My Friend Holly’s riposte’ to my snideness regarding her snideness or something. Anyway, this is brilliant.
Bob sat beside the swimming ool. "No p in it yet," he mused happily to himself. He was alone for once, most of his primary characters having made appointments with eye specialists in every major city in the country. Someone nearby was stitching a bodice, another was writing in a forest somewhere. A hazmat recovery unit was shuffling through the snow in one of the northern states, preparing to clean up a bit of bloodshed.
The ool was a lovely shade of blue. "Everyone knows blue and yellow make green; no green so far," Bob whispered, glad he had learned everything he needed to know in kindergarten. Someone had moved Bob's cheese years ago. He had learned to live without it.
Maybe he had erred with Blaine, who preferred his martinis stirred. There's no bonding with a guy like that. But all in all, Bob is a happy man. Having a purpose driven life does the trick, he assures people. But, when anyone drops by in their swimming suit, he shoots their eye out. (He doesn't want them near his whirlool sa, either.)
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Christmas Story 2005
Did you see the movie “A Christmas Story” again this year? The one where Ralphie was warned again and again that he would put his eye out, and darned if he didn’t think he had? Well, what if that story premise was written, say, in the style of military action books, or even bodice ripper? Here’s a try:
Chesney grimaced as the Land Rover jolted over yet another boulder. He had been tracking the Afghani warlord who had kidnapped Marissa Varda from the ladies room during their dinner at Les Chivalier in Kabul for days. Endless hours driving through the rough Afghan countryside, sleeping when exhaustion overcame him or at the villages where he squatted by the open fires, searching for hints of his prey. Now he sensed that he was close. The hair on his arms was standing, which always happened when action was near.
Parking the Land Rover, he checked his weapon to insure the action was working smoothly and a full magazine was inserted. He crawled over the rocks and looked down onto the campsite of the kidnappers. He saw two men on sentry duty, while another was watching Marissa as she tried to cook their breakfast in the firepit. He leopard-walked around the rugged ridge to the first sentry. Grabbing a handful of pebbles, he tossed them into the sentries lap. The man’s head jerked up in surprise as he looked wildly around for the source of the rocks. Chesney let his breath out with a sigh and gently squeezed the trigger, putting the sentries eye out. Quickly he got to his feet and walked nonchalantly toward the second sentry, hoping to be mistaken for the first guard. The sentry glanced at him, then did a double-take and looked harder. “Harzi?” he asked. A snap shot quickly put his eye out. As he fell, his AK-47 clattered to the ground and the third kidnapper leaped to his feet. “Freeze!” shouted Chesney. “I’ll put your eye out!” Babbling in Afghan, the kidnapper said “Take what you want, just don’t shoot”. “My lighter”, said Chesney. “Wha-what?” stuttered the thug. “My lighter!” Chesney shouted “she borrowed my lighter to have a quick smoke in the ladies room!” Reaching into his pocket, the kidnapper extended a trembling hand with a purple Bic lighter. “Here, mister, it’s yours” Taking the lighter, Chesney clicked it and a small flame erupted. “Good. It’s hard to get purple ones.” He turned and strode back to his Land Rover. Within minutes a dust trail was the only sign of his departure; a happy man. It was Christmas.
Bodice ripper:
Elena spun to escape the grasp of her attacker. As she moved toward the safety of the forest, Blaine’s grasping fingers closed on the sleeve of her blouse, ripping it from shoulder to elbow. The sight of her flesh inflamed him even more, and he shouted “get… you vixen!” as he leapt to tackle her. Scooping up a twig, she spun to her former lover and put his eye out. Screaming, he fell to the ground, clutching his head. Elena quickly moved to the berry-gathering bag she had dropped when attacked and removed a small penknife. Slicing Blaine’s right ear off, she smiled in delight as she lifted her dripping trophy into a Ziploc© bag she carried for times like this. Exaggerating the sway of her hips as she walked away, she left Blaine writing in the forest. It was Christmas.
For those of you sadly lacking in imagination (for anything not Italian, Holly) who snidely ask “Well, what did Blaine write in the forest, hmmm?” the following transcript is provided (yes, it was supposed to say ‘writhing’, not writing):
“That bitch put my eye out! Somebody call my publicist! I want a black eyepatch and maybe a tobacco and forest green one. Both with a teardrop diamond in the lower corner. This could be a book, hell a movie. Is no one listening to me!?!?” Since Blaine was writing this with a bloody twig on the forest floor in large letters (his eye had been recently put out), a group of Seattle environmental activists who also critique emails for common typo’s quickly filed a lawsuit for destruction of more than one half acre of pristine (well, not pristine there was blood all over. Horror!) forest land. Although they won the lawsuit, the rigidly conservative asshole judge only granted them critical rights to the upcoming movie, which used the bodice ripping scene as a trailer to entice millions of people to watch this overly violent piece of trash. Blaine went on to play James Bond in “84 Bond Movies Are Not Enough”. Everyone agreed it was the eyepatch that got him the part. He was so overjoyed with his film success that he had his other eye put out, which turned out to be a stupid career move.
