First off, Ninja Kitties. Might be an even bigger threat to us than headless chickens. Not sure, but President Obama has personally assured me that he will have a team of researchers look into this. Now I know what you're thinking. President Obama and I don't exactly mesh politically, so why would he have personal conversations with me? Well, there is one really good explanation for that. I am a really really important person. My self-importance was so overflowing that it seeped out into the real world. President Obama realizes this, and has determined, through the use of well placed mobile teleprompters that my input is actually valuable on a global level to the point of conducting useless threat assessments of unverifiable and illusory entities. Anyways, back to ninja kitties...
While on the job, I pulled around to the back of the parking lot at St Luke's, to scan my babysitter strip, which can verify that I actually went to this place instead of just saying I did. I pull up about 5 to 6 feet away from the light pole that the strip is on. As I open the door, a flat-faced, fat but mean looking kitty backs away from the pole itself by about 5 to 6 feet. It stares at me, just licking its chops repeatedly. I approach the pole to scan the strip and I look down and see a lifeless squirrel laying in a depression behind the pole. Neither the evil ninja kitty or the squirrel were there on my previous stop almost 2 hours prior. The ninja kitty gave me my room, but showed no signs of fear. He just stared me down, still licking away at his chops in some sort of OCD-like manner.
Now, being in full Rent-a-Cop battle rattle, I had no fear of this kitty, ninja or not. I turned away and walked the 5 or 6 feet back to my car. I closed the door, and I looked back towards the cat. But Ninja Kitty was GONE!! I walk back to the pole and the squirrel...ALSO GONE. This was by no means a small squirrel, He had been plenty healthy in the girth department, and quite long. I wouldn't call the squirrel fat, but he was definitely husky, maybe big boned. Removing him from sight with no sound or sign of removal is quite a task. Either Ninja Kitty is one helluva ninja, OR....there was an entire squad of ninja kitties waiting in the tree branches above and in the treeline at the edge of the lot. All I know, is I saw a squirrel, and then I didn't see a squirrel. Spooky stuff, those ninja kitties!
THE TALK READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED HERE for mature material and sexual undertones
So my wife has been busy all year bullying me. She wants me to give "the talk" to my 10 year old son. There are a few problems with this. A- My mom of all people attempted to give me the talk. I ignored it in favor of the current sitcom on TV at the moment. Gave her a few "yeah yeah"s and "I know"s. B- I don't have clue one how to give 'the talk', and C- its my son:
God love the boy, but he is definitely still in the "girls have cooties" stage, and he pretty much doesn't notice girls unless they are playing in the game of tag with him. And he definitely doesn't notice girls as anything other than "not boys". but either way, they are going to have the "health class" sometime this school year where they tell boys about the changes and stuff. The girls get their own. I personally back in my day, would have preferred to pay the admission to that show. It has to be clearly more interesting than speaking about my stuff in medical terms. Besides, I had already seen my own stuff. Not much interest in staring at it.
So, my wife takes the youngest to the grocery store and suggests that TODAY WILL BE THE DAY YOU TALK TO THE BOY!...I had very adeptly pushed this talk off since she learned the class was coming and didn't want the school to be the one to introduce him to the subject.
So the talk was pretty bland. "Look, you are gonna get hair in your armpits at some point," I tell him. I am informed he knows that already. Fantastic, one idea down. Tackle the easy stuff first, then move on to the more delicate stuff. "And your stuff," I continue, "You're gonna get hair down there too" His response is "EEEWWWWW". I comforted him in the knowledge that none of us are pleased with that development, but that in fairness, women get hair down there too. Again with the "EWWWW" followed by a bit of cackling. As with most things, it seems the idea of bad stuff happening to other people is funny. Even if it sucks when its you as the victim, you'll still laugh at other people's expenses. Just the way our hideous minds work. I informed him, that as a blond it may not be so bad for him as it is for say, me, a darker haired individual Then I informed him that his stuff would also get a bit bigger. Again with the cackling. Clearly this is still beyond his maturity in comprehension. Hell its well beyond MY maturity in delivering the information. we weren't going into the sex talk yet...thank god...I may have had a stroke and died if I had to go there with a 10 year old. But, I still had to go way further than I wanted to. I had to explain that he will be going through hormone changes...he will begin to get funny feelings about girls where he actually starts to like them. I was greeted with a confused look, another "EWW" and a bit of nervous cackling to boot. Well, I think to myself...at least he isn't asking technical in depth questions that will task my abilities here. I would honestly rather be caught in the middle of a gunfight than deal with this. Hell I'd rather explain the technical details of what's going on with a newly lobotomized-by-gunfire brain laying in the street next to us in the middle of said firefight. I proceeded to explain the developing nature that kids his age only know as "the pre-morning pee" phenomenon, and how it would happen randomly from time to time, and not just for peeing. I explained that this is normal, and not to worry about it. He laughs some more.
If I were being graded on my ability to give this lecture, I assure you, not only would I get an "F", but I would be permanently banned from applying for any instructional position again. WOOF! was I glad to get that over with. Anyone want to volunteer to take the BIG talk with the kid for me?
So, on a related note, Buggy, our youngest clearly gets crushes on the pretty women. I'm pretty sure his teacher falls in that category. So, somehow or another, the nature of the conversation gets focused onto the oldest one, you know, "giggle at hair on YOUR private parts, but disgusted by it on his own" boy. Somehow his mom asks him if he likes any girls in his class, or any other class or whatever. He continues to look down and deny things. Oh, we grilled him for the better part of 15minutes as he attempted to deflect the conversation away from him with the ever clever "What question?" when asked to answer a question. It has been determined as I mentioned above, that he barely recognizes a girl as anything other than "not a boy". It turns out, none of he and his other guy friends even talk about the local chicks in the school yard. these kids these days....they are either smarter than we were, or not as mature in the ways of adult life at that age as we were in my generation.
Hell, I had a girlfriend when I was in the 2nd grade. She didn't know it, but yeah, she was my girlfriend. I walked her home from school once in awhile since she was going my way. I of course had to deny liking her when the older boys come around. Don't want to let her think she's got me locked down. I was 8 and a happening dude, gotta keep my options open, ya know. When her family moved away, I was heartbroken. Probably the most devastated guy I knew. Even made me cry in front of my mom. That only made things worse. Heartbroken and humiliated. As a man, crying in front of women, mom or not, was just unacceptable. I'm sure I had to change into superhero underwear to console my manhood after that moment. Either way I survived. And of course, all us guys were talking smack about who we liked, and what we'd do with those girls. Yeah, we really were studs. Strip down to our unds, turn on the 70s porn music and watch a kid who had no idea what to even do if he got there, try to put the sexy moves on some chick.
When I was 6 I had the biggest crush on this lady named Marlee. She was a friend of my aunt and mom. Ran into her at some party or get together or something at my aunt's house while we were out in California. I found Marlee, and then I was just talking my head off, finding ways to impress this older woman. She didn't know it, but she was my girlfriend at that point. She had replaced the babysitter who lived at the end of the block, I had left back in Iowa for a couple weeks. Yeah, I was quite the little Casanova. So good at my game, that I could occupy her time all afternoon and keep her from the rest of the adults...she was enamored with me, I know it, but in the end, I had to tell her t let me go. I had to go back to Iowa and elementary school and stuff. It was definitely better for her that we end it there, and let her find a man 'more deserving' than me. Yeah, I know, who is more deserving than me, but I know how to let a chick down gently. You have to, their gentle hearted creatures, and you never know what kind of psychological things might go on in their head if you mess them up too bad!
