Too Tired to Blog.

That is all.

Yesterday I came to learn that the Wiseass Brooklyn Jooette took out her cyber-clippers and placed my hair atop the cruller of Randy, the Secular Franciscan. I suspect that, as we speak, Randy is frantically dialing up the Hair Club for Men to get the “Jimbo Special.” Who would blame him?

Sadly, this is not the first time that “The Great Farookin’ Hair” has been cyber-transplanted. We all remember when the same Speaker of Yiddish placed the GFH (i.e. “Great Farookin Hair”) on a goddamned alligator.

Let me tell you, Peeps. Sometimes,the Blogosphere can be more painful than a case of bleeding carbuncles.

It’s late, and I’m beat, so I can offer nothing other than to point you to some interesting Jersey facts that were posted by Shamrocketship, a Jersey Blogger whom I have been fortunate enough to meet.

I have seen some of these before, but even I, a genuine Jersey Native, did not know that the United States Equestrian Team has its headquarters in the Garden State. Go figure.

Oh, and speaking of Jersey, you might want to head over to Politics Unusual and submit your entry to the “You Might be from New Jersey if ………. “ contest.

Say what you will about Jersey. Wile we may have the most disgusting state government imaginable, we got no gators.

Randy, my Secular Franciscan Montana pal, linked to an article concerning the increasing shortage of people who aspire to be alligator wrestlers. This factoid serves to assuage my fears, albeit in a very small way, that American society is too stoopid to survive.

I recall being perhaps nine or ten years old when my parents decided it would be an interesting break from the long drive to Miami Beach to pull off the road to visit an alligator farm, which I believe was run by the Seminole Indian Tribe.

What an awful place.

If I close my eyes and reflect a moment, I can still smell the stink of the place and the disgusting display of dozens of alligators munching on piles of smelly fish that were tossed onto the banks of the shallow, stinking water in which the beasts languished.

The Big Attraction was the regularly scheduled Alligator Wrestling Show. My parents (probably my mother more so than my father – she was the more adventuresome of the two) thought this would be a good thing to see. I recall having absolutely no desire whatsoever to stand around in the stifling heat to wait for the next show, but I really didn’t have much say in the matter and, besides, they paid for admission to the horrid place with the money they broke their asses to earn during the other fifty weeks in the year.

Finally, it was show time.

The alligator wrestler gave a bit of a spiel about alligators and then proceeded to select one to drag from the disgustingly filthy water onto the sand. The alligator (probably a 10-11 footer) did not want to cooperate, and seemed mightily pissed at having been chosen as the wrestlee. It was doing its damnedest to bite the gator wrestler.

After much thrashing about until the gator wrestler pinned the beast, came the finale – the part where the gator wrestler put his head in the alligator’s mouth while holding its jaws open.

In the article referenced above, the author notes, “Injuries once were commonplace in the gator wrestling arenas, and sometimes were considered an asset.”

That certainly was the case in this stinkhole, because before placing his head inside the gator’s mouth the gator wrestler made sure that we could all see the multiple scars on his face and neck that resulted from the injuries he received the one time the “Head in Mouth” trick didn’t work out exactly right.

I think this part of the act even rattled my adventuresome mother, who probably was worried about the lasting psychic damage that could be done to her nine-year old son if he were to see a gator gobble down the guy’s head, up close and personal.

I’m happy to report that the gator wrestler finished the show with his head intact, but mine was scarred for life as a result of that little side trip to that gator shithole.

As many of you know, yesterday former Vice President and bullshit spewer film maker Al Gore was in New Jersey with Governor Jon Corzine to celebrate the signing of a Bill by Governor Jon Corzine mandating increased regulation of greenhouse gas emissions. Their presence also served to kick off the Live Earth New York Concert, which will take place this evening, not in New York, but at the Meadowlands Arena in New Jersey.

A PRS Operative, with microphone in hand, managed to catch the Democrat Duo for a brief interview. Here’s the transcript:

PRS: Governor Corzine, Mr. Gore, PRS here. Might I ask a few questions?

Corzine: What’s PRS?

PRS: It’s a blog, Governor.

Corzine: A blog?

Gore: Yeah, Jonnie (I call him Jonnie); it’s one of those things people write stuff in that a few people actually read it. Like that Kos guy. I read his blog all the time. I dig it.

PRS: It’s a Jersey Blog, Governor.

Corzine: OK. If Allie is OK with it (I call him Allie), I am too.

PRS: There is quite a bit of traffic noise here. How about we move over there by the rose bush?

Gore: BUSH? HE LIED TO US! HE DECEIVED US! HE PLAAAAAYED ON OUR FEARS! HIS ADMINISTRATION IS A DIS….

PRS: Mr. Gore, I meant the rose bush. The one over there.

Gore: OK. Groovy.

Corzine: Yeah, groovy.

PRS: So, Governor. What exactly is contained in the Bill you just signed?

