that was a parody of razor blade commercials. It featured a (then) non-existent blade called the "triple track". The Gillette Trak-II or Shick Super 2 were the cutting edge (pun unintentional, but detected in process) technology in blades at that time. I found it funny, because even as a kid, years before - in the 60s - I had wondered, and discussed with friends in school, how they were ever going to keep coming up with something new in razor blades. The Trak II and its imitators had been around a couple years, and it seemed we had come to the "end of history" as far as razor blade technology was concerned. In retrospect, I think this skit was probably a big thorn in the side of the razor blade companies, because it made a joke out of what they had planned for the following year. Most likely, in secret council, they took the decision to delay the release of the triple blade for several years, until the memory of the Saturday Night Live skit had faded among the general populace.

In jeans, a twenty-seven/thirty-six
once fit; but that was long ago. Then, soon,
I buttoned up a twenty-eight - and those
I wore for quite some time. Then twenty-nine
became the size I used for days on end.
It seems that as the years went by my stay
at each successive size was shorter than
the last; but then I managed for a while
to stanch the growth at waist size thirty-three.
I held there for a decent span of days,
but buttons burst, and could no longer hold
me in. Now, though the length remains the same
at thirty-six, the waist continues on
its outward march; and I now have to buy
my Levi 501s in thirty-four.

a beer, is utterly mad. I believe they deserve the DEATH PENALTY for their madness. That's my opinion, so FUCK EVERYONE ELSE.

Thank you, and good night.

The telephone, which quietly lies untouched
upon the desk that only this year I built
because my wife created too many stacks
of junk and papers strewn all about, above
and - yes, it's true though I blush to tell - below
the table which had stood in this space before,
seems useless, but connects to the internet,
so thus retains a true purpose after all.

Tired people, though now burdened by the haze of weary
living, call to mind some frozen images and, thinking
not so clearly,
of their salad days, can still recall the most important
details of those moments that still interest them and matter
to them dearly.

A score are due tomorrow at my house.
The turkey's in the fridge. The rain that came
the last few days is leaking through the roof.
It's leaking like a blasted sieve, and yet,
the party must go on. I hope it stops
before the guests arrive at two o'clock.

George Bush, with his usual smirk,
said, "Our workers have plenty of work",
and, "Our children is learning",
and, "The war's tide is turning".
Screw him. What a big, fucking jerk.

I still use my turntable, and my needle went bad last week, so I ordered one from the wonderful information superhighway of Al Gore, and it arrived in time for me to play records with our dinner. It has the 78 needle on the other side if you flip it. Which leads to another thing, which I was discussing with my wife...I came from a family of 5 children. When that happens, you often create your own reality of misinformation among yourselves. (Stick with me - this is germane to your original post). Anyway, all of us kids decided that LP (which was on one side of those "flip" needles) stood for "left pin". (Since one side had to be right and the other left). I think I believed this until I was about 25. Some of my siblings proabably still think that's what LP stands for.

It is the the insincere, boiler plate apology that is the loser. It is analagous to the situation with those types of Christians who offend, then say "I accept Jesus", and in their legalistic interpretation of scripture believe that the mere stating of such absolves them of all sin, error, or wrongdoing. In public life, too many people have found it too easy just to say they are sorry, when their actions show they don't really mean it. The apology has become too cheap and meaningless these days. Perhaps this will SAVE the true apology, and rid us of the cheap one.

like Cock Diddler, or Titty White, or some shit like that. National TV annoucers pretend not to notice, and say stuff like "I was talking to him before the game and Cock says he really has his boys up for the series".

People on the Left and Right will complain endlessly about how much they hate big government. Yet virtually 100% of the population will willingly acquiesce to having the government tell them it is noon when it is really an hour before noon. If you live anywhere in the vicinity of a rooster (that's a cock for you Brits - we're too babyish for that word in America), you know what folly DST is.

Mrsgwbsamoron requested a special dinner, so I made a Belgium Endive and Tomato Salad with a Balsamic Roquefort Vinaigrette with Pecans and Dill and bits of crumbled Roquefort. I also made a plain Baked Potato - she wanted a fancier starch but I told her I didn't have time with the salad and main dish. For the main dish I made New York Pepper steaks with Crimini Mushrooms, Garlic, and a Cream Sauce with Saffron and Dill.

We had a Champagne Cocktail to start. Then, with dinner we had this Torres Sangre de Toro wine, which is just okay, but, very importantly to mrsgwbsamoron, now comes with a little plastic bull, which she loves, and thinks will be great for potential crafting.

After finishing dinner and wine, we polished off whatever champagne was left. Now I am working on some bourbon.

I was about 8-9 years old (I'm 47 now). My sister came to the house one evening accompanied by this guy (John Mayall) in a huge coat. He didn't say much to anybody; just kind of grunted, then made his way to the piano. He then hunched over the piano, almost completely hidden by the coat, and quietly played. My sister explained to my parents, who thought the guy was rude, that he was a musician and had a show that night, and always acted that way before a show.

"You go on ahead while I give these two a lift".

I was just thinking along these lines today. I know a lot of people with various shades of
non-stellar past activities in their background - and the Congress of the United States makes them all look like saints. How can this be? Is there something about the desire for political power that insures that the person seeking it will be a pervert or a creep? None of the terrible bosses I've complained about in 30 years in the workforce has held a candle to - apparently - the average politician as far as corruption is concerned.