The Gift Of The Scratchi

Once upon a time, in a little village, just south southwest of Santa’s Workshop, in the North Pole, there lived an older couple. This couple was each on their third marriage, although that doesn’t have anything to do with anything…I’m just making conversation. Now the couple didn’t have much money. The husband had started a potato washing business that wasn’t as profitable as it was expected to be, and the wife hadn’t been to work since she was diagnosed with elephantiasis in her left leg. Needless to say, Christmas was around the corner and the couple had no money to buy each other presents.

The husband thought, “Well it’s Christmas…I have to get my wife something!”

So he decided to rummage through the couch cushions and look for loose coins. He looked and looked and looked, and finally found 22 pennies, 3 nickels, one of them minted in the year 1978…which really didn’t have anything to do with anything…just making an observation…2 dimes, and 2 quarters for a grand total of $1.07.  The husband looked at the coins in his hand and sighed. What could he possibly buy with this? A pack of gum? A toothbrush?

Meanwhile in another part of the house, the wife was looking under their bedroom mattress. All year she would stash a dollar here and a dollar there as a little nest egg for Christmas. The problem was that all year she would also borrow a dollar here and a dollar there with the intention of paying it back, yet she never would. Currently all that resided in the mattress Christmas nest was one dollar.  A single tear rolled down her cheek as she got a paper cut on the tip of her finger from grabbing that one little dollar bill.

“What can I do with this?” thought the wife. “Buy a pack of playing cards? A plastic kazoo? A band aid?”

Both the husband and the wife both felt a little dejected, a little depressed, and a little tipsy because both of them were drunks…nothing to do with this particular story, just throwing it out there for discussion.

The husband grabbed his coat and called to his wife that he was going for a walk.

“OK!” she called back. There was little chance she would join him due to her left leg being the size of a VW Bus thanks to the elephantiasis, so the husband had a few moments to himself to think.

So he did.

He thought and he walked, and walked and thought, until he stopped in front of a convenience store. He stood there for a moment as his breath billowed in front of his face from the cold brisk air. He could see the worry lines on his forehead mirrored in the window of the store. He could also see the beer case, because as explained earlier, he was a raging drunk. And lastly he could see the counter where the lottery tickets were advertised. In his pocket, his hand clasped on the coins and he headed into the store.

Come that Christmas morn as the husband and the wife gathered in front of their Christmas tree which made Charlie Brown’s look like a lush Evergreen, he took her hand, and patted her enormous leg and whispered,

“I love you. Merry Christmas.”

He pulled out the  scratch off lottery ticket he bought with the change and handed it to her. He also handed her one of the left over pennies that he didn’t spend. This was so she could rub off that mystery silver cover that hides the winning numbers from the naked eye.

She smiled, and rub the penny back and forth over the ticket, slowly and with determination, all the while biting her lower lip. She turned the ticket to her husband when she was done, and said,

“We won.”

“What?” asked the husband gasping for breath. “Really?”

“Yes,” she said with the biggest grin. “We won a free lottery ticket.”

“Merry Christmas,” said the husband.

Merry Christmas,” replied his wife and slipped the dollar she had found into his pants pocket.

This doesn’t really pertain to the story, but later they got snockered on eggnog…you know…just throwing it out there…for conversations sake…

Merry Christmas to all.

Six Christmas Reindeer that Didn’t Make the Delivery Team

This is a piece that was written by my fellow Pauser, Chowderhead and myself…well to be honest it was about 90% Chowderhead and 10% myself.

The task of expediting billions of presents to mouthy brats around the globe in one night is a heaping pile of responsibility – one that requires a sharp, sober team of hoofed navigators to help carry it out. There’s only room for one drunken deviant on the parcel delivery team, and that’s Santa Claus; a morbidly obese shut-in operating under the delusion that wearing a belt and boots with red pajamas is more than a just a kinky homage to Hugh Hefner, it’s a fashion statement.

Assembling a dashing team of sleigh navigators has historically been no simple task – one that requires a formal tryout, which annually results in reject letters being handed out to dozens of four-legged, horn bearing hopefuls. Remember all those Reindeer games? These caribou take it seriously and have been training all their lives!

