Humor

My Funny Factor had been Functified

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“She had heard good things about him including ,“ he just did not have any luck in the love department.” She could buy that. Life was like that for some people.”  I stared at that last sentence for hours before giving up and going to bed.

I couldn’t finish the story, it was going nowhere. It had no edge and it was not amusing. It was official, my funny factor had been functified.  Someone had stolen my platform shoes with the goldfish in them. I hope they were getting fed because my funny factor was starving.

I was up before the crack of dawn as usual  to do some writing*. I stared at the story I had started a few days earlier and thought ,“where is this going? How can pull something funny out of this? My funny factor has done been functified baby.“ In the past no matter where the story was going I was always able to pull some grins out of it. I considered myself the Houdini of humor. No matter how bleak the topic looked I could pull out a funny ending. This time however, things looked grim.  The goldfish were locked in tight, there was no food in sight and a water escape looked impossible. Not giving up yet I plodded onward and continued typing.

“He was getting ready for one more shot at love. His track record up to this point was less than stellar. The problem as he saw it was that he ..”  “Auchentoshan,” I screamed nonsensically. “Where did that come from ? Well other than the sound of frustration it also is the name of a nice single malt scotch,”  I thought. It also was the sound of defeat. This story had taken the bullet train to nowhere.

I was becoming desperate. How could I get my funny factor back. “Ab Ripper X**,” I thought. I threw in a DVD and was soon grunting like an oldie. Fifteen minutes and a possible hernia later I planted myself in front of the laptop and still nothing. While the endorphins surging through my body made me feel better , my humor  was still missing and the APB I had just put out for it failed. My funny factory was still functified.

“Functified ,“ I repeated. It was a Eureka moment. I  ran to my aging sound system and threw in a few CDs. From DVD to APB to CD. The acronyms were running hot now. Cranking up the volume introduced the neighbors to the sounds of the seventies. Bootsy Collins and The Ohio Players meet the neighbors. Neighbors meet some righteous dudes wielding some wicked bass lines. My platform-less feet began tapping and soon one right after another the rest of my body parts joined in. It was official , I was in a groove now. The temptation to break dance was suppressed by the imagery of broken bones. Butt shaking would have to suffice. Dancing around the room I soon noticed a pair of shoes had appeared in one corner, platform style, complete with goldfish. It was coming together now.

I danced over to my laptop and began typing furiously. I could feel it now, a brand new story was taking shape. A scant thirty minutes later and my story had come to its conclusion. I had gotten my groove back . My funny factor was no longer functified.

The secret I thought lay in music: James Brown, Bootsy Collins, Aretha Franklin, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club , Son Volt, Johnny Cash.  It didn’t matter what the genre was but it had to have a soul. “Music with some soul,”  that is the secret. That and to stop writing love stories. They have to write themselves.

* Yes cliché but apropos and no comments from the gallery.

* *No not a promotion but if that Tony guy wants to throw some coinage my way I won’t complain.

Humor

From The Case Files of Grok, The Original Detective: Something Wicked This Way Lurches.

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The glowing shards of rock started out as a large asteroid between Mars and Jupiter.*  The journey had whittled down the parent rock  but it was still of significance size when it broke up in earths atmosphere spawning hundreds of meteorites.  The destination of some had given birth to the Grok we met in the first chapter of this saga. The final destination of the rest had been unknown, until now.

Grok stared placidly out over the field of flowers that filled his view. Despite all of the beauty surrounding him he felt that something was amiss.  Oh sure , he had managed to either drive out or suppress the criminal element at his end of Cave Town. He was also slowly educating the local males in forms of seduction more sophisticated than the “club and drag”. This was no easy task. He was finding it impossible to come up with a smooth monosyllabic pick up line so in the meantime he turned his efforts into creating better cocktails and this was reaping rewards. He had recently concocted some fruity alcoholic punch that could be kept down long enough to create a buzz.

His current feelings of trepidation had nothing to do with business. The success he had on his end of town did not mean he would be running out of cases soon. His reputation had started to reach outside his community and he would have work for a long time to come. What bothered him was a feeling of impending doom that did not seem tethered to anything current in his life. Grok shook his head in an attempt to ignore the feeling for now and go on about his day.

