Get Incensed

“I think he really Duggar, ’cause she was too loose to fake…”

You have to admire someone who takes an idea and just runs with it. Someone who gets an idea in their head and says, “To hell with all the negatives, I’m going to do this.”

Howard Schultz did it with Starbucks, Ray Kroc did it with McDonalds and George Bush did it with Iraq, except without the franchising.

In tribute to good ideas that have been run into the ground, I think it’s only fitting that Get Incensed celebrates this Mother’s Day by saluting the amazing story of Michelle Duggar.

Michelle went on the Today Show this morning to announce that, just in time for Mother’s Day, she is pregnant with her 18th child.

For Mother’s Day, her kids are going to stage a hostile takeover of FTD.

Michelle and her husband Jim are members of an evangelical Christian sect called Quiverful which, coincidentally, also happens to be a pretty fitting description of Michelle’s uterus.

Apparently, this Christian sect encourages children in much the same way as an election to Congress encourages spending.

Michelle has been pregnant (11+ years) longer than most people are married. Over one-quarter of her life has been spent pregnant.

She shouldn’t be on the Today Show, she should be getting an honorary doctorate in Obstetrics & Gynecology from Harvard Medical School.

If Michelle was any more fertile, her parents would be named Tigris and Euphrates.

On top of everything else, Michelle and her husband have given all their kids names that start with the letter “J” — Joshua, twins Jana and John-David, Jill, Jessa, Jinger, Joseph, Josiah, Joy-Anna, twins Jedidiah and Jeremiah, Jason, James, Justin, Jackson, Johannah and baby Jennifer.

This kind of nonsense is aggravating enough when you have three kids, but eighteen?!

The only way this makes sense is if the kids names all start with J in an attempt to remind Mr. Duggar to give all the screwing a rest and just jerk off once in awhile.

The Duggars told Today Show host Meredith Vieira they go through three loaves of bread a day. At that rate, the Duggars are responsible for raising food prices more than the push toward ethanol.

So, in the great American tradition of celebrating abundance (or the fact that you don’t have 18 kids), we offer up this special Mother’s Day edition of the Friday Six — six websites, videos or surgical procedures that made us laugh or count our blessings over the past week.

The Friday Six — the only alliteration is in the names of the Duggar kids.

Have a great weekend, everyone. And for crissakes, use protection….

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Awarded to us by The Cult of Qelqoth

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Thanks to everyone for their patience over the past couple of weeks of sporadic posting. I’ve been working on another comedy project that has taken a good bit of my not-so-free time.

Starting tomorrow, I’ll be posting on a regular Monday/Wednesday/Friday schedule with an additional post some time during the weekend. I’ll also be posting other days as the mood hits (particularly during the coming run-up to the Presidential elections), but the MWF schedule will be something you can count on.

The Friday Six will be a regular feature and there are also a couple of other surprises in store.

Thanks again for hangin’ in there, y’all…

See you tomorrow for the new and, hopefully, improved Get Incensed.

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Awarded to us by The Cult of Qelqoth

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Could things get any worse for Roger Clemens?

I think it’s safe to say Roger Clemens is having a bad year. That used to mean he’d lost control of his curve ball.

Now that I think about it, that may still be a pretty good description of his situation.

I’m not going to sit here and say that being a celebrity sucks (especially since money, sex and access usually go along with the territory), but it’s certainly harder to be famous in this age of cell phone cameras, YouTube and papparrazi than it used to be.

A guy can’t even hang out with hookers, country singers or another guy’s wife without having it make headlines. Sheesh!

It’s patently unreasonable to expect celebrities to be somehow better behaved than the rest of us. I can only speak for myself, but I’m pretty sure if someone had given me $40 million dollars when I was 21 years old, I would’ve been dead by the time I was twenty one and a half.

I’m not sure “having waaay too much fun” could be listed as an official cause of death but doesn’t that mean the real surprise here is not how many athletes get into trouble but rather how amazing it is that the clubhouse at any major stadium doesn’t look like the set of a porn film?

The real problem people have is the hypocrisy. If you’re a crusading law-and-order governor, you can’t get caught having unprotected sex with hookers. If you bill yourself as a drug-free, family man, you can’t expect not to catch some grief when people discover you’re injecting horse-hormones into your ass and banging a country singer you met in a bar.

The combination of occasional drug use and promiscuity doesn’t make you a bad person … it just makes you Russell Crowe.

