Category Archives: humor

Dumb Luck

Dumb Luck

Sometimes life is just a flip of the coin.  Heads for the good things.  Tails for the bad.  But because of the nature of random chance, even though the opportunities for good luck or bad luck are equal, tails twenty-seven times in a row can happen.  Before my book is able to be published, my publisher is on the brink of shutting down.  Their own roll of the dice has come up snake-eyes a few too many times.  I and the other authors at PDMI are trying to rally around each other and do what we can to help.  But the business is, for the moment, on hold.  Good things can happen too, though.  My novel, Magical Miss Morgan, is still in the running for the Rossetti Award from Chanticleer Book Reviews.  That might turn out to be a real good heads up and help me with my publication goals.  My blogging is going well.  For some reason I seem to be scoring 60+ views on a single day at least one day a week for the last six weeks.  I am now averaging 30 views a day instead of the old rate of 20.  My blogging is being read by more actual readers than ever before.  That’s a good thing, but also the result of dumb luck.  There is no formula for success making it happen.  I have to keep trying and trust that sometimes things will accidentally happen in my favor.  I admit to being a little tired of things that accidentally cause me harm.  Do I believe that God has a plan, and things work out the way they should?  Of course I do.  But I am not vain enough to think that I am important enough to the over-all plan to effect even a single flip of the coin of fate.

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Filed under cartoons, humor, insight, Paffooney

Top This!

fuddy duddy

“Dad?” asked the Princess, “I heard a funny word in school today.  What does Fuddy-Duddy mean?”

“Oh, that’s a good word,” I said.  “It means an old fogey… a stick-in-the-mud.”

“A what?”

“A fussy old guy who likes to have everything his way.  Like, if you accuse your father of being one… which you often do… he’s a fuddy-duddy daddy.”

“Ooh!  I get it!” said Henry, chiming in.  “And if your father is evil, then he’s a fuddy-duddy baddie daddy!

“Yes,” I said, “and if it makes him sad to be evil, he’s a fuddy-duddy saddie baddie daddy!

“If you are not sure he’s really your father,” said the Princess adding a one-up, “he’s a fuddy-duddy saddie baddie maybe daddy!

“Yeah!” said Henry.  “And if you suspect he may have fallen into a time machine and been turned back into an infant, he’s a fuddy-duddy saddie baddie maybe baby daddy!

“Now that he’s a baby again he will surely want to watch his favorite TV show again,” I said with a tear of nostalgia in my eye, “he’ll be a fuddy-duddy saddie baddie maybe baby Howdy Doody daddy!

“What’s Howdy Doody, Daddy?” asked the Princess.

“No,” said Henry, “now you’ve spoiled it.  It just ain’t funny any more.”

“Yes it is!  He’s become a funny bunny fuddy-duddy hoo-dad doo-dad saddie baddie maybe rabies hoo-dah doo-dah…”

“Just stop,” said Henry.  “You always carry things too far.”

“Right you are!” I said.  “See this grin?  It means I win!”

“AW, Daaad!” they both said at the same time.

 

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Filed under humor, Paffooney, pen and ink, Uncategorized, word games

How to Be Offended by Practically Everything

I have recently been told that I am too easily offended.  In fact, I have been repeatedly told that.  Apparently I overreact to things that should not upset me or should not be taken personally.   Apparently my humor is too flippant and insensitive.  I am told that I should not have an issue with people using the Confederate Flag on Facebook posts, even when they are insisting that their rights are being violated if they can’t fly that flag next to the U.S. Flag on Veterans’ Day… even though they are from Iowa and their ancestors fought and died for the Union.  I am told that I should not be upset that Donald Trump wants to deport almost all of my former ESL students because he thinks they are rapists and drug dealers.  He hasn’t met them.  And he even admitted that he “assumed some are good people”.  But he is going to protect us by eliminating all foreigners from our society.  No more of this “anchor baby” stuff with children being born here only so that their parents can stay.  People don’t deserve to live here if their ancestors weren’t born here.  And I shouldn’t let my foolish attachment to these interlopers, based on years worth of getting to know them so I could do my job as a teacher properly, color my response to the perceptions and pronouncements of “real Americans”.

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The Daily Edge’s photo.