*****

The trajectory that marked the path of the wayward meteorites had painted a streak beginning at the east end of Cave Town and continued across the bordering swamp to land upon Cave Town’s nearest neighbor Unibrow Village. Unibrow Village was much like Cave Town other than the latter’s discovery that two brows are better than one.

Throg had tracked down the beast that would be his lunch, dinner and tomorrows breakfast to the edge of the swamp. Once the beast had mated, Throg would merely wait for it to sleep and then he would pounce. Throg was expected to share his bounty with the rest of the neighborhood but he was not a guy that shared, nurtured or cared about anyone else. That was the second to last thing that he remembered. The last was seeing some large glowing rocks coming towards him.

Throg woke up a few sunsets later at the edge of the swamp. He appeared not to have moved at all. No one in his village would have had the courage let alone the compassion to move him to shelter. He was not surprised nor did he care. What did surprise him was all of the new thoughts running through his brain. None of them were of the good variety and he liked it. It was as if the stagnant swamp water had seeped into his brain overnight bringing with it tiny microscopic life. His brain was now full of evil little cells teaching him new ways to get more for himself. They were screaming “organize”. Throg was beginning to get excited about newfound possibilities. Too bad none of those possibilities included the idea of  turning one eyebrow into two. It would do a lot for his self-image and perhaps he wouldn’t be so mean.

****

Grok lay awake in his cave unable to fall back to sleep. His day was long and somewhat fulfilling. He had ventured over to the west portion of Cave Town to mingle and make new contacts since he had helped most of the women on his side of town with their wayward men. In many of the cases the couple stayed together. In the cases where they had not, the women left town for a fresh start somewhere else.

Grok had hoped that at least one of the dames would have been impressed enough to spend some time with the hero detective. He was not sure where he got that crazy idea. He also wasn’t sure where he got the term “dames” or the term “detective”. It wasn’t as if there were any unrealistic stories out there full of dames falling all over the detective, yet.  He had an idea though that stories like that could be popular. Maybe when he was ready to give up his career he could pick up cave painting some detective stories. He was starting to like that word “detective” and it fit. It was better than “finder”.

His attempts  to flirt with some of the women he met on the west side were foiled by  his lack of smooth monosyllabic “come on” lines. That’s what he told himself anyway. Apparently the west side women still liked the bad boy silent type. Grok was confident that once they were introduced to the full awesomeness that was his charm and intellect they would warm up to him like a cup of joe on a hot fire. If only he knew what a cup of joe was.  Here, in his cave at two in the morning, Grok was hoping that the warm up process would not be too long. It was a bit cold. Suddenly a shiver ran down his spine and thoughts of loneliness were replaced by the feeling of impending doom. Grok did not fret too much about it though, he understood  fear. When it came to women , he had no clue.   He would deal with whatever doom lay ahead tomorrow. He began to relax and was soon welcoming the arrival of a deep sleep.

*Not that this information is of any benefit to the dwellers of Cave Town. They think stars are fireflies without wings. It does however give some nice background information for the reader.

Humor

I’m That Guy From That Thing

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I am that Guy from that thing. I am the guy that you know from somewhere. I am the guy that you see on the street that looks like he knows where he’s going and can give you directions.   I used to think it was my charm and good looks but I quit deluding myself. The charm could still be a factor though.

Everywhere I go people seem to think they either know me or someone who looks like me or I remind them of someone they can trust. Well I hope I remind them of someone they can trust. The day I remind someone of somebody that “done them wrong” I am toast.

It doesn’t matter where I am at,  I appear approachable. I am the guy that you can ask where the rental cars are at the Kansas City Airport. I am the guy you can ask for directions wherever I happen to be. If you’re lucky I might know what the hell I’m talking about.  I have been stopped in every city I have ever been in by people asking me where the heck they’re going. Most of the time I am lucky I know where I am going. But usually when asked, somehow I will know where you are going. As for my destination,  it’s a crapshoot. Apparently I also look like a responsible family man , or a man who could be one. I  was once asked by a complete stranger who happened to be pregnant whether I  had a girlfriend. Ok some would say that is not the everyman part of me but the every psycho chick magnet in me.