As it turns out, celebrities face the same basic decision we all do: Do you want to be married or single?

Well, that and, after getting front row seats to an NBA playoff game, whether they want to sleep with the Playboy playmate or the supermodel.

For the purposes of this discussion, I’m going to focus on a decision I can actually relate to.

The point here is, you’re better off if you pick a side. If you want to be single, be single. If you want to be married, be married. Most of the difficulties start when you try to do both at the same time.

Married and screwing around is a problem. Single and having kids is a problem. Single, screwing around with a married person and having kids with them is a recipe for getting shot at.

I think the best advice we can give celebrities is to enjoy what you have and be honest about it.

Personally (and isn’t that what it’s really all about?), I’d feel much better if Roger Clemens came out and said, “Performance enhancing drugs? You’re damn straight I took them. How else do think I’d be able to win seven Cy Young awards on only three hours of sleep a night?”

The only other thing, Rog … when you hold your press conference, leave the wife and kids at home.

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Awarded to us by The Cult of Qelqoth

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Isaac Hanson filming white girls for charity…

When they’re not appearing on some stupid reality show or getting picked up for DUI, you can often find celebrities doing charity work to get publicity for whatever CD or film they happen to be working on.

So, it’s really no surprise that members of the musical group Hanson are combining charity appearances with stops on their latest tour.

The real surprise here is that I actually referred to the members of the band Hanson as “celebrities” and a “musical group.” Sorry. I’ll try to be more careful.

In conjunction with their new album The Walk (and, yes, I do hate myself for even knowing the title of a Hanson CD), the Hanson brothers have taken to walking barefoot for one mile in whatever town that evening’s concert is taking place.

The walk is a promotional effort to raise awareness of AIDS in Africa.

I’m pretty sure most people are aware that there’s a problem with AIDS in Africa. It might be a better idea to have Africans walk to raise awareness of Hanson.

While we’re at it, I’d like to congratulate whoever is in charge of celebrity fund raising over in Africa. Nowadays, you have a better chance at seeing a celebrity in Ethiopia than at the Kobe Club in Manhattan.

Still, I’d like to support the Hanson brothers in their charitable efforts.

So, in order to help raise awareness of Hanson, I’m declaring the remainder of this week to be Hanson Week. I’m urging everyone who reads this blog (that includes you, Mom) to “walk the walk and talk the talk” by peppering your daily conversations with Hanson references for the rest of the week.

For instance, when you’re getting ready to take a break at work you may want to remark: “Hey, Bob. I’m gonna mmm…bop on out of the office for lunch. Can I get you anything?”

Or you may want to make others around you feel good — like a peppy Hanson song — by complimenting someone with: “Did you lose weight? You’re looking very Hanson today.”

Please, do what you can. If we work together we can assure that your children and your children’s children will be able to enjoy Hanson for many years to come.

Well, maybe not enjoy them … but at least be aware of them.

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Awarded to us by The Cult of Qelqoth

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The Magnificent Seven — if you’re grading on the curve…

You can probably name, or at least recognize, six of the actors in The Magnificent Seven. Yul Brynner, Steve McQueen, Eli Wallach, James Coburn, Charles Bronson and Robert Vaughn all went on to have pretty good film careers.

And, for the record, I am counting Robert Vaughn’s role in Pootie Tang.

I don’t know much about Hollywood other than I’d like to sleep with Lindsay Lohan, but I’m pretty sure Brad Dexter should have fired his agent.

It must have been tough to continually hear your name brought up as the answer to a trivia question. Or, worse yet, run into someone at a party and have the following conversation:

Random stranger: So, what do you do?
Brad Dexter: I’m an actor.
Random: Have you been in anything I may have seen?
Brad: I was in The Magnificent Seven.
Random: I loved that movie. I don’t remember you, though. Were you one of the farmers?
Brad: Uh, no. I was one of the Magnificent Seven.
Random: Really? Let’s see…there was Steve McQueen, Yul Brynner, Charles Bronson, Eli Wallach, Robert Vaughn, James Coburn and ….
Brad: Me.
Random: They should’ve called it the Magnificent Six..hahaha!

At which point, Brad Dexter, who was an amateur boxer, would probably punch the guy in the face and go sleep with some hot young actress.

In the final analysis, Brad probably had a pretty magnificent life.

Blogging is a lot like Brad Dexter’s career, except without all the fights and hot young actresses. Which is to say, you do your best and hope someone recognizes your efforts.

