patrick.net

Oh, crap. You just swoop in here and post this? I'd dare say you're the bluebird of unhappiness for being so cagey.

Mike Tyson's hobbies don't fly here. This is a housing crash board (and by extension an economy crash page), where people talk about the value of their nest eggs dropping like flies. People losing their seed money. But on teevee it's different - ya ever notice that when one show starts on a ridiculous subject, another follows?

expect a parrot teevee shows about the way that Mike Tyson can straighten up and fly right in the face of adversity.

Why, the unmitigated gull!
Don't you give a hoot?
Oh, well, thanks for dropping by anyway, but why squawk about this? Things are going to be ducky, you'll see. So don't be so down about it. You're sounding a bit Daffy. Why not swallow your pride?
And while you're at it, please sparrow me the drama.
Shucks, if this keeps up, I'll polly go crackers.
Gotta go now to make some nest cafe.

Tyson went from earning half a billion dollars to his banking account showing a huge goose egg. That's enough to ruffle your feathers and make you do the funky chicken. I may have to post a tweet about this.

What the cluck happened to Iron Mike?
They say that Tyson's chicken. Well, this accusation Foster's ill will. How did he become a shell of his former self? Why did he crack up? Did his yoke become to heavy? It just dozen make sense. Any info out there? I'm all ears.
What I want to know is: Would he cry fryer in a crowded theater?
It seems now that his bank account is down to a poultry sum, he's hatching a half baked plan to feather his nest to get a leg up but is the thigh the limit? Or will folks squawk? I don't know what to ex-peck when he comes home to roost with his brood since he does have skin in the game.

Toucan play this game, and now we’ve got newhomebuyer7 pointing out the obvious (tweets). Again, I’m sitting with egg on my whiskers - ya’ll are looney. But I feel like you’re a pack of vultures waiting for dinner to be served.

Mikey, you’ve been an albatross around my neck and I don’t have the giblets for this. It’s so hard to soar with the eagles … But no good tern goes unpunished.

Tyson was chicken when someone hurt his bird? So he thought he’d be bald and change the game, I guess he needed something to crow about – something to increase his budgie and buy more stuff. There were so many other professions he could have tried – Flamingo Dancer, Roadrunning, Crane Operator… I wonder if he has any egrets about the choice he made to get in the cage? He made so many fowl choices in his life, after all. Some were real turkeys. Now he’s making a poultry amount compared to the scratch he used to make.

Really cooked his goose, huh?

Well, chalk swan up for the resident punsters but why are we taking cheep shots? I feel like a worm. It's plume loco to continue like this. Before you know it, we'll be flipping each other the bird. This is wild and it sure can get a bit cagey toying with this topic. We need to be on watch heron now. And we need to be much more lovey dovey, and especially watch the bird dogging. Or should we just leave quail enough alone? Oh, well, your geese is as good as mine.
This reminds me of the bird brained wicked witch in the Wizard of Oz: "I'm molting! I'm molting!"
PS: I'd like to post more but right now I'm in the mood for a slice of magpie. I realize this is nothing to crow about but everyone's raven about it.

Mikey - I wonder what Tyson's got waiting in the wings for his new career?

I don't know what he's got waiting in the wings but it had better be a honey of an idea because he really needs to cut the mustard here. Something crisp, saucy and zesty that could buffalo the public. It's time for him to bison shine.
This yard bird might even be crowned lord of the wings. Or it's possible he might get drummed out of town.

Mebbe he'll shuffle on off to buffalo.

Have you herd anything?

I had the fourthought of creating an answer for this very question. In my defence, I got sauced and got a little salty for awhile there.

I'll pepper my answer with some wisdom (or something wise-ass, I think that's the same). I guess you know how it is when you're fried... I've got a leg up on you, Mikey, if only becaws I'm a punny girl.

I believe that Tyson will find something cheesy like a reality teevee show. He's old news, but that seems to sell these days.

You shouldn't be talon tales out of school. You might make me soar. Or grouse me out. Why are you mis-be avian? You remind me of my pal Barbi Q. She's quite a grill. She got burned in the past but she finally learned how to fry right, however, she never stopped smoking.
She's an internet junkie--always on the Weber. And she doesn't mind getting flamed. She really cooks and knows how to sell the sizzle.

Raven mad, are we?

How many more times shall you attempt to best me and actually get a win? Nevermore.

And you can quoth me on that!

I prey that the blue bird of happiness will leave a present on your door step. No, I'm not mocking you. But I may consider giving you the silent tweetment.
Is this my swan song? Will I chicken out?
I happened to come by here to take a gander and found out that what's good for the goose is...a golden egg, if I remember correctly. As if I carat all. Hope this rings true. It's molten season.

Your telltale heart speaks volumes, my friend. I'm putting on my black cat and I won't make a spectacle of myself - in the pit of my stomach I think I'm right.

I don't want to Boris all but have you tried a silver bullet? It makes franken sense and that ain't exactly beans. I know everything isn't black and white but it's a Universal cure and it doesn't need to be revamped, especially when the wolf is at the door. Or you can also call your mummy. Well, it looks like this is a wrap.

mikey says

I don’t want to Boris all but have you tried a silver bullet?

Yep. Just drank one. Don't know why they called it a "lite" 'cause it weighed the same as the regular one. It drove me labatty. Naturally, I had to take another drink to cure what ale'd me. Now I'm living the High Life. (I hope I'm spelling this okay - I'm a little tipsy and am writing this by an amber light.)

Anyway, that's all in the pabst. Now I'm sadder, budweiser.