If you are bar flies of a certain pub in Edinburgh, I am not Mike. I am the guy your drunk girlfriend will think is your friend Mike. I am also the guy in that same pub that two sober patrons  will also think is Mike. Mike must also be a bar fly of that pub. Fortunately Mike must have been a nice guy. No one ever tried to teach me a lesson for the time that Mike “done them wrong”.

I am the guy that you think frequents your Starbucks often, even though I never set foot in your Starbucks. I am the guy that is grateful the other guy is not a jerk.

Apparently I am also the guy that really needs to always have an alibi. I have been confused for so many other people across the world it frightens me to think I am just one “ wrong place at the wrong time” away from being “their guy”.  I was seriously working on being the guy that came up with that thing that lets you know where he is always at. The cell phone with GPS came along and I was able to breathe a sigh of relief. GPS tracking bugs some people . I consider it a blessing. It saves me from being confused for “their guy “ by authorities everywhere.

The one constant that remains is that I will always be that guy you can ask for directions or for assistance. I may not know where you are going but I won’t be the guy that “does you wrong”.

Humor, Uncategorized

Airline Delay Jeopardy.

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“Welcome to Airline Delay Jeopardy the game that costs you time , patience and maybe a few years of your life.

“Lets welcome our next contestant Dan. He is an engineer from Colorado. Welcome to Airline Delay Jeopardy Dan.”

“Thanks Alex but they know who I am, I was just here.”

“Oh contraire Dan. It may look like the same set as our other game “Airline Fee Jeopardy”  but the stakes are quite different. You will be risking your precious time , patience and perhaps your entire trip.”

“I suppose you want me to be excited about that also Alex?”

“ Of course Dan. What could be more invigorating than the apprehension you feel from your first flight delay to finally boarding, perhaps hours and even days in the future.”

“Yea , be still my beating heart Alex”.

“Are you ready to play Dan?”
“ Do I have a choice Alex?”

“No , No you don’t Dan so put on your big boy pants and lets play “Airline Delay Jeopardy.”
“Um, yeah they’re on, my pants that is. Oh yea, lets play”.

“Now you’re talking Dan. So pick a category.”
“Lets go with “What Else Could Go Wrong “ for 50 Alex.”

“Good Choice Dan.”
“It’s the only category Alex.”

“Yes but none the less, here is your question”. “Dan you are traveling from Washington Dulles and your plane has changed gates. What obstacles await you”

“The new gate is not near a bar Alex?”
“Funny Dan but that is not the correct form or answer. Remember to answer in the form of a question.

The correct answer Dan would be “What is to get to the new gate you must either go back through security or take a shuttle that will take you to the new gate.  Once you get there you will find that the gate assignment has been changed back to the original gate. I hope you like shuttle busses Dan”.

“But I am not going to DC Alex.”
“Well lets face it, your final destination is a crapshoot Dan.”

“Quickly choose your next question Dan, we have more people to delay.”

“God forbid I get in the way of that Alex. I will choose , hmm, how about the next question in the same category for 100 Alex.”

“I sense sarcasm Dan.”
“Who me? Of course not, it’s more closer to smarminess”.

“Dan you are flying out of Kansas City. What exciting reason for a delay could be headed your way?”

“Your definition of exciting is different from mine Alex so I have no clue.”
“ Now you’re not even trying Dan.”
“Yea I’m sorry Alex, when it comes to airport delays I’m an underachiever.”

“Well Dan in this case your delay is due to your plane has no potable water. You can’t go anywhere when your bathrooms are out-of-order Dan.”

“Apparently  you also have a different definition of potable Alex, unless you are traveling with your dog.”
“Now that you mention it Dan, it really is more smarminess than sarcasm. Choose your last question Dan. “

“Oh goody Alex. I choose……the next question for 150.”

