I was listening to the Tush Limburger Show on my radio (don’t bother trying, mine is the only radio that’s equipped to receive it with any frequency . . . about once a week, thank you) and he was ranting and spraying frenzied spittle all over the airwaves about “socialists.”

Since the election Tush is really worried about these “socialists” and what they’ll be doing to his country. Socializing, I guess, I’m not sure . . .

Tush was pretty worked up, though. I haven’t heard him this upset since his pharmacist dropped a dime on him to The Feds, but I digress.

Whoever and whatever these “socialists” are, Tush wants us to be a-feared of ‘em. Tush is a-feared of a lot of things: affordable health care, economic regulations and urinalysis to name just a few — but, “socialists” seem to have moved to the top of his list.

I, for one, do not want to be at the top of any of Tush’s lists. No sirree bob, not me. So, I’ve decided to stop being sociable.

That’s right, no more chat rooms, chain emails or wild parties for me. I’m staying home and watching “Super Models Battle The Dancing Network Survivors” on television and soakin’ my bunions in oatmeal. Well, I was until Tush informed me that “bipedal interaction with unsanctioned hot cereal” was illegal in nine states, although I didn’t know there was a state of Arousal — it’s next to Kentucky, I think. I don’t live there but I’m not taking any chances. You don’t know Tush like I do.

Anyway, don’t bother inviting me to any holiday soirees, mixers or socials. I don’t want any part of your crazy socialism. I don’t want to be among the unfortunates who get kicked out of Tush’s America. I could never hack it in Canada. It’s way, way too close to freakin’ Alaska for me. I’m a-feared of all those mooses and polar bears, they’re like socialists of the animal world; all hairy and everything. Granted, they’re not as bad as Worker Ants but they speak French in Canada for God’s sake! There’s only so much a man can take, or me either for that matter.

Well, I gotta go. It’s time for breakfast. Don’t tell Tush where I am — at least until he gets a new pharmacist.

PHILBERT’S PHUN PHACTOIDS:

A “whirling dervish” is not a mid-20th century toy manufactured by Whammo, but is an American prison rite of initiation involving plumbing fixtures. Don’t ask me how I know.

Over the past 20 years, the common house cat has developed the ability to utilize microwave ovens. They have yet to realize that cooking a mouse at the “Popcorn” setting causes “rodent splatter.” Mice, in a Darwinian effort to adapt, have started ingesting Reynolds Wrap in hopes of short-circuiting the ovens and thus “foiling” the cat’s dinner plans.

The ancient Egyptians got the inspiration for their make-up style from mid-1970’s David Bowie album covers. Oddly, though adept at time travel, the Ancients were unable find a replacement needle for their phonograph and so never heard any of their fashion guru’s music. They were, however, familiar with David Essex and played his hit, “Rock On”, for the pyramid builders on tea breaks.

A “furlong” was first used as a unit of time measurement by bookies and horse racing aficionados to describe the length of time a “welsher” would get to keep his kneecaps, as in “not furlong.”

Westerners have long misinterpreted the ancient Chinese Mystics. The “I Ching” was actually the world’s first fully operational cash register. Yes, it’s true it was used with sticks (a kind of ancient Chinese currency) and the first merchants to be robbed using the new machine coined the term “stick up.” Later they developed coins, thus lending to our confucious, er, confusion.

Napoleon was not fond of sweets and would be really pissed if he knew we named so many desserts after him.

If you were to hold a pie tin over your head while standing on the north pole, you would still freeze to death.

A “catapult” has nothing to do with cats. Don’t ask me how I know.

In Texas, water swirls counter-clockwise down drains. Something to do with the large number of prison facilities and their effect on the water supply… and gravity.

Well kids, that’s it for me. Don’t forget to visit the Enjoy Magazine offices on December 13th for the 2nd Saturday Art Hop’s fundraiser for the Good News Rescue Mission. I’ll be drawing cats or any other fuzzy thing you can think of (well, almost any) in exchange for a $10 food donation. You don’t have to cough up any dough to stop by and say “howdy” — hope to see you there.

Phil Fountain is a local contributor to Food for Thought: A News Cafe as well as a professional feline portraituist. He is not now, nor as he ever been, a socialist…or even sociable. He does, admittedly, eat too much ice cream trying to soothe the snakes in his head, some of which he later discovered were lactose intolerant. He can be reached via telepathy by holding your mouse to your ear and clicking. Double clicking will only tickle your mouse causing them to spit up undigested tinfoil.

Note: Doni Greenberg, Kelly Brewer, nor any other representative for FFT:ANC have read or sanctioned this entry and should not be held accountable for any rashes, warts or nausea caused by reading this drivel. Thank you.

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