So, y'all can find me on Facebook. Friend away. Also, I'll try to write somethin tonight. Prolly about malls under volcanos and penguins and stuff, but it might be about waffles shaped like gremlins. It just depends on how the fancy strikes me.
Here's a nice link fer it.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Monday, February 2, 2009
Antarctic Volcano Base Assault Part 2
The thing about penguins is, they may look all cute and cuddly when they're standin on their daddy's feet and drinkin the last of his vomit, but when they grow up, they sure can turn into vicious bastards. Maybe that's only if they go mad or somethin. I'm not a real penguin expert or anything, but I feel my small experience in this area has led me to want to tell you people that, if you're ever plannin to be wanderin a mall under a volcano in the Antarctic, and that mall's full of penguins tryin to sell shoes and whatnot, bring a 2x4 with you, because, if you're anything like me, you are gonna need that 2x4 boy. Them penguins can rush in on ya before you know that you're bein attacked, let alone by penguins.
I tell you this because it is what happened to me. As soon as them lights came back on, we was overwhelmed with small, flightless birds. Since we had, up to that point, been blinded in a dark room by a spotlight, we still had them little light spotty things in our eyes and so we was havin the dickenest time tellin spots in our eyes from spots on penguins. And do you think those penguins gave us a chance to recover from our temporary blindness? I will answer that. No. No they did not give us that chance. And do you know why those penguins did not give us that chance? Because they are vicious little bastards. They fight dirty, too. Believe you me, they fight dirty. I been in a fight or two, and I seen a number of them on the tv, but I ain't never seen so many penguins go for so few man parts before. Now, when I seen them fights on the tv, I learned that there is an occasional shot that falls below the belt. But that's all the shots them penguins took. Now, I know you're out there sayin to me, "Pat, penguins are all below the belt. How can you expect them to take any other sorts of shots?" And I understand the confusion. When I say "below the belt" I do not mean all of the real estate on my body that happens to be located below the belt. I mean only that part of a man that he is makin sure remains covered up by his pants by wearin the belt in the first place. That, my friends, is the only spot a mad penguin will go after. If you don't believe me, go try it. Just wear a cup before you do.
So, there I am, tryin to stave off the flood of penguins and defend the future generations of O'Neils in the meantime when I hear Jared's voice. He yells out, "Pat! You came! I knew you would."
He sounded hopeful, which was more than I could say for myself at this point. Douggy and the squimonk were havin a time of it, too. We was runnin this way and that, just lookin for somethin to drive back the mad penguins. We had nothin, though. They were pushin us back into the Build-a-Bear and all we had at hand was creepy, deflated teddy bear skins, and those often don't make good weapons. Finally, I decided I'd had enough. I figured, if I was gonna die fightin a bunch of penguins, I was gonna take as many of them little black and white so and sos with me, and I was gonna do it like they was doin it. Now, I didn't know if penguins had jewels, but it was worth a shot. And that's just what it was; a shot in the jewels. The first penguin I kicked just went flyin off through the window somewhere. I think he prolly came down by the Orange Julius in the food court, if the map of the mall was correct. The next one, I kicked a little less hard, hopin to build a defensive wall of narded penguins. It turns out, penguins really do have jewels. I kicked that little sucker right in his and he bent over like any school boy would, graspin himself and cryin.
When that one had collapsed at my feet, I heard Alistair say, "That gives me an idea."
He disappears behind me for a few seconds, during which I down three more penguins. I hear some whispering and then somethin like a machine revvin up. Then Alistair yells, "Keep kickin Pat! You, too, Douggy! We'll take care of the rest."
Not knowin what else to do, I keep kickin like I was a Rockette and I'm about to be thrown out of Radio City just before Christmas. And also, I'm being attacked by psychotic penguins. I kept kickin and kickin, downin penguins left and right. As soon as I had one down, the squimonk would rush in, grab it and pull it behind me. Then there'd be this big ol' WOOOSH noise and the squimonk would be out to collect another one. After what seemed like a week of this, I kicked another one pretty hard and sent it through the window. As I looked up to follow its trajectory, I saw this black and white ball sail over my head and land in a pile of similar balls in the doorway. Then it struck me, them squimonk was fillin the penguins up with the fluff from the big bear fillin machine at the back of the store and then usin the newly stuffed penguins to seal up the door.