“Dan you are traveling from Denver to Kansas City ,what uncomfortable situation could you be in?” “Well Alex, the fact that we are finally following my flight plan tells me that I am in for another delay. I hope it’s just a slight one”

“Well Dan you would be kind of, sort of, wrong. When you get to the airport you discover that your plane has changed gates. This in itself is just a minor inconvenience. When you get to the gate you find out that the plane has been delayed by 15 minutes.”

“So I was right Alex.”
“Dan haven’t you learned by now? It’s the old bait and switch. Once you get on the plane , runway delays will cause it to increase to 40 minutes.”

“Well that is still not too bad.”
“Your a half full kind of guy aren’t you Dan. There is one more part to this answer. There is no cool air flowing through the cabin and your plane is waiting with the sun shining on your side of the plane and from what I hear you’re a human furnace.”

“Oh swell Alex. That’s sarcasm by the way. I am having a hard time trying to fill the glass on this one Alex.”

“Let me help you with that Dan. This is a great chance to enjoy a sauna that you would normally pay for.” 

“ I am paying for it Alex. Believe me , I’m paying for it.”

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I Still Miss Him (Charles Bronson)

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It was 18 years ago today that my Dad passed away. He was on my mind all day and this evening. Perhaps that is why I could not sleep and now find my self pounding away at my keyboard (it sounds better than clicking away on my laptop doesn’t it).  In memory of him I am republishing a post from my old site that  I wrote for fathers day last year. I hope you enjoy it.

Charles Bronson

I was really alone for the first time in my life.  I was living in Maryland while doing a student coop for the Bureau of Census. Eighteen hundred miles from my family and a girlfriend  and renting a room from a total stranger. I found myself channel surfing one evening and stumbled upon an old Charles Bronson movie from his early days. When he appeared on screen I was taken aback by how much he resembled my father when he was young. It must have been a Charles Bronson marathon because later on I caught a more recent  movie of his and damn if he did not mirror my father in later life also. I missed him than as much as I do now.  Thinking about him now I realize that much like Charles Bronson’s characters my dad was an old school man.  The archetype of the strong silent hero. He was not a man of words but of action. Of course his actions were a little more sedate then vigilante justice , well except for the time he popped out of the family station wagon with his shotgun to confront some neighborhood vandals , but just as important none the less.

I can probably count on both  hands the number of times I remember that he told me he loved me. The number of times he showed me however would take a super computer to calculate. The only regret  I have involves something I told him when he was helping me move to DC after college. I thought I was grown up enough not to be called Danny anymore and I kindly asked him to call me Dan or Daniel.  I wish I would have kept my mouth shut. I would let him call me anything he wants to just to have him back.  I have gradually tried  let the guilt go as time has gone by, besides that doesn’t seem the kind of thing that Charles Bronson would have let bother him and my dad  continued to show me how to live , how to love and how to battle through life.

I  am still a little repentant these days and actually like it when people call me Danny. I would like to continue writing this  but well there seems to be something in my eye. Instead I will raise a glass of Scotch. To Casey and Charles Bronson.

Humor

For Mothers Day, Something Completely Different (Glaring Omission)

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One the right side of my blog there is a list of tags entitled “Where I Get My Grins”. These are to indicate what my posts are about , what makes me laugh  and the sources of my humor. The one glaring omission is the tag “Mother”. She is definitely a source of humor for me. Not that she makes me laugh though she does. Not that I laugh at her, I do and visa versa. It’s in the sense that I have learned how to approach life, by laughing through it all, from her. When life give you lemons laugh , besides we like our lemonade sweet and too much sugar is not good for you.

If you have followed my stories here you have noticed that for a blog in the category of humor it has a tale or two that at first glance would not seem to warrant the tag of “Humor” or “Humour” for those more worldly than I.  Those postings stand out a bit because they cover topics of loved ones lost. If you have read them you realize they are not really about death but of how to celebrate life and to laugh through it all . This lesson I learned from my mother and consider the most valuable of all that she has taught me.

Thank you Mom. Happy Mothers Day*.

*Go out and enjoy the strange weather we’re having. I’m sure it has nothing to do with global climate change. (An inside joke we share).

Humor

It’s Time to Play Travel Fee Jeopardy

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Welcome to  Travel Fee Jeopardy, the game that tests your patience and your wallet.