Then there was Junior high. I was informing my son, who didn't like any girls in his grade, (after asking him if he liked the 6th graders instead) informing him that its okay to go after the older chicks. Mentioned how I had a junior high English teacher, Ms. Forbes. She was beautiful, and I almost mentioned a highly touted and admired portion of her female anatomy, before I cut myself off realizing I was still talking to my 10 yr old son. My wife was just about ready to cold cock me to keep me from continuing on down the path of THAT story. But yeah, ALL the guys thought she was the hottest teacher we'd ever met. And of course, more stories about how we'd do things to her, and she'd be all flattered by us. Yeah, we were clearly trying to bat way out of our league. Not that it mattered. She was an old fashioned teacher. You know, one that doesn't go around sleeping with her students, like all these young ones do today that keep showing up in the news and on courtroom dockets across the country. Damn shame too. I would've wooed her with perfect grammar, and then well...you know, be a stud and all that stuff....just as soon as I found my superhero underwear.
But yeah, back to the conversation at the table with the boy. I tried all kinds of ways to trip him up in his own words. Now I have broken this boy before, and made him admit to his lying ways. He hates being grilled. I even told him about how we 'tortured' Noriega in Panama before him surrendering to U.S. forces, and how I could adapt that here until he gave up the girl's name that he likes. But he held strong. One of two things is going on here. He is either learning how to use the force properly and withstand my interrogations (not likely) or he really has a bona fide non-interest in the women folk at this point. And as far as I'm concerned, as his dad, I'm okay with that. Let the boy wait longer than I did, and I'll be happy.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Colonel Plans a Coup!
From the Desk of the Enlightened and Immortal General Mook, Supreme Commander of All He Surveys:
It's a new official title. Those who fear their own death through conspiracy often act irrationally. However, since it is me talking, my irrationality becomes rational. Most leaders who fear their being overthrown will act in one of two ways. They will either enhance their powers and eliminate threats through executive orders (up to an including the assassination of key figures), or they will recess into their own world of denial and reclusiveness. I however, being unique (the world is thankful for this) and special (think propeller beanie special) have chosen neither route. I have decided to document the conspiracy in case of an untimely demise, and of course use the occasion to bolster my already unnecessarily large ego. For yes, if I am to be the victim of a whacking, it only signifies just how important I must be.
Thus far, the Colonel has been somewhat passive in his undermining my authority. Forced marches to the food dish, sticking a claw into my lip to wake me up so that I let him out of the bedroom, and occasional attack training with my hands and arms. his "training exercises" have become much more frequent as of late. I'm sure he'll pounce any day now, once he feels he knows all my moves.
Lately however, he has become a bit more irritating. Standing watch from the east observation post (kids' bedroom window), everytime I come home from working out I sense he is taking notes on my activities. Not to be a better executive officer, but merely to gauge how it will all go down in the end. Whenever I come home from work, and just before I leave for work, he is exceptionally squirrelly. He runs back and forth erratically, with a mixture of some sort of low growl, yowl and meowing. It's a rather unnerving sound.
He has also engaged in random, but more frequent, intimate behavior. He will climb onto my lap as I sit here at the computer, and multiple times while I sprawl on the couch watching a game or a movie. He maneuvers his head in a way to encourage more petting. And sometimes now, he has even taken to laying on my bed with me. He seems to be irritated should I make any movement that might disturb his very particular feline decision on how to lay about.
Other times, I awake to see him on my dresser in front of the window. Not looking out the window, but staring me down. As if to say to my barely awake eyes, "I could've killed you in your sleep, but that would be too easy."
The Colonel uses my boots as a place to rub his face against from time to time. I suspect at some point he will just sidle up to them and pee in them just prior to me leaving for work.
Someone once said, "Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer."
I suspect the Colonel has taken this to heart and is attempting to buddy up to me, in hopes that I let my guard down. I'm not falling for it. Not even for a minute. But I won't let on that I know what he's up to.
The Colonel may be under some sort of Feline Derangement Syndrome if he even thinks he'll have my seat of power around here. He may have my wife fooled, but sooner or later, once she realizes that the cat really is going to try to kill me she will be an ally of mine that he won't want to reckon with. He can take my skin, but he ain't getting my girl. He may attempt to counter an attack against her flank, but that isn't the wisest move in the world. She'll boot his fat cat butt to the moon in a heartbeat.
I'm sure he'll try to be slicker than that though. He's currently posted up looking out over the deck. A terrrorist squirrel is flaunting his mobility outside, which only taunts the Colonel into a foul mood. I'm fine with this of course. Whenever he is in one of those moods, he can't concentrate on his plans for me.
Which is all the better. No need to enable his portraying Brutus to my Julius Caesar! "Et tu, Kittykat?"
It's a new official title. Those who fear their own death through conspiracy often act irrationally. However, since it is me talking, my irrationality becomes rational. Most leaders who fear their being overthrown will act in one of two ways. They will either enhance their powers and eliminate threats through executive orders (up to an including the assassination of key figures), or they will recess into their own world of denial and reclusiveness. I however, being unique (the world is thankful for this) and special (think propeller beanie special) have chosen neither route. I have decided to document the conspiracy in case of an untimely demise, and of course use the occasion to bolster my already unnecessarily large ego. For yes, if I am to be the victim of a whacking, it only signifies just how important I must be.
Thus far, the Colonel has been somewhat passive in his undermining my authority. Forced marches to the food dish, sticking a claw into my lip to wake me up so that I let him out of the bedroom, and occasional attack training with my hands and arms. his "training exercises" have become much more frequent as of late. I'm sure he'll pounce any day now, once he feels he knows all my moves.
Lately however, he has become a bit more irritating. Standing watch from the east observation post (kids' bedroom window), everytime I come home from working out I sense he is taking notes on my activities. Not to be a better executive officer, but merely to gauge how it will all go down in the end. Whenever I come home from work, and just before I leave for work, he is exceptionally squirrelly. He runs back and forth erratically, with a mixture of some sort of low growl, yowl and meowing. It's a rather unnerving sound.
He has also engaged in random, but more frequent, intimate behavior. He will climb onto my lap as I sit here at the computer, and multiple times while I sprawl on the couch watching a game or a movie. He maneuvers his head in a way to encourage more petting. And sometimes now, he has even taken to laying on my bed with me. He seems to be irritated should I make any movement that might disturb his very particular feline decision on how to lay about.
Other times, I awake to see him on my dresser in front of the window. Not looking out the window, but staring me down. As if to say to my barely awake eyes, "I could've killed you in your sleep, but that would be too easy."
The Colonel uses my boots as a place to rub his face against from time to time. I suspect at some point he will just sidle up to them and pee in them just prior to me leaving for work.
Someone once said, "Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer."
I suspect the Colonel has taken this to heart and is attempting to buddy up to me, in hopes that I let my guard down. I'm not falling for it. Not even for a minute. But I won't let on that I know what he's up to.
The Colonel may be under some sort of Feline Derangement Syndrome if he even thinks he'll have my seat of power around here. He may have my wife fooled, but sooner or later, once she realizes that the cat really is going to try to kill me she will be an ally of mine that he won't want to reckon with. He can take my skin, but he ain't getting my girl. He may attempt to counter an attack against her flank, but that isn't the wisest move in the world. She'll boot his fat cat butt to the moon in a heartbeat.
I'm sure he'll try to be slicker than that though. He's currently posted up looking out over the deck. A terrrorist squirrel is flaunting his mobility outside, which only taunts the Colonel into a foul mood. I'm fine with this of course. Whenever he is in one of those moods, he can't concentrate on his plans for me.
