Stephan Pastis's Blog, page 26

Five Easy-To-Remember Workplace Rules for the Monday After Thanksgiving

1) Please stop asking me about my Thanksgiving.  I ate food.

2) Please don't tell me about your Thanksgiving.   It probably looked a lot like mine.

3) Please don't smile and pat your stomach and tell me you ate too much.  If you can't stop shoving things in your mouth, that's a personal issue.

4)  No, I didn't watch the football game.  And no, I don't want you to re-enact any of the plays.

5)  While were at it, please never tell me about your weekend.  We have weekends so can avoid each other. ...

The Last Bunch of Signed Books for Awhile

Because the prior books sold out, I just signed a whole bunch of the latest book, "Pearls Sells Out."  I drew either Rat, Pig, Guard Duck, Snuffles, Goat, Zebra, the crocs or me in every book.

To buy them, call 707 578-8938.

Thanksgiving

"The Holidays:  A time of year when people who otherwise try to avoid each other can't."

– Stephan Pastis

It takes a certain kind of ass to quote himself at the beginning of his own blog.  Fortunately, that's me.

But I think I'm more than just an ass.  I'm also a misanthrope.

I don't like people.  I don't like parties.  I don't like the holidays.

Given that, the following will be woefully out of character.

Purists, look away.

. . .

We have in this country an all-volunteer army.  It creates two...

And Now A Word About Spaying and Neutering Your Pets

The car in front of me yesterday had a bumper sticker that said, "Spay and Neuter Your Pets."

It made me mad.

Yeah, I know, it's important and all, so don't send me your complaints, but let me just say this.

Why do we let dogs and cats off the hook that easy?  Alright, fine, it's a little tough on them physically to lose some of their pink parts.  But why is it taken for granted that their sexual instincts are so strong that that they can't act in a morally responsible manner?

In other words...

From the Frontlines of My Gym

I am at the gym.  I am on the vertical bench press machine.

The guy next to me is grunting with each rep.

It is a very loud grunt.

Why does he have to grunt?

He also smells.

I want to tell him to stop grunting and to stop smelling, but he is very large.

I am going to stop writing now because if he sees my iPhone screen, I am dead.

 

The Things I Learned in Third Grade

It was third grade and I was in a class for "gifted" students.  While most third grade teachers were teaching cursive writing, Ms. Goodwin was teaching us economics.

The day's lesson was the monetary system.  Ms Goodwin was explaining to us that the paper money we use has no value in and of itself.  It is just a promise by the government to pay.  It is only paper.

Gifted though we may have been, that sounded like B.S.  A five dollar bill was worth exactly five dollars.

"Fine," said a frustrated...

Because One Day I Will Die

Years ago, investment advisers told everyone to put their money in real estate.  That didn't work out.

Then they told everyone to put their money in stocks.  That didn't work out either.

So I have a new alternative.

Me.

That's right.  Buy books signed by Stephan Pastis and when I die, you'll be rich.

And rest assured, I will die.  That is my guarantee to you.

And that is why I today I went to THIS bookstore and THIS bookstore and signed books, so that you, the fan, can retire comfortably.  They...

Through a Glass Darkly

I go to a gym.

It is a typical gym.  Free weights and Nautilus machines filling the spacious floor.  Annoying people grunting everywhere.

Yesterday, I was doing what I normally do at the beginning of a workout, which is to stretch in a corner of the gym.

Briefly, in the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a guy.

I immediately concluded from how he was dressed and looked that I didn't like him. It was a snap judgment, taking less than a fraction of a second.  But something about him rubbed me the...

I'm No Rick Steves, but I'm Close

I've posted some very brief videos I took while I was traveling in Kuwait and Iraq.

To view, just click HERE

In War, No One Retrieves the Golf Balls

I grew up in San Marino, California.  It is a conservative, wealthy suburb of Los Angeles.

It has a lot of rules, or at least did when I grew up there.

For example, when I was there, you could not park on the street overnight (without first calling the police department and getting permission).  You could not pump your own gas (the attendant at the station had to pump it for you).  You could not blow or wash your leaves into the street.

McDonald's were not allowed.  Nor were movie theatres. ...