Outta Leftfield: Oh, I wish I was an Oscar Mayer Wienermobile driver
Published: Tuesday, September 28, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
This is the second known column that will seemingly focus on the subject of hot dogs. It will, I presume, include many weiner-related puns.
New this week on the “Outta Leftfield” blog, “E-mail scams? Must be an election year.” You can also now follow Mike on Facebook and Twitter @Mmorsch35.
Yes, yes, I know all about that. This is a clever new strategy for Morsch, using his print column to cross-advertise his blog.
After months of reflecting and soul-searching, I have finally decided what I want to be when I grow up: the driver of the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile.
Good choice, since you're obviously not qualified for your current position.
Where else could I get a job that includes the spilling of mustard on one’s shirt as part of the job description? Why, as proficient as I am at that, I’d be a shoo-in for the title of “Commodore of the Wienermobile” in no time. There must be a cool hat and blazer that comes with that title.
When making a list of things that never grow old, you'd have to include comedienne Betty White, anyone who carries the One Ring, and the highly amusing "I spill mustard on myself" gag!
When I mentioned to my Facebook friends that I’d like to take a one-year hiatus from my real job to drive the Wienermobile around, they were quite supportive:
Lisa: “It would be a perfect job for you!”
Agreed.
Ann: “Start the legal paperwork to change your name to Frank.”
Why not Oscar? Why not Frank N. Furter? Come on, Ann!
Dan: “Why only a year? This may be your calling.”
Lynne: “Perfect for the man with the cocktail weenie recipe.”
I hope Lynne's isn't a double entendre. I really hope it isn't.
Larry: “I’ll bring the kraut and cheese in an 18-wheeler and drive behind you.”
... Okay.
Turns out that driving the Wienermobile isn’t so far-fetched after all. The folks at Oscar Mayer — in addition to having one of the most recognizable jingles in the history of advertising — have for years recognized the attraction of the Wienermobile. It’s been around since 1936, designed initially to promote the company’s products at supermarkets in the Midwest.
Shockingly, this information was NOT taken word-for-word from Wikipedia.
According to its website, as the company grew, the Wienermobile traveled coast to coast until 1970. I don’t ever recall seeing it in person, but I must have at one time because I remember having one of those little wiener whistles as a kid. I think the only way back then to get the whistle was to have visited the Wienermobile when it came to your town.
Ah, there we go - it was taken word-for-word from the Wienermobile website. I think I speak for all of us when I demand, "Where are the penis jokes?" Come on!
On its 50th anniversary in 1986, the Wienermobile went on tour again and has been on the road ever since. I would think that in addition to the 18-wheeler filled with sauerkraut and Cheese Whiz as suggested by my friend Larry, the Wienermobile caravan must include a pace car as well, something like a Volkswagen Beetle called the “Cocktail Weeniemobile.” Just a thought, in case the Oscar Mayer people haven’t already considered the idea.
Morsch once devoted an entire column to the fact that he loves cocktail weenies (a.k.a. pigs in a blanket). It was as annoying as it sounds, and almost as dumb as this one.
(Editor’s note: Turns out there already is something called a “Mini Wienermobile,” 15 feet long and built on a mini Cooper S chassis that has a horn that plays the Oscar Mayer jingle. Drat. I really wanted to be the first one to come up with the “Cocktail Weeniemobile” idea.)
Well, you were. I mean, "Mini" isn't the same thing as "cocktail." You actually had a semi-original idea there - don't beat yourself up too much.
The Wienermobile itself — which the company says measures 55 hotdogs long, 25 hotdogs high and 18 hotdogs wide — has a custom-made fiberglass hotdog and bun resting on a Chevrolet W4 Series chassis.
You know what the ancient Greeks defined "comedy" as? "The endless repetition of purportedly zany facts and details." I'm paraphrasing, but I think that was it.
Inside it has a hotdog shaped instrument panel; seating for six in mustard and ketchup-colored seats; exterior rearview cameras; a gull-wing door; mustard-splattered walkway; removable bun roof; state-of-the-art audio center with wireless microphone system; and blue sky ceiling art.
Did I miss the joke? I think I missed the joke. Let me read that paragraph again... no, no I don't think I missed it.
And one can apply to be what the company calls a “hotdogger,” which is someone who travels the country in the Wienermobile serving as a goodwill ambassador for Oscar Mayer.
My fingers are tingling - he must be building up to a tremendous burst of humor here somewhere.
To be a hotdogger, the company is looking for people who: have a college degree in journalism, public relations, communications, advertising or marketing; can represent the company in newspaper and television interviews and at grocery stores and charity functions; have a big appetite for travel and adventure; and be a people person.
AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh my gosh... oh my gosh... That was great. Hoo boy. Let me calm down a second here.
I believe I qualify in all those areas and as an experienced mustard-spiller — evidenced by the signed and notarized affidavit from my dry cleaners that I carry around affirming such — I think that would give me a leg up on all the other wannabe hotdoggers.
Stop! Stop! I can't breathe! If I see another variation of that "spilling mustard" joke I'm going to rupture a lung!
Of course, getting clearance from the tower — i.e. The Blonde Accountant and my boss — to take a year off from real life to drive the Wienermobile across the country for a year could be problematic.
I'll say it will! Those "squares" will never understand your wacky sense of humor, Morsch - but don't let them change you! Keep on truckin'!
Check out the "take a year off... for a year." That's not just quality writing - that's Morsch Quality.