The (Magnificent) Friday Six honors six videos, blogs or papal customs that made us laugh over the past week or so. As always, it’s certified carbon-neutral and alliteration-free. It’s also hypo-allergenic.

The Friday Six. Because we deal in humor, friend.

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Star Trek has stood the test of time. The sets, costumes and acting are still reminiscent of every high school play you ever attended. Milk and Cookies has a silly compilation of “dead” lines delivered by Star Trek characters. Nothing deadpan about it.

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Sinister Dan offers up a tasty dish of political commentary, perfectly seasoned with the right mix of outrage and humor over at The Reasonable Ego. (Please don’t jump on Sinister Dan like he was George Stephanopoulos. My bad for sitting on this for two weeks, but it’s still funny and appropriate.)

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Lottery winners aren’t so lucky over at Pointless Banter.

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In honor of the Pope’s visit, I thought it would be appropriate to link to Crummy Church Signs. I’m a practicing humor-blogger, so I visit the site more often than those fair-weather humorists who only show up on high holy days like Easter, Christmas and April Fool’s Day.

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Ahhh, Spring. When a young man’s thoughts turn to love. Cracked.com covers The Five Most Ill-Advised Dating Sites on the Web. Caveat horndog.

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Sure, Bizlevity has business satire and parody, but one of the added bonuses is that you’ll never be able to think of “pig brain mist” again without thinking of Judy Garland. That’s gotta be worth something…

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Hope the weather is great where you are. Have an excellent weekend, everybody!

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Awarded to us by The Cult of Qelqoth

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Can someone explain to me what the emoticon “XVI” is supposed to represent? …

As a humor blogger it’s important for me to keep my finger on the cultural pulse so that in the event the people at CNN call and want a humorous take on the day’s events, I will be able to do more than grunt and say, “Yeah, dude. That’s messed up.”

The problem is, I don’t always get what all the excitement is about over particular events.

For example, New York City is mobilizing hundreds of policemen, firemen, scuba divers, snipers, bomb-sniffing dogs and those guys that sell unidentified meat on a stick to prepare for an official visit from this guy Benedict XVI.

I just don’t see what the big deal is about a PayPal visit.

I know that online commerce is growing at a rapid pace, but aren’t MasterCard and Visa still the two main players in this market?

Don’t get me wrong, I love PayPal. It’s a hell of a lot simpler than typing in credit card information and it seems more secure, but is using taxpayer dollars to show around the chief executive of PayPal really worth the cost of all that extra security?

The least the guy could do would be to make an effort to observe some of our local customs. What’s with the funky outfits, Benedict?

I don’t think it’s too much to ask the head of a major corporation to put on a conservative pin-striped suit and tie when he comes to visit Manhattan.

I don’t care if he’s from Italy. A trendy black Armani suit would be appropriate and still be true to his stature as an honorary Italian.

All I’m saying is, it’s a global economy and I don’t think dressing like a Renaissance chess piece presents a business-like image to the world.

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Awarded to us by The Cult of Qelqoth

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Gone way too soon…

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A good man has left us.

Tiny Glover was only 45 years old when he died but he touched more people than most of us would if we had a couple of lifetimes.

If you’re lucky, you know someone like Tiny — someone who can come into a room and just make it sparkle. Tiny’s gift was that, as charismatic as he was, he somehow always managed to make everyone around him feel better about themselves.

When I first came to Rochester and was performing and producing an underground comedy show called The Comedy Block Party, Tiny was one of the first people to come perform at our upstart venue.

We had other comics there from New York City but it was Tiny who rocked the house and made the night a special one for all of us who were lucky enough to be there.

He probably did that a thousand different times but each and every time you saw him it felt unique and special.

Please keep Tiny’s wife Kim and his 7-year-old daughter, Madeleine in your thoughts.

We will all miss him.

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Jeff Spevak penned a very nice tribute to Tiny in the local Rochester paper, the Democrat and Chronicle. Here it is:

Gentle comedian Glover dies

Jeff Spevak
Staff music critic

Kenneth “Tiny” Glover, a big comedian with a big heart for people, particularly kids, died unexpectedly Sunday morning in Illinois when that big heart apparently gave out.

The 45-year-old Mr. Glover’s many appearances included several years at the now-closed Hiccups, and more recently at Comix Cafe. Mr. Glover, whose material was generally regarded as upbeat and clean, was a popular act on the college circuit, but he also entertained children with a character named Grandpa Teddy. He was working out on a treadmill while waiting for a plane flight back to Rochester following a gig at Illinois College in Jacksonville when he was stricken.

