergic to religion, follow it non-religiously, but I’d watch out for lightning.

Step 10 represents a paradigm change in learning how to write gooder. No more thinking about something. Not even something stupid. Something is for hacks who write things like How to assemble a kitchen table without a kitchen.

Let’s review: Forget about something.

Now, start thinking about…ta da! Anything.

Go ahead, write down the word anything, followed by a colon (e.g. anything:) Now, write your thoughts about anything.

Yes, even anything at all.

Except, of course a white horse.

*FYI: While I fully endorse these steps, I have never tried them myself so I have no idea if they work. But they are pure logic, so how could they hurt? If they do hurt or cause bleeding, loss of limb(s) or whining death, keep it to yourself. I reserve the right to not give a fat furble.

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2015, all rights reserved.

Posted in Absurd and/or zany, News You Can Use (Sort of) | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

FAQ: Huge Bug

Posted on November 13, 2015 by PMcG

Q.Whenever X—(not her real initial) sees a bug on the ceiling she says “Ooh, there’s a bug on the ceiling.” That means I’m supposed to kill it or talk it into leaving right this minute, mister.

But the bug-fearing little boy inside me says “Holy crap, that’s no bug. That’s a Volkswagen.” Would it be cowardly to try to pass the bug to X— (still not her real initial)?
A. Does Z— cook all the meals in the house?

Q. Yes. To my exacting specifications. And by the way, it’s X that isn’t her real initial, not Z (which is also not her real initial.)
A. Open and shut case. You are the in-house pest-assassin, the burglar scarer-awayer and the uh-oh-bible-thumpers-at-the-front-door-get-your-holy-butts-off-my-porcher.

Q. But I make the bed everyday. Shouldn’t that count?
A. Save it for the made-bed line at the Pearly Gates. Expect delays.

Q. Did I mention that I also provide comic relief around the house? At very reasonable rates.
A. Don’t make me laugh. I become homicidal.

Q. Ha Ha. So, there’s this bear, see, and he walks into a bar…
A. Look, pal, you better testosterone-up. Grab your newspaper and swat the crap out of that bug.

Q. But I don’t get the newspaper anymore.
A. Why not?

Q. They replaced the news with something called content. It sucks mud through rocks. So I canceled.
A. What do you use to line the bottom of your bird cage?

Q. I don’t have a bird anymore.
A. And why the hell not?

Q. It talked too much.
A. Talking birds can be a great comfort.

Q. This one asked too many questions.
A. About what?

Q. Aren’t I supposed to ask the questions?
A. Is that what you told the bird?

Q. Yes.
A. And what did the bird say?

Q. He said ask me anything. I asked what I should do about a huge bug on the ceiling.
A. What did he say?

Q. He told me to swat it with a rolled up Sports Illustrated. When I said I didn’t get Sports Illustrated, he tried to sell me a subscription. I have a strict policy against buying anything from a bird.
A. You know, you can kill a bug pretty handily with a rolled up ESPN the Magazine.

Q. Won’t I get the guts of the bug all over the cover?
A. Read the magazine before you launch your attack.

Q. What if I see a bug while I’m reading a good article?
A. Take off your shoe and whack it.

Q. I tried that, but it left a footprint. When X—(not her real initial, which rhymes with A and J) saw it she accused me of walking on the ceiling. She has a strict policy against that.
A. Hmm. Do you own a gun?

Q. No, but I have a bolo knife.
A. Useless. They’re only good on bolos.

Q. Tell me something I don’t know.
A. Being alive causes cancer.

Q. Everybody knows that. Look, can I ask an unrelated question?
A. Since we’re unrelated, sure.

Q. Why is life so farouking hard?
A. It’s a rule.

Q. Who made the rule?
A. God, of course.

Q. Why would God make such a rule?
A. Life used to be easy. The only rule was the Golden Rule: Do unto others and so forth. But people took advantage. They started saying things like “Hey, one beer never hurt,” and “It’s not about the money,” and “I’m running for president because I have a new propeller beanie,” and “I bet I can eat forty of those,” and “I want to spend more time with my family and my family’s nanny,” and “Congress is such a hoot,” and “By the time the globe completely warms up, I’ll be long dead, and, like Congress, could give a hoot.” Do you feel me?

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2015, all rights reserved.

 

Posted in Absurd and/or zany, F.A.Q., News You Can Use (Sort of) | Tagged , , , , , , , | 6 Comments