Certainly I would never venture out on this journey without my wife riding shotgun in the Wienermobile because I know it would be an experience that she would enjoy and treasure forever.
I suspect that there's a sly, subtle sense of sarcasm at work here.
Something tells me, though, that the mustard-spilling portion of my resume isn’t going to be enough to overcome those two obstacles.
And just when you think you're safe - BOOM, he hits us with ANOTHER mustard-spill joke! Surely, surely that must be it. I mean, to base an entire column on repeating a single joke four times... that would just be too much, wouldn't it?
Still, given the criteria for being a hotdogger and Wienermobile driver, my experience speaks for itself. In fact, I’m pretty sure I can pass muster on this.
Or in this case, pass mustard.
Hmmm, mustard... where have I heard that before?
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Email Scams = The Tea Party (Apparently)
Monday, September 27, 2010
Email scams? Must be an election year
Uh-oh - the reference to an election year makes me fear that this blog entry will be political in nature. I'm predicting at least one Sarah Palin reference.
It appears that I could be a millionaire several times over if only I would answer unsolicited correspondence from people I don’t know.
Woah, what's the deal with these email scams, huh? Prince of Nigeria, what's up with that? Did Morsch jump in a time machine and make this posting from the year 2002?
A flurry of emails from people with names like Mr. Nyejiowanaka Gogo, Mr. Bangu Mali and Mr. Kabore Umaru have informed me that all I need to do to collect is to provide all my personal information.
See, THEIR names are different than OUR names. Thus, they are hilarious.
Mr. Gogo — a creative enough name but it would have been more believable if he had called himself Mr. Whiskey A. Gogo or Mr. Wakemeupbeforeu Gogo —
We are officially back, people! Classic Morsch ethnocentrism on full display.
is particularly adamant about getting my name, cell phone number, age, sex, occupations, city and country. If I provide that information, I can take home 40 percent of $25 million that was left to him by a relative who died in a plane crash in 2000.
Is this a joke? He couldn't pick a topic more painfully dated if he tried.
Mr. Mali, on the other hand, went so far as to identify the relative in his email, one Andreas Schranner, who along with his wife died in what we left to assume must have been a different plane crash, this one on July 31, 2000.
Up next: Morsch does an in-depth analysis of the comedy of Mr. Jeff Foxworthy!
Neither Mr. Gogo nor Mr. Mali reveal the details of the aforementioned tragedy occurred.
This sentence doesn't make any sense. Where did the "occurred" come from?
(A Google search reveals that Mr. Schranner and his wife did perish in a tragic Concorde plane crash from Germany to New York that killed all 109 people aboard.)
While you're on Google, why don't you run a quick search for "things even remotely topical"?
But Mr. Mali, that shyster, is only offering 35 percent of $10.15 million.
Mr. Umaru is offering a 60/30 split on $10.8 million — again from the same plane crash — but is deducting the remaining 10 percent for his expenses. In addition to all the other personal information, he also wants my address.
Stop, you're killing me. The only way this could get even more gut-bustingly funny is if he printed each email, in its entirety, for us to enjoy.
And then there is Ms. Judy Jones, who would like to give me $1 million pounds from a United Kingdom National Lottery promotion. Ms. Jones isn’t asking for any personal information yet, but apparently I didn’t even have to buy a lottery ticket to win. The winner is chosen through a free email drawing.
Wow, he saw right through this one, didn't he?
These are all fun names being used on old email scams.
Wait, so what's his point? Is it the email scams themselves, or the "fun names" being used? What makes them "fun"?
But apparently some people think other people are stupid and gullible and that’s why these emails keep popping up. And with an election in November — which features a bevy of unqualified mopes and mopettes running for elected offices across several states who have been bamboozling the citizenry — they may just be right.
Aaaah, so we come to the crux of the issue... in the last paragraph. Several issues here:
1.) Urban Dictionary defines a "mope" as "a person of any race or culture that is presenting themselves as uneducated (either by mannerisms or the clothing they are wearing)." The grammar in that definition is so bad I suspect Morsch wrote it himself. That aside, his use of it doesn't make sense.
2.) The blog idea itself is preposterous. We all know you hate the Tea Party, Mr. Morsch.
3.) That Morsch thinks he can criticize anyone for a supposed lack of brains is actually the most amusing thing I've seen in this column. Ever.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
And a brief Twitter bonus:
That right there folks is why you always take your ballglove to the game.
about 14 hours ago via web
The use of "ballglove" really pisses me off. Morsch loves to say "ballgame" and "ballpark" and such, but now "ballglove"? Where does it stop? Announcers do this too: "If they get another run they're right back in this ballgame." Gee, really? I know what game I'm watching, dumbass, and I know it involves a ball. Now stop it.
Email scams? Must be an election year
Uh-oh - the reference to an election year makes me fear that this blog entry will be political in nature. I'm predicting at least one Sarah Palin reference.
It appears that I could be a millionaire several times over if only I would answer unsolicited correspondence from people I don’t know.
Woah, what's the deal with these email scams, huh? Prince of Nigeria, what's up with that? Did Morsch jump in a time machine and make this posting from the year 2002?
A flurry of emails from people with names like Mr. Nyejiowanaka Gogo, Mr. Bangu Mali and Mr. Kabore Umaru have informed me that all I need to do to collect is to provide all my personal information.
See, THEIR names are different than OUR names. Thus, they are hilarious.