I recently shared this movie poster on Facebook because I am disgusted and offended by the immigration policies of both of these “real Americans”.  I thought it was clever, and it made me chuckle, even though I am quite well aware that Jim Carrey might be livid about having his face replaced by Sarah Palin’s.  She does, after all say funnier and more nonsensical things than he does.

But I got blow-back.  An Iowegian Facebook friend, whom I remember as a sweet-natured little six-year-old that I held on my lap in the 1970’s, told me, “Just wait, you will be sorry” in the comments.  Now, you should probably know that Tommy grew up to be an illiterate jack of all trades who loves guns and hunting and is planning to vote for Donald Trump because he passionately hates the “Mexicans” that moved into Iowa to do the farm work that practically no one else is doing any more.  He is not above acting out his belief in Trump with a gun in his hands.  Will he hurt me over a Facebook post?  Probably not.  He’s not a genius, but he still remembers me fondly as the older boy that befriended him when he lived with his grandma in the house on the other side of our back yard.  I played card games and monopoly with him and his brothers, and often let him win.  But apparently, hatred of Mexicans and other “job-takers” Trumps hearts in the card game of life.

So I am left wondering if the people telling me that I am too easily offended aren’t actually the ones getting offended for the wrong reasons.

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I try to listen whenever Willy Wonka pops up on Facebook to smugly tell me how to live my life.  He is right when he says that you have to honestly consider the viewpoint of others and not be so completely convinced of the rightness and righteousness of your own point of view.

But those getting mad at me for being offended are offending me by saying and posting and doing hate-filled things that don’t treat others as people… just because their skin color and country of origin is slightly different than our own.  They post insults aimed at “welfare queens” and suggest those people deserve what they get out of life because they are lazy and take advantage of government programs.  Never mind that most of the suffering and poverty in this country is endured by the growing number of people with minimum-wage jobs.  And those people are always working hard when I see them at work.  Some of the people that offend me by suggesting we shouldn’t be generous to others are people that I know have no more wealth to draw upon than the people they are criticizing, and take some of the same assistance programs they are complaining about.  Maybe it is actually to everyone’s benefit to be offended by the kind of hurtful things and ideas that go around this country prompted by Republican Presidential candidates and Fox News.  Maybe I am not being offended enough?

We will have to wait and see.  I’m sure that sooner or later Willy Wonka will pop up on Facebook with the answer.  I do love that movie, and that is probably why his internet meme ideas always sway me.  (It is possible that this essay may not be exhibiting Mr. Spock levels of logic, but Mickey can only think like a Mickey always thinks.)

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Filed under angry rant, humor, memes, philosophy, Uncategorized

RumikoTakahashi

Yesterday I used a Paffooney I had stolen to illustrate my gymnasium adventures, and in the caption I gave credit to the wonderful comic artist I shamelessly copied it from.  The second imitation Takahashi that I did yesterday is now displayed next to it above.  I am now compelled to explain about my goofy, sideways obsession with Anime and Manga, the cartoons from Japan.  I love the art style.  I have since I fell in love with Astroboy Anime as a child in Iowa.  Rumiko Takahashi is almost exactly one year younger than me.  As a cartoonist she is light years more successful than me.  She has been crafting pen and ink masterpieces of goofy story-telling longer than I have been a teacher.

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Her artwork is a primary reason I have been so overly-enamored of the Japanese Manga-cartoon style.  I love the big eyes, the child-like features of even adult characters, the weird poses and still-weirder comic art conventions of this culture from practically a different planet.  She has created comic series that are immensely popular in Japan, and have even put down sturdy roots in this country, especially with young adults since the 80’s.  She is the world’s number one best-selling female comics artist.

Just as we Westerners have to accept numerous ridiculous things to appreciate the stories told in American comics (for instance, brawny heroes running around in tights with their underwear on the outside of their pants, nearly naked ladies with super powers diving into battle next to men encased in armored suits, and talking animals), the Manga-minded must also practice a bizarre form of the willing suspension of disbelief.  In Ranma 1/2, the main character is a boy marshal artist who turns into a girl when splashed with cold water.  Much of the romantic comedy of that work revolves around boys and old men finding themselves in the bath house next to naked young girls.  For some reason that sort of naked surprise causes the boys to spout fountain-like nosebleeds.  In Inu-Yasha the whole thing is about fighting demons with swords.  Inu-Yasha himself is part demon.  Apparently part-demon is a good thing to be.  Japanese villains are spectacularly susceptible to fits of crying rage and tantrums.  And everybody looks more like American white people than orientals.  Oh, and there are talking animals.

