Monthly Archives: December 2015

13 F#@king Days of Christmas – Part II

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Welcome to the continuing saga of The 13 F#@king Days of Christmas. You might want to checkout Part I before continuing. If not, just assume that Part II was preceded by a fairly crappy week. We last left our protagonist on his way to purchase a hunting rifle to be used on the swans, geese, birds, hens, doves, and partridge. He was not having a great week.

Day 8: Now, this is more like it. They say a mother’s breast can sooth a savage beast, and you just sent me eight milking maids. BTW – You just saved the flying flock of frenzied feathered festive gifts of Christmas day’s past. The hell with the damn birds, I am now fixated on those milking buxom beauties. Those cups are definitely more than half full.

Day 9: Did I die and go to heaven? How else to explain the nine dancing ladies that met me at my apartment door. OMG – You actually sent me nine strippers for Christmas. I am starting to think you are no longer mad at me.

Day 10: I knew it was too good to last. When I arrived home today I was met by ten leaping lords lurching round my apartment, and the buggers were leaping and jumping all over the strippers and maids. A couple of them even jumped me when I bent down to take off my shoes. I think I need to go to the hospital. On the plus side, I believe I found the missing three rings from Day 7 and one of the hamsters. Now I know how Richard Gere felt.

Day 11: Do you have any idea how much mess eleven puking pipers can make in a small apartment? Not only that, between the pipers and the leaping lords neither the strippers nor the milf-maids have any time left for me. And Christmas is supposed to be about me me me.

Day 12: All drummers should be shot. Not only do I have twelve drummers pounding their skins, they are also banging anything that moves. The pipers have been plugged, the lords can’t lay, the ladies will not be able to walk straight for weeks, and the poor maids are milked out. Not only that, I’ve been evicted, arrested for obscenity, and tested positive for all of the major STDs. And there is still bird shit everywhere.

Day 13: On the thirteenth day of Christmas my turned love sent to me: twelve twitter hacks, eleven over drafts, ten vet bills, nine Facebook photobombs, eight calling creditors, seven harassment charges, six restraining orders, five calling lawyers, four emptied bank accounts, three detectives following, two used wedding rings, and one SIGNED DIVORCE DECREE.

Have yourself a very non-marry Christmas without me, and please don’t send any birthday gifts this year.

Dr. StrangeJob

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Note: This blog was inspired by “The 12 Days of Christmas” from The Cunning Linguist by Richard Lederer. Using movie parlance, it’s probably safer to say that this version is more of a re-visioning rather than a straight-up remake. Actually, this blog has very little in common with his version, other than the twelve gifts, but my lawyer keeps pestering me about copyright infringements, so I am just covering my butt on this one. BTW – it’s a funny book.

The 13 F#@king Days of Christmas – Part I

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First Day of Christmas: Thanks for the pear tree, although I’m not sure what I am supposed to do with a pear tree in the winter. Not only that, when I opened the parcel, a partridge flew out and crapped all over my favorite David Cassidy album.

Day 2: What’s with the turtle doves? You know I have a small apartment, and the turtle doves are not acting at all happy together with that friggin’ partridge you sent yesterday.

Day 3: Enough with the damn birds already! What the f#@k am I supposed to do with three French hens? If I could catch the little buggers I would cook them, but they are running and jumping all over the goddamn apartment making a mess everywhere. BTW – I have no idea what the hens, doves, and that damn partridge are eating, but the apartment is a mess. Not only that, I can’t find my pet hamsters anywhere.

Day 4: My head feels like it is going to explode from the racket coming from those four f#@$% calling birds. You know I suffer from migraines and that I have recently been diagnosed with ornithophobia, yet you keep sending me birds. BIRDS! BIRDS! And more damned BIRDS!

Day 5: Five gold dick rings and a sarcastic note on what I should do with them is just plain rude.

Day 6: OK, I get it. You’re pissed off over something, but sending six geese dropping eggs all over the apartment is enough already. The SPCA showed up today with a search warrant, the neighbors are complaining to the landlord about the noise, and I need to get the place fumigated. I still can’t find my hamsters, the cats have gone berserk, and I can’t get three of the five dick rings out of where you told me to shove them.

Day 7: Oh my god! I hate swans and you sent me seven of the damn things. Do you have any idea what happens when you have seven swans living in your bathroom? Three are swimming in the bathtub, two are tits up in the sink, one is bobbing in the toilet bowl, and the seventh is unaccounted for. I have had enough. I am heading out to buy a hunting rifle so I can take care of the swans, geese, birds, hens, and doves. I have special plans for that damned partridge once I find the little f##%.

So ends Part 1 of The 13 F#@king Days of Christmas. Stay tuned for Part II to discover what really happens when you put 10 leaping lords in the same room with eight milking maids.

Note: This blog was inspired by “The 12 Days of Christmas” from The Cunning Linguist by Richard Lederer. Using movie parlance, it’s probably safer to say that this version is more of a re-visioning rather than a straight-up remake. Actually, this blog has very little in common with his version, other than the twelve gifts, but my lawyer keeps pestering me about copyright infringements, so I am just covering my butt on this one. BTW – it’s a funny book.

