Category: Elisson

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…

And now, something from the master storyteller: Elisson

Marcel Marceau, the incomparable French mime, passed away September 22 at the age of
eighty-four.
Marceau (né Mangel), a French Jew who escaped the Nazis and fought with the Free French
during World War II, brought the art of mime to standing-room-only crowds, earning
worldwide acclaim. His waif-like character Bip, in part inspired by Chaplin’s Little
Tramp, was recognizable to millions.
In addition to founding the Colorado School of Mimes, Marceau was the model for Michael
Jackson’s “moonwalk,” based on Marceau’s “Walking in the Wind” sketch.
Today, to honor Marceau’s memory, fans everywhere will observe a moment of extreme noise.

Americans are familiar with the story of Johnny Appleseed, who walked the length and breadth of the land while sowing the seeds of the great MacIntosh, Winesap, and Cortland, laying the foundations for today’s mighty orchards.
Alas, the story of Sidney Sunsweet is not nearly as well known. But Sidney walked the length and breadth of America ten years before Johnny was out of knee-pants, scattering seeds wherever he went. Prune seeds.
For Sidney was an aficionado of the Noble Prune, the “fruit that eats like a meal.” His motto?
“Eat Fruit with the Wrinkling: You’ll crap in a twinkling.”

Hard to believe, but it was only two generations ago that his ancestors were scratching out meager livings in the /shtetls/ of Eastern Europe.
You say you didn’t know he was Jewish? That’s OK: Not many people do. It’s a well-guarded secret. Comes from a Hasidic sect famous for commercial real estate development.
But by 1915, it was no longer possible to make a living in the little village of Combov. That’s when Hyman Trumpowitz, the family patriarch, came to America.
The rest is history. Today, with shortened name, Donald Trump carries on the fine tradition of the Combover Hasidim.

Last week, I was drinking Irish Mist and playing whist with Bill Frist. And he had his shorts in a twist.
What was on his mind? Here’s the gist:
Said Frist, “I miss Imus.”
Continued Frist, “Sure, Imus was remiss, laying down a gratuitous dis. A lotta people were pissed. Said it was heinous.
“But in spite of all this, I miss Imus.
“It’s not like Imus said ‘penis.’ Something like that’d never come between us.
“But he said ‘nappy’ and got the Bitch-Slappy, Pappy. Now, are you happy? Me, I think it’s crappy.
“What’s next? Will they burn Stern?”