Which is all the better. No need to enable his portraying Brutus to my Julius Caesar! "Et tu, Kittykat?"
Monday, November 2, 2009
Hawkeye Coach Kirk Ferentz Challenges Media Conspiracy
The Iowa Hawkeye football program is 9-0 this year, and currently holder of the second longest current winning streak in college football. Second only to the ever-popular Florida Gators. Slowly but surely, the Hawks have crept from obscurity to the #4 spot in the BCS rankings. The fan polls from last week, courtesy of ESPN, had them ranked 2nd. All the sportswriter polls had them ranked much lower. Sports commentators constantly speak of the luck Iowa is having in their victories. Other teams, engineering comeback drives, are being credit for their tenacity and persistence in a "strong showing" of why they are winners. Sure, Iowa has had to put together a lot of come from behind wins late in the game, more often than not this season.
Some critics have a few reasons for Iowa not getting the respect they deserve. Some say Iowa hasn't had a strong schedule. To that I say consider this: The Big Ten has more teams in the Top 25 BCS rankings than either the SEC or the Big 12, and as many as the Pac-10 conferences. The Big Ten is, and always has been, one of the most competitive conferences in division 1 football. Take the likes of Ohio State and Michigan, who despite any adveristy, are always tough teams to play for any opponent, and always stand a chance to take the BCS rankings by storm on any given year. Penn State, led by the coaching legend Joe Paterno, have joined them as Big-10 representatives for the BCS. Ranked #3 in the country earlier this year, they found themselves trampled by an explosive Iowa team.
Nonetheless, those "sports gods" we call professional commentators, no matter the network they represent, still play the popularity game. The SEC (think Florida, LSU and Alabama), the PAC-10 (USC and Oregon), the Big East (West Virginia and Cincinnati), the ACC (Miami and Virginia Tech), and the Big-12 (Texas and Oklahoma) always get automatic hype and all the love in the world for being the premier conferences with the best teams week in and week out. Not to take away from these teams and their records, many years, even with losses, they wil outrank other teams with perfect records. Take for instance, Boise State and Utah. The last few years they have put together phenomenal records. Even in their perfect seasons they were snubbed by BCS officials when it came time to talk Championship Games. All because they weren't affiliated with one of the "big 6" premier conferences. And in their sub-Bowl games, they embarassed their opponents from these supposed good conferences.
Back to Iowa. In the past they held the wrap from critics of not being a second half or 4th quarter team, and blowing leads they built in the first half to lose the game in the end. It seems Coach Ferentz gave them the pep talk to correct this. Only problem is, while playing great 2nd halfs, they forgot to include the first half as well. Once they solve this problem and decide to play quality football all 4 quarters, they will be one of THE teams in the nation to beat.
However, the media still has to overcome their preconceived notions. When it comes to Iowa, it is always described as more of a Cinderella season, the exception as opposed to the rule. Nothing short of a couple consecutive BCS championship game appearances, and/or victories will change this in their eyes. Many commentators as I mentioned call Iowa "lucky" with their comeback victories. Others say they aren't showing much for style. In the end, while I love a flashy game with lots of highlights, the mark in the WIN category is all that matters. It doesn't matter if the victory is by 1 point or 100, a win is a win. Iowa and their coach understand this. That being said, I think Coach Ferentz and the Hawkeyes, have specifically engineered a response. It may be subtle, and only certain sports fans with a greater understanding of the game of footbal itself can spot it.
Take these 3 instances:
Against Division II opponents Northern Iowa: UNI has to kick just one field goal to win the game over the Hawkeyes. The Hawks block the field goal attempt, but commit a penalty giving UNI one more chance. The Hawks dial it up and block a SECOND attempt. 2 Blocked field goals in a row to secure a victory???? If that isn't a stylish defense
In Iowa's 28 point 4th quarter against the Indiana Hoosiers, after throwing 5 interceptions (4 of them in the 3rd quarter alone), QB Ricky Stanzi throws back to back TD passes, one for 92 yards the following for 66 yds. Two plays (including one of these touchdown throws- #10, the other an 86 yd pinballed interception return for a touchdown- #1) made it into ESPN's Top Ten plays from Saturday. There's some style for you.
The week before, Stanzi throws a winning touchdown pass as time expires to beat Michigan State. any game that comes down to the last play is a good game, and being a necessary touchdown instead of a field goal, is only more exciting and a display of those "Style" points everyone wants shown.
Calling Iowa's playing style "ugly" may be partially true. But I think Ferentz is cooking up his own conspiracy to counter that of the media's. Screw around for 30-45 minutes, maybe score a a few points, but play half speed, rest up for the second half. Fumble the ball or throw an interception deep in your own territory. Then, show the other team your defense owns them anytime and anywhere. Let them have their field goals. We'll answer with a show of what touchdowns from a lot further away are all about. Wait awhile, then show the media, it isn't about ugly play, but giving the team some hopes and dreams of winning, and then using some style and flare to crush those dreams without mercy at the end. Iowa's opponents go from pure excitement to EPIC FAILURE!
And to answer the charge that the SEC is the conference. The last 4 bowl games Iowa played against an SEC team, Iowa won 3 of them. The hawks are guaranteed a bowl game this year. Just which one it is, is still up for debate. Ferentz isn't looking into his Bag o' Lucky, but his Bag o' Style this year, in hopes that sooner or later those yahoos from ESPN and everywhere else will realize that Iowa is for real. And in a national championship game, if not the victor, Iowa isnt a team that would lay down for any of these "powerhouses" they might face.
Some critics have a few reasons for Iowa not getting the respect they deserve. Some say Iowa hasn't had a strong schedule. To that I say consider this: The Big Ten has more teams in the Top 25 BCS rankings than either the SEC or the Big 12, and as many as the Pac-10 conferences. The Big Ten is, and always has been, one of the most competitive conferences in division 1 football. Take the likes of Ohio State and Michigan, who despite any adveristy, are always tough teams to play for any opponent, and always stand a chance to take the BCS rankings by storm on any given year. Penn State, led by the coaching legend Joe Paterno, have joined them as Big-10 representatives for the BCS. Ranked #3 in the country earlier this year, they found themselves trampled by an explosive Iowa team.
Nonetheless, those "sports gods" we call professional commentators, no matter the network they represent, still play the popularity game. The SEC (think Florida, LSU and Alabama), the PAC-10 (USC and Oregon), the Big East (West Virginia and Cincinnati), the ACC (Miami and Virginia Tech), and the Big-12 (Texas and Oklahoma) always get automatic hype and all the love in the world for being the premier conferences with the best teams week in and week out. Not to take away from these teams and their records, many years, even with losses, they wil outrank other teams with perfect records. Take for instance, Boise State and Utah. The last few years they have put together phenomenal records. Even in their perfect seasons they were snubbed by BCS officials when it came time to talk Championship Games. All because they weren't affiliated with one of the "big 6" premier conferences. And in their sub-Bowl games, they embarassed their opponents from these supposed good conferences.
Back to Iowa. In the past they held the wrap from critics of not being a second half or 4th quarter team, and blowing leads they built in the first half to lose the game in the end. It seems Coach Ferentz gave them the pep talk to correct this. Only problem is, while playing great 2nd halfs, they forgot to include the first half as well. Once they solve this problem and decide to play quality football all 4 quarters, they will be one of THE teams in the nation to beat.