Dr. StrangeJob

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Incompetents Anonymous: Immunity, Denial, & Self-Service

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IA Final Logo A

Astute legal advice allowed the Doctor to deal with potential libel and copyright issues, so he decided to discuss his financial concerns with a certified accountant with the goal of improving his financial outcomes. Speaking of accountants, did you ever notice that people in certain professions appear to have common personality characteristics? I have met a number of accountants in my day, and many of them appear to be a tad on the anal side. I often wonder if there are underlying personality traits that form a propensity towards a particular profession, or if the profession leads an individual to adopt specific personality characteristics. Perhaps this is a moot distinction, especially if you consider the number of politicians that were arseholes both before and after entering the profession.

Anyway, my certifiable accountant appraised the Doctor’s blogs, suggested there was a potential money maker with Incompetents Anonymous, and recommended that he “go public” with the IA movement. Apparently, there are strong financial reasons for a business to “go public”, which can include an increased access to capital, the ability to raise additional funds, and improved credibility. What a deal! If your business requires more money, then all you need to do is issue more stocks. Stock issues should not be a problem for the Doctor because he always keeps his place well stocked.

The Doctor is actually well ahead of the “go public” game as a result of his existing “public” strategy. After all, there already is a Dr. StrangeJob website, Facebook, and Twitter presence. Not to mention the fact that the Doctor has recently given his initial public offering, referred to as an IPO in accountant speak, at a local open-mic event. I mean really, how much more public would I need to be? If I have already “gone public”, then why would I need to “go public”?

Calling on his vast business experience in both industry and education, the Doctor has recognized the benefits of a highly visible brand logo combined with a strong marketing campaign. Not to be confused with his successful Incompetents Anonymous Membership Drive, the Doctor has determined the need for a more visible brand. Leaving nothing to happenstance, the Doctor presents the official Incompetents Anonymous logo, as competently designed by GRYPHON media productions.

The IA triangle borrows from the traditional Alcoholics Anonymous triangle, but rather than emphasize AA’s three-part solution to addiction (unity, recovery, and service), the IA triangle reflects the three key personality traits most often associated with an incompetent mind (denial, immunity, and self-service). The official IA logo will be the centerpiece of a new advertising campaign promoting Incompetents Anonymous to be rolled out in 2016. Stay tuned for additional details, but in the meantime, if confronted with a struggling incompetent, then just repeat IA’s Audacity Prayer in the knowledge that competence is a step away.

The Audacity Prayer: Grant me the authority to eliminate those that will not follow, the ability to terrorize those that remain, and the audacity not to care about the difference.

Dr. StrangeJob

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Genesis 72: Tripe and the birth of a cunning linguist

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The Doctor just finished reading about a High School newspaper that was censored over an article on the smoking of a distilled version of marijuana known as “dabbing”. This new trend certainly puts a novel slant on the “little dab’ll do ya” slogan of my early school days, but it also had me reminiscing about my involvement in my high school newspaper back in the early 70s.

I decided to do a bit of dabbling during my freshman high school year and joined the student newspaper, which was appropriately titled “TRIPE”. The staff selected the title because of its double entendre of an edible offal from the stomachs of various farm animals or slang for writing that is false, worthless, or just plain rubbish. As guessed, some of the staff members eventually became vegetarians. Others, on the other hand, became purveyors of pungent paraphrases.

Needless to say, the first edition of Tripe was not without controversy. One of the more contentious articles featured step-by-step assembly instructions for a water-pipe designed solely from components “freely” available in any high school chemistry lab. The inspiration for the water-pipe article came from the serendipitous discovery that the key to the newspaper office was also a master key for the school’s chemistry lab. It is the Doctor’s best recollection that he was the author of that particular article, but he also recollects that most articles were attributed to “staff reporter” in order to protect identities. Also, some major water-pipe quality assurance testing may have hazed a few memories as to who may, or may not, have written the article.

The school administration was not as in on the joke as were the student writers, and the powers that be quickly threatened to shut the paper down. However, the rag tag group of long-haired hippies managed to publish another two issues before the end of the academic year. The second edition was titled “New and Improved Tripe” or NIT for short, and coincided with an actual outbreak of head lice at the school. Reference to the lice outbreak was a scoop for the paper, and a bit of a head-scratcher for the administration wondering who may have leaked the story.

Incidentally, Tripe’s whistleblower was also responsible for leaking details about a planned locker search by the local narcotics police division. Unfortunately, Tripe staff were not provided enough time to write about the planned search. Fortunately, we did have enough time to issue free baggies of oregano and other assorted spices for proper placement throughout the building. Tripe ended with the third and final edition boldly entitled “Return of Tripe” or ROT for short.

The Doctor recently had lunch with a fellow Tripe conspirator and ruminated over whether things have really changed that much since their high school days. The Doctor has certainly changed. He has gone from dabbing to dribbling, from long-haired to longing for hair, from toking to temperance, from being dependable to depending on depends, and from having a narrow waist with a broad mind to a broad waist with a narrow mind.

On the other hand, one of the Doctor’s most recent postings on a local online community forum was censored because of the word “bullshit”. Censoring the word “bullshit” is a load of tripe if you ask me.

This post is dedicated to the survivors of TRIPE, NIT, and ROT from Sydney Academy circa 1972.

Dr. StrangeJob

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