Thursday, October 28, 2004

Parties and ... Curses, foiled again!

Last weekend (Oct 24, 2004), we (me) at Portroids celebrated our (my) first anniversary of poppin' 'roids with a huge gala celebration (in my mind) entitled "From Carl Tanner Jr to Morgan Freeman: Portroids Year One Huge Gala Celebration!" We (I) had a retrospective slide show of the highlights from the past year, a museum-quality exhibit of portroid images was displayed in a local gallery (local to my computer screen), special guest speakers (I) spoke about the time their (my) portroids were taken and about their (my) favorites from the gallery, and plans were made for Year Two. All this happened in what seemed like the blink of an eye, and in what was literally my mind's eye. Boy, those were some good times. Good times, boy.

I hope you're all ready for what Year Two has in store, because it promises to be one heck-fire of a year (unless I can't repeat Year One portroid subjects, in which case, it'll be one sparse collection dwindling down to two new pictures by Year Four)!

So ... how 'bout them Red Socks? (I find it demeaning to "socks" to abbreviate their already short name with a substitute "x" where "cks" truly belongs. I think it "sux" almost as bad as "thanx" or "x-presso".) 86 years in the breaking, the Curse of the Bambino has gone the way of other curses that seem to disappear into obscurity after a term of intense popularity (like "fartknocker" or "fiddlesticks" or "horsefeathers" or "sh*t-f*cking-c*nt"). Sorry, George Herman Ruth Jr, but your curse is fiddlesticks now. Quoth the Babe, "ah, horsefeathers!"

I wonder if other curses, like the Curse of the Mummy, have also been lifted and we've been so scared of them all this time for no reason. Like, can we go raid sarcophogii now and bring mummy-bones home to feed to our bone-hungry dogs (or to babies who like bone-gnawing - if you don't have a dog, for example)? What about the pre-teen girl's dreaded "Curse"? Can she wear white dresses willy-nilly now? Only time will tell.

In my continued push to thrust my political agenda upon you (like so many strippers' banana-hammocked groins thrust upon you at the local male strip club (local to my computer screen)), here is my last ditch effort to get people to the polls on November 2: I've switched teams this time, campaigning for George W Bush via telemarketing. I've got thousands of registered Republicans from each State programmed into my computer-dialing network, set to call each person once every ten minutes until Tuesday night with the following message, "Vote for George W Bush, vote for George W Bush, vote for George W Bush ..." ad naseum infinatum (that's Greek for "advertisements that make you barf forever"). I think we'll get lots of votes this way.


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