Rumiko is a master of pen and ink.  Here is a sample of of her black and white work.

And she does color well too.

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The little people are a special style of Manga character called a Chibi, and all regular Manga characters can turn into one at any moment.

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And, of course, to read actual Manga you have to master reading backwards.  Americans read left to right.  The Japanese read right to left.  You have to open a Japanese book in a manner that seems both backwards and upside down.

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This illustration shows how American publishers flip Japanese comics to make them more accessible to American audiences.

So now, by uncovering the fact that I am addicted to and seriously affected by Japanese cartoons, you have one more bit of evidence to present to a jury in case you decide Mickey needs to be locked up and medicated for a while.  Japanese comics are a world of great beauty, but also a world unto themselves.  It is an acquired taste that has to be considered carefully.  And of all the many marvelous Manga makers, Rumiko Takahashi is the one I love the best.

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Filed under anime, artwork, cartoons, humor, Paffooney

Exercise For Life

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This is an art exercise, making a drawing imitating the manga style of Rumiko Takahashi, the greatest female comics artist of all time.

Yes, I need to exercise.  I have six incurable diseases and I am a cancer survivor since 1983.  But exercise may soon kill me deader than the proverbial door nail.  Does that make sense?  Can you be any more dead than a thing that was never alive?  I think you can.  It comes when death is achieved through extreme pain and suffering.

If you hadn’t figured it out already, my family joined a gym on a trial-membership basis.  But, of course, we can’t afford a personal trainer, so the only way was to get me in and exercising without consulting the professionals about my health challenges.  Diabetes and arthritis and COPD?  They would instantly be worrying about sudden death on the gym floor and the lovely attendant lawsuits that would probably go with that.  And my wife probably will try to sue them when the exercise machines kill me.  She is a smart woman when it comes to making money out of the cracks in the system.

The gym has personal trainers and professionals to deal with problems like mine, and they were around and visible while I was there exercising for the first time.  Signs on all the machines admonish the user to take a break if they become light-headed or feel faint.  They are at least aware that I might be killing myself.  But while I did the twenty-five-minute trudge on the treadmill all tomato-faced and gasping for breath, no one bothered to even check on me to make sure I wasn’t idiot enough to torture myself to death on the cruel march-to-oblivion machines that are all lined up there in neat little rows facing television sets blaring Fox News Channel.  You might know that the last voice I will ever hear is Bill O’Reilly declaring what an idiot-communist-threat-to-democracy Bernie Sanders is.  What a way to die!

But my wife is determined to exercise me enough to make me healthy and more like Dwayne “the Rock” Johnson than it is possible for me to be.  Or kill me.  I think she might be looking forward to that too.  She told me when we went in that we only had to stay as long as I wanted to.  But that was a lie.  The gym has a pool.  She and the Princess made a bee-line there and I didn’t see them again until closing time.  To be fair, they had a free class to attend with pool exercises led by a trainer.  But still, as I suffered and dried myself out on the walkways of death, they were splashing happily.  In a pool!  In winter!  …But it was indoors.

So, I didn’t die.  And I have done this sort of thing before enough to know how far I can push myself on arthritic knees with impaired lungs.  I didn’t really come out of there with any more aches and pains than I went in with.  And, though I really hate to admit it, the day after leaves me feeling somewhat… better.

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Filed under humor, illness, Paffooney, Uncategorized

On the Highway (a quick poem about going faster)

The Road Home

I painted this oil painting looking West on Highway 3. My home town in Iowa is just beyond the next hill.

 

On The Highway

Leave dirt roads behind…

On the highway you go faster.

Pavement gives you ease to speed.

In fact, why use that two-lane road?

The Interstate is faster.

Limited access off and on…

The legal limit goes up to 70…

Or even 75…

85 with no cops around.

Straight over the horizon…

Into the mist-blue distance…

You are not really going anywhere…

But you will get there faster!

