Here we go....
:: Soupy’s brilliance was that he created this whole comic world. And to be fully appreciated you had to watch everyday. Offstage noises, wise ass puppets popping up in the window, eight foot dogs, sound effects, girlfriends with hairy arms, old film clips, lip syncing songs, classic comedian monologues, zany props, a barrage of corny jokes, slapstick sight gags, and plenty of pies in the face – that was the world of Soupy Sales, coming at you in rapid succession from every which angle. It was so unrehearsed and spontaneous that half the time he didn’t even know what the hell was happening. You could hear the crew offstage laughing, you knew that the set and entire budget was so cheesy the biggest expense was probably all the shaving cream used to make the pies. (Shaving cream? Ewwwwww!)
:: Hello everyone. I just thought that I'd tell you what's going on around here. I'd tell you my name, but I'm not sure what it is. At first, they called me Sweetie, but that's been changed to Kitty, sometimes Cat (when my people are angry at me for God knows why) or, worse, F**ker-Cat. Sheesh. I don't understand people. I like things to be a certain way, you see. I like my meals on time, doors to stay open, and my litter box to be clean. Is that so much to ask? In fact, what prompted me to write is the subject of food.
:: The idea of people being executed was nothing new. I’d grown up seeing sheet after sheet of public notices pasted around the city. Always with the names of the executed criminals written in black ink, each marked with a red cross–to signify their execution. I had also been required, along with the rest of my peers, to watch public trials and the parading of condemned prisoners through the streets before their execution. However, I never knew what happened on the execution grounds, and what he described below haunted me for years to come.
:: It's funny, how certain things a person learns in school keep coming back and being useful (if you're lucky). (Or even if you're not. To my way of thinking, the correct answer to the whiny student asking "When am I gonna need to know this in 'real life'?" is, and always will be, "Hell, I don't know. Maybe you will and maybe you won't. But it's another item in the toolbox if you do know it.)
:: Book burning, sectarian intolerance, and overalls? Good grief, man, that is just playing to the stereotype of the southern good ol' boy. Every educated Southerner is cringing at what you're doing to their image. (Ye Gods, man, pick on the book burning and intolerance, but leave the overalls out of it! Of course, this is the fellow who told me that my overalls make me look like an axe murderer....)
:: Yes, if you are sorely tempted by a married woman, the Bible's advice is to get yourself a prostitute.
:: Every broken dream that causes me to cry is a direct result of having reached for a place, a person, a thing, or set of circumstances I want to draw into my life. (My good friend got a big disappointment last week, in the form of coming in second for a job that she really wanted. I can relate....)
More next week.