Deck us all with Boston Charlie . . . ."

Readers of a certain age (i.e., older than dirt) will remember Walt Kelly’s long-gone Pogo, generally regarded by people who are knowledgeable about such things as one of the greatest comic strips of all time. Pogo was memorable for many reasons, one of which is that Kelly concocted his own nonsensical version of Deck the Halls entitled Deck us all with Boston Charlie. You know the tune already. And so, without further ado, here are the lyrics:

Deck us all with Boston Charlie,

Walla Walla, Wash., and Kalamazoo!

Nora’s freezin’ on the trolley,

Swaller dollar cauliflower Alley’garoo!

Don’t we know archaic barrel,

Lullaby Lilla Boy, Louisville Lou?

Trolley Molly don’t love Harold,

Boola Boola Pensacoola hullabaloo!

Bark us all bow-wows of folly,

Polly welly cracker n’ too-da-loo!

Donkey Bonny brays a carol,

Antelope Cantaloup, ‘lope with you!

Hunky Dory’s pop is lolly gaggin’ on the wagon,

Willy, folly go through!

Chollie’s collie barks at Barrow,

Harum scarum five alarum bung-a-loo!

Duck us all in bowls of barley,

Ninky dinky dink an’ polly voo!

Chilly Filly’s name is Chollie

Chollie Filly’s jolly chilly view halloo!

Bark us all bow-wows of folly,

Double-bubble, toyland rouble! Woof, Woof, Woof!

Tizzy seas on melon collie!

Dibble-dabble, scribble-scrabble! Goof, Goof, Goof!

Updated speed limit sign, to reflect today's driving habits

 

Is a bunny the right secular symbol for the Easter holiday?

With Easter just around the corner, the perennial question remains. Why is an egg-toting bunny synonymous with the holiday? Rabbits don't lay eggs. So where does the Easter Bunny get his stockpile? I'm guessing theft on a grand scale, pure and simple. Perhaps a different species, the one that actually does all of the work, deserves to be in the spotlight.

Reassuring a confused trucker

While walking our 85-pound chocolate lab Aquinnah yesterday morning, I passed through a parking lot, where a driver from a food-services company was hauling deliveries into a restaurant. He spotted us, and went about his business.

After I brought Aquinnah home, I headed out on a slightly different route with Martha, a black 40-pound pit bull-lab mix. As we rounded a corner, the same guy I had seen before pulled his truck out of the restaurant lot and onto our side street.

He stopped the truck beside us with a confused look on his face and opened his window. "Did you just have a different dog?" he asked. "Yeah," I replied. "Don't worry. You aren't losing it."

September 23, 1944: FDR defends "my little dog, Fala"

Fala and FDR at the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial in Washington

Every month produced its share of headlines during World War II, and September 1944 certainly was no exception. The Allies liberated Brussels and Antwerp that month. Germany lobbed a V2 rocket at London. The Battle of Peleliu, which would drag on for more than two months amid tremendous carnage, began. The Allies launched the ill-fated Operation Market Garden, the largest airborne assault in history.

September 1944 also is remembered for another, more lighthearted, reason. It was on Sept. 23 of that year that President Roosevelt delivered a speech in which he defended his Scottish Terrier, Fala.

Republicans were claiming that Roosevelt, having left Fala behind during a visit to the Aleutian Islands, sent the Navy to retrieve him. The story was false, but it gained enough traction to become a distraction during the 1944 presidential campaign, so Roosevelt took it on in his so-called Fala Speech, as shown below. 

These Republican leaders have not been content with attacks on me, or my wife, or on my sons. No, not content with that, they now include my little dog, Fala.

Well, of course, I don’t resent attacks, and my family doesn’t resent attacks, but Fala does resent them.

You know, Fala is Scotch, and being a Scottie, as soon as he learned that the Republican fiction writers in Congress and out had concocted a story that I had left him behind on the Aleutian Islands and had sent a destroyer back to find him — at a cost to the taxpayers of two or three or eight or twenty million dollars — his Scotch soul was furious.

He has not been the same dog since.

I am accustomed to hearing malicious falsehoods about myself — such as that old, worm-eaten chestnut that I have represented myself as indispensable. But I think I have a right to resent, to object, to libelous statements about my dog.

