I Got An Award! Duck!

Hey, it's getting close to Christmas! Let me tell you what I just found in my stocking! Actually, on the bottom of my shoe. It's another damned award.

If you're new here, you may be wondering why I say 'damned award'. Isn't it nice to get awards? Doesn't it mean that people like you? Aren't folks just trying to show you their appreciation by presenting you with such things? Well, yes, of course they are. Doesn't mean I can't be indiscriminately ungrateful and cruel, though. For example, here's what I've done in the past: A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J ... well, I could keep going but that should be enough for you to get the idea. People give me awards and I become (as Hilary once aptly put it) a gremlin who was fed after midnight.

This time, though, it will be different. It's the Christmas season, after all, time for good cheer and all that rot. So I will NOT rip the internationally famous duck fondler and Queen Elizabeth impersonator, Eddie Bluelights, a new one.

Actually, I love Eddie. I think he's a wonderful man with a huge heart, tremendously generous to his fellow bloggers. The world would be a sorrier place without Eddie in it. But...

Eddie recently gave me this award.



The mind boggles, after which it keels over on it's side, has a fit, and pukes all over the inside of your skull. Eddie knew when he gave it to me that I'd probably poop on him for doing so, but he gave it to me anyway. The Friendly Blogger Award - could there be a bigger sarcasm? Me? Friendly? Well, sure, some spoilsport out there will no doubt point out pieces of mine wherein I sound downright chummy, even Barneyesque, but not when I have one of these travesties foisted upon me. However, not today. As I say, it's the holidays, so I'll be as sweet as a plum pudding. For instance, I would usually start off by tossing out a few random insults, like the following...

Eddie writes some inventive pieces of prose and poetry - especially for someone with the IQ of a ferret - but he may be best known, these days, for his Sunday Roast, a weekly interview of another blogger deemed worthy of note. Of course, being a blogger deemed worthy of note by Eddie is similar to being a food item declared healthy by a sack full of Twinkies.

(Just to head off any confusion, yes, I am included in the roll of past honorees [number 69, which I've always considered a rather tasty number for me to have been assigned] but I was singled out for that honor when it was still being hosted by the originator, the marvelously classy and erudite David McMahon, sorely missed. Now that Eddie has taken over, I expect that the questions asked will degenerate into something akin to the following:

"When was the first time you had sex with a duck? Describe it. Are there any photos of it? Movies would be even better! If none exist, would you be willing to recreate the scene in person for me? If you've never had sex with a duck, what are you waiting for? It's grand!"

See, that's the sort of the thing the nasty old Suldog might have said, not the cheery happy holiday-infused one, and that would have been a bit harsh on Eddie. There's no proof that he's ever had sex with a duck. Of course, if there was proof, perhaps he might continue his questioning along these lines...

"If you've never had sex with a duck, then tell us which popular entertainers, aside from Queen Elizabeth, might have had an influence on your writing style? For instance, Suldog often plagiarizes The Three Stooges and Tom Lehrer, while I myself plagiarize Stanley Holloway as often as is possible considering my advanced age. Do you have any photos of ducks? How about Queen Elizabeth dressed as a duck? Or perhaps Stanley Holloway dressed as Queen Elizabeth, or a duck, or - Oh! Be still my beating heart! - both?"

But I'm being nice today and that would have been overstepping my bounds. I mean, Eddie doesn't really like to fondle ducks, and he hasn't impersonated Queen Elizabeth since the court order. In all fairness, Eddie conducts really good interviews and this IS NOT the type of question you can look forward to being asked if you ever have the true pleasure of being his subject some Sunday...

"If you could ask a duck one question, what would it be? Keep in mind that it has to involve sex, unless you're willing to come to my place some night and pretend to be Stanley Holloway or Queen Elizabeth. Or a duck. Yes, let's make it a duck. How's Tuesday for you? Do you like orange sauce?"

