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Marcia!

For The Love Of Harry!

(Saturdays and Sundays I write the next week’s fishwrap material and go out for my bar blog, so I don’t have time to post much stuff. I wrote a lot of blogs when I was blogging on MySpace and thought I’d rerun them over the weekends. Here’s one of my first blogs I ever posted up there, “For the Love of Harry.” Enjoy and have a great weekend! Oh, Condensed Gossip will be updated both days and I’ll also post a daily video, so if you’re around, check back for those!)

For The Love Of Harry!

Harry Edelson was a simple man, who never asked for anything out of life. “Chicken dinner with all the fixin’s!” he’d shout at his fellow workers in the Potterstown Rust Removal company where he had toiled for the last 40 years of his 63 year long life. Nobody really knew what the phrase, “Chicken dinner with all the fixin’s!” meant, but they would wave at Harry and smile all the same.

Harry was a simple man and he had an infectious love of life that was as contagious as an HIV positive prostitute locked in a room filled with suicidal sex addicted lottery winners. Yes, Harry was one of those rare folks blessed with always seeing the positive side of life.

When he was 41 years old, he was removing rust at a sawmill factory when all of a sudden a blade slipped and severed Harry’s right hand. Harry was rushed to the hospital emergency room. When asked by the doctor if he was allergic to anything, Harry calmly replied, “Yes, I’m allergic to saws that sever my right hand off!”

They moved Harry into the office after that tragic mishap, and while he missed going out on field calls, he took it all in true “Harry spirit.”

“Chicken dinner with all the fixin’s!” He’d cry out as he danced into the office every day. “Chicken dinner with all the fixin’s, Harry,” the office would answer back as Harry would offer everyone donuts he had purchased at the local Donut Hut. Most appreciated the offer, but also passed, as one look at Harry’s miscolored stump where his hand should have been would cause everyone to lose their morning appetites.

Life rolled along for Harry until years later when he learned he had contracted the fatal Lou Gehrig’s disease. But as always, Harry’s happy and positive spirit seemed to be unflappable.

“Maybe old Lou couldn’t fight this disease, but I’m going to beat this thing Doc!” Harry promised kindly old Doc Ramsey.

“You’re truly an inspiration to us all,” the doctor beamed back while shaking Harry’s remaining hand and walking him to his car.

“Chicken dinner with all the fixin’s!” Harry called out to the doctor as he sped away.

“Chicken dinner with all the fixin’s, Harry,” Doc Ramsey shouted back while fighting the tears that were welling up in his eyes.

Instead of going back to work after the doctor’s appointment, Harry went home. Once he was safely inside his modest apartment, he drew the curtains and looked into the mirror on the medicine chest in his bathroom.

“Dear God, why me? Why me? Why...why...why?” He cried out. Soon he was sobbing hysterically while curled up in the fetal position on his bed.

Five minutes later Harry used his left hand to squeeze the trigger from a gun he had bought after leaving Doc Ramsey’s office. He unloaded two bullets into the left side of his brain. After about a pint or two of blood gurgled out of his mouth Harry was dead. He was two weeks shy of his 64th birthday.

Three weeks later his neighbors complained to the landlord of a foul stench that was emanating from Harry’s apartment.

As they entered Harry’s apartment they followed the stomach-turning odor into the bedroom and it was then that they saw Harry’s rotting corpse laying on top of his bed. His brains and chunks of his skull were dotted and smeared all over the nearest wall.

Elderly Mrs. Jenkins walked over to the brain splattered wall, pointed at the chunks and said to the crowd, “Are you people thinking what I’m thinking?”

And, as if rehearsed, the group shouted out in unison, “Chicken dinner with all the fixin’s!”

Daily Poll

Beer Frame

Alright, I'm beat tonight, but it was a fun second week at The Marty Wombacher Show. Thanks to everyone who tuned in and to those of you who left comments, I really appreciate it! I just found a website where you can make your own polls, so tomorrow that's how I'm going to start every day. There's also a theme song coming, that I'll explain on Monday. Once again, the posting will be light on Saturday and Sunday as I write my fishwrap material and go out and do my bar blog on Sunday. But there will be a couple posts here and the Condensed Gossip will be updated, so if you're around, stop on by. You're always welcome here. And now, it's time for a beer.

Cheers,

Marty

Video of the Day

Any Major Dude Will Tell You

This is a song I like off the Steely Dan album, “Pretzel Logic.” I read somewhere that the lyrics were inspired by a drug dealer, who when selling pot to someone in the studio and being questioned if it was any good, his reply was, “Any major dude will tell you I only sell primo weed.” After that every sentence for that recording session started being prefaced with, “Any major dude...” for a laugh, like, “Okay, any major dude will tell you we should try and get the next solo in one take,” and that’s how this song was born. Of course it could just be an urban legend, but it’s a good story. Here’s the song:

Any Major Dude Will Tell You

P.O. Box 395

After last week’s empty P.O. Box offerings, I didn’t have high hopes as I approached my lonely P.O. Box. But as I opened it, I saw a pleasant surprise, I had mail! Sure, just two items, but better than last week. Let’s take a look at the loot!

The first piece of mail is a catalog from HP called, Dads & Grads, which either sounds like a reality show on the Disney channel or a really wrong porno movie. Actually this really isn’t mine. The address says, John J. Degluomini or current resident. So John, if you stumble upon this over the internet, I’ll be holding this for you. Oh, and John? Nice last name, good luck with that moniker!

The second piece of mail is actually addressed to me, here’s the envelope:

I was a little nervous opening it, as there was no return address and I couldn’t read the postal mark on it to see where it came from, but inside was a treasure trove of items. Witness:

Losing Mega-Millions tickets, which I can add to my ever-growing collection.

A Keens Steakhouse coaster. Hmm, that’s a local restaurant, so this must be a fellow New Yorker. I’ll put the coaster to good use in tonight’s “Beer Frame” column.

And finally this mystery person sent me a Twins baseball card.

Thanks mystery person! I’ll see your twins and raise you these two!

That’s all for this week’s P.O. Box 395, till next week, keep them cards and letters coming in!

Send anything you like to:

Marty Wombacher
P.O. Box 395
New York, NY • 10113

Dog Day Afternoon

New York City is chock-a-block filled with dogs walking their humans, so I thought once a week I’d take a photo of a dog and the human it’s walking.

This is Lyla and her human, Victoria. Victoria explained to me that Lyla means nightime in Hebrew. And I, as one who rarely rises before the crack of noon, can really appreciate that name.

Good dog, Lyla!

Squeal of Fortune! The Answer Revealed!

Well, no one got the right answer, but I give the following an A for effort:

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Ich weiß es nicht.
tiefighter25

cripples do it wheelie-style! wait...that doesn't fit...
biff

There are no winners when it comes to talking about John Lennon. He's dead.
Joey D
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You were all so close...well, not really, I’m just trying to make you feel good, since you put forth the effort to at least try.

Okay, this was the clue:

This is something John Lennon used to shout out backstage after a Beatles concert if a certain type of person was in or near their dressing room.

And the answer is (drumroll)...

Cripples Neil!

When the Beatles were the height of Beatlemania, people would bring their crippled children backstage, as if the Beatles could cure them. It really freaked out John Lennon and he would shout this out to road manager Neil Aspinall to clear out the cripples.

Unbelievable!

After all the shit I said about Time Warner Cable, they showed up right at noon and delivered this bright, shiny new modem! So The Marty Wombacher Show is once again free of technical difficulties! I’ll be posting the Condensed Gossip soon and then checking my P.O. Box in a bit, so check back soon!