Nostradumbass 2020


After My Short-Lived Gigs … 

As An EmpathTelepathic Marketer (Way Ahead Of The Mind Curve … Take That Google Adsense).  Carrot Reader (Who Knew Beta Carotene Had Clairvoyant Properties?)

I’ve Moseyed My Slick Schtick To The Prognosticator Business.

… Right, Predicting Future Events … With A Twist.



The Guessing Game … 

Hopeful Pontification.  Contemplative Ignorance.  Charlatan Hocus Pocus.

Channeling My Inner Sigh-Kick Ability Does Pay Dividends … Beyond Denial.

You Should Also Know That I Don’t Subscribe To The Theory Of Reality As The Most Reliable Way To Make It Through A Day On This Spinning Rock.



Michel de Nostredame? … Dropping Rhymes In The Way Back … 

Dubious Revelations, Comparatively Speaking (sans Any Discernible Credibility On My Part):

“Sure, We’re Both Practitioners of Poetic Quatrains.  You Know, Those Perky 4-Line Stanzas … Though I’ve Upped My Game By Adding A Title.  In Bold.  Upper Case.”

Mostly As A Clue To The Reader About What I’m Trying To Say Without Saying Much.  Cryptic.  Betcha Nostradamus Wished He’d Thought of That Back in 1555.  Boom!



We’re Both Mike’s … 

Though I Know How To Spell Mich-a-el.  Jusaying.  If We’re Splitting Optic Fibers, Would You Rather Follow A Dude Who Knows How To Spell His Own Name, Or One That Guesses Wrong?

And, We’re Oh, So French.  Oui.  We.  Wee.  He’s 100%.  What He Prophesied, Anyway.

I’m 2.0% French, Says  Which Is The Precise Amount Of French To Be To Claim An Attitudinal Provenance Of Indifference.



I Have No Idea What I’m Doing Most Days … I Usually Figure It Out A Day Or Decade Later … Which Never Helps.

According To The Good Folks Smarty Pants Wearers At Wikipedia:

“Academics argue that Nostradamus’s predictions are characteristically vague, meaning they could be applied to virtually anything, and are useless for determining whether their author had any real prophetic powers.”

So, We’ve Got That In Common, Too.


JANUARY 2 – 7:42 AM

A Doofus Named “Dominic Da Dink” … Driving A White Van … Will Race Down His Driveway At Warp Speed …

Failing To Look Either Way – Through A Purplish Plume Of Toxic Vaping Off-Gases – Narrowly Missing His Intended Target Passing By His House.

His Target – Me – May Or May Not Stop.  Just To Talk …

… About The High Probability DoDaDi Will Always Be A Neighborly Asshole. 


FEBRUARY 14 – 6:09 PM

A Lone Man – You Don’t Know Him – Will Enter A Florist Shop …  

Wonder What The Frangipane? He’s Doing There:

Dropping $120 On A Dozen Red Roses

… When He’s Not Even Dating.


APRIL 1 – 9:23 AM

Another Dinked Up Doofus … On April Fool’s Day … 

Will Amuse Himself – And Only Himself – At The Office.

Pranking On His Co-Workers, And Proving Once Again That HR Is A Only Myth.

… You Also Don’t Know This Guy.


JUNE 20 – 5:44 PM

The Summer Solstice Arrives … 

I’ll Get Into A Heated Argument With My Mirror.  Yeah, The One With The Me Issues.  And, Keeps Throwing Me Stink Eye Every Time I Wash My Hands?  That Mirror.

“I Won’t Say Who Started It.  But It Wasn’t Me, Shaggy.”

It’s Always Him.  We Won’t Talk … For Like 20 Minutes.  But, The Trust Will Be Gone …  So What’s The Point When The Make Up Sex Is Never Worth It?



I’ll Avoid People … Take A Personal Day. 

I Don’t Like My Birthday.  But, Please Don’t Forget It.  Now That You Know.  I’m Registered At Korry’s.  Let Mr. Korman Know I Referred You.  They Have My Vitals On File.  2nd Floor.  Canali.  Hugo Boss.  Ermenegildo Zegna.

Also, I’ll Be Busy Doing Something Close To Nothing, But Different Than The Day Before … The Way Prince Sang It In Raspberry Beret.

… Like Writing An Article About It And Referring Back To This Post.  You’ll See.


DECEMBER 26 – 7:51 AM

A Year Later …

I’ll Have No Regrets.  Succeed Or Fail.  Good Or Bad.

For The Choices I’ve Made.  The Things I’ve Done And Haven’t Done.  The Places I’ve Visited.

The People I’ve Met.


“Raspberry Beret”– Songwriter: Prince Rogers Nelson
© Universal Music Publishing Group

Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay

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