2008 Rememberance

.................. Ruprecht ( They have STOPped )

The Mole In The Ministry

Click on image if too small to enjoy .....

................ Ruprecht ( STOP )

Merry Christmas .....

................... Ruprecht ( STOP )

Whatteryamean you can't read it?!? Click the images, already .....

I'ven't Ever .....

I don’t know ...

I don’t know who The Raskins are.

I don’t know who their kids are.

As far as I know, I’ve’n’t met a Raskin ever in my lifetime. Nor bumped into one. Nor seen their name anywhere in any of my missives.

But ... The Raskin's Christmas greeting is now nestled snugly within the purview of our own personal cards and letters from friends, family, outlaws and acquaintances.

And, to be sure, we will be sending The Raskins one of ours.

..................... Ruprecht ( STOP )

That ‘Ole Christmas Spirit

Rupe had the most high-larious post office encounter at the tail end of the morning this morganin’.

Whilst walking back to the car after postificationizing, Rupe crossed paths with an Oriental lady that was on her way in. She was dressed in a warm coat, white skirt and be-booted in calf-high black boots. I glanced at her and smiled and kept walking toward my car.

As I approached the car, out from some parking lot bushes came an old gentleman who suddenly yelped out:

“Ooooooooo-eeeeeeeeeeeee Uffff ... !!!”

and gave an arm-cock gesture to further punctuate his outburst.

“That makes me think of sex right there!” he further exclaimed.

I saw him immediately when he made his first exclamation. I gazed along his line of sight to what the source of his outburst was.

But of course: 'Twas the eye-spying of Bootsy Lady.

I laughed my butt off, though discretely. I wish I had had my camera at that very moment.

I watched him as he stopped in front of the post office, waiting for Bootsy Lady to enter. I just knew he was in hope of opening the door for her. She finally did enter, but through an all-together different route.

A few seconds later, however, Bootsy came out, with the man not far behind, burning holes in the back of her no doubt. My chance to snap shots.

The United States Post Office. Not necessarily the dread locale many believe it to be .....

.................... Ruprecht ( STOP )


"... It came without ribbons, It came without tags, It came without packages, boxes or bags. Christmas can't be bought from a store ...
Maybe Christmas means a little bit more ..."

- Dr. Seuss

A New Kind Of Kick

Well … I’m confused.

Confused by the container above.

You see, I have always considered the word “shredded” the inflected form of the verb “shred”. Shredded - as in having come apart or having been broken up in some way, shape or manner … to tatter, to fragment. You know, like shredded cheese (cheese that has been processed into willowy little pieces in order to be more easily worked with when cooking or preparing something as opposed to a big ‘ole hunka cheese) or shredded beef (which has been pulled apart into small pieces to be applied to a specific recipe).

Apparently, I was wrong. “Shredded” is a type of taste it seems – fresh shredded taste. Something of which I hadn’t heretofore been aware. It appears I have been living in a cave – in the dark, dank bowels of a cave, to be exact - beneath moldy, moist rocks.

“Shredded”. It’s evidently a taste, not a processed action. To wit, a specific taste. The taste of “shred”.

And, in this particular case, it’s the taste of “fresh”.

Fresh. Shredded. Taste.

Pepsi, to me tastes like mold. Many of you know this about me. I am constantly asked if I eat mold on a regular basis when asked why I don’t like Pepsi. No … I do not eat mold as a habit. Nevertheless, Pepsi tastes like mold to me.

Shredded? I have no idea what it tastes like. I’ve never tasted “shred” or “shredded” before, but it seems that I have, unknowingly, as I’ve sprinkled the above cheese on my pasta in the past. And it’s got “fresh shredded taste”. So I must have an idea, an inkling, of what "shredded" tastes like … right?

There are millions of us out there who will be mortified to learn that when it comes to our commonality in understanding the word “shred” and its connotations, said commonality has been vastly altered.

And by the DiGiorno people, no less.

And I am dismayed.

So .... get me the number to the Oxford English Dictionary and a contact name of someone over there I can whine at. That person owes me an explanation.

With my luck, that person'll be tellin' me "shred" has something to do with snowboarding .....

........................... Ruprecht ( STOP )

I am a man of no convictions. At least, I think I am.
- Christopher Hampton, British dramatist

"Mom ... The Back Seat's Prickly ..."

You know it’s a Christmas beneath the cover of an economic depression …



…when people’re so poor they can’t afford rope or twine to tie their trees to the tops of their cars.

……………………. Ruprecht ( STOP )