Posting for Tommy Moon

One of the many features we’ve frequently touted to the three or four people that actually read this blog is the addition of my father, the aptly self-nicknamed Tommy Moon, to our writing staff. His wild ideas and creative spelling would fly at your brain like the shrapnel from a mind grenade to shred your pitiful concept of normality with all the force a crazy old curmudgeon can muster. However, despite the benefit of an acting degree from CUNY Hunter (Go Hawks!), he is not so much good with the internet. After several weeks of abortive attempts to teach him over the phone how to post, he gave up, swore a lot, and called P. D. Montgomery a homosexual. Pretty standard.

This is the first result for a Google Image search of "Tom Mooney."

This is the first result for a Google Image search of “Tom Mooney.”

I will be doing my best to teach him how to internet properly this weekend (or die trying, whatever comes first), but for today’s update, the lovable coot decided to email me his update that I may post it for him. So without further adieu, and completely unedited, here we go:

Ok you social media misfits I’m trying again. You see I wrote a great impulsive funny blog last week but couldn’t post it because I forgot the seven thousand passwords and codes needed to send an impulsive message to a generation of morons. It a real time saving way to communicate . Its a way to slow it down so you can get a picture of you stupid dog or your lunch off to your equally boring friend. How about a fuckin phone call. Enough what I said last week was congress keeps having committees to blame someone for something.  Just do something for shit sake and stop blaming. So some social crap. I’ve been on the road shooting. Started in Florida. Why live there if not on the coast. The middle makes Kansas look like Versailles. We’re talking flat with Pleasantville thrown in. Then off to Pa. then Pebble Beach.  All good except the many airports and security. I always get behind the family of first timers.  Yes take off your shoes. What a fuckin surprise.  Today I’m back and reminded of the lets not make eye contact world of tweet.  Every moron gets in the elevator reading a very important text or tweet ot chat or whatever from some other jerk about some earth shattering event. All just to avoid contact with an old hump like me. Well it better than you picking your nose or yawning in my face without covering your big mouth. What did your Mama teach you. Eat me.


Our Tom Mooney

About Paul

By reading this blog, you legally forfeit your right to cry, eat tofu, or watch movies where people kiss in the rain and sh*t!
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