However, the media still has to overcome their preconceived notions. When it comes to Iowa, it is always described as more of a Cinderella season, the exception as opposed to the rule. Nothing short of a couple consecutive BCS championship game appearances, and/or victories will change this in their eyes. Many commentators as I mentioned call Iowa "lucky" with their comeback victories. Others say they aren't showing much for style. In the end, while I love a flashy game with lots of highlights, the mark in the WIN category is all that matters. It doesn't matter if the victory is by 1 point or 100, a win is a win. Iowa and their coach understand this. That being said, I think Coach Ferentz and the Hawkeyes, have specifically engineered a response. It may be subtle, and only certain sports fans with a greater understanding of the game of footbal itself can spot it.
Take these 3 instances:
Against Division II opponents Northern Iowa: UNI has to kick just one field goal to win the game over the Hawkeyes. The Hawks block the field goal attempt, but commit a penalty giving UNI one more chance. The Hawks dial it up and block a SECOND attempt. 2 Blocked field goals in a row to secure a victory???? If that isn't a stylish defense
In Iowa's 28 point 4th quarter against the Indiana Hoosiers, after throwing 5 interceptions (4 of them in the 3rd quarter alone), QB Ricky Stanzi throws back to back TD passes, one for 92 yards the following for 66 yds. Two plays (including one of these touchdown throws- #10, the other an 86 yd pinballed interception return for a touchdown- #1) made it into ESPN's Top Ten plays from Saturday. There's some style for you.
The week before, Stanzi throws a winning touchdown pass as time expires to beat Michigan State. any game that comes down to the last play is a good game, and being a necessary touchdown instead of a field goal, is only more exciting and a display of those "Style" points everyone wants shown.
Calling Iowa's playing style "ugly" may be partially true. But I think Ferentz is cooking up his own conspiracy to counter that of the media's. Screw around for 30-45 minutes, maybe score a a few points, but play half speed, rest up for the second half. Fumble the ball or throw an interception deep in your own territory. Then, show the other team your defense owns them anytime and anywhere. Let them have their field goals. We'll answer with a show of what touchdowns from a lot further away are all about. Wait awhile, then show the media, it isn't about ugly play, but giving the team some hopes and dreams of winning, and then using some style and flare to crush those dreams without mercy at the end. Iowa's opponents go from pure excitement to EPIC FAILURE!
And to answer the charge that the SEC is the conference. The last 4 bowl games Iowa played against an SEC team, Iowa won 3 of them. The hawks are guaranteed a bowl game this year. Just which one it is, is still up for debate. Ferentz isn't looking into his Bag o' Lucky, but his Bag o' Style this year, in hopes that sooner or later those yahoos from ESPN and everywhere else will realize that Iowa is for real. And in a national championship game, if not the victor, Iowa isnt a team that would lay down for any of these "powerhouses" they might face.
Halloween Weekend- The good and the bad
So this Halloween brought a mixture of good and bad in a variety of areas. So, let's take a look at them.
College Football
Good: The Iowa Hawkeyes made an amazing comeback in the 4th quarter to win and maintain their perfect season, allowing them to stay at #4 in the BCS ratings
Bad: Oklahoma State couldn't take down the powerful Texas program, that would've allowed Iowa to move up, and whittle down potential national championship pairings.
NFL
Good: The Green Bay Packers lost (I've hated the team for years!)
Bad: Brett Favre won (I've hated him just as much as the Packers, his old team, for years)
Good: My 49ers broke Peyton Manning's streak of games in which he throws a touchdown pass
Bad: Indy still won, because their RUNNING BACK threw the go ahead/winning touchdown pass.
Work
Bad: I had to work a 12 hour shift. A 12 hour shift that was actually 13 hours long, because of the time changing back to standard time. I only get paid for 12.
Good: I didn't have a single disturbance or alarm to screw up my night the entire time, so it was a peaceful shift.
Trick-or-treating
Good: Kids went out for candy here on Friday night, and Sac City at my folks on Saturday night. I reap the rewards without the work, two times! Josh went as Darth Vader, Buggy as Storm Shadow from G.I. Joe (not sure about the kung fu grip on this occasion!)
Bad: No one around to amuse me on Saturday or Sunday. Realization that for the best treat-fare, I have to get access to the small town, and not just down the street.
Friends' Adoption Fundraising
Good: They raised some good cash towards their goal, along with help from friends and family. See here for more information on how that went.
Bad: No one showed up with an extra $5-10,000 to boost their efforts over the top. Oh well.
College Football
Good: The Iowa Hawkeyes made an amazing comeback in the 4th quarter to win and maintain their perfect season, allowing them to stay at #4 in the BCS ratings
Bad: Oklahoma State couldn't take down the powerful Texas program, that would've allowed Iowa to move up, and whittle down potential national championship pairings.
NFL
Good: The Green Bay Packers lost (I've hated the team for years!)
Bad: Brett Favre won (I've hated him just as much as the Packers, his old team, for years)
Good: My 49ers broke Peyton Manning's streak of games in which he throws a touchdown pass
Bad: Indy still won, because their RUNNING BACK threw the go ahead/winning touchdown pass.
Work
Bad: I had to work a 12 hour shift. A 12 hour shift that was actually 13 hours long, because of the time changing back to standard time. I only get paid for 12.
Good: I didn't have a single disturbance or alarm to screw up my night the entire time, so it was a peaceful shift.
Trick-or-treating
Good: Kids went out for candy here on Friday night, and Sac City at my folks on Saturday night. I reap the rewards without the work, two times! Josh went as Darth Vader, Buggy as Storm Shadow from G.I. Joe (not sure about the kung fu grip on this occasion!)
Bad: No one around to amuse me on Saturday or Sunday. Realization that for the best treat-fare, I have to get access to the small town, and not just down the street.
Friends' Adoption Fundraising
Good: They raised some good cash towards their goal, along with help from friends and family. See here for more information on how that went.
Bad: No one showed up with an extra $5-10,000 to boost their efforts over the top. Oh well.
Friday, October 30, 2009
My Buddy Jay- ENEMY #98273482
My buddy, Jay, is the reason I came to blog here. It gave me a slightly more mature forum than say, Myspace, as well as a way that we could sort of keep up with each others' busy lives, without having to do that thing women who want to keep in touch do: use the phone.
Well, my buddy Jay and his wife are currently in the process of adopting a couple of little girls from Ethiopia. For more information on that, and how you can help out go HERE. No REALLY, go there and check it out. If you don't go, you can't read the rest of this blog. I mean it. Go now and come back when you're done.
Okay, now that you've done what you were told to do (you better hope you did, I am a rent-a-cop after all and I will hit you with my flashlight if you lied and skipped right to here), we'll get to the meat of the issue.
Recently, part of the process of this adoption is for Jay and his wife to get their passports so they can go overseas. Jay posted the stories Part 1 and Part 2.
To summarize part 1, providing the exact same documents, Jay's wife received her passport, however Jay himself did not. Jay has gone to great lengths to get his passport, which are explained in part 2, making some statements which I have decided to take issue with.
Instance #1: Jay says, "As you may know, I am completely reasonable and patient person when dealing with inept government agencies."
For those of you who don't know Jay, let me assure you, I've known him since he was in diapers, which was approximately right after I got out of diapers. And not getting out of them by merely ripping them off, but by actually being a big boy and wearing pull-ups. Soon, I fear, I may be back in diapers again as I have a teeny tiny bladder. ANYWAYS....Jay is the furthest from being a reasonable and patient person in general, never mind dealing with inept government agencies.
