On a Hot Day

There’s nothing like a pilsner of cold German beer. Right?

And for breakfast it’s…

grass fed chicken eggs. Yum!

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Back to Metaphorical Distance

I’m not sure what this means, but it brings to mind my days in high school English class. My teacher was Mr.s Jeanne Parrish, well loved by her students both then and in later life. First I have to tell you a little story. I spent lots of year in school and in college. And you may or may not believe it, but I never ever cheated on a test or by copying someone else’s homework or the like. Actually that’s not quite true. Everyone has a skeleton in his closet. It was in Mr’s Anderton’s eighth grade English class, and we were having an exam. Sandy Aldrich, the prettiest girl in school sat behind me. I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard Sandy whisper “What’s the answer to number 6?” I whispered back “b”. OK, but that’s the sum total of my lack of academic probity.

In twelfth grade Mrs. Parrish gave me an 94 (A) on a test when I deserved an 88. She had misgraded one answer. After class I brought it to her attention. She said “I’ll never forget you for this.” And she didn’t. She was a wonderful teacher. I distinctly remember her explaining the difference between a simile and a metaphor during one class.

Through the years I remained in contact with her. When she was 95 years old, I took her out to lunch and then on a little car tour through Anna Maria Island. She was so pleased. As we were driving I asked her “Mrs. Parrish, what’s the difference between a simile and a metaphor?” She smiled and explained the difference with the same exact words that she had used some 55 years earlier. She passed away the next spring. I loved her dearly. Here we are at my 50th high school reunion.

Enough of that. But if you’re interested in figures of speech, I came across this web site the other day. I learned that Yoda spoke in hyperbatons. Enlightened I am.


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If You Are an Animal Lover Skip This

Yesterday I posted that old Saturday evening DeSoto ad from 1941. I turned the page over for the first time and saw a horrible article. This is where we were back 70 years ago or so.

Not much does more to fill me with disgust and outrage than what is pictured here. There are still many people who would applaud this. I recall when I was five years old in Philadelphia seeing a tiny boxcar cage with the sign “Gargantua”. Inside was this pitiful huge gorilla. I could see the despair in his tragic face. When ever the thought comes to my mind it still upsets me terribly. This is a horrible, horrible photo. Mrs. Hoyt looks pleased. I hope there is a heaven and a hell. Sorry for this.

OK, put that behind us. I received several comments about further and farther. I’m pleased to know that other people beside myself care about this. And beside further and farther, infer and imply, another one that gets me is lie and lay.

If you read Lisa’s comment on yesterday’s post, she speaks of metaphorical distances. Which brings to mind my memories of my favorite teacher, Mrs. Parrish, who taught high school English… I’ll save this for tomorrow.


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Speaking of DeSotos






My friend Spike Bardowski sent me this page from The Saturday Evening Post years ago.

It’s dated January 4, 1941. According to Siri, the automatic transmission was invented in 1921 by Alfred Horner Munro. I don’t know how many other car makers had automatic transmissions in 1941. Our 1949 Plymouth was manual as I recall. I owned a 1951 Austin Healey 3000 way back when. It was an old wreck. But it was manual. My 2002 Ford Ranger is manual. It is also a wreck. Loinfruit had a manual SAAB and now an old Audi, both manual, both wrecks. Personally I dislike shifting gears.

Back in 1964 I owned a 1958 Plymouth Belvedere, automatic. My friend Mike Fick owned a 1957 DeSoto. His car is what I base my comic DeSoto on. They were both wrecks. (By the way, last Thursday Frau Grace crashed my Chrysler. Now it’s a wreck) We always had a hard time starting them. He’d call me, or I’d call him and say “My car won’t start, will yours?” If my Plymouth would start, I’d drive over to his shack and push his
DeSoto up to about 60 mph to push start him, or vice versa. It’s a wonder we both survived.

And speaking further of DeSotos: (By the way, know what really bugs me? I must be the only English speaking person on the face of the planet who knows the difference between further and farther. Further means additional. Farther is a comparative term. Philadelphia is farther away than Baltimore. If you drive to Baltimore, you have to drive a hundred miles further to get to Philadelphia. I’m like Nero Wolfe. I remember reading years ago how he got bugged when someone didn’t know the difference between imply and infer. If you don’t know, look it up. Don’t get me started on the subjunctive case. I am the grammar police.)

From 1991…

The shmoo was a creature created by Al Capp in Li’l Abner.




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What the Heck Is This?!

This fish was about four feet long. What the heck is it? I should have bought it. I’ve been fishing all my life. No kidding. I’ve caught maybe one or two. I had this friend once. All he had to to is spit on a hook and he’d fill the boat. I think catching fish is something supernatural.

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Frau Grace’s Favorite Food

Lobster? Chateaubriand? Caviar? Guess again.

It’s why I’m always out there looking for the suckers. I know a spot near Stony Brook NY. Last time I was there was five years ago. I could get all beautiful cherry stones like these that she could gag down.

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Life Here in Paradise

Did I mention that I joined a boat club? After 20 years battling that heap of crap Piraya that I told you about, I ain’t owning no more boats!

Did you see the baby?

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Loinfruit Looks Out for Me

He figured I needed a new pair of shoes, so he gave me his. Is he a great son or what?!


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Loinfruit Was Here.

My sister left two days ago. We live in Mango Park. Here’s why they call it Mango Park:

That’s Roberta. My given name is Robert. My father was Robert. I have two cousins my age, one deceased, whose names are Robert. Robert is a nerdy name. Remember that Arnoldine’s boyfriend was Robert. Roberta went nuts. I had to drive her around the neighborhoods. She’d jump out of the car and steal mangoes. She must have taken 50 at least back on the plane with her to New Orleans.

Back to Mert Nertman and Baby Nicole…

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Hello Baby Nicole




A couple months ago Lisa asked me to post the first Baby Nicole story. I’m happy to do it. Remember, if there is a particular story or strip that you remember and would like to see again, just send me an email and I’ll do my best to find it. Here’s Baby Nicole:

Charles Schultz had heard that I had drawn something based on Peanuts. Well, I had drawn something a couple years earlier. I think it was Charlie Brown breaking my kneecap with a hammer. Like a fool I sent him that one. He didn’t like it. Story of my life.



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