FINALLY WE LOOK INTO PAJAMAS

Since I, Raker, WCC’s 'sometime friend,’ am substituting,I wonder why this pajama-named blog has so little about pajamas . Also, I’m wondering how come the URL spells monoblogs without the “b,” as “monologs.” My guess is that WCC worked far into the first night to get this site launched. Being even groggier than usual, he just forgot the ‘b.’ Good thing he didn’t forget his pajamas. (He writes in a computer store window where he moonlights as a dummy.) Or, if you prefer, he IS a dummy, who doubles as a writer. I am not worried if he sees this. I get automatically fired whenever he gets back into town.

But I owe it to you, and to those professors of the future who will get million-dollar grants to research the lack of pajama facts herein. Worries me that this is far from the least vital subject which gets funded by giveaway money. But here is my unfunded attempt to remedy WCC’s ‘unfair labeling.’ I hope something I do will satisfy the hungry pajamophiles.

I know that in old movies everyone wore pajamas if they were in the same scene with the opposite sex. If women got up to answer a phone they instantly put on a bathrobe. We guess those old dial phones let in some cold drafts. In new movies adult pajamas are seldom seen, except on grandpas, (thankfully.) I have seen many cute “dorm pajamas’ for sale at Walmart. But my request to look into what college girls wear in the dorms is still pending, as it has been for several years. The Campus Police gave better service than the administration, however, when they called me in to discuss it. So I can’t see a thing from the 500 feet I am required to keep away.

I also know that in most hospitals you can’t wear pajamas. “Gap-View Gowns” are the uniforms of the sick. That’s so that nurses don’t have to paw around for a landing place to use for “shot spots." The health workers’ credo is “We open you up and see clear INSIDE you. So why worry if everyone else sees the OUTSIDE of you?" Makes you think that doctors and such don’t care about dignity...UNTIL you call one “Doc." He instantly looks very dignifed. “That’s Doc-TOR, Buster!" Best not to irritate anyone who holds the power of life and death over you, like doctors. Or waiters -- who are alone with your food.

Good news though. I saw that some British hospitals are using gowns with slits on the side to hide the split in the rear. Much better, but still the breeze can slip in and flop the flaps in a game of peekaboo. All of a sudden you are attracting the same attention as those slit-skirted women in Saigon bars.

But for the rest of us, the cry of the patient is still heard:

“Hey Nurse -- My gown has no rear end back there!”
“Hmm,” she says, I’ll take look.” She does, and laughs.
“Nope. You’re wrong. I saw a lotta rear end back there!”

-- The End. (A subject I just tried to cover.) --

FUNNY SIGNS OF THE TIMES and Other Times

I enjoy those outdoor church signs. If they’re not too wordy and I’m not driving too fast I have time to read the whole sign. I laugh so hard at the really funny ones it wiggles the steering wheel. So it’s no longer just the sign that’s funny, my driving becomes funny. But a cop wouldn’t think so.

Here’s one that got me gurgling by surprise: “Try Jesus. If you don’t get along together the Devil will always take you back.”

Instead of my long list, I’m betting I’ve stimulated you into remembering your own favorites. If so, let us hear 'em in the comments section.

There are at least two kinds of funny communications. FIrst are statements that are intended to be funny, like the above. But often even funnier are statements meant to be serious that get twisted into the opposite. Just a bit of inept wording can do it. “We chose our winner due to her poise and personality.” That looked OK when typed on the speaker’s notes. But hearing it left the audience wondering who and how died because of her lethal personality . Best to read aloud stuff you mean to be spoken unless you’re aiming for that kind of a laugh.

Foreign language throws humor curves at us too. I once was in a Germanic-mock-up Rathskellar Tavern. I decided to forego drinking and just ate the peanuts. No desire to open up the wrong restroom door until I figured out the ‘Damen and Herren” signs. I tried using ‘reason,’ like our teachers tried so hard to instill in us. It worked, but backward ... “Herren’ had “Her” in it. And any mobster might dash through the other door he read as “Da Men.” Poor jerk.. Cuz dose men wasn’t in dere.

