Category Archives: irony

July 28, 2016 · 12:48 am

Love and Hate and Politics

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I cringed through a few of the speeches in the Republican National Convention. Speech after speech talked about how bad Hillary Clinton is, how terrible ISIS is, how Obama has betrayed us and failed us, and other warm fuzzy stuff like that. They make me sick to my stomach with fear.

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Was there anything to like about the RNC in Cleveland? Well, their logo was nice.

I could complain about the plagiarism thing, the Ted Cruz booing thing (although that actually made me smile), or Donald’s deep, dark speech of the coming apocalypse. But I would rather do like the Democrats seem to be doing this week. I would rather talk about the good things they can and will do if only we are smart enough to give them the chance.

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They contrasted their policies in favor of ending discrimination based on race, gender, and orientation with the anti-crime and anti-terrorism howls of the Republicans. Instead of talking about how satisfying it would be to throw the other side’s candidate in jail for imagined crimes, they told us about Hillary’s record of standing up for women, children, and the handicapped. They gave us specifics about what she has done and who she has helped and what she has learned from Bernie Sanders. Sanders graciously made her the unanimous choice by throwing all of his delegates behind her. There was peace and harmony (beyond a few former Bernie supporters who were so mad about the DNC email leak that they may vote Trump out of spite). Cory Booker’s speech suggested that instead of talking about what we are afraid of, we should be talking about working together in a spirit of love and friendship in order to do great things. Trump, of course, had an angry tweet in response to that, suggesting he knew things about Booker that could shame him. Booker replied that he loved Donald Trump and felt honored that the orange one considered him worthy of an angry tweeting.

Now, I am not saying that Democrats are perfect and Republicans are evil… am I? I don’t believe that when I am rational and not dreaming up nightmares… do I? But loving one another is what I think the default position should always be for Christians. So why are the nominally Christian conservatives so much more keen on the righteous wrath of God stuff and punishing those they hate? Shouldn’t it be the opposite of that? And my severely Republican friends are always suspicious of just how Christian the godless communist heathens in the Democratic party really are. If the Democrats are so totally wrong, shouldn’t the facts line up against them?

But it all boils down to facts versus feelings, doesn’t it. Republicans have reason to be angry, especially the poor ones, because of the raw economic deal they have been given. Their righteous indignation deserves redress. But is that best served by punishing Democrats in the more liberal party that more generally favors less income inequality? What about the capitalist billionaires who drive the Republican agenda? Are they really saints and deserving of everything they have taken for themselves?

I am smart, but not smart enough to have ultimate answers to the biggest questions. I have Republican friends who agree whole-heartedly with that last sentence, especially words five, six, and seven. But I know the DNC made me feel good while watching, and the RNC made me ill. I definitely choose love over hatred and politics.

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Filed under clowns, goofy thoughts, humor, insight, irony, politics, the road ahead

Tagged as humor, politics, politics and goofiness

July 19, 2016 · 10:53 am

Stardusters… Canto Four

Canto Four – In the Classroom on Level Six

“Okay,” said Harmony Castille in her Sunday-school-teacher voice, “The most important lesson is this; Jesus says we must love God with all our heart, and love our neighbor as we love ourselves. He says this law supersedes all others. If we obey such a law, we will never break any other reasonable law either.”

“Are you saying that Earther monkey people have only one law?” asked Xiar with bulging, surprised eyes.

“I’m saying that if you can break a law without also breaking God’s first law, then it wasn’t a sensible law in the first place.”

“So, how do you obey this first law?” asked Farbick, the Fmoogish Lead Science Officer.

“That’s simple too,” said the beautiful young blond woman who had once been a wrinkled old Sunday school teacher. “We call it the Golden Rule. It says that we must do unto others as we would have them do unto us.”

“How do you do an unto?” asked Studpopper, the communications junior officer of very limited intelligence.

“It means…” said Harmony, being used to the stupidity and hard-headedness of children, “If I don’t want you to hit me, then I don’t hit you first. If I don’t want you to call me names and hurt my feelings, then I don’t call you a brainless stupid-head first,”

“Thank you for not calling me a brainless stupid-head,” said brainless stupid-head Studpopper stupidly… but politely.

“You are welcome,” said Harmony.

“But what if someone hits you first?” asked Farbick.

