The Holy Grail Press
Proudly Made On Earth By Earthlings
Word of the Every So Often
dubiety: (noun) (pronounced: du-by-ah-tee) being doubtful; uncertain; the condition of being dubious. Bob’s dubiety was more than obvious when he asked out Clarissa.
The Almost Daily
Today is National Skipping Day. Not skip school. That’s on December 2. Beside, it’s Saturday. Lot of good skipping school would do you on a Saturday. We’re talking about that thing kids love to do when they go… well… just about anywhere. And it is fun to skip. So why limit it just to kids? Here, at the Press, we’re trying to get skipping recognized as an Olympic Sport. Instead of having numbers pinned to their shirts, they have to carry balloons. If you lose your balloon, you’re disqualified. Hey, it couldn’t be sillier than some of the other sports they recognize. Regardless, today wherever you go, whatever you do, do it while you skip. Or just skip out in the driveway when nobody’s looking... just to remember how much fun it was to be a kid.
Cartoon of the Week
The Emperor shows his appreciation for being told he was naked.
Stuff
A First Class Funeral
We gave Uncle Adolf one helluva send-off.
The ladies that had known him
before he was ninety
just had a wonderful time crying,
and we all got to take our turns
walking by and wondering
how in just three days
Uncle Adolf could be made to look
like somebody no one knew.
Father Bauer did it up, too.
All in starched white,
not the ordinary Sunday stuff,
swinging a fresh supply of incense
and saying the very best of prayers.
He had practiced.
Even the Altar Boys were top rate.
You could tell it wasn’t the first
really first class funeral they’d ever done.
It’s those little things,
like not dropping the Holy Water
just short of the Father’s reach,
while everyone looks on in terror,
and then having to go running back for more
that they’ll probably get out of the drinking fountain
because they’re too scared
to touch the real stuff
without having been properly blessed themselves.
And they didn’t even sit on their heels
when the Father dragged on,
saying wonderful things about Uncle Adolf,
who wasn’t even there,
because we had all decided
that the funeral home had goofed
and sent over the wrong guy,
but no one was brave enough to admit it,
at least not out loud, that is.
Even the pallbearers were a class act.
No one let on for a moment
that the casket was really heavy,
undoubtedly the deluxe model.
Made to last.
And not a one stumbled
while carrying that casket to the car,
where they slid it in without a hitch.
No broken feet.
No hernias.
No busted lid that refused to stay shut.
And I had this really wild idea,
that at the very same time across town
there was this other funeral
where Uncle Adolf really was,
and no one there would admit
that the funeral home goofed, either.
But somewhere on the way
both lines of cars would get all mixed up,
and we’d get the right coffin
under the right headstone after all.
But it never happened.
At least, not in real life.
Someone had called a cop
who knew the right way
to the right graveyard
and never once acted the least bit concerned
about getting lost.
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