(I gots to gots to do it!)



I'm pleased to report that Melinda Peterson, my partner-in-time, has been honored once again for her thespian tendencies, this time being nominated for an Ovation by the Alliance of L.A. Theatre Owners in the best supporting actress category for her role in the play "The Illustrated Woman."

We'll be at the ceremonies on at the Shubert Theatre on November 18 and hope that her next job offer will put her into a fine acting company right here in our own company town!



Fellow Bozo, Steve "Only In L.A." Harvey, quoted one of my curious tidbits in his Los Angeles Times column last week, which is doubly odd since I've quoted from his column here and much of my inspiration is drawn from the L.A. Times!

If you want to see any of my other contributions, including photos taken by your observant servant, you can order his book.

So, for a good time -- call the Times!



(. . . and from the Times) In the Former Peoples Republic of the Formerly Evil Former Soviet Empire, comes a troubling tale of bureaucracy gone bad.

Former parties by former Party members left entire floors of the Duma -- Russia's Parliment building -- in a stinking shambles; and in keeping with the ex-reds' "deeply rooted propensity for petty kleptomania" have resulted in the regular disappearance of "doorknobs, locks, toilet paper, soaps, towels, glasses, cups, electrical hand dryers, telephones, mirrors" and pieces being cut from the seats and backs of leather office furniture. . . "as if someone were making a jacket."

After a particularly boisterous blow-out, so many piles of excrement were left for the clean-up crews (who complained in letters to the periodical Moskovsky Komsomolets), that the "befouled sofas [were] lost by society forever, [there] being no way to get rid of the appalling odor."

In the good old, bad old days, of course, we could've just nuked 'em. . .



This comes from "Feathers," the journal of the California Poultry Industry Federation and I'm told it is NOT an urban myth or something like it from the many people who have forwarded it to me -- so for those of you who may not have seen it -- here it is:

The FAA has a special device to test Airline windshields for sturdiness against collisions with birds during flight: a huge slingshot with which they fling a dead chicken at the front of a stationary plane. The slingshot propels the unfortunate fowl at a speed approximating a normal aircraft in flight.

The British heard about this device and asked to borrow it for testing on a new high-speed train. Unfortunately, the dead chicken not only smashed through the train's windscreen, but also destroyed the engineer's chair before embedding itself in the back of the front cabin. After reviewing the test, the FAA told the British to make only one minor change for future tests: don't use a frozen chicken.


IN A WORD. . .

In Britan, they may speak "English", but let me take you on a brief visit to a Supermarket in March, Cambridgeshire, where we stocked up on ras' and straws' fool as well as bangers in a soft bap for our trip back to the States.

There was a clearance on Marmite-flavoured Twiglets, and although we passed on the Heavy Duty Rubble Sacks, Ivory-coloured Swing Bin Liners "in Peach Fragrance," Unisex Nappies with leg cuffs, Adult Indulgence Cereals, Banana Bubbles, Boasters and Farley's Follow-On Milk -- when we spotted the sale on Pedrigee Chum Schmakos, we were hooked!

Now our cats feast regularly on Deer, Rabbit and Chicken; Vegetables, Trout and Tuna; Chum with Rabbit; Herring and Pilchard; Game and Chum Chunks; Prawn Cuts in Nourishing Jelly -- and our personal favorite -- Butcher's Tripe Mix. By the time we were finished shopping we needed an extra hoddle . . . (and a dictionary.)



In the dossier released by The White House on Clinton's health last month, it was revealed that the Prez suffers from a partial hearing loss due to "hunting" and saxophone playing. But at least he hasn't caught a sax-ually-transmited disease. It was also released that he drinks alcohol at social gatherings and "occasionally chews on cigars."

But he doesn't swallow.



At a power dinner the other day down the road here in 90210, I was told by a very attractive woman married to a very powerful producer that when she met the very attractive wife of another powerful producer at another power diner in a mansion down the road leased for that purpose at a powerful price, she was invited to come over and play tennis -- but only on condition that she first send them a videotape of her game!

True story from nine oh true one owe...



It was at a BBQ in Santa Monica the other weekend where someone told me a joke which I think I originated. It was during an early morning interview this July for radio station WEPM, when host Fred Wiebel asked me if I thought Bob Dole still had sex at his age.

"Well, I've seen ink marks on Liddy's back," I answered. "That's a good sign." Has anybody else out there heard a variation on this theme? Expiring minds want to know.

(Th-th-th-that's all, freaks!)

Feel Up Proctor


Published 10/6/96

1996/2002 by Phil Proctor