This Blogger Prefers Big Irv's Salmon Jerky

When I'm writing a man-sized blog post, I tend to work up a man-sized hunger.  In those moments, I know a handful of Goldfish crackers just won't cut it.  I need real fish, and I need it right now.  That's why I like to keep a tin of Big Irv's Shredded Smoked Salmon Jerky Chew on hand at all times.  One pinch of Big Irv's is all it takes to keep this salty dog a-bloggin'.

Big Irv's Shredded Smoked Salmon Jerky Chew--it's McBone's choice for pocket seafood. 

Also available in catfish, sturgeon and clam.

nwb

J.D. Salinger is Dead. What Happens Now?

Now come the moments JD Salinger fans have been waiting for--the days and weeks and months after his death when, just maybe, we learn what the hell was going on inside that compound in New Hampshire.  We've gotten a morsel or two, yes, a lot of it certainly fantastical, but the one burning question we all had--is he still writing?--was never adequately answered.  So, what now?  Will we be treated to a series of novels and stories that have been stashed away decades, out of the reach of grabbing hands?  Had he been hoarding great literary works as a way of getting back at us for bugging the bejeezus out of him when all he wanted was to not be bugged?  Are there crates filled with the lunatic ramblings of a man, who, by his own daughter's account, spent a good deal of time imbibing his own urine?  Or will the hunt for his body of works turn up the literary equivalent of Al Capone's vault?

Dunno.  My guess is that whatever he was doing in his exile will fall far short of the baloney we've been cooking up all this time.  I feel pretty certain we'll find some stuff out though.  If we couldn't quite manage to leave him alone in life, we're sure not going to in death.  Really it's pretty sad to think that a certain percentage of his fans have been waiting for him to die, but I'm sure that's the case.  I wonder how many years his obituary has been sitting in a computer file, ready to upload after a couple of tweaks.

What I do know is that the man who wrote arguably the quintessential American novel of the 20th century, the man who made an English major out of me, is dead.  I'm going to spend a few days with the 4 gifts that he was good enough give us.

nwb

2010 State of the McBoniverse

Gentle McBoners,

As McBone enters its fourth year and nears its 500th post, all would appear well in the McBoniverse.  In summary, readership in Bahrain is up 100% from a year ago, the Cavs are winning and, according to McBone intelligence data, no vendettas appear to be in the works from our nemesis blogger.  We're also happy to report that the awesomeness surrounding us is currently at an all-time high.

Yes, the temptation is to stamp ourselves squarely on the noggin with the McBone Seal of Approval and call it a night.  Few would blame us if we did.

Alas, we at McBone strive for Truth (or some McBonified version thereof), and thus our address to you cannot be so blindly full of cheer.  Allow us to remove for a moment those rose-tinted glasses.  We ask you to gaze, for a moment only, into the heart of darkness.

For in our fridge there lurks an evil...

Can't see it yet?  Look closer...

Yes, yes, closer still...

Whoa!  Close enough!  Don't look directly at it!

As the internet's leading anti-mayonnaise blog, we understand what a betrayal this must seem.  We vow to do better.  Negotiations with Alex to excise this deadly blight are ongoing.  Progress has been made, but there remains a lot of work to be done.

McBone also pledges most ardently in 2010 to back any reform that seeks to:

-Install a single payer health care system.

-Legalize gay marriage, even in Kansas

-Replace dirty and arcane energy technology with a multitude of green sources--wind, hydro, solar, biomass, etc.

-Bring those degenerates at Calder's Gourmet to justice.

-Reverse the Supreme Court's recent and most abhorrent ruling.

But McBone can't do it alone, dear friends.  We desperately need your help, and so we ask you to forgive us our emulsified transgressions and join McBone in the name of Right.

Who's with us?

Onward!

Upward!

Ho!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

nwb

This, Sadly, Is the Soundtrack of My Youth

So here I am wondering, for no particular reason, what the soundtrack of my youth would be if I could narrow it down to a single musical archetype. After mulling over the various Michael Jackson songs that McBone Poet Laureate MPF and I used to breakdance to, it occurred to me that Weird Al was probably closer to the mark, but none of these answers, nor Beat It, nor Eat It, quite rang true.