The End
Copyright 2005 Sneezewhackle Inc.
Chesney grimaced as the Land Rover jolted over yet another boulder. He had been tracking the Afghani warlord who had kidnapped Marissa Varda from the ladies room during their dinner at Les Chivalier in Kabul for days. Endless hours driving through the rough Afghan countryside, sleeping when exhaustion overcame him or at the villages where he squatted by the open fires, searching for hints of his prey. Now he sensed that he was close. The hair on his arms was standing, which always happened when action was near.
Parking the Land Rover, he checked his weapon to insure the action was working smoothly and a full magazine was inserted. He crawled over the rocks and looked down onto the campsite of the kidnappers. He saw two men on sentry duty, while another was watching Marissa as she tried to cook their breakfast in the firepit. He leopard-walked around the rugged ridge to the first sentry. Grabbing a handful of pebbles, he tossed them into the sentries lap. The man’s head jerked up in surprise as he looked wildly around for the source of the rocks. Chesney let his breath out with a sigh and gently squeezed the trigger, putting the sentries eye out. Quickly he got to his feet and walked nonchalantly toward the second sentry, hoping to be mistaken for the first guard. The sentry glanced at him, then did a double-take and looked harder. “Harzi?” he asked. A snap shot quickly put his eye out. As he fell, his AK-47 clattered to the ground and the third kidnapper leaped to his feet. “Freeze!” shouted Chesney. “I’ll put your eye out!” Babbling in Afghan, the kidnapper said “Take what you want, just don’t shoot”. “My lighter”, said Chesney. “Wha-what?” stuttered the thug. “My lighter!” Chesney shouted “she borrowed my lighter to have a quick smoke in the ladies room!” Reaching into his pocket, the kidnapper extended a trembling hand with a purple Bic lighter. “Here, mister, it’s yours” Taking the lighter, Chesney clicked it and a small flame erupted. “Good. It’s hard to get purple ones.” He turned and strode back to his Land Rover. Within minutes a dust trail was the only sign of his departure; a happy man. It was Christmas.
Bodice ripper:
Elena spun to escape the grasp of her attacker. As she moved toward the safety of the forest, Blaine’s grasping fingers closed on the sleeve of her blouse, ripping it from shoulder to elbow. The sight of her flesh inflamed him even more, and he shouted “get… you vixen!” as he leapt to tackle her. Scooping up a twig, she spun to her former lover and put his eye out. Screaming, he fell to the ground, clutching his head. Elena quickly moved to the berry-gathering bag she had dropped when attacked and removed a small penknife. Slicing Blaine’s right ear off, she smiled in delight as she lifted her dripping trophy into a Ziploc© bag she carried for times like this. Exaggerating the sway of her hips as she walked away, she left Blaine writing in the forest. It was Christmas.
For those of you sadly lacking in imagination (for anything not Italian, Holly) who snidely ask “Well, what did Blaine write in the forest, hmmm?” the following transcript is provided (yes, it was supposed to say ‘writhing’, not writing):
“That bitch put my eye out! Somebody call my publicist! I want a black eyepatch and maybe a tobacco and forest green one. Both with a teardrop diamond in the lower corner. This could be a book, hell a movie. Is no one listening to me!?!?” Since Blaine was writing this with a bloody twig on the forest floor in large letters (his eye had been recently put out), a group of Seattle environmental activists who also critique emails for common typo’s quickly filed a lawsuit for destruction of more than one half acre of pristine (well, not pristine there was blood all over. Horror!) forest land. Although they won the lawsuit, the rigidly conservative asshole judge only granted them critical rights to the upcoming movie, which used the bodice ripping scene as a trailer to entice millions of people to watch this overly violent piece of trash. Blaine went on to play James Bond in “84 Bond Movies Are Not Enough”. Everyone agreed it was the eyepatch that got him the part. He was so overjoyed with his film success that he had his other eye put out, which turned out to be a stupid career move.
The End
Copyright 2005 Sneezewhackle Inc.
Sneezewhackle Giving
Sneezewhackle, Sneezewhackle piggety-pen,
What’s that behind your back, Ben my friend?
