NOTE TO RIK...YES YOU: PLEASE SEND YOUR PIECE IN. WE WILL PUT IT UP ON MONDAY.

NOTE TO ALL RANCE READERS: AS OF LATE I HAVE SURFED THE WEB LOOKING FOR THE BEST OF THE BEST, BLOGGERS THAT IS. ON MONDAY WE WILL HAVE A GUEST BLOGGIST. HIS NAME IS RIK. HE IS ACROSS THE POND. I'M SURE YOU'LL FIND HIM TERRIBLY WITTY


HUGH GRANT

Hugh Grant, I'm sure much to his disdain, is sexy. He's rather ordinary looking, but his wit and intellect are magnetic. He comes across as extremely unavailable and mysterious.

However, as of late, Mr. Grant seems thoroughly disenchanted with everything and everybody. Using my C.J.D., I diagnose Mr. Grant as: MISERABLE.

What makes him miserable? Lack of purpose.

He appears to be completely bored with life. No one or thing interests him. He's been there and done it all.

This morning on Regis and Kelly, unless my ears deceived me, he called Regis a bitch. Yes, his wit is dryer than the Sahara, but I honest to goodness don't think he was joking. The sad thing is, no matter what he says, people laugh, which makes him all the more disenchanted. To him, they're no more than clapping monkeys.

I was told that Liz Hurley, after their break-up, said that nothing she did ever impressed him, not even her looks.

I don't know what you're looking for Mr. Grant, but may I propose a suggestion? Get a purpose.

I was watching my soap yesterday only to realize that one of my favorite characters was now "being played by someone else". No matter how hard he tries, he will never be "Hal". I realize this is how some of you feel about this blog, and I couldn't agree more.

In truth, I have no clue what I'm doing here. Just killing time I guess. I suppose you could look at me as a chaffeur, driving Rance's blog until he gets his license back.

Maybe the stress of having to write something entertaining all the time was getting to him. I must say, it seems he could have written about his daily bowel movements and many here would have been thrilled. So it goes with celebritiism, even pseudonymously.

You also have to consider the fact that the poor guy couldn't speak of anything about himself, not even his dog, without the fear of someone finding out who he was. That doesn't leave you much to write about.

My hope is that he found happiness, got out of the basement, passed his mid-terms, found the gal of his dreams and will someday come back to blog about roses and wine instead of piss and vinegar. Call me a romantic...

But in the meantime, I hope he's reading and that we, for a change, are entertaining him.

Due to request, the Rashomon deadline has been extended to Monday.

Back, by popular demand, Bingo the Monkey...

The Second (And Final) Installment of "Oops I Pooped In Your Bed" By Bingo The Monkey

The moment that I woke up, I knew something was wrong. I wasn't in my moo cow pajamas and I was surrounded by someone else's pink and purple pillows. The only memory from the night before was this noise that would make children want to move to the mountains of Tibet, just to get their hearing back. I decided to try and get out of there, but that was when I heard that high pitched lightning fast noise again, and I couldn't move, let alone think. My ears were bleeding; I had a monster 1,420 calorie hang over.

"Stop it!! Stop it, I'll tell you anything you want to know!!" It was torturous and I decided to cooperate as a way of getting out of this situation. First they had left me on a psychedelic doll house bed, and then they had used their ultimate weapon- "the squeal."

"Oh my freakin' god, how did it get inside my trailer? That is like, the smartest rabbit I've ever seen." One of its tall huge buddy guards leaned over and whispered, "Uh, Brit it's a monkey." It responded back, "I totally fucking knew that, I was just kidding. God, you must think I'm soo like stupid and stuff. But I'm not, I like read Glamour and Marie Claire, and they have a lot of social issues in them, like `how to enter a room and get everyone's attention without even saying anything."

"Yo, and Brit knows how to do that dog, she just gets everyone's attention by not wearing nothin." This comment came from the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, she had perfect skin, nice jewelry, and the shortest hair a woman could have. She walked in wearing workout clothes, covered in sweat.

"Oh my god, Justin you're here finally," It said.

"Yo baby you know I got's ta workout everyday for like six hours so that I can have these rock hard abs and still weigh less then you. I was working on my dance moves in between sets of crunches. Let's get things started on you're MTV show, I gots to get back to the gym in like three hours."

For the next hour I watched the scantily clad boy in a wig shake his ass and lip synch to a song about people trying to be free from slavery. The pretty girl came over and said, "Yo dog you got to work on your routine, your part is coming up soon."
"I can't understand you," I told her, and I couldn't, I didn't understand any of them, they all spoke different languages. Half of them spoke what I started to refer to as the "yo dog" dialect and the other half spoke the "oh my god like" dialect.

"Yo dog why you gotta dog me like that dog?" `She' said in response.
"I CAN'T UNDERSTAND YOU, I SPEAK ENGLISH, AND I'M A MONKEY DAMN IT, NOT A DOG!!" I yelled at her, even though I didn't want to because she was so pretty.
"Yo B," Justin yelled at his boyfriend Britney, "This monkey is wack."
"Oh my god like, little monkey dude are you okay? Do you need like a frappachino or something?" I pondered this question, having caught three of the words in the entire sentence. "Beer,whiskey,vodka,gin,brandy,cognac,port,wine,wine coolers, I'll even drink a bottle of triple sec if you've got one. It only hurts for a while."
He looked at me with his big brown eyes, while his girlfriend Justin looked at me with her big blue eyes, "Like, alcohol will make you fat, and like I only am allowed to drink it on the weekends and then I have to work out on Sundays for like four hours straight. But, I do have this." He handed me a small silver can and said, "It will so totally make everything better, and if you want anything to eat, there's some like cheetios in my trailer."
I drank the contents of the can, and then another, and then another, and then another, and then I ate the cheetios, and then I had another can of the magic elixir. It was awesome. But I did freak out and trash the place for thirty minutes. I tried to pull off Britney's hair, but it turned out that it wasn't a wig. I tried to convince Justin to grow her hair out, but she wasn't a girl after all, go figure she was too pretty to be a guy. After tearing up the place, I sat in the corner shaking uncontrollably while J.T. tried to talk to me.

"Dude yo you need to relax dog."
"I'm not a dog damn it. Why can't you see that?" I cried, letting all the tears flow.
"Please, just get me more of those little cans, I just need a few more and I'll be okay." I started to rock back and forth, and this continued, it helped ease the cravings, and kept me from pacing the room like an OCD freak looking for something to clean.

"I can't stop rocking my body," I told Justin. He looked at me, and then jumped up, spun around grabbed his crotch and did the robot towards me. "Yo dog you just gave me an idea for a song yo for my debut album."

"That's great but ah, number one, I'm a fucking monkey, number two, I pooped under the purple bed and found these while I was down there." I handed Justin a stack of photos that must have been taken the night before, because it was of me and Britney. In the first one she's feeding me cheetios, but I keep spitting them in her face. In the second one she's wearing a scream mask and humping my leg, the look on my face is the same face I made when I found out that Rage Against the Machine was splitting up, it's a really sad face. In the last picture, she's trying to stick her orange tongue down my throat.

"Yo, I can't believe she'd do this to me. We've been together for like," He tried to count it out on his fingers, but got lost, "Yo for like ever dog."
"That's too bad, cause I'm gonna take her unusually tight ass to court."

Justin then went and talked to Britney, I tried to listen to the conversation but I was busy trying to shove all the Red Bull's into a bag before getting out of there fast.
"Yo Britney, you don't have to tell me what you did, yo I already found out from my dog Bingo." At this point the entire set crew laughed, and I just flipped them off and said, "Yeah, that's great laugh it up meat heads. Laugh at the monkey with a dog's name."

Britney looked at J.T. puffed on a fag and said, "Okay, like I'm sorry Justin. It was only like, a kiss, it's not like I had sex with him."
("Damn," I thought, "I was this close to losing my virginity, even if it was with a she-male.") "I mean, I was like really drunk and he was like even drunker and it just happened okay, it's not like a big deal, just get over yourself, you're just a guy in NSYNC and I'm fucking Britney Spears."

"Yo, Brit that hurts me, that hurts me, right here," He pointed to the right side of his chest. "I'm out dog. You'll see, I'll be bigger then you. I'll put out my own record, and date older women and I'll be a bigger star then you, I'll," Justin was crying so hard at this point that I could hardly hear him, and it didn't help that I had shoved six cheetios in my ears to try and muffle the sound of Britney. "I'll, I'll, I'll be in a movie with Kevin Spacey!! Yeah, that's it; I'll be the best dog ever yo. And you'll just get married to some stupid guy who'll make you buy your own engagement ring!" And with that, he was gone. And so was I. Justin gave me a ride to the bus station and said, "See you dog. Thanks for showing me those pictures."
"Yeah, if you thought those were bad, you should have seen the one's of her at a donkey show in Mexico." And with that, he rode off, and I sat on the curve, picking my nose, and eating cheetios out of my ears when who should pull up but George Clinton.

(Yeah, it's in a movie, but who do you think inspired the character Gutter?)

As a point of discussion today I provide the following with this disclaimer: I in no way endorse or condone the views expressed in this piece:
Hot Topic



Below is the new Rashomon chapter. I will accept entries thru Friday, November the 19th. All entries should be from other characters' points of view as to the events in this piece and anything your character would have done in response to the events in this piece. If you have any questions, let me know...

My chest felt as if a small campfire had been lit inside, and it was slowly growing larger, spreading the warmth outwards to my limbs. My head felt light and fluffy. It became as if I were enveloped in a warm fuzzy cloud. A smile began to creep across my face as I wrote. "Do you like green eggs and ham?" What the...I tried again "One sock, two sock, red sock, blue sock." A giggle escaped from my lips. I pressed my fingertips to my besotted mouth, admonishing myself for being so giddy.

Have you ever had writer's block? Felt like you were trying to reinvent the wheel? Searching for just the right words to astutely convey what you're trying to say? Yeah, well try accomplishing this under the influence while suffering from dementia. It ain't easy.

How can my mind confuse cat for dog, a rhyme with a fable, Dr. Seuss with Aesop? There's no logical connection. I'm sure the alcohol is responsible for a measure of the confusion, but the main source is the disease. At least I was aware of the dementia. I knew what I wanted to say. I just had to find the words. Everything had to be set in motion now...before it was too late.

As I stood before the table under the soothing hypnosis of the alcohol I felt sure and steady. I thought of Paul in my closet and wondered which shirt he was wearing. I hope he left the blue plaid on the dressing chair. I haven't worn that one yet and I do so hate it when he stretches them out. Using my notes as a prop, I looked out over the clan. What a group. Not even a sane person could logically choose one of them. Not that I was insane mind you. I was simply losing my faculties.

"Things are not always what they seem." I slurred. "I'm not a blathering drunk. I'm a blathering drunk with Alzheimer's. But don't spend the money just yet. I'm not dying, I'm dementing."

"The bad news is I gotta pick one of you to guard over me...ya know, be my guardian. Someone to manage my estate, make decisions for my care, take inventory of my closet. I've decided there's only one way to go about this...a contest."

" We're gonna have ourselves a contest to determine which one of you is the most qualified to be my...umm...ahhhh...pris-o-ner...nooooooo...It starts with a geeee...baaasketballlll??? Noooo...Buckingham Palace...red suit...small bear on top of head...change...changing of theeeeeeee...GUARDIAN!"

"As I said, things are not always what they appear to be. The nuts are on the table. Will you be a dancing monkey?"

The burning in my chest was now a three alarm fire. The pain was excruciating. I couldn't continue. "Aunt Jemima" I gasped, clutching my chest. "Aunt Jemima!"

I fell to the floor and felt my face against the cold tile. Ah yes, the beautiful Mexican tile I had custom ordered and imported for this house. It's cold touch was comforting.

The pain was excruciating. I could hear the vultures hovering over me, checking my pulse, pacing and cackling like barnyard chickens.

Bobbie frantically asked, "Aunt Jemima...Who's Aunt Jemima?"

Good Lord help!

In response to a prior challenge regarding Larry Haggman's last wishes I have received this. I think it's brilliant. I say open up shop. This could be a franchise!

Name: Claygal2001
URL: http://www.astuteobserver.blogspot.com
E-Mail: claygal2001@yahoo.com
Comment: I can top Larry Hagman. I am a potter, and when I die, I wish to be put into the cremation furnace with some of my pots - a teapot and teacups that I have thrown beforehand, to be precise - so we can all enjoy the cleansing warmth of the bisque fire together. Cremation happens at 1600-1700f, which is a cone 6 bisque. Perfrect for my porcelain. I would then like my ashes to be mixed into a glaze, and then the glaze to be applied to the teaset. I'd like the tea set to be glazefired. I'd then like my friends to have a tea party with the finished tea set and toast to me.


In observance of the Great American Smoke Out, I post the following. Remember, don't hate the messenger...

Name: Frank
Comment: Let me be Frank.

Whoever the chick was whose boyfriend was telling her she needed more experience, I've got 6 words for you. He's Just Not That Into you. It hurts, but I'm Frank.

Nicolette, masquerading around half-naked cannot distract from the obvious. Draw your eyebrows three inches lower and you might look human. It's brutal, but I'm Frank.

To all those sporting yellow fingers, brittle hair, a nice flemmy cough and the pungent odor of smoke, hear ye this: The tobacco companies are now running their own anti-smoking ads. Philip Morris is doing so to the tune of $100 MILLION dollars worth. Does this register with you? Is the hamster up and running? Anything starting to click for ya? If you still insist on smoking please do so in a 3' X 3' sealed room with no ventilation. You'll get the best of both worlds, exclusively inhaling your first and second hand smoke, while speeding up the inevitable. Your timely untimely death. Remember, I'm Frank.


Let Me Be,

Frank Witu

Not to worry. I am working on the next Rashomon segment and hope to have it up tomorrow. I am also working on several other projects that I hope will come to fruition within the next week. So stay tuned, we could have a surprise for you...

A Note Regarding Rashomon Entries...
Thursday, 4 November 2004 - 9:51 AM HST

Name: TartnTiny

Entertaining! This sounds fun.

Now to make sure what you're looking for... you are wanting us to take one of these characters and "retell" the story from their perspective and not go further than your stopping point?
However, could be go back in time?
For example, if I chose to write from Bobbie's view could I have her paying the caterer earlier that morning or
Dana sweating to the oldies before she got ready for the big family dinner?

Thanks
Tart

Reply to this Comment

Thursday, 4 November 2004 - 10:09 AM HST

Name: Rubber Duckie

You are correct...The object is to take one of these characters, or a character of your own invention that you can logically place within this story, and tell things from their perspective, but go no further than J.B. standing up to make the announcement. You can go back in time as far as you wish...

Also of note:

Characters so far:

J.B. - family patriarch
Bobbi - J.B.'s wife

J.B.'s children - Greg, James and Sherry

Dana is Greg's wife
_________is Sherry's husband (he hasn't been given a name yet)

Interesting plans for the weekend?

Anyone? If so, share them here. As for me and mine, I intend to trot down to the Legion Hall for a fabulous dining experience this evening. Sounds inviting no? I'll admit, it may not sound tempting, nor is the atmosphere anything to write home about, but the food...fabulous. A mouth watering rib-eye that falls apart in your mouth, orange roughy that crumbles at the touch of a fork, homemade salad dressing that is out of this world good, so good that I'd drink it if no salad were available, and crab cakes that even a crab would love. Never mind that you're sitting at a card table covered with a thrift store tablecloth, or that the chair you're sitting on is metal and folds up nicely to be transported to the "hall" for the weekly meetings, or the fact that your napkin is a hand towel incognito. It's all about the food...

After dinner we'll mozy on home, perhaps rent a movie. Any good suggestions? Being that the only movies I've seen at the theater over the last year are 1) The Passion of the Christ and 2)The Princess Diaries, Part II or Returns or the Biology or the sequel...whatever.... So, it's pretty much guaranteed that you'll successfully suggest a movie I've never seen.

I must say that I've already received several entries for the new contest and they're great. It's going to be very hard to choose. Keep them coming!

I hope you all have a weekend...anything more is gravy on top...

Sincerely,

RDD

Rashomon, the beginning

Tonight I have to endure the torture that is dinner with the in-laws. Oh, how to describe it.

Let's see, first we'll be greeted at the door by the family patriarch. He's an alright fellow at first glance, but then you get to know him. He made his money in life the hard way, by saving every penny he ever made and investing it in something safe, like a savings bond. His billfold is tighter than Jocelyne Wildenstein's brow. Had he ever actually taken a risk his net worth would be in the billions instead of the millions. Millions, billions...what's the difference right? He answers the door wearing black socks, blue jeans stained with paint, and a flannel shirt that only Paul Bunyan would wear. Before the evening is over he will be compelled to change into his plaid fleece pajamas. 365 days out of the year he sleeps in full pajama regalia, a long sleeved pajama top over a white v-neck t-shirt, full length pajama bottoms and socks...always the black socks.

He'll give us all a warm, welcoming hug, genuinely glad to see his daughter and grandchildren. But me? Is he genuinely glad to see me? That's debatable. Let's just say it's never an ideal way to get engaged to your fianc? by telling your father-in-law-to-be that "We're pregnant and want to get married." It's always been a spot of soreness and contention that has never quite healed.

We'll be ushered into the kitchen where my brother-in-law and his wife will be sitting on the sofa impatiently tapping their feet and looking at their matching Rolex watches. We're always a day late and a dollar short when it comes to punctuality and they've always got somewhere to be. When you see my brother-in-law's wife one of the first things that comes out of her mouth, right off the bat, is an insult. It's never an obvious insult, mind you. Oh no. It's one of those thinly veiled, said with a smile and a hug insults like "Hey, what's wrong? Are you sick?" Or "Wow, look what the cat dragged in. That's what happens when you ride in the car for an hour." It's a sneaky, crawl up your leg and bite you on the butt before you know it insult that she's mastered like a culinary chef masters a custard.

Physically, she looks like Dom DeLuise in drag. She wears a lot of make-up, more specifically eye shadow, blue eye shadow. She's extremely large everywhere, but unproportionately so. She has small shoulders and a relatively small chest, but from the stomach headed thighward she's gigantic. I can honestly say I've never seen an ass like hers. When you're walking behind it it's almost obscene. It's wide, it pokes out, it jiggles where things shouldn't jiggle and it's so large you can see the cellulite from beneath layers of clothing. It doesn't matter what she's wearing, a dress, a skirt, beneath three inches of fabric, you see it. You automatically get that burning sensation in the back of your throat, you know, the gagging reflex.

I figure right about now you're beginning to feel sorry for Dana, but don't. Let me explain. When Sherry and I got married she quit her job and decided to go back to school. Dana, aka brother-in-law's wife, asked her what she was majoring in. Sherry told her she hadn't decided just yet. Dana then asked my wife, "What about animals? You love animals..." Sherry told her she'd considered that, but vet school was hard to get into and would take a lot of time, which we didn't necessarily have if we wanted to start a family. Dana then laughed in her face and said "I didn't mean vet school silly! I meant you could be a receptionist in a vet's office. You could be a vet helper. Just remember, college isn't for everyone." Need I say more?

Oh, but I will. She belches at the dinner table! After desert she'll call my kids around and say "Hey kids watch this!" Never in my life has something exploded from my body like that. My spoon will be at my lips and she'll do it, causing me to drop my spoon and excuse myself from the table. I know she does it just to irritate me.

Her husband Greg, my wife's brother, is tall and extremely thin. Not a spot of cellulite will you find on his tanned and trim body. Why he doesn't take his wife with him to the gym is beyond me. He makes the rest of us look like lazy slobs. He's always dressed in Kenneth Cole, black or grey, and is in constant motion. I have never seen him sleep. When the rest of us take our after Thanksgiving dinner nap he's out jogging off his meal. I've often wondered if he isn't human and why my wife didn't get his genes.

After the traditional greetings in the kitchen we'll all shuttle into the dining room where a 10 foot custom made table covered with enough food for an army awaits us. At the head of the table you will find my wife's youngest brother already at eat. What do I say about James...James is what you would call that thing you can't describe...you know, indescribable. He's a heavy partier and extremely liberal. The first time I met him he was just getting up at noon while still living at home with his parents at the age of 27. He was bald not because he was bald, but because he shaves his head. He straggled out of bed wearing tattered jeans, red Converse shoes with holes in the toes and his head covered with glitter.

James is definitely a free spirit. He has lived out of the country since my wife and I got married. Nobody knows what he does. He'll disappear for six or seven months at a time and then poof, he's home. The family has speculated that he works for the CIA, is running drugs, or has been in jail. IN college he would work parking cars in Little Rock, take the summers off, and then miraculously have enough money to get a plane ticket to South America and Europe and travel the world by backpack. While gone these 6 to 7 months at a time no one would hear from him, not even a phone call. It was during one of these disappearing acts that his mother died and no one could find him for the funeral. We still, to this day, have no idea where he had been or what he was doing. He drives a bright yellow clunky truck with fire engine red devils painted all over. Why? I personally think he's nuts.

And last, but not least, my step mother-in-law, aka "the trophy wife". After the death of his wife Mr. Daniels went through a major mid-life crisis. When the dust settled my wife found out she now had a new mother...who was old enough to be her sister. The funny thing about Bobbie is even with her fake breasts, injected lips and French tips, she's actually one of the most genuine people I know. She never has a bad word to say about anyone. She religiously lives by the mantra: "If you can't say anything nice, then don't say anything at all." If you didn't know her you'd think for sure she had married J.B. for his money. I mean really, why else would a 36 year old babe marry a 63 year old fart?

If she has a downfall it would be her I.Q. One evening, for fun, we all took an online I.Q. test to settle the score of our egos. Her score? Well, let's just say she came in somewhere around the level of a student in junior high. The sweet girl she is, she immediately began to cry and lament over this finding. We all assured her it wasn't scientific and the scores meant nothing,although I would later print mine out on a certificate and have it framed. What's a guy to do when he scores 154?

On this evening things went exactly as I described above. Bobbie had outdone herself on the food, not that she'd ever cooked so much as a bean, but she was excellent at ordering from the caterer. As I rushed to shovel the last bite of chocolate pie into my mouth before the belching began J.B. stood up and nervously cleared his throat. Little did we know, he had an announcement to make that would leave all of our mouths catching flies for days...

Okay folks, here we go. As of today, the deadline for entries pertaining to this piece is next Friday, November 12th. If you have any questions as to exactly what we are doing, see the previous entry. If you still have questions, just ask. Use your imaginations people! There is no right or wrong way...

It's All Relative

And no, I'm not talking about the election. I'm referring to our new literary challenge.

It will be based upon the "Rashomon Effect". This term evolved from a Japanese movie entitled "Rashomon". The gist of it all is that everything is relative, including the truth. James Berardinelli noted that that movie "is not about culpability or innocence. Instead, it focuses on something far more profound and thought-provoking: the inability of any one man to know the truth, no matter how clearly he thinks he sees things. Perspective distorts reality and makes the absolute truth unknowable."

The new challenge is as follows, with the rules being subject to change as we go as this is new territory for me:

I will begin by writing a piece, or chapter if you will, of a story being that I can't write a complete story in one sitting. The goal then is for each of you to write this story from another character's perspective, either from a character I have already introduced or a character from your own creation that you can sensibly place within the story.

This will be a contest. The best entries will be chosen and put up. From there, the story will continue with a new chapter introduced here and there with new entries being accepted for those chapters. Who will write the centerpiece for each succeeding chapter will depend upon how things go. It is my goal to ask the best entrant from each chapter to write the starting piece for the next chapter and that hopefully they will accept.

As to time limits, I intend to let this flow at a comfortable pace, rushing no one. Obviously, it will depend upon the number of entries received as well.

On days between stories it is my intention to always have something up for discussion. Any suggestions or subjects or articles that any of you have will be welcomed. Just send them in. The more, the better.

Sincerely,

RDD

Note to all: Since my computer is still busted I am having extreme difficulty accessing my yahoo email account or replying to any emails there that I have been able to read. Annie, I wanted to let you know I did get to read yours and I thank you and will be taking you up on that.

Thanks,

RDD

Here is an article I read today over at the Guardian that I thought I would share with you all on this election eve.

Article

Please note that I am in no way endorsing either candidate nor attempting to influence your vote. I merely found it thought provoking and wished to see what thoughts it would elicit from this incredible group of people that gather here on a daily basis....That includes you too Rance. Any humdingers will be considered for front page billing...

Sincerely,

RDD