S.O.S.

It's been months and still there's no sign of our favorite columnist. I don't know where you are or what you're doing, but please come back to us.

It feels as if a little spark inside my soul has been extinguished without my weekly dose of family, humor and quotes.

Has she broken up with us? Is she trying to freeze us out with no communication?

Well I am starving and ready to come in from the cold, baby.

I am considering staging a sit in or some other kind of demonstration until we get our Cat back. Any suggestions?

I hope you're safe, happy and healthy, where ever you are C-Wo. We miss you.

MIA

Where has our favorite columnist gone? There has been no column within the last month to brighten our Thursdays and we here at Wogan's Heroes are very worried. It's been to long since we've heard from our dearest for it to be a vacation.

Where could she be? Has she given up the column to take care of the family farm? Has she succumbed to her need for privacy and retired to a cabin in Canada? Is she stuck in a dressing room at JC Penny's?! We don't know and we've even gone so far as to discuss the expenses of a search team, complete with divers and GPS.

We need our dose of Cat Tales and we need it now.

Jewels of the Literary World

How do I pick the best line from this week? I am completely clueless because there are so many.

So I will leave it up to the public:
A.) Like his father, he groaned, but he always showed up with a pickup truck.
B.) It was funny to see a 27-year-old laborer rolling up lacy socks and flattening panties.
C.) "Cool," he said, watching how the underwear disappeared in the folds.
D.) In fact, I am probably the only woman in the world who buys a car based on the size of its trunk.

Please help me, dear readers. For I have lost all sensation in my weekly awe and I cannot choose.

for those keeping track at home:

1. labyrinth's a.k.a. David Bowie's disease
2. deafness in left ear
3. 'morbid' obesity
4. tearing pain in knees
5. asthma
6. 'rapidly diminishing' vision

and now,

7.Alzheimer's

This one had a different flavor than the others. Overly self-deprecating. No bulky graphs of visual description, and again -- no quote lede.

Perhaps she is writing with summer's newfound looseness. It looks great on her.

A Homage To the One and Only...

I put together all my favorite lines for a column that's almost as cool as the originals:

"I'm lying on my stomach," I suddenly thought. "How peculiar."


Periodically I glanced over to watch my father, his muscles flexing, as he dressed the bit over a forge with sledgehammers before dropping it into the hole to drill. Massive paws told the story of his work ethic.

Maybe I had read too many thrillers, because this place reminded me of a vampire's lair.

I have the same complaint every time I put on a bra or hose, but I do it daily. Seriously, I would be just as happy with a cigar band. It's not that hard when everything is put in the closet accordingly.

But it would be even better if I could find a human muzzle.


One of our staff members recently said that it is hard curl up with a good lap top, and she is right. We might quarrel all day, but in the back of the pickup we were all smiles.

Nothing gives me more joy than that rowdy group of youngsters.


“Well, hell, boy," he said. "Don't you know how to shift?"

It was an impromptu response from a redneck-born, antisocial, non-diplomatic shrew. Since I cannot be tamed, it has become my signature line. A person like that has no idea what it is like to be caged inside your own body, living your own suddenly silent hell.


In fact, nothing in or about my room is sacred from the little "nibby nose." No one could ever convince Heather that she wouldn't look good in a feed sack. Puddin' needs to learn to share, but I think she is coming along nicely.

Most people think black is black. Color my world beautiful, because it is anything but dull.

Shudder

It seems we all fight the battle of the bulge....
Some of us just do it a bit more gracefully than others:
"I push, pull, jump and collapse backward on the bed just to budge the zipper a little. God forbid I have to make a pit stop in the lady's room and take the zipper down after I have finally forced it up."

One Way Ticket to Hell and Back

A truly uplifting column this week on learning to cope with being partially deaf.
Our hearts go out to you.

It is the adults who need to learn a few lessons in manners.

a secret message hidden for us?

I hope so.

this week's column ending should probably be added to our profile at the right:

----------------SPOLER ALERT---------------

"A person like that has no idea what it is like to be caged inside your own body, living your own suddenly silent hell."

Wha??

No comment.

Catty Mommy

I'm having trouble getting through this week's column. Is this a cry for help?

What kind of family laughs about a beating for 30 years? And the 'Mom protected us from the dangers of the dark Irishman' worry me too.

I think it's time to institute hug-therapy.

Woless another Week?

I'm crossing my fingers.....

