PATRICK MCVAY

WRITER

My Musings

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A New Wrinkle

The beginning of a new year always renews my interest in what the future holds for us human beings, and as usual I'm turning to my trusty old crystal ball to see what it can tell me about the year ahead.

The first thing I notice when I gaze into my crystal ball is that there is a wrinkle in the space-time continuum, which will cause massive flight cancelations, long lines at pharmacies, and workers calling in sick.

No, wait, sorry! False alarm. That's a hair on my crystal ball, not a wrinkle in the space-time continuum. How embarrassing! That's happened to me before. If you don't use your crystal ball regularly, it can accumulate bits of dust and cobwebs and give you incorrect information about the future. The best way to prevent this is to keep your crystal ball stored in the felt liner that it was packed in at the factory. (If your crystal ball didn't come in a soft felt bag, or if you lost the bag, you can rejuvenate the ball with some polish, but I recommend ordering a felt bag immediately or else you're going to be needing a lot of polish over the years.)

OK, back to the stormy future. It turns out that removing that rogue hair didn't change what I see in my crystal ball. So, what could possibly be wrecking the year ahead if not a wrinkle in the space-time continuum?

Oh no. I see nasal swabs. Paper masks. Rubber gloves. 2022 looks an awful lot like the summer of 2020.

Putting my crystal ball away for another year. 

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Patrick The Balding

After I'm dead and gone, how will my reign on earth be described by historians? I'd like to be known as "The Great" but that typically denotes "large" or "tall," which I'm not.

I wouldn't mind if the Wikipedia of the 22nd century referred to me as "Patrick the Brilliant," but, yeah…unlikely.

Another option: Patrick the Scruffy. I think this is apt. I shave a couple times a week, which means twice a week I look good. Otherwise, scruffy. On the other hand, not exactly the moniker I'm looking for.

Of course, it makes no difference what I want. "History will be the judge." Since the future will be inundated by mountains of data about me and my shortcomings, no doubt some rookie at Era-Naming headquarters will find my worst traits and forever tag me with them to describe the current era we're in, which I dominate (admittedly from behind the scenes).

How about "Patrick the Emotionally Exhausted"?

Naw. 

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Mr. Wrinkly

I was thinking the other day that in the not-too-distant-future, geologically speaking, people will come think of me as old. Like really old.

Sometimes I look in the mirror and think, dude, what’s with all the wrinkles? Next time someone tells you to smile for the camera, don’t. Those goddam creases are so deep you could lose your keys in there.

However, I’m not yet ancient, despite my skin folds, and before you know it it’ll be 2164 and there I am at 200 years and still alive, in a manner of speaking. Part my own flesh and blood. Part reclaimed organs. Part robotics. Meanwhile, you’re dead. Ha! How la like me now?!

And the younger set – people barely past 100 – start tooling on me because I’m so ancient: “Look at that old wrinkly bastard!” Because by then my wrinkles will really be something to marvel at. The hurtful names would run the gamut:

  • Wrinkles McVay
  • Old Wrinkleface
  • Mr. Wrinklepuss
  • The wrinkly old bat who lives down the road
  • Herr Wrinklehausen
  • Sir Wrinklot
  • That a-hole with all the wrinkles
  • Senor Muchas Arrugas.
  • McVay that wrinkled sonuvabitch!
  • Old Fuzzy Wrinkleball
  • Lieutenant McWrinkle

You can imagine that the list is practically endless. I will have learned to deal with it by the time I’m 200, attributing the ribbing from people literally half my age to sheer jealousy. Plus, I may not notice all the name-calling, since I’ll be sleeping a lot, I’m told. That’s what happens when you’re 200, which I will be in a little less than a century and a half.

Hard to imagine it’s going to happen so soon.

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Duck, Duck, Goose

I’m not one to talk about the future, but that doesn’t mean people don’t look to me to make sense of it. It’s almost like I actually can look into the future, like a have a crystal ball.

Did you know that ducks will be able to speak English in the future?

Just joking. Ducks won’t be able to speak English any better than they can now. Come on, think about it! Just because I mention something in this highly-respected blog doesn’t mean it’s true. Use the crystal ball that’s your own brain and you’ll see that it’s impossible for ducks to be speaking English in the future. Or else, if your brain isn’t working well and you don’t have access to an actual crystal ball, you can try to use an old bowling ball, but you’ll really have to make sure it’s well-polished, preferably by a professional. I’ve looked into old, poorly polished bowling balls and I can tell you it’s very hard to discern anything about the future in them.

Meanwhile, I’ve come to see that geese will be able to speak several languages in the future. You’re thinking, come on, why would the gift of speech be given to geese but not ducks?

Please don’t put geese in the same category as ducks. Ducks seduce you at first with their odd sense of humor, but soon enough you come to see them as a bunch of bozos who couldn’t speak English if their lives depended on it.  

On the other hand, several goose scientists I know have told me, over pints, that it won’t be entirely strange to see geese chatting about world events at little cafes with French human beings within the next few decades.

Look, I’m just telling you what I see in the tea leaves and what people I know – highly respected people – tell me about geese and ducks.

Let’s reconnect about this in the future.

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Daily Haiku

 

Cats oft’ void their guts.

They cough out fur balls. They puke.  

We tread carefully.  

 

College Tuition

We dig ourselves a deep hole

Need a second job.

 

Now that I’m sixty

People think I’m a wise man

Probably, I’m not

 

I’m in my Fifties

But tomorrow I’m Sixty

Will need a sports car

 

My PCP Says

“Keep doin’ what yer doin’”

Prob’ly I should not

 

It’s St. Patrick’s Day

We eat beef that has been corned

Whatever that means

 

Robots and A.I.

I will make use of these soon

To do my taxes

 

Strange Oscar night end

Pacino failed to mention

Best pic nominees

 

Who’s this Katie Britt?

Scary. Wierd. We could have used

A Trigger Warning

 

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