Hey, one epic fail per day isn't a bad track record

Yesterday morning, we awoke to sub-freezing temperatures and an ice-covered world here in central Maine. This latest wintry insult made the simplest, shortest walks treacherous, thanks to conditions that transformed every horizontal surface into a skating rink.

But life went on. Chores had to be tackled. After battling (successfully) to open the encrusted chicken coop, I decided to clear off the car, which also was encased in ice.

The doors would not budge. I tried again. Same result. After the third attempt, I gave up, figuring I would have to heat the lock enough to defrost it. I cursed Old Man Winter. I cursed Mother Nature. I cursed the snow and ice gods. I cursed my rotten luck. Then I trudged back into the house. That's when I discovered another, far more likely, explanation for the problem: car keys hanging on a hook in the dining room.

Transforming a ho hum logo into something memorable

There’s a TV station here in Maine whose rather odd on-screen logo for its coverage of the 2016 election campaigns, including the presidential race, reads as follows: “Commitment 2016.”

Talk about a lack of imagination. That slogan is harmless enough, I suppose, but considering the unwieldy size of the presidential field, and the sheer wackiness of several candidates, the addition of one simple word between "Commitment" and "2016" would have elevated the logo from trite to perfect.

The word? “Papers.”

A data breach more horrifying than the one at Ashley Madison

If you think the Ashley Madison hack was a big deal, wait until someone gains access to Dolly Madison's data and exposes all the unscrupulous sugar fiends who've been having extra-dietary affairs with amoral whoopie pies. Once that happens, when we talk about making whoopie it won't just be a euphemism for, well, Ashley Madison-style high jinks.

An overzealous warrior pup is barred from taking the field

I was walking our chocolate lab Aquinnah at 5 a.m. the other day when a skunk emerged from under a fence about 125 feet in front of us. (Those white stripes seem to project a light of their own, somehow, which is a good thing at that hour.)

We stopped dead in our tracks.

Pepé waddled across the street and headed down a driveway on the other side. Good. The coast was clear. We resumed our walk. Then Pepé had a change of heart. He reversed course, came out of the drive, hobbled into the street, and crossed back over to our side.

Aquinnah stared at him, his body aquiver with the desire to lunge forward and let that little stinker know what's what. He pulled at his leash and whimpered, forcing me to hang on tight.

The only thing worse than seeing a skunk in the dark at 5 a.m. while walking an 85-pound dog with a “let me at ‘em” attitude is seeing an indecisive skunk in the dark at 5 a.m. while walking an 85-pound dog with a “let me at ‘em” attitude. Aquinnah wasn't simply offended by the skunk's presence. He was appalled that Pepé, having had the good sense to exile himself to the other side of the street, got cocky and came back.

I vetoed Aquinnah’s plan to engage the enemy, knowing, as I did, that Pepé had superior firepower. To Aquinnah’s chagrin, we turned around and staged a hasty but orderly retreat, despite the affront to his canine honor.

"We have team coverage of the big storm"

Here in New England, TV stations love nothing more than a snow storm, or even a dusting of snow that hyperventilating meteorologists can inflate into a storm.

One of the highlights of this phenomenon is that local news anchors deck themselves out in colorful sweaters during storm coverage, apparently to create the illusion that they just raced in to the studio after shoveling out the station's parking lot.

Another highlight is a favorite of TV news directors whenever A Big Story breaks: team coverage. This involves sending multiple reporters to multiple locations to eat up 15 minutes of air time while providing 3 minutes of actual news.

We take you now to Apocalypse Center, where the team has geared up to report on The Big One.

Anchor sends it to Reporter No. 1 in Location No. 1.
"Thanks Biff. There’s a lot of snow out here, so if you have to go out, take it slow." (Repetitious blather in the same vein for another 5 minutes.)

Anchor sends it to Reporter No. 2 in Location No. 2.
"Thanks Biff. There’s a lot of snow out here, so if you have to go out, take it slow." (Repetitious blather in the same vein for another 5 minutes.)

Anchor sends it to Reporter No. 3 in Location No. 3.
"Thanks Biff. There’s a lot of snow out here, so if you have to go out, take it slow." (Repetitious blather in the same vein for another 5 minutes.)

