Saturday, 21 July 2012

A tardy hello to you all:

   Yesterday was too busy a day for us to keep to our appointed schedule of postings on this log of web-logginess. It is the custom for life to stop in Funsville on July 20th of every year, for a celebration that’s been taking place around these parts since the late 1960s.

   No—it has nothing to do with the moon landing. The 20th of July, for those of you who don’t already know, just happens to be…

   …wait for it…

   …(is the suspense killing you yet?)

   …Diana Rigg’s birthday. The eagle may have landed, but the arrival of Mrs. Emma Peel on the cultural horizon stirred Funsvillians into a frenzy that hadn’t been seen since the halcyon days of Franchot Tone.

   Diana Rigg is such a big deal here that Funsville never witnessed the live broadcast of the Apollo 11 landing. The Funsville Institute of Broadcasting would’ve risked starting a riot if they’d pre-empted the scheduled Avengers marathon.

   Talk about your positive role models for women and girls alike. Diana Rigg’s birthday is the one time when Our Miss Moose really gets carried away:

   Usually a few other people get carried away as well, to the emergency room of Funsville General. Fortunately, a local by-law waives prosecution for common assault committed on July 20th by ladies clad in lycra, spandex, vinyl or pleather. As a result, motels and resorts just over the Fun County line do a dynamic one-day business from husbands and boyfriends. (It’s wisest to make your booking months in advance—ex-husbands and ex-boyfriends get top priority on reservations.) Local singles bars have long since given up all hope, and simply shut down ‘til the 21st. The extra business never managed to cover the cost of damages.
   Really, though, it isn’t hard for a gentleman to get into the spirit of the occasion, if he makes the proper effort.



   Like I always say, don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.

   Diana Rigg or no Diana Rigg (perish the thought!), there hasn’t been a total eclipse of lunar lore in the vicinity. My own home, The Fortress of Funitude, has a permanent exhibition of little-known facts about Neil and Buzz’s little jaunt into the near reaches of outer space. For a very reasonable entrance fee (plus surcharges to defray the upkeep of the artifacts), you can learn things that NASA still won’t share with the world at large:


   And you thought they just went back to get more rocks.

Uncle Fun

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