Mr. Gogo — a creative enough name but it would have been more believable if he had called himself Mr. Whiskey A. Gogo or Mr. Wakemeupbeforeu Gogo —
We are officially back, people! Classic Morsch ethnocentrism on full display.
is particularly adamant about getting my name, cell phone number, age, sex, occupations, city and country. If I provide that information, I can take home 40 percent of $25 million that was left to him by a relative who died in a plane crash in 2000.
Is this a joke? He couldn't pick a topic more painfully dated if he tried.
Mr. Mali, on the other hand, went so far as to identify the relative in his email, one Andreas Schranner, who along with his wife died in what we left to assume must have been a different plane crash, this one on July 31, 2000.
Up next: Morsch does an in-depth analysis of the comedy of Mr. Jeff Foxworthy!
Neither Mr. Gogo nor Mr. Mali reveal the details of the aforementioned tragedy occurred.
This sentence doesn't make any sense. Where did the "occurred" come from?
(A Google search reveals that Mr. Schranner and his wife did perish in a tragic Concorde plane crash from Germany to New York that killed all 109 people aboard.)
While you're on Google, why don't you run a quick search for "things even remotely topical"?
But Mr. Mali, that shyster, is only offering 35 percent of $10.15 million.
Mr. Umaru is offering a 60/30 split on $10.8 million — again from the same plane crash — but is deducting the remaining 10 percent for his expenses. In addition to all the other personal information, he also wants my address.
Stop, you're killing me. The only way this could get even more gut-bustingly funny is if he printed each email, in its entirety, for us to enjoy.
And then there is Ms. Judy Jones, who would like to give me $1 million pounds from a United Kingdom National Lottery promotion. Ms. Jones isn’t asking for any personal information yet, but apparently I didn’t even have to buy a lottery ticket to win. The winner is chosen through a free email drawing.
Wow, he saw right through this one, didn't he?
These are all fun names being used on old email scams.
Wait, so what's his point? Is it the email scams themselves, or the "fun names" being used? What makes them "fun"?
But apparently some people think other people are stupid and gullible and that’s why these emails keep popping up. And with an election in November — which features a bevy of unqualified mopes and mopettes running for elected offices across several states who have been bamboozling the citizenry — they may just be right.
Aaaah, so we come to the crux of the issue... in the last paragraph. Several issues here:
1.) Urban Dictionary defines a "mope" as "a person of any race or culture that is presenting themselves as uneducated (either by mannerisms or the clothing they are wearing)." The grammar in that definition is so bad I suspect Morsch wrote it himself. That aside, his use of it doesn't make sense.
2.) The blog idea itself is preposterous. We all know you hate the Tea Party, Mr. Morsch.
3.) That Morsch thinks he can criticize anyone for a supposed lack of brains is actually the most amusing thing I've seen in this column. Ever.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
And a brief Twitter bonus:
That right there folks is why you always take your ballglove to the game.
about 14 hours ago via web
The use of "ballglove" really pisses me off. Morsch loves to say "ballgame" and "ballpark" and such, but now "ballglove"? Where does it stop? Announcers do this too: "If they get another run they're right back in this ballgame." Gee, really? I know what game I'm watching, dumbass, and I know it involves a ball. Now stop it.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
A Grand Return
Outta Leftfield: Learning the secrets of ‘The Bra Whisperer’ an uplifting experience
Published: Tuesday, September 21, 2010
He's back, folks! A full column (something not seen for months) AND a blog entry on the same day. And this promises to be a gem. Morsch talking about bras, presumably breasts, and presumably women? I'm in.
When it comes to basic bra knowledge, men are at a disadvantage. What we do know can be broken down into three simple categories: (1) Uh. (2) Well. (3) Hmmm.
Oh, it's so TRUE! Men know nothing. That's what I appreciate most about this column - it's frank (yet amusing) honesty on the facts of life. The facts of life according to "Sit-Com Writing for Dummies," yes, but facts nonetheless.
Fortunately, I am now more of an expert on bras after having spent some time last week in King of Prussia with nationally known bra fitter Susan Nethero — also known as “The Bra Whisperer” — who really knows her stuff having been trained by Queen of England’s royal bra fitter.
This is a terrible sentence. Terrible. Try reading it out loud in one breath - you can't do it. What a life this man leads. A bra-fitting seminar one week, a rodeo the next.
Which begs the question, “The Queen has a royal bra fitter?”
The real question here is why Morsch was there. Other than the fact that he's a lusty perv, of course.
Still, there are worse ways to kill an hour on a Wednesday afternoon than sitting around and talking about bras, and um … other things that fall into that category.
Wait, mystery solved - Morsch was there to be fitted for his OWN bra, a.k.a. "bro," a.k.a. "manzier."
“Hey, what’s your bra size?” I said to The Blonde Accountant on the phone when I called to tell her about my appointment to talk with Susan.
As usual with these hilarious husband/wife conversations, I'm quite sure that this one never took place.
“Why do you need to know that?” she asked.
“Because I’m going to interview ‘The Bra Whisperer’ and your bra size might be information I need to have for that conversation,” I said.
“You … are … NOT … going … to put … my bra size … in the paper,” she shot back.
Now I've never been married. But wouldn't a spouse's bra size be easy to obtain? They're in the laundry, they're in drawers, they're in the hamper... it seems like that's the kind of information that a husband would have.
I bet she’d tell the Queen’s royal bra fitter her cup size if she had the chance.
Gross.
Still, I understand the need for discretion with this subject matter, especially if the information is given to the Royal Knuckleheaded Husband who would think it was funny if that information were revealed to the public … at least for as long as it took him to set up a cot in the garage.
