I Can't Remember the Best Parts

All I remember about last night’s dream was the worm.  That is too bad, because I vaguely remember that I did some really fun stuff.  Maybe I told Richard Branson “No thanks” when he offered me a trip on his space rocket.  Maybe Marisa Tomei read to me from The Aeneid while I ate grapes until I got bored and grilled us some steaks.  “Arma virumque cano,” as they say.

Har har har…..

Who knows?  Anything could have been in that dream, but all I remember is the worm. 

I had a sort of sore on my wrist.  It was open and a little wiggly worm was sticking out of it.  I pinched at it, but I couldn’t get it out.  A little while later I noticed a huge open sore in the crook of my left elbow, and there was a great big worm poking in and out of it. 

It had a human face, but it wasn’t anybody you know. 

Anyway, this was a pretty arrogant worm.  It kept jumping out of my arm and trying to bite me in the eye.  I found this aggravating. 

Pretty soon I hit upon a plan.  I pretended I wasn’t watching the worm so it would try to sneak up on me and bite my eye.  Pretty soon it fell for my little trick.  I was able to quickly grab it by its neck and pull it out.  I threw it on the floor.  It was about as long as my arm.  I thought about stomping on it, but then figured that since it wasn’t in my arm anymore what did I care.

Sounds a little like a nightmare, huh?  It wasn’t.  It was just an aggravating worm in my arm that tried to bite my eye.  I dealt with it.

Here’s a Blob Fish.

FtH plays at Cole’s tonight at 9:00!  After that comics!  Yeah!

Big Appletini

Kitties!

I know by now that you know by now that Your Olde Pal Foz was in Tennessee a couple of weeks ago.  But you missed out on another post because Your Hero spent this past weekend in New York City.

That's another reason why my life is sweet.  I was still scratching the chiggers picked up in the most remote place east of the Mississippi River when my profession took me to Park Avenue.

I did not have an appletini.  I drank whiskey.  Whiskey, the drink of adult drinkers.  A cocktail as American as Olde Tanglefoot.  The blood of the grain.

It occurred to me that to drink whiskey East of The Park is to fulfill the great American Heritage bestowed to us by those visionary patriots who, noticing a foul-smelling stream leaking from the bottom of a rotten pile of corn, thought to themselves, "You know what?  I believe I'll drink that."

I get emotional just thinking of it.

Oh, you know what?  Your Good Buddy Larry is laid up for repairs this week, so you won't see him at Cole's tonight.  Send Larry good thoughts, and buy him a drink and then drink it for him.

Foz and Patrick will both be at Cole's tonight before they go to The Whistler to see The Sweats play music!

Gone to Shiloh

Babies,

As you know Your old Pal Foz has a real life job as a historian.  Since The People have demanded that I go to their Shiloh National Military Park this week to talk about history, I will not be at Cole's this Wednesday.

Strangely, neither will Larry or Patrick be at Cole's.  They have their reasons.

In the meantime, here is a picture of Foz and Patrick and Abe at AB(e)DUCTION: The Honest Abe Art Show at Cole's

So enjoy Cole's Comedy Open Mic this Wednesday night, and Foz the Hook will see you again on April 11.

Also, this is good.  See Elton John did a Shiloh song.  Everybody does it.  Why don't you?  Scared?