Sunday, September 25, 2011

Strapping on the MAIL BAG Dept.

Q: I'm really glad those Hikers (aka SPIES) were freed and all, but who is making the T. V. movie about the whole fracas? And is there a chance CMMDR will have a role in it? He was Soooo good in OLIVER BEENE (sigh...)
A: We understand the working title for that project is "LOVE IN A VERY, VERY SMALL MUSTY SPACE" but, no, sadly, CMMDR will not be involved. Look, in the future, when in doubt, recite this old Sailor's Ditty: RED SKY AT SUNSET? CMMDR FORGET IT.

Q: Are you Guys Windows or MAC?
A: CMMDR is Atari and the Ensign is Half-Jewish.

Q: Did the Autumn Equinox happen already?  
A: Yes. In India the Autumnal Equinox signals the start of the festive season:  9-day 'Dasara' followed by the festival of lights on New Moon - 'Deepavali'.  It also represents day 3,257 of the CMMDR not hearing from Michael Bay.

Q:  I’m itchy.
A: Let’s all say this together: Anaphylaxis and allergic purpura, MY TWO FAVORITE SCRABBLE WORDS....Itching can result from infection, inflammation, allergy or sensitivity, insect bites, and other abnormal conditions, like being a casting director for network television.

Q:  Okay, this will stump you: What’s the Philosophical ‘whatever its called’ about this sentence:  THIS SENTENCE IS NOT TRUE. ?
A: Oh please. If its true, then what the sentence says is true, so its not true.  But if its not true then the sentence is true etc, etc. But Really, jeez, why bother? An easier sentence might be:  THE CMMDR HAS.  Clearly a false statement.  Or, even easier:  Any calls for me?  
Q: You guys are assholes.
A: That’s not a question.
Q:  Are you guys assholes?
A: Better.


lower case gothamite said...

Dear Lovin’ Spoonfuls of Nil,’
“Hot town! Summer In the city! Back of my neck gettin’ dirty and gritty!” Am I right?

Good to know that you’re in an A-to-the-Q frame of mind.
Regarding your mention of network casting directors...
I’m wondering if you can follow-up with some much needed advice.

Here is the latest quag in which I currently mired:

I recently returned from my bi-monthly full medical check-up -- whereupon it was relayed to me by over-burdened/under-enthused internist that my aluminum levels are significantly higher than my IMDB rating. Find her 2-part recommendation below (which I have embraced with the hallmark hypochondriacal zeal of my people).

1. Discard any aluminum cooking utensils that I might be "using” in service of “meal preparation.”
2. Switch to an "all-natural" underarm deodorant.

As to the first directive: not applicable.
As to second directive: done and done!

Shortly thereafter, I attended an audition that had been begrudgingly granted to me by some hapless underling over at the "Alphabet" network. I was "up for consideration" for a new series regular role on a bafflingly long-running dramoody that has been napalming the broadcast airwaves for some time now. Needless to say, I was nervous in an altogether CAPS LOCK fashion! Upshot: Did I flop? Think Fosbury!

Upon returning to my dilapidated home, I was dismayed to discover that I smelled not unlike a long-shuttered underground hoagie stand.

My carefully sub-divided questions are these:
Should I:

I. Write a short cheerful note of apology to the casting director’s hapless underling?
A. If so, hand-written?
1. If so, on regular stationery?
2. If so, on fancy stationery?

B. If so, by email?
1. If so, add emoticons?
a. if so, how does one go about doing that?
b. Computer-wise, I mean?

2. If so, do you happen to have the hapless underling’s email address?

II. Chalk it up to a learning experience whereby the literalized version of the phrase "stinkin' up the joint?" has finally been made manifest – non plus ultra?

III. Start hanging out by the docks with my newfound ilk.

Yrs. from a respectable distance,

lower case gothamite said...

PS: Regarding all the motherfucking typos in the above post, I have just two words: aluminum.

Alocoa said...

DO not write a note.
THey can't read.
Ditto E-mail.
They're all still on PRODIGY.

Docks aren't such a bad idea. How do you look in a sailor suit?

lower case gothamite said...

Am assuming "Prodigy" is ironical in this sense.
Unfortunately, I look exactly like a sailor in a sailor suit.
A 14 year old sailor boy. With an endocrine disorder.
Better than looking exactly like a longshoreman, I guess.

Atari said...

No, PRODIGY is the service they use. Clearly you were late to the party. Or are you still on COMP-U-SERVE.

Well, sailors, I hear tell, go for sailors.

Re the way you look...I don't know. Did you ever see ON THE WATERFRONT?

lower case gothamite said...

Yes, I understand that Prodigy is a service. I was a making a jokette. Is what that was. For what it's worth, however, I have, in fact, sedulously avoided the scant few parties that I have been invited to -- for reasons that are well expressed in the collected quips & quotables of Mssrs. Woody Allen & Groucho Marx. See various permutations of "I wouldn't want to be a member of any club that would have me." Yes I have seen "On The Waterfront." What are you implying anyway? Who is this? Is this The Ensign? Listen you Pong-playing nudnik, I happen to look pretty awesome in a peacoat & watch cap. Pretty goddamn fierce, Ok? It's just those damn sailor pants that are unflattering. NO ONE can pull off that look. Especially those French dudes. Who do they think they're kidding with the little red pom-pom hats?

Coulda been a contender,

Chanel said...

"NO ONE can pull off that look."

Um...clearly you've never seen L'il Buddy on a warm night.

lower case gothamite said...

"NO ONE can pull off that look."/"Um...clearly you've never seen L'il Buddy on a warm night." 

Well, natch. I repeat: He is, as you know, corseted.
And as a matter of uncanny fact, I saw him just today while I was loitering on his block.  I espied him from a distance and I swear to God, Coco, I thought that fucker was Eva Marie Saint in the dewy flesh.  
Yes, an abrasive can work wonders... but so can a support undergarment, mon ami. Truth to power.

Comet said...

Bon Ami is NOT an abrasive however...

lower case gothamite said...

1. Good one. And 2. Holla' back to that, Jack. Many surfaces of the recently renovated veal-fattening pen I call a home stand in solemn testament to it's wonders. With my particular brand of luck though, I'll warrant it's chock full of aluminum. Cue the sad trombones for me, won't you? I find myself in grievous lack of respiratory fortitude at present... koff koff. (Shit, maybe it's my cockadoody corset.)