Archive for September, 2012
September 30th, 2012 Posted 8:30 am
“Thirty days hath September,” says Spence.
“Was the language better when hath was around?” Admin says. “Thee, thy, doth, all that?”
“Better? I don’t know. It’s a living thing, always changing.”
“So if a language doesn’t change it’s dead? Like Latin?”
“Nihil nisi bonum,” Spence says. “And now it’s time to remind everyone that today’s the last day of eligibility for October’s Friend of the Month contest. All you have to do is upload a photo to the Friends of Chet gallery. The random # generator does the rest! If you’re already in the gallery you’re eligible till the end of time.”
“Which will also be the end of space, if the cosmologists are right.”
“Prize is a signed – and paw-printed – copy of A Fistful of Collars (on the NYT bestseller list today – thanks everybody!) and the winning Friend of the Month is displayed for the entire month in the special place over on the right where Brad is now. Easy, fun, and we’ll throw in a Chevy Corvair.*”
*100% true except for the Corvair part.
Condolences to Terry.
Welcome Macbeth, Sparky & Clover.
September 29th, 2012 Posted 9:29 am
What’s this? Bernie says in some town in the next state over, whatever that might mean, a member of the nation within is running the show? Sounds like not a bad idea to me.
September 28th, 2012 Posted 10:47 am
“This baby can fly!” Bernie said.
Or something like that, his voice drowned out by a siren. Then a motorcycle came whizzing up beside us, blue lights flashing, and we pulled over. But no problem: it was Fritzie Bortz, an old pal. He got off the bike, not without some trouble—Fritzie was a terrible motorcycle driver with lots of crashes on his record—and came up to Bernie’s side.
“Hey!” he said. “Bernie!”
“And Chet—lookin’ good, Chet.”
So nice to see Fritzie. My tail started wagging.
“How’re things?” Fritzie said.
“No complaints,” said Bernie.
“Cool. Love those martini glasses—wouldn’t have bothered pulling you over otherwise. I was actually on my way home—haven’t had a day off since last Tuesday.”
“No one’s ever said you’re not a hard worker.”
“Thanks, Bernie. I do what I can.” Then he took out his ticket book, flipped a page, reached behind his ear for a pen.
“Fritzie? What are you doing?”
“Writing you up,” Fritzie said. “Might even make my quota on this—I had you at one-oh-three.”
And belated happy birthday to C. Hobbit.
September 27th, 2012 Posted 8:36 am
(Everyone’s sleeping. But we love the West and here’s music about it. The actual song starts at 4:07.)