Let us welcome our contestant Dan. He is an engineer from Colorado and he lists his hobbies as writing and outdoor recreation and he is on his way to his nephew’s graduation.  Welcome to Travel Fee Jeopardy Dan. Are you ready to play? “Yes Alex I suppose so”.

Camera Cuts to Commercial.

“Come on Dan show some excitement will you?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong Alex but basically the point of this game is to find out what travel fees I will be paying for on my upcoming trip. Correct?”.

“That’s correct. My Dan is a sharp one isn’t he.”

“Well how is that exciting?”, asked Dan.

“Well Dan that’s a good question. The excitement comes from the trepidation of what unusual and perhaps unreasonable fee could be levied. It is possible in some rare instances that the feelings you experience will be ones of relief. Now don’t you find that exciting?

“Yes, In the way that I find filing my taxes exciting,” replied Dan.

“Now your getting it Dan.”

”Glad I could make you happy Alex, it’s all about you”.

Back from Commercial:

“Well folks we just had a lively discussion with our contestant and now it’s time to play the game.”

“I’ll take Would You believe for 50 Alex”.

“Good choice Dan.  Dan your flying in to Kansas City and renting a car. What additional tax will you be required to pay?”

“Um, I don’t know a Barbecue Tax Alex?”

“Well that’s an interesting answer but it is not in the form of a question now is it Dan?”

“Um, What is no Alex.”

“You have the idea but you’re still wrong Dan.  The tax we are looking for is assessed by the car rental company that goes towards the new Sprint Center in Kansas City.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“ Sorry Dan , That is not a category but you are getting the whole form of a question theme.”

“But I am not going to use the Sprint Center Alex.”

“But how do we know you won’t change your mind Dan. Lets move along now. Choose your next category Dan and remember “Are Kidding Me?” is not a category. Ha Ha.”

“You’re a stitch Alex. I will take “Would You Believe for 100.”

“Feeling lucky in that category aren’t you Dan?”

“No but the sooner I get this over the quicker I can end this charade and get my reservations .”

“See I told you this was exciting.”

“Yea, it’s a thrill a minute Alex. Can you give me my next question?”

“Glad to see your anxious now Dan.”

“Dan your flying out of Denver International Airport. What fee is added to your ticket when you fly out of Denver?”

“What is the Snowball Tax Alex?”

“Ha Ha . I can see our contestant has a sense of humor but no the fee is not a Snowball Tax.   The tax you will be paying is the Denver Airport Tax which pays for the building and operation of the Airport.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Ha Ha, I guess Dan wants us to rename the category. We’ll take that into consideration. But, no I am not kidding you. The Denver Airport does not get tax dollars from the city or the county.”

“But doesn’t the city and county get funds from taxes on tourists Alex?” “ Oh come on Dan it doesn’t work that way. If it did you wouldn’t have to pay the Sprint Tax in Kansas City and then where would you be?”

“I would more likely to be in Kansas City Alex.”

“Ha Ha, my our Dan has a sense of humor now doesn’t he.  So Dan would you like to choose your next category?”

“What is Can I say no Alex?”

“Well that is in the form of a question so I will allow it. Besides I can see that you will be checking in a couple of bags and we make out like bandits on those.”

“ Yea I’m happy for you Alex.”

“Well Dan thanks for playing our game and being a good sport. Drop by again and play the game when you are in the area.”

“Snowballs chance in heck Alex, Snowballs chance in heck.”

“Ha Ha, You are a card Dan.”

Humor

From The Case Files of Grok, The Original Detective: “The Harder They Fall”

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Grok was convinced that several things held him back from being the richest man in the village, his sense of justice , his lack of cool last name (well having a last name would be a good start) and his lame job title.   “Finder for hire”  did not have the right ring to it.  Never mind that none of the villagers could handle the concept of an extra syllable, he wasn’t going to let that get in the way of crafting a better job title.