Anchor sends it to Reporter No. 4 in Location No. 4.
"Thanks Biff. There’s a lot of snow out here, so if you have to go out, take it slow." (Repetitious blather in the same vein for another 5 minutes.)

Anchor: "We’ll be back with more after this."

Living dangerously . . . when you're in your 60s

As you get older, "living dangerously" takes on a whole new meaning. What gets my pulse racing these days is driving to the corner store without wearing my seat belt, to see if I can make it without getting caught; or leaving my asthma inhaler at home when I go for a walk in the neighborhood. No doubt about it: at 62, I'm the consummate risk taker.

New French health study: sometimes, you just can't win

As someone who retired a few years ago, I was intrigued by a new French study that claims delaying retirement keeps the brain active, which can help reduce the risk of dementia. The study by the French government’s health agency says that, with each additional year of work, the risk of Alzheimer’s disease and other forms of dementia is reduced by 3.2 percent.

I was so burned out by the time I called it quits that I assume if I’d stayed on the job much longer I’d be serving multiple prison sentences by now for having murdered assorted past and present bosses in a rage-induced killing spree. Yet by averting that turn of events, I now risk becoming demented sooner.

Not exactly a win-win. Of course, some people might argue that I lost my cognitive abilities a long time ago. They just haven't told me yet.

Editorial cartoonists: keeping the legacy of Thomas Nast alive

by David Horsey

A message from your friends at the Ministry of Truth

This is a test of the National Security Agency's domestic surveillance system. This is only a test. If this were an actual surveillance operation, you wouldn't know bubkes.

In keeping with our mission statement and in compliance with all applicable federal laws and regulations, your faithful servants here at the Ministry of Truth are sworn to keep you in the dark about any alleged violations of your privacy. This is being done to assure that you do not suffer any undue stress while contemplating what your government may or may not be doing behind your back. After all, safeguarding your peace of mind is our primary concern.

War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength.

This concludes the test.

Every morning, every evening, ain't we got fun?

It’s awfully hard to book a cruise these days, isn’t it? There are so many alluring options from which to choose that picking just one is all but impossible. Do I want the fire-aboard-ship cruise? Or the dead-in-the-water-with-engine-failure tour? The Somali-pirates-to-starboard trip? Or the backed-up-toilets poop sail? The man-overboard vacation? Or the ever-popular influenza voyage?

Remember "The Love Boat"? Sure, it was chock full of marginally talented actors playing tacky people saying sappy things while wearing the latest in hideous polyester clothing, but at least you never worried that the ship might sink midway through an episode. As they say over at Carnival: “Every morning, every evening, ain’t we got fun?”

Royal Caribbean's fire-damaged Grandeur of the Seas. Who names these tubs?

"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest . . ."

When your memory starts to falter, turn to Facebook

As much as I enjoy dumping on Facebook because it’s such a time-wasting sinkhole, it does have its uses, especially for those of us whose mental powers are on the wane.

If you check the "about" section of a friend's Facebook page, you'll likely find information about his or her hometown, education, employment, marital status, etc. This can be quite revealing, because some of our Facebook "friends" would better be described as acquaintances, or even strangers. (Who the hell is that guy, anyway? And why did I friend him?) So we may be surprised to learn, through Facebook, that ostensible buddy John Smith is married to . . . Jane Doe.

When I looked at my wife's Facebook page the other day, it listed where Liz is from, which college she attended, and where she's employed. Among the helpful tidbits I found there was this entry, next to a tiny heart: “Married to you.”

So that's why we're living under the same roof! Good to know.

Woodchuck: a grizzled marmot that is litigious in Vermont

I don’t have a groundhog in this fight because I’ve never sampled the wares of either the Vermont Hard Cider Co. or Woodchuck Coffee Roasters. But the lawsuit that Vermont Hard Cider has filed against Woodchuck Coffee Roasters, also of Vermont, strikes me as so comical that it’s worth a mention.

The Associated Press reports that Vermont Hard Cider, whose logo features a woodchuck, has accused Woodchuck Coffee Roasters of trademark infringement. The coffee mavens, whose business is the newer of the two, are using a woodchuck to peddle their product as well.

Yup. These folks have hired lawyers to wage war over who has proprietary rights to the good name and image of that most noble of all creatures, the mighty groundhog.

