WUGENE THE OCTOPU.S. AND OTHERS
by Clarence Brown
American Reporter Correspondent
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From The Journal: Utterly empty day. I replanted some bulbs that= had appeared on the surface of the ground under the little rhododendron by= the front walk -- dug up, evidently, by Oscar the squirrel, but then rejec= ted.
I dead-headed the geraniums in the planter beside the entrance. I was= hed my sheets and made my bed. I bought Huck a new flea collar. It is whit= e and mauve, and we can't keep him away from the mirror in the bathroom. I= wrote a column about the game of solitaire.
Future Historian: "This was the day when he composed that divine= little essay on the game of solitaire, published first in the Times of = Trenton and then in anthologies everywhere, a work studied by schoolchi= ldren all over the world, and yet it seemed to him ... an empty day! It is such modest self-deprecation that has endeared Dr.= Soup to generations of readers."
God's Email: My cousin Dr. Michael Watson, the grand old man of = Bamberg, S.C., sent me a joke. God sends an angel to earth to report back = to Him. Angel says: They are 95 percent bad, 5 percent good.
Depressed, God sent another angel to check. Same story. God decided = to email the 5 percent good to encourage them. Do you know what the email = said? No? You didn't get one either?
Ha ... Ha. South Carolina humor.
Vomitus Rex: Instead of exercising in the gym, I went to the bea= ch, fed the pigeons, and then walked for half an hour. Bright warm sun, co= ld air fresh off the Puget Sound, sea lions barking in the distance, white = sails pregnant with wind.
The pigeons at this time of the year are famished and go mad over my s= imple birdseed. The white bird that is a special favorite of mine, and wil= l even allow me to pick him up and stroke his head, trod in his own egesta = and then wiped his feet on my sleeve -- there's gratitude for you! But unm= erited suffering is redemptive.
A young couple came by and admired the birds eating out of my hand. I o= ffered them handfuls of seed, and they knelt down to let the birds feed, bu= t ... nothing doing. Even starved as they were, the birds would not acknow= ledge them as qualified feeders. I smiled inwardly, may Godforgive me, whi= le commiserating outwardly.
Bah, Terrorists!: This email from my youngest brother, Doug: We d= epart for Kenya and Tanzania on Saturday. We are to return December 3/4... = .
Now that is the way to live. A fig for the terrorists. An end runaroun= d Thanksgiving. Go on safari! An attachment with the E-mail directs us to= use the cell phone numbers for emergencies only. So as not to frighten th= e wildebeests and egrets and giraffes. To say nothing of the native bearer= s.
Clarence Brown is a cartoonist, writer, and Professor Emeritus ofCompara= tive Literature at Princeton University.