Uncooperative Deer is Being Uncooperative

Cartoon by Jack Ziegler

Little Known Facts # 19

Contrary to popular belief, Tchaikovsky was not displeased with the score he composed for The Nutcracker. Actually, after typing the last note into his laptop, the great composer let loose an exclamation that reverberated throughout Starbucks: “WOOT! I LIKE TOTALLY ROCK, ELEVENTY!1!!!1!!!!!

Similarly, it was the mischievous Tchaikovsky who insisted that the Christmas tree get big. This is why blushing grandmothers all over the world owe the great composer a debt of gratitude.

The more you know . . .

An Early Saturday Afternoon's Domestic Banality

Well folks, it’s snowing here in USDA Zone 6b. My head is full of Vince Guaraldi via Charlie Brown. I did the shoveling at four inches but they’re calling for eighteen. That’s okay. I had fun.

Breakfast was a bagel with orange marmalade. Some weeks ago I complained that it was too sweet. But I hadn’t realized that there’s actually such a thing as “sweet marmalade.” Now that I know, I don’t dislike it as much as I used to. Isn’t it funny how that works?

Let’s see, What else is there? I slept in this morning. The bathroom scale said I lost weight which made no sense since I’ve been indulging lately. I put out seed mix for the Juncos after I shoveled the patio. I did some commenting over at Althouse. I took a shower and I saved my genitals for last.

Oh! How about this? I had Italian wedding soup for lunch and I burned my tongue.

The dog got a meatball.

Cartoon by Sempé

Today's Domestic Banality: Photographic Division

Today's Domestic Banality

I just came from Home Depot. President Obama was not there.

I bought a bunch of stuff. All of it was made in China.

I struck up a conversation with one of the guys who work there. He told me he was a tradesman but he injured himself on the job. Now he can’t work his trade anymore so he’s been reduced to working at Home Depot. His wife left him. His kids won’t talk to him. He is a broken shell of a man.

I’ve been talking to guys at Home Depot for about fifteen years now. Plumbers. Carpenters. Electricians. Masons. The same thing happens to them all. They all tell the same story.

Well, except for the ruined life part. I made that up. But you can tell it’s true, anyway. You can see it in their eyes. Men who work with their hands are honest to a fault. They never ask for anything they haven’t already earned.

Mr. Obama, TEAR DOWN THIS WALL!!1!!1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

For Meade: One Good Fish Deserves Another

CAPTION: "The jig's up, sister! I'm Fletcher of the Bureau of Fisheries and Hatcheries!"

Six Domestic Banalities

I find myself inspired by this post at Althouse. Accordingly, I set forth six domestic banalities for your internet reading pleasure . . . or not.

(1) For my lunch today, Mrs. Bissage packed a chili dog, some raisins, some wasabi almonds and some Christmas cookies. Apple sauce. A multi-vitamin. A pill for my prostate; that would be Dongasil®. A napkin.

(2) I found out this morning that my prostate is acting up again. I thought I was done peeing, so I tucked everything back in my trousers. But then it started back up all by itself so I yanked it all back out again, real quick, but I ended up spraying stanky golden bladder juice all over the place.

Some of it got on my pants but I just ignored it and let it dry because I’m of Germanic heritage so I’m one of those lucky guys who appear to be much cleaner than they really are. No one will ever know.

(3) I’ve been sleeping with a dark blue bath towel on my pillow, lately, because I’m getting over a head cold and I woke up a few days ago with a nose bleed that surged like the Colorado River.

(4) When I get home from work today, I fully expect to find that Mrs. Bissage has mopped the kitchen floor. When I left this morning she had already moved the chairs out and she had the bucket and mop ready to go. She’s good that way.

(5) For dinner tonight I think we’re having sandwiches; grilled boneless chicken breast marinated in garlic stuff. I'll probably do the grilling. I always say I absolutely refuse but then I have a drink or two and then I end up doing it, anyway.

I like roasted green peppers and melted provolone on mine. There will be French fries. I like to dip them in spaghetti sauce with a shot of Tabasco. I'll probably skip dessert. I'm on a diet.

(6) After dinner, I’m going to brush the dog on the floor in front of the TV. That’s because it’s Wednesday. Usually, I take the dog’s hair and I make a little wig out of it and put it on one of the cats dozing on the sofa so he looks like a little four-legged George Washington.

Then Mrs. Bissage and I laugh at him. We will tell him that he has been "humili-catted." We think that's funny. We do it all the time.

My Favorite Fish

I used to keep tropical fish. I used to work in a fish store. I just asked myself an odd question while urinating: "All in all, what was your favorite fish?"

The answer surprised me. But I am absolutely certain of it, and I don’t know that I have ever been absolutely certain of anything else, ever in my entire life.

So you know it’s true. I wouldn't kid around about something this important.

My favorite fish? CLICK HERE.