A mere fourty or fifty stuffed penguins later, the doors and windows were all sealed up and it was finally quiet again. Well, relatively quiet. Instead of the war shrieks of a flock of mad penguins, we now just heard the groans of a flock of stuffed mad penguins.
Then one of them spoke, "What is wrong with you people?!" He yelled.
I was taken aback. "What's wrong with us? What's wrong with you?"
"Hey!" he retorted, "We aren't the ones who filled someone with bear stuffing! Do you know how hard this stuff is to digest? We haven't eaten in three months and now you expect us to go through a load of shredded cotton? This is gonna be murder on my colon!"
"What did you expect, tryin to peck us in the swimmer stagin area?"
"Yeah," he said philosophically, "I sure am sorry about that. See, she knew you were comin, so she took us off our meds a couple days ago. That makes us get all weird and think everyone is tryin to steal our eggs. DON'T STEAL MY EGG!" Then he started thrashin around, tryin to bite somethin that wasn't there.
We all just looked around at each other. None of us wanted to be the one to climb through the pile of mad penguins, but we still needed to rescue Jared. It looked like we were stuck. Just then, we heard a doorbell go off. We looked around, not knowin what to make of it, when the penguin said, "Hey! Hey man! Could you get that for me?"
"What is it?" I asked.
"It's FedEx!" he yelled when he'd stopped thrashin. "They've got our delivery. Come on, man, help me out, here! If I don't get that, I'm gonna lose this job! I need this job, man! It's got health insurance! Without that insurance, I can't afford my medication and then I've gotta go back to the home! Don't make me go back to the home!" Then they all started yellin, "Not the home! Not the home! Please!"
I tell ya, they may have tried to end my line, but my heart went out to them little fellas right then. So I asked him how I got the delivery and he calmly explained to me how to get the key out of the register and then open the back door. So, that's what I did. I opened the back door up, took the delivery, signed his name (Gunther) to the FedEx guy's pad and then asked the delivery guy, "Hey, do you know how to get to the throne room from here?"
"Sure," he said. If you ever need directions anywhere, ask someone who delivers things for a living. They know where everything is, man. And if they don't, they can always radio in for someone who does. This guy didn't need to radio, though. He had it all in hand. He gestured down this back hall thing that was just a row of doors with store names on it. "Just go down this hall, turn right after the Mrs. Fields, then it's four doors down on the left."
"Hey, thank ya kindly," I told him. It looked like we had our way to the throne room and were a step closer to rescuing Jared.
Well, that's it for now. I'll let ya in on some more tomorrow or the next day. I also wanna thank y'all for clickin on them little ad thingies. I found out that I make about twenty cents when one of them gets clicked on. When it just gets "seen", I make about 1/100 of that. So, I ain't tryin to beg here or anything, but if you feel like this is worth someone else givin me 20 cents, please keep it up.
I tell you this because it is what happened to me. As soon as them lights came back on, we was overwhelmed with small, flightless birds. Since we had, up to that point, been blinded in a dark room by a spotlight, we still had them little light spotty things in our eyes and so we was havin the dickenest time tellin spots in our eyes from spots on penguins. And do you think those penguins gave us a chance to recover from our temporary blindness? I will answer that. No. No they did not give us that chance. And do you know why those penguins did not give us that chance? Because they are vicious little bastards. They fight dirty, too. Believe you me, they fight dirty. I been in a fight or two, and I seen a number of them on the tv, but I ain't never seen so many penguins go for so few man parts before. Now, when I seen them fights on the tv, I learned that there is an occasional shot that falls below the belt. But that's all the shots them penguins took. Now, I know you're out there sayin to me, "Pat, penguins are all below the belt. How can you expect them to take any other sorts of shots?" And I understand the confusion. When I say "below the belt" I do not mean all of the real estate on my body that happens to be located below the belt. I mean only that part of a man that he is makin sure remains covered up by his pants by wearin the belt in the first place. That, my friends, is the only spot a mad penguin will go after. If you don't believe me, go try it. Just wear a cup before you do.
