24th entry to the Colonel`s Scrapbook
Birthdates which occurred on July 22:
1478 Philip I (the Handsome) 1st Habsburg king of Spain (1506) , more than Handsome he was the useless, the Philanderer, the man to drive Juan to madness,a cad, a parasite1822 Gregor Mendel monk/geneticist, discoverer of the laws of heredity although he never knew what a son from his loins would look like
1898 Stephen Vincent Benet US, writer (The Devil & Daniel Webster) Did he ever see the devil through a small hole?19-- Braulio ,singer, Canary Islands, guitarist (Lo Bello y lo Prohibido)I interviewed him in 1991 when he came to Nicaragua and could never wangle his age out of him
24th entry to the Colonel`s Scrapbook
Deaths which occurred on July 22:
1461 Charles VII king of France (1422-61), dies at 58,prize bastard in the true sense of the word, what did the illiterate peasant see in him in order to have him crowned
1967 Carl Sandburg poet (Abraham Lincoln: The Prarie Years), dies at 89. he left us wondering about Honest Abe and bearded gorgeous Joshua who had the power to speed the blood flow in his veins
1298 English defeat Scots at Battle of Falkirk, but that would only goad William Wallace on, as he said,”If we walk towards the sun the shadows will be left behind.”
Born on July 23
1892 Haile Selassie emperor of Ethiopia (1930-74), Negus Negust
1885 Ulysses S Grant 18th US pres, dies in Mount McGregor, NY, at 63.Did he have any liver left after all that drinking?
1798 Napoleon captures Alexandria, Egypt. Couldn`t this Corsican dwarf just stay put?
The macabre imp of my sense of humour
Sickness or remedy? Panacea or silliness…end result I am laughing again. I got doors shut over my Pikachu profile, I talked to the hand, confirmed that every queen has her knaves and they spill hot coffee or tea over her new gown, I fell into a huge pool of mud, and I am still laughing. The shining blue knight in his armor almost fell off a horse of his unbridled proposals, landed at my feet and I confirmed that every conversation which is about wooing sounds so damned ridiculous that your jaw could fall off. A wounded lion, who hurt himself on some barbed wire of the internet, arrives at my booted feet to cry tears of gold. I laugh. Told you so, I want to say to him but hold my tongue because I don`t know if I shall speak to him in Spanish or Italian. Tell you the truth, my Jungle boot itches to give him a sound kick in the ass but I hold back because disappointments can happen to all of us.
I can`t help it. I was born with an insolent sense of humour. Even at my parents`funeral, I had a few laughs remembering some of their blunders. I`m sorry, for those delicate of heart and stiff at manners. Laughter has been my constant lover since I was born, the only faithful one who has never called me by another name, or left me standing in the rain or talking to a misty cyberhand.
Somehow I will choose to believe in reincarnation only because I want to be Democritus of Abdera, the Greek philosopher and scientist who laughed constantly while stating that the atom was indivisible. He lived to a hale old age by laughing at, with and about everyone.
Wise guy. Mirth comes up bubbling through my broken spine, tickles the live frogs in my imaginary garden, brushes the lion figment of my cat imagination`s purple mane, plays soccer with the bullet behind my knee, kisses my broken yet reconstructed wrists and tells my broken left ankle that it`s okay, because it was worth it after all, the pain, the expensive plexiglass cast, the momentary indifference and even any kind of recriminations that would arise. I remember I was there, at the hospital, my ankle throbbing with pain and I couldn`t stop laughing at the sheer irony at how my ankle had gotten into such a fix. It had to happen to me? Did it have to be the nasty Napoleon Bonaparte who had to capture Alexandria, and then order a camel to be taken to France with him? Why me, anyone would say.
You find laughter anywhere, perhaps because it must be an ingredient that mother nature puts into the marrow of our bones or behind the testes or somewhere under your big toe. To prove what I say, shadow of absence, just step into any ordinary chat on the internet,and look at the quantity of codswallop you will be getting. Offers that sound too tempting to be true, Taj Mahals at 25 cents per acre, a life of careless bliss building castles with moonclouds, eternal promises and shows, display of very ethereal affection, even fashion shows to promise you a paradise come true. Knock it off, pigs might fly!
Come on! At the end there is no Svendsen playing the Romanza only from you from a distant blue fjord in Norway, and if you end up believing all those soppy vows you hear maybe you will jump out of your shoes and smack out of the reverie when you open the webcam and find youself a rowdy ape wearing a thick goldchain and nothing else. What do you do in that case?What would French etiquette demand? Laugh,darling. Have no choice,until your stomach hurts and you can find the label for another certified cuckoo more in love with his nether parts while they still work than with any real person he may have the temerity to woo. You can say to yourself, mamacita, si està retefeo de paquete, he came that way so mirror-breaking and still has the nerve to do what he is doing. Unless it was a free ad for the local zoo. No harm meant to the creatures. Really ,must have a highly resistant camera.
