Rubber Bullet

Travels with Pete the Perch—Port Allen

December 5, 2010

“Our travel budget is kaput.”

Pete lowered the latest issue of The Journal of Plankton Research and doffed his reading spectacles, peering at me with that familiar difficult-to-decipher unblinking blank stare. “Our travel budget?” he asked. “If you have not noticed, Einstein, I do not own a wallet or possess a bank account.”

“You know what I mean,” I replied, a bit perturbed that he was more interested in reading about the flexible adaptation of the seasonal krill maturity cycle in the laboratory than in my checking and savings account balances or our future travel destinations.

Travels with Pete the Perch—The Seychelles

November 21, 2010

I would have drowned, had it not been for Pete.

On our recent trek to the Seychelles Islands—a nearly pristine archipelago 994 miles northeast of Madagascar in the Indian Ocean—I found myself 20 feet underwater with enough air in my lungs to fill a Dixie paper cup. Staring at a seabed of kaleidoscopic coral, I began to make peace with my final aquatic resting place.

Travels with Pete the Perch—Tibet

November 14, 2010

Pete and I took a whirlwind trip to a Buddhist monastery in Nepal this past weekend. The scenic panoramic grounds surrounding the cloisters were pastoral and bucolic, but the food was downright dreadful. Upon entering the centuries-old monastic temple, I discovered that Pete is allergic to a certain Tibetan incense that he said, in his Don Knotts-esque Incredible Mr. Limpet voice, “smelled a little fishy.” Pete and I encountered a group of barefoot, robe-clad monks. (What is the collective word for a group of monks, I wondered? An Om of monks? A transcendence of monks? A nirvana of monks?)

Windshield Rites

Okay. What is this new phenomenon of people eulogizing their loved ones on their vehicle windshields?

 “R.I.P. Tammy 7/16/81–6/10/09. We love you, babe!” written next to a quaint jagged (ripped?) broken heart.

Somehow, I don’t think Tammy would appreciate being memorialized on a Ford F-150 windshield after she and the two tons of metal she was using as a cell phone booth was wrapped around a cement light post somewhere near Jigger, La.

Mental Health Hotline

Download MentalHealthHotline.mp3

Pesky, the Squirrel

Download pesky_the_squirrel.mp3

“Pesky, the Squirrel” recorded in 1987 by Radio X, starring...

• Mike Slobotzky: Announcer and Pesky
• Michael Johnson: Mr. Jones
• Lee Anne Moore: Mrs. Jones
• Jená Cane: Billy
• Maurice Martin: Mr. Tate-Stone
• David Saia: Mrs. Tate-Stone

Letter to Proctor & Gamble

This is an actual letter from an Austin, Texas woman sent to the American company Proctor and Gamble regarding their feminine products. She really gets rolling after the first paragraph. It’s PC Magazine’s 2007 editors’ choice for best web-mail, award-winning letter.

Dear Mr. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your ‘Always’ maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I’d probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I’d certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can’t tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there’s a little F-16 in my pants.

Copper Clapper Caper

Download copper_clappers.wmv

Wimpy Words and Phrases to Avoid

You can wear the perfect suit, have great posture, and put on a winning smile, but you’ll still make a lousy impression to your speaking and media audiences if you use wimpy words and phrases. The following are words that get speakers into trouble.

Three Old Men and a Milk Truck: a radio play (Scene 4)

by Michael Stone Johnson, Maurice Martin and William Smith
SCENE 4: THE BEACH

SFX (OCEAN SOUNDS. SEAGULLS.)

MORT: Herb, do you know what day it is?

HERB: Tuesday?

MORT: I mean what special day is it?

HERB: What? It’s Morrie Amsterdam Day in Canada? How am I supposed to know?

MORT: It’s ten years ago today that we crash landed in Florida.

HERB: Oy. Let me guess... You’re depressed.

MORT: I can’t help it. I'm thinking of Ira. Poor Ira.

HERB: It’s ten years already. Let it go.

MORT: (SIGH) In my mind, I see it happen again and again. First we get hijacked, then we crash land into that milk truck...

HERB: It wasn’t a milk truck. I keep telling you, it was an ice cream truck.

MORT: It was dairy products!