“Unbelievable,” said his fellow comic, Dan Liberto. “I’ve had comics calling from all over the country the last couple of days. He taught classes, he set up comedy coaching, he helped so many comics launch their careers. He toured the country, but his devotion to church and family was overwhelming.”

Kimberly Reese Glover — who married her husband on July 3, 2004, in Horseheads — pointed out that Mr. Glover was also involved in after-school programs involving storytelling and one of his passions, chess. “Comedy was just a small part of what he did,” she said.

One of Mr. Glover’s biggest projects each year was the Storytelling Festival of the Rochester School District and Rochester School Library System. Sadly, that event was held Monday at East High School. “We didn’t want to tell the kids,” said Linda Cruttenden, director of the school library system.

She said Mr. Glover had been at School 19 on Friday, preparing the students there for the event. “He had told the kids he would be there; they were asking for him. We didn’t want to get them upset, so we made an announcement afterward.”

Cruttenden said Mr. Glover’s workshops particularly gave city kids hope, as he had once been a city kid himself. “He came in with a whole lot of sunshine and a whole lot of hope,” she said, adding that Mr. Glover would be awarded posthumously the yearly “Friend of the Library” award.

Like most guys named Tiny, Mr. Glover was a big man.

“He’d been working out twice a week, he’d lost a lot of weight,” Liberto said. “He was eating good; he was really, really on track to get in good health.”

Mr. Glover was born in Rochester on Jan. 13, 1963. He attended Pittsford Mendon schools as part of the Urban-Suburban school exchange program and in 1984 earned a degree at State University College at Brockport in interdisciplinary arts for children. He was later certified as a New York state mediator, working with kids in kindergarten through 12th grade, conducting workshops on conflict resolution, peer mediation, bias awareness and the dangers of drugs and alcohol.

“He was always on the move, getting up benefits for other comics, other people,” said Liberto. “This guy had a heart as big as the world. God needed a mayor up in Heaven, that’s all I can figure. He’d walk into the room, and he owned the place. And that was before the show started.”

He is survived by his wife; their 7-year-old daughter, Madeleine Reese; his parents, Walter and Naomi Glover of Henrietta; brother Walter Glover and sister Angela Skyers, both of Connecticut, and sister Justine-Glover Adams of Rochester; and mother- and father-in-law, William and Karen Reese of Horseheads.

A sister, Tracy Titus, died earlier.

Calling hours will be 5-8 p.m. Friday at Church of Jesus Christ, 16 Helena St. Funeral services will be 11 a.m. Saturday at the church, with interment at Riverside Cemetery.

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“Now where did I put my chipotle-flavored leggings? ….”

I’ve been traveling a lot over the past week which means I’ve been spending a whole bunch of time in airports. The great thing about flying around the country is that it gives you an inordinate amount of time to think. Or to observe a large cross-section of humanity. Or to think about what you’ve observed in a large cross-section of humanity.

Let me just say by way of disclaimer, that’s not necessarily a good thing.

For better or for worse, here are a few notes on what I’ve observed over the last few days:

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I get how you could watch too much Lou Dobbs and be afraid of Mexicans, but how the hell did the Peruvians get dragged into the equation?!

I’ve been up late for two straight nights now and I’m still staring at the ceiling trying to figure that out.

It must be time to go on another trip.

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Awarded to us by The Cult of Qelqoth

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Has as much to do with this story as anything…

I have a fairly simple life plan.

I fully intend to delude myself into thinking I’m still 23-years-old by playing basketball, telling jokes and drinking beer until I can no longer deny the reality that I’ve either blown out a knee, started to sound like my grandfather or am incontinent.

After that, I am going to embrace my inner curmudgeon and start wearing a black beret and carrying around a hand-carved walking stick I can use to bang on the floor for attention or point at people for emphasis as I make a particularly curmudgeonly point.

The whole idea of the second phase of the plan is to become progressively more of an insufferable prick until I get to be 110 years old.

I figure by that time I’ll come up with a new plan or somebody will have beaten me into a coma. Either way, I’ll be at peace.

All in all, I believe I’ve set some very achievable goals and, I am happy to report, I’m actually ahead of schedule on some counts.