But the church signs will have to do until the once-famed but now almost forgotten Burma Shave road signs come back. Driving across the USA before the interstates replaced our more leisurely highways, you’d find them. Sets of separate signs spaced for easy reading of a poetic phrase at a time. They were ever-changing. Written by clever, even brilliant rhymesters. Here is one I saw blooming among the prairie wildlflowers of southern Wyoming:

SPRING HAS SPRUNG
THE GRASS HAS RIZ
WHERE LAST YEAR’S
CARELESS DRIVERS IS.

...were the first four signs. Then always ending with
the last sign: BURMA SHAVE.

Hoping that even if you’re too young to shave you pay heed to the first four signs. Then you might live to BE old enough!

HOW TO MAKE YOURSELF IMMUNE FROM BEDBUGS

Some of you will be sorry to hear that blogger WCC is off on a trip again. Some of you WON'T be sorry that I, 'Raker', am back, judging by the raves I got when I filled in before. Not bragging. I was raved at by several of WCC's followers.

As for the title of Bedbug Immunity, I confess that was a ploy to pole-vault into higher Search Engine Ratings. But so as not to disappoint any reader who is "itching" to know, here's the secret: To avoid becoming a Slurpee to a bedbug, or messed with by anything (or anybody) that craves to cozy up to you in the night, try this: Sleep completely zipped up IN A BODY BAG. If you are into multi-tasking and want to sleep and breathe at the same time, a couple of soda straws up the nostrils should suffice. But don't worry -- the odds of one or two bedbugs finding the straw holes and sliding down inside are too big (and ghastly) to even consider.

With my "bait promise" fulfilled, I'll move on. Stop cheering! I mean move on in subject matter, not move away!. But I sense your preference to hear about WCC, your spoiled, and perhaps soiled, little favorite, so I'll spill the beans. Or "flop the frijoles," to fake a bit of Southwestern lingo. But WCC is rather a messy eater. Instead of a BIB, his momma made him wear a MOP.

No driving the Ozark-Okie-Texas Autobahn for him this time. He flew on the modern travelers' magic carpet -- a cutrate ticket. That means he won't be needing the heavy-duty forklift he used at those Fast n' Friendly Food-filled Diners on the roadsides. Just a tweezerful of peanuts (maybe) for each coach passenger. And free drinks IF you retained a cheekful at the water fountain back at the terminal. Sure keeps airliner restroom traffic down.

Why subject himself and his wife to this? Mainly to jump up and irritate other patrons by yelling "Groovy!" when their violinist daughter goes into a soft and sensitive passage Amazing how that girl transforms a piece of 18th century wood, horsehair and rosin-on-a-stick so magically to life! Almost as ear-opening as a jalapeno on a stick ... IF you accidentally shove it in your ear. No, they don't serve those hot peppers at classical music concerts even in Texas -- no matter how hard LBJ and G.W. Bush legislated for them.

I'll be back to fill you in, or UP, on more of WCC's adventures. For now, we can just imagine him bursting with pride as the other concertgoers point him out as the father of the brilliant violinist. "Which one is her dad?" asks one guy. "Oh," says his wife, "I believe he's the one wearing the mop."

Thanks for listening to me -- and for thinking of WCC. -- Raker.

Old Geezer recalls "The Daisy Air Rifle Handbook."

I'm feeling the POWER! You know, like the strange but exciting power of 'being in someone else's house and free to poke around, open all the cabinets and peek inside. Even rearrange things at my will.

No, I'm not a burglar. It's just me, Raker, the guy WCC trusted(maybe a bit naively) to take care of his PJ Monoblogs while he hit the road on a short bit of business.

But he didn't reckon on how lazy I am. If not, maybe I'd have my own blog. What's the diff if I do his or mine for nothing? Anyway, I know an old guy, call him "Geezer," who lived some funny stories. His motto is "Been There, Done That, Even CAUSED some of it." Here is one from right after World War II. His tale is in progress, as he is muttering to himself. Let's join him.

"...and in those days kids were thrilled that real toys had started to come back. So were makers of toys, like the famous Daisy brand of air rifles. Naturally I had to send 50 cents for a copy of an exciting fat little publication called "The Daisy Red Ryder Handbook." Or similarly titled. It featured the cartoon cowboy whom their best-selling rifle was named for. It was full of he-man outdoor lore like how to shoot safely, (so you don't put your eye out.) But Mom told you that, so it added all kinds of other neat stuff boys wonder about. Excluding girls.

