More Things That Keep Me Up At Night

      If a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, shouldn't I be investing heavily in hand-birds?

      I am God's gift to women. If they don't like me in this color or the size is wrong, they're still gonna need a receipt to return me. Right?

      Did Marco Polo really invent echo-location at sea, or is that game just apocryphal?

      Is it possible to overdose on cottage cheese? Cause man, I ate about half a tub of that stuff right before I lay down, and now my toes are numb.

Before there were more things that keep me up at night, there were of course simply things that keep me up at night.

Uriah Q. Muttonchop, Humble Chronicler of the Affairs of the Celebrated

      Dear Reader, as the Entertainment Correspondent for this fine periodical, The Picayune-Tattler, it is my great pleasure and privilege to wind my meandering course throughout this fair land’s many theatres, writing salons, and town square gazebos, rubbing elbows with the most talented Thespians, Singers, Orators and Writers our vibrant young country has to offer. Some of the more generous of them will graciously stand a drink or two for an Impecunious Scribbler, while a few even of the richest insist on The Dutchman's Treat. You know who you are, Mr. Van D--.
      But with great opportunity comes the equally great burden—nay, sacred duty—of the would-be chronicler of this land’s rich tapestry of entertainment: penning the Obituaries of the Celebrated—those dolorous dispatches that remind us yes, even for kings He comes, though one may be the very King of Popular Music.
      It was but a month ago that I first informed you, dear reader, of the passing of the beloved and internationally renowned Negro entertainer, Mr. Michael Jackson. I will never forget the sense of awe and child-like wonder invoked in me the first time I saw Mr. Jackson’s minstrel show on stage—the elaborate sets, the dozens of ballet-artists, and of course, his signature flourish, the Moon Walk. How my mind boggled at the feat! “Great Caesar’s Ghost!” I heard myself ejaculate. “To all outward appearances, he seems to be walking in a perfectly straightforward manner. And yet, see how he nevertheless is progressing not forward as one would naturally expect, but widdershins! What a Strange and Wondrous place the Moon must be if indeed its denizens perambulate in such a manner!”
      Perhaps some of us tutted at the troubled man-child’s Foibles and Eccentricities—the single gauntlet, the tinted spectacles he wore even at night, the pederasty. And even Mr. Jackson’s staunchest supporters in the Negro community bemoan the ill-advised Whiteface Routine he had incorporated into his performances in recent years. Mr. Jackson himself was so taken with the look that on more than one occasion this humble correspondent espied him about town in full costume and whiteface, as if he were perpetually performing on stage, no matter whither he went. Yet who among us cannot whistle at least one of his Famous Ditties, and who of us who witnessed his Opulent Funeral was not moved when that great golden sarcophagus was lowered into the mouldy earth, followed by his beloved pet elephant Jumbo, still mournfully trumpeting a lament for its Fallen Master as the tomb's lid sealed them together 'til that other, Final Trumpet does blast?
      Now yet again I put pen to paper with Heavy Heart, for I have the onerous task of informing you that during the very same month two more of our beloved idols have shuffled off this Mortal Coil, never again in this world to thrill us with their prodigious gifts or their derring-do.
      I dab now at the tears in my eyes as I write of the death of beloved charlatan William Mays. What housewife’s heart did not thrill to the noise of his shrill tenor as he arrived on her street in his horse and buggy, hollering his wares? How he eased the daily drudgery of her Domestic Rounds with his improbably Miraculous Nostrums! And if his snake oil could not always remove the blood and vomit from Father’s going-out shirts as efficaciously as promised, what lonely homemaker would begrudge the odd fib or two, if only it were shouted to her by one so Manly in Form and so Lush of Beard? Farewell, sweet Billy, and may flights of angels bellow thee to thy rest.
      My final charge in this litany of woe, dear reader, is to report that Mr. Stephen McNair, who once bestrode the football gridiron like Colossus, was brutally gunned down by his mistress in a Love Nest in the city. The Wicked Vixen—who it should be noted was of Foreign Extraction—gave vent to all the fury of her sex when scorned, before turning the Hellish Engine of Destruction upon her own tender breast. Though tragic, perhaps Mr. McNair’s fate might serve as a Lesson for Gentlemen to steer clear of the doxies, or at the very least to make certain said ladies remain ignorant of the Art of Shooting, a discipline which this Sad Affair makes clear should remain the exclusive Province of Men.

Top Ten Imaginary Reasons for Hypothetical Palin Divorce*

      Over the weekend, a rumor spread quickly across the internet that Sarah and Todd Palin were on the verge of getting divorced. The rumor was started by the Alaska-based blog "The Immoral Minority," but has since been vehemently denied by both Sarah Palin's lawyer and her spokesperson, and few major news outlets have touched the story with anything less than a ten-foot pole. But the boring truth has never hindered The Broken Stove from makin' stuff up before, and we couldn't help wondering: if Sarah and Todd Palin were to get a divorce, what might be the top ten reasons for them going their separate ways?

10) Stress caused by the media's insistence on quoting Sarah's actual words, as opposed to that much better thing she thought of as soon as she got home.
9) Staying together would simply be "marriage as usual," something Sarah swore she'd never do.
8) Sarah doesn't want kids to be saddled with lame duck mother.
7) "Once you 'go McCain,' there's no goin' back to plain."
6) Gay marriages in the sinful states have eroded fabric of once-sacred institution to the point where straight Palin marriage never had a chance.
5) Todd & Sarah just can't keep it in or out of their pants, respectively.
4) Let's face it; Todd just not First Man material.
3) Sarah sick of Todd constantly bugging her for sex act he calls "Shoot Me from the Helicopter."
2) Sarah is not quitting the marriage, she's simply repositioning herself to serve the marriage in other arenas.
...and the number one hypothetical reason why the Palins would hypothetically get a divorce:
1) It would be the Mavericky thing to do!

*Not actionable. Really. Don't even try it.