Often when I am thinking about one thing, I get sidetracked into some other subject entirely. Very few of my posts end up being on the subject I originally intended. They might be inspired by a photo on Google that I saw when I was looking up something else for some other writing project, or they might just pop into my mind from other sources - an offshoot of the original idea, or from something going on outside my window. Or put in my head by the devil. Or simply bobbing to the surface of the green bubbling soup that is my unsettled mind. At any rate, I am about to digress in stages again. Those of you who have faithfully read my blogs over time know enough to quietly leave now.
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Many of my post ideas are Lidian at Kitchen Retro posts funny observations of old-time advertisements. What she does is, she finds old ads in old magazines, scans them and then makes fun of them on her blog. I didn't say she was deep, only that I thought she was funny. Kidding Lidian. Put down that kitchen retro butcher knife.
One recent old ad was for something called a "Radio Microphone." It was about... ummmm... a microphone that you could plug into your radio and talk to astounded unbelieving people. It said having one would make you the life of any party, and that it would also be good voice practice for you. Anyway.
As if this post by Lidian wasn't sufficiently droll enough on its own merits, it reminded me of another ad on tv about something called a "Mr. Microphone." By Ronco, of course. Ron Popeil is my personal idol, without whom we would never have had the Vegematic or the black string stuff you can spray on bald spots, and so much more. My absolute idol. I swear to god.In the tv commercial, a carload of obnoxious guys pull up at a stoplight next to a babe in another car and one of them harasses her by talking into a cheap plastic microphone that transmits a low quality signal over her car radio. Like she couldn't hear the creep anyway, since they are both in convertibles. You may remember the commercial if you were unfortunate enough to have been alive in the late 1970s and watched late night old movies. That is what the old ad on Lidian's Kitchen Retro reminded me of - that old Mr. Microphone tv commercial.
Right now you are probably thinking wishing hoping that this post is over so you can leave and go drop on someone else, but the Mr. Microphone commercial reminded me of my third digression: that of a carload of young males cruising main street for girls to pick up. Trolling trolls. Maybe you remember.
The way it works is to find an unpopular guy in school who has a car and cram about 15 pimply-faced male adolescents into it, so that several of them are forced to hang out the windows, and then drive slowly down the main drag hoping to pick up a pretty girl. Why? I don't know. Perhaps they somehow dreamed they could all make love to her in the back seat and then drop her off before they ran out of their $2 worth of gas. It doesn't matter because there never seemed to be any girls, pretty or otherwise, who were looking to jump in the back seat of an old car loaded with 15 pimply-faced vulgar-mouthed teenaged virgins. But it was a rite of passage, and I was reminded of it when I thought of the crass dope with Ron Popeil's Mr. Microphone. Which in turn was brought to mind by the even older magazine ad on Lidian's blog about the Radio Microphone that would help you practice your voice. Or whatever.
Here I should be plain, in case any of you new readers get the wrong idea, that Relax Max has never personally participated in any packed-car pimply-faced "Here Chicky Chicky" main street trolling rituals. For the record, Max was cool. Is cool. Whatever. He had his own car and wore sunglasses and smoked filterless Camel cigarettes and therefore never had any trouble getting plenty of sex whenever he wanted it. (This foolproof "Camel Cigarette Sexual Attraction" technique is outlined in another of Lidian's old ad posts.)No, Max was talking about other boys.
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Other announcements:
Angelika, please call home. Evan needs another punch in the ass.
Ettarose arrested in personal products blackmarket sting.
Those of you just arriving in Binghamton from DC who were intending to go to York need to turn around now.
Lidian honors frequent droppers; could care less about people like Max.
Sheila prattles on about the spelling of Althorp; ignores basic rule that blogs should be interesting to her readers.
Mr. and Mrs. B. Obama request you mail donations for last ditch effort to spend our way out of debt to: "Hedge Your Bets" in care of Citibank.
Candy casts doubt on what day of the week she was born; compares Monday to thickly buttered toast I think.
Bellyaching Briget loses last vestiges of lucidity; realizes she is too far gone for any hope of redemption and lies down in ditch to die. Or perhaps I misunderstood her.
Canucklehead posts 2 year old picture of himself and pretends he has grown another beard.
Catherine alleges that Drumcliff lies between Donegal and Sligo yet still writes a simply delicious sonnet. Only a complete and utter loser would miss the chance to go to her blog and read it.
Alison searches for a lost church.
Frostygirl confirms suspicion that Eiffel Tower is really in South Africa. Okay by me.
Obama says Teddy Kennedy has never stopped asking what he can do for his country. Max has the answer if Teddy is really interested.
Petra is back among the living but still touting the undead. I have personally seen evidence of life.
A decidedly not dead Lord Likely shows up on Facebook. They say. Max won't be caught dead on Facebook.
I haven't checked Twitter in 2 days but I'm guessing Claire is listening to something ungodly. I am still praying for Mumborg with all my heart.
Mesmerizing Debbie has apparently renewed her vows - to never visit Max's blog again. Max is heartbroken and lays plans to win her back.
