Don’t Be Such A Serious Blogger

Not long ago I received an email from someone who said that I shouldn’t be such a serious blogger. I thanked them profusely for their advice and then asked them if they were a Nigerian prince who just happened to be interested in sharing their fortune with me.

Sadly they were not…interested in sharing their fortune with me.  I haven’t any clue as to whether they really were a Nigerian prince and or wealthy. That is because they didn’t respond to my email. It hurt my feelings and I decided to send them a letter letting them know this.

That is because I have been taught that men shouldn’t hold our feelings in. It is bad for our hearts or so I was told.

So I wrote him a letter that looked something like this.

“Dear Mr. Foosengoosen,

I am quite upset with your lack of response regarding my inquiry into your lineage and personal wealth. If you are indeed a Nigerian prince you should let me know immediately and should also consider  sharing your fortune with me.

There are many reasons why you should do this not the least of which is because I said please…twice. Hell, if you were my employer and I were a millenial you would be able to expect to receive a strongly worded letter and  a telephone call from my parents about your rude behavior.

That lack of response might have sent me over the edge because I grew up in a world in which unicorns were plentiful, rainbows colorful and everyone received a trophy for being able to breathe.

Sadly this is not the world I grew up in. I come from the seventies a time of bad fashion and silly television shows. We were harder and meaner than the kids today. I would have gone sweathog on your and told you to shove a hose up your nose or some such thing.

And it is entirely possible that I might have even dipped into the eighties and pulled Miyagi out to train me to kick your ass. We aren’t talking about the nice guy from Happy Days either. No, you won’t be saved by Mr. C. The Fonz can’t protect you nor will Ritchie, Potsie or Ralph Malph.

And let’s not forget what happened to Ritchie’s older brother Chuck. The dude disappeared. I could make that happen to you too.

Why So Serious

Great Googly Moogly Foosengoosen, you have the weirdest name of any Nigerian Prince I have ever known. Not that I have known any in real life or online. Don’t ask me if I knew any in the biblical sense of the word either. The last thing I need to do is say that I support Gay Marriage wholeheartedly but think that kisisng a man is repulsive.

That is because the last time I had that conversation here I got flamed by some loser who wanted to know if I was worried about the Gay agenda which according to him consists of having sex with lots of partners. Now my dear Foosengoosen I have to confess that there was a time when I wanted to have sex with lots of partners, just not at the same time or with men.

Am not bothered by men wanting to sleep with men provided I don’t have to do it or see it. But I don’t really want to watch a man or a woman have sex either. Besides if I did I would have to pretend to be Howard Cosell doing play -by-play .

Now that could have been special. Just imagine what that would have sounded like:

“This is Howard Cosell. Tonight we are seeing something momentous, a boy is about to become a man. I once talked to a young Cassius Clay about such a thing and thanks to my advice he remembered to pump slowly so that…”

Screeching Halt

Sorry Foosengoosen this is family blog so I can’t go into more details.

But what I can tell you is that because you are a selfish bastard I am not inviting you to join me on the great Ikea adventure. That is going to be big and amazing. The great Ikea adventure is the day where I go switch all of the signs at Ikea with fake ones that I have made.

It could be one of the all time greatest pranks and you aren’t going to be a part of it. You won’t be there when I switch the Hoskenflosked with a Skeezendozenker or the Gartleskin with a Crapyouneedenskin.

Sorry, about that, but you brought this punishment down upon yourself. And don’t try to weasel out of it by offering me a couple of chickens and a water buffalo either. I am not bought that easily.

Really, a man of my distinction needs more than that. Give me a black lion and a Bengal tiger and we can start talking.

Comments

  1. CrossBetsy says

    @aDadsPov Laughing, watching you go between your 2 Twitter profiles!! How do you decide which one to use? LOL!

  2. says

    The moment I saw “Serious” in a blog title post from YOU, I knew you wouldn’t be SERIOUS! I am that Nigerian Prince…where should I send the check?

  3. Daddymojo says

    If you received this comment 4 years ago you could at least attribute it to marketing for The Dark Knight.  It’s good to be a child of the 70s, no helmets on the Big Wheels, the softest rock known to man and the lightening bugs were just a bit brighter. 

    • says

       @Daddymojo Is it four years already since The Dark Knight came out.? Damn, time moves too quickly.
       
      It is great to be a child of the 70s. It was a great time to be a child. I have so many good memories.
      Twitter:

  4. says

    Nice post Jack (cracking up)!
     
    Now that you’ve written it, I wouldn’t let Mr. Foosengoosen take another second of your mind-space. He isn’t worth your time, or this kind of effort.
     
     

    • says

       @Mark_Harai 
      Hi Mark,
       
      Guys like Foosengoosen love attention but only when it is focused where they want it to be. This is my poking back at him. It took about ten minutes to write and it is just unadulterated silliness so I didn’t mind giving him a little space.
       
      But you are correct, he doesn’t deserve time.
      Twitter:

  5. says

    I love this! But you should go a little light on the fellow… he might be too shocked for words and will have no way to beat you at it…. I mean you are the super awesome words wizard!
     
    Can I come with you on the Ikea adventure?

  6. StartYourNovel says

    Please don’t go sweathog on Foosengoosen, Jack, I’m afraid you’d give ‘em a heart attack. I’ve no doubt in my mind you can cause heart attacks at a distance. That’s how much I’m in awe of you.

    • says

       @StartYourNovel 
       
      Hi John,
       
      With great power comes great responsibility or so I have heard. Now comes the great challenge of my life, channeling my inner Epstein and taking control of Horshack and Barbarino.
       
      Twitter:

  7. says

    Jack you kill me. I am dying here. cramps in my side from laughing could be trapped gas or my heart seizing…guess we’ll find out shortly. yes, this comment is not helpful in anyway, nor does it add any substance to start a conversation, but that’s ok, because i may die shortly from laughter and it will be Jack’s fault. Now that i’ve made you feel guilty, if i don’t die, can i go with you on the Ikea adventure? that sounds like wicked fun. also, can i suggest we loosen the screws on chairs so when people sit down to try them out, they fall? just a thought.

    • says

       @vanitacyril 
       
      Don’t underestimate yourself and the power of your commenting. This site is a GI friendly place and filled with all sorts of remedies for stomach ills. 
       
      But I don’t think that is the issue and so I vote for laughter. Yeah, I vote for laughter because it is always better to know that people are in pain because you made them laugh and not because you poisoned their food.
       
      You are absolutely welcome and invited to join me on the great Ikea adventure where I can neither confirm nor deny screw loosening will take place.
      Twitter:

Trackbacks

  1. [...] adventure. She’ll be the guinea pig we use on the chairs with the screws. Jack recently posted..Don’t Be Such A Serious Blogger Confused about this one? Read Jack’s post. I laughed until my sides hurt and accused him of [...]

  2. [...] adventure. She’ll be the guinea pig we use on the chairs with the screws. Jack recently posted..Don’t Be Such A Serious Blogger Confused about this one? Read Jack’s post. I laughed until my sides hurt and accused him of [...]

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