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Filed under humor, poetry, strange and wonderful ideas about life

One For The Good Guys

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I spend most of my political ranting power on the Republicans in that elephant-driven eternal clown car they keep driving through the highways and byways of American politics.  That is because humor is basically a weapon for fighting the many metaphorical battles of modern life.  You’ve heard how it can be more cutting and sharp than any sword. And not having one of the Republican clowns as President is a very serious matter.  But one of the primary truths of Mickian life is this; the best humor is based in on love, not hatred.  It should be nourishing, not hateful.  That’s why electing politicians who can do the Frankenberry face is so important to me.  Better by far than those angry simian faces we saw in the Republican debates, calling each other names, insisting their parents were immigrant-ish enough to be unworthy, or insisting their politics aren’t hopelessly heartless enough to be elected as a conservative.

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So let me start by making fun with some of my favorite good guys.  If you want to put a clown in office to make the laws that will change your life, why not get a real clown?  Al Franken, Senator from Minnesota, is a professional clown.  He was one of the original writers on Saturday Night live, providing comedy material and acting in sketches from 1975 to 1980, then returning as a performer from 1985 to 1995.  He wrote six books, four of which are satires of conservative politics.  He became a political activist, and in 2008, he finally put his wit and wisdom to good political use by narrowly winning a Senate seat in Minnesota representing the Minnesota Democratic Farmer Labor Party, an affiliate of the Democratic party.  As a comedian he created the character Stuart Smalley, the slightly askew advice-giving self help guru.  As a senator he has continued to use his warm wit and wisdom to promote programs that actually help people and actually protect them a little bit from the toothy financial predators promoted by the money-hungry conservatives on the other side of the aisle.  It is as if Mark Twain or Will Rogers had lowered themselves to use their focused comedic insights to be a politician and make life less dreary  for the American people.

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Corey Booker, the junior senator from New Jersey, has a grin that reminds me of Magic Johnson, the basketball hero.   And like Johnson, he is capable of using his manic energy to get things done to help other people.

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Feb 16, 2014; New Orleans, LA, USA; NBA legend Magic Johnson laughs during the 2014 NBA All-Star Game Legends Brunch at Ernest N. Morial Convention Center. Mandatory Credit: Bob Donnan-USA TODAY Sports

Here’s an incident quoted from Wikipedia that shows how Cory Booker goes about wanting the ball to take the game-winning shot;

In December 2012, after discussions with a constituent about New Jersey’s Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP), Booker began a week-long challenge attempting to live on a food budget of $30 per week—the amount SNAP recipients receive.  When critics noted that the very name of the SNAP program shows that it is intended to “supplement” an individual’s food budget, not be its sole source, Booker replied that his aim was to spark a discussion about the reality that many Americans rely solely on food stamps to survive.

You can’t go wrong with that Magic Johnson confidence, and that ten-thousand-watt smile.  No matter his human failings, Booker feels like the kind of politician who genuinely cares about people.

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Elizabeth Warren, Senator from Massachusetts, reminds me of my grade school teacher Mrs. Mennenga.  She has that same no-nonsense approach that brooks no foolishness in the classroom.  And I have seen Mrs. Warren lecture the senate chamber on their less-than-perfect behavior.  But she makes it clear that although she doesn’t love our stupidly selfish behavior at times, she loves us as her school children, and wants to prevent the sharks and the wolves of Wall Street from eating us whole.

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I think by now you probably see where I am going with this.  Democrats are far from perfect.  It is probably better for me to think of myself politically as an Independent.  But they are generally the progressive party.  They want to change things for the better for the majority of the people.  Conservative Republicans want to regressively change things back to the days of the robber barons when men like John D. Rockefeller, Andrew Carnegie, and J.P. Morgan could buy a president like William McKinley to make sure that most of the money in the world stayed in the pockets of the rich while the rest of us worked in sweat-shop slavery and poverty.  We are almost back to that, with no more middle class, and almost all aspects of the economy around us benefiting primarily the Walmart heirs.

So, if I am able to defy my church and my religious affiliation and actually vote in the next election, I will vote for Bernie Sanders.  Socialist though he is, he is promoting ideas that will help all of us.  And, besides, he has the hair thing going for him.  It’s Mickey hair all over again.  No matter how you comb it and brush it and shellac it with goo… well, you know… What?  Me, worry?