16 comments:
I just love your sense of humour (humor)
So you mean I was supposed to include the bits about the name being recorded in several forms including Althorp, Althorpe, and the original Althrop and Althrope? The name has a Danish-Viking origin, being from the pre 7th century words "Olla throp", translating as the outlying farm (throp) of Olla. Olla was an early landowner and probably a Viking. Besides, local residents of Northamptonshire say it should be pronounced as it is spelt, but Diana's brother, Earl Spencer and estate landlord since the death of his father in 1992, insists it should be pronounced All-trup.
At least my boring is shorter than some.
I have??
Where the frikken hell is it then??
... bet you took it.
give it back.. I really need it..*sigh*
I hate to say this Briget, but you're looking in the wrong place for lucidity.
Where to begin?
I guess we should start with the fact that I am not brandishing a knife, retro or otherwise. Am too busy sharpening my sarcasm, such as it is. Don't always use it as much as I could on KR, I'm saving it for the future tell-all. Maybe.
Anyway, I think I am flattered to see my name and blog scattered through the first part of your post like - well, like the raisins in Raisin Bran, perhaps. Am glad to have been an inspiration to such an informative and amusing post.
I am also glad to hear that you were not one of the pimply youths crammed in a car looking for love in all the wrong places. I would never have thought that anyway.
And what in the world is Lord Likely doing on Facebook? I would have sooner imagined him in the packed and pimply car.
No mention of me then .... :-(
You WANT to feature in his green bubbling soup of a mind? I couldn't bring myself to read after the title. What does it say?
I heart Ron Popeil too! I managed to read your entire lengthy post without getting bored. Good job!
Can only be mildly insulted at not being including in the round up of your blog buddies, or should that be taken as an honor?
I was going to say that I can't believe you were able to put that little story at the end there, together, but then I thought about it, and knew it wasn't out of your sophisticated powers. ;)
Oh noes! I managed to be the most boring person in your round up ever. Still love ya though...
The concept of cruising has always escaped me. My first husband spent every weekend cruising for hours in a hiked up truck and I never understood why (yes, yes, I know, clearly I was braindead when I married him).
I have to ask, what's the appeal. And, if it's just girls, what's the appeal for girls?
Well, I want to know who will bail me out this time? Do I want to be bailed out? Or do I want to stay and play with my personal touch? Did I want to read this whole post? It doesn't matter I did anyway. A. enjoy your trip. Try not to miss Max too much when you are gone.
@Frostygirl - Thank you. I think. Some call it warped. But I know you don't think that. You are very discerning. :)
@Sheila - I was only kidding. ::yawn:: your post was HARDLY borinnnnn....zzzzz
@BecauseICan - I don't know little b. Bite me.
@A. - Don't tell my you are turning on me too? If you bleed me, do I not prick?
@Lidian - Finally someone with a comment on the actual post. :) I am going to take your observations as compliments. Even the one about the raisins. Thank you. Likely? Who knows. He has always been delusional.
@Angelika - Hi Angelika. Not to worry, I will take care of you. :)
@Sage - I didn't forget you - I respect you too much. But you asked for it. Next time I take you off your pedestal. :)
@A. - Why do you keep pricking me? Even with your back turned you are still jabbing.
@Sue - You do? You did? I admire a man who can earn a living all his life off just his wits. Impossible for me. Thank you for reading it all. :)
@Descartes - There you go. Try to be nice to someone and all you get for your trouble are insults. You may be sure I will drag you through the mud with the rest of us next time. :)
@Chica - Damn girl, now that's a picture. You finally hit on it. How did you take it? Timer? I know Gman wouldn't sit still that long to take it. You look like one of those old Victorian writers. Like Mary Shelly or somebody. Cool. Now what did you say about the post?
@Alison - I don't think looking for a church is boring. I thought it probably had something to do with your genealogy research. I don't think it is in Sussex, though. That's what's throwing you off. I'm pretty sure I saw that one just north of Salinas, California one time. Did you have any scum in your family tree that had to move to California?
@Stephanie - The concept of cruising for chicks escapes you because you have never been a pimply-faced teenaged boy. And your main problem is you are trying to equate the mental thought processes of said teenaged boy to some sort of reality-based concept. So that there's your first problem.
Second, cruising ALONE in a jacked up pickup is COOL. Especially if you live in the Midwest or Texas. Especially if it is loud and you race the motor at stoplights. Especially if you wear sunglasses at night and just glance disdainfully at the potential chickette. Hey, that stuff is cool, and not to be mixed up with the stupid carload of teenaged boys. YOU climbed up in there with him, right? And you are a rocket scientist. Case closed. :)
@Ettarose - I don't know. Somewhere out there is someone who might understand what you are saying. That person is not me. And, if you don't mind, please don't use my comments to talk to other people: this blog is set up to draw attention to just one person. So don't be passing notes to others in my comment section. And you are not alone. I have noticed this more and more lately with several other people. :)
Thank you Max. She still hasn't made a decision.
I thoroughly enjoyed this post and am heading to Lydian's place as soon as I catch up from the weekend. I remember the Mr. Microphone commercials, but I had forgotten (repressed?) them until Shrek 2 spoofed Mr. Microphone in almost the same frame as they spoofed "Beverly Hills Cop."
@Janet - Hoping for the best. And you will really enjoy Lidian's crazy place!
Shrek 2? Of course. The Queen. :)
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