It’s a gift for you, I made it myself
Just think of me as your own little elf!
Oh my! An airplane, and the propeller even spins
How did you do this, and how did I win?
I bought a model kit, and painted and glued
And while I was making it, I thought “it’s for you!”
But you should keep it, Ben friend of mine
After all of that work, you would like it just fine!
But I like giving gifts; and here’s my own plan
Give as much as you get, or more when you can
You’re right, when you give it gives back a glow
And for the rest of the day you feel happy, I know!
Say, why don’t we go to that orphanage place
And give this to an orphan, put a smile on his face?
But I gave it to you, that is your model plane!
Give as much as I get, that’s your plan and your fame!
So more than one child gets a prize of a plane!
Giving is good, and I like it too.
Give as much as you get, Sneezewhackle-do!
What’s that behind your back, Ben my friend?
It’s a gift for you, I made it myself
Just think of me as your own little elf!
Oh my! An airplane, and the propeller even spins
How did you do this, and how did I win?
I bought a model kit, and painted and glued
And while I was making it, I thought “it’s for you!”
But you should keep it, Ben friend of mine
After all of that work, you would like it just fine!
But I like giving gifts; and here’s my own plan
Give as much as you get, or more when you can
You’re right, when you give it gives back a glow
And for the rest of the day you feel happy, I know!
Say, why don’t we go to that orphanage place
And give this to an orphan, put a smile on his face?
But I gave it to you, that is your model plane!
Give as much as I get, that’s your plan and your fame!
So more than one child gets a prize of a plane!
Giving is good, and I like it too.
Give as much as you get, Sneezewhackle-do!
Purple Dragon poem for Sofi
Sneezewhackle sneezewhackle rippity-rap
I fell out of a tree and landed on my hat
While I was laying there what did I see
But a big purple dragon coming right at me!
I jumped off the ground and got ready to fight
But the big purple dragon vanished from sight
Instead I saw a bright yellow mouse
Looking at me, it was big as a house!
It started to come, but a cat then appeared
Two times as big and colored all weird
Big blue spots on a lime green coat
I shook my head, what bad fashion sense!
But the cat took a swipe, his paw big as a tent.
I rolled over backwards and started to run
But the cat disappeared straight into the sun
I blinked once or twice in the dusty air
And saw a huge grasshopper, just sitting there
It chewed and chewed and looked at me,
Then jumped straight up and over the tree
Well I just stood with my mouth open wide,
When a two-foot mosquito flew right inside
I spit and rolled and fell to the ground,
The sat up straight and looked all around
There was no dragon, and no big cat
No big grasshopper, no mouse and no rat
I had bumped my head and dreamed all that stuff
But the mosquito in my mouth was real, sure enough!
I fell out of a tree and landed on my hat
While I was laying there what did I see
But a big purple dragon coming right at me!
I jumped off the ground and got ready to fight
But the big purple dragon vanished from sight
Instead I saw a bright yellow mouse
Looking at me, it was big as a house!
It started to come, but a cat then appeared
Two times as big and colored all weird
Big blue spots on a lime green coat
I shook my head, what bad fashion sense!
But the cat took a swipe, his paw big as a tent.
I rolled over backwards and started to run
But the cat disappeared straight into the sun
I blinked once or twice in the dusty air
And saw a huge grasshopper, just sitting there
It chewed and chewed and looked at me,
Then jumped straight up and over the tree
Well I just stood with my mouth open wide,
When a two-foot mosquito flew right inside
I spit and rolled and fell to the ground,
The sat up straight and looked all around
There was no dragon, and no big cat
No big grasshopper, no mouse and no rat
I had bumped my head and dreamed all that stuff
But the mosquito in my mouth was real, sure enough!
Poem for Sofia
‘Sneezewhackle sneezewhackle humpty dump.
I don’t like camels ‘cause they have humps.’
‘so I shouldn’t like things that are different than me?’
‘that’s right, you’ve got it as plain as can be!’
‘But I like you and we’re not the same!’
‘Hey, I heard it from my Dad, so I’m not to blame!’
‘Well I think you’re wrong, that’s just not right.
I like birds, because they have flight.
I like fuzzy caterpillars that bump on the ground,
And I like turtles because they’re slow and round.
I like Sally Perkins with her pretty red hair
And Billy Mohammed because he knows how to share
And Miss Two Feathers who teaches us math
And I love my kitty who purrs in my lap.
I don’t like camels, not ‘cause of their hump
That’s a place to ride or we could fall with a thump.
No, I don’t like camels and the hump is not it,
I don’t like camels because they like to spit.’
