Pizza Pranks #1

Establishing goals is all right if you don't let them deprive you of interesting detours. ~Doug Larson

If you establish pizza as your dinner, you establish it as a goal, yes?

Which is alright. If you don't let it deprive you of interesting detours. Any experienced mischief maker will tell you that pranks are (at the very least) interesting detours.

So cometh a series of posts. I call "101 ways to make life miserable, Oops! I mean interesting, for pizza boys." By writing this series, I hope to provide some excitement in dreary routine. I promise to fill your mind with some delightful ideas which can be practised on your local pizza person.

Let's establish that by pizza boy, I mean the-person-who-shows-up-at-the-door-bearing-Italian-bread-circles-topped-with-tomato-sauce-and-other-such-deliciousness, be they man, woman, boy, or girl.

The inspiration for this fantastic scheme was provided when, two days ago, we ordered out for pizza and the world's Most Boring Pizza Dude in the history of the universe delivered the food.
Bracie, Gabby, and I looked long and hard at each other and decided that something had to change. Break the monotony! Salvage these humans from dullness! Provided a spark of hilarity!

You. Be the change. When I post Pizza Pranks, dare to detour! Hurrah! Huzzah! And all that.

Monday's Idiom

"Selling coals to Newcastle"

Meaning something that is entirely unnecessary, historically Newcastle being rich in coal.

However, Timothy Dexter, Author of A Pickle for the Knowing Ones or Plain Truth in a Homespun Dress(which contained some 8000 words and not a mark of punctuation in it. When it was ridiculed, he published another edition with the addition of a page bearing thirteen lines of random punctuation marks and the request that readers, " peper and solt it as they plese.")American Entrepreneur, and Lackwit Extraordinaire, defied this idiom when, using his newly valuable fortune in continental currency and relying on the advice of jealous friends, he bought a large amount of coal and sent it to Newcastle. Fantastically luckily, the shipments arrived in the middle of a Newcastle coal miners' strike.

Especially considering his almost nonexistent education, his business luck was incredible. Those same "friends" told him that there was a shortage of warming pans and mittens in the West Indies. The warming pans were then marketed by a resourceful Captain as molasses ladles and Dexter made a surprising profit. The mittens were sent to Siberia, also raking in unexpected profit. Other random items he exported are stray cats and whalebone.

So, what's the moral of the story? I think there are two:

#1. God really does use the foolish and the weak.

Once again, on the advice of his friends, (Does this guy ever learn? But ignorance seems to be working for him.) he sent a large shipment of Bibles to the East Indies, where they were sold and distributed.
#2. You can be successful without intelligence, but people will still laugh at you. Despite his success, Dexter was widely and deservedly ridiculed for his ignorance. (Ahem, see above example about his book, A Pickle for the Knowing Ones.)

The Latest to Today Show #1

This is the first airing of the fantastic new show, "The Latest to Today Show." The Latest to Today Show exists to show you the very latest in music today. Surprise! (Hope you caught the sarcasm there and don't forever write me off as a repetitive writing writer.)
As Seventhhand Serenade: Ophelia
As her voice: Bracie
As the camera crew: Bracie

P.S. This video very well may have a distinct flavor of parody. Bracie heard fragments of this song on the radio and was struck by its... brilliance.

P.P.S. I have plenty more of these episodes up my sleeve, (Featuring New -and- Exciting Artists!) that is, if anyone so desires to see them.

Book Recommendation #1: Leave It to Psmith

I must say I have always had a sort of unhealthy disrespect for bloggers who write book reviews. This is a very negative aspect of my character and in the past, when I have debated with myself whether or not to write a book review, the negative aspect has always conquered.
But after reading Leave It to Psmith, I have overcome my unhealthy disrespect in my eagerness to share my new favorite book.

Leave It to Psmith is written by Pelham Grenville Wodehouse. I can't exactly imagine why any reasonably sane mother would wish to burden her poor child with a name like that, but P.G. Wodehouse has overcome it, I believe. Anyway, listen to this wonderful advertisement that Psmith puts in the paper, and if you aren't enthralled, I shall think less of you than I did before:

LEAVE IT TO PSMITH!

Psmith Will Help You

Psmith Is Ready For Anything

DO YOU WANT

Someone To manage you affairs?

Someone To Handle Your Business?

Someone To Take The Dog For A Run?

Someone To Assassinate Your Aunt?

