Thursday, June 23, 2005

If You Really Must Remake...

What in the skunkfeathers is it nowadays, with Hollywood remaking classics from the 60s, and trying to 'modernize' them?


Two in particular that get my skunk up are remakes of The Dukes of Hazzard and Gilligan's Island.

Dear Hollywooders: unless you can take the years off of Catherine Bach and Dawn Wells, you cannot bring back the originals, and you certainly can't do justice for those of us who were in youthful lust with the originals.

Why do they keep disingenuously calling themselves "progressives", when all they want to do is go backward? But I digress...

There is, perhaps, one angle on this remake nonsense that could work: use Paris Hilton.

Paris Hilton, as the 'new' Mary Ann, would make Ginger look like a rocket scientist. She and Gilligan would then be made for each other. Intellectually, out of dumb-as-tree-stump spare parts, to be sure.

As for the Dukes of Hazzard, let us not besmirch Daisy Duke by demeaning Catherine Bach in such a way; let's instead make Paris the intellectually-stunted, vengeance-minded daughter of the former sheriff, Roscoe P. Coaltrane; 2o some odd years later, 'Sheriff' Rockette P. Coaltrane seeks to exact revenge on the Dukes for their forever besting her 'daddy' (who may or may not have bested her, which would explain her presence, but we digress from the story line).

On one hand, the plot doesn't play: without the Clark-Trent musically backdropped banjoed car chases, half the draw of The Dukes of Hazzard is lost (the other half being Daisy, wearing barely enough mind).

On the other hand, with the Dukes suddenly all too willing to go to jail -- I'm sure the scenes there, with Paris in leather, would most likely resemble her Carl's Jr. commercial -- there might be a whole new industry, just waiting to explode from Hazzard County.

So that's it: either use hot-as-it-gets, dumb-as-a-post Paris Hilton, as outlined, or leave my Daisy and Mary Ann fantasies alone, you heathen schmucks.

Friday, June 17, 2005

Pet Blogs

Have you ever noticed that just about anyone who blogs, sooner or later gets around to blogging about their pets?

I can think of nothing more...inane, especially in my case.

I have a pet rock. A pet rock named Seymour.

Seymour is not an authentic pet rock; I liberated him from the apartment complex landscaping, when I moved in here. As a door stop. A role he served quite well.

But when it came to return him to 'the pile', it was rather cold outside, warm inside, and he whimpered.

At the time, I was a sucker for a wimpy rock.

Since that time, Seymour has been spoiled almost to the point of distraction: insisting on being perched where the TV and remote are always in reach; trying to order pizza and stuff off QVC; learning to play computer games; raiding the 'fridge; using my golf putter to fend off a ravaging leftover that chased Seymour away from the 'fridge; and finally, after watching a marathon of Outer Limits episodes on the Sci-Fi Channel, trying to convert the remote into something that would 'defend the homestead', causing me to inadvertently vaporize the 'fridge before I realized what he'd done.

I don't think the apartment manager bought my explanation, either.

And Seymour is absolutely ga-ga for a humorwriter living in Japan -- Amy Chavez -- who keeps offering to take Seymour off my hands. If she sends me a shipping address, she'll find out I wasn't kidding about sending him along...he's always wanted to sit on her island, and watch the ocean from the patio of the Moo Bar.

Where a rock developed a thing for a bar done up in rural holstein, I'll never know.

At any rate, that's my pet blog.

Now I can move onto more mundane things....

Thursday, June 16, 2005


Never heard of a skunk with feathers? Neither had my mascot; his annoyance is obvious.

Growing up in Iowa and South Dakota in the late '50s and through the '60s -- mainly in rural settings -- I ofttimes heard the watered-down epithet, "oh horsefeathers!". Well, there were horses on the farm, and not a one bearing feathers.

I felt cheated. Either our horses were not purebreds, or someone got to the horses, first.

Later on, I would learn that horsefeathers was just a phrase, and little more than an urban legend, like jackalopes, snipes and honest liberal politicians.

As a writer and new to the Internet in '95, I sought something unique for my very first email address. 'Horsefeathers' it was. And so it remained, until a malevolent virus creator targetted my email, among others.

Since then, I have taken a creature-neutral approach to my email: I have had cowfeathers, moosefeathers, badgerfeathers, even snakefeathers. Currently, I have an alternate email for this blog (

But it was with Skunkfeathers that I was able to go beyond merely the image, thanks to the aspiring graphic arts talent and eager desire to make 'Skunkfeathers' come to life, of one Brittany Sheets (in a shameless bit of advertising, if you like what she did with 'Skunk', and have something you'd like created, let me know and I'll put you in touch with her).

Now you needn't wonder about 'Skunkfeathers'; you can see 'em.

What will this blog consist of? 'Skunkfeatherisms'. What will that consist of?

Drop by periodically, and find out.

Friday, June 10, 2005

Skunkfeathers -- In The Beginning

"Skunkfeathers" Posted by Hello

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"Skunkfeathers" Posted by Hello