Playing Golf with the Two Babes

I had another strange dream last night. I was playing golf with Babe Ruth and Babe Didrickson and they were taking turns kicking my derriere. I am not what you call even a decent golfer, but I usually can at least win when I'm dreaming.

Babe Ruth birdied the fifth hole and Didrickson eagled the sixth. I double-bogeyed both of them.

I hope we're not playing for money, I thought.

"Hey, keed, ya play like a duffer. Isn't this supposed to be YOUR dream?" The Bambino was needling me.

"Yeah, that's pretty pathetic. We're skunking you and you're supposed to be calling the shots." Didrickson said. "Not only are you getting spanked by a girl and a fat guy, but we've both been dead for more than 50 years."

"Make that 70, Babe, at least for me." the Sultan of Swat replied.

"That's right, Babe." Didrickson said. "I forgot that you've been gone that long."

"But, I can still smack the ball, uh?"

"No doubt," Babe said to Babe.

"And you have the advantage of using superior equipment. Just think how good we'd be able to play back then with the new clubs and balls these pros use today. Take the Cobra golf drivers and irons, for instance." Ruth was making a point while smoking a cigar and eating a hot dog.

"Exactly big boy. Cobra makes precision clubs featuring dual weighting systems, a large face area, and maraging steel free inserts. Their fastback crown design and custom sole are state-of-the-art." Didrickson said.

"Honey, can you imagine how good we'd be if we had Cobra golf clubs way back then?"

"Aww, forget about it! Tiger Woods would be carrying my bag."

Both Babes threw back their heads and laughed heartily. Ruth even sprayed a little mustard on my nice golf sweater.

I woke up-sweating profusely and 12 strokes down.

Those French Know Their Toast

The other day I had an opprtunity to sample one of the most decadent dishes on the planet. It's called French toast casserole and it's not for the weak of heart. Imagine stuffed French toast meets macaroni and cheese meats sugary sweet euphoria. It's a daibetic coma just waiting to happen, but it is so tasty and wonderful that it cannot be resisted. It's breakfast and dessert in a union that is so wrong I don't wanna be right. The flavors, the textures, the options (you can really put anything you want in it, from bacon to fresh fruit to chocloate or caramel.) I am drooling like one of Pavlov's dogs just thinking about this amazing creation. It is times like these that make me happy to be living on this orb during this precise time in history. When they look back 1,000 years from now on our civilization, French toast casserole will be cited as the beginning of our Final Days. It's that wrong--and that good!

Oktoberfest Is Dangerous!

I landed in Germany just in time for Oktoberfest, the largest beer-drinking, sausage-eating gorgy in the world. I hit the first mega-tent I saw and guzzled down 4 beers and gobbled up 6 sausages of different types in the first hour.

Suddenly I got a Babe Ruth-sized case of massive, gut-turning, very painful and extremely horrific indigestion.

Next thing I know, a German doctor is probing me in sensitive places with a tool that looks like a trowel.

"Vat did you eat?" The doctor had his nose hairs combed into a mustache.

"Those uh, spicy sausages."

"How many?"

"Maybe six."

The doc muttered something in German and continued probing.

"How many beers did you drink, yah?"

"I don't know, maybe 3 or 4."

"Oh, there's the problem."

"What doc? What is it?"

"You need more beer."

Oh, I thought, of course. Beer will settle my stomach. If I ever have the desire to drink one again.

Oktoberfest is not for the weak and I know that now.

For the next four days, I drank Pepto and experienced what I call "Adolph's Revenge."

My stomach started churning again when I got the doctor's bill-$350 American.

I'm sure glad I bought travel insurance.

Meet the Next President: OPRAH!!

When Barack Obama made his acceptance speech in Chicago last week, the cameras kept flashing on Oprah leaning on and weeping all over some guy who is now a media star. Everything Oprah touches (I don't need to even mention her last name, that's how famous she is) turns into gold! The woman was glowing like a Chernobyl baby!
After supporting him early on and actually going on the road and campaigning for Obama, Oprah must now certainly believe that she's a president maker, in addition to being the highest paid woman on TV. Will the President-Elect now feel obligated to keep her involved? Will she be the new Secretary of the Interior, for instance?
The already self-absorbed Oprah must now think she can do no wrong. She gives needy people cars and money; she started a school in Africa and celebrities clamor to be guests on her show. Every public appearance she makes results in a mad mob scene. She's into publishing, the Web, radio and retailing.
Oprah's show is a consistent hit and she's assembled a following equal to any entertainer on the planet. She recommends books and they hit the bestseller list. She touts other entertainers and they get their own shows. She drops a dozen eggs and an omelette suddenly appears. She breaks wind and it's an alternative fuel source.
What's next? Will Oprah run for president herself in 2012? Or will she put the people in place to run, say a ticket with Dr. Phil for Prez and Rachel Ray for VP? It will be interesting to see how this plays out. Obama's victory was a triumph for Oprah. And now it's time to give for Barack to give her her due!