Corzine: Damned if I know. I’m not much of a detail guy. My environmental advisor wrote it and advised me to sign it.

PRS: Who is your environmental advisor, Governor?

Corzine: A woman named “Starshine.”

PRS: Starshine? Does she have a real name?

Corzine: Damned if I know. I told you I’m not a detail guy. She calls herself “Starshine” and I know she’s smart, because she wears crystals.

PRS: You take your environmental legislative advice from someone you know only as “Starshine?”

Gore: She’s part of the CONSENSUS. Do you doubt the CONSENSUS? That is so uncool.

PRS: I didn’t say that. Perhaps we should move on. I see that you gentlemen are promoting the Live Earth Concert. Forgive me, but neither of you ever struck me as being interested in rock music.

Gore: Dude, we’re Sixties Guys – The Age of Aquarius, right Jonnie?

Corzine: Groovy, man. You freakin’ rock, Allie.

PRS: I had no idea. So, Mr. Gore, what is your favorite Sixties band? Beatles? Stones? Steppenwolf?

Gore: The Lemon Pipers.

PRS: The Lemon Pipers?

Gore: Yeah, “Green Tambourine.” That song freakin’ rocked! ”Listen while I play-yay-yay-yay-yay-yay-yay … my green tambourine.” Still gives me goose bumps.

PRS: Ooookay. How about you, Governor? Favorite Sixties rock band?

Corzine: Easy one. I really grooved on Jerry Garcia and the Tijuana Brass.

PRS: I believe that was Herb Alpert.

Corzine: Herb who?

PRS: Herb Alpert. Jerry Garcia was the leader of the Grateful Dead.

Corzine: Who died?

PRS: Never mind. Did you guys do much dancing in the Sixties?

Gore: Are you shittin’ me? I used to do a kickass Twist. I can still do it. Wanna see?

PRS: No, thanks. How about you Governor?

Corzine: Huh?

PRS: Did you do much dancing in the Sixties?

Corzine: Absolutely. The Pony, the Frug, the Slop, the Swim, the Monkey. I did ‘em all. Sorry, I can’t demonstrate now. My leg is still healing.

PRS: Oh, yes. The accident on the Parkway. How are you feeling?

Corzine: Shitty. The drugs aren’t getting’ it done. You got any weed?

PRS: No, I don’t. Sorry.

Gore: I DO! Wanna buy some, Jonnie? I got some really bitchin’ shit. I get it from my kid.

Corzine: Far out, man. Hook me up with an ounce after this, OK?

Gore: Excellent, Jonnie. Hey you gotta ditch that SUV and green up with a Prius. Dude, those babies will crack a hundred on the open road, no problemo. Speaking of which, you also really need to buy some Carbon Credits, Jonnie – You know, the SUV, the helicopter rides and all. I can sell you some right now.

Corzine: Groovy Allie.

PRS: Now that you’ve brought that up, how exactly do those Carbon Credits work, Mr. Gore?

Gore: Simple. Jonnie pays me, oh say, three hundred thou, and after a brokerage fee, my company uses the money to green up the planet.

PRS: I’m still not exactly clear what the money buys. Can you be more specific?

Gore: Simple. We have lots of projects, but lately we’ve been using the money to pay bean farmers not to grow beans.

PRS: Sorry, but I don’t get it.

Gore: Dude, it’s simple. No beans, no farts, less methane, which is a nasty greenhouse gas.

PRS: Pardon me for saying this, Mr. Gore, but the connection between bean farmers and global warming seems somewhat, well, tenuous.

Gore: I knew it! I goddamned KNEW it! YOU DOUBT THE CONSENSUS!. YOU AND ALL THOSE LIKE YOU ARE GODDAMNED HERETICS. YOU’LL ALL DIE WITH THE POLAR BEARS.

PRS: Please calm down, Mr. Gore. I merely asked a question.

Gore: This interview is OVER. Come on, Jonnie, let’s split this scene. I’ll hook you up.

Corzine: Groovy.

Can Hillary get an AMEN?

Can I get a barf bag?

It’s true: Merely saying “thank you” seems woefully inadequate, but it’s all I have to offer to those who left condolences, prayers and encouraging thoughts on the occasion of my mother-in-law’s passing. Mrs. Parkway, not a reader of blogs (including this one), was quite taken by the kind words written by so many of you. She thanks you too.

I have to offer a very special “thank you” to The Usual Suspects. They saw that we were well fed, they kept our spirits up with phone calls and visits, and they willingly gave up various Fourth of July festivities to spend the day with us at the funeral parlor. They’re, quite simply, the best.

There is still much to do, but the hard stuff is done, and everyone’s friendship made the hard stuff much less hard.

Again, thank you; thank you – every single one of you.

My Mother-In-Law passed away this morning. She was 94 and had been frail for the last year or so, but managed quite well in a very nice assisted living facility. However, a couple weeks ago, things medical started going bad and went downhill from there.

As such, I will be doing things other than blogging this week.

I’ll be back when things quiet down.