‘Well I’ll tell my Daddy that we think he’s wrong,
Rick-a-rack Pick-a-pack zingety zong
Just because things are different doesn’t mean they aren’t cool
It’s not how we look, it’s about what we do!’
I don’t like camels ‘cause they have humps.’
‘so I shouldn’t like things that are different than me?’
‘that’s right, you’ve got it as plain as can be!’
‘But I like you and we’re not the same!’
‘Hey, I heard it from my Dad, so I’m not to blame!’
‘Well I think you’re wrong, that’s just not right.
I like birds, because they have flight.
I like fuzzy caterpillars that bump on the ground,
And I like turtles because they’re slow and round.
I like Sally Perkins with her pretty red hair
And Billy Mohammed because he knows how to share
And Miss Two Feathers who teaches us math
And I love my kitty who purrs in my lap.
I don’t like camels, not ‘cause of their hump
That’s a place to ride or we could fall with a thump.
No, I don’t like camels and the hump is not it,
I don’t like camels because they like to spit.’
‘Well I’ll tell my Daddy that we think he’s wrong,
Rick-a-rack Pick-a-pack zingety zong
Just because things are different doesn’t mean they aren’t cool
It’s not how we look, it’s about what we do!’
FCE from hell
Man, the past few days have been a bugger. I had to go to San Antonio
Monday and Tuesday for all day physical tests on my capabilities,
demanded by the insurance company so they could have more evidence
that I am a fraud. Unfortunately for them I proved beyond doubt that
I'm not; it's going to be interesting to see what happens now. I won't
hear anything until February, but at least I've now done every
possible test they can think of. Walking, stooping, crawling, lifting,
nose-picking, ear-waggling, cross-eying and flatulence measurements.
Fairly detailed exam, if I may say so.
10 Things to Grab on the Rollercoaster of Love
10 ITEMS TO GRAB ONTO ON THE ROLLER COASTER OF LOVE
SUBMITTED BY THE BOERNE HAPPY TIME THERAPY GROUP AND HOT OIL EMPORIUM
10. Well, your hat
9. Some tissues, to deal with the awkward results of # 2.
8. His knee. For some silly reason, men love it when women grab their knee during moments of high tension, even though it can leave lasting marks.
7. A knish. You just cannot get enough knishes and if you see one, grab on.
6. Your ear and your date’s ear simultaneously. This is a bonding exercise highly respected by the remote Bolango tribe political caste. When they say “lend me your ear…”
5. The hair of the person in front of you. If it comes off in your hand tradition requires that you stand up in the car and wave it while screaming hysterically. Your date must fight off the ensuing attack.
4. The moral high ground. I have no idea where it is or why we want it, but apparently we do. Write me with the details. Take your time.
3. A steaming bottle of Boerne Happy Time Hot Oil, spiced or plain.
2. Grabbing the bottle, artfully spill it into your date’s lap. When he starts screaming, whisper in his ear “just rub it in for the full medicinal value, and stand back!”
1. Relinquishing the moral high ground (you have sufficient experience by now), grasp your date’s other ear (the one you aren’t already holding) and do whatever comes naturally, disregarding the screaming and smell of burnt flesh. If you have had a good time, kiss him. If not just bring your forehead smartly down on his nose and then use him for an ottoman for the rest of the ride.
SUBMITTED BY THE BOERNE HAPPY TIME THERAPY GROUP AND HOT OIL EMPORIUM
10. Well, your hat
9. Some tissues, to deal with the awkward results of # 2.
8. His knee. For some silly reason, men love it when women grab their knee during moments of high tension, even though it can leave lasting marks.
7. A knish. You just cannot get enough knishes and if you see one, grab on.
6. Your ear and your date’s ear simultaneously. This is a bonding exercise highly respected by the remote Bolango tribe political caste. When they say “lend me your ear…”
5. The hair of the person in front of you. If it comes off in your hand tradition requires that you stand up in the car and wave it while screaming hysterically. Your date must fight off the ensuing attack.
4. The moral high ground. I have no idea where it is or why we want it, but apparently we do. Write me with the details. Take your time.
3. A steaming bottle of Boerne Happy Time Hot Oil, spiced or plain.
2. Grabbing the bottle, artfully spill it into your date’s lap. When he starts screaming, whisper in his ear “just rub it in for the full medicinal value, and stand back!”
1. Relinquishing the moral high ground (you have sufficient experience by now), grasp your date’s other ear (the one you aren’t already holding) and do whatever comes naturally, disregarding the screaming and smell of burnt flesh. If you have had a good time, kiss him. If not just bring your forehead smartly down on his nose and then use him for an ottoman for the rest of the ride.
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