Glory Days -- Books I Writed Part 8

More books from the box in my mom's atic.

Beach Blanket Berlin!, 2001 -- Eric Von Zipper, the leader of the Malibu Rat Pack Biker Gang, joins the American Nazi Party, kidnaps all the guys and brings them to Berlin for a PR stunt that causes quite a führer.

Congressional Blonde, 1994 -- Elle Woods wants her chihuahua, Bruiser, to reunite with his mother, because she would like Bruiser's mom to attend Elle and Emmett's wedding. Elle hires a detective to find Bruiser's mother, only to discover that the company that has her dog's mother is a cosmetics company that uses Bruiser's mother for cosmetic testing. She finds out that her law firm represents the C'est Magnifique Corporation. Elle decides to leave Boston, where she and Bruiser have settled with her fiancé Emmett, and go to Wahington, DC to work on Bruiser's Bill. Elle is upset that her dog's mother is in a make-up testing laboratory, and decides to take it upon herself to be the "voice for those who can't speak" and to outlaw animal testing. While working for Congresswoman Victoria Rudd, Elle is met with skepticism and other barriers common to Washington politics. Rudd's member of staff, Timothy, sarcastically calls her "Capitol Barbie." After a variety of ups and downs including a failed attempt to improve her work environment by having her co-workers write compliments about one another and place them in the "snap cup", Elle starts to lose her faith in Washington politics. As the story moves along, Elle discovers that Bruiser is actually a homosexual, after she is paged by "The Paws that Refreshes: A Doggy Day Spa." Bruiser has been affectionate with Leslie, a Rottweiller owned by Congressman Stan Marks, the Chairman of some committee which has jurisdiction over Bruiser's Bill. Elle also finds that Congresswoman Libby Hauser, the Ranking Member of the same committee, was a member of Delta Nu. As a result, both Marks and Hauser warm to Elle and eventually come to support Bruiser's Bill. Elle also discovers that Congresswoman Rudd has actually been working against her. So Elle becomes a lobbyist and sleeps with a bunch of fat, bald, smelly congressmen. The End.

It Gave Her Head In More Ways Than One, 1990 -- Golem shacks up with a hot, redheaded witch and forgets all about that stupid ring.

Glory Days - Books I Writed Part 7

More books from the box in my mom's attic.

C-3PO Takes a Wife, 1994 -- After significant reprogramming and the addition of a few extra parts, mild-mannered C-3PO embraces the Barbarian lifestyle. George Lucas was kind enough to write the forward.

I Married A Gal With No Nipples, 2000 -- A moving tale of an illegal alien that is forced to bottle feed her offspring. Made into a movie starring Mike Myers that went straight to video, I still get an occasional residual check.

Nancy Goes Too Far, 1993 --When Ronald sees Arnold's economics trickling down Nancy's thigh, he goes all Irancontra on his ass.

Glory Days - Books I Writed Part 6

More books from the box in my mom's attic.

Lawn Doctor in the 21st Century, 1994 -- Dr. Chuck Chemlawnowitz, Ph.D. battles crabgrass and thatch armed only with his trusty raygun.

Tarzan and Paris Hilton Do Vegas, 2004 -- Paris Hilton is along for the ride when Tarzan heads to Vegas for a showdown with Cheetah who has gone pimp turning Jane into a two-bit call girl while I prove once again that I can write a book without a single comma.

Waiter, There's a Fly in My Pussy, 2000 -- A beautiful story about a girl and the arthropod she loves.

Best Matzo Balls Ever

The best matzo balls I've ever eaten are made by my grandmother, Nana Melonosky. They are light as cumulus clouds with a deep flavor and an "al dente" bite. On a recent visit to Brooklyn, I spent a few glorious hours in my Bubby's kitchen making the perfect bowl of Passover matzo ball soup.

Leaden versus fluffy? Nana has a strong opinion. She reminded me that a hard-centered matzo ball killed my Uncle Murray Mazer back in 1987. An autopsy revealed that a leaden matzo ball had become lodged in his colon, causing "blockage and such pain, you shouldn't know from." Carbon dating traced the ball back to April 1957. The dried parsley and club soda identified my Aunt Sheila as the most probable suspect.

I asked Nana if her secret was club soda.

"Uch! That farshimmelt idea wasn't new in the 50's. Drek mit leiber. Come tatelleh, let bubby show you how to make the best matzo balls ever."

So that you may serve your family a bowl full of love and deliciousness during the coming holidays, I have translated my Nana's pinches of this and handfuls of that into a recipe you can duplicate in your home.

Nana's Perfect Passover Matzo Balls

Preparation Time: 6 hours

2 cups all purpose flour
1 cup matzo meal
4 eggs separated, whites beaten to soft peaks
A shmear of chicken schmaltz (rendered chicken fat)
1/2 cup finely minced white onions (use a grater)
1/4 cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon pepper
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg

1. In a large bowl combine all ingredients except the egg whites and onions.

2. Carefully fold in the egg whites.

3. In a large frying pan render down 1/2 pound bacon, preferably wood-smoked. Discard bacon. Cook the onions in the bacon fat until translucent. Add everything to the bowl and barely combine.