Now I know you’re familiar with Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, and that freak, Rudolph; but according to some loose media source there were 6 previously unknown potentials that narrowly made the cut.

(To be honest, they weren’t even close to making the cut.)

Flasher

Official scouting report notes indicated that this obscene creature couldn’t keep his reindeer gear tucked between his furry little thighs during the tryouts. A lewd compulsion to flash his candy cane and holly berries in front of festive front room windows not only kept him off the team, but also nearly landed him a two year stay on the pet offenders list.

Dahmer

Initially, his calm demeanor and ability to take orders earned him a spot on the flight crew team. However, his membership status was revoked shortly after scouts discovered his hidden cannibalistic tendencies. He didn’t last too long at tryout camp, and neither did his stable mate, Meaty.

Square Dancer

It was determined that this uncoordinated mess of a creature might potentially blow the cover so to speak. During the trial package drop, Square Dancer attempted to Doe See Doe with Flasher, producing unacceptable decibel levels up on the roof tops.

Grab your partner don’t be shy,

Eat some magic corn, then you’ll fly

Land on the roofop, dosey doe

Santa is in the house,

your ass is standing in the snow

 

Nixon

A soft spoken and charismatic leader-type at first glance. However, walking papers were issued after one scouting team official candidly discovered him editing Christmas Lists and the official package delivery route. The incident was later coined, KringleGate. For the full story, you can watch the movie, All The Reindeer’s Men starring The Elf that Wanted to be a Dentist and the cast of The Island of Misfit Toys.

Vomit

Suffers from motion sickness. Also didn’t look good for any publicity photo shoots, for Vomit always had about six air sickness bags hanging off of him…just in case.

Stupid

His offenses are too long to list. Fellow trial mates frequently complained of inappropriate blinker usage during practice flights, and Stupid fell of a roof during one trial run while attempting a chimney handstand. The incident resulted in a broken femur, insurance settlement dispute that has been ongoing since its occurrence. Officials would not release any further details or names of the scouts associated with Stupid’s official invitation, but it’s been rumored that Stupid maybe in the new Jackass movie.

Blitzed’n

This deer liked his beer, which affected his steer. His also liked his vodka, just like his poppa. You would usually find him in passed out in the gutter, with a hooker nicknamed, Nutter Butter.

Since we are talking alternative reindeer, did you know that when Rudolph throws a hissy fit because he is such a big celebrity, (sometimes they do that) that his cousin from Germany, Christoph sometimes fill in?

True fact.

Nathan Vs Marvin And The Dump Truck

Nathan had eaten so many salt and vinegar potato chips that the roof of his mouth hurt. His fingers were dusted in salt and chip particles. He  grabbed Lucy’s hand, which was covered in Cheeto dust. Today was the day they were going to make a stand.

They stood at the edge of the sandbox. Hand in snack covered hand.

Marvin, the sandbox bully, had the dump truck of course, because Marvin always had the dump truck. It was the one sandbox toy that still had all it’s wheels.

Today Nathan wanted to play with the dump truck. Today was Nathan’s day to play with the truck. It was his birthday after all, and when it was someone’s birthday they should be able to play with the dump truck.

Lucy was going to help him get the dump truck. Although Lucy looked ridiculous. Her face, hands, and shirt was covered in orange Cheeto powder, which made her look like a pumpkin that had psoriasis. The two of them might be able to calmly and collectively convince Marvin that just this once, Nathan should be allowed a turn with the dump truck…it was his birthday after all.

Nathan and Lucy slowly approached Marvin whose back was turned to them and one of his chubby little hands was pushing the dump truck back and forth. Nathan felt the sand squishing between his toes and nervous sweat coating the back of his shirt.

Nathan cleared his throat. “Marvin,” he croaked rather meekly.

“What?!” Marvin grumbled as he continued to push the dump truck back and forth, back and forth.

Nathan cleared his throat again, only a little louder this time. “Today is my birthday, and…”

Marvin interrupted, “What do you want? A cookie?” Marvin laughed as if that was the most original and funniest joke he had ever heard.

Lucy chimed in, “That would be nice! Oh, and it’s Nelson’s turn to play with the dump truck.”

“Who is that?” Marvin sneered. “Your girl friend?!”

