Home Again, Home Again, Jiggetty Jog. (Dorothy’s a Rapper, and So is Her Dog.)

Man it’s good to be back home. Dorothy … Whateverherlastnamewas was right: There’s no place like Oz.

What was Dorothy’s last name, anyway?

I guess it was Em. Cuz that was her auntie’s last name, right? She was Auntie Em–so I guess Dorothy was Dorothy Em.

Which means that if Dorthy and her aunt ever went anywhere together, they’d be Em ‘n Em.

Wow. See, now that’s a rap act people would go see.

Baby Got Rainbow!

Wow. I am so torn between continuing this Line o’ Jokes, and … not getting fired by Crosswalk.

Hmmmmmm … pretty tough call. I love blooging here.

On the other hand: Snoop Toto Dogg!

Okay, no.

No!

Anyway, it sure is great to be back in San Diego. Whoo-hoo!

I saw from the name placard magnetized to his dashboard that the guy driving the shuttle van that returned Cat and I to our parked car was named Joey Ventura.

“Dude,” I said, smiling, clearly in Funny Bonding Mode. “You made up that name, right?”

Joey Ventura looked at me, totally confused. Smiling–ready to engage!–but clearly confused.

“Joey Ventura,” I said. “You know. Sounds like you should be the star of Las Vegas.”

Though clearly the nicest guy in the world, Joe had apparently never seen or heard of the NBC TV show, Las Vegas. Which put me in the bit of a conversational logjam.

“I mean, not like you’d be a guy, like, singing in Las Vegas, or anything,” I said, amazed to suddenly find myself sinking Humor Quicksand. How do these situations happen?

I could feel Cat, sitting in the seat behind us, already acting like she didn’t know me.

“You know,” I said. “Joey Ventura. Like … Mr. Las Vegas.” Nowhere. “You know,” I continued blindly. “Like … Ace’s brother.”

Nothing. Wasn’t happening.

Routine rebuffed!

I didn’t care. I tipped Joe five bucks for driving us five minutes.

Cuz he was still Joey Ventura.

South Bend: I love you.

San Diego: Could you have any more stoners?

But I don’t care, man.

We’re home!