4. Refrigerate for 3 hours or overnight.

5. Fill your biggest pot with water and bring to boil. With wet hands, form the mixture into the size and shape of one of Natalie Portman's pert breasts. Put gently in the pot. Repeat. Cook for 45 minutes.

Serves: 6 hungry bulvans, 4 drowsy alta kockers, 3 gentiles, and 4 kvetching yentas with their "Uch, can I get a half a ball, bubbellah? They go straight to my hips and no carrots, they give me gas."

I was shocked when I saw Nana use the flour and the bacon. Nana explained, " The goyim know a thing or too about making dumplings so I borrowed some ideas. The flour lightens up the matzo balls. You add matzo meal to water, whatta you get? You get concrete! Good for making pyramids, not so good for fluffy matzo balls. And the bacon? What isn't better with bacon?"

I asked her about keeping Kosher, especially during Passover. Nana gave an argument worthy of a Talmudic scholar, "Everyone starts out being good but by the third day? Enough with this matzo already. If you're gonna cheat anyway, why ruin a perfectly good seder? As Rabbi Jose, the Gallilean said, "What they don't know, won't hurt them."

Given that this is my Jewiest post ever I'm providing my non-Jewish readers with a Yiddish glossary.

Bubby - grandma
Farshimmelt - confused, mixed up
Drek mit leiber - shit with liver
Tatelleh - little father, affectionate
Schmear - dollop
Shmaltz - in this instance, chicken fat
Alta kocker - literally, an old shit or old fart
Bulvan - man built like an ox
Kvetching - complaining
Yenta - gossipy female
Uch - oh my
Bubellah - sweatheart usually used for grandchildren
Goyim - gentiles
Leybikhe - lioness



A younger Nana Melonosky looking like the star of "The Leybikhes of Grossingers." No comments about her sexy feet, please.

Cell Phones in Bathrooms: A Question for Miss Manners

I just walked into the bathroom at work. It was empty except for a guy talking loudly on his cellphone. I bellied up to the urinal and began unzipping. The guy was talking business to a woman. The woman's voice was almost as loud as his. This was a formal business conversation. It was not his wife/girlfriend/co-worker/buddy.

I decided to relieve my bladder. He paused. He had heard me come in for sure but hadn't missed a syllable. Now that I was urinating, I sensed some hesitance but he started talking again. It was obvious that he was pretending to be in his office.

I let it flow.

For those of you who do not frequent public men's rooms, the shape of a urinal acts like the design of a fancy opera house. The sounds resonate clearly all the way to the back row. Business guy seemed flumoxed by the gushing sound of a water main break. His delivery got less smooth.

Still, he pressed on. I was thinking, "Close the deal, man." The needle on my bladder was approaching zero.

I shook off, tucked it away and zipped up. I grabbed the handle and paused. To flush or not to flush? I could have walked away quietly assuming that business guy would tidy up for me after he was done. I could have said, "Excuse me I'm about to flush maybe you want to cover up that phone."

I decided to flush.

What should I have done, Miss Manners?

Armless Man Feeds Giraffe his Foot

Another Post Courtesy of the Huffington Post - I kid Arianna Huffington when I see her in Pilates class but her site does supply an endless assortment of crap for my blog.

Tom Villis, an armless San Diego-based motivational speaker, was photographed feeding a giraffe his foot. When asked why he fed the giraffe his foot at the world famous San Diego Zoo, Tom replied, "What was I supposed to feed him? I've already fed him both my arms."

Tom's wife Meryl said that they were saving Tom's penis for dessert.

Actual Huffington Post story here.

Glory Days - Books I Writed Part 5

More books from the box in my mom's attic.

Torpedo to Ecstasy, 1995 -- Water nymphs need love too.

A Rouladen the Hay, 1998 -- Books with German puns were publishing gold in the late 1990's. This one had a fräulein that was kleiner in the hippsen and grossen in the tittsen. And Nazis.

She'd Kill for a Maxi-Pad, 2002 -- Ever come home from work with the milk, the take-out Chinese and a box of Light Days (for use with light flow during the first and last days of her period)? Don't.

Sarah Palin is a Cow in a School Uniform

in Finland.

If you go to the Finnish Google, and type "cow in a school uniform," you get a photo of Sarah Palin from my blog. Why?

And why are SO many people in Finland looking for a cow in a school uniform today? No one was looking yesterday. I'm thinking that it might be Dress Your Cow in a School Uniform Day in Finland -- which would be pretty cool.

Old Skool Skateboarding

Me, gleaming the cube, on my ass.

Just Too Dumb for The New Yorker

I was sitting in my dentist's waiting room searching through the worn collection of stale magazines when I found this old New Yorker:

I rarely understand today's artsy-fartsy New Yorker covers but I'm a product of New York's public schools and the State's university system. I don't know how to pronounce Dowton Abbey and don't give a damn about a bunch of toothless British nuns. I started reading a New Yorker article once...

But this cover from 1939? I got some ideas. Clearly, these were simpler times.

Two guys leaving a bar.