Dumb husband joke staple: being forced to sleep in a remote area by an angry wife. How often does this actually happen?
Susan was in town for the opening of a new store {intimacy} in the King of Prussia Mall, her 12th such women’s fancy underwear store across the country. (By the way, the little brackets around {intimacy} and the lowercase “i” on the word are how it’s supposed to be spelled.)
Shameless Promotion Alert! Or, at least, it should be. Some day I'd like an explanation of what qualifies as "shameless."
And when it comes to bras, Susan really likes to hold up her end of the conversation. You may have seen her on “The Oprah Winfrey Show,” “The Tyra Banks Show,” “The Today Show,” “What Not to Wear” and “How To Look Good Naked” with Carson Kressley, that guy from “Queer Eye For The Straight Guy.”
This is at least the second time that Mr. Kressley has been referred to as "that guy from 'QEFTSG'." Again, doesn't really help narrow it down.
In fact, it was Kressley that gave her the moniker “The Bra Whisperer.”
Gay people are legendarily witty.
For the record — and I asked — she doesn’t really whisper to the bras. If she did, I would hope that she would say, “Psssst. Did you know that the Queen has a royal bra fitter? Can you believe that?”
Only Morsch can blend two jokes so lame into one steamy, bubbly crap cocktail.
But she does whisper to her clients.
“What I whisper is, ‘You can feel confident and feel good about yourself, that some of the issues and problems that you had with being able to wear certain styles and certain shapes … that’s all gone away.’ It’s all about confidence,” she said.
That’s the whole theory behind the {intimacy} brand, that Susan and her staff — who don’t use tape measures to determine bust sizes — want to advise women on how to get the right comfort, shape and style of bra, which leads to confidence.
So this isn't so much a humor column as it is a commercial for this woman's stores. Surprise!
Fortunately, Susan has a fabulous sense of humor when it comes to her chosen profession. And she likes to yuk it up a bit when talking about it. (You can go to www.myintimacy.com for all the non-yukable information.)
Two things must end - the constant promotion of artists, restaurants, musicians, etc; and the phrase "yuk it up." There are a million ways to say "laugh about" without saying that.
“Women can have great bras that give them great support and do their job and they can enjoy looking and feeling their best every day,” said Susan. “So that’s why we enjoy what we do. And we do laugh and giggle about it.”
Among the many things I didn’t know about bras — including the size worn by The Blonde Accountant — is that in the United States, bra sizes range from A, B, C, D, DD, Triple-D and even Quad-D. But in Europe — and for all I know there are royal bra fitters running around all over that continent — the sizes are D, E, F, G, H, I, J and K.
That's a lot of dashes. Morsch seems particularly enamored with the "royal bra fitter" joke. He keeps going back to the well on that one, and it never seems to run dry.
Susan grabbed a size 40K bra out of a drawer in the store and showed it to me. From my limited knowledge of England’s royal family, the 40K looked to be a big too big for the diminutive Queen Elizabeth II. But it would have made a dandy parachute.
Oh, sick! Who thinks about the Queen's bra size?
“Breasts can weigh anywhere from 10 ounces to 10 pounds each. That’s a lot of volume,” said Susan.
Feel free to insert your own “cup runneth over” joke there. All of the ones I could think of couldn’t really be printed in a family newspaper.
The obscene lack of comedy here shouldn't be fit for print. But I digress. Morsch makes a good point - where are all the lame boob-related puns he should be making?
Until I met Susan, the only thing I knew about bras was that Playtex made something called a Cross Your Heart bra back in the 1960s when I was a kid. According to Susan, that bra has been around for four decades and is still one of the Top 10 bras in America.
There is another thing I didn’t know, that there were actually nine other bra brands in America.
This seems like a random bit of information to stick at the end of the column, doesn't it? Maybe he couldn't find a way to slip it in where it would actually make sense.
All in all, I enjoyed talking with Susan. She’s a good sport and has a delightful approach to her life’s work.
I am dead serious when I say that Morsch could interview Ted Bundy and come away with something nice to say about him. "He may have slain numerous women with his bare hands, but he slayed me with his lighthearted quips and delightful approach to death row."
And I now know a little bit more about bras than I used to, which means the next time the topic comes up in casual conversation, I won’t feel like … such a boob.
I love the ellipsis before the "boob" pun, as though Morsch thinks we will savor that extra anticipation of his knee-slapper.
Published: Tuesday, September 21, 2010
He's back, folks! A full column (something not seen for months) AND a blog entry on the same day. And this promises to be a gem. Morsch talking about bras, presumably breasts, and presumably women? I'm in.
When it comes to basic bra knowledge, men are at a disadvantage. What we do know can be broken down into three simple categories: (1) Uh. (2) Well. (3) Hmmm.
Oh, it's so TRUE! Men know nothing. That's what I appreciate most about this column - it's frank (yet amusing) honesty on the facts of life. The facts of life according to "Sit-Com Writing for Dummies," yes, but facts nonetheless.
Fortunately, I am now more of an expert on bras after having spent some time last week in King of Prussia with nationally known bra fitter Susan Nethero — also known as “The Bra Whisperer” — who really knows her stuff having been trained by Queen of England’s royal bra fitter.
This is a terrible sentence. Terrible. Try reading it out loud in one breath - you can't do it. What a life this man leads. A bra-fitting seminar one week, a rodeo the next.
Which begs the question, “The Queen has a royal bra fitter?”