So, there I am, tryin to stave off the flood of penguins and defend the future generations of O'Neils in the meantime when I hear Jared's voice. He yells out, "Pat! You came! I knew you would."
He sounded hopeful, which was more than I could say for myself at this point. Douggy and the squimonk were havin a time of it, too. We was runnin this way and that, just lookin for somethin to drive back the mad penguins. We had nothin, though. They were pushin us back into the Build-a-Bear and all we had at hand was creepy, deflated teddy bear skins, and those often don't make good weapons. Finally, I decided I'd had enough. I figured, if I was gonna die fightin a bunch of penguins, I was gonna take as many of them little black and white so and sos with me, and I was gonna do it like they was doin it. Now, I didn't know if penguins had jewels, but it was worth a shot. And that's just what it was; a shot in the jewels. The first penguin I kicked just went flyin off through the window somewhere. I think he prolly came down by the Orange Julius in the food court, if the map of the mall was correct. The next one, I kicked a little less hard, hopin to build a defensive wall of narded penguins. It turns out, penguins really do have jewels. I kicked that little sucker right in his and he bent over like any school boy would, graspin himself and cryin.
When that one had collapsed at my feet, I heard Alistair say, "That gives me an idea."
He disappears behind me for a few seconds, during which I down three more penguins. I hear some whispering and then somethin like a machine revvin up. Then Alistair yells, "Keep kickin Pat! You, too, Douggy! We'll take care of the rest."
Not knowin what else to do, I keep kickin like I was a Rockette and I'm about to be thrown out of Radio City just before Christmas. And also, I'm being attacked by psychotic penguins. I kept kickin and kickin, downin penguins left and right. As soon as I had one down, the squimonk would rush in, grab it and pull it behind me. Then there'd be this big ol' WOOOSH noise and the squimonk would be out to collect another one. After what seemed like a week of this, I kicked another one pretty hard and sent it through the window. As I looked up to follow its trajectory, I saw this black and white ball sail over my head and land in a pile of similar balls in the doorway. Then it struck me, them squimonk was fillin the penguins up with the fluff from the big bear fillin machine at the back of the store and then usin the newly stuffed penguins to seal up the door.
A mere fourty or fifty stuffed penguins later, the doors and windows were all sealed up and it was finally quiet again. Well, relatively quiet. Instead of the war shrieks of a flock of mad penguins, we now just heard the groans of a flock of stuffed mad penguins.
Then one of them spoke, "What is wrong with you people?!" He yelled.
I was taken aback. "What's wrong with us? What's wrong with you?"
"Hey!" he retorted, "We aren't the ones who filled someone with bear stuffing! Do you know how hard this stuff is to digest? We haven't eaten in three months and now you expect us to go through a load of shredded cotton? This is gonna be murder on my colon!"
"What did you expect, tryin to peck us in the swimmer stagin area?"
"Yeah," he said philosophically, "I sure am sorry about that. See, she knew you were comin, so she took us off our meds a couple days ago. That makes us get all weird and think everyone is tryin to steal our eggs. DON'T STEAL MY EGG!" Then he started thrashin around, tryin to bite somethin that wasn't there.
We all just looked around at each other. None of us wanted to be the one to climb through the pile of mad penguins, but we still needed to rescue Jared. It looked like we were stuck. Just then, we heard a doorbell go off. We looked around, not knowin what to make of it, when the penguin said, "Hey! Hey man! Could you get that for me?"
"What is it?" I asked.
"It's FedEx!" he yelled when he'd stopped thrashin. "They've got our delivery. Come on, man, help me out, here! If I don't get that, I'm gonna lose this job! I need this job, man! It's got health insurance! Without that insurance, I can't afford my medication and then I've gotta go back to the home! Don't make me go back to the home!" Then they all started yellin, "Not the home! Not the home! Please!"
I tell ya, they may have tried to end my line, but my heart went out to them little fellas right then. So I asked him how I got the delivery and he calmly explained to me how to get the key out of the register and then open the back door. So, that's what I did. I opened the back door up, took the delivery, signed his name (Gunther) to the FedEx guy's pad and then asked the delivery guy, "Hey, do you know how to get to the throne room from here?"
