Last Night

I was told by Ken Mullins' yappy little grandson who is constantly bugging me when he comes to visit that "Last Night" is the title of a song by a band called the STOKES, and that this will cause confusion for anyone trying to GOGGLE this entry. As far as I can tell, most webblogreaders are up on all the latest goggle information, so I'm not too worried about anyone confusing me for any STOKES song.

Last night was bingo night at the facility, hosted as always by Herman Wilson. He does a mean Fonz impression, but this inevitably leads to confusion, as everyone thinks that another "AAAAYYY!" ball has come up. Anyway, Mrs. Glickman won the first two games as usual, people let her win I think because her husband choked and died on a piece of steak in the facility dining hall two months ago, a fact I dutifully reported to my son Ed as an assessment of the conditions of this facility as it compares to somewhere like, oh, say, the Helmsford Arms, but all Ed wanted was to ask more questions about the deceased! There are cultures that believe that once a person is dead they are not to be spoken of ever again, almost as if they never existed in the first place. Well I'm sure myself and the 149th Infantry killed most of them off in DubyaDubya Two, not ever seeing this future consequence of when I'm trying to get my successful son to start sharing the success that I was such a large part of. The forgotten dead culture probably would have been big. Scientology big. But DubyaDubya Two were some crazy times for which no one could be reasonably judged for their actions. Even those of us who hung bricks from the penises of our captives had our reasons. You had to be there.

So when it became clear that, once again, the fix was in for Mrs. Glickman, I did what any curious player would do and switched boards with her when she was swallowing one of her pills. Sure enough, I won! Herman Wilson looked uncomfortable about the whole thing, but I told him that I would be as gracious a winner as ever, and proceeded to thank everyone who'd played any part in my being at that Bingo game at that particular time, especially my son Ed who chose this facility over far superior facilities, where the bingo boards are probably laser lighted like they do to the bowling alleys now. Why in my day a laser light anywhere near you meant that Charlie had his sights set and was ready to shoot your block off, but what can I say? These kids don't understand history. I can say that.

Next time I win at bingo, I hope Mrs. Hairston is there. I'm smitten with her and would like her to see what an alpha dog I am in Meeting Room C.

what have we come to?

Greetungs fellow webloggers and webreaders, one and all. About a week ago, on my perfunctuory Sunday phone call to my highly successful son Edward Bernsley (perhaps you've read some of his news articles, if not you need to learn your history young man, my generation didn't lay face down in the mud at Iwo Jima so you could watch the latest STRONG RAD performance!)...but where was I? Ah yes. My son Ed Bernsley (see: Iwo Jima) was feeding me his usual monosyllabic responses even though I paid for his college and never asked for a dime back I just wanted to see him be a success because his old man had sacrificied a lot probably more than he should of...so he mentioned that he had started a weblog. Naturally I inquired as to the semantic origins of this term, at which point he yelled an obscenity at Joey and hung up by accident. It happens, I just wish it didn't happen every other week when I'm about to request a transfer to another superior nursing facility (see: sacrifices made, face down in mud, etc.) Well, my weekly bridge game wasn't for another hour, so off I hobbled to the nearest computron. First I tried the one at the front desk, where I learned a lot I didn't know about my facility mates (Mr. Bates has a prosthetic face?) before the nurse pointed me in the direction of the inferior INMATES computron. In my day I would have insisted that her lack of testicles and overabundance of vagine dictated that she was not of proper stock to use the best computron, but ever since they upped my Wellbutrin I just don't have it in me. So when I learned of weblogging, I immediately decided that I wanted to be a part of this latest craze since I had so much fun with the macareno. I consulted every online university that I could find looking for a program that offered a weblogging degree, but no such luck! I called Ed from the nearest pay telephone because we're only allowed to use the desk phone for local calls at this facility, at Helmsford Arms they can call anywhere anytime for one low monthly rate but Ed decided this facility was better, I don't know why and I'd like to talk to him about it sometime. But I called him and asked how he obtained his weblogging degree, and he smartassteckly said that anyone could have a weblog with no degree required. Even Joey has a weblog! In my day, this kind of willy-nilly loser take all self-expression would've meant the Japs won, but here I am in my Members Only slippers weblogging without the slightest training. What times are these. Where are my pants?