The real question here is why Morsch was there. Other than the fact that he's a lusty perv, of course.
Still, there are worse ways to kill an hour on a Wednesday afternoon than sitting around and talking about bras, and um … other things that fall into that category.
Wait, mystery solved - Morsch was there to be fitted for his OWN bra, a.k.a. "bro," a.k.a. "manzier."
“Hey, what’s your bra size?” I said to The Blonde Accountant on the phone when I called to tell her about my appointment to talk with Susan.
As usual with these hilarious husband/wife conversations, I'm quite sure that this one never took place.
“Why do you need to know that?” she asked.
“Because I’m going to interview ‘The Bra Whisperer’ and your bra size might be information I need to have for that conversation,” I said.
“You … are … NOT … going … to put … my bra size … in the paper,” she shot back.
Now I've never been married. But wouldn't a spouse's bra size be easy to obtain? They're in the laundry, they're in drawers, they're in the hamper... it seems like that's the kind of information that a husband would have.
I bet she’d tell the Queen’s royal bra fitter her cup size if she had the chance.
Gross.
Still, I understand the need for discretion with this subject matter, especially if the information is given to the Royal Knuckleheaded Husband who would think it was funny if that information were revealed to the public … at least for as long as it took him to set up a cot in the garage.
Dumb husband joke staple: being forced to sleep in a remote area by an angry wife. How often does this actually happen?
Susan was in town for the opening of a new store {intimacy} in the King of Prussia Mall, her 12th such women’s fancy underwear store across the country. (By the way, the little brackets around {intimacy} and the lowercase “i” on the word are how it’s supposed to be spelled.)
Shameless Promotion Alert! Or, at least, it should be. Some day I'd like an explanation of what qualifies as "shameless."
And when it comes to bras, Susan really likes to hold up her end of the conversation. You may have seen her on “The Oprah Winfrey Show,” “The Tyra Banks Show,” “The Today Show,” “What Not to Wear” and “How To Look Good Naked” with Carson Kressley, that guy from “Queer Eye For The Straight Guy.”
This is at least the second time that Mr. Kressley has been referred to as "that guy from 'QEFTSG'." Again, doesn't really help narrow it down.
In fact, it was Kressley that gave her the moniker “The Bra Whisperer.”
Gay people are legendarily witty.
For the record — and I asked — she doesn’t really whisper to the bras. If she did, I would hope that she would say, “Psssst. Did you know that the Queen has a royal bra fitter? Can you believe that?”
Only Morsch can blend two jokes so lame into one steamy, bubbly crap cocktail.
But she does whisper to her clients.
“What I whisper is, ‘You can feel confident and feel good about yourself, that some of the issues and problems that you had with being able to wear certain styles and certain shapes … that’s all gone away.’ It’s all about confidence,” she said.
That’s the whole theory behind the {intimacy} brand, that Susan and her staff — who don’t use tape measures to determine bust sizes — want to advise women on how to get the right comfort, shape and style of bra, which leads to confidence.
So this isn't so much a humor column as it is a commercial for this woman's stores. Surprise!
Fortunately, Susan has a fabulous sense of humor when it comes to her chosen profession. And she likes to yuk it up a bit when talking about it. (You can go to www.myintimacy.com for all the non-yukable information.)
Two things must end - the constant promotion of artists, restaurants, musicians, etc; and the phrase "yuk it up." There are a million ways to say "laugh about" without saying that.
“Women can have great bras that give them great support and do their job and they can enjoy looking and feeling their best every day,” said Susan. “So that’s why we enjoy what we do. And we do laugh and giggle about it.”
Among the many things I didn’t know about bras — including the size worn by The Blonde Accountant — is that in the United States, bra sizes range from A, B, C, D, DD, Triple-D and even Quad-D. But in Europe — and for all I know there are royal bra fitters running around all over that continent — the sizes are D, E, F, G, H, I, J and K.
That's a lot of dashes. Morsch seems particularly enamored with the "royal bra fitter" joke. He keeps going back to the well on that one, and it never seems to run dry.
Susan grabbed a size 40K bra out of a drawer in the store and showed it to me. From my limited knowledge of England’s royal family, the 40K looked to be a big too big for the diminutive Queen Elizabeth II. But it would have made a dandy parachute.
Oh, sick! Who thinks about the Queen's bra size?
“Breasts can weigh anywhere from 10 ounces to 10 pounds each. That’s a lot of volume,” said Susan.
Feel free to insert your own “cup runneth over” joke there. All of the ones I could think of couldn’t really be printed in a family newspaper.
The obscene lack of comedy here shouldn't be fit for print. But I digress. Morsch makes a good point - where are all the lame boob-related puns he should be making?
Until I met Susan, the only thing I knew about bras was that Playtex made something called a Cross Your Heart bra back in the 1960s when I was a kid. According to Susan, that bra has been around for four decades and is still one of the Top 10 bras in America.
There is another thing I didn’t know, that there were actually nine other bra brands in America.
This seems like a random bit of information to stick at the end of the column, doesn't it? Maybe he couldn't find a way to slip it in where it would actually make sense.
All in all, I enjoyed talking with Susan. She’s a good sport and has a delightful approach to her life’s work.
I am dead serious when I say that Morsch could interview Ted Bundy and come away with something nice to say about him. "He may have slain numerous women with his bare hands, but he slayed me with his lighthearted quips and delightful approach to death row."
And I now know a little bit more about bras than I used to, which means the next time the topic comes up in casual conversation, I won’t feel like … such a boob.
