Skip to main content

She's Not There

The following musical interlude is brought to you by my mojo.



Well no one told me about it, the way I cried
Well no on told me about it, my brain was fried
But it's too late to say I'm sorry
How would you know, why should you care
I been trying to find my mojo
She's not there

Well let me tell you 'bout the way I rocked
The way I'd act and the puns that were there
My wit was soft and cool
My posts were clear and bright
But they're not there

Well no one told me about it, what could I do
Well no one told me about it, and the air's now blue
But it's too late to say I'm sorry
How would you know, do you really care
I'm still tryin' to find my mojo
She's not there

Well let me tell you 'bout the way I rocked
The way I'd act and the puns that were there
My wit was soft and cool
My posts were clear and bright
But they're not there

But it's too late to say I'm writing
How would you know, do you really care
I'm still tryin to find my mojo
She's not there

Well let me tell you 'bout the way I rocked
The way I'd act and the puns with flair
My wit was soft and cool
My posts were clear and bright
But they're not there


With apologies to the Zombies (Man, I'm friggin' old.) I've included the original song for your enjoyment. And, who knows, maybe my mojo will be there next week.


Comments

Indigo Roth said…
Ah, Dufus. Tough times, old son. I have a nasty suspicion your Mojo has eloped with my Chutzpah. We should sit down and have a beer and wait for them to get bored and come home.
Cheryl said…
This post and that label are brilliant. Indigo's comment put me over the edge and now I can't stop laughing. With you guys, not at you guys. (If your mojo finds my mojo, would you please send it to me? Feel free to send it COD airmail. It's been gone so long, it's going to take a while to get used to having it around again.)
nonamedufus said…
That could be dangerous, Indigo. My Mojo may never come back. Or if it did It might have one hell of a headache.
nonamedufus said…
Isn't that sign great?! Your mojo too? Where the hell do mojos go? Is there like a mojo hideout or something?
Well I lost my marbles. sigh....
Debra She Who Seeks said…
I think you should wander up and down the streets in your neighbourhood yelling "Mojo! Mojo! Where are you?" That might help.
Nora Blithe said…
My Mojo, who I refer to as That Bitchy Muse, sometimes gets PMS. Perhaps yours just needs a gallon of chocolate ice cream and an evening watching sad movies.
nonamedufus said…
Oh my deepest condolences, Katherine.
nonamedufus said…
You don't think the sign's enough then?
nonamedufus said…
No, I think mine needs to spend a Sunday afternoon watching football. Alas, the season doesn't start for several months.
Cheryl said…
Do you have ESPN Classic? They replay old games from most sports. Just think how much fun it would be to watch something from the 70s or 80s back when most sports were more about the team than the superstars.
Cheryl said…
I think they all go to a retirement community somewhere in Florida where they swim, sunbathe, and drink Mimosas all day long.
babs (beetle) said…
Oh, I love it! I bet your mojo is with mine, laying low somewhere, hoping never to be found.
nonamedufus said…
Oh, I hope I find it. If it's with yours I'll let you know.
Ziva said…
I freelance as a Muse occasionally, if you're interested... ;)
nonamedufus said…
That might be a-muse-ing, Ziva.
meleah rebeccah said…
My mojo must be with your mojo. I sure hope they're having fun without us!

Popular posts from this blog

The Polka Dot Door

A long time ago, when I was 22, my first child was born.  That kid grew up on a little Canadian kid's show called Polka Dot Door, produced by the TV Ontario network.  And Dad, more often than not, sat through those shows with his little one. Nine or so years later when a brother, and a year after that when a sister came along number one son was moving on to Knight Rider and The Dukes of Hazzard.  But there was a nice overlap where his siblings picked up where he had left off with Polka Dot Door.  And Dad was right there to welcome them. So you're looking at a Polka Dot Door veteran.  The show began in 1971 and ran to 1993.  I didn't watch the full run but I did get in my fair share.  The formula was pretty simple.  A young male and female host, which seemed to change every week, sang songs, told stories, made crafts and generally did their best stimulate little brains.  The show opened as follows... Imagination Day!  Oh boy!  You know what happens on Imagination D

My Back Pages - November

I know, I know, I know I should have reported in before now. But sometimes real life just gets in the way. I attempted 5 books in November. I say attempted because I slapped a big DNF (did not finish) on Neal Stephenson's Cryptonomicon. I just can't seem to get into this guy. It's the second or third of his I've given up on, Not so the other four, starting with a biography of Stephen Stills called Change Partners. This followed by a hilarious biography of the guy responsible for National Lampoon called A Stupid and Futile Gesture - How Doug Kenney and National Lampoon Changed Comedy Forever. I ended the month reading yet another biography, this one of the man behind Rolling Stone magazine,. It was called Sticky Fingers: The Life and Times of Jann Wenner and Rolling Stone Magazine. A fascinating read. So last month I hit the magic number 50 I'd imagined for myself back in January. If I roll this month into my yearly total I'm at 54 books. And I still hav

30 Days of Photos III #4 Sour

Check out Ziva's Inferno for the rest of today's photos.