Hopeful Heroes?

Please don't disappoint us this week. I don't think I could take it.

WOEgan's Heroes.

this is like some kind of medival punishment.

Booooo!

I feel sad and empty this week......:(

Howdy readers! Happysunshine Nothingswronghere here. Two more days till my favorite day of the week. Yay! I bet you all are waiting and excited too:)
I wanted to address a few complaints we've had. We've recently taken some flak for removing Don from this site, but we here at WH stand by our actions.
We never meant to offend anyone and only want to entertain and make everyone happy. At WH we strive to be a family-friendly site without any of those dirty flash ads that ask you to shave a woman's legs. That's just weird.
We also want to be honest and open and welcome any complaints or suggestions you may have for us.

A Note to Our Readers

We have gotten some complaints on Don and were trying to work with him, but sadly, last night Don exhibited great anger and acted irrationally. There may be public apologies.
We here at Wogan's Heroes don't condone that kind of behavior and have wiped this blog of his work. He will no longer write here, but I, Happysunshine Nothingswronghere, will be taking his place. Don has been banished to the netherworld, but I hope to continue bringing you quality homages to outstanding work.
Don asked to post this goodbye that explains his absence:

"Don't be mad at me, I'm just the messenger," my friend said.
But it was too late.
Few people have seen my temper, but it's a hard thing to forget. My best friend Steve could see my anger rising and had taken the brunt of it in the past. He decided to spare our friend and get me out of there before too much damage was done.
Despite Steve trying to talk me out of my anger, the more I thought, the madder I got. It reminded me of a time during my childhood when I got mad when threatened by a big bully.
"You'll be sorry," the bully said.
All I wanted to do was make him sorry. The bully couldn't take a joke and I didn't understand why he was mad.
I went too far in my anger and acted rashly, just as I could see myself doing now.
Damage has been done in my anger and I sadly must take leave from my favorite admiration.
I apologize to those I have offended, but I think back to something my father always used to tell me:
"Walk it off."

Wow again

After the events of today, I am a silly goose.

But I am still so sorry.

Sorry

I am so sorry.

anticipation!

i can already sense it in the air.

How to be a Journalist 101.

My shadow and I had the chance to critique this week's column together. She can take this lesson back to middle school:

How to write one long, tortuous commercial for the Olive Garden.
Five mentions, last time I checked.
It's like Cast Away and FedEx, only worse.

We also discussed the quote lede, which should be used sparingly, or saved for such jems: "Hey Phyllis, where do you want to go for your birthday dinner?"

Priceless.

A cat and mouse game

This week's "Cat Tales" seeks to dispel stereotypes about its namesake by explaining that, while its heroic protagonist may go by the name "Cat," she is not renowned for her skills in combating the wicked mice that invade her home in the name of terrorism. While I certainly appreciate the subject matter and the restraint our hero shows in not describing in detail her naked body, I must admit some disappointment in the story. The dialogue, I regret to say, seems out of place.

Sure, no "Cat Tales" is complete when it is not peppered with its trademark capped-at-five-words quotes. But as I read this week's, I can't help but visualize it as a 1950s-style cartoon, classical music playing in the background and characters running around in a panic expressing their thoughts not through words but through exaggerated facial expressions and wacky sound effects. For the purposes of keeping our cartoon G-rated, let us picture Cat herself as an anthropomorphic cat whose nudity does not offend the eyes. Her German friend will become a German shepherd, and laws of 1950s cartoon stereotypes dictate that she must be wearing a spiky World War I war helmet. Phyllis and Debbie will by Siamese cats because I can't be bothered to tell them apart, and because Harry is an actual cat and thus has no place in this anthropomorphic universe, he will be replaced with a robotic cat designed to catch mice.

We start with anthropomorphic cat lazing on her bed (slow-paced "lazy" music, with lots of tubas) when she decides to take a shower. As she walks toward the shower, a mouse appears and leaps up to head level to make a scary face. Cat's eyes bug out of her head as she lets out an exaggerated "AAAAIIIIIEEEEEE!" and darts off in the opposite direction, leaving a cloud of Cat-shaped dust in her wake. She then leaps to the bed and wraps herself in all the covers as she sits there quaking with fear. The mouse, for his part, remains vigilant, marching around the bed and cutting off all escape. Suddenly, a light bulb appears over Cat's head and, thinking quick, she leaps to the ceiling and climbs across it, the mouse oblivious below her, until she reaches a broom. Wielding the broom, she drops to the ground and whacks the mouse, golf-style, out a nearby window. Cat stands triumphant, but as the mouse pokes his head up over the window sill, it becomes clear that he has not yet begun to fight.