I love the ellipsis before the "boob" pun, as though Morsch thinks we will savor that extra anticipation of his knee-slapper.
A Return to Form
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Lassoing a pardner for the rodeo proves elusive
Possible future column titles for Morsch:
"Sticking fork into toaster proves to be a shocking experience"
"Throwing rocks at bee hive gets critics buzzing"
"Surprise prison rape really catches me with my pants down"
I guess there just aren’t many real cowboys or cowgirls in the East Coast contingent of my family.
The Liberty Pro Rodeo was in town last weekend, sponsored by the LuLu Shriners in Plymouth Meeting. I have attended events at LuLu in the past, like the circus, and the group puts on fine shows.
"Fine"? Oddly stingy with his praise, isn't he? Also, doesn't the credit really belong to the rodeo or circus and not the Shriners, who simply "sponsor" the show?
So I thought the rodeo would be a fun event for the family to attend. It’s not something we normally get an opportunity to do.
Morsch reminds me of Calvin's dad - something of a cloud-coocoolander whose idea of a good time is a 50-mile hike and camping out in a blizzard. "Hey kids, guess what I got for you?" "What? A new toy? Tickets to an amusement park?" "Close - tickets to the SHRINERS RODEO!"
See, I earned my cowboy chops growing up in the Midwest, where I once wore boots and a cowboy hat while serving as an usher at the wedding of a guy named Cletus, who was actually a rodeo cowboy for a time.
Count 'em - that's seven clauses in a single sentence.
So I’ve got outdoor arena cred.
“Hey, I’ve got tickets to the rodeo this weekend!” I announced to the family when I got home Friday evening from work.
The fictional scenario I presented above is becoming terribly, terribly accurate. I don't know what's worse - that he thinks such events might be fun, or that he takes such delight in how much his family hates them.
“Me, go to a rodeo? You’re out of your mind,” said The Blonde Accountant, restating a common malady of mine which should come as no surprise to her.
There must be some reason why these two humans married each other. If you have an idea what it might be, let me know. I would also like to note that there's nothing more annoying than a guy who constantly claims he's "crazy" or "nutty." If you have to say it all the time, you really aren't.
Criminny sakes, looks like I may have stepped in it.
Poop reference!
Daughter of Blonde Accountant was equally as adamant about not attending the rodeo. As it turned out, I had failed to take into consideration that the two people in the house who most consistently wear open-toed shoes might not want to be in the vicinity where the bulls and horses roam.
Second poop reference! I don't think that his "in the vicinity where the" is correct, either.
I think Son of Blonde Accountant would have gone with me to the rodeo, but with all the dirt and leather, he would have done so expecting that a ballgame would have broken out at some point in the proceedings.
And a baseball reference! Morsch really, really likes baseball games "breaking out" and the phrase "the proceedings." Does anyone automatically equate "dirt and leather" with baseball? I would think, you know, bats and balls and such. But what do I know.
The tickets were also offered to Older Daughter, who was born in Illinois and who I believe has at least seen a horse and a bull, but she was unavailable for the weekend. Younger Daughter, who has got a little country in her as well, passed on the tickets without comment. Apparently the aroma of fresh rodeo is not enough to entice a teenager to give up a Saturday night.
"Unavailable for the weekend"... I've used that one myself. I'm starting to think that Morsch will be heading to the rodeo alone. Don't feel bad - he brought it on himself.
Alas, there were no takers and I had to eat the tickets. Now I’ve got a build-up of unused “yee-has!” and no appropriate venue at which to unload them.
This man once wrote an entire column about shouting "yee-ha" - I'll have to dig it out of the archives. I'm reasonably sure that I'm the only one of his readers who gets all of these shout-outs to himself.
Surely there’s an upcoming tractor pull within driving distance in my future?
Did he ever make it to the rodeo? Don't leave us hanging like this!
I loved this one. We've got the usual elephantine sentences. We've got baseball coming out of nowhere and an odd focus on manure. We've got weird little call-backs to his own columns. Could it be that our man is finally back in action?
Labels: Liberty Pro Rodeo, Lulu Shriners, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
September 21, 2010 - the day that Morsch actually uses labels correctly.
Lassoing a pardner for the rodeo proves elusive
Possible future column titles for Morsch:
"Sticking fork into toaster proves to be a shocking experience"
"Throwing rocks at bee hive gets critics buzzing"
"Surprise prison rape really catches me with my pants down"
I guess there just aren’t many real cowboys or cowgirls in the East Coast contingent of my family.
The Liberty Pro Rodeo was in town last weekend, sponsored by the LuLu Shriners in Plymouth Meeting. I have attended events at LuLu in the past, like the circus, and the group puts on fine shows.
"Fine"? Oddly stingy with his praise, isn't he? Also, doesn't the credit really belong to the rodeo or circus and not the Shriners, who simply "sponsor" the show?
So I thought the rodeo would be a fun event for the family to attend. It’s not something we normally get an opportunity to do.
Morsch reminds me of Calvin's dad - something of a cloud-coocoolander whose idea of a good time is a 50-mile hike and camping out in a blizzard. "Hey kids, guess what I got for you?" "What? A new toy? Tickets to an amusement park?" "Close - tickets to the SHRINERS RODEO!"
See, I earned my cowboy chops growing up in the Midwest, where I once wore boots and a cowboy hat while serving as an usher at the wedding of a guy named Cletus, who was actually a rodeo cowboy for a time.
Count 'em - that's seven clauses in a single sentence.