Example 1- (generalities) Growing up Jay persistently stole Christmas lights off a retired teacher's tree on a nightly basis around Christmastime. This is entirely unreasonable to begin with. The timeline also shows how impatient he really was to get back to doing it again...every night those lights were up, for years, he engaged in such juvenile criminal activity. Now, he will tell you that I did this stuff, which (for full disclosure reasons) I did, but only because he was doing it first, and as his boy, I was required by the Bro Code, not only to have his back, but to engage in guilty acts so as to prove my trustworthiness to him.
Example 2- (dealing with authority figures) When I was 16, I decided to take an unauthorized trip (read: runaway) to the Twin Cities. I did not take my buddy Jay with me, nor did I inform him of my plans. This was for his physical well-being, and to avoid rumors that we were off to engage ourselves with gay-marriage somewhere that it might be legal. For the record, we're both hetero, and happily married, to women. But the people in our small town could get pretty imaginative when it comes to cooking up the next set of rumors to spread. Well, after it was determined by my parents that I was in fact "missing" (this is untrue, I knew where I was at all times- even if I was unsure how to get out of a particular Minneapolis neighborhood at one point), the search parties were sent out, and my dad and his dad grilled Jay as to my whereabouts. When asked, Jay stated he had no idea where I was (which was true, and a reasonable response), but then for added artistic style points (which failed miserably..the judges from Belarus totally ripped him off and only gave him a 6.3 out of 10) made mention to the effect that "even if I did know, I probably wouldn't tell you." While sticking with the Bro Code here (which was honorable), given the child abuse history of our dads (they must've beaten us within an inch of our lives a million times!), this was probably an unreasonable elaboration that should have been omitted from his reply.
Example 3- (dealing with government institutions) There was the infamous DMV incident of 1997. Jay decided not to study for his written driver's test to get his license. He failed...miserably. Before the station attendant was able to tell him he'd have an opportunity to retake the test, Jay stormed out of the station letting fly with some unsavory words and something about a holocaust, or genocide, or dead baby seal pups...I don't fully remember the exact words, but it was filthier than roadside motel that rents by the hour if you know what I mean. After having gone back home, we watched a re-run episode of Macguyver (which by the way, my kids are addicted to!), and then went back down to the DMV in the middle of the night (after stealing Christmas lights from that retired teacher's house...for the 2nd time that night). I of course had to go because Jay called the Bro Code on me, plus it was too cold to walk, and I had a car to drive him there. Well we thought we had the whole Macguyver thing figured out, but Jay tried to substitute a strip of aluminum foil for a piece of wax paper (our moms had used all our wax paper up for Christmas cookies and hadn't bought anymore), and we somehow ended up almost 3 towns away with my car landing almost right on top of us. We had to walk back to another town and call his mom for a ride back home. I told my dad a rod went out in my car. He was pissed because he specifically told me NOT to go out of town with that car, but I'm sure he would've been even more pissed had we succeeded with the DMV.
Okay, so that last thing wasn't entirely true...we did steal lights and my car did throw a rod out of town, but the rest...total baloney. But it sounded good, right? (would someone keep an eye out to see if that story gets Jay and I on the Terror Watch List please, and let us know?)
Instance #2: Jay says, "I was worried there for a bit, but as it turns out, I am not a terrorist. This according to the United States government who has now seen fit to give me a passport. Or at least that is what the passport confirmation website tells me. It should be in the mail now."
The way I see it, the government may have decided to give him a passport afterall. However, the whole part about him not being a terrorist...don't buy that for a minute, because I don't. I'm sure someone in the GOP put the pressure on some passport issuer to give it to him anyways. After all, Jay has been a very loyal gun-toting, bible-thumping, hatemonger for years now, so whether or not he's a terrorist is just a moot point in their eyes, at least as long as he continues to vote a straight Republican ticket every election anyways.
Well, my buddy Jay and his wife are currently in the process of adopting a couple of little girls from Ethiopia. For more information on that, and how you can help out go HERE. No REALLY, go there and check it out. If you don't go, you can't read the rest of this blog. I mean it. Go now and come back when you're done.
Okay, now that you've done what you were told to do (you better hope you did, I am a rent-a-cop after all and I will hit you with my flashlight if you lied and skipped right to here), we'll get to the meat of the issue.
Recently, part of the process of this adoption is for Jay and his wife to get their passports so they can go overseas. Jay posted the stories Part 1 and Part 2.
To summarize part 1, providing the exact same documents, Jay's wife received her passport, however Jay himself did not. Jay has gone to great lengths to get his passport, which are explained in part 2, making some statements which I have decided to take issue with.
Instance #1: Jay says, "As you may know, I am completely reasonable and patient person when dealing with inept government agencies."
For those of you who don't know Jay, let me assure you, I've known him since he was in diapers, which was approximately right after I got out of diapers. And not getting out of them by merely ripping them off, but by actually being a big boy and wearing pull-ups. Soon, I fear, I may be back in diapers again as I have a teeny tiny bladder. ANYWAYS....Jay is the furthest from being a reasonable and patient person in general, never mind dealing with inept government agencies.
Example 1- (generalities) Growing up Jay persistently stole Christmas lights off a retired teacher's tree on a nightly basis around Christmastime. This is entirely unreasonable to begin with. The timeline also shows how impatient he really was to get back to doing it again...every night those lights were up, for years, he engaged in such juvenile criminal activity. Now, he will tell you that I did this stuff, which (for full disclosure reasons) I did, but only because he was doing it first, and as his boy, I was required by the Bro Code, not only to have his back, but to engage in guilty acts so as to prove my trustworthiness to him.
Example 2- (dealing with authority figures) When I was 16, I decided to take an unauthorized trip (read: runaway) to the Twin Cities. I did not take my buddy Jay with me, nor did I inform him of my plans. This was for his physical well-being, and to avoid rumors that we were off to engage ourselves with gay-marriage somewhere that it might be legal. For the record, we're both hetero, and happily married, to women. But the people in our small town could get pretty imaginative when it comes to cooking up the next set of rumors to spread. Well, after it was determined by my parents that I was in fact "missing" (this is untrue, I knew where I was at all times- even if I was unsure how to get out of a particular Minneapolis neighborhood at one point), the search parties were sent out, and my dad and his dad grilled Jay as to my whereabouts. When asked, Jay stated he had no idea where I was (which was true, and a reasonable response), but then for added artistic style points (which failed miserably..the judges from Belarus totally ripped him off and only gave him a 6.3 out of 10) made mention to the effect that "even if I did know, I probably wouldn't tell you." While sticking with the Bro Code here (which was honorable), given the child abuse history of our dads (they must've beaten us within an inch of our lives a million times!), this was probably an unreasonable elaboration that should have been omitted from his reply.
Example 3- (dealing with government institutions) There was the infamous DMV incident of 1997. Jay decided not to study for his written driver's test to get his license. He failed...miserably. Before the station attendant was able to tell him he'd have an opportunity to retake the test, Jay stormed out of the station letting fly with some unsavory words and something about a holocaust, or genocide, or dead baby seal pups...I don't fully remember the exact words, but it was filthier than roadside motel that rents by the hour if you know what I mean. After having gone back home, we watched a re-run episode of Macguyver (which by the way, my kids are addicted to!), and then went back down to the DMV in the middle of the night (after stealing Christmas lights from that retired teacher's house...for the 2nd time that night). I of course had to go because Jay called the Bro Code on me, plus it was too cold to walk, and I had a car to drive him there. Well we thought we had the whole Macguyver thing figured out, but Jay tried to substitute a strip of aluminum foil for a piece of wax paper (our moms had used all our wax paper up for Christmas cookies and hadn't bought anymore), and we somehow ended up almost 3 towns away with my car landing almost right on top of us. We had to walk back to another town and call his mom for a ride back home. I told my dad a rod went out in my car. He was pissed because he specifically told me NOT to go out of town with that car, but I'm sure he would've been even more pissed had we succeeded with the DMV.
