News you can use, right about now

Look at you … will you just take a minute and take a good, hard look at yourself.

There you are, sitting alone at a picnic table in the backyard of a cousin you didn’t know existed until the “Let’s PAHTAY” invite showed up in the mail a few weeks ago. There before you, in lurid tiki-torch technicolor, you watch with dumbstruck awe as your parents and the rest of your family do a very poor, yet very drunken dance that’s best described as a mutant macarena-limbo-polka.

And you, you miserable cuss, are careening, no, make that spiraling, toward sober. You are almost pitiful. Almost.

It’s your own fault. You had to be different. You had to bring that oh-so-classy imported beer with you. The brew with the label of a sacred cow sitting at a bar and the ingredients listed in Gujarati …. but no twist-off cap.

All of the easy-access beer is gone, it’s out there, sloshing around in the bellies of the inebriated near-human mass in front of you.

So, you have your beer, you have your needs, you have your powerful thirst, but you have no … bottle opener.

You had a bottle opener. You brought your own, in fact. It was just there, right there on the table, next to the bowl of nacho-avocado potato chips. One of your best ones too – a work of art that seemed molded just for your hand and your hand alone. Cold, hard, premium aluminum – in shape of a naked woman with breasts big and shiny and strong enough to hook onto the lip of a bottle cap and … rip it off.

A thing of beauty. She, I mean it, was an engineering marvel as well as an artistic one, a true symbol of an advanced civilization. But now she, I mean it, is gone. And you can’t find her, I mean it, anywhere.

How depressing – a man and his beer and ne’er the ‘twain shall meet. It’s at times like this, when faced great and deep loss, that one turns to drink. And you ain’t even got that.

The last time you saw her, your punch-drunk Uncle Louie was holding it up, admiring it and mumbling to himself. At least that’s what you thought at the time. Now you’re worried. Uncle Louie, as he has told you every time he tops his internal 48-ounce alcoholic-beverage fill level, hasn’t been with a woman since before Fiorello LaGuardia had an airport named for him, not since Columbus stopped in the Bahamas to ask for directions to the East Indies, not since the end of the Ice Age.

And then, it comes to you. Your jaw drops; you know that this can mean only one thing. Louie has taken your buxom bottle opener, stolen her, and run off to Vegas. Your only hope is the Elvis Presley Memorial Combination Drive-Thru Chapel of Eternal Wedded Bliss/Electrolysis Clinic/Coin-Op Laundromat is closed for the holidays.

But you know it’s open. And you know Louie has their “Frequent Flyer” platinum membership card. Yes, one desperate man’s hungover cries of woe soon will be heard up and down The Strip in the morning, but what does that matter, your own personal hell is now.

Have you got a belt buckle? Sheesh, you wore draw-string shorts. Good set of teeth? Aha – so that explains why you had the two front teeth capped last year. Lemme think. I’ve got it! Have you got a chain saw?

Don’t look at me that way, of course there’s a chain saw there. No self-respecting American backyard is without one. Look under the picnic table.

See, I told you. Oh, ye of little faith ye. And a Husqvarna, to boot. Nice.

I want you to see something. Prepare yourself for the coming of your mind-numbing salvation. Click below, watch the video and kid, you might learn something:

Behold, the glory of the pre-mix-powered, two-stroke beer bottle opener …

http://www.superficialgallery.com/youtuesday-opening-a-beer-with-a-chainsaw/24651

You don’t have to thank me … just a flip of your cap will do.

There she is ….

Mere words cannot describe …

See that woman over there? Yeah, I’ll give you that. It is kind of hard to miss her, for sure.

Her name is Eleanor Buenofortunatto. She was bagging my groceries at the Super Stop & Shop supermarket this afternoon. Store’s so big its got two supers in its name. I’ve seen her there a couple times. Bagged my stuff up a few times before today. Seems nice. Pretty conscientious, looks like she takes her job seriously too. Not once has she packed the canned vegetables or kitty litter in the same bag and on top of my bread and eggs and occasional tub of whipped “You’ll-Believe-It’s-Not-Butter-As-Soon-As-You-Open-This-Tub-And-Taste-It!”.

I appreciate the little things in life, like good customer service. So, there I was today, standing in the checkout line, watching a steady stream of my favorite breakfast-lunch-dinner cereals work their way through the scanner and chug past me on the grocery conveyor belt. There goes my Cocoa Pebbles, followed by the Cocoa Krispies, and that was my Choco-Cap’n Crunch, Chocolate Cheerios, Milk-choc-delight Chex (gluten-free), Chocolate-covered Raisins Bran. And there’s Eleanor slinging and flinging, bagging and packing and keeping up up with my bright-colored cardboard-wrapped cocoa-tide, my now-packed-with-12-essential-daily-vitamins, lightly-sweetened cavalcade.

She’s got to be a pro, I figured. Impressive. But today, there something different about Eleanor, at least to me. Call it a feeling, call it a hunch, whatever it is, sometimes I pick up these vibes from some people. Don’t know why or how, but it’s a definite intuitive talent. Had it ever since I was a tiny child, squirted out of my mother’s soapy hands while she bathed me in the sink and I fell to the floor.

My mom noticed it, even then. To this day she says I was never the same after that. That’s probably called a mother’s intuition.

Anyway, I received a mental message emanating from Eleanor and I couldn’t let it pass.

“Eleanor, have you got a computer?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you go on the Internet a lot?”

“Yeah.”

“Ever read something called a blog?”

“Yeah.”

“I got a blog.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And the other day I blogged that I was going to give a solid-gold Mercedes-Benz to the 500th viewer of it. And I just have a funny feeling it was you. Am I right?”

“Yeah!”

Damn, I’m good.

It was at that moment, that very moment … something came over Eleanor. You might notice it in the photograph I took of her up above. A thing of beauty. Warmed my heart, I tell you. Never seen such an outward display of delight in a person.

Not then, not now. I mean literally, now. I just drove by the market and she’s still there, looking just as she was when I left there four hours ago. Manager’s moved her out into the parking lot, stood her by the road with a sign taped to her. Says “C’mon in, you won’t beeelieve our low, low prices!!”

I can see why Bill Gates decided to give away most of his billions. This philanthropy stuff does wonders for the soul.