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Doug Blough

Today I did something I did a lot as a boy that brought me great pleasure. No, I didn’t drag a hidden Playboy from underneath my bed to read under the covers by flashlight; it’s been several years since I’ve done that.

No, I went bowling. And after only once in the last 20 years, I was jubilantly stunned that I’ve still got it — and then some.

Carly Simon sang: “You’re so vain; you probably think this song is about you. You’re so vain, I bet you think this song is about you; don’t you, don’t you?”

(There may have been one more “Don’t you?” but I’m not positive).

Some people blather on and on, jabbering forever on one subject. Not I.

As always, I uncovered a few interesting articles in the Sunday Billings Gazette — the first on a subject that always confounds me: dinosaurs and those that love them.

Has God ever laughed? We have no way of knowing. For instance, when Job would step in a bucket, did God shake his head and think, “Oh that boy!”

Many profound thoughts entered my head and died there on the not-so-super Sunday afternoon as I wished there was a real football game on TV.

The year was 1978, and it was a warm autumn Saturday. The day began with great promise but slid rapidly downhill into the longest, drunkest day I’ve ever spent in the smallest, wettest town I’ve ever spent a day in.

I’ve been dabbling in poetry again; try this one on for size:

“I once dated a hot gal named Cloris, with a homely Siamese twin named Deloris; they accused me for two-timing, and forgive my bad rhyming, but I forgot where I put my thesaurus.”

Before tackling today’s topic — spontaneous as opposed to rehearsed humor — I will pass along a Walmart encounter weeks ago that uplifted my pre-Christmas spirit.

As you know, my head occasionally gets cluttered with unexpressed thoughts, preventing anything new from entering.

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