Okay, so that last thing wasn't entirely true...we did steal lights and my car did throw a rod out of town, but the rest...total baloney. But it sounded good, right? (would someone keep an eye out to see if that story gets Jay and I on the Terror Watch List please, and let us know?)
Instance #2: Jay says, "I was worried there for a bit, but as it turns out, I am not a terrorist. This according to the United States government who has now seen fit to give me a passport. Or at least that is what the passport confirmation website tells me. It should be in the mail now."
The way I see it, the government may have decided to give him a passport afterall. However, the whole part about him not being a terrorist...don't buy that for a minute, because I don't. I'm sure someone in the GOP put the pressure on some passport issuer to give it to him anyways. After all, Jay has been a very loyal gun-toting, bible-thumping, hatemonger for years now, so whether or not he's a terrorist is just a moot point in their eyes, at least as long as he continues to vote a straight Republican ticket every election anyways.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
High Crime Apartments!!!
And by apartments, I don't mean some projects development in a bad neighborhood, or even an entire building. Just mine. Despite a heavy security presence on site (i.e.- me, super rentacop guy), it turns out I've got hoodlums living right here in my 700+ square foot domain. Right here in beautiful suburbia, a mere 2 minute walk from the local police station even!!!
I'm on to these guys now though, despite their picturesque image of innocence found in the photo shown here.
Oh no, despite them seeming to be cute and charming root beer float eating kids, I have uncovered a sinister plot. It could be mere localized crime, but I'm betting on gang affiliations, or even ties to the mob (the mob does NOT exist, buddy..GOT IT?).
The way I see it, there's definitely a criminal enterprise going on, but I just haven't put all the pieces together...YET! Hey, I may be a Super Rentacop, but these investigations take time. I want to make sure we got all the loose ends tied up before we take out this organization.
You see the one on the left...Age 10, Josh "The Marshmallow Man" Lovell. Last week, I was heating up some hot chocolate for myself, and I was out of whip cream. My wife had bought a bag of mini-marshmallows, but it seemed we were out. There was no sign of the bag, but I just had to assume it went out with the trash at a previous point.
Then just the other day, Marshmallow Man himself comes out with a bag. Not just any bag, but THE marshmallow bag. Now this boy is an even bigger King of Stashing things away than I ever was. First it was dirty socks between his bed and the wall. Now I'm finding dozens upon dozens of candy wrappers in the same spot. Sand is in his bed, don't ask me what the boy is doing, but I'm not ruling out trying to dig an oil well in the sandpit at the park. But the last thing I suspected was that the boy had stolen the marshmallows. I'm not against consuming naked hot cocoa, but I prefer a little something on the top. Lucky for him, his mother found him. she was able to scold him and protect the boy from the long arm of the Rent-a-Law, who was forced to drink naked hot cocoa because of his chicanery! She did explain to him the old mideastern custom of chopping the hands off a thief, though, and I think, rather I HOPE, he has learned the lesson here. At only the tender age of 10, I doubt it. I'm sure I'm in for at least another 8 years of stunts, pranks, lies, and outright criminality, mostly against me of course.
The boy on the left... Age 5 1/2, Corwyn "You want I should break your legs?" Lovell aka BUGGY. Known associate of his brother, the Marshmallow Man, and also the apparent enforcer of the bunch. Yesterday the boys arrive home from school. I am informed by Marshmallow Man that Buggy had hit another kid on the bus a few times. The bus driver had told Marshmallow Man to make sure that us parental units were duly informed. While close associates, Marshmallow Man is also known to throw his partner under the bus from time to time. You want information, he's the one who will roll over for you.
What's scary about the violence is not the violence itself. Had there been a good reason, like when he switched seats on the bus to avoid a beating from some other kid a few days into school, and got in trouble for moving while the bus was travelling, I would've been fine with it. I thought, maybe the boy is defending himself. No, the boy wasn't hitting him, or even calling him a bunch of dirty names, which has been known to set off many a schoolyard fight in my day. So I thought, Maybe he's shaking the kid down for lunch money or even owed protection money that wasn't being paid up in a timely fashion. Oh no, nothing that easy, or even admirable in a weird crime syndicate kind of way. Nope, Buggy's explanation for hitting the kid:
"He was just acting crazy."
I had to take a deep breath and try not to chuckle at this one. For those of you who know Buggy, you understand this very statement is the perfect example of the "pot calling the kettle black." And whats worse, his actions only furthered this idea. I don't have my kid beating up someone for a real reason or principle, nope, he's basically committing violent acts for their own sake. He's craaaaaaaazyyyyyyyy...sorry. Now, the real topper of it is this. He didn't punch the kid. No, he went for the real demoralizing move.
He slapped the kid.
Open handed.
Now that's disrespect.
In front of the other kids.
That is as demoralizing as it comes.
If they were 8 or 9 years older, that kid would be toast for the rest of his school life. Luckily their only 5 year olds. That kid has a chance to outlive this one. Now, lets hope that it doesn't come back on Buggy, no matter how much he might deserve it, when they get older and can do some real damage.
Either way, I now realize I have a couple of little hoodlums on my hands. Do you have ANY idea how this is going to affect my chances at being named Rent-a-Cop of the Year for 2009?? Horrible! Some dumb rookie punk kid will end up getting it by default! I may have to kill my kids before they get much older and find a way to root my wife and I out of the high society circles we've become accustomed to enjoying.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Fearing the Emerging Threats of Headless Chicken Attacks
When I was about 12, I had a kid I grew up with, Cole Long, scare the hell out of me twice in one day. First we traded bikes, and we made our way fom my house down the infamous Platt Hill. For those of you who have grown up in Sac City, you know how stepp Platt Hill can be. It starts off going down at about a 45-50 degree angle, and then about halfway down it gets worse. For a kid going down it for the first time on a bicycle, one would think it was a straight drop. Well, as we hit the hill, Cole informs me that his bike doesn't have breaks. Rather than being sensible and getting the bike to a full stop and walking it down, I attempted to slalom down first, ten found myself taking the ride of my life. As I near the bottom, I see the school bus coming up on the intersection with the cross street. I was too young to have my life flash before my eyes, so my mind played the reel of me plastering up against the side of the bus while the bike got crsuhed underneath the big old bus' wheels. At the last second, I make an amazing 90 degree turn and stop on a dime. As the bus passed by safely, and probably obliviously (it was a blind corner for the bus to look up the hill), I took a moment to check my pants and make sure I wasn't going to need a new change of superhero underwear. I came pretty close to beating the crap out of my cackling friend who stopped next to me.
Once everything checked out okay, we proceed over to his place. They had some animals on their property, including a penned up turkey. My experience with turkeys at this point was Thanksgiving dinner. Cole decided we would go inside the pen, as he "had to feed the turkey." My job was to just usher it to the back of the pen. Being the big tough boy that I am, I thought this was a legitimate responsibility that I could handle. I step through the gate, and then, it closes behind me. I hear first laughter, and then experience fright as I hear and see a demon turkey coming after me in this tightly confined pen within a small shack. After 11 thanksgivings of me partaking of the turkey portions, I guess this was karmic revenge. This turley was going to carve me up and have me for dinner. No doubt he would've spoken in Satanistic tongues as he gave thanks to the Dark Lord of the Poultry Underworld. After being let out, I again almost beat the crap out my friend.