"Sure," he said. If you ever need directions anywhere, ask someone who delivers things for a living. They know where everything is, man. And if they don't, they can always radio in for someone who does. This guy didn't need to radio, though. He had it all in hand. He gestured down this back hall thing that was just a row of doors with store names on it. "Just go down this hall, turn right after the Mrs. Fields, then it's four doors down on the left."
"Hey, thank ya kindly," I told him. It looked like we had our way to the throne room and were a step closer to rescuing Jared.
Well, that's it for now. I'll let ya in on some more tomorrow or the next day. I also wanna thank y'all for clickin on them little ad thingies. I found out that I make about twenty cents when one of them gets clicked on. When it just gets "seen", I make about 1/100 of that. So, I ain't tryin to beg here or anything, but if you feel like this is worth someone else givin me 20 cents, please keep it up.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Recipe Time
Bein as the Super Bowl is today and all, I thought I'd take myself a little break here and share with y'all my favorite party recipe. It's called Manarole and it is, without doubt, both the most delicious thing you could eat at a party and an affront to all things good and holy. I'm sure some of them there cheffy types would die in horror at what you're about to read, but don't worry, it'll put hair on your chest.
To make this tongue dancin abomination, y'all need to gather up these ingredients:
6 frozen hamburger patties
a small pack of peperoni
a pack of hot dogs
two cans chili
6-8 slices american cheese, or some other type of yellow cheese you may like
a bag of frozen tater tots
Now that the hard part's over, you can get to cookin. The basic idear is to just layer up all them ingredients like you was makin a lasagna only you was plannin on havin a heart attack afterwards. I like to layer hamburger first, then peperoni to form a kind of shield around the bottom so the chili won't get away on ya, then put the cheese, then the chili, then hot dogs and the tots on top. The tots always gotta go on top because they need to get crispy. I also discovered that if you put the cheese layer above the chili layer, you get yerself some browned cheese. I ain't sayin browned cheese is bad, mind you, but that's what you get. When you got it all layered up, put it in the oven accordin to the tot directions. Mine says 450 for 20 minutes, and that's what I did. When that timer goes off, you got Manarole. I suggest servin it with some mustard, some tobasco and maybe some bread or chips or something. Also, sometimes you gotts to suck the left over fat off the bottom with a turkey baster, just so your Manarole ain't floatin.
Enjoy the game, more Antarctic Volcano Base action tomorrow.
To make this tongue dancin abomination, y'all need to gather up these ingredients:
6 frozen hamburger patties
a small pack of peperoni
a pack of hot dogs
two cans chili
6-8 slices american cheese, or some other type of yellow cheese you may like
a bag of frozen tater tots
Now that the hard part's over, you can get to cookin. The basic idear is to just layer up all them ingredients like you was makin a lasagna only you was plannin on havin a heart attack afterwards. I like to layer hamburger first, then peperoni to form a kind of shield around the bottom so the chili won't get away on ya, then put the cheese, then the chili, then hot dogs and the tots on top. The tots always gotta go on top because they need to get crispy. I also discovered that if you put the cheese layer above the chili layer, you get yerself some browned cheese. I ain't sayin browned cheese is bad, mind you, but that's what you get. When you got it all layered up, put it in the oven accordin to the tot directions. Mine says 450 for 20 minutes, and that's what I did. When that timer goes off, you got Manarole. I suggest servin it with some mustard, some tobasco and maybe some bread or chips or something. Also, sometimes you gotts to suck the left over fat off the bottom with a turkey baster, just so your Manarole ain't floatin.
