THE RAIN IN TWAIN FALLS MAINLY ON THE BRAIN

It is best to read the weather forecast before we pray for rain. –Mark Twain

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It’s funny — April is NATIONAL HUMOR MONTH, but soddenly I don’t feel very humorous. It’s coming down in buckets out there, and some of what’s in the buckets is making its way into my basement. I hope whoever’s praying for rain is satisfied — now how about praying for it to stop? It’s bad enough that Mother Nature keeps raining on my head when I go outside — I don’t need her to greet my feet as a dweller in my cellar when I go down in the dungeon.

‘s no use. No letup in sight. Keeps rainin’ all the time….

But am I going to let a reign of rain ruin what I’m doin’? No way! Others can be a Debbie Downer, despairing in the deluge. It’s in my Genes to be….

P.S. The title of this post is word play on a song from a hit 1956 Broadway musical later made into a movie starring Rex Harrison and Audrey Hepburn. Can you name the song?

 

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TALK ABOUT A SITE FOR SORE….FEET

Friends, if you neglected to take advantage of TAKE A WALK IN THE PARK DAY on March 30 (not to mention WALK AROUND THINGS DAY on April 4), you can still take steps to walk the walk today, which happens to be NATIONAL WALK TO WORK DAY (if you’ve already gone to work via a conveyance other than your feet, you have my permission to walk home FROM work. Why let a technicality stand in the way of exercising your rights….and lefts.

Obviously, those of us who are retired can’t walk to work, and those who work from home should have spent the night elsewhere in order to walk to work this morning, but it’s too late to do anything about that now (just don’t let it happen again).

Now, perhaps you think that three days dedicated to walking within a span of six days is going a bit too far, but let’s face it — without something that reminds you to get off your butt, you would probably just sit there all day working or (if you’re retired) blogging, neither of which is good for your heart. So do as I do:

OK, guess I’d better quit while I’m ahead, before we get the….

TAKE A WALK IN THE PARK DAY

March 30 is TAKE A WALK IN THE PARK DAY. Notwithstanding the condition of my feet (as you can understand from my March 20 FOOT TALK post), I thought I’d prepare ahead of the event by going for a walk on my post-erior, which is parked chair-side inside a blog somewhere in my PC, waiting to be liberated. So, let’s get a head start PDQ with a song befitting the occasion:

So you see, my fellow carcass parkers: as escapism goes, that really wasn’t so hard, was it? You might even say it was a walk in the park. Let’s keep it going with this humdinger:

Of course, if you’re a man’s-best-friend-lover, you wouldn’t think of taking a walk in the park without….

Speaking of walkin’ the dog, I’ll be doggone if I didn’t forget to bring along my pooper scooper — not to mention my dog. Wait a minute — I don’t own a dog. Nonetheless, my dogs are killing me, so it’s time to switch gears and leave the rest of the walking in park. When you gotta go, you gotta go. Like post-haste.

 

ARE YOU READY FOR SOME FOOT TALK?

When I was young, I never thought about getting old (a stage of life known as having one foot in the grave — almost curtains). So, having two feet in the grave was the last thing on my mind. Now I’m a senior citizen, and I’m still not ready to kick the bucket, but my feet are killing me like I am about to kick bucket — or, with my luck it (this bucket) kicks me:

Foot cramps, ingrown toenails, fungus among-us, smelly feet (you know this from my last post) — it’s like I got my feet at the Bad Feet Store. You name it, my feet are treating me like a heel. Don’t laugh — someday you may walk in my shoes, and then you’ll know the agony of de feet and be the sole of remorse for not seeing fit to empathize. But I guess you’ll cross that footbridge when you come to it.

Having retired from a desk job, I didn’t spend most of my life upon my feet, so my tootsies aren’t letting me down because of being mistreated. Likewise, I’ve seldom, if ever, worn high heels (I may have BEEN a heel a time or two, but that’s a different story). I don’t know — maybe I’m finally footing the bill for writing such poems as this:

All humans have more than one foot,
Unless one has less than two.
One can trust I count two on me —
More or less, can one count on you?

Groan. I guess my days of being this are over:

 

 

MULTIPLE ME SPOUTING OFF

Yesterday (March 5) was MULTIPLE PERSONALITY DAY, but I didn’t write a post because my multiple personalities couldn’t agree on which of them should write it. Now comes March 6 and they still can’t make up my mind, so to bring this matter to a head, you will have to settle for a tale — a whale of a tale, no less — and not much more.

Actually, there is more — if you’d like to know more about whales — but it’s on film, so you will be spared whatever might have written by me if we weren’t fighting among myself for post time.

Next time, you may not be so lucky. We shall sea.

NO BRAINER DAY

I think, therefore I am. –René Descartes 
I overthink, therefore I post.
–mistermuse

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Lately, I’ve been burning too much mental energy cooking up posts to roast Trump (e.g., I almost said toast rump); the heat is turning my face red and giving me the thinking blues:

Frankly, friends, I think I need to cool it before the strain becomes a drain on my brain and gives me a pain. Fortunately, Feb. 27 is NO BRAINER DAY — a perfect day to post a post which requires little or no thinking. But before you Trump reprobates snidely ask how that would make this post any different from my previous posts, answer me this: how much thought do you think The Donald gives his tweets? Even a smart-ask Trumpite should allow that mistermuse be entitled to one day of devoting the same paucity of gray matter to his post that your Orange Oligarch devotes to his tweets every day.

With that in mind, I’m giving the rest of this tome over to posting what others thought when they thought about thinking/not thinking. Do I think their thinking will make you think you’re thinking what I’m thinking about thinking/not thinking? Just a thought.

So, let’s get quoting before I change my mind and start thinking again:

I think that I think; therefore, I think I am. –Ambrose Bierce

[I think that I think, therefore] I yam what I yam. –Popeye the Sailor Man

There is no expedient to which a man will not go to avoid the labor of thinking. –Thomas Edison

Ours is an age which is proud of machines that think, and suspicious of men who try to. –Howard Mumford Jones

The best way [for a woman] to win a man is to make him think you think as much of him as he does. –Evan Esar

In America, we say what we think, and even if we can’t think, we say it anyhow. –Charles F. Kettering

In closing, did you know Rodin’s THE THINKER was originally called THE POET:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Thinker

I happen to know that THE POET didn’t appreciate the name change, thus this reaction:

Mused The Poet to a passing skunk,
“What good is being called The Thinker?
To some day convey the aura of a President,
It should Don the wrap, like you, of The Stinker.”

 

 

POST PROPOSES PARCEL-POSTING PRES TO POLE

This post is honored to note the 105th anniversary tomorrow of a notable day in U.S. Postal history. Let’s begin with a ‘little’ background, which you can take as gospel because it was written by a Pope:

https://postalmuseumblog.si.edu/2013/02/very-special-deliveries.html

Yes, friends, for just 53 cents worth of stamps attached to a little girl’s coat, the precious cargo wearing that coat was shipped by rail in a train’s mail compartment, thereby saving the cargo’s parents a pretty penny in passenger fare. This got me to thinking about the possibility of saving money by restoring the mailing of humans via the U.S. Postal Service. Think, for example, of all the “border wall” money alone that could be saved by shipping President Trump to the North Pole to chill in Santa’s workshop, helping Santa make toys that insure children are happy instead of policies that traumatize them….or Santa could toy with the bright idea of replacing Rudolph’s red nose with Donald and his orange glow.

Now, I’m not saying The Donald is a worm, but if it acts like a worm, leaves a trail of slime like a worm, and glows like a worm, that may account for why so many have taken the bait.