So I’ve got outdoor arena cred.
“Hey, I’ve got tickets to the rodeo this weekend!” I announced to the family when I got home Friday evening from work.
The fictional scenario I presented above is becoming terribly, terribly accurate. I don't know what's worse - that he thinks such events might be fun, or that he takes such delight in how much his family hates them.
“Me, go to a rodeo? You’re out of your mind,” said The Blonde Accountant, restating a common malady of mine which should come as no surprise to her.
There must be some reason why these two humans married each other. If you have an idea what it might be, let me know. I would also like to note that there's nothing more annoying than a guy who constantly claims he's "crazy" or "nutty." If you have to say it all the time, you really aren't.
Criminny sakes, looks like I may have stepped in it.
Poop reference!
Daughter of Blonde Accountant was equally as adamant about not attending the rodeo. As it turned out, I had failed to take into consideration that the two people in the house who most consistently wear open-toed shoes might not want to be in the vicinity where the bulls and horses roam.
Second poop reference! I don't think that his "in the vicinity where the" is correct, either.
I think Son of Blonde Accountant would have gone with me to the rodeo, but with all the dirt and leather, he would have done so expecting that a ballgame would have broken out at some point in the proceedings.
And a baseball reference! Morsch really, really likes baseball games "breaking out" and the phrase "the proceedings." Does anyone automatically equate "dirt and leather" with baseball? I would think, you know, bats and balls and such. But what do I know.
The tickets were also offered to Older Daughter, who was born in Illinois and who I believe has at least seen a horse and a bull, but she was unavailable for the weekend. Younger Daughter, who has got a little country in her as well, passed on the tickets without comment. Apparently the aroma of fresh rodeo is not enough to entice a teenager to give up a Saturday night.
"Unavailable for the weekend"... I've used that one myself. I'm starting to think that Morsch will be heading to the rodeo alone. Don't feel bad - he brought it on himself.
Alas, there were no takers and I had to eat the tickets. Now I’ve got a build-up of unused “yee-has!” and no appropriate venue at which to unload them.
This man once wrote an entire column about shouting "yee-ha" - I'll have to dig it out of the archives. I'm reasonably sure that I'm the only one of his readers who gets all of these shout-outs to himself.
Surely there’s an upcoming tractor pull within driving distance in my future?
Did he ever make it to the rodeo? Don't leave us hanging like this!
I loved this one. We've got the usual elephantine sentences. We've got baseball coming out of nowhere and an odd focus on manure. We've got weird little call-backs to his own columns. Could it be that our man is finally back in action?
Labels: Liberty Pro Rodeo, Lulu Shriners, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
September 21, 2010 - the day that Morsch actually uses labels correctly.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Losing It
Since he's not even bothering to try and be funny anymore, I figured I'd analyze a few parts of Morsch's latest actual "journalistic" effort. It's sure to be a real crowd-pleaser:
Rape victim walks right up to the 'line' of consent
There are many subjects that Morsch isn't qualified to address - basically anything that isn't baseball (and also 90% of baseball). But of all those issues, I'd put this one close to the top.
You might say that Nancy Schwartzman is drawing the proverbial line in the sand. And she wants people to have frank and open discussions about just where that “line” is located, all in an effort to curb sexual attacks.
I suppose I might say that, yes. It's amusing watching Morsch try and write something coherent - like a child trying to compose a symphony with a spoon and a frying pan.
But that’s where it gets a little more complicated. Schwartzman, a filmmaker, writer, activist and survivor of sexual assault was at Penn State Abington Thursday to present her documentary film “The Line,” an examination of healthy relationships and sexual consent.
How does that complicate "it"? What is "it"? I think that Morsch writes his stories with the aid of a random journalistic phrase generator. It spits out things like "But that's where it gets a little more complicated" and "However, there's another side to this story," and he randomly inserts them when he's at a loss for a paragraph transition.
Really, you don't want to read this whole story. It's dull and boring and Morsch doesn't even try to work a baseball reference in, like "Schwartzman wants kids to poop all over rape like J-Roll poops all over a high fastball." I found this interesting:
According to Schwartzman... she was a wild, outspoken and fierce young woman before her attack... Although the sex between the two was consensual at first, things turned ugly as the act progressed and Schwartzman was forced to do things she did not want to do.
Got it? But then later...
“Abstinence-only sex education has done such a disservice to young people,” said Schwartzman.
Yep, because... if they don't have sex... they'd never be having "consensual" sex... that could then "turn ugly"... so... um... Oh, right! So decided where your "line" is... and... um... don't let things get ugly. Perfect! Thanks, Ms. Schwartzman.
From Twitter. It seems that stereotypically stupid Pennsylvania Democrat Morsch is losing it in the face of the approaching GOP tidal wave this November.
Sister Sarah's endorsed wingnut wins in Delaware primary. Good. Now she can get handed her ass by the Dems.
Can you sense the fury dripping from this post? All the "hatred" is on the conservative side, right?
@marclombardi Normally I would agree with that, esp if GOP works against its own teabaggers. But they shouldn't be underestimated.
Hey-oh! "Teabaggers." All the homophobia is on the conservative side, right?
@MichaelStubel I'm scrathing my head and starting preliminary research on moving to Canada if the Tea Party gets the keys to the outhouse.
You have two months. Bye.
Rape victim walks right up to the 'line' of consent
There are many subjects that Morsch isn't qualified to address - basically anything that isn't baseball (and also 90% of baseball). But of all those issues, I'd put this one close to the top.