Taking Stock

Specific body parts for which I have been complimented: (1) hair, (2) eyes, (3) nose, (4) teeth, (5) shoulders, (6) back, (7) chest, (8) arms, (9) stomach, (10) buttocks, (11) penis, and (12) legs.

Specific body parts for which I have been criticized: (1) ears, (2) skin, (3) teeth, (4) neck and (5) waist.

Specific body parts for which I have never been complimented but wish I had been: (1) hands, (2) feet, (3) anus and (4) testicles.

ADDED: Another body part for which I have been complimented: (13) cheeks. Apparently, my Aunt Martha thought them to be adorably rosey. Hey look, I'm just reporting these things. You don't have to care.

Ramble On

I’m pressed for time so this will be short and disorganized. I wanted to write a piece about “The Remains of the Day.” We watched it last night. Originally I thought I’d call this blog post “The Remains of My Dick” and work from there.

Anyway, I’ve seen the movie before but I didn’t remember it sucking so much. Truth be told, I recently watched bits of it on YouTube and we got the DVD just to get some decorating ideas.

What did we learn? Decorate with lots of stuff. Expensive stuff. Big gold picture frames. Big paintings. Expensive paintings. Big moldings. Expensive moldings. Wood can be white or stained or in combo. Nic Naks. Paddy waks. Give the frog a loan.

Wallpaper. Colors can be bright but don't show much of it because of all the stuff in front of it. The eye loves detail. Expensive detail. Lots of stuff. Jam it in. Lots of stuff. Expensive stuff.

But the movie . . . hmmmm, how to put this? . . . lacked subtlety. Especially with regard to that Lord Darlington dude. About as subtle as a flying mallet. Somewhere along the line I got the impression that "The Remains of the Day" was an intelligent film -- probably because I am dumb.

I’d say more but I don’t feel like it. Maybe later.

My Dog Suffers Like Jesus

Click to enlargicate.

(I assume that bit off to the side is a piece of tick poop.)

Jack Bauer Was Too Late

A Piece of My Mind

A Swing and a Miss

Last night, on Turner Classic Movies, they showed “The Mouse that Roared” (1959) with Peter Sellers. It was truly unwatchable. Just awful. I bailed after 20 minutes.

So what to do with my Saturday night? I could brush the dog, or read a book, or paint a closet, or clean up the garage, or discover a cure for cancer, or work on my time machine, or I could do any number of possible things, same as anybody else.

But here’s what I actually did. I got myself a little glass of brandy, and I found myself a comfy chair in a darkened room, and I sat myself down and I put my feet up and I closed my eyes.

And then I went to the cashier's window and I bought myself a ticket for a ride on the imagination train. It pulls up to the platform, the conductor gives me a smile and and I hop on board.

Jessica Simpson has a nice penis and she’s using it on Tiger Woods, who has a vagina and a nice set of jugs. They’re doing it doggie-style and having a wonderful time of it.

And everyone gets off at the next station.

This Morning's Disgustication

I am getting over a head cold which might be morphing into a sinus infection.

This morning’s prodigious sniffing, snorting and hacking eventually produced an entity both magnificent and moist that closely resembled a sticky yellow oyster nestled against bloody scabs.

If I’m going to get serious about this blogging thing, I’m really going to have to remember to keep a camera by the bedside.

A picture is worth a thousand words.

Cartoon by Bud Grace

Morning Serenade

I am a strange person to live with. I admit this freely even though it embarasses me horribly.

No matter. I am precisely the way God made me so what other choice do I have? Believing in free will is for moral cowards, women and children; not for serious men.

Behold! What a piece of work is me: how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties; in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god!

Wait a minute . . . hold on . . . where was I?

Oh yes, at the breakfast table this morning I ended up serenading Mrs. Bissage with as much of this song as I could remember.



She said she never heard of it. What's all this about a fried egg?

This attempt at deflection annoyed me as I was obviously asking the musical question "Do you want to get a divorce?" Stated squarely thus, her immediate response was "no" as usual, which always comes as a bit of a disappointment.

Anyway, I thereupon felt obliged to take her to the computer to show her this 5th Dimension YouTube clip. She said it sounds like elevator music, but she likes the way that scoop neck leotard shapes that guy's junk.

Who can argue with that?

Tonight's Gastrointestinal Forecast

I have a cold. Pretty sure about that – with a fever and headache and chills and body aches. I feel like crap. It’s been about two days. Maybe it’s the flu or a head cold or a sinus infection. Who knows?

Who cares? The point is, my appetite has been all out of whack. Yesterday, I ate hardly a thing. Today for breakfast I had a scrambled egg and a bagel and a whole lot of cookies washed down with diet Dr. Pepper. Then for lunch I had very little appetite so I had a bowl of Chinese hot and sour soup. Later on I had some peanut brittle from Trader Joe’s that was truly awful.

