Vol. 12, No. 2,856W - The American Reporter - March 18, 2006

Monday Moron

by Larry Lieberman
American Reporter Humor Writer
Tampa, Fla.

TAMPA -- This week, on a very special episode of "Blossom" - check that, "Monday Moron" - I broach the subject of the existence of ghosts and all they represent. As we all enjoy Thanksgiving and the kick-off of the 2003 holiday season, we are reminded of things past, present and future.

Allow me to piece together a retrospective of Thanksgiving occurrences as they apply to the life and times of Larry Lieberman.

The ghost of Thanksgiving past: I am reminded of the traditional acquiescent pungency of the northern region of New Jersey as we traveled to Brooklyn and grandma's home for family gatherings.

I fondly recall the Macy's parade and performances by musical sensations who took the time to master the art of the lip sync.

I am reminded of the taste and scent of a turkey completely free of anabolic steroids.

I vividly remember cousin Robert and his insistence that we have a "tea party" at the kid's card table each Thanksgiving. Despite his pleading, we promptly inhaled our meal and rushed to cousin Marsha's room so that we could dance to the eight-track tape (the only one ever sold) of Menudo's greatest, and only, hits.

I used to cherish the annual unveiling of John Madden's six-legged, mutant turkey, which was shared by the most valuable players in the Dallas Cowboys' football game.

I genuinely miss the scent of the special "wild turkey" that Uncle Hymie used to consume when us kids were out of sight. Wow, that clandestine meat seemed to make him happy.

I can almost taste the nearly-forgotten elixir known as mom's famous stuffing - made from scratch and served directly from the box.

With the past behind, let us fast-forward to the assets of the ghost of Thanksgiving present:

My sister-in-law is pregnant with the newest addition to the family. We can all look forward now to another paste-eating, snot-saturated, Christmas expenditure who will extend the baby gate's duty as pool sentry at the in-law's home well into a third decade. I am in need of a fifth abacus to count all of the offspring generated by the fertile lineage of my Catholic mother and father-in-law. Heck, a 700-year-old redwood would not be sufficient in serving the duty as family tree for our bunch of egg-producing, familial clan.

Acting upon a tip gleaned from fellow American Reporter columnist Erik Deckers of "Make My Day" fame, I have taken a telemarketing job for supplemental income on a part-time basis. As a result, I have reached the conclusion that telemarketing is simply akin to fishing, considering its success rate, but minus the relaxation and beer consumption. When a 90-year-old lady from Michigan tells you that you need to get a life, it is incumbent upon you to consider the validity of such a suggestion, if you know what I mean.

We, as a family, notice that the special "wild turkey" that Uncle Hymie used to engorge is now served is some strange type of liquid which can seemingly remove wallpaper paste on command.

I suspect that cousin Robert of tea party fame is a closet homosexual and still likes Menudo. (Columnists's Note: I have no issue with people who are homosexual and thus I ask that no letters be sent to the editor. Whoever you are is good enough for me. This is why I laugh, when compelled to do so, at jokes regarding chubby Jewish guys who earn barely enough money to generate an income tax return.)

Finally, in present terms, Arnold Schwarzenegger is elected the governor of California.

Now, let us venture into the realm of the ghost of Thanksgiving future:

In the years to come, I shall continue my role as swami soothsayer.

My reproach of Michael Jackson and fallacious disclosure that I have worked at his ranch (see "Monday Moron" edition titled "Objectionable Abstinence" published in August, 2003) will continue to expose him to public ridicule.

LAFF (See "Monday Moron" edition titled "Pigs for the Skin" of 9/29/03) will expand exponentially as women needlessly die an unnoticed death as their husbands fixate on football (I read a Tampa Tribune article three weeks ago about just such an instance, where the wife lay motionless near the couch as the husband groused as time expired in another Buccaneers' loss).

My skepti-cynicism of President Bush's environmental policies will remain substantiated as Congress continues to allow deep-forest logging in an effort to "prevent forest fires" and Tex-Mex restaurants will overwhelming validate my hypothesis that less bacteria is better - despite e. Coli's cancer-fighting "ability."

Uncle Hymie will miss Thanksgiving because he must travel to Saskatchewan to confer with a doctor about the burgeoning scientific field of synthetic organs.

Cousin Robert will be so far out "of the closet" that he won't even be considered "in the house."

The Detroit Lions will continue their unprecedented streak of losing every game not played on Thanksgiving.

The tryptophan patch will be introduced to assist people in detoxing from an overdose of turkey.

Birth control gum will be introduced to a jingle including words which rhyme with gum and dumb.

My wife and I will host our first Thanksgiving gathering and cater the event exclusively through Chuck E. Cheese. However, I will add a personal touch to the event by serving my soon-to-be-famous, soy-based cranberry sauce.

Families everywhere will gather by videoconference via satellite, rather than in person, in an effort to save the last remaining seventy billion gallons of gas. When the Huxtables of New Rochelle decide to visit their grandparents in Tucson courtesy of an over-sized station wagon, President Charlie Sheen decides to launch a preemptive strike against Islam/Kuwait in a "humanity/SUV driven" war to save North America a few bucks. (I'm kidding - deal with it.)

Nobody will recall Arnold Schwarzenegger, literally and politically, though some will remember how he sucked, groped and begged as an actor and activist. The price to air-condition a 1,500 square-foot home in California will now be $500 per month.

I hope you have been duly nauseated by the preceding anecdotes of a pejorative nature. If this is not the case, well, mark your calendar for Monday, December 8th. With any luck, I will get a another shot to offend you then.

Copyright 2006 Joe Shea The American Reporter. All Rights Reserved.

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