Nathan sputtered, “Yes…well no…well sort of…she’s my friend whose a girl…”

“Really? Well, is your girlfriend going to help you fight me for this dump truck?”

“If I have too!” Lucy said boldly. “It’s Nathan’s birthday. For once he should get to play with the dump truck!”

“Really?!” Marvin said in feigned deep thought. “Let me think about that for an hour or two and I’ll let you know if it’s okay…since it’s your birthday and all.”

“Oh, that’s nice of you,” Nathan said and smiled.

“No it’s not, Nathan,” Lucy cried. “He is tricking you!”

Marvin laughed and laughed. He laughed so hard that his sides began to hurt. He grabbed his sides and held them as he continued to laugh. In one quick scoop Lucy grabbed the Dump Truck and handed it to Nathan.

“Hey,” Marvin tried to squeeze out while laughing. “Give it back!”

“No!” said Lucy rather sternly with her hands on her Cheeto stained hips. “It’s Nathan’s birthday, and he is going to play with the dump truck or I’m going to call my lawyer!”

Marvin stopped laughing. He looked at his watch. “Fine!” he mumbled. “I have a 3 o’clock meeting with my stock broker anyway!” Marvin grabbed his $400 alligator shoes, brushed the sand of his $900 suit,  and headed towards his BMW.

“Tomorrow the dump truck is mine again!” he called straightening his tie before driving off.

“Happy birthday Nathan,” Lucy said.

“Thank you Lucy,” Nathan responded as they both sat down in the sand to play with the dump truck.

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It’s The Simpson’s

I live in the land of theme parks, and that land is named: Orlando.

One of the new big things that has come this summer is The Transformers ride to Universal Studios.

Bumblebee impersonating Tony Hawk.

It’s a pretty good ride. I even liked it when it was called Spiderman.

Spider-Man impersonating Tony Hawk trying to hold in a poo.

I know not everyone has made it down to Universal Studios Florida, so the joke there is that they are basically the same ride with different themes.

I’m actually more excited about something different that has come to Universal Studios and that is: Springfield!

They have had a Simpson’s ride for a couple of years and it is really good (and different from Spiderman/Transformers), and also the Kwik-E-Mart. When the ride first came, they turned a couple of the local 7/11s here into Kwik-E-Marts where they sold Buzz Cola, Krusty O’s, Pink Doughnuts, and Squishees.

To that ride, Universal has added Moe’s Tavern, Krusty Burger, The Frying Dutchman, Luigi’s, Duff Brewery, Lard Lad, and Android’s Dungeon. As well as a couple show themed places, which I don’t think where in the show itself, Cleatus’ Chicken Shack and Bumblebee Man’s Tacos.

You can correct me if I’m wrong.

I’m kind of weird about the show anyway. I’m actually not that big of fan. However, I think Homer Simpson is one of the best characters ever created. I’m a huge Homer fan. I even have a life size cardboard cutout of Homer that watches over the kids in our game room.

My my my my Homa…Kids you need to stop playing video games and go outside…but not too far outside…

For those who are not visiting me anytime soon, let me take you on a brief tour of the come-to-life Springfield.

Android’s Dungeon is actually not a comic book store but a bathroom. Kind of disappointing, but Comic Book Man did take a piss next to me when I used the facilities.

This is Moe’s and yes it is a real bar.

While we were waiting for Moe’s to open at 10:30 am…yes, you read that right…everyone would come to the door and take this picture. So the wife had too as well. I don’t think the tourists knew this was an actual real bar.

Sitting at the bar. The Flaming Moe is actually nonalcoholic. They put dry ice in the bottom of the drink to make it smoke. It tastes like orange soda. You can also get Duff, Duff Light, and Buzz Cola here.

The Flaming Moe up close.

Some more view of the inside of the bar. The guy in the picture works at the Frying Dutchman.

What could almost top Moe’s? Krusty Burger of course!

I don’t know what the special sauce is, but when they offer it, don’t turn it down. Get extra. On the side. It’s messy. Delish! Look closely at the paper lining the basket. This is the real deal.

Duff Brewery is going to be an outdoor bar. In addition to the other fine Duff products, it will also offer Duff Dark. It wasn’t open the day I was there, but it is now.