The cider company says Woodchuck Coffee Roasters' logo is "strikingly similar" to Vermont Hard Cider's label, according to The AP, because both feature an oval "with a woodchuck sitting on its haunches. The logo and name are creating confusion and have led to Vermont residents asking if the cider company has gone into the coffee business, the suit says.”

So what do the coffee merchants have to say about this?

"We were thinking of names and my brother said 'we're a couple of woodchucks' — our family has been in Vermont several generations — so why not?" said Tony Basiliere, who runs the company with his brother. "The general consensus of people I talk to is you don't own 'Woodchuck' just like Green Mountain Coffee (Roasters) doesn't own ‘Green Mountain.’”

The lawsuit might make some sort of sense if the two companies were in the same business, or if Woodchuck Coffee Roasters owned an oozing hazardous-waste site whose very existence had tarnished the reputation of Vermont Hard Cider, or if both companies had identical mascots named Wally the Wondrous Woodchuck.

But none of that is true. What we have are two reputable Vermont companies in separate lines of work, with logos featuring woodchucks that, to my eye, don't look at all alike, beyond the fact that they're both members of the same species. (Actually, the Woodchuck Coffee Roasters critter has charisma, what with his steaming cuppa joe and his self-satisfied smirk; the other guy is just another generic groundhog.)

If the suit is to be believed, the world of commerce isn't big enough for two woodchucks, at least not in Vermont. So even if you've never asked yourself how many lawsuits would a woodchuck file if a woodchuck could file lawsuits, you now have an answer.

Not that Garfield . . . the other one!

Some conversations are too silly to be believed, except when they happen to be true. I had the following exchange with my highly intelligent, well-educated wife Liz as we drove home from lunch last Sunday. It began when I mentioned that I had spotted an odd-looking coin on the sidewalk while walking one of our dogs.

“I found a Garfield dollar coin on Cony Street when I took Quinn out at 5:30 this morning.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve never seen one before. I almost didn't pick it up. It looked like play money. I wasn’t sure it was real, but I looked it up online and found out that it is.”

“Really? A Garfield coin? Wow! I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

“Me neither. I tried to use it at the store when I bought the newspapers, but the clerk wasn’t sure it was real, so I didn’t push it. I told her I’d take it to the credit union and exchange it.”

“I can imagine. A Garfield coin! Where is it? I want to see it. You should save it.”

“I put it in that little bank where I store quarters. Why should I save it? It’s only worth a dollar.”

“Yes, but a Garfield coin?”

“Apparently, there’s a whole series of presidential coins and . . . .”

“What?”

“Presidential coins. That’s why James Garfield has his own coin.”

“James Garfield? Oh, okay! Now it makes sense! I couldn’t figure out why the government would put Garfield the cat on a coin.”

Dumb, dumber, dumbest

Do stupid people pride themselves on being dumb by wearing their cluelessness as a badge of honor? Or does stupidity, by definition, prevent the truly brainless from realizing that they are, in fact, empty-headed?

Recently, the Massachusetts Office of Travel and Tourism, which has a Facebook page called “Visit Massachusetts,” posted a photo of a beautiful covered bridge (see below) with this text: “Massachusetts Photo Trivia! Who knows where this lovely winter scene was captured?”

Now, keep a few things in mind here. It was state tourism officials in Massachusetts who posted this. They did so on a Facebook page designed to promote tourism in Massachusetts. And they described their trivia question as Massachusetts trivia. So it’s safe to assume from the get-go that the bridge is located in . . . Massachusetts! Otherwise, what's the point?

As it happens, the bridge is in Colrain, Mass., and most people posting comments mentioned small towns in the Bay State by way of guesses. Some even had the right answer. But the responses from readers also included the following seven suggestions, some of which were posted by more than one person:

• New Hampshire;
• Jackson, New Hampshire;
• Franconia Notch (which is in New Hampshire);
• Henniker (also in New Hampshire);
• Vermont;
• Brattleboro, Vermont;
• Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont, Maine or New York (posted by a guy who's obviously serious about hedging his bets).

As goofy as those answers were, another one was even worse, considering who posted the photo and why. Guessing various and sundry states in the Northeast was bad enough, but at least those poor saps had the right part of the country in mind. Not so the person who offered this response: Madison County. There is no Madison County anywhere in New England. As for The Bridges of Madison County, it's set in . . . Iowa.