Life in Our Fishbowl - Updated:

As I posted earlier, we got a new Betta and two replacement neons. Everyone seems happy.

Day 1:

Last night 3 neons were brutally slain. 3 Black-stripe tetras have nothing to say without the Betta present. I'm looking at you, Mr. Catfish, a.k.a "The Cleaner". You know something.

Day 2:
OK, earlier the largest black tetra was looking kind of beat up and concussed. The betta was hanging close to him, claiming he was helping him swim. Now that tetra is just gone. I know he has been terminated and stuffed in the weeds, just like one of the neons was this morning.

I am registering "Underground Fish-Fighting Ring" so that I can use it exclusively.

I thought I heard something ...

Oops, I got Disqus-followed. There might be Visitors. That's a surprise, and me here, blogging into a mirror with the door open.

Anyway, I will put that last one away for further editing and carry on at my snail's pace.

Xmas Dinner

Already looking forward to the Holidays, and the Xmas gorge-and-drink-a-thon.

Background:
One half of my people didn't invent any food; not cheese, nor decent sausage with fricking fennel, they just ate whatever they could find. All of it. 

Except for Hard Sauce: they invented Oreo filling, rolled it into balls and then fought each other to the death for it. 

That's considered a "rare treat" because our "stuffing" predates turkeys and involves a Lot of Balls.

It's mostly balls, with organs and stolen horsefeed, actually.
And entrails. Stuffed right into those bulging entrails.

Mmmm, entrails ... 

Wait a minute -- hard sauce, Brussels Sprouts, baked testicles? It's all balls!
Man, we are all about the balls for the holidays. I have eaten so very many.

Truth and Dare

I'm terribly terrifically drunk on plonk, and in honor of Hallowe'en I'm about to screen "The Exorcist" in the dark, alone, at midnight. "Sleepy Hollow" was not nearly enough tonight.

You can't have any idea how long it took to edit that intro into coherence. If I never post again it's because of what I am about to do. I know you wish me luck.


PS I have a sock-monkey and some cinnamon gum. I'll be OK.

And That's The Way it Was

I'm 45, which is exactly halfway as far as I intend to go.
I come from a world far away and very different from this one:

In my day, we were shocked about Watergate -- because no president would never incriminate himself.

You had to have terrible skin to be a movie actor.

Huge computers were made just to eat tiny bits of paper. Nothing was learned from this.

Music used human voices. "Sampling" was stealing. You'd never work again.

TV was always a parade of morons -- but for us they scripted it all. The laugh track taught us what was funny. If you didn't laugh it got very loud.

Birthday Wishes!

It's who's famous birthday today? Sarah Polley's? No? Stephen Hawking's! Not that one? Graham Chapman's! No? A singer? That narrows it down, OK... Mike Reno! Shirley Bassey! Oh, how dumb of me!
DAVID BOWIE, of course!

Happy Birthday, Mr. Jones -- you're 63?
And ya still look fabulous.

Beard of Evil

Why I grew my beard again,  after swearing I wouldn't:

1. It's something only older men can grow. I am mistaken for a man 12 years younger by anyone who doesn't know me. That's nice, but some guys think I'm younger than that because I don't butt heads and I do over-think things. The beard will be a reminder that I am an old Dad and possibly not stupid. Since apparently I seem to be. It turns out that earning respect in general is tough. Plus it takes quite a long time. Beard takes three months, tops. 
2. Lord of The Rings. The Beardfest of our time. They can look good -- there were hundreds of decent beards in that.

Why My Beard is Evil: