Are you ready to rumble?
Get your queerness in gear and lend me your ear. Our friend Wendyjo is in charge of this show.

Let's face it, we all enjoy reading Gus Openshaw's exploits on the high seas, and we all have a soft spot in our heart for dear lil' Bob the Pi-Rat. But did you know lil' Bob's wide-flung family has a long and rich seafaring history? (Regrettably, many of his kinfolk came to an unfortunate end, ranging from grievous "accidents" involving seagulls, cabin cats, and galley cooks, to poor great-great-great Aunt Hortense getting smoooshed under Capt' Francois le Clerc's peg leg way back in 1554 (may she Rest in Peace)).

Here are some more family members:

Robmousson Crusoe: currently stranded somewhere on the Miskita Islands, he was flung overboard tail-first from a Princess Lines Cruise ship by a shrieking woman wearing a garish sequined evening gown. He managed to paddle to shore, and the only things on the island to sustain him are an Astronauts' packet of freeze-dried Swiss cheese and his wee little laptop, powered by a herd of centipedes rolling a coconut around in a circle.

Lil' Bob's cousins' 23 times removed, identical twins Yung Fat Gai and Sum Kim Chee, floating around Hong Kong Harbor on a Chinese Junk with occasional shore-side stops on the Kowloon Waterfront at General Lo's Emporium and Tiki Bar for beer nuts and spilt sake.

Myt-E Maus, (the family rebel who wants to be a rap star, bragging he will be bigger than Alvin and the Chipmunks), currently bunkin' down on P.Diddy's vacation yacht inside a pair of sparkling white Adidas T-Mac 4's

What family members can you add to lil' Bob's family tree, past or present? You are only limited by your imagination and Openshaw's publisher's lawyers.

Administrative note: Don't forget to check out Gus' book. To do so click here: Pirates of Pensacola

Return of the nun...
Just a few notes first:

Don't forget that Thursday is "Queer Essay Topic" day. Show up prepared to participate.

Friday will be "The Smell of Fear..." continued. Bring your wubby and anything else of comfort.

I'll now return you to your regularly scheduled program...Janis, the nun.

Rubber Duckie asked that I write something about myself, and I agreed
to do so. Having read through Rance's blog in order to understand the
dynamics of this interesting online community I shall begin from the
beginning with the same words that Rance once used: Call me Janis.

I'm an ex-nun. No, wait I can neither confirm nor deny that I'm an
ex-nun or even a nun for that matter. All I can confirm is that I wrote
those poems that were posted last week on this wonderful blog.

But nevertheless, Rubber Duckie asked that I say something about
myself and man did she raise the bar high when she said that I'd say
something about myself. I wasn't planning on saying anything.

69. Yang and Ying. Flip-flopped. I loved how Bubba wrote that she
liked the idea of me 69ing. I love the idea, too. Thanks Bubba! That
was really sweet...

Okay, let's see, my favorite book? I have three. The Song of Songs
from the Bible, The Yellow Pages, and Kama Sutra. My favorite movie?
There are three as well. A Nun's Story, Top Gun and Grosse Pointe
Blank. My favorite music or musical group? I have three as well. The
Vienna Boys Choir, Enigma, and Janis Joplin. My favorite food? Wine
and cheese, Shrimps and Pizza. Oh and chocolate chip cookies! Okay
enough of this interrogation.

I want to say a few lovely words about the first time I developed an
awareness of God and what God means to me. I was in second grade and
our teacher asked us to draw a picture of God. There was nothing
special or particular about what I had drawn. As a matter of fact I
later learned that I fell into the same category as 98% of my
classmates, who had all drawn God as Santa Claus. The other 2 percent,
which happened to be two of my closest friends, had drawn God as
something else. One had drawn God as a woman in high heels, and the
other had drawn God as a cloud. My teacher praised us all for our
artistic attempt to capture what God meant to us but it was the first
time that I began developing a sense of awareness that there was more
to God than the old man in white hair and white beard. For this I am
eternally thankful to my teacher who instilled this awareness quite
early on. Do you have a story like this, too? If so, I'd love to hear
about it.

Oh no, more interrogatory questions. Did I live in a convent? What if
my answer is yes, no, maybe? Why did I leave the convent? I left it
because I fell in love with a man who's face reminded me of Jesus.
Well no, actually not true. His face reminded me of...well, actually of
no one. I'll just call him "Citizen of the World". My favorite subjects in
school? I liked religion (I attended Catholic school), art and
history. Did I have any other jobs besides the one as a nun? Yes. I
used to weigh tealeaves at a pharmacy.

Do I want to say anything about my teen years? Sure. In general I
would say I had a natural curiosity about the world around me. As a
teen I attended bible study once a week. It was a way for me to
connect with others and to make friends. I loved bible study. We would
first congregate together in one large group and sing songs and share
what was affecting us in our daily lives. And then we would pray
together to ask for guidance or strength or to simply give thanks.
Later we would meet in smaller groups and have one adult be our
designated teacher and read to us a story or passage from the bible.
We also read Christian literature, which I was particularly fond of.
These early years are what shaped my way of thinking and fed my
never-ending quest for knowledge. They were the foundation to my
spirituality today.

Anything else? Well I leave it up to you. I'd love to read what you
have to share on the topics I have outlined today.

Later,
J.

Administrative Notes:

RDD: Thank you for dedicating yourself to watering the wonderful
virtual flowers here that Rance once planted. Keep up the good work!

F: You should just get a DVP for each and every lovely comment you
make on this blog. May I give you a kisshug sometime?

C: Thanks for liking my hot poems. Can you write one for us, too?

VW: I'm not sure of anything. Are you?

J: You sure know your Song of Songs! Thanks for comparing my poems to
Sufi. That is really swell.

L: Are you sure you wouldn't know what kind of poems a nun or ex-nun
would write?

Lab & Lanie: You both deserve 20 DVP's each for reading and commenting
to the Nun poems. It seems that it was really brave of you
to do so.

R: Did you enjoy my poems? I haven't seen a response from you and I
was told that my poems were sought out partially for your benefit and
enjoyment.

Rance's Identity
It appears that an innocent fellow has fell victim in the quest to discover Rance's identity. Lance Mazmanian, while being supremely talented and funny to boot, is not Rance. For those of you harassing him with emails threatening to out him he says, and I quote "Lemme make this clear: I ain't Rance so you just go and 'out' all you want." In the meantime, he'll be enjoying a double espresso...

I would be remiss if I didn't provide a link to allow you to bathe in the talents of Mr. Mazmanian and an opportunity for his accosters to read the message he personally prepared for them. Click here...

Again, read my words...Lance Mazmanian is not Rance.

There you have it! One down and ten million to go until Rance is unmasked. Keep on truckin...you got allota highway to cover.


P.S. Would someone with some computer tech. experience please tell me how to turn this flippin music off? Thanks...

Yo Ho Ho...
It seems our good friend Gus has risen in rank...from the Bilge to the Poop Deck. During his perilous adventures at sea and with only one arm, mind you, he and his questionable friend Nelson have managed to write a book. Not only did they write a book, Nelson bribed someone to publish it.

Since I like Gus so much, and feel a wee bit guilty about all the hand cracks I've made, I have decided to choose his book as the FIRST book ever in the Rubber Duckie Book Club.

You can check out the book here:
Pirates of Pensacola

It would be great if we all preordered it for two reasons:

a: We would all receive the book at the same time, which would allow us all to begin on the same page, so to speak.

b: The advanced sales would be a nice gift to Gus. We've all enjoyed his stories for months now for free. It would be nice to do something for him in return.

I would also like to address the lurkers. Please feel free to step out from the shadows and join the fray.

If you're unfamiliar with Gus and would like to know more about him click here.

Remembering the Good Old Days...
Ah yes, it wasn't long ago we all bent over our keyboards and pounded out our latest entry for one of Rance's essay contests. As I think back on it now I realize Rance must have laughed until he cried at not only the number of responses, but at the seriousness with which some were written, including myself.

In a tribute to Rance, I hereby deem every Thursday to be "Queer Essay Topic Day", because let's face it folks, his topics were queer. For today, in 500 words or less, please write about the following:

If sentenced to death in a Hollywood Prison ran by celebrutantes who narcissisticly implemented a "last reel" instead of a "last meal", what movie would you choose to watch and why?

The Nun...
One thing I've observed throughout the blogging community is that if you're a male you instantly have a built in audience...women. I've searched deep within myself (almost precisely the depth of an ice cube tray)to understand why this is so, bein I'm as guilty as the rest. I believe I have found that answer. It's quite simple, you see. It all boils down to supply and demand.

Wherever you go, wherever you are there are always women who are willing to, if not already, talking. They talk about their emotions, their dreams, their passions, their fashions...their "friend" who just stepped in the loo. To cut to the chase, women and their words are a dime a dozen.

Men who talk, however, are rare. When they arrive home from work it practically takes the jaws of life to pry their lips apart to get a response other then "uh" or "huh" or "huh huh". To find a male writing and expressing themselves for the most part unfettered and using actual, factual words is like walking through the forest and stumbling upon the most exotic, intriguing creature that has yet to be discovered. It's fascinating.

Well, today I give you something way more fascinating and rare than that...a talking nun. I have finally succeeded in my quest to find a nun who would be so kind as to share her inner most thoughts and fantasies with us. This is a rare treat, my friends.

For the purpose of privacy we'll call her Janis. Janis is an ex-nun who now lives the life of a private citizen. Over the next several weeks she has agreed to share with us her experience as a nun, why she became a nun and her departure from the convent.

For today, she has decided to exhibit a few selections from her writing, a group of poems. Please enjoy and I hope you look forward to her future discourse as much as I.


Hard Habit To Break:

The heart of the wise inclines to the right.
The heart of the fool to the left.
Today my heart yields to the left.
I'm consumed by your lips.
Which taste like sweet wine.
Quench my desire by flowing gently over me.
I'm faint with your love.
Place me like a seal over your heart.
You're a hard habit to break.


Communion:
Let's assemble for a kiss.
Let's bunch up to cuddle.
Let's congregate to caress.
Let's converge to make love.
Let's gather to court.
Let's mass to embrace.
Let's rendezvous to romance.
Let's unite in communion.



The Fighting of the Tongue:

And while in communion...
Kiss my forehead.
Kiss my eyes.
Kiss my cheeks.
Kiss my throat.
Kiss my bosom.
Kiss my breasts
Kiss my lips.
And if you touch my teeth,
Or my tongue,
Or my palate,
It's the "fighting of the tongue".


Reversed Communion:

69.
Yang and Ying.
Flip-flopped.
We set the world upside down.
I play the part of you.
You play the part of me.
We are in "reversed communion".

Apocalypse now...really...
With all the recent wacky weather and horrific natural disasters I have begun to fear it might be the end of days. After all, it is New Years Eve...five years after the Millenium. Suppose the "prophets" had the right day, just the wrong year.

I don't know about you all, but I've been looking for other signs as well. Something to assure me that the end is near and we must all prepare for battle.

That sign has come my friends. The battle between good an evil has begun. Mark the score Good = 0 Evil = 1 or Good = 1 Evil = 0 depending on how you look at it or whose side you're on...

What is this sign, you ask? Martha Stewart has lost a decorating contest in prison to her fellow inmates. Yes, it's true.

Each team was given $25.00 worth of glitter, construction paper, ribbons and glue and were challenged to create a display depicting "Peace on Earth". Martha's team made paper cranes, which they hung from the ceiling while her competitors put together a nativity scene complete with snow covered hills and sleds.

Be prepared...

The Price is Right...
I had this disturbing dream last night that I was doing the horizontal with Bob Barker. I have no idea why. I don't even watch his show. I do not discriminate based upon the year scrawled on one's birth certificate, but there is something such as age appropriateness. What is he now, like 90? This was not appropriate.

The dream lingers with me this morning and makes it hard to think about anything else. Is there some subliminal message I'm not getting? Like, is the price right for that new chair I'm wanting? Do I need to come on down and buy it? Does someone I know need to be spayed or neutered?

Perhaps I can find my way through the visual train wreck to the message beneath. Regardless, when it comes to Bob and me, the price will never be right, I will never come on down, not even if we've both been spayed and neutered...

There, now I feel somewhat better.

To bring you all up to date on potential guest bloggists I share with you the following:

The nun remains mum. Perhaps she still holds true to her vow of silence, or perhaps she didn't find me amusing, or perhaps she's still on Christmas break and hasn't checked her email at the school.

Bubba - I did email Viggo. I even promised to let him talk about his beloved horses and what we could do to save them. I even vowed we'd all sign the petition to be put before Congress. What did I get? Not a word...

I have secured one guest bloggist, perhaps he'll show on Monday. I think you'll appreciate his sense of humor and his views on many things. I'm keeping it a secret until he shows. You just never know when someone may cancel and I surely don't want to disappoint you.

Santa sent me something for Mikeeeee. He said "Sorry it's late Mikeeeee, but I don't read minds. You're lucky I didn't get you what you really asked for or you'd be spending New Years applying aloe to your ass. Merry Christmas."

And for Snubby, she took the time to write this fabulous poem for my Christmas Special and I deleted it upon error. If it were a contest she would have won. It's fantastic. Enjoy!

'Twas the night before Friday,
and all through the house,
not a creature was cleaning,
Not even a spouse.

The father was out
With the broad down the street,
The kids watching DVD's
with the machine on repeat.

The mother sat
And stared at the wall
What did she do
To deserve this all?

She does all the laundry,
She sweeps all the crumbs,
She cooks all the meals,
And cleans when they are done.

She can't get on the internet,
Or read a book or watch TV,
Someone is always crying,
Help me, help me, help me, me, me...

But for now, she has decided,
To hell with this shit...

She dreams of a world
With duckies and whales
Memoirs of Hollywood
And all its sordid tales.

She loves the politics,
The Rants and the Raves.
She loves the poetry;
The stories, the games...

She jumps out of her chair,
And yells, "Rance hold on!
I'm going to spring you,
and then we'll move on."

The kids look up,
With their mouths agape-r
And say "Mom!"
Rance is just some kid
Writing his term paper!

Mom sits back down
In her chair with a boom.
"Can't blame me for trying..."
"Go get me my broom..."

Later the kids tell
of mom's determination,
And Dad says, "Wow honey,
You have some imagination."

Mom swears,
"I'm not a crazy loon..."
I love my Rance,
From here to the moon.

Guest bloggist, The VW
Now that I've got your attention, what am I going to say? Who is Rance? Or for that matter, what is Rance? Am I Rance? I could be, or maybe not, but then again, does it really matter?

I've met Rance. Didn't you get the invite? He threw a huge party down at Denny's. Everyone was there, the waitress, the cashier, the cook, the manager, Rance, me, myself, and I. He came bearing gifts, an area rug for my mouse. That was a buck fifty well spent. We both agreed your time would be better spent writing to someone who actually read what you wrote. A suggestion: My Soldier

Sorry you missed the party. It was swanky.

Toodles,

The VW

Out of Respect...
for the earthquake/tsunami victims I am not putting up a new post. I don't feel it to be appropriate to be funny or trite today. Any wishing to leave condolences/thoughts/prayers for the victims and the survivors feel free to do so here. It's the least I/we can do...