You might say that Nancy Schwartzman is drawing the proverbial line in the sand. And she wants people to have frank and open discussions about just where that “line” is located, all in an effort to curb sexual attacks.
I suppose I might say that, yes. It's amusing watching Morsch try and write something coherent - like a child trying to compose a symphony with a spoon and a frying pan.
But that’s where it gets a little more complicated. Schwartzman, a filmmaker, writer, activist and survivor of sexual assault was at Penn State Abington Thursday to present her documentary film “The Line,” an examination of healthy relationships and sexual consent.
How does that complicate "it"? What is "it"? I think that Morsch writes his stories with the aid of a random journalistic phrase generator. It spits out things like "But that's where it gets a little more complicated" and "However, there's another side to this story," and he randomly inserts them when he's at a loss for a paragraph transition.
Really, you don't want to read this whole story. It's dull and boring and Morsch doesn't even try to work a baseball reference in, like "Schwartzman wants kids to poop all over rape like J-Roll poops all over a high fastball." I found this interesting:
According to Schwartzman... she was a wild, outspoken and fierce young woman before her attack... Although the sex between the two was consensual at first, things turned ugly as the act progressed and Schwartzman was forced to do things she did not want to do.
Got it? But then later...
“Abstinence-only sex education has done such a disservice to young people,” said Schwartzman.
Yep, because... if they don't have sex... they'd never be having "consensual" sex... that could then "turn ugly"... so... um... Oh, right! So decided where your "line" is... and... um... don't let things get ugly. Perfect! Thanks, Ms. Schwartzman.
From Twitter. It seems that stereotypically stupid Pennsylvania Democrat Morsch is losing it in the face of the approaching GOP tidal wave this November.
Sister Sarah's endorsed wingnut wins in Delaware primary. Good. Now she can get handed her ass by the Dems.
Can you sense the fury dripping from this post? All the "hatred" is on the conservative side, right?
@marclombardi Normally I would agree with that, esp if GOP works against its own teabaggers. But they shouldn't be underestimated.
Hey-oh! "Teabaggers." All the homophobia is on the conservative side, right?
@MichaelStubel I'm scrathing my head and starting preliminary research on moving to Canada if the Tea Party gets the keys to the outhouse.
You have two months. Bye.
"Revitalization" Through Subtraction
Surprisingly - nay, shockingly - Mike Morsch posted a useful link on his Twitter:
Soap box rally race to move to Perkasie
Yet another victory for Souderton's roaring revitalization efforts - losing an event that has made its home in town for 25 years. Why? "In previous years, Souderton hosted a Keystone Rally race on Second Street, but deterioration of the street’s condition prompted IVSBA board members to consider moving the race..."
Keep on truckin', Souderton. Keep on truckin'.
Soap box rally race to move to Perkasie
Yet another victory for Souderton's roaring revitalization efforts - losing an event that has made its home in town for 25 years. Why? "In previous years, Souderton hosted a Keystone Rally race on Second Street, but deterioration of the street’s condition prompted IVSBA board members to consider moving the race..."
Keep on truckin', Souderton. Keep on truckin'.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Twitter Roundup
Sister Sarah reacts negatively to Vanity Fair story saying she has a mean temper. Methinks she just proved the point.
11:52 AM Sep 3rd via web
Yet another chapter in the Morsch vs. Palin battle. The no-talent, idiotic, clueless boob local reporter vs. the attractive, savvy, popular national political leader. Who will win???
I like how Morsch uses "methinks," like he thinks he's some kind of genius for uncovering the supposed irony here.
Phils pitcher Ryan Madsen in Glenside today on endorsement appearance. Wonder what kind of crowd he'll draw?
7:58 AM Sep 4th via web
...Just got back. Madson was gracious and friendly.
11:41 AM Sep 4th via web in reply to GregVince
Celebrity! Gracious! Friendly! One wonders if Morsch will ever meet a celebrity who is rude and antagonistic toward him at a public event.
Lakewood's Jiwan James looks a whole lot like Dom Brown. I hope he develops the same way.
about 17 hours ago via web
I googled pictures of the two baseball players in question. Mr. Brown and Mr. James share a certain thin, athletic frame, but other than that, guess what their only similarity is.
Go on, guess.
Yep. They're both black. It's like saying that Jerry Seinfeld looks a whole lot like Jim Carrey because they're both skinny white comedians.
11:52 AM Sep 3rd via web
Yet another chapter in the Morsch vs. Palin battle. The no-talent, idiotic, clueless boob local reporter vs. the attractive, savvy, popular national political leader. Who will win???
I like how Morsch uses "methinks," like he thinks he's some kind of genius for uncovering the supposed irony here.
Phils pitcher Ryan Madsen in Glenside today on endorsement appearance. Wonder what kind of crowd he'll draw?
7:58 AM Sep 4th via web
...Just got back. Madson was gracious and friendly.
11:41 AM Sep 4th via web in reply to GregVince
Celebrity! Gracious! Friendly! One wonders if Morsch will ever meet a celebrity who is rude and antagonistic toward him at a public event.
Lakewood's Jiwan James looks a whole lot like Dom Brown. I hope he develops the same way.
about 17 hours ago via web
I googled pictures of the two baseball players in question. Mr. Brown and Mr. James share a certain thin, athletic frame, but other than that, guess what their only similarity is.
Go on, guess.
Yep. They're both black. It's like saying that Jerry Seinfeld looks a whole lot like Jim Carrey because they're both skinny white comedians.
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