I don’t know if Lard Lad will be selling donuts, but you can find pink donuts the size of your head at Kwik-E-Mart.

The Air Vent

(This is fiction.)

I was 6, my brother was 10, and we had the whole house to ourselves. Grandma and Mom were at the restaurant getting it ready for the morning crowd. The crowd wasn’t very large, maybe 10 to 15 people at the most, but it was enough to keep the business alive. Those who came, came for the biscuits and gravy.  Grandma was known for her famous biscuits and gravy in at least a three county radius.

We would have about 4 hours in between being checked on through the day to fill with whatever adventures I would device for us to do. The restaurant was just a stone’s throw away from the house so we could not get to crazy.  My brother being the oldest was in charge of me, and I being of little attention span was in charge of figuring out what we were going to do that day. Luckily my brother was game for whatever I could come up with, even if that meant being Barbie’s best friend for an hour.

The house was old, with creaky wooden floors and yellowing wallpaper peeling at the corners. Grandma was frugal with the air conditioning, so the house would heat up slowly throughout the day. She seemed to have it down to a science when to pop the air conditioner on the give just enough relief to the dwellers as to not turn them into melted pools of human laziness. In the older houses the air vents were in the floors as oppose to the ceilings of modern structures. The air would kick on with a ticking noise, and then a grunt from the house as if it was so inconvenienced by the thought of cooling off it’s occupants.  Then with a strong whoosh the floor would blow sweet cooling relief strong enough (in a 6 year old’s mind) to float on to the heavens.

We would grab one of Grandma’s good top sheets from the bed whenever we hear the telltale ticking and run to the nearest vent. My brother and I would duck ourselves under the sheet, holding all four corners down between us as the air would start it’s travel from unknown origins of the inner house workings and into our sheet. The sheet would fill with air encasing us in some sort of air igloo. Our skin would goose bump with the cool air and I would watch the sheet rise as it filled. We had about 10 minutes to cool down and exchange stories in our air tent. My brother’s would always be about pirates or dragons or cars, typical boy stuff. Mine would be about princesses, my future jobs, and how to care and raise unicorns. We would listen to each other’s stories with faked interest if we had too. That was the number one rule of the air tent. No fighting. We couldn’t waste the time with fighting.

I loved the days of staying at my Grandma’s. It felt like we had a freedom there not afforded to most kids our age. I was allowed to let my imagination take over and fill our days with adventures and games.

When we got older, Grandma sold the restaurant when her old bones wouldn’t let her stir the batter to make those famous tri-county  biscuits anymore. My brother and I stopped playing in the air vents eventually. Now when we would visit Grandma we would sit at the dinning room table with the adults and listen to adult topics like changing car batteries, the weather, and stories of the restaurant regulars.

However, whenever the air would kick on in the house, I would look at my brother, and he at me, and we would smile.

If Taylor Swift Wrote About Real Life

McDonald’s Story

Standing in line waiting to order a burger

Your register girl is slow like a tumor

She doesn’t even know what a number 2 combo is

A number 2 is

The next thing I know

A wet floor cone is on the floor

I see no spill

So I walk around it

Walk around it

Chorus 1:

I ordered a 10 piece

You gave me 9 pieces

Where’s my Bar-B-Que?

It doesn’t look like the picture

Is this even real cheese?

This is my McDonald’s story

 

I look at the fry carton, it’s only half full

Just ’cause I’m skinny

Doesn’t mean I don’t like french fries

I like french fries

The drive through is backed up

People are screaming

Problem is the manager is only 14

He is only 14

Chorus 2:

I ordered a 10 piece

You gave me 9 pieces

I ordered a milkshake

You gave me a smoothie

Ronald kind of scares me

This is my McDonald’s story

 

 

 

Long Awkward Pause – A New Adventure In Blogging

In lieu of reblog Thursday, I have some exciting news.

I’m announcing the birth of a new, exciting, epic, original, ingenious, bold, spicy, operatic, collaborative masterpiece:

Long Awkward Pause!

What is Long Awkward Pause you may ask…and even if you didn’t ask, you may ask after you recover from your excitement over this announcement.

(I will wait until you pick yourself up off the floor, dust your pants off, and compose yourself thus-ly.)