Grok had only been a finder for a short time but the things he had seen had made him lose his faith in humanity. Oh sure the humanity he knew could barely walk upright and they had not quite mastered the concept of multi-syllabic words but that didn’t stop them from being mean to each other.  Often he found himself helping out folks not for payment but because it was the right thing to do. It really ticked him off when the strong prayed on the weak.  He wasn’t worried about physical confrontation. His newfound intellectual powers allowed him to outsmart most troublemakers. Sometimes though, a bully had to be taught a lesson.

His next door neighbor, who Grok referred to as Big Hairy Guy or Big Hairy* for short, was such a bully.  The cave drawings Grok had provided to Big Hairy’s mate had provided little effect on his philandering. He was not sure Big Hairy understood what the drawings had meant. Everyones’s a critic. It was obvious Big Hairy was continuing his philandering ways with every unwilling female in the village. It did not take a paleontologist to figure it out and Grok did not have to tail him either. There were many a time when a concussed female would come knocking on his cave looking for Big Hairy. He knew these women would have been able to find him if it were not for Hairy’s suave clubbing skills.

Grok had enough of  dinnertime interruptions  and a decreasing population of lucid females in his village. Action had to be taken and Grok had a plan. He was going to lure Big Hairy into a trap by providing him a surprise victim, Grok himself.

It wouldn’t take much to present himself as a female to Big Hairy.  Not many of the local  women had discovered the secret of using a sharp rock for getting rid of unwanted hair. As for hygiene, the only thing that separated the fairer sex from the brutes in this village was a monthly bath. It was not a pleasant place to be during the scorching heat of a still summer.  All it would take for Hairy to find Grok appealing would be a quick dip in the nearby watering hole and a second animal skin for a top. It frightened him to think that all that prevented him from getting constantly hit on was  the lack of a second strategically placed loincloth.

At dusk Grok put his plan into action and hid behind the bushes near Big Hairy’s cave. The bushes allowed him to observe the caves entrance without being seen but the insects they attracted were driving him nuts. Perhaps there were advantages to poor hygiene.  Fortunately it wasn’t long before Big Hairy emerged from his cave. It was right before dark and he was on the prowl. Grok had planned well.

Grok sauntered out from behind the bushes,  putting an extra wiggle to his lurch to set the bait.  It worked. The beast had caught his scent, or lack thereof, and the hunt was on.  Big Hairy approached Grok trying to appear suave. The only alteration to his look was his feeble attempt to hide his club.

“So much for the subtle art of seduction”, thought Grok. Suddenly Big Hairy shifted his club to make a pass at Grok but Grok was quicker. He ducked and came up revealing a small heavy club of his own. The noise  of the club connecting with Hairy’s head sounded like a gatherer checking a melon for freshness. Big Hairy tried to grab Grok’s waist for support as he was falling. In  doing so he only managed to remove Grok’s loin cloth before passing out.

Grok was getting ready** for another tail job a week later when he thought about the Big Hairy job. He felt satisfied. He had decreased the bully count in the village by one and cured Big Hairy of his philandering. Grok liked to think he helped Hairy see the errors of his ways but more likely it was the discovery of his potential date’s extra equipment that did the trick.

*Grok figured that if the neighbor did not give himself a name then Grok could call him anything he wanted to. If Big Hairy found out ,Grok was sure he wouldn’t comprehend the insult.

** In this case “getting ready” meant choking down some fermented fruit juice so he could turn down his disgust level long enough to do the job. He got it down but wondered why someone couldn’t make better swill.

The Beginning or How Grok Got His Groove On.

I Grok, The Story of the Worlds First Detective

Humor

The Further Adventures of Grok, The Worlds First Detective

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Miss the First Installment ?http://thesoundoflaughter.wordpress.com/2013/03/30/i-grok-the-store-of-the-worlds-first-detective/

Grok had awoken with a twinkle in his eye and snap in his lurch. His ability to walk upright  still needed some work but it did the job.  He felt excited , he felt like this was the first day of, hmm, the rest of his days?

His life had changed dramatically  since the “rock shower” in the clearing a few weeks ago. He had given up foraging due to boredom. There were no new plants to discover around here as he could recognize all of the edible ones from the plants that would send you scurrying for the bushes.