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Werewolf Inspirations

Having lived through a horror story recently, I now must work more on mine.  I have a werewolf story that I have been writing since the 1970’s.  I have been calling it The Baby Werewolf for forty-two years.  And that may have to change.  It is a story of a boy with hypertrichosis (werewolf excessive hair disease, a genetic disorder) and the family that is ashamed of him and tries to hide him forever in the attic.  Of course, if you know anything about me, you probably realize I am going to clown it up one side and down the other, because writing serious stuff is not my style… at least not without a “hefty helping of our hospitality”.  I am doing serious research now, which translated from ManicMickian means, “I am watching old werewolf movies on YouTube.”

 

I know you don’t believe I can pull off a YA novel that is a comedy about murder, wolves, and lycanthropes, with naked girls thrown in for good measure.  But watch me.  I am nothing if not willing to do practically anything to be creative.

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The Baby Werewolf

A Gothic Novel by Michael Beyer

 

 

 

Opus One – Of Wolves and Men

Canto One : “Homo Homini Lupus”

 

      Dad doesn’t like it when I watch horror movies.  He says they will give me nightmares.  They will keep me from getting a good night’s sleep.  And a farm kid needs his sleep because he has to get up early in the morning to check on the pigs, give them feed, and milk the cows.  We only have five cows.  Just enough to give the Niland family the milk it needs.  We can process it ourselves because we once had a lot of milk cows.  Not so much anymore.  Things are changing in the 1970’s.  But there I was that night watching The Wolfman on Grave’s End Manor the horror movie show that comes on CBS every week on Saturday… midnight.

I don’t always do exactly what Dad says.  Fathers don’t really know everything.  Well, not… everything, everything.  So, I have this story now to tell you, and it’s a… well, horror story.  It’s about werewolves.  Little ones.  And naked girls.  And me being almost fourteen already, I have to get this story told while I can still remember every little detail.  I just won’t show it to Dad.  And if they make it into a movie, I will tell him not to go.

I was all by myself that night.  The farmhouse was dark.  Mom and Dad had taken my little brother Nathaniel to Grandma’s house and they were in Rochester, Minnesota for some medical thing.  I was supposed to look after the farm and the pigs and the cows.  Our big thirty-six-inch TV was capable of doing full color, but the horror movie on Saturday nights was almost always a black and white movie anyway.  I was almost naked while watching it.  I only had on my Fruit of the Looms and an old silver crucifix on a chain around my neck.  It was something Great Aunt Hannah Foxworth had given Mom when she died.  Hey, it was a werewolf movie after all.

Lon Chaney Jr. was the star of the movie, and he looked more like old Elmer Dawes from Norwall, Iowa than your usual movie star.  But he was great in monster movies.

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Filed under horror writing, humor, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney, Uncategorized

Parking Lot Nightmares

Sadie

Sometimes life is more like a car accident than a well-planned story.  You have to scrabble for themes and meaning as you undo your seatbelt to get out of the burning car before it explodes.  It was like that last night in the high school parking lot.

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You see, the Princess had a U.I.L. academic competition last night.  In Texas we compete in nerd olympics so we can pretend that our kids actually learn things in school.  The Princess was a part of the science team, taking a test in competition with the nerds from the other district middle schools.  Well, she lost.  Personally, team-wise, and school-wise, the Long Middle School Falcons were shut out of the top three places.  Yes, that sucks, but she did get to compete, an honor already.  As much as this society pooh-poohs participation ribbons and feeling good about less-than-winning, sometimes they do represent real effort and real value.  It is the kind of gut-twist you put up with every year, with every competition.  Not everybody can win, and non-winners don’t deserve punishment.

But the excitement last night was not about that.  What was it about?  I don’t still completely know.

I went at 9:00 p.m. to pick her up from the Newman Smith High School competition site after her team was thoroughly beaten.  I hate high school parking lots.  You have to put up with other parents and their Texas driving skills.  We call it “driving friendly” in Texas.  It means pushing to the front of the line, cutting people off, bluffing your way through with the threat of violent collision.  In truth, if most of those parents in the parking lot had to take the driving test today, they not only wouldn’t have a license, they would be in jail to prevent vehicular manslaughter.  So, when I saw the multiple police cars at the high school, I merely assumed that some of the parents of UIL contestants had been “driving friendly” a little too hard.