Enjoy the game, more Antarctic Volcano Base action tomorrow.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Antarctic Volcano Base Assault Part 1
Covered in four inches of bacon fat and stuffed into a wing suit, we jumped out of the zeppelin. That was just Douggy and me, though, squimonk don't need wing suits. I thought that was pretty fortunate for them because I felt like a goldfish in a bag full of jello. Every time I moved or shifted my weight any, bacon goo warmed by my body would ooze a little out of all the suit openins. Every time that happened, I thought about the 84 packs of bacon I had to eat to get to this point and I felt a little green around the gills. But the squimonk didn't have to put up with that. They were always wearin their wing suits and so we couldn't get bacon grease stuffed inside of them. I suggested a way they could do it without eating it, pointing out they had another bodily cavity in which bacon could enter, but they didn't take that suggestion very well. One gestured towards the ceiling of the zeppelin with his longest finger and asked me what I thought about that. I guess everyone would get a little grumpy after bein stuck in a zeppelin with no showers and fryin bacon for a few days, particularly if those people are preparing to dive into an active volcano. Most of that was solved after we jumped, well, the part about bein stuck in the zeppelin, anyways.
As soon as I was out the door, grumpiness and discomfort was changed into a new feeling; total, complete, heart stoppin, foot stompin, whiskey backin, leg shakin, dog yelpin, war whoopin, nose runnin, cryin so hard you give yourself the hiccups like when you was nine and you broke the cookie jar tryin to get out another oreo without your ma seein ya because she told you you was havin a special dinner and you'd not only ruin your appetite but you'd be all covered in chocolate when the people from the church came over and they'd all think she didn't know how to raise an obedient child and then they'd get all Leviticus on her an talk about how ifn' that rod is spared the kid end up with cookie all over his face and you get a floor full of oreo and jar shards and so while she's upstairs takin a shower and you just want one more cookie because one cookie isn't really enough if you're nine and you have poor impulse control and so you reach up into the cookie jar and it's gotta shift just a little and then it shifts a little too much and the jar comes crashin to the ground and you don't know where the broom or the glue is and so you run and hide in your secret spot which turns out not to be secret and your mom's got her hair all in curlers and her face all red and she looks like a Medusa with pearl earrings and you sure as heck ain't no Hercules and so all you can do is sit there and cry out how sorry you are in tears big enough to drown a hamster in and then you think about your hamster drownin and that just adds an extra level to anything and you can't cry any harder and finally you end up givin yourself a headache and your stomach cramps up and you end up just pickin at the meatloaf your mom makes and the church ladies get worried about you not eatin so they start sending over a casserole once a week or so and it's always got chopped eggs in it for some reason and you hate eggs so you never eat it and you and your mom always gotta try to sneak it out to the garbage without anyone seein you and then ten years later the church ladies finally do catch you and you're standin there with their casserole poised over the trashcan and you're scrapin furiously and you know you're busted and now you're gonna have to listen to a lecture by these ladies just because you wanted a cookie and you don't like eggs, abject terror. This was twistin my guts all up but I didn't have much time to think about it.
Before I knew it, Douggy was tuckin his arms in for the final dive and I followed his lead. I must've been goin a mile a minute when I hit the crust of the volcano. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, rememberin that time I set my coffee down just a bit too quickly and I splashed a little bit of hot coffee into my eye. It stung and burned and I had a red spot on that eyes for a week. For a moment there, I thought I was goin blind because everything went white, but it turned out that was just the half and half I put in the coffee. Since that time, I always been real careful about settin my coffee down. It's not always easy, I tell ya, because sometimes I'm watchin that guy on the tv and he gets me real mad. You know, the one that's always yellin at people who disagree with him, oh, what's his name? He's the guy who's always a jerk to everyone who has anything to say to him, but it's just sort of in his character to do that and he makes good money for his channel through advertisin and tours and everything. It's that same channel that claims to be fair and even handed, but really and obviously isn't. I know that name, it's on the tip of my tongue. Let's see, he's the guy with the funny lookin hair and people are always tryin to reason with him but he just keeps gettin more angry and more angry. That's it! Oscar, Oscar the Grouch. That little guy really gits my blood to boil. When that happens, I gotta be extra careful about settin my cup down because I don't want another case of coffee eye. All this was swirlin around my head and I know that lava is at least five times as hot as that coffee is so I sure as shootin didn't want any in my eye.