Long Awkward Pause is a humor magazine collaboration between myself, Blurt, B.L.O.G., Monk Monkey, and Ramblings Of An Apathetic Adult Baby. We will take reader submitted topics  and write about them either once or twice a month depending on schedule, earth rotation, Chick-fil-a openings, births, deaths, oil changes, and other such hazards of the blog world.

I’m really excited to work with these guys, and I hope you’ll be just as excited to read our stuff. And if your not excited, at least tell your friends how not excited you are about this site, and how they should check it out for themselves.

You can view  the site, here. Don’t forget to follow, pretty please. Currently the site is just featuring reblogs of us, the actual first post will be on or around Aug. 2nd. It’s a topic submitted by Jo Ellen of Two On A Rant and it’s a tasty one. Feel free to fill out the form on the about page and suggest your own musings.

For everyone who follows, you will receive one free email notification!

The Boy And The Fireflies – A Children’s Story

Even though it was night, the young boy had an urge to get out of bed.

A strong urge.

A pull from the cosmos.

He snuck out from under his covers and pitter-padded down the hallway dimly lit by the moon coming in from the skylight.

His little one piece footy pajamas made him stealthy on the hard wood floors.

The boy made it to the back door. He could see the meadow not far from behind his house. The overgrown grass and dandelions made it a perfect home for the hundreds of lights twinkling between the blades of foliage.

The boy’s nose was pressed against the screen door as he watched in fascination of the firefly’s light show, up and down, back and forth, here and there.

The boy looked back over his shoulder. The house remained quiet. He could barely hear his father’s snores behind the big oak bedroom door somewhere far to the left of him.

Unable to resist, he slowly unlatched the back door, ever so quietly, and slipped out into the backyard.

The night air smelled of flowers. The full moon shone brightly on the field, but not too brightly, just enough to  make it easy for the boy to see the path that lead to the fireflies.

He carefully made his way there, taking extra caution to make sure the padded feet of his pajamas didn’t cause him to slip and fall.

When he reached the edge of the meadow, he grabbed the tallest blade of grass before him, and looked back at his house one more time. All was quiet and still. No one had woken yet, to catch  him on this midnight adventure.

The boy raised his arms above his head and ran into the field without a care. The fireflies were at first disturbed by this new presence. They went shooting into the air…hundreds of them…no millions of them! But then they soon settle back on their regular flight paths, glowing and dancing.

It was like the universe and all it’s stars fell to Earth and landed in this meadow…and boy held his arms up and twirled in circles.

As the boy was dancing, and as the fireflies were twinkling, an accident happened.

The boy didn’t mean to do it.

He really didn’t.

It was an accident after all.

One of the fireflies got smashed between the boy’s fingers. The boy stared at the twitching body of the firefly. A single tear formed in his eye and he cried out into the field,

“I’m sorry…it was an accident! I’m so sorry!”

And the fireflies continued to dance, and fly, and shine their light as if to say,

“It’s alright, little boy. Dance your dance. Just be careful.”

And the boy felt better.

And the boy laughed a little.

A happy, gleeful laugh.

A happy, gleeful, joyous laugh.

He looked at his fingers again where the dead firefly lay. His fingers glowed in the night from the firefly’s luminescence.

The boy thought,

“I could be a firefly too. I can be dancing and flying and shine in the night!”

Then the boy started mashing fireflies between his hands. He grabbed and smashed all that he could. His fingers glowed with the fireflies glow.

The fireflies were scared, and tried to scatter. It was a firefly genocide.

That didn’t stop the boy. He killed hundreds of them. He  spread their light all over his hands and arms. He ripped off his pajamas and spread the glow over his chest, legs, face, and pee-pee.

The boy glowed like a firefly.

“I’m a firefly! I’m free to dance and glow!” the boy screamed.

And he did. He danced and smashed even more fireflies..until the King of the Fireflies suddenly emerged from the brush.

The King  stood over nine feet tall, and wore a bandoleer. The King’s glow shone brighter than a thousand suns. The boy had to hold his hands to his eyes and could barely make out the King in front of him.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY FIREFLIES, BITCH!” boomed the King. “NEVER MIND, I CAN SEE WHAT YOU’RE DOING FOR MYSELF!”

