Category: Guest Authors

Dr. Timothy Bleary was one of the Hallowed Names in gastroenterology in the 1960″s.
Among his many contributions to the field were diagnostic imaging technologies that allowed physicians, with minimally invasive procedures, to identify intestinal ailments with amazing accuracy. Patients would line up around the block to secure a coveted appointment with the good doctor, knowing that he could figure out what afflicted them, effecting a cure while other gastroenterologists could only scratch their heads in puzzlement.
Amazingly, it was under the influence of LSD that Bleary invented his greatest diagnostic tool.
Of course you”ve heard of it: the Colitis-Scope.

The elegantly-attired stranger strode to the counter and smiled at the receptionist, his
cape swirling about his shoulders.
“Welcome to Hammer Ridge Blood Bank, sir. How may we assist you?”
“I vhould like to make… a withdrawal.”
“Certainly, sir. How much?”
The stranger handed the girl a withdrawal slip. Her eyes grew wide.
Within minutes, burly workmen had wheeled several palletloads of bluish-red blood bags to
the curb, where the stranger”s refrigerated van awaited.
As he began to drive away, the receptionist chased him down. She pointed, breathlessly,
toward a drum of lymph.
“Sir! Wait! You almost forgot your interest!”

It took just one tranquilizer dart to knock it down. She wrestled its slick, wet body back to the car, hoping she could get the job done before it woke up.
She would use the laundry room sink, she decided. The bathroom sink was too small.
It was a struggle to get it into the house. Still unconscious: good. Those teeth looked dangerous, and that broad, flat tail looked like it could deliver a mean slap.
She applied the shaving cream and got to work, snapping a fresh blade into the razor.
“Sometimes men make the strangest requests,” she thought.

When Matata took ill, Hakuna went into mourning, calling out and searching vainly for her
sister. I thought of the familiar passage from Jeremiah:
A voice is heard on high, wailing, bitter weeping; Rachel weeps for her children, she
refuses to be consoled”
Thus Hakuna grieved in her own, quiet way.
We became concerned when she didn”t touch her food without Matata there to give
permission. Yet the morning Matata died, she cleaned her bowl.
We”re convinced Matata spoke to her. “It”s okay to eat, Sister. Be strong. Be strong for
them, because they need you more than ever now.”

Clark Kent was on his way home from another frustrating Friday night football game.
He had had to watch, seething, as Lana Lang was pawed by half the members of Smallville High’s football squad. The worst part was, she ate it up. And knowing that, as Superboy, he could win State singlehanded did nothing to ease his frustration. That had to be his secret.
As he trudged along the dirt path that led to the Kent farm, he saw a strange, glowing rock.
He picked it up. Immediately, his guts spasmed, clenching painfully.
It was his first encounter with Craptonite.

As we headed home yesterday from our mini-vacation in Asheville, we would occasionally see an automobile transport trailer. And it got me to wondering…
You know those Circus Volkswagens that disgorge an army of clowns? When it comes time to transport those Volkswagens, do they use a special carrier? If so, when that carrier arrives at its destination, does an entire fleet of Circus Volkswagens disembark from it, each containing its horde of clowns?
This is the kind of Deep Question I spend my time pondering. A disturbing question, if one fears clowns. Clearly, I am in need of help…