Oh, my. I hope I'm not doing Eddie a grave disservice here. You understand that's just what he would say, if he were that type of person. But he isn't, you know. He's really a very nice fellow, salt of the earth. Why, if I wasn't already circumcised, there's nobody in the world I would trust with the job more than Eddie. Truthfully, his questions are quite good and get right to the heart of the matter. This isn't really the sort of question he asks:

"Pick a number between one and quattuordecillion. Explain why it is not a letter. If it is a letter, explain why it's not a number. In addition, send photos of yourself dressed as either a duck or Queen Elizabeth or Stanley Holloway. If you can somehow manage all three at once, that would be something I'd pay for! Will you accept a personal check?"

So, you get the point by now, right? If it wasn't Christmas time, and I wasn't bending over backwards to be kind to him, I'd just keep on accusing Eddie of being a duck-fondling, Queen Elizabeth impersonating, Stanley Holloway wannabe who asks ridiculous questions of his interview subjects. None of it is true, even in the least, but I'd have gone too far with this bit to turn back now, so I'd have to make up another ridiculous question Eddie would never ask but which we'd pretend he might. To whit...

"On a scale from one to ten, with Mickey Spillane being approximately equal to Grace Metalious, where would you rank your writing skills compared to Shakespeare, if Shakespeare were a duck? Would it help if I sent you photos of myself dressed as Queen Elizabeth? Would movies of me french kissing Stanley Holloway be even better? By the way, you still didn't tell me if you like orange sauce."

... and I'd be mighty remorseful for having done so, too. A nice sweet man like Eddie gives me an award out of the goodness of his magnificent heart and I print up a load of rubbish about him groping waterfowl, cross-dressing in royal drag, and possibly giving sexual favors to dead monologists? I would be truly penitent about such a thing. To make up for my having been such an a-hole, I'd have to give him one truly excellent question to use during his next interview.

Why, here's one now!

"If you could be an animal, which one would it be? If you could have sex with an animal, would it be the same one? Is it a duck? How about someone dressed as a duck? Or perhaps Queen Elizabeth? Not Stanley Holloway, though. Jim just threw that in because he knows how much I love the man's comedy records. So, a duck will do. I like the green ones best."

Oops! That wasn't right at all! Totally uncalled for, that was. That's the sort of thing I might have come up with if I wasn't trying to be a good guy and I apologize for it's entry here. But, since it's entirely too late to make this right in any meaningful way, let's just plow ahead and have Eddie's guts for garters. Here's a REAL question you could ask your next interviewee, Eddie...

"How many bristles are there on your toothbrush? Is it less than, equal to, or perhaps greater than the number of angels dancing on the head of Dick Cheney? And how much glue would it take to make you stick to your promises? Meanwhile, what's your favorite holiday and does it involve onanism in any way? Assuming so, compare and contrast Napoleon's March On Russia with Ritchie Blackmore's guitar solo on Highway Star. Or a duck. A big green one, with a huge orange bill. Oh! And flappy webbed feet that smack into my thighs! Ungh. Ungh. Ungh. Quack! Ungh! Quack! Ungh! Quack! Feathers! More feathers! Ungh! Ooo-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-QUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK! Where's the orange sauce? Quick, Stanley, pour it on me bum! AhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhGod Save The Queen!"

Good thing I decided to be gentle, though, because Eddie Bluelights is a delightful chap who neither caresses waterfowl, cross-dresses as a royal, or has even had a single thought concerning sex with Stanley Holloway. He will no doubt have something long-winded to say in the comments section, but that's alright, I asked for it.

Now, is there anyone else who would like to give me an award AFTER Christmas when I'll be back to my usual insulting self?

Didn't think so.

Finally, for my good friend Eddie, who is a marvelous sport, your reward for letting me have you on so viciously is a real question that you might ask your next interview subject:

"Do you have any ambitions to be a real writer, or are you satisfied just to be a jerkoff like Suldog?"

And, yes, this entire damn thing, from the time I said "Just to head off any confusion..." has been a parenthetical. I did this for no good grammatical reason. By the way, if you throw something at Eddie, and then yell, "Duck!", he won't. He'll just start salivating.)

Soon, with more better stuff. And orange sauce. Lots of orange sauce.

Quack.