Fast forward about 12 years from the Day of the Turkey, and I am working a security gig at an office building in West Des Moines. Geese had begun nesting in the tree islands of the park lot. While I was patrolling the building, apparently one of the workers leaving the office thought that getting an up close and personal look at the geese would be a good idea. Then she got too close to one that was nesting. Out of nowhere the Gander swoops in and goes chest to chest with this lady, flaps its wings once, and the lady was on her backside. And this was no stick of a woman. She was short and a bit shall we say, on the thick side of things, with a nice low center of gravity. It wasn't until that day that I realized both the level of protectiveness and strength in geese. But let me tell you, the footage from the security cameras was played over and over that night as I and my partner had a good old time laughing at replay after replay of this gander absolutely owning this lady! When I left work that night, under the cover of darkness in my big old black Cutlass Supreme, I decided to venture towards the nest with my car, safely tucked inside the 2000 lbs of American built steel. Once I got close, out of nowhere again this gander comes to his maiden's rescue. This damn bird was ready, willing and did go toe to toe with my tank of a car. Once he realized that he might get run over, he shifted from a full frontal attack to beating the crap out of the front quarter panel with his wings, as he ran into the car repeatedly. I decided for the safety of my aging vehicle that I would bow out of this competition, before it did any more damage than me or my buddy Jay had already done to the vehicle over the years.
Not exactly, Alfred Hitchcock's redition of The Birds playing out in real life, but quite clearly I have shown the active and aggressive prejudice that birds have against people.
So last night before we went to sleep, my wife was telling me about some instances in life when she was growing up on a farm. Well, okay let me backtrack just a bit. The other night I was hungry and I was felling liek having some chicken for dinner. Well, for a few bucks you can get a nicely prepared Rotisserie Chicken from the grocery store. I threw on my shoes and a jacket and grabbed the car keys. My wife asked me where I was going. I told her I was going to pick up a chicken. She looked at me as though I was stupid. "WHAT?!?!"
"I'm going out to pick up a chicken," I stated pretty matter of factly.
"We don't have room for a chicken," she replied.
"What do you mean we don't have room for a chicken? I'm getting a rotisserie chicken from the store to EAT!"
"Oh...I thought you meant-"
"NO honey, I'm not the kind of guy who would bring a chicken to our apartment as a pet," I said. What is it about men and women trying to communicate cross-species like this. I'm hungry, she assumes I'm just following up on a crazy thought in my head. For the record, I generally don't follow up on crazy ideas. I just blog them here, so that you people can keep a good eye on me and my insanity. Anyways, back to last night...
One of the chores out on the farm for my wife and here family was the eventual evisceration of the walking poultry I prefer to call White Meat or Dark Meat (and throw in some mashed potatoes and gravy on the side). She explained the (cool to observe) phenomena of chickens who had just recently lost their heads. Apparently the saying "running around like a chicken with it's head cutoff" is based on reality. They just run round and round for a while. My wife told me that once, even as she ran in a zigzag pattern attempting to evade one headless chicken, it just kept right on her tail chasing her wherever she went. Radar equipped chickens can be scary business. "Goose, I've got lock...too close for missiles, I'm switching to guns."
She also told me about how the heads will just lay there on the ground for a bit, eyes blinking and the beak opening and shutting, until the chickens biological systems finally give out. Now I know how the chicken chased her. It's head was still able to see a little blonde girl who had just whacked his head off with a machete, and was using its last moments to hone its remote guidance system and direct the body after the chicken killer, hoping for revenge before the lights went out for good.
And now, I have an idea to get rich. I'm going to petition the government for research funds. The idea is to see if the chicken is still capable of getting scared, if I pick up its severed head and scream in its face. I figure abpout $10 million in grants should be good enough. I'l whack some chickens, pick up their heads, scream at them...and then declare the stucy inconclusive, and walk away rich. My only worry is that the chicken will scream back at me when it sees my ugly face up close, and the study will be conclusive that I do scare chickens, but not nearly as much as they scare me. I'll be forever known as the scared little chicken boy, but I'll have my money!
Then strange ideas kept creeping into my head as Dani was telling me these stories. Yeah yeah yeah, I know, big surprise right? Strangely they were all movie based.
I answered the phone, and on the other end of the voice was Golden Plump, played by Anthony Hopkins. "Hello Mookie...have the chickens stopped screaming yet?"
Or,
A troop of headless chickens trapping me in the castle, chanting (or rather wheezing like a retarded manatee like they apparently do) carrying their big fancy spears as the Wicked Chicken of the Midwest comes to snuff me out before I can get to to wonderful wizard in the Land of Oz, and go back home.
Or, in honor of my watching westerns:
Traveling in my Conestoga Wagon heading west, when all of a sudden the entire Foster Farms Nation came showing up on the ridge line. Headless chickens, everyone of them savage beasts, began to bear down on our little prairie party. As they approached, I prayed for God to breakout a thunderstorm and have these headless mongrels get dstracted by it and drown.
Or the zombie side of life:
We can't go outside just yet. We're safe here. We've got enough food to survive until help can come, and these old shotguns to defend ourselves should the zombie chickens attack. Just remember, body shots won't help. You have to separate their heads from their bodies, just like you learn in any good zombie flick.
"But Bob...They have no heads!"
"Well Sam, I guess that means we're just %$^&ed" Bloody gore ensues, part from the people being murdered by headless chickens...part from the blood coming up out of the headless chickens necks.
Or, a more happy story...
If You Build It They Will Come!!! Having toiled long and hard on a brand new state of the art chicken coop, I looked over yonder to the field of corn about 20 meters away. And then suddenly, headless chickens emerged from the cornfield. Strange that they had baseball gloves on their wings, and the ball caps kind of sat funny atop their necks. But the voices were right, I had built it and here they were Of course, I won't spoil the ending here, but lets say it has something to do with Chuck Norris jumping down from a nearby tree wielding a machete in each hand...I'll spare you the graphics and let you see the movie when it comes out.
Peacelovers everywhere would like to assume headless chickens are just misunderstood, and that we should all just get along. But when it comes to headless chickens, once I get over the laughter so hard that makes me giggle incesantly like a third grade girl for about 15 or 20 minutes before I can get ahold of myself, I am a hatemonger. I recognize those little bastards for what they are: Sadistic human-hating, feathered warmongers, plotting there revenge.
Mark my words, it will happen. You'll be outside enjoying the weather, maybe with your kids playing off in the distance. And then suddenly you'll get the feeling someone is watching you. You'l glance over and see a chicken head laying on the ground nearby, just blinking. You'll be distracted by this, and then, when you realize what's happened, it's too late. Your kids are gone. Out of the tree line, they come fast, neck skins flapping all over the place as headless chickens in a full sprint come to put you out of your miserable existence. People will look to the farmers as the one group of people capable of stopping this new scourge, but don't realize that the farmers were already taken out. Murdered in their sleep by vengeful Dark Meat Special Ops teams. And, these are powerful headless chickens. Raised up by Dr. Chickenstein himself, they thirst for one thing, well three things. They want you dead, some hot to trot hens, and a sasparilla. Because everyone knows that headless chickens can't deny themselves the tasty treat on a hot day of a Sioux City Sasparilla.
Once everything checked out okay, we proceed over to his place. They had some animals on their property, including a penned up turkey. My experience with turkeys at this point was Thanksgiving dinner. Cole decided we would go inside the pen, as he "had to feed the turkey." My job was to just usher it to the back of the pen. Being the big tough boy that I am, I thought this was a legitimate responsibility that I could handle. I step through the gate, and then, it closes behind me. I hear first laughter, and then experience fright as I hear and see a demon turkey coming after me in this tightly confined pen within a small shack. After 11 thanksgivings of me partaking of the turkey portions, I guess this was karmic revenge. This turley was going to carve me up and have me for dinner. No doubt he would've spoken in Satanistic tongues as he gave thanks to the Dark Lord of the Poultry Underworld. After being let out, I again almost beat the crap out my friend.
