Decisions, Decisions (& a joke for Bonnie)

There is a kitten biting my butt. Rebus. Figures. Anymore, I come into my office, and can’t even get on my chair. Yesterday, I was typing and the pointer kept moving all over the place because Stuart had grabbed the cord for the mouse and was pulling on it. Now I’m slouching forward so that Rebus doesn’t have to move.

Am I an idiot, or what?



Friday night, it was Simon that got me. Jumped on my stomach while I was sleeping. Only to be followed by Skittles.

I woke up this morning with Rebus attacking my feet. And when I say morning, I’m being generous. It’s 4:21 am.

I’m beginning to think it’s time to banish the cats from the bedroom.

“Aw, but they love!” That’s what evilkev always says. He sleeps like a log, and I roll all over the place, which makes me an attractive target. And has persuaded Kevin that we should sleep like The Flinstones.

Speaking of kittens, Kevin has written something that will be going on the blog this week. What does it have to do with cats? Well, sorry to be a tease, but in the next few days you’ll find out.

And I think you’ll like it.

On Wednesday I’m going to do something I’ve never done before. Post something potentially controversial. Yeah, yeah. Who, me? And it isn’t even the negative review, which will likely be Thursday’s post. I mean, why not go for a one-two punch? If you don’t hate my Wednesday, perhaps I can correct that on Thursday. Seriously, I doubt my regulars will be offended by my Wednesday post, but it could be interesting to see what the response to it is. I’ve had hate mail for much less than I plan to say.

But enough about that.

I had a fantastic chat last night with Cornelia Read - right until my phone died about three hours along – and have decided she gets my nomination as Supreme Goddess of The Universe. I cannot sit with her in sessions at BoucherCon, or it will be censure, lecture and off the principal’s office for us. She has a razor-sharp whit.

But I was working on some I had to make a decision on, and Cornelia helped me whittle hundreds of options down to 6. I need to finalize a list of 5, but I’m a lot closer than I was this time yesterday. So, thanks C!

What am I doing? Well, I’m going to go back to bed, and continue mulling over various renditions of blurbs. See, you can trim a section and have one line to grab the attention, or use a thorough blurb or go somewhere in between. Here’s one I’ve been looking at.

Full:

“A well executed procedural with a spark between our protagonists, an excellent feel for political machinations on a small town scale and a plot that twists and turns like a bad tempered rattlesnake.”

Oooohhhh, it’s been labeled a procedura. Although, well, never mind. But in some ways, I think you could call it the anti-procedural.

Short Segment:

“A plot that twists and turns like a bad tempered rattlesnake.”

Medium Version:

“An excellent feel for political machinations on a small town scale and a plot that twists and turns like a bad tempered rattlesnake.”

Hmmmm. I have my opinion, but am open to suggestions. Not like I have the final say, anyway, but one of the great things about working with my editor and publisher is that they include me in the process.

Besides, if I ask for opinions and choose poorly, I have someone to blame. I love to share…


Bonnie won’t be happy to see this joke up, since she sent it to me and can’t steal it! Oh, come on Bonnie, I dare you! I read your blog!

During the Great Depression, there was a man who walked into a bar one day. He went up to the bartender and said, "Bartender, I'd like to buy the house a round of drinks."

The bartender said, "That's fine, but we're in the middle of the Depression, so I'll need to see some money first."

The guy pulled out a huge wad of bills and set them on the bar. The bartender can't believe what he's seeing. "Where did you get all that money?" asked the bartender.

"I'm a professional gambler," replied the man.

The bartender said, "There's no such thing! I mean, your odds are fifty-fifty at best, right?"

"Well, I only bet on sure things," said the guy.

"Like what?" asked the bartender.

"Well, for example, I'll bet you fifty dollars that I can bite my right eye," he said.

The bartender thought about it. "Okay," he said.

So, the guy pulled out his false right eye and bit it. "Aw, you screwed me," said the bartender, and paid the guy his $50.

"I'll give you another chance. I'll bet you another fifty dollars that I can bite my left eye," said the stranger.

The bartender thought again and said, "Well, I know you're not blind, I mean, I watched you walk in here. I'll take that bet." So, the guy pulled out his false teeth and bit his left eye.

"Aw, you screwed me again!" protested the bartender.

"That's how I win so much money, bartender. I'll just take a bottle of your best scotch in lieu of the fifty dollars," said the man.

With that, the guy went to the back room and spent the better part of the night playing cards with some of the locals. After many hours of drinking and card playing, he stumbled up to the bar. Drunk as a skunk, he said, "Bartender, I'll give you one last chance. I'll bet you five hundred dollars that I can stand on this bar on one foot and piss into that whiskey bottle on that shelf behind you without spilling a drop."

The bartender once again pondered the bet. The guy couldn't even stand up straight on two feet, much less one. "Okay, you're on," he said.

The guy climbed up on the bar, stood on one leg, and began pissing all over the place. He hit the bar, the bartender, himself, but not a drop made it into the whiskey bottle.

The bartender was ecstatic. Laughing, the bartender said, "Hey pal, you owe me five hundred dollars!"

The guy climbed down off the bar and said, "That's okay. I just bet each of the guys in the card room a thousand bucks each that I could piss all over you and the bar and still make you laugh!"

This one came from Forrest

Last request

Jerry was on his deathbed and gasped pitifully. "Give me one last request, Dear," he said.

"Of course, Jerry," his wife said softly.

"Six months after I die," he said, "I want you to marry Bob."

"But I thought you hated Bob," she said.

With his last breath Jerry said, "I do!"

And I wonder if it’s risky for me to post this joke I was forwarded? It may be offensive to some, but it rings true of a certain village I know.

CBC-TV is developing a Canadian version of the popular "Survivor" show. The rules are simple.

Each contestant must travel to Alberta. Once there, they must go from Edmonton to Fort McMurray through Grande Prairie, Peace River, Hinton, Edson, Jasper, Banff, Red Deer, Calgary, Lethbridge, Medicine Hat, Brooks, Drumheller, Lloydminster and back to Edmonton again.

They must drive a Hyundai with a bumper sticker that reads: "I VOTED FOR CHRETIEN. I'M GAY AND I'M HERE TO TAKE YOUR GUNS. I ONLY SPEAK FRENCH AND I'M VOTING FOR KYOTO."

The first to complete the round-trip alive is the winner.