Harmony appreciated the fact that Farbick was quite clever and insightful for a Telleron. “Well,” she replied, “we are trying to teach them what is right by example. If someone hits me in the cheek, I would turn the other cheek.”

“Wouldn’t they just hit you again?” asked Farbick,

“Do you mean a face-cheek? Or a behind sort of cheek?” asked Studpopper the stupid-head.

Harmony ignored the emerald-faced buffoon and answered Farbick instead. “Sometimes they will hit you again, but you must persist in your belief, and continue to only show them patience and love. Against the love of God, no cruel servant of chaos can stand.”

“They hit you on the butt twice?” asked Studpopper.

“They hit you on the part of your anatomy where you brain is located,” said Harmony acidly.

“Oh, you do mean the butt cheek!”

“Yes, of course I do,” the Sunday school teacher said sarcastically.

“Wait a minute,” said Xiar. “I haven’t examined Studpopper that closely, but my brain is in my head.”

“”I like your first law,” said Farbick. “I’m not sure it is practical and would really work, but it is more reasonable and moral than any of the laws of the Tellerons that I am aware of.”

“Yeah,” said Xiar, “Galtorrians will hit first and then eat your cheek. Your idea of love conquering all will only turn you into gourmet monkey burgers.”

“We will see. My God is all powerful.”

“Charlie the Crocodile God says to eat or be eaten,” said Studpopper with a stupid grin on his froggy face.

“Charlie?” asked Harmony.

“His name is actually Chaka-Boogen-Baall,” said Biznap who had been watching the whole lesson with some amusement. “When we learned Galactic English from your old television shows, we found it easier to call him Charlie. He’s really more of a mythic monster representing fear of death. Not the same as this guy you call God.”

Harmony smiled at her Telleron lover. He didn’t believe as easily as she would like, but at least he was supportive.

“Are you sure that these lessons will help us deal with the Galtorrians?” asked Xiar. “I’m not sure I see the benefits.”

“Do you consider them people?” Harmony asked.

“I suppose we do,” said Farbick, “People with big teeth and scaly bodies.”

“Then they are subjects of the true God and live by his rules.”

“The rules of physics and biology,” said Farbick. “I grant you that those rules are universal.”

“The rules of God’s love are no less universal,” insisted Harmony.

“I hope you are right,” said Farbick. “It sounds like a universe we should all want to live in.”

*****

Harmony Castille the Sunday School Teacher and her husband Commander Biznap

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Filed under aliens, humor, irony, novel, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney, satire, science fiction

Tagged as Catch a Falling Star, humor, novel writing, paffooney, Stardusters and Lizard People

July 18, 2016 · 4:23 pm

Doodle-Bop!

Sometimes the only thing you really want out of life is just to get by. You get tired of always having to climb the danged highest mountain. You get tired of trying to swim the danged deepest sea.

16750_102844509741181_100000468961606_71393_6278100_n Sometimes all you want to do is doodle-bop!… To draw in pen and ink and post your derfiest doofenwacky doodles so you can just make your way through another danged day.

Cody 1

You aim a lot for different, and undeniably original… because no one thinks like you… certainly no one who is real and has a real brain. You are gifted with an “other-ness”, a sing-songy simpering something that makes you want to doodle and do what no man has done before. (Does that sentence exist anywhere else in all of literature? Even if there is some alternate dimension with infinite monkeys typing on infinite typewriters? What’s a typewriter, you say? Danged millennials!)

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I really can’t help it, you know. I was a middle school teacher for 24 years. That sort of thing has mental health consequences. And if you wring the sponges in your stupid old brain hard enough and long enough… doodle-bop! comes out.

Turtle boy’s magic iron of irony!!!

And you have to wonder why some of the stuff that is in your stupid old head is even in there. Why is it that sometimes the words “Argyle socks are filled with rocks” are drifting through the vast empty spaces in the logic centers of your brain? There has to be a reason for everything, doesn’t there?

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I do believe I have made myself chuckle at least a dozen chuck-tacular times in the chuck-a-tational crafting of this cheddar-cheesy post. But it only really counts if I can make you girlishly giggle or guy-like guffaw with my word-munching and cartoony paffoonies.

The terror-filled cartoon car chase that is life as usual.

