A perfectly good cocktail hour was almost ruined for me by a banana.

I was at a couple of dress-up affairs recently and like any experienced, self-respecting degenerate looking to get his money’s worth, I attacked the cocktail hour as if that were the main event. If I were the President of the United States, I’d have pigs in a blanket at State Dinners. Talk about diplomacy — who doesn’t like pigs?  (Don’t go all poly-sci on me and tell me that pigs in a blanket would be an insult to some. I’m just trying to make a point here). 

Cocktail hours are the make-or-break of any affair. And all the better if they last more than an hour. You got your pigs, your cold drinks, everyone’s saying hello to each other, everybody’s psyched for a good

I have a stupid idea I want to share. So don’t tell me it’s stupid, I just told you it was stupid.

You know what far is? It’s far. And in most cases, it’s not a good thing.  It’s a simple word but it’s loaded. I mean even when it’s used in a positive way it carries the hint of possible doom.  So far, so good. To those of us who see the glass nine-tenths empty, the phrase “so far so good” is not complete unless you add “but.”

As in, so far so good, but anything can happen. So far so good, but

Man, did you watch the Winter Olympics?  That mixed curling was intense and hit way too close to home.  Mixed curling is like housework on steroids — and this being the Olympics — I think I mean that literally. 

Mixed curling is a completely made up sport that no one plays or understands.  The TV network bosses must think it’s rating magic because it just appears every four years.

Teams consist of men and women, that’s the mixed part. The curling part seems to be like bocce but I’m not really

I flew to Austin, Texas and then drove down to San Antonio last weekend for a midwinter break. People watching is a favorite sport of mine — except when I’m on a plane.  Then I just hate people. This trip was no different.

I was so annoyed, I knew I’d need some emotional support for the trip home, so I went to some ranch and bought a 2000-pound longhorn. I was immediately pleased with the thought of my new pet making its way down the aisle. I’ve been hit with enough luggage and sizeable rear

You know I can’t resist dropping a proverb on you that was dropped on me:  “If wars were fought with words, Ireland would rule the world.”

Of course, there are a couple of variations on what’s keeping Ireland from ruling the world but it’s hard to argue that it rules a good chunk of Rockaway this week, including this column.

I’m guessing a lot of people who live in New Orleans hate Mardi Gras. They can do without the crowds and the madness.  I’m guessing a few feel the same way about Parade

When the stock market first dropped a couple of weeks back I thought about an old buddy who used to manage money at a Wall Street firm.  He’d say after a down day, his company “made millionaires….out of billionaires.”  Ya might have to read that twice to get the joke.

Anyway, speaking of billionaires, I‘ve met two: Michael Bloomberg and Stephen Spielberg.  As far as I could tell, they had nothing in common other than having more money than they could ever spend.  Oh, apologies to my friends

A friend has insisted I write about the pansification of society. We’re all a bunch of sissies, weenies, crybabies and yes, pansies. Pansies equals pansification, I guess.

It’s been a weekly thing for a while. He storms into the RT office and barks:  When are you gonna write about pansification?!  What, you don’t have the nerve?

Maybe barks is the wrong word. I mean, these demands come from a man with not one, but two, poodles. Nothing against poodles, but if you’re gonna get all Clint

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