The moment I touched the lava with my face, everything started sizzlin like a frog in a cast iron skillet. The heat pushed in on me like it was a cash-strapped bride and I was that store in New York that has a wedding dress sale every year. Then everything was white light and soft pillows and rollin around to get the fire out and bacon, still the smell of bacon. I just couldn't take it any more so I threw up a little in my mouth. I tried to play it off like it was a burp or somethin, but I'll admit to you now, a little bacon came with the burp. I managed to get it back down, but it wasn't a sure thing there for a minute or two.
When I'd gotten over my gastronomic battle of the titans, I looked around and discovered we was in a big room full of overstuffed pillows, bean bags, stuffed animals, goose down mattresses, puffy coats and faux fur blankets. Looking up, I saw that there was a kind of diaphragm above us, keepin the lava at bay. The lava seemed to heat and light the room, givin everythin a reddish glow like that there red light district I've heard about in Amsterdam. I turned to Douggy and asked, "Where are we?"
He sighed, "Pat, we've been over this. We're in Amelia Earhart's Antarctic volcano base. We're rescuing Jared, remember?"
"I knew that," I protested, "I meant, within the confines of the previously mentioned Antarctic volcano base, where are we. That is to say, where are we relative to Jared?"
"I'm not sure." He pulls a map out of his pocket and then goes over to a map on the wall.
"It's mighty convenient for there to be a room full of pillows under the volcano entrance to break our fall," I note. "It also seems suspiciously convenient that there is a map of the volcano base here in the room we landed in that seems to have everything labelled."
"That is true," said Alistair, "perhaps that will come clear later. If it doesn't, that's just bad writing."
"What was that?" I just wanted to make sure I heard right.
"Bad writing," he reiterated, "It's just bad writing of the plan on our part if we there's something out there we didn't expect. We should prepare for that just in case."
Because we didn't bring any thread with us, we unravel some of the pillow cases to make a thread that will help us find out way back if we need to. While we were doing that, Douggy marked our path out on the map. We were tryin to get to the throne room, which appeared to be between the Mervyns and the Frogurt place, if the map was accurate.
For the first five minutes, things seemed to be going swimmingly. We passed the Buckle and then checked our path towards the Build-a-Bear workshop. There was something off about the stores, though. Not only were there no customers, but all the employees appeared to be penguins wearing name tags. Not only that, but both name tags I saw read "Gunther". Now, I don't deny the possibility that there may just happened to have been two penguins who happened to be named Gunther working at that particular Build-a-Bear Workshop, but somethin about it didn't seem right. It seemed my companions had the same feelings and we stopped to consult.
"This is creepy," began Douggy.
"Yeah," said Alistair, "why the heck does it look like a mall?"
"I dunno," responded Douggy, "but I don't like it. There's something not working about this scenario."
"Well," I asked, "what should we do? Go back or press on?"
Before we could decide what to do, the lights went out with a thud. Off in the distance, there was a spotlight or somethin shinin on us. Then we heard the laughter. It started as a low rumble, like a tank left in neutral while the soldier went to pee but the soldier didn't know the tank was on a hill and so he's peein and he gits this sneakin suspicion somethin is wrong and then he feels the ground shakin under his feet. It sounded like that moment, and just like that soldier, we were filled with impotent panic. The rumble grew into an avalanche and finally, like a bit of pineapple in the middle of jello, a voice rose.
"Pat O'Neil," it echoed around us.
"Uh, yeah?" I wanted to be friendly. "What can I do ya for?"
"Not so smart now, are you, Pat O'Neil?"
"Well," I reckoned, "It would seem not. But I don't think I was so smart then, whenever then was."
"The contest, Pat O'Neil! The Makin Stuff Up Championship! That trophy was mine and you stole it from me! Now I shall have my revenge! I've been watching you travel through my fake mall, Pat O'Neil. Little did you know that I have stocked all my stores with a penguin army. And I can assure you, Pat O'Neil, that they are all quite mad. Quite mad indeed. Ha ha ha!" She didn't actually laugh there, she really just said "Ha ha ha!" I've never heard anything like it. I didn't have much time to think, however, because, right at that moment, the lights came on and we were inundated with penguins.