You may have noticed that everything is black and white, even though it doesn’t have to be. Good versus evil, hot versus cold, everything can be divided up simplistically… but the really profound part of simplicity is vibrating reverberations of complexity that lie just underneath. Words have meaning, even though they are just a bunch of crooked squiggles marked on a page. (Yes, I know… “or typed on a computer screen”. Danged millennials!)

4th Dimension

And so, this is my doodle-bop! Probably not the doodliest or the boppiest doodle-bop! I could have bopped… but there it is. I have made it through another sorta creative post without losing my mind… Honest! I did not lose it. It is merely temporarily misplaced for a moment. It will be back in its proper place tomorrow… probably.

Idea Fertilizer

Picture borrowed from the North American Manure Expo’s Facebook page

This morning as I was going to QT for my daily dose of wake-up juice with caffeine in it, Jody Dean and the Morning Team on KLUV radio station were making fun of the North American Manure Expo taking place in London, Ohio this week. Jody Dean, the radio talk-show host, was suggesting that the Expo would’ve been a natural thing to host in Fort Worth because, well, Texas and cow poop just naturally go together. But it occurs to me, that this is fortuitously a part of Ohio this month because the GOP convention is taking place shortly in Cleveland, and the bull dookie won’t have to be shipped as far for that. Besides, having grown up as an Iowan, I have a farm-boy awareness of the intrinsic need for poo-poo conventions where the latest distribution technology is on display. After all, cow poo is fertilizer… it makes stuff grow.

Yesterday I was unable to write the post I had planned about the tragic police shooting in Dallas. There was a lot to write about. It was a terrible thing that affected me deeply and did considerable damage to the fight for human rights in this country and preserving the respect and dignity we owe to the men in blue who too often give their lives to keep us safe. It also gave our Lieutenant Governor Dan Patrick a chance to actually put both feet in his mouth at the same time, and for Dallas resident and former rodeo clown turned president George W. Bush to do a goofy smiley-faced dance during the playing of the Battle Hymn of the Republic while the memorial to the fallen Dallas policemen was in the middle of a rather somber occasion. Poop makes stuff grow, and that post would’ve been epic.

A project I was working on yesterday while sulking.

You see, yesterday I didn’t have the usual amount of time for writing because I had to install an air conditioner for my hot wife. It was difficult to install because the bedroom I installed it in has no regular windows. Only a window/door onto the patio. And I had to do the installing because my wife wanted to take a sledge hammer to the bedroom wall and knock out enough bricks to make a vent hole for the air conditioner. I did not want my determined little wife taking up the hammer herself, so I carefully mapped out a plan and bought supplies to cut a hole in the drywall and then jury-rig a makeshift air duct to a pre-existing hole in the brickwork. I got the hole cut in the drywall and then ran into a snag when I exposed a support beam in the way of my plan. Well, this led to a discussion of the details executed rather loudly and I believe I was compared to a donkey at least three times. We then reached a compromise (by which I mean what husbands usually mean when they use the word “compromise” which is that we did things the way my wife wanted them done. Or, rather, my wife picked up the hammer and crowbar, and I retreated to my room to sulk like a proper adult. The air conditioner is now humming. It is blowing half of the exhaust out through the space left by the two bricks she knocked out rather neatly, and the other half up through the wall into the attic. Oh, well, it works and she is happy with it. Hopefully no building inspectors read this post.

Another piece of alien art done while sulking.

The point is, cow poop happens. And cow poop is fertilizer. It makes things grow. Including ideas for posts on my blog. I was able to illustrate the Telleron alien kids from two of my novels while I was busy sulking and feeling sorry for myself. In fact, the novel Catch a Falling Star probably only exists because of Iowa and cow poop. Yes, life in farmville is resoundingly boring and uneventful, so my fertile imagination couldn’t help but make up an alien invasion of a small Iowan farming community. And my imagination was probably fertile due to so much exposure to cow poop on my grandfather’s and my two uncles’ farms. So now you know.

Doom Looms, Dear Ones

Wisdom from Pogo by the Great Walt Kelly

I get down and depressed when things continually go down hill and life becomes a depository for piles of disappointments, busted plans, and reversals of fortune. I recently got rejected again by a publisher. They told me they didn’t want my work, and subtly hinted that they really didn’t think it would be a good idea for me to submit any more to them. And this, of course, was not one of the big five. They don’t even accept submissions from a goof as lowly as me who thinks he can write stories.