Anyway, for dinner, Mrs. Bissage is now in the kitchen making chili and cornbread. Why she does this, fairly regularly, I have no idea.

But I do know this: I will consume vast quantities of her chili. I know this for certain because I have been drinking brandy.

Wish me luck.

Double Your Pleasure

God Punishes the Wicked

You See Me See You

Maybe I Should Zap This One a Little?

Everyone Likes Their Own Brand

Mrs. Robinson Majored in Art

Not All of Our Cats Are So Very Bright

The Road Less Travelled

The Remains of the Deer (2009)

Cartoon by B. Kliban

Lucky There's a Family Guy

Teenage daughter Meg Griffin is about to go on a date with Michael, the nice boy she met at the hospital. Mother Lois Griffin is fine with the situation but father Peter Griffin has become overprotective. He is convinced that the boy is a “possible rapist” or perhaps he is actually “two dwarves in an overcoat wanting to see what sex is like with a big person.”

Peter states his position: “Guys that age all they care about is putting their thing in everything. I’m not gonna let Meg turn out like my Nerf football in the hall closet.” But Lois prevails upon Peter to sit down with Michael and get to know him by having a little chat.

PETER: So, you are here to take out my daughter. What are your intentions?

MICHAEL: I just think Meg is really cool and I just want to get to know her better.

PETER: You know, Michael, my daughter’s womb is not a wildfire for you to douse with your adolescent seed. Neither is her lower back or her hair.

MICHAEL: I understand.

PETER: Do you, Michael? Do you? We’ll see. Let me ask you a question. You ever sit on your arm until it falls asleep and then play with yourself and pretend like somebody else is doing it?

MICHAEL: Honestly? Yes.

PETER: [offering a congratulatory handshake] Not anymore you don’t cause you’re going out with my daughter!

-- “Peter’s Daughter” (2007)

Bissage Answers Your Questions

The mailman has brought yet another huge sack of fan mail; a veritable, palatable and moveable feast of adoration from near and from far. How about I reach deep down inside here, and remove a letter at random, and we can all read it together?

Dear Bissage,

I am a law student and your biggest fan. You are quite the hero among my study group and we were all hoping that you would settle a bet. It is common knowledge that your sexual powers go all the way to eleven and we were wondering if you have any particular playlist of music to accompany your virtuoso performances.

Some of us say “no” because you are a true carnal genius of godlike proportions and any music would seem puny by comparison and farcically incongruous. However, some of us say that you are still a mortal man, despite your magnificence, and that the more mind-blowing sections of symphonies by, say, Dvořák, Mahler or Holst, could – at least in theory – keep a respectable pace and maybe even emphasize all of the gloriousness that attends, necessarily, your amorous attentions.

I hope you will find the time in your busy, busy schedule to respond to our request. As I said before, you are our hero. And there is much riding on this wager. When we all pass our bar exams, whoever losses the bet has to pay for the steaks and the Löwenbräu.

Sincerely Yours,

Joe Shlabotnik, 3L

Well, well, well, Mr. Shlabotnik, thank you for that and I can see that not much has changed since my days at law school, when I was often asked such questions by admiring fans of all sizes, shapes, colors, genders, appetites and configurations. I guess certain fascinations are an integral part of the human condition.

To answer your question, I must begin by explaining that it is now only Mrs. Bissage to whom I give every inch of my love. When I am banging her doggy-style -- with my rock hard boner -- oftentimes things get so loud that I can hardly hear myself think, what with her constantly barking orders for me to serve it up harder, faster and deeper. I accommodate her demands, of course. Providing for her total happinesss requires only a mere fraction of my astonishing talent. I hope that doesn’t sound immodest because it is simply true.

Anyway, there are indeed times when I seek a kind of musical refuge from the supernatural vaginal pounding that has become my spousal obligation. While my lower body performs exactly like the mighty diesel engines that power a Royal Caribbean® cruise ship, sometimes the head above my shoulders listens to “Gymnopédie No. 1” by Erik Satie.

It is peaceful, nice and quiet – slow and sorrowful -- and it lasts three minutes which is plenty long enough.

The Cold of Winter's Shadow Draws Near

Say it like Sir Ian McKellen playing Gandalf the White.You can thank me later, after we've saved Middle Earth.

(Photo by Mrs. Bissage a/k/a the Ghost of Summer Past a/k/a the Ghost of Summer Yet to Come.)

Same-Sex Marriage

I got home early from work, which gave me some daylight, so I took the dog for a romp. She liked getting out and so did I. Seems we both had some demons to exercise. Hers were far less sinister than my own, I should imagine.

Anyway, I pondered the subject of same-sex marriage for all the time I wasn't dodging traffic or minding the dog or picking up poop. I was trying to figure out what "equality" has to do with it.

Nothing was resolved.

So it goes.

Time for Another Post