We cut to days later as Cat watches TV with her friend Phyllis (all they are doing is laughing -- no dialogue) when the mouse makes his reappearance, vengeance in his eyes. Phyllis jumps into Cat's arms, Scooby-Doo style, but Cat calmly reaches for the broom and winds up to swing it at the mouse. As she does, however, the mouse pulls a chainsaw out of Hammerspace and dices the broom to bits! Cat and Phyllis both give cartoon "AAAAAIIIIIEEEEEEE!"s and run for the bedroom, mouse in hot pursuit, and slam the door. They wipe their brows with relief as the mouse pounds on the door briefly before falling silent. We then switch to the mouse's perspective as he looks down the hall and spies an axe (there for no apparent reason and likely unnecessary because of the mouse's use of Hammerspace, but no matter). Cat peeks under the door to see the move slowly dragging the axe toward it, an evil grin on his face, with the blade glinting in the indoor light as all sharp objects do in cartoons. Panicking, Cat leaps away from the door, but Phyllis has a solution as she picks up the phone.

Debbie answers the phone and listens to Phyllis' unheard-by-us complaints. Thinking quickly, she picks up a nearby magazine and turns to a page advertising the ACME ROBOT-RATCATCHER, then dials the number contained thereupon. Back at Cat's house, the mouse has succeeded in hacking through the door, and pokes his head through menacingly in a reference to "The Shining." As he enters the room, Cat and Phyllis hug each other tight and prepare for the end, but the Acme Robo-Ratcatcher darts in, heroic music a-playing, and stands in the way of the mouse. The mouse swings the axe, but upon contact with the Robo-Ratcatcher's titanium frame, it shatters into tiny pieces. The Robo-Ratcatcher roars at the mouse, which runs away screaming. Cat and Phyllis jump for joy -- the mouse is gone for good.

Later, we see the Robo-Ratcatcher lazing on its metal bed at home (slow-paced "lazy" music, with lots of tubas, in the background) when it decides to take a shower. As it walks toward the shower, a robotic mouse appears and leaps up to head level to make a scary face. The Robo-Ratcatcher's metallic eyes bug out of its head as it lets out an exaggerated "AAAAIIIIIEEEEEE!" (identical to Cat's) and darts off in the opposite direction, leaving a cloud of Robo-Ratcatcher-shaped dust in her wake.

Isn't that much better?

it seems already our Wogan

has found herself on her stomach for the second time in her life.
this cannot be good.

Watching a movie, I made the mistake of lying flat on my stomach and raising my feet up over my back. All at once my legs went limp and I thought I would pass out.

A Cat Tales haiku

Raqueal's tooth is gone
But the Tooth Fairy no-showed
Must be scared of them

Porky:

Should he get custody of Raqueal, Heather and Allen Wogan junior, or not.

Points to consider:
The estranged mother obviously did not contact the tooth fairy about Raquel's recent tooth loss -- unless the 7-year-old half niece or whatever is playing the room like a fiddle.

Discuss.

INTRIIIIIIIIIGED

Just when you thought the quote lede was dead, Cat Tales triumphs with what she does best in this week's column:

"Big Mammaw, I lost a tooth," my 7-year-old great-niece Raqueal told my mother, who is her great-grandmother.

Already we have a complicated relative talking. Tell me more, tell me more.

I was a couple of hours behind the arrival of Raqueal, Heather and Allen Wogan III, who we call Minnie Me.

Every other Friday night, my nephew, also an Allen who has been given the nickname Porky, gets his three children for the weekend.

Generally, my mother picks up the children on her way home from work since Porky does not get home until about an hour later.

I feel like this blog will just be me pasting portions of the text, clapping my hands and making the face. Sometimes additional words are not needed. Perhaps the Wogan cannot be parodied.

I toyed with the idea of posting all WoganSpeak in Red Letters, similar to the way that Jesus' words are red in the New Testament. As soon as I had that thought, though, I was struck twice by lightening. Since we are relying so much on the weather to finish our home improvement projects, I'll let someone else here make that administrative decision.

test

The dress slid on her like a glove.