Ironic sarcasm and other repetitive redundancies

I always thought that I shouldn't write unless I could at least remember the parts of speech.  I could always imagine an editor, handing a manuscript back to me, and remarking, "Good ideas, but way too many dangling participles and not enough gerunds," or something similar.  I am kind of grooving on the idea that I can publish my blog (a word I need to politely rave about in another posting) without any oversight.  I don't have to take it in to Jason Robards, watch him adjust his reading glasses and light a cigarette, quickly peruse my text, and tell me to "run with it, Jonesie."

But my hesitation to put pen to paper has always had less to do with a shortage of ideas or a lack of someone to help me improve and filter those ideas, and more to do with my total lack of organization, discipline and motivation.  And nothing has changed about my personal flaws.  I still have numerous projects in various stages of completion and no real plan to bring even one of them over the finish line.  But technology has changed the requirements for one such as me to step on the soapbox.  This website I'm being hosted by has empowered me to broadcast my most inane thoughts and opinions with the same moral authority as an elected leader or a seasoned journalist.  That thought makes me light-headed.

What I need to do now is find some of the inanities I penned or collected in the past.  The title of this post refers to one such effort.  My granddaddy, Bob Smyer, is a lifelong collector of idiotic utterings.  At one point, he typed his collection and distributed it throughout the family.  A few were particularly funny to me, because of the unnecessary repetition of words or ideas (example: "You have won an extra bonus gift!")  I made it my aim to note and share any of these "repetitive redundancies" with my family.  At one point I had over 50 scraps of paper with one or more of these phrases handwritten or typed on them.  I kept the scraps in an envelope with the intention of typing them up like Granddaddy did.  On pain of death I would never get rid of that envelope.  But where to begin to find it?  I haven't a clue.  

However, this blog provides the motivation to locate that writing effort from two decades ago,  and perhaps others.  Now that I can climb on my soapbox without Jason Robards' permission at any time, I may just clutter the cybersphere with all the crap I meant to write about 20 years ago.  Or I may just mutter and muse like I'm doing now.  But it really doesn't matter, since there's no one reading this anyway.