I take things like that with a grain of salt anyway. Twenty years ago I was told by a published writer that my writing was good enough to be published, and that all good writing eventually gets published. But I chose the coward’s path back then, continuing to invest my time in teaching hormonal and homicidal brats to read and write English in a poverty-pocket of South Texas where they barely pay teachers anything. I chose that cowardly path because it challenged my abilities and seemed a fulfilling life… and besides, I loved working with kids. Now, my life is winding down. I am retired on a full pension which is surprisingly good compared to what most teachers get nowadays, earned at a time before the Grinch became Emperor of Texas and declared the teaching of Science and making students think were acts of pure evil. My health is failing now, and getting published in the age of the internet is now a much more iffy sort of thing where hacks can make fortunes and good writers are ignored. Even small publishers aren’t interested in my work.

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Yes, I tend to say “Gork” a lot because it doesn’t matter where I go from here. I have lived a good life. Now, as I dissolve in illness and pain and disappointment, I have no regrets. I fought the good fight and did good work. If the writing thing doesn’t do anything more for me than let me entertain myself in my last days, then that is good enough. I have one book published, and I mean to continue banging away at stories that I have always intend to tell, they will continue to exist after me, at least for a while, and will represent me well when I am gone.

kelly_pogo_earthday

So, I am bound to die, and fairly soon, and we are going to have the racist Orange King as our next President, so the economy will collapse into the pocketbooks of a handful of billionaires. Doom Looms… a phrase I borrowed from a Walt Kelly strip that cut to the heart of the matter long ago. While we live, we are all together as passengers on Spaceship Earth, and we are the only enemy available to contend with. So, instead of being bummed out about bad fortune, I choose to count my blessings and seriously contemplate what I can do to make things better… whether it is in a big way, or just a little bitty one.

Fools

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Filed under autobiography, battling depression, comic strips, education, health, irony, novel plans, Paffooney, publishing

Tagged as humor, paffooney, publishing, rejection by publishers

May 7, 2016 · 3:01 pm

Goodbye Is Bittersweet Played Pianissimo

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I have been a band parent since my eldest son entered sixth grade back in 2007. That has meant putting up with practicing that can sound like a cat who accidentally got his tail caught in a blender, driving to impossibly hard to locate high school auditoriums in time-stoppered backwaters of the DFW metroplex for obscure and inexplicable tootling contests, working at making popcorn in the concession stand to raise money for marching band, and attending football games solely for the privilege of watching the halftime show. It was hard work. It is hare-raising (I did NOT misspell that, it created rabbits, and didn’t add a single hair to my floppy mass of gray head-mold). And I am going to miss it terribly.

Wednesday night was the last concert as a band parent. My youngest, the Princess, will enter high school next year and will give up being in band for more tech-related training in Turner High School’s engineering program for high school kids. She is excited about it. Focus has already shifted. And I won’t have to pay for another horn lesson again for the rest of my life. It was a good concert. They played a medley from West Side Story, Don’t Stop Believing from Journey, and a classical piece conducted by the student teacher working with the Long band program this year. It was also the last. Another part of my life which lasted for most of the last decade has come to an end.

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Filed under autobiography, classical music, humor, irony, kids, music

Tagged as autobiography, band parent, humor, kid concerts, melancholy

March 5, 2016 · 4:50 pm

Buying a New Pony

My previous pony was also a Ford Fiesta. But a passing motorist decided to modify it drastically by ramming it in the side as he drove past our house where we had it parked. He broke the poor pony’s hind left hoof. And the insurance company decided to give it a mercy killing. Pony with a broken leg is a dead pony. Especially if replacing the back axle costs more than the book value of the car.

So, the insurance company gave me $5000 to buy a new pony. I found a 2014 Ford Fiesta through Enterprise Rent-a-Car. Car payments for five years, but lower than I was still paying on the old pony. It is nice to have wheels again. My wife rode in the car for the first time this morning. She was impressed. But she thinks I paid too much. I must agree with that because the rule is that she is a better and smarter shopper than I am. If there is to be peace in the house, then I must admit that she is right, even if she is not.

So I have a new pony. No more driving around in a chibi clown car (also from Enterprise). It drives smoothly, quietly, and easily.