Two seriously daper guys -- pocket hankies, bow tie, white suits and that is one limp-ass noodle of a wrist. Subtext aplenty. The dude with the beret has an erect finger and the dude without the beret looks like he's about to lower his lips right down on it, right down until those knuckles are bouncing on his chin.

Really, I'm not the kind of homophobe that sees gay stuff everywhere -- but then there's the name of the bar, Sloppy Dick's.

I think that might be code for "Alternate Lifestyles Tolerated." And this following depiction is outrageous, even by 1939 standards.

Yikes! There's nothing subtextual about that image. If my thing moved does it mean Rick Santorum and Jesus hate me?

However, just when you think you have the thing figured out, The New Yorker fucks with your head. Just another nice watercolor of two guys hooking up in a bar and heading off to the beach, until you notice this guy.


He looks pissed. Could that be Richard, the owner of the establishment, who happens to be a messy bartender?

I left the best for last.

It's been awhile since I've seen one of those depicted on the cover of a magazine. I'm talking about the blowgun.

Is this the gayest and most racist New Yorker cover ever or is there another explanation?

And yes, I noticed the cat. That cat is either very shocked or very aroused, or both. And so am I.

An Intimate Portrait of Rick Santorum...

Made entirely of gay porn.


I don't ever repost stuff but this is great. Via Jon Hurwitz. Original at:

UnicornBooty.com

Look what he has under his chin.

Stewardesses in Jet Engines

Last month, a jet airliner was forced to emergency land in Lake Michigan because a bird was caught in one of the plane's engines. Every year hundreds of birds collide with planes. But it used to be worse. Much worse.

During the early days of the aviation industry, stewardesses were often caught in the jet engines of commercial flights. In 1972, birds and stewardesses accounted for 77% of all animal-airplane collisions.



Referred to as a SASH (Stewardess Airplane Strike Hazard), these incidents were often worse than hitting a duck. A 98-pound stewardess striking an aircraft going 150 MPH at lift-off generates the same devastating force as New Jersey Governor Chris Christie dropped from a height of 10 feet.

The first published acccount of a stewardess trapped in a jet engine occured in 1947 when Korean Air Flight 11 took off during a snow storm.

It was often said that, "Stews of a feather, flock together." Young, attractive stewardesses discovered that if they traveled in large groups their matching outfits would distract and disorient predatory pilots.

The largest number of stewardess strikes occured during the warmest months when stewardesses were most active and could often be found sunbathing on runways and airport tarmacs.

Not always fatal, these SASHs were so common that many airports maintained movable stairs to assist in removing the stewardess from the engine.

As jet engines got bigger, so did the problem.

Where previously stewardesses were trapped one at a time, the Boeing 747 would often scoop up more than one crew member.

And occasionally entire flight crews collided with engines. Sadly, there was no coffee, tea or me during this SAS flight.

A memorable incident involving Suzie and Mary Jane Stanton, twin sisters from East Hunterdon, Georgia, caught the attention of the entire nation.

Often these incidents ended in the death of the stewardess. The surprising quickness and brutality of the collisions often left the victims eerily "frozen" in time -- like the residents of Pompeii. In 1961, after an emergency landing outside of Phoenix, the crew discovered this horrific scene.

Two pretty, young sisters kissing their dad good-bye as TWA Flight 341A took off on Runway 49 bound for Miami.

This also explains the smiling faces on the stewardesses in many of the old photographs. Forgotten by most of us, prior to deregulation and 9-11, flight crews were encouraged to smile, act pleasant and treat their customers with courtesy and respect.

These photographs are gruesome evidence of a simpler, perhaps happier, time.

The following is the only existing photograph of a stewardess not smiling.

During the summer of 1962, two unrelated events convinced the world to finally address the escalating problem of stewardesses in jet engines.

A Finnish Air flight to Stockholm took off from a Helsinki Airport and inadvertantly scooped up two stewardesses and a pilot! This was the first recorded pilot-airplane collision fatality in over 25 years. While the loss of dozens of stewardesses a year was an accepted, although sad and unwelcome, hazard of the trade, pilots were considered a valuable asset by the airline industry at the time.

Closer to home, Jackie Bouvier Kennedy, the First Lady, was involved in a non-fatal collision when she was dressed a little too much like an Eastern Airlines stewardess.

A shaken President Kennedy directed the FAA (Federal Aviation Agency) to solve the stewardess problem.

Given the Jackie Incident, the FAA initially targeted airline dress code. Mini skirts were out. Hot pants were in.

Sadly, hot pants were not the solution.

Jet design was evaluated. An alert FAA investigator noticed that some joker had painted a swirly-whirly design on most of the engines. A design that could easily hypnotize an unsuspecting stewardess.

The FAA made the painting of psychedelic art and other hippy stuff onto airplanes illegal and Europe soon followed with their own guidelines.

Unfortunately, those swirly-whirly things were not the problem and hot pants fell out of favor.

The FAA was stumped -- until somebody remembered that Delta Airlines facility engineer Glenn Hughie invented the jet bridge back in 1959.

Jet bridges saved lives, stewardesses became flight attendants, and an early, forgotten chapter in the history of aviation was complete.