Sadder Budweiser? Of Coors you are. But I'm tapped out. I don't have the head for this. You got me over a barrel.

Well, I can't offer you any head. This entire thread is for the bids, and I'm fizzing out.

Oh, well, suds is life.

What a bubble-brained answer. Gotta nip it in the bud sometimes, ya know?

I figured I'd have a little pick-me-up today, with me & my friends Sherry & Rickey. Rickey's a limey who adds a punch to every situation 'cause he's always got my back. We blend together most of the time, when he's not too bitter - although sometimes he's a bit dry. Had a smashing good time dancing the twist, but lost track of my day - we're really good at drinking (you might say we're well drinkers). I've got proof.

I'm telling you straight up, Mikey, we had a real neat time. Absinthe of anything else to say about it, we had a cooler time than I can remember. But now I've got a headache and feel like I've got the dreaded drambuie right now. Feeling rummy. And I think I've got something in my rye.

I need to shnapp out of this and think of of vacationing in lush surroundings - someplace that has little umbrellas in the drinks...

This here mug is all a buzz.
I hope I don't get canned for this but I'm tired of bottling this up. I'm gonna hop to it right now
because I know somehing is brewing and I can barley believe it. I don't want to be at lager heads.
We may be a couple of Hamm's but at least our heads are in the right place. To cap it off, we might even be in the Guiness record book.
I guess we really can have our keg and drink it too. It's good for what ales us and that's just for openers. Let'd raise the bar and nip it in the Bud.
What a shame we can't blame Busch for this.
PS: I'd like to post more but I have to take a Schlitz.

All the mugging you do, your mommy must be proud!

No reason to be frosty!

You can bet your glass that I didn't mean to be cold. I'm trying to be ice to you, and all you can do is get all steamed up. I don't mean to label you as a party pooper. But something stinks around here...

Trying to sell the swizzle by getting on the stick? Okay, take a shot, even if it's watered down. But don't be a drip.
Here's a tip: Instead of raising the bar, why not be tender, just in case? Does that register?

I'll drink to that! Another round, beertender!

Did you read that PETA is claiming that Tyson is breaking gambling laws because he's profiting from the racing pigeons - by drawing his salary? I can barely believe that Tyson has a reality show - all of his profits should go to his rape victim forever - and won't watch it. But is pigeon racing cruel?

It's only cruel if Tyson straddles the pigeon during its flight. Aside from that, I have no problem with it and don't know why it's causing such a flap. It's not like he's killing the messenger. But maybe PETA is trying to send him a message?
It's like a carny side show. Everyone wants to see the bizarre. Who can resist paying a dollar to see the amazing gargantuan rat from the dank sewers of France? When the rat turns out to be an overweight possum, just try to get your money back.

mikey says

It’s like a carny side show.

...yet I cannot look away.

I have many carny memories...pink lemonade...peanuts...popcorn...cotton candy... whisker burn from the bearded lady...the yelping growl of the lonely boy who was half human and half wolf cub, at night his heart rending lonesome cries spoke of one who had known suffering beyond his years and beyond this world. It struck a chord deep in my soul where it would push me to tears night after night, surprising tears that came from a strange place that I never even knew I possessed.
How I longed to unlock a warm, balmy night in his heart where abandoned innocence would finally be given a chance to be regained, but alas, it was not be be.
To this day his tormented cries cling to my soul with a lingering and misty melancholy that refuses to leave my psyche. Yet there was something that glimmered magically in his eyes one fateful night that somehow told me that his tragedy would not be permitted to become the end of all his hope, and for that bittersweet glint of revelation in his sorrowful yellow eyes, I will forever be profoundly grateful. In this world and the next.

I love carnies. They meet the tooth-to-tattoo ratio, an important assessment tool for ER staff. Simply stated, if they have more tattoos than they do teeth, they won't be dying in your ER that day. This is from "house of god," a poetic look a the life of an MD. It's a hard read, never made it past the first few chapters. But I do remember that.

What's up with tat? Is Ellie's post the whole tooth? Or is she trying to gum up the works with her biting comments?
Yes. it's true that carnies have skin in the game, sometimes even before the ink is dry.
Either way, those were incisor comments that buck the trend, filled with wisdom. I'll chew on them for a while. Rot else can to do? I don't have any pull around here. At least that's the filling I get. It's been drilled into me.
PS: I'd like to post more but I have to make a trip to The Gap, even though I'm broke. Please, no cracks.

That was a tokin' comment, and I appreciated it. As an aside,show me a carnie & I'll show you a guy who's living the high life. You might think that things just go 'round & 'round for them, but their lives are roller coasters. Following Ferris around can't be easy, you know.

Their lives are shams, a veritable plethora of funny mirrors. It might not be your cup of tea, but it's fine for them. Midway through their lives they might wonder what they're doing, but for the most part they're truckin' along. They can't all live in fun houses - but I wish they'd check their zippers more often.

Waiting for your answer.... Bueler?

Your post was too in tents. You're turning this into a circus. Why hot dog it? That'a corny. Start clowning around and have fun. There's a chance you might get weighed. Aren't you game? Does this ring a bell? Ready to hit the bottle? This is nacho business, but ice cream in the spook house.

An American Indian went to the medical practioner of his choice (ellie's trying to be politcally correct, here - a first!). He was concerned because he was having weird dreams. He told the practioner:

"I had a dream last night that I was a wigwam, - then a teepee. All night I couldn't choose what I was - wigwam/teepee/wigwam/teepee... What's wrong with me?"

The practitioner said, "You're two tents!"