PSMITH WILL DO IT

CRIME NOT OBJECTED TO

Whatever Job You Have To Offfer

(Provided It Has Nothing To Do With Fish)

LEAVE IT TO PSMITH!

Address Applications To 'R. Psmith, Box 365

LEAVE IT TO PSMITH!

Now doesn't that absolutely capture your intrest? This is the most absolutely hysterical book I have ever read.

P.S. By they way, "The p is silent, as in pthisis psychic, and ptarmigan"

The First episode in the Chronicles of Miss Penelope Faullty

Inspector Winderby: (wearily) “Suspect number fourteen, please come forward. Name, please?”
Penelope: (brightly)“Miss Penelope Alexandria Juliana Faullty. With two l’s if you please.”
Inspector Winderby: (automatically) “Miss Faullty, can you supply any information regarding this recent unpleasant business?”
Penelope: (uncertainly) “Must I tell the truth?”
Inspector Winderby: (incredulously) “That, Miss, is why you were sworn in!”
Penelope: (doubtfully) “I raised my left hand instead of my right. Doesn’t that make a difference?”
Inspector Winderby: (sternly) “Not in the least!”
Penelope: (reluctantly) “Well, (sniff) it was… (sniff) me.”
Inspector Winderby: (loudly) “You! What did you say your name was?”
Penelope: (slowly) “Miss Penelope Alexandria Juliana Faullty. With two L’s.”
Inspector Winderby proceeds to attempt to put handcuffs on Penelope.
Penelope: (tearfully) “Handcuffs! The idea of putting handcuffs on a lady. You will make me cry!” Penelope begins to sniffle profusely.
Inspector Winderby: (unsympathetically) “Fancy calling a confessed murderer a lady. A lady spends her time doing much more charitable things than committing murder.”
Penelope: (indignantly) “You are taking an unstable position on the conduct of ladies. In not so many words: you are quite wrong. They kill people all the time; it is merely that they are excellent at putting the blame on somebody else.”
Inspector Winderby: (severely) “Er… never mind all that. Why did you kill Miss Charity Ellison?”

Dadism #1

This is the first of the new and absolutely entrancing series called, "Quotes from my dad. " Yes, I know that these expressions and phrases are not exclusive to my beloved parent, but for most part, I've only heard them from him.

Today's featured phrase is (drum roll please...)

"Don't quit your day job."

This remark is usually said after a performance of some kind. The most common performance around our insane asylum, excuse me, I meant house involves funky dance moves, and/or wacky and off-key karaoke. Dad says, "Nice, kids, but don't quit your day job."

I find myself using our featured expression about this blog, because I'm not making $40,000 a month like whatever that lady's name is. If I was, I'd certainly quit my day job, which happens to be the dull and monotonous vocatiaon of Alpaca Pasture maintanence. If you are not quite sure what this means, let me un-elaborate. I means I scoop poop. Alpacas are fuzzy little animals sort of like minature lamas. See Amy's Blog. I say "Alpaca Pasture Maintainer" when people ask what I do because it sounds a bunch better than, "Poop Scooper" Oh well. I wish I could quit my day job.

The Reluctant Dragon Fan Club

Bright lights flood the stage, the only spot of light in the huge auditorium. Ophelia, standing forlornly behind the podium, clears her throat, squints, and peers nervously out at the rows and rows of seats, scanning them for any human being. Her eye rests upon two, the first being her dear sister Bracie, in the first row, cheering her on complete with a foam finger that has "The Reluctant Dragon!!!" scribbled on it with a black marker. The second, she at first took to be a bundle of rags, but then realized it was a tramp who had fallen asleep in the seats.
Ophelia croaks, coughs and begins to speak:
"Welcome to the first meeting of The Reluctant Dragon Fan club! I am Ophelia, the writer of, you know... the blog thing."
The tramp grunts, rolls over and starts snoring.
"It's... There's not a very large, um turn out today, but it's only the first meeting, right? Right? Oh look! I think I see someone in the back! Come forward. We have plenty of seats in the front."
Ophelia grins and waves excitedly and wildly. Nothing happens. Ophelia whips out a pair of binoculars, and then slowly lets them down. They clunk on the stage and echo through the empty auditorium.
"It was a pop machine. Hee Hee! I thought a pop machine was a person. Ha Ha Ha Ha!"
Ophelia starts laughing hysterically. Bracie looks worried, and drags her off the stage. The first meeting of The Reluctant Dragon Blog Fan Club is adjourned.