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Filed under autobiography, humor, irony, Uncategorized

Tagged as humor, new car

January 27, 2016 · 4:30 pm

Time For Wasting

wonderful teaching

When I was still alive and still teaching, maximizing and managing time was an incredibly important part of the day. You had to activate learners with an attention step, a lesson focus that grabbed them. Usually that had to follow a warm-up, something you got them to do as soon as you had smiled at them at the doorway, offered to shake their hand, and then pulled them into the classroom to do some work for you. fifteen minutes at the start of the class to rev up mental engines and get the gears turning… shake out the rust and the cobwebs that accumulate the instant the final bell rang in the previous class. I timed that part of class down to the second with my pocket watch… or phone in later years. Then, once the engines started, the focus is in place, you introduce the learning objective. Never more than ten minutes… timed to the second… you give the explanation, the road map of the day ahead, the instruction. Then for the next ten to fifteen minutes you let them discover stuff. In groups, with a partner, teacher to class, student to class, or (rarely) individually, they must apply what you pointed out and figure something out. It could be complicated, but probably it was simple. All answers are welcome and accepted… because all answers will be evaluated and you learn more from wrong answers than you do from correct guesses. Evaluation comes in the five to ten minutes at the end when you evaluate. “What have I learned today?” You try your hardest to pin something new to the mental note-board hanging on the brain walls of each and every student. Depending on how much or how few minutes you are given before the final bell kills the lesson for the day, you have to put the big pink ribbon on it. That tightly-wound lesson cycle goes on all day, repeated as many times as you have classes. In that time you have to be teacher, policeman, friend, devil’s advocate, entertainer, counselor, psychotherapist, chief explainer, and sometimes God. And you time it to the second by your pocket watch.

Teacher

I miss being the rabbit holding the BIG PENCIL. Now that I am retired, I am no longer on the clock… no longer subject to careful time management. My pocket watch is broken and lying in a box somewhere in my library. I live now in non-consecutive time periods of sleep and illness and writing and playing with dolls. I have entered a second childhood now. Not really a simple one because of diabetes and arthritis and COPD and psoriasis and all the other wonderful things that old age makes possible. But a childhood free of school politics and mandates from the school board and from the State. A childhood where I can once again dream and imagine and create and play. That’s what this post is if you haven’t already figured it out. I am playing with words and ideas. They are my toys. Toys like this one;

turtleboy

This, of course, is Tim, the turtleboy of irony, holding his magic flatiron that he uses for ironing out irony. He is flattening it out now with a cartoony Paffooney and wickedly waggled words. Ironically, I have often taught students to write just like this, making connections between words and pictures and ideas through free association and fast-writing. Have you learned anything from today’s retired-teacher post? If you did, it is ironic, because you were never meant to from the start.

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Filed under humor, irony, Paffooney, teaching, Uncategorized

Tagged as focus, goofiness, humor, irony, lesson cycle, paffooney, satire, teaching, time management, writing exercise

September 10, 2015 · 3:03 pm

Reverse Humor

Have you ever noticed how Disney animated movies try to make you cry after you have been laughing for a while?

It is ironic, but true, that you have to use a little bit of the opposite to make something seem more like what it is. The sad moments in the Disney formula are there to make you see how light the lighter moments really are. The brightest light needs to be contrasted with the deepest shadow.

So, ironically, I find myself talking about irony as a story telling tool. You see it in today’s first Paffooney. In World War I pilots were usually dead if their plane was shot down. Parachutes were not invented until late in the war. Yet the pilot is giving the thumbs up sign as he sees you watching him fall to his death. Irony is the perceived twist on reality that overturns expectations and makes you severely think for yourself about what the meaning could be. Is the pilot happy because he is not the pilot of the pictured plane? Could he be the pilot who shot it down? Is it the Red Baron’s plane, forever robbing Snoopy of the ultimate opportunity? Is the pilot the Baron himself, happy to be done with his famously deadly career? Ironically, he is wearing a parachute in the painting, because ironically I didn’t look up the fact that the Frenchman, Jean Pierre Blanchard tested the first soft parachute in 1785, dropping a dog in a basket safely from high up in a hot air balloon until after I wrote the sentence about them not being invented in WWI. And ironically, they still were not commonly used by pilots in World War I because they were mostly flying a few hundred feet from the ground and parachutes rarely were able to save them that close to death. (Also, ironically, I seem to be using the word irony or its derivative parts of speech so much that the irony is lost by being made too obvious. Dang me!)

