Brain droppings: Scott has things on his mind

In 1997, comedian George Carlin published his very funny (how could it not be!) book, Brain Droppings, which, according to the cover, contains “jokes, notions, doubts, opinions, questions, thoughts, beliefs, assertions, assumptions, and disturbing references” and “comedy, nonsense, satire, mockery, merriment, sarcasm, ridicule, silliness, bluster, and toxic alienation.”

While I’m not a stand-up comedian (I’m too lazy to remain vertical for that long), I often veer into Carlin Country as a sit-down columnist – silliness, satire, and sarcasm pretty much sum up my raison d’être (pardon my French).

Here are recent Brain Droppings of my own.

• I tried to grow a mustache but couldn’t pull it off.
• I caught myself sucking in my gut when the dentist took pics of my teeth.
• My wife always says I could sleep through a tornado. I definitely proved her right during a recent matinee showing of Twisters. MONEY back, please!
• The attention span of the average reader is 8.25 seconds, or about 40 words. Sadly, I already lost you.
• A bumper sticker I’d love to see: “God Is The Ultimate Scientist. Win-win.”
• I wonder how often Paul Anka’s “You’re Having My Baby” is the first dance song at someone’s wedding.
• My favorite Beatles song: Band on the Run.
• There are now generations referring to Paul Newman as “that salad dressing guy.”
• Pickle Ball is the new Pong.
• Without harmonica, “Piano Man” would suck.
• On International Talk Like A Pirate Day, I will only answer to the name “Barnacle Dick.”
• I’m so old, I recall the rollout of CALL OF DUTY: SLINGSHOT.
• My dad once started a sentence this way, “I was talking to my bartender this morning …” I stopped listening to him ever since.
• When I was a kid, the Easter Bunny accidentally hid L’eggs throughout our backyard instead of what were supposed to be the traditional plastic eggs filled with jellybeans. My career as a bank robber soon hatched. (This might’ve been the same morning Dad talked to his bartender.)
• Favorite bumper sticker that exists: “Jesus Loves You (Everyone Else Thinks You’re An A$%hole)!”
• I only watch true crime shows featuring serial killers exceeding 15 victims. Lesser body counts no longer hold my attention.
• I never got over Mom flushing the family pet rock down the toilet.
• When I was a teen, an uncle, near death, shared the following parting wisdom with me: “Never videotape yourself having sex. Just trust me on that one.” He’s still alive today. We pretend not to notice each other at family reunions.
• A bumper sticker I’d like to see: “I Don’t Know Much About Art – But I Know An A$%hole When I See One.”
• MONKEY BACK GUARANTEE. Man, I wish I’d read the fine print. Talk about a mailbox surprise.
• My world has never been the same since Pluto was demoted.
• I get so upset when I waste hours watching Unsolved Mysteries only to learn that the endings are ambiguous.
• It’s more efficient to peel a banana from the bottom. I wouldn’t have known this if not for that MONKEY BACK GUARANTEE.
• Charley Crockett makes people who don’t like country music like country music.
• … apparently I missed the memo that said Walmart greeters don’t carry bags to customers’ cars. I apologize for initiating fisticuffs with that geezer greeter who refused to carry my big-screen TV to my car.
• I always fear the guy beside me on a plane will pull out his emotional support western taipan during turbulence.
• Tom T. Hall deserves the Mark Twain Prize for American Humor. Listen no further than “Who’s Gonna Feed Them Hogs;” “The Little Lady Preacher;” “A Week In A County Jail;” and “Ballad of Forty Dollars.”
• When I greet someone with a handshake, I prejudge their character based not on the firmness of their grip but on the imagined quality of their Thanksgiving holiday “handprint turkey” artwork.
• I once fell deeply, you know, proudly in love with darts. Darts, darts, darts. Darts this. Darts that. Then, one day I say, “**** darts.” I renounce darts. I vow never to step foot in that bar again. That’s how much “**** darts.” That was 17 years ago, and I have never since stuck a toe in the bar. And I love the bar. But why? Done with darts. It’s a sad realization when your passion becomes pointless. (My homage to a great scene from Adaptation.)
• I’m still using grade-school excuse notes written in advance by my mom. She was a prolific excuse writer. Looks like I’ll never have to take a shower in gym class ever again!
• I attend a monthly shy bladder syndrome support group. Sadly, we never complete a full session due to abnormally long restroom breaks.
• There’s no better truth-teller than a belt notch.
• I plan to learn guitar at 85 … just to impress the chicks.
• A sign of narcissism: You wash your hands before you pee, not after.
• I’m OK — You’re OK self-help author Thomas A. Harris, M.D. has a new book coming out: “You’re OK, I’m Dead.”
• A failed stripper movie: Magic Mime. It left too much to the imagination.
• Why is it I always get the Subway “sandwich artist” who is in his Jackson Pollock phase?
• Take it from me: Nothing is more demoralizing than when your imaginary friend finds an imaginary friend he likes better.

Email Scott at scottsaalman@gmail.com.