Archive for May, 2008

The Bombthrower speaks (arf).

May 31, 2008

     The first in an occasional series of frequently asked questions—Why do you call yourself The Reluctant Bombthrower? I see myself as a crusader doggedly pursuing the truth no matter what the cost, but I do feel for those that might be hurt in the process. Also, that explanation sounds a heck of a lot better than saying it refers to the terrible gas I suffer from. Bombthrower, were you really raised by apes in Africa? No, I was putting on airs. Actually I was raised by squirrels in Escondido. If your nickname isn’t ‘bunny’, then what is it? Nancy. Reluctant B, did you ever build the perfect woman with parts purchased at Radio Shack? Yes, but due to a flywheel coming off at an inappropriate moment, I now find myself greatly diminished. What is your greatest weakness? My devastating good looks. What is your greatest strength? I can dance the peel off an orange. What’s up with all the songs? I use them as a way to wrestle with my creative muse. Wrestle with your moose? Bombie, do you have some sort of a weird Bullwinkle fetish? Don’t judge me. Why did you remove the oral sex from ‘A date with the Everly Brothers’? It left a bad taste in my mouth, ba dum dum. Nancy, in a hellacious no holds barred catfight between Rusty and Ariel, which mermaid would win? Rusty is much too nice to ever get involved with such a thing. Anyway, everyone knows The Little Mermaid fights dirty as hell. Do you really work for Wal-Mart? Yes, and it is totally untrue that all employees are hillbillies and that we know ‘The Ballad of Jed Clampett’ by heart. Bombthrower, are you nuts? Yes I am, thank goodness. 

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A date with the Everly Brothers (with apologies to Don and Phil)

May 31, 2008

     I’ve always had a problem with the Everly Brothers’ Wake Up Little  Susie. The song deals with the predicament of a couple of teenagers, on a date at the movies, who innocently fall asleep and then have to explain why they got home so late. I have trouble with the part of the chorus that goes: well, what’re we gonna tell your mama, what’re we gonna tell your pop/ what’re we gonna tell our friends when they say ‘ooh la la’. It always struck me that the parents and friends mentioned must all be French and that ‘ooh la la’ was not an appropriate response. Imagine if this response was used in other situations—Madonna is the love child of Ronald Reagan and Brigitte Bardot. Ooh la la. Mr. President, man-eating space aliens have overrun the entire Eastern Seaboard! Ooh la la. Bill says there is nothing wrong with his wife getting a three-times-a-week full body massage where both she and the masseuse are nude. Ooh la la. Cheez Whiz compliments a 1787 Chateau Lafite. Ooh la la. Leela says, even though she is new to this country and unfamiliar with American labor practices, she has no problem with her fiance’s explanation that French kissing his pretty young maid fostered good employer-employee relations and is quite common in Rancho Cucamonga. Ooh la la. France awarded Jerry Lewis the Legion of Honor. Ooh la la. Maybe I’m too critical or just have a lot of time on my hands. Anyway, I have to get ready for a meeting tonight. I need help around the house and I’m interviewing a young lady, who formerly worked in Rancho Cucamonga, and I’m particularly interested in her views on fostering good employer-employee relations. Ooh la la.