Another day at the Fair, and this time it began with an unnerving realization: there was no parking at the U because of a Gopher game. Hence there were no buses. This meant I’d have to find parking at the Fair, on a perfect day, at 2 PM, which is nigh impossible.

I drove to grounds, got off Snelling as quickly as I could, then trolled the neighborhood. No spots, of course. You grow angry with everyone at the Fair - hey, haven’t you had just about enough? Might you vacate so someone else could have your spot? But even if you spotted someone walking somewhere - and no one was walking anywhere - there would be ten other cars looking for the same opportunity. They are now your ENEMY. When you see one coming down the street in the opposite direction it means there’s no spots ahead, either. I did find three cars following a guy, and when I passed I saw he was stomping along on a walker. Just in case he drove, let’s follow! As I said in my bit later on stage, and will say every day now for the rest of the Fair, if you really wanted to be evil you’d get a big stuffed animal and just walk around the neighborhood all day.

It seems amazing that I’ve four left; I’ve done eight shows. As I may have mentioned, these are going over well with the Poobahs, and I bought myself another year of doing this.

And that’s just fine. It’s fun. I’m at the point now where I could do the entire half-hour by myself, if I started at 3:05 and knocked off at 3:25.

The Lip-Balm Revue. Good Lord. What an odd life: TWELVE DAYS of going to Fair and giving out Lip Balm for Strib and Country. Better than the office, I’ll tell you that. Not that I don’t love the office! But c’mon, it’s an office.

Well! The first week of actual Bleatage concludes with Friday Detritus, and it’s a zesty mix of stuff I’ve had sitting around waiting to be used.

My compilation of piquant bits of old newspapers continues, and will appear next year in a weekly featured called “Clippings.” I know, I know, how imaginative. This one did not make the cut, but just stood out for its consideration in “The Least Immediately Fascinating Trade Industry Ad of 1939.”


I think I saw this on Reddit. Yes, it was an unfortunate . . . pairing of product and documentary subject, but that wasn’t what stuck out. It only appears for a second.


  Right. That logo. What parallel universe does this come from? Australia, as it happens. Burger King owns it. Hence.


I see this all the time, and it always makes me laugh. Got-dang those people over there who do not want the news summarized

Cooper looks like he’s on an espionage mission. Or the photographer said “look like a serious man people would trust with news summarization” and he thought “I am so that man.”


Yes, I know what they are. But this is not the word you want to use, unless you want to hector the potential customers who don’t necessarily jump up and say Yes, finally! Responsible showering!

Next to it on the shelf, another product whose designers had one mandate from the home office: MAKE THE MANLY SHAMPOO LOOK LIKE LIQUOR.


A letter from a London paper; can’t remember which. File under “There’ll Always Be an England.”

Good for you, Reggie! Carry on.


The dogs on packaging are always perfect, if a bit generic. This fellow, though . . .



Here’s something from another English journal, and it makes you sigh and roll your eyes and say “Kids today, they’ve no sense of history.”

CW is "Celebrity Watch," and I can only assume that the author is under, oh, 30. Because . . . well.

You just can't suddenly make Batman a detective.

You just can't suddenly make Batman a detective.

Do I have to explain why this is so very, very wrong?


He ought to be arrested for the curtains, for starters.

Another ordinary day of concerto-playing wife shot through the window. Obvious, no? Solution here.



It's the latest installment of radio's fabulous fabulist, Bill Stern. I think he says "but - but" in a particlar tone when he's really about to sling the nonsense.






1958. Another strenous example of bland cereal promotion.







The actual facts:

Another legend surrounding Chevigny is that, after the 1934 football victory, he had been presented a fountain pen with the inscription, "To Jack Chevigny, a Notre Dame boy who beat Notre Dame", and that on September 2, 1945, this pen was discovered in the hands of one of the Japanese officer envoys at the surrender of Japan on the battleship USS Missouri, and that the inscription was changed to read, "To Jack Chevigny, a Notre Dame boy who gave his life for his country in the spirit of old Notre Dame".[7] The legend, which surfaced in 1945 in conjunction with the anniversary of the November 10, 1928 football game,[8] has been a part of Notre Dame lore ever since.


As for the pen, well, here's the legend: A Japanese envoy was about to sign the surrender document aboard the U.S. Missouri when an American envoy noticed that he was writing with a fountain pen with an English-language inscription. It read, TO A NOTRE DAME BOY WHO BEAT NOTRE DAME. For one thing, that's a pretty long inscription to put on a pen. For another, nobody in the Chevigny family had ever seen or heard of such a pen. For one more, Jack was killed behind the lines, and the Marines buried all of their own.

"The legend still taken as truth, is continually reprinted by legitimate publications and continues to herald Jack's message of courage and sacrifice. Given the result, Stern can be exonerated for his lie." He's right. The fable has led many people to learn about Jack Chevigny.

That they have.

There you go! Great week. Bleat returns on Tuesday. I have to work all weekend long. I'm handing out lip balm. Have you heard?




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