Tuesday, May 7, 2013

2-Stepping Down Memory Lane: Thank you, THANK YOU, Professor Javier Boleyn

Every once in a while it's good to stroll, or in this case, 2-Step, down memory lane...

Then                                                         Now

Sunday, May 5, 2013

Lumbering and Logging: An Update on 2-Stepping in Eastern Oregon

My blower made a sound I'd never heard before--but then it was new to me and I couldn't be sure that the "hog-snorting" alert that was booming out of the damned thing wasn't normal.  I punched a couple buttons--"Siri, what the hey is that hog sound?" "It's the App called '2-Steppin' (® i-of-Steven) alerting you to an incoming video link..." "Are you serious?" "I'm always Siri-ous (® I-could-be-in-Siri-ous Trouble for Doing This, Inc.), Jack..." Gads, a phone with a pun-ch line, Just what I knead..."

"Jackie-boy, it is..." Why am I not surprised... "I, Professor Javier Boleyn. You have been quite the difficult subject...I mean client...to track recently." "I get around, Professor." "Yes you do, but not as much as you used to. Reports are in. In the first four months of this year, you waddled, and I will repeat waddled, 671.92 miles." "Not bad, if I say so myself. Guess I'll have a brewski..." "Hold that thought, Jack. In the first four months of last year, you did 988.73 miles, and you were sick for a month!" "But, I've been..." "The only butt that is of concern here, Jackie-boy, is the one growing behind you." "Wail! I'm trying to do better." "Yes, and I'll hand it to you, the first 5 days of May have been harkening to the past. But I've seen this behavior before. How many pounds have you lost in your life?" "Oh, I don't know. Maybe 6 or 7...hundred..." "Exactly."

 "The Scale-email (still ®Boleyn Enterprises) and the soon-to-be-patented Boleyn Enterprises Thought Interceptor (® I hope by Boleyn-Jobs Enterprises, the company every boy dreams of co-owning with a dead icon...) have been reporting on cue, Jackie-boy. The news is not good. According to independent verified and quality-assured sources, you have added approximately 0.44751 pails of LARD! to your carcass since its nadir. WHAT IS THAT ABOUT?"  "Wait, I can explain..." "I'm sure you can, Jack. You always do. Past history is neither a pleasant reminder, nor a positive presage, of what's to come if you don't start 2-Stepping (® Blah, Blah, Blah), and I mean NOW!" "Whoan!"

"Wait, how are you keeping up with me? I thought I'd given you the shake." "Well, Jackie-boy, as I mentioned, I have the Scale-email. That never really stopped. You have the same scale you had last fall, right?" "Whoan. Right." "The Thought Interceptor is a new technology I've been fiddling with. It works particularly well with certain subjects...clients [note to self: Damn. Have to quit calling paying customers subjects...] It's satellite based, of course, and it picks up emanations from simple minds--I mean simple thoughts--so it works quite well with you. You see, Jack, you aren't really ignoring your LARD! gain. You think about it constantly, so the  Thought Interceptor was able to home in on a lumbering object with the thought 'LARD!' coming form his head more-or-less constantly." "Jeesh."

"OK, Professor, I'm going to do better." "If I had a nickel for every time I'd heard that, Jackie-boy, I wouldn't have to be hanging out with the likes of you. I'd be dining on perfectly prepared bacon at the Columbian Cafe, as you apparently were when this was captured by the Rub-EYE Cam, (® SowBelly Systems, side-meat, I mean a side business of PJB Galactic Corporations, made possible by a profit-seeking collaboration with iSaint Steven, himself) " "Wail!"

Here's what it means, Jack. Get serious, and I don't mean Siri-ous! No more martinis, no more basted eggs with a half-pound of spuds. What's with that plate-o-bacon? I know Fiora didn't eat that..."

"And the beer, Jackie-boy. The beer. Remember, your Sole-sister will be watching and reporting." "Sole-sister?"
"Yes, Jackie-boy, another invention. Implants in the soles of all your shoes that tattle on you like a little sister. Say, aren't those your shoes in the Bull ridge?" "Whoan..."