PATRICK MCVAY

WRITER

My Musings

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Bump Stock

It drives me crazy that I can only semi-automatically text using my smartphone. How can it be 2017 when there is this kind of restriction? You’d think that in a free country I’d be able to fire off texts as quickly as I’d like. The kind of 21st century America I was told to expect (in my previous life) is one that gives its citizens the means to let texts fly in rapid fire succession whenever they damn-well please. But wait a minute: you almost never have anything important to say!

That’s probably true.

And still, that way of thinking assumes that informing my spouse about the ripeness of our avocados, the status of my commute, and how many scoops of ice cream the kids ordered for dessert are trivialities. And whatever else I’m thinking.

In the next few weeks, I’m planning to go fully automatic by way of attaching blue tooth-enabled probes to my head and hacking into my phone such that my conscious and semi-conscious thoughts are streamed to everyone in my contacts list automatically. It’ll be a Cat-5 text storm. I want to inflict maximum texting damage. You’re going to be swept downstream by my flood of texts. But don’t worry, if the text flood is too overwhelming I’ll throw a bunch of rolls of paper towels out to you so you can sop-up the flood.

Looking for additional storm-related texting metaphors, so send if you got ‘em.

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President Zounderkite

The fake media keeps claiming that recently, in a private, closed-door session that was supposed to be off the record, I called our country’s leader a total boob and said that I would be resigning. They claim that I called him a numbskull and an ass, a knucklehead, an idiot, a clown and complete buffoon. They claim that as I got revved up I called him an absolute dink, an imbecile and a halfwit, a dolt, a blockhead, a lamebrain and a dunce. They even said I called him an ignoramous and a chowderhead.

So let me reiterate unequivocally for the record: I never said I would resign. Period!

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Monumental

People often ask my agents how many statues I own. Like my agents are really going to answer that question! Of course, their non-answers cause the imagination of the average person to run wild with possibilities. Rumors get started about the large number of monuments to past historical figures I have erected right there in my backyard, and which of them I’m going to get rid of at bargain basement prices.

“I’ve heard he’s got statues of Jean-Claude Killy and Raymond Flynn!”

Sorry, not selling those so just get the idea out of your head. Anyway, most people have their own statues of Ray Flynn. Or at least one or two statuettes, or a bobblehead, or just an old cracked wallet photo.

But the fake lies of the news media make it seem like I’m the only person in the world to have life sized statues of both Bill Clinton and George Clinton in his garden. Yeah, right! I’d like to go into the backyards of some these reporters and see who they're honoring. Probably war heros who really aren't war heros at all because they got captured.  In fact I bet you'd find some very bad people being honored. On both sides.

Not to change the subject, but have I told you that my winery is one of the largest in the country?

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Gappy

Before I figure out what my next move will be, I think I’m going to follow in former Massachusetts state senator George Bachrach’s footsteps and take a gap year. I’ve always wanted to take a gap year. The only thing that’s ever prevented me from doing so is that I need to eat and keep myself clothed.

George Bachrach and I go way back. He ran for the US House of Representatives in 1986, the year I graduated college, but lost to Joe Kennedy and that damnable last name of his. If I’m not conflating several election campaigns, this one was filled with “colorful” (i.e. ridiculous) characters like Clark Abt, Dapper O’Neil, and a Communist whose name I forget. I was at a debate at Boston University during that campaign and, when it was time to take questions from the audience, got in line and actually asked George an entirely pinheaded question. As I recall (hazily, as you might imagine) he was running as a kind of male feminist, and I asked him what he had against men, or something equally stupid. And as he was struggling to answer this nutty softball of mine, some low-level functionary working for another candidate strode by and said, “Did the Kennedy campaign put you up to this?” And for some reason I answered “yes.”

But I actually came up with that stupid question on my own.

That’s how humble I am: even when I come up with perfectly inane questions without any outside help, I’m totally willing to allow someone else to take the credit.

I will say that I have taken gap months before. Just after college, I drove across country until my money ran out, which happened startlingly early, such that my then-girlfriend and I had to drive from Texas back to Massachusetts pretty much without stopping. This is one reason I have never been to New Orleans.

I also spent 3 months with my grandfather up in Canada a couple of years after that, where I wrote an awesome play that won several awards. (Not really – I mean I wrote the play but the few people who read it hated it and ever since then those pages have only been used as scrap paper for grocery and to-do lists.)

Really, for me, gap weekends are where it’s at. I go to work and, by the end of the week, when I’ve accomplished everything there is to accomplish, I start to ponder my next move and usually decide I should have some kind of noticeable gap between the task I’m currently finishing up and the one I’m about to undertake. So a take I couple days off.

I’d keep writing, but it’s time for a gap overnight. See you in the morning.

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