I still play basketball three to five times a week, but that hasn’t stopped me from grumbling about things I read in the news. (The fact that I occasionally chuckle at a Pickles cartoon on my way to reading Doonesbury is another good sign.)

More and more, I find myself taking offense at the stylistic elements of a particular story. At this rate, I may become the youngest person ever to win the Nobel Curmudgeon Prize.

The thing is, I don’t consider myself an expert on grammar or the fundamentals of journalism. But is it too much to ask that, if you’re going to write something, you can at least follow a simple chain of thought or maybe even have a chain of thought?

I believe there is a special circle of hell reserved for misleading headlines that tease you into reading a story that has virtually nothing to do with the headline.

With so many news stories to read, watch and link to these days, I think truth-in-advertising laws should apply to headlines. Otherwise, you’re wasting precious time for all of us.

Do I have an example? Of course, I do.

Here’s a headline and sub-head from MSNBC news:

Cool. This sounds like an awesome story. Did the dude suck people’s blood before he bombed the hotel? Did he seduce beautiful women with the promise of immortality while the hotel exploded in the background?

Did he at least wear a cape and talk with a funny accent while he was rigging the explosives?

Um…well, no. It turns out the only thing he did was refer to himself a character from an Anne Rice novel.

Let’s let MSNBC explain:

LA PAZ, Bolivia - A convicted hotel bomber from California who modeled himself on a fictional vampire has died after becoming ill in prison, officials said Tuesday.

Twenty-six-year-old Tristan Jay Amero was serving a 30-year sentence for bombing two low-rent hotels in the Bolivian capital of La Paz in 2006…

The native of Placerville, California, Amero adopted the name of Lestat Claudius de Orleans y Montevideo — a variation on a character in Anne Rice’s vampire novels.

That’s it. He didn’t change his name. He didn’t wear fake fangs. He didn’t even slick back his hair to accentuate his widow’s peak.

Hell, MSNBC didn’t even refer to him as Tristan Jay “Lestat” Amero. He kinda just called himself that once in awhile.

Talk about a journalistic hand job.

Okay, I’m sorry. That’s being a little harsh. And it’s blatantly unfair to hand jobs.

At least with a hand job there’s some small sense of satisfaction at the end of it.

If a fleeting imitation of someone is what’s going to count for “modeling” yourself after someone, I guess I modeled myself after every one of the top NBA players as I was shooting hoops in my driveway growing up.

Worse yet, I once sang “Like A Virgin” in a karaoke bar. Please tell me that doesn’t mean I’ve modeled my life after Madonna.

Because, trust me, that was never in the plan.

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Awarded to us by The Cult of Qelqoth

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M.D.G. on the loose…

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This Sunday, ridiculously talented singer/composer/producer/musician and incredibly good guy Matt Guarnere auditions for the band Saga.

Matt has been a supporter and friend of mine in my efforts in performing and producing comedy.

If you don’t mind, send some positive vibes his way this weekend.

Good luck, Matt!

Rock on, brother.

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Studio version of Saga’s “On the Loose”

At least she signaled the turn…

Let’s file this story under “J” for “Just Because It’s a Stereotype, Doesn’t Mean It’s Not True.”

From MSNBC News: “A woman in Port St. Lucie faces charges of chasing her fleeing husband around their yard in a minivan, in attempts to drive over him about 20 times.”

And she missed all 20 times.

Oh, yeah. Her baby was in the back seat of the mini-van throughout the ordeal.

Which just goes to prove … people in Florida are crazy.

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Awarded to us by The Cult of Qelqoth

Hillary ducks for cover behind a child as her party comes under heavy sniper fire on 1996 trip to Bosnia…

As the campaign for President drags on, it is apparent that no one in the race has the political skills of Hillary Clinton.

In a savvy political move, Hillary has broadened her appeal and increased her ability to get elected in November. Her recent statements that she came under sniper fire when landing in Bosnia show why she is the candidate to beat in the upcoming contest for President.

Who else but Hillary could, in one stroke, increase her voting base among college students and also siphon away voters from John McCain?

The simple act of confusing the details on whether she was being shot at or hugging a child means Hillary has burnished her conservative credentials by inviting comparisons to the late Ronald Reagan and his bout with Alzheimer’s.

At the same time, Ms. Clinton will pull support from many conservatives who want to continue four more years of the type of blatant delusional analysis promulgated by the Bush administration.

Hillary also shored up her support with college students, a group that has been solidly in the Obama camp. Her ability to identify with America’s youth as they pad their resumes in search for their first big job is as an adept a political maneuver as you’ll ever see.