A certain gathering of superstars (and Kenny Loggins) captured my imagination for a year or so, but was that song so pervasive that I was compelled to return to it again and again, deep into the night and sometimes against the will of my own sleep starved body?  No, definitely not.

God knows why, but I was really into the Commodores for a few years there.  Bruce Springsteen, Huey Lewis, Prince...to a pre-adolescent boy they were all pretty awesome.  None can lay claim to this distinction.

The horrifying dreams I used to have (and, um, sometimes still do) of Darth Vader hunting me in the dark brought me closer to the bull's eye.  Certainly the Imperial March is a permanent brand on my subconscious, but even that obsession is a fairly distant second place finisher.

I don't know how or why it dawned on me suddenly, but at last the clouds parted and the answer struck me like some silver arrow shot from the bow of a diminutive, 8-bit hero.  This, sadly, and unequivocally, is the soundtrack of my youth:



And so here goes a little, mournful lament to my attention span, and what it might have been if not for that cursed Gannon.

nwb

Birds Spotted, 1/24/10

As I sit at my desk grappling with ideas, I often turn my gaze to our front window in search of inspiration.  Aside from breathtaking landscapes, we also have a bird feeder that usually gets a fair amount of action.

With the weather warming up and the sun showing its elusive face for the first time in weeks, it's been something of a banner bird day here at McBone outpost #1211.  Unlike in my last few bird-related posts, these birds were all very much alive.

Birds spotted

House finch
House sparrow
Goldfinch
Chickadee
Tufted titmouse
White breasted nuthatch
Robin
Northern flicker
Downy woodpecker
Junco
Mourning dove
Cardinal
Carolina wren
Red bellied woodpecker (pictured below)














Of course as any avian enthusiast knows, the joy of attracting birds brings with it the concomitant aggravation of an undesirable rodent class of mammals.

Rodent mammals spotted

Squirrel
Chipmunk

The sucky thing is that the rodents are bigger, smarter and more aggressive than the birds.  Occasionally a hawk will swoop in and snatch one up in its razor sharp talons, but at human devised deterrents they just laugh and feast and frolic in mockery of my rage.

nwb

Meet the McBonemobile

Behold the sleek lines and menacing stealth of the McBonemobile, AKA Serafina Pekkala.

She's a beauty, I know, but there's more to the McBonemobile than just looks.  Housing a souped up yet highly efficient 1.7 liter engine with 127 horses pulsating beneath the hood, Serafina frequently reaches velocities that would have demolished land speed records in the 1920s.

Should you hear a deafening roar and spy a mysterious vapor rising from the scorched asphalt, you'll know the McBonemobile has just blazed through your neighborhood, burning rubber in the name of justice.

The "EX" stands for "EXtremely disgusted by the continued legality of mayonnaise production, retail and consumption in this country."

Named for the goddam hottest witch ever to straddle a broomstick, Serafina Pekkala's sex appeal has often made her a target of thieves, all of them lusting to settle into her soft interior contours.

 

Happily, a state-of-the-art "car alarm," conceived and installed by the McBone engineering team, has thus far proved more than a match for a criminal class that would use this ultimate weapon in their sinister quest to bring the sandwich world to its knees.

The McBonemobile! You may not see her, hear her or even think about her, but isn't it nice to know she is there, ever vigilant and on the prowl?

nwb

All Those Stomach Crunches Have Finally Paid Off

As a bookstore accountant, blogger, unpublished novelist and yet-to-be-paid ghostwriter, people often ask me how I afford the opulent lifestyle to which I've become accustomed. The answer is, of course, erotic dance. Please try to control your drooling as you watch this video starring the Foliglio family and myself.

Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!

nwb

Mourning a Dove

Here at McBone Outpost #1211 we try to make things as accommodating as possible for birds.  Sunflower seeds, thistle and a delicious cake of suet are always available for anyone willing to flap over for snack.

Sadly, this free lunch means an occasional casualty.  Here is a mourning dove who tried, unsuccessfully, to navigate its way through our front door window.

By the time I found this poor dead dove, its eyes were but two empty sockets.  What remained was yet another grim reminder that life is short and glass panes are, to a four-ounce bird with hollow bones, deadly.

nwb