The Moose Bowling Paffooney is another example of the kind of reverse humor that I am trying to explain and confusticate today. If you can’t read the screwy legend on the swirl, it says, “Life is like Moose Bowling because… in order to knock down all the pins… and win… you have to learn how to throw a moose!” Now I know that Bullwinkle-ized moose humor is naturally funny in itself, but I believe this Paffooney uses irony to make a funny. You see, it is surprisingly the opposite of what you expect to happen when you talk about Moose Bowling (an obscure but well-loved sport in Northern Canada) and claim that you do it by throwing a moose at the pins at the business end of the bowling lane. According to http://www.cutemoose.net/moose_facts.htm, an average adult male moose weighs about a thousand pounds. He would be remarkably difficult to throw even if you could get the three finger holes successfully drilled into his antlers.

To sum up, you can plainly see that there is a real science to the use of irony in a humor blog… or maybe not… because I confess I dropped some excess irony on my left foot and nearly crushed it. I know it was irony because I saw the rust. Oh, and I forgot to add a whole nuther essay on why puns are a form of irony. Well… maybe another day.

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Filed under humor, irony, Paffooney

Tagged as goofiness, humor, irony, Moose Bowling, Paffoonies, using irony, writing humor

February 28, 2015 · 8:07 pm

Rabbit People

On days when I am still recovering from life-altering blows, I often try to find new realms, alternate realities to live in. (Retreating into a fantasy world is one of the reasons she gave for leaving.) And since, as a youth in Iowa, I raised rabbits for a 4-H project, I know rabbits better than I do human people. Rabbits are people too. So, I have been walking among the rabbit people. Seriously, bunnies are better people than most human people. They are not trying to profit off you. They are not trying to get everything they can off you. They are merely there to wiggle their whiskers, sniff for food, poop, gnaw on stuff, and make more bunnies.

I often see myself as a rabbit person. In cartoon form, I am the bunny-man teacher known to the Animal Town School System as Mr. Reluctant Rabbit.

As a teacher, I am always pulling out carrots of irony and gnawing on the ends of them in front of students. If they complain that eating food in class is supposed to be against the rules, I ask them, “Do you want a carrot of irony?”

“Oh, no, thank you sir.”

“They are good for your eyesight as well as your insight. You really ought to chew on healthier things like that.”

“Oh, no sir,” they say. “We prefer Hot Cheetos.”

And so, I taught on like that… like a rabbit, fast and frumious (a Jabberwocky sort of word), and never really bit anybody. Teaching is like that. You offer the good healthy stuff to nourish their little animal minds, and they always choose the junk food instead.

And so life goes on like that. Looking to rabbit people to ease my pain and need for good, wholesome carrots of irony.

I have started on the final edit of my novel The Bicycle-Wheel Genius. One of the main characters in the book is Tommy Bircher’s pet rabbit Millis. During the course of the story about invading aliens, Secret Agent Robots from the CIA, and making friends when you need friends, Millis is turned into a rabbit-man by a lab accident. He teaches Tommy that you don’t have to be human to be a good, caring, self-sacrificing person. He also teaches him to eat his carrots and greens like a good boy should.

So, I will spend more time with the rabbit people and heal a little bit. That is what you do with the tragedy that life brings you. You spin it into whole cloth, making humor and poetry out of everything bad that happens… wrapping yourself up in a comforting blanket of lies (you can also call those fiction stories), and eating a little chicken soup on a cold day to heal your soul. (Oh, I forget, rabbits often gag on chicken soup. Let’s make that bean soup with carrot chunks.)

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Filed under humor, irony, Paffooney, rabbit people

Tagged as artwork, colored pencil, drawings, goofiness, humor, irony, paffooney, rabbit people

Category Archives: irony

Love and Hate and Politics

Stardusters… Canto Four

Doodle-Bop!

Idea Fertilizer

Doom Looms, Dear Ones

Goodbye Is Bittersweet Played Pianissimo

Buying a New Pony

Time For Wasting

Reverse Humor

Rabbit People

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