Dear my blog advertisers, I can’t fathom what there is about my profile that makes you suddenly believe that I am an End Days survivalist in need of plant seeds and a mail-order bride. Is this the new 41-year-old, single male, target demographic? You’ve also included coin collecting. Well, I suppose money WILL be worthless come the revolution.  Honestly, the old ads from junk food manufactures and whiskey merchants were closer to the truth. Give me back those, please. Thank you.

 

 

 

I just learned that parrots can live to be 60-years-old. So now, no matter how bad my day is, I can take solace in the fact that somewhere there is a Macaw swearing at people in 1950’s slang, going on anti-communist screeds, and enthusiastically singing jingles extolling the health benefits of smooth tasting, charcoal roasted, unfiltered Lucky Strikes. You know what? The world IS magical.