Whether you are describing your summer job at a McDonald’s register as “managing cash flow for one of the world’s leading multinational corporations” or whether you’re describing landing in a private chartered plane and having dinner prepared by a personal chef as “coming under sniper fire,” I think we can all agree it shows that Hillary is just one of us.

The fact that spokesman Howard Wolfson is able to complain that calling Senator Clinton on an outright lie amounts to “negative campaigning” is further proof that Ms. Clinton’s staff is ready to assume power on day one.

News site Bizlevity points out the only way Wolfson would be satisfied that the Obama forces were running a positive campaign would be if they ran a series of ongoing ‘Hillary for President’ ads.

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Disclaimer:
The above opinions do not necessarily reflect those of 451 Press management. The opinions expressed are solely the article’s author — although sometimes that’s not the case either and I’m just bullshitting you for the fun of it.

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Awarded to us by The Cult of Qelqoth

Something to celebrate…

I had no idea World Meteorological Day was such a big deal. There are parades all over the place and people are getting dressed up like they’re going to church or something.

I’m not a practicing meteorologist but this is one Sunday I’m going to tune into the Weather Channel … just to kind of hedge my bets in case there really is something to this whole global warming thing.

In the meantime, it’s time for another secular Friday Six. Six websites, videos or papal encyclicals that made us laugh over the course of the week. It’s a basket full of fun with no alliteration and no hollow chocolate weathermen.

Happy Easter and World Meteorological Day, y’all.

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Awarded to us by The Cult of Qelqoth

Andy Rooney’s eyebrows sponsored by Sunsetter Retractable Awnings…

I committed a terrible sin this past weekend.

No, I didn’t cheat on my girlfriend with a high-priced hooker. It was way worse than that.

It was a few minutes before the hour and for some insane reason I decided to watch the tail end of 60 Minutes.

Which, of course, meant I had tuned in just in time to hear Andy Rooney be confused about something that had happened after the invention of the light bulb.

For as long as I can remember, Andy Rooney has been befuddled by about 98.7 percent of what goes on in the world on a daily basis.

Maybe it’s my own fear of aging, but I have a negative visceral reaction when old people start talking about the “good old days.” In fact, I have standing instructions to my friends that if they ever hear me waxing nostalgic about the good old days, they’re supposed to taser me.

Actually, they’re also supposed to taser me if I ever use the phrase “waxing nostalgic.”

You know what? The good old days were disgusting.

Back in the good old pre-industrial days there was universal health care. You had a choice of bloodletting or an enema. Or you bit down on a leather strap while they sawed your finger off.

All of a sudden your lousy HMO with a $70 co-pay doesn’t look that bad, does it?

In the more recent good old days, if you wanted to carry 250 songs around you needed to have three friends. You and two of the friends would carry the turntable, receiver and speakers while the third friend got to haul the plastic milk carton full of albums, the headphones and the pot.

But perhaps the most revolting thing about our shared, not-so-distant past was the handkerchief.

I guess if you wanted to blow your nose, dab sweat off your brow or buff a speck of dirt off your roadster, it was kind of handy. But the problem with a multi-purpose reusable rag is the second, third or fiftieth use.

You might blow your nose with it, but that meant when you went to wipe off your car you’d be buffing it up with a nice, high-gloss, flu-snot shine. And you know how chicks dig mucous.

That was only slightly preferable to the reverse case where you used your handkerchief to clean bird crap off your car and then used it again later to wipe the spaghetti sauce off your lips at lunchtime.

There really is no good reason to walk around all day with a cotton petri dish in your pocket.

On those rare occasions when you found yourself in the middle of a war or a Three Stooges gunfight, you could use your handkerchief as a signal that you were giving up. Waving a white handkerchief was the international symbol for “I surrender … to your superior personal hygiene.”

In many cases, the handkerchief was a primitive source of gay-dar in a time when such things weren’t as socially acceptable as they are now in states other than Oklahoma.

Basically, if you carried a handkerchief in your pants pocket everyone knew you were heterosexual. If, like Liberace, you pulled it out of the sleeve of your sequined jacket, then everyone knew you were gay.

Except maybe my mom who would think you were just “wonderfully charismatic” and had a “delightful stage presence.”

So, I don’t miss the good old days. I don’t even miss last week — because three minutes of Andy Rooney is enough to last me for the next 10 years.