We played in the alleys back in Denver, and I was sitting on the ashpit out back reading that book. I'd already learned from it how to lasso fenceposts, then moving objects riding bikes. I was so good at that I got into trouble roping a kid we called "The Shrimp". He was riding his new bike past me, and when he went down like a baby calf, he dented the fake gas tank and hurt himself a bit. I was sorry, and was MADE to 'treat him nice from now on or you're gonna git it!'

Then here came Shrimp that day, and taking advantage of my pledge to 'be his friend' said "Whatcha readin'?" So I showed him several pages. "Wow! Neat!" He seemed to sense its ability to rid any 'sissy tendencies' out of even kids like himself. "Tell me some of the good parts," he begged. In the back of the book Daisy must have realized that modern kids who like cowboys also crave info about modern things...like the Atomic Bomb. It had exploded into reality recently, and how a thing so powerful was made was still a blank in peoples' minds. So, being proud of what I'd just learned about the awesome weapon's inner workings. I enjoyed playing teacher to a willing and impressionable subject like The Shrimp.

Then, down the alley kicking a can came Kenny. He was bigger,tougher, and tended to become a bully whenever his short attention span overcame his boredom of being civil. "What you doing on that ashpit? Readin' BOOKS?" spat Kenny. Actually spitting, and a bit too close to us. He always had lots of spit, and used it to make statements. Both the mental and wet kinds. We could see he was going straight into bullying that day. "I wanna see what yer readin'. Gimme that book." He grabbed it quick as a snake. He gave a fast flip through the pages. "Maybe I'll borrow this and take it home to read myself." Just as I thought "Goodbye book," The Shrimp stepped right up to Kenny. "Listen you," he said louder than we'd ever heard him, "You'd better not mess with us anymore!" "Oh yeah? Why?" said Kenny wearing a confident sneer. "Cuz WE know how to make an ATOM BOMB, that's why!"

Kenny stared for a second, then tossed the book back to me. "I was just kiddin' anyway." Then he turned and trotted a bit faster back up the alley. Poor guy must have thought he was intimidating enough to become the target of another Manhattan Project!

End of story. That's all from The Geezer. And me too this time. C.U. -- Raker

GHOST WRITER for the Spook Who writes this blog.

Hi friends and followers of PJ Monoblogs. I'm known as "Raker." Since our 'Roving Riter' is roving over the roads on a several-day trip to Texas, I will be Guest-Blogger until he comes back. So you could say I will be filling in for him while he fills himself in with "road food." Not the cheaper kind he finds (or causes) lying on the road, but the kind you buy from "America's Roadside Diners." If I know him, and I have for years, he will resume his lifelong quest for the elusive rarity of "An Unhealthful Food He Doesn't Love."

I prepared myself for this (unpaid) job by studying the comments he gets. I also linked to many of the blogs the commentators produce. Nice to find not only good sense but good senses of humor mixed in. Plus so many followers of this show themselves to be members of what WCC gets accused of: “WORDSMITHERY." And you count whether a creator or an appreciator of "writing that leaps and cavorts like a cage of demented, mischievous monkeys." Not always enlightening to read, won't earn you a college degree or a CEO job, but at least keeps you from falling asleep. Heck, I haven't been able to sleep ever since I started reading these PJ Monoblogs! (Or sometimes even EAT.) The PJM Diet?

Though this post is mainly to introduce myself and try to put you at ease that "HE SHALL RETURN, and SOON," I would feel remiss without leaving you with something of value. So I will mention some ideas or links that I've found handy or helpful. Or, if well-financed and actually put to use, will positively SAVE THE WORLD and VANQUISH ALL ITS PROBLEMS. (Just checking to see if you went to sleep with me doing the writing.)

So here is something small to start with for today. In case you might want to actually HEAR what people are saying about you in foreign languages, now you can. There is an excellent free online program where you can type in almost any word in any language, then wait a second. If you have your speakers on you will hear the word pronounced correctly. Now no more frowns from Frenchmen or corrections from Alex Trebeck when you use YOUR native pronunciation instead of THEIRS. Or maybe you'll just want to say "Thank you" in proper Chinese for the money they've loaned us. Or perhaps "You're welcome" for all the money we Americans have given to others in the world. Add that "There's more where that came from -- we print it by the bushel." Click HERE to give the "Howjsay.com" site a try. Glad to meet you in our Pajama Monoblogs. Now get dressed! -- Raker.