The Holy Grail Press
Proudly Made On Earth By Earthlings
Word of the Every So Often
dottle: (noun) a remnant of tobacco left in a pipe after smoking, which tells us a lot about any society that would come up with a word for something like that. In my day, we didn’t waste anything, not even a dottle.
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The Almost Daily
It’s National Bugs Bunny Day! And here at the Press we do so love the Rabbit. It was on this day in 1938 that everybody’s favourite bunny first appeared on Looney Tunes, in the cartoon “Porky’s Hare Hunt.” That’s a rabbit who only vaguely resembles the Bugs most folks remember. The first cartoon to feature Bugs Bunny is “A Wild Hare,” which was released on July 27, 1940. Even so, he didn’t look a whole lot like I remember from Saturday mornings when I was a kid.
Bug’s name has also changed over time. He was originally known as Happy Rabbit. Then George Washington Rabbit. Somewhere in there he was Bugsworth Bunny. Then the name Bugs stuck, a take off on his creator’s nickname: Ben “Bugs” Hardaway.
Bugs Bunny has been given the honour as the number one cartoon character of all time, and we’re not about to argue with that. Bugs is Warner Brothers’ official mascot. He has appeared in more films than any other cartoon character. He was the first cartoon character to appear on a postage stamp. And he even has his own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, being the second animated character to do so, following Mickey Mouse.
Oh, by the way. The first words Bugs ever spoke were, fittingly, “What’s up, doc?”
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Cartoon of the Week
The Emperor shows his appreciation for being told he was naked.
Stuff
A First Class Funeral
We gave Uncle Adolf one helluva send-off.
The ladies that had known him
before he was ninety
just had a wonderful time crying,
and we all got to take our turns
walking by and wondering
how in just three days
Uncle Adolf could be made to look
like somebody no one knew.
Father Bauer did it up, too.
All in starched white,
not the ordinary Sunday stuff,
swinging a fresh supply of incense
and saying the very best of prayers.
He had practiced.
Even the Altar Boys were top rate.
You could tell it wasn’t the first
really first class funeral they’d ever done.
It’s those little things,
like not dropping the Holy Water
just short of the Father’s reach,
while everyone looks on in terror,
and then having to go running back for more
that they’ll probably get out of the drinking fountain
because they’re too scared
to touch the real stuff
without having been properly blessed themselves.
And they didn’t even sit on their heels
when the Father dragged on,
saying wonderful things about Uncle Adolf,
who wasn’t even there,
because we had all decided
that the funeral home had goofed
and sent over the wrong guy,
but no one was brave enough to admit it,
at least not out loud, that is.
Even the pallbearers were a class act.
No one let on for a moment
that the casket was really heavy,
undoubtedly the deluxe model.
Made to last.
And not a one stumbled
while carrying that casket to the car,
where they slid it in without a hitch.
No broken feet.
No hernias.
No busted lid that refused to stay shut.
And I had this really wild idea,
that at the very same time across town
there was this other funeral
where Uncle Adolf really was,
and no one there would admit
that the funeral home goofed, either.
But somewhere on the way
both lines of cars would get all mixed up,
and we’d get the right coffin
under the right headstone after all.
But it never happened.
At least, not in real life.
Someone had called a cop
who knew the right way
to the right graveyard
and never once acted the least bit concerned
about getting lost.
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