Fast forward about 12 years from the Day of the Turkey, and I am working a security gig at an office building in West Des Moines. Geese had begun nesting in the tree islands of the park lot. While I was patrolling the building, apparently one of the workers leaving the office thought that getting an up close and personal look at the geese would be a good idea. Then she got too close to one that was nesting. Out of nowhere the Gander swoops in and goes chest to chest with this lady, flaps its wings once, and the lady was on her backside. And this was no stick of a woman. She was short and a bit shall we say, on the thick side of things, with a nice low center of gravity. It wasn't until that day that I realized both the level of protectiveness and strength in geese. But let me tell you, the footage from the security cameras was played over and over that night as I and my partner had a good old time laughing at replay after replay of this gander absolutely owning this lady! When I left work that night, under the cover of darkness in my big old black Cutlass Supreme, I decided to venture towards the nest with my car, safely tucked inside the 2000 lbs of American built steel. Once I got close, out of nowhere again this gander comes to his maiden's rescue. This damn bird was ready, willing and did go toe to toe with my tank of a car. Once he realized that he might get run over, he shifted from a full frontal attack to beating the crap out of the front quarter panel with his wings, as he ran into the car repeatedly. I decided for the safety of my aging vehicle that I would bow out of this competition, before it did any more damage than me or my buddy Jay had already done to the vehicle over the years.
Not exactly, Alfred Hitchcock's redition of The Birds playing out in real life, but quite clearly I have shown the active and aggressive prejudice that birds have against people.
So last night before we went to sleep, my wife was telling me about some instances in life when she was growing up on a farm. Well, okay let me backtrack just a bit. The other night I was hungry and I was felling liek having some chicken for dinner. Well, for a few bucks you can get a nicely prepared Rotisserie Chicken from the grocery store. I threw on my shoes and a jacket and grabbed the car keys. My wife asked me where I was going. I told her I was going to pick up a chicken. She looked at me as though I was stupid. "WHAT?!?!"
"I'm going out to pick up a chicken," I stated pretty matter of factly.
"We don't have room for a chicken," she replied.
"What do you mean we don't have room for a chicken? I'm getting a rotisserie chicken from the store to EAT!"
"Oh...I thought you meant-"
"NO honey, I'm not the kind of guy who would bring a chicken to our apartment as a pet," I said. What is it about men and women trying to communicate cross-species like this. I'm hungry, she assumes I'm just following up on a crazy thought in my head. For the record, I generally don't follow up on crazy ideas. I just blog them here, so that you people can keep a good eye on me and my insanity. Anyways, back to last night...
One of the chores out on the farm for my wife and here family was the eventual evisceration of the walking poultry I prefer to call White Meat or Dark Meat (and throw in some mashed potatoes and gravy on the side). She explained the (cool to observe) phenomena of chickens who had just recently lost their heads. Apparently the saying "running around like a chicken with it's head cutoff" is based on reality. They just run round and round for a while. My wife told me that once, even as she ran in a zigzag pattern attempting to evade one headless chicken, it just kept right on her tail chasing her wherever she went. Radar equipped chickens can be scary business. "Goose, I've got lock...too close for missiles, I'm switching to guns."
She also told me about how the heads will just lay there on the ground for a bit, eyes blinking and the beak opening and shutting, until the chickens biological systems finally give out. Now I know how the chicken chased her. It's head was still able to see a little blonde girl who had just whacked his head off with a machete, and was using its last moments to hone its remote guidance system and direct the body after the chicken killer, hoping for revenge before the lights went out for good.
And now, I have an idea to get rich. I'm going to petition the government for research funds. The idea is to see if the chicken is still capable of getting scared, if I pick up its severed head and scream in its face. I figure abpout $10 million in grants should be good enough. I'l whack some chickens, pick up their heads, scream at them...and then declare the stucy inconclusive, and walk away rich. My only worry is that the chicken will scream back at me when it sees my ugly face up close, and the study will be conclusive that I do scare chickens, but not nearly as much as they scare me. I'll be forever known as the scared little chicken boy, but I'll have my money!
Then strange ideas kept creeping into my head as Dani was telling me these stories. Yeah yeah yeah, I know, big surprise right? Strangely they were all movie based.
I answered the phone, and on the other end of the voice was Golden Plump, played by Anthony Hopkins. "Hello Mookie...have the chickens stopped screaming yet?"
Or,
A troop of headless chickens trapping me in the castle, chanting (or rather wheezing like a retarded manatee like they apparently do) carrying their big fancy spears as the Wicked Chicken of the Midwest comes to snuff me out before I can get to to wonderful wizard in the Land of Oz, and go back home.
Or, in honor of my watching westerns:
Traveling in my Conestoga Wagon heading west, when all of a sudden the entire Foster Farms Nation came showing up on the ridge line. Headless chickens, everyone of them savage beasts, began to bear down on our little prairie party. As they approached, I prayed for God to breakout a thunderstorm and have these headless mongrels get dstracted by it and drown.
Or the zombie side of life:
We can't go outside just yet. We're safe here. We've got enough food to survive until help can come, and these old shotguns to defend ourselves should the zombie chickens attack. Just remember, body shots won't help. You have to separate their heads from their bodies, just like you learn in any good zombie flick.
"But Bob...They have no heads!"
"Well Sam, I guess that means we're just %$^&ed" Bloody gore ensues, part from the people being murdered by headless chickens...part from the blood coming up out of the headless chickens necks.
Or, a more happy story...
If You Build It They Will Come!!! Having toiled long and hard on a brand new state of the art chicken coop, I looked over yonder to the field of corn about 20 meters away. And then suddenly, headless chickens emerged from the cornfield. Strange that they had baseball gloves on their wings, and the ball caps kind of sat funny atop their necks. But the voices were right, I had built it and here they were Of course, I won't spoil the ending here, but lets say it has something to do with Chuck Norris jumping down from a nearby tree wielding a machete in each hand...I'll spare you the graphics and let you see the movie when it comes out.
Peacelovers everywhere would like to assume headless chickens are just misunderstood, and that we should all just get along. But when it comes to headless chickens, once I get over the laughter so hard that makes me giggle incesantly like a third grade girl for about 15 or 20 minutes before I can get ahold of myself, I am a hatemonger. I recognize those little bastards for what they are: Sadistic human-hating, feathered warmongers, plotting there revenge.
Mark my words, it will happen. You'll be outside enjoying the weather, maybe with your kids playing off in the distance. And then suddenly you'll get the feeling someone is watching you. You'l glance over and see a chicken head laying on the ground nearby, just blinking. You'll be distracted by this, and then, when you realize what's happened, it's too late. Your kids are gone. Out of the tree line, they come fast, neck skins flapping all over the place as headless chickens in a full sprint come to put you out of your miserable existence. People will look to the farmers as the one group of people capable of stopping this new scourge, but don't realize that the farmers were already taken out. Murdered in their sleep by vengeful Dark Meat Special Ops teams. And, these are powerful headless chickens. Raised up by Dr. Chickenstein himself, they thirst for one thing, well three things. They want you dead, some hot to trot hens, and a sasparilla. Because everyone knows that headless chickens can't deny themselves the tasty treat on a hot day of a Sioux City Sasparilla.
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