Part of my laughter comes from the fact that I believe in nothing. As I once told a suitor, look at Saint Thomas putting his hand into Jesus`torn side. That is me. So when people load their cannon with a respectable amount of bullshit, I am already up for fun. Whatever comes out is just to decide what dimension my peals of laughter will be.There is never the question whether I will laugh or not. I remember the great Richelieu said once that if we gave him anything in writing, he would find in those words enough reasons to send a guy to jail or to the gallows. In my case, in any words said to me I can find a reason for the bublle to go out my throat, into my mouth and out as an initial smile.Anything else can come of it.
A crazy guy, once trying to be sexy and overbold, asked me to show on cam my two mammary glands(which by the way I almost don`t have, and blessed be because the more you have the more you will lose to gravity),I was tempted to ask that if I decided to obey his lewd suggestion, I really could offer no more than two because as a superior mammal I didn`t have as many as my beloved cat Khurrem did. And how to hold back your trembling chin when the someone who is trying to convince you that you re the love of his llife looks exactly like the original alien of Steven Spielberg`s endearing ET? How hard is it not to laugh when a sex-starved lunatic offers to let you see something and you want to answer, okay sir, if you have any of that still left over for display although I suspect you may have worn it off from overexposure?Cases,cases. Worse still, when the suitor who offers you the moon on a platter of arugula and Beluga caviar sheepishly has to admit that er, um,ooops he ,um,had,er,forgotten,mmm, to tell you he came along in a set with two wives, a mortgage and six kids? Splat and pop goes the weasel!Whichleaves me wondering if there is any code of etiquette being written yet about how to conduct internet courtships? Whatis okay or not proper?Can you just accept a wham bam thank you ma`am or how prudent is it to get smoochy on your first session?Due to the fact that farting is a natural part of humanity and cannot be transmitted by internet, is it permissible to do it while chatting? Can you quietly do it before the beyboard while you promise something eternal, like the filthy politicjans do?
Laughter has served as a bond to construct relationships that soothe my soul, if I dare to say I have one. I will never let that warm and soft spot I have in my heart for a former betrothed to me, because he made me laugh so hard my belly almost burst. On the day of my birthday party, he was stupid enough to go out with his married secretary, who had a cellulitic ass bigger than all Gibraltar and Mount Ararat. When coming back from their improvised love nest, riding his motorcycle through alternate roads because they didn`t want to be caught, suddenly the light from the motorcycle went off. The man lost control and hit one of my uncle Jean`s prize mares. The angry animal just managed to give him a sound kick, and sent him, the motorcycle and the fatso concubine flying into a thorny hedge. They were lucky enough to be taken to Lenin Fonseca hospital, where the snoopy reporter from the yellow journal El Nuevo Diario picked up the tidbit with relish and blew it up into headlines. There was where my dearie had been while I gobbled birthday cake with my friends. No wonder he didn`t show up. Never mind, the following morning I just read the paper, said nothing and almost choked on my breakfast from so much laughter. I laughed even harder when he waited, one month later, at the step of the altar for a bride who never came, and realized it had been a masterful revenge while I fled from Managua so he couldn`t ever find me. Years later, we smoked the pipe of peace, came to terms he promised he would never marry and I gave him the wedding dress-handmade lace and seed pearls-so he could sell it off when he finally went in a wetback fashion to the United States.It was like giving him a dowry, but the worst part came when he asked me if he could wear it once before he sold it off. That is when I was so glad I hadn`t married him that I almost began to cry in sheer relief.
Laughter helped me out of a wheelchair nd out of the dangerous fringes of diabetes. Works better than glibenclamide or metformin, although my doctor may cringe when I say this.
Laughter has spooned honey into my mouth while my life dripped bile all around me. Laughter is the protecting coat of mail over my crusader`s body, and the balm when the knee of my circumstances gets scraped by life`s thorns. It is the silk kerchief to dry the tears of hopelessness, pain or nausea. Laughter is that bitter pill to stop the diarrhea of my anxiety when things get rough, and the stabilizer of my everyday routine. John F. Kennedy used to say that a day without sex was like a day with no sunshine. Sorry, sir, but a day in which you don`t laugh you certainly can call it a wasted day.Life being so brief, that is the least laughable thing that can happen to you ,trust my word.