Well, I pulled up behind the buses and got an ominous text.

“We are in lock-down.  Something happened.  Are you in the parking lot?”

“Yes.”

“My teacher says to stay in your car and keep the doors locked.  Wait until I tell you that we have been cleared.  The police are here.”

Well, that was tense.  Twenty minutes of sitting in the car not knowing what was going on… not knowing how to find out.  Finally I get another text.

“You have to pick me up back at Long.  They are taking us out to the bus at the back of the school.”

So, I drove the ten blocks to Long Middle School and waited in the parking lot there.  Far fewer parents in cars to run into, so it had its plusses.

Finally the bus arrived.  My daughter had to sign the teacher’s roll call of students before she would be released for me to take her home.  It was already 10:30.

“We’re sorry for this,” one of the teachers told me.

“The principal will probably call you tomorrow and explain what happened,” said another teacher.  Personally, I didn’t really care what happened.  She was safe, and that was what mattered.

“I don’t know what happened, Dad,” the Princess said, “but the police were looking for a man with an AK47.  At least, I think that’s what they told me.”

Ah, Texas.  The right to bear arms truly makes us rest at ease.  Except, I do not want to have the arms of a bear.

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Filed under gun control, horror writing, humor, Paffooney

Book Magic, the Empathy Spell

Fools

I have long known that reading good books is the primary path to being a wizard.  There are many, many things you can learn from the magic contained in fiction books, but now there is also research that proves books can improve your empathetic skills.  Here is the article I found to suggest it is so;

http://blog.theliteracysite.com/fiction-readers/?utm_source=lit-twcfan&utm_medium=social-fb&utm_term=20160108&utm_content=link&utm_campaign=fiction-readers&origin=lit_twcfan_social_fb_link_fiction-readers_20160108

If you don’t feel energetic enough to actually go there and read that, let me summarize a bit.  When you read a good fiction story, you get to live for a while in another person’s skin… see the world through someone else’s eyes… and if it is intelligent, realistic, and complex enough, it rewires a bit of the part of your brain that tries to understand and make sense of perspectives that are new to you, not merely habits that you follow down muddy, well-worn paths on auto-pilot.  You get to practice understanding other people.  And the more you practice this with well-written, insightful material, the more empathetic you will become.  The article notes significantly that children reading J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series develop skill at compassion.  I can personally testify that as a middle school teacher, I saw that very thing happening as students in my nerd classes not only became more sensitive towards the gifted weirdos in their class because of Harry, but also became more understanding of the special education students, and other often-bullied minorities.  Harry Potter books are literally magic books.

Here are some other notable books and their magical powers;

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To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee is taught in numerous middle schools and high schools across the country because teachers have instinctively realized how much it does to solve problems of racial and cultural tension in the school environment.  It tackles the unfairness of racism, the effects of extreme poverty, the possible side effects of too much religion, and it illustrates everything through the voice of a very intelligent young girl.  Learning hard lessons becomes practically painless.

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The Book Thief by Markus Zusak is narrated by the angel of death.  It is set in Nazi Germany in the war years.  The central character is the daughter of a man arrested and executed as a communist.  She is forced to live with German foster parents who turn out to be very loving individuals, though they are enduring difficulties of their own.  They not only love and nurture her, they take in a young Jewish man who is fleeing the Gestapo and the work camps.  In the face of the constant threat of death, the main character learns to read both books and people, to care about others, and face the deaths of those she loves without fear.  This book makes beauty out of human ugliness and war, and love out of fear and death.  Very powerful magic, in my humble opinion.

So what am I saying in this Paffoonied post of books and magic?  Only this.  There is magic power to be gained from reading fiction books, especially well-written fiction books.  Try it for yourself.  You may accidentally turn yourself into a frog… or a little girl from Maycomb, Georgia in the 1930’s… but it will turn out to be very good magic.  Go ahead, try it.  I dare you.

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Filed under book reports, humor, magic, Paffooney