He had found a new way to get the necessities he needed for life. He had become what he liked to call a “finder”. Well that was the term he was going with for now because it described his skill set and what he could offer people. He could find things. He could find information and he could find people.  In return he received food, clothing, firewood and an occasional cave painting to brighten up his place.

Grok got dressed quickly. Let’s face it what does it take to throw on a loincloth? He knew some guys took forever in the morning primping and all. It’s a good thing they couldn’t see how they looked.

Hearing a tapping at his cave entrance Grok grunted out some sounds that resembled the phrase “come in doll-face “.  In walked his neighbor’s mate. The thought “ In glided a tall willowy redhead and I could tell she brought trouble where ever she went” popped into his mind but that would be totally inaccurate. A more appropriate statement would be, “In limped a women, barely waking upright,  with a mass of dirt-water colored hair. I could tell she brought hygiene  issues wherever she went.” But that would be mean and confusing since it described all of the residents of this local cave-town.

Grok inquired as to what her problem was and she replied in a lot of grunts , squeaks and a sound he was not sure what the origin was. He hoped it wasn’t a bodily function. From what he could make out she either thought her mate was having an affair and wanted proof or she got a hold of some bad plants. He was desperately counting on the former. His cave was spotless and did not want to clean up a mess.  She did offer cleaning services in return so he figured either way it would work out.

Grok shadowed the man for several days and then hit upon the idea of documenting his findings using cave drawings.  This resulted in what may be histories first case of Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.  It also resulted in a fine archeological display for the London Museum  hundreds of years later.

Grok had discovered that his neighbor was clearly having an affair. He also discovered the man definitely needed work on his seduction skills. While a club to the head may be effective, Grok did not think it very romantic or nice for that matter. Grok was amazed however that after a period of recovery the woman warmed to her “pursuer”.   Apparently she likes the bad boys.

The last day on the job Grok reported his findings to his client by showing her his cave drawings, not realizing that years from now men will be showing women their etchings in an attempt at a more sophisticated form of seduction.

In addition to the house cleaning she made him a hat to sweeten the deal.  She thanked him for his services and uttered some grunts that he interpreted as “ why don’t you drop by and see me some time”.  He politely declined. The last thing he needs is an irate neighbor lobbing rocks at him, besides it would not be professional.

Grok felt good. Tying up the job in a neat little package was satisfying. He had no idea if the couple was going to make it but at least the woman now could bargain from a position of strength.  He threw on his hat and went for a walk. Passing the nearby water hole he caught sight of his reflection. The hat looked good. It made him feel like a finder. He was going to have to work on that term. He needed something with a little more snap to it.

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Ode To The Vanishing Record Store (reprise for Record Store Day)

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Record stores, To me they were magical. Just their names cast spells of joy , angst and love all at once. Kief’s Records and Tapes, Waxie Maxie’s, Penguin Feather Records, Paul’s Records and Tapes, Twist and Shout. The list is endless. Unfortunately the digital age may spell the demise of these places and that’s too bad. They were great places to learn about new bands and argue the important questions in life.  Who was more significant to the punk movement , The Sex Pistols or The Ramones? Passersby would offer “you don’t know what you’re talking about because you didn’t even mention The Stooges“. Which power trio had the best drummer,  Rush or ELP (Emerson , Lake and Palmer)? Or which guitarist really was God, Eric Clapton or Jimmy Page? I of course would toss in “You didn’t even mention Stevie Ray Vaughn or Jimmie Hendrix you boobs”. Try having these arguments while downloading from iTunes.

No matter the name or the layout they all had one thing in common. They had this mysterious aura about them. I am not sure if it was the smell, which often was of incense ,or just the knowledge that you were  about to discover something new and mind-blowing.   To me they also felt foreboding.  Perhaps that’s  because my introduction to music stores occurred during the seventies when many of them doubled as a “head shop”. Go ask you parents what that is. God I’m old.  So if you are lucky to still have a music store ( CD/Records) around and not just a section of Walmart because you really can’t discover anything there except a new kind of fungus, visit it and spend some money there before it’s too late. I gotta go, Twist and Shout is calling me.

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