And the King of the Fireflies ate the boy and spit out his bones, and made soup out of them. The fireflies then had little stupid boy soup which was their favorite.

The End

The Gunslinger

In a western town, in a dead end world, way before the Pet Shop Boys ever existed, there stood a lone saloon.

In a lone town.

With a lone gunslinger at the bar.

And about half a dozen other patrons milling around or sitting at tables playing poker…or that game where you spread your fingers apart and stab a knife between them going faster and faster, until you either slam the knife into the table in triumph, or cut a finger off.

I don’t know why the saloon owners allowed this game because it makes little indentations in the tables. Enough indentations and your beer glass could be all wobbly when you set it down. But you could put a pretzel in the indentations and have your friend hold his fingers up like a goal post, and then you flick the pretzel through it, trying to make a field goal…expect football hasn’t been invented yet…so nobody does that.

Oh yeah, there is one of those old timey piano players as well. He currently is not playing the piano, he is just sitting and looking at the piano. To be honest, he doesn’t know how to play the piano. He lied when he applied for the job. I’m not sure what he was thinking, because at some point he is going to be expected to play the piano. The non-pianist  is currently contemplating slamming his hands in the piano’s key cover, thus crippling him, making it impossible to play. This might buy him some more  time and he might be able to keep his new job as a bar’s piano player a bit longer.

There is also one of those girls wearing sexy revealing clothing and a feather boa walking around, although by today’s standards, they are not very revealing. I never understood the appeal of the boa as a sexy thing anyway. It just looks like a shedding feathered snake wrapped around somebody’s neck. I think it’s just to give the girl something to do with her hands, or to hide some unsightly blemish from your neck. Some people think snakes are sexy around a girl’s neck, and a feathered boa would not bite your face off like a snake would. The worst thing a feathered boa would do is either tickle you slightly or maybe give you a bad rash if you would allergic to feathers. If you were allergic to feathers, maybe you could request a camel hair or yarn boa…although they might not be as sexy. The camel hair may be kind of stinky as well.

Back to the lone gunslinger at the bar….

The gunslinger had been at the bar for hours, head down, nursing a beer, when suddenly he swivels around on his bar stool, but not very well because the bar stools are in serious need of WD40. WD40 hasn’t been invented yet, so the bar keep doesn’t quite know how to fix this problem. He was thinking maybe some olive oil or pickle juice, but then again tends to forget the problem even existed with the bar stools…until someone tries to swivel around in them very dramatically. This usually results instead half loosing your balance and looking like a drunk clown instead. The bar keep was more concerned with finding a way to repair all the knife nicks in his tables. His wife kept telling him to a sign up that simply said, “No Knife Finger Gaming In The Bar Please.” But, of course he hadn’t done it yet.

The gunslinger grabs his pistols and shoots them straight above his head. The bar comes to a complete silent stand still. The bar keep looks at the ceiling, staring at the two bullet point holes and wonders if his insurance covers this, except insurance hasn’t been invented, so really he is wondering how he is going to climb up there and plug those two holes up before the next rain. He can envision the sign his wife is going to suggest for him next about not shooting your bullets into the ceiling.

Everyone looks at the gunslinger. The piano player is the most grateful however, because this will buy him some more stalling time before he has to crush his hands with the key cover.

The gunslinger looks around the room and spits out his half smoked cigar. This very cigar was hand rolled by Mexican children and sold at an incredible profit to the manufacture while the children made pennies. Barely enough to buy one taco shell, but they sure did taste good.

The gunslinger cleared his throat.

The gunslinger wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

And then he spoke,

“Does anyone have a nickel I can borrow? I have enough money for my beer, but not enough for the tip.”

The room was dead silent still, but now everyone looked at each other confused.

Until old man Jeb stood up. Now old man Jeb wasn’t that old compared to today’s standards. He was only like 38 or 39, but back then life expectancy was a lot shorter.

Old man Jeb spit on the floor and said,

“Here is a dime stranger. Give five to the bar keep and five to the piano player, and request a song in my honor.”

And that’s when the piano player started to repeatedly slam his hands with the piano key cover.

I guess this story is more about the piano player then the gunslinger.