As soon as I was out the door, grumpiness and discomfort was changed into a new feeling; total, complete, heart stoppin, foot stompin, whiskey backin, leg shakin, dog yelpin, war whoopin, nose runnin, cryin so hard you give yourself the hiccups like when you was nine and you broke the cookie jar tryin to get out another oreo without your ma seein ya because she told you you was havin a special dinner and you'd not only ruin your appetite but you'd be all covered in chocolate when the people from the church came over and they'd all think she didn't know how to raise an obedient child and then they'd get all Leviticus on her an talk about how ifn' that rod is spared the kid end up with cookie all over his face and you get a floor full of oreo and jar shards and so while she's upstairs takin a shower and you just want one more cookie because one cookie isn't really enough if you're nine and you have poor impulse control and so you reach up into the cookie jar and it's gotta shift just a little and then it shifts a little too much and the jar comes crashin to the ground and you don't know where the broom or the glue is and so you run and hide in your secret spot which turns out not to be secret and your mom's got her hair all in curlers and her face all red and she looks like a Medusa with pearl earrings and you sure as heck ain't no Hercules and so all you can do is sit there and cry out how sorry you are in tears big enough to drown a hamster in and then you think about your hamster drownin and that just adds an extra level to anything and you can't cry any harder and finally you end up givin yourself a headache and your stomach cramps up and you end up just pickin at the meatloaf your mom makes and the church ladies get worried about you not eatin so they start sending over a casserole once a week or so and it's always got chopped eggs in it for some reason and you hate eggs so you never eat it and you and your mom always gotta try to sneak it out to the garbage without anyone seein you and then ten years later the church ladies finally do catch you and you're standin there with their casserole poised over the trashcan and you're scrapin furiously and you know you're busted and now you're gonna have to listen to a lecture by these ladies just because you wanted a cookie and you don't like eggs, abject terror. This was twistin my guts all up but I didn't have much time to think about it.
Before I knew it, Douggy was tuckin his arms in for the final dive and I followed his lead. I must've been goin a mile a minute when I hit the crust of the volcano. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, rememberin that time I set my coffee down just a bit too quickly and I splashed a little bit of hot coffee into my eye. It stung and burned and I had a red spot on that eyes for a week. For a moment there, I thought I was goin blind because everything went white, but it turned out that was just the half and half I put in the coffee. Since that time, I always been real careful about settin my coffee down. It's not always easy, I tell ya, because sometimes I'm watchin that guy on the tv and he gets me real mad. You know, the one that's always yellin at people who disagree with him, oh, what's his name? He's the guy who's always a jerk to everyone who has anything to say to him, but it's just sort of in his character to do that and he makes good money for his channel through advertisin and tours and everything. It's that same channel that claims to be fair and even handed, but really and obviously isn't. I know that name, it's on the tip of my tongue. Let's see, he's the guy with the funny lookin hair and people are always tryin to reason with him but he just keeps gettin more angry and more angry. That's it! Oscar, Oscar the Grouch. That little guy really gits my blood to boil. When that happens, I gotta be extra careful about settin my cup down because I don't want another case of coffee eye. All this was swirlin around my head and I know that lava is at least five times as hot as that coffee is so I sure as shootin didn't want any in my eye.
The moment I touched the lava with my face, everything started sizzlin like a frog in a cast iron skillet. The heat pushed in on me like it was a cash-strapped bride and I was that store in New York that has a wedding dress sale every year. Then everything was white light and soft pillows and rollin around to get the fire out and bacon, still the smell of bacon. I just couldn't take it any more so I threw up a little in my mouth. I tried to play it off like it was a burp or somethin, but I'll admit to you now, a little bacon came with the burp. I managed to get it back down, but it wasn't a sure thing there for a minute or two.
When I'd gotten over my gastronomic battle of the titans, I looked around and discovered we was in a big room full of overstuffed pillows, bean bags, stuffed animals, goose down mattresses, puffy coats and faux fur blankets. Looking up, I saw that there was a kind of diaphragm above us, keepin the lava at bay. The lava seemed to heat and light the room, givin everythin a reddish glow like that there red light district I've heard about in Amsterdam. I turned to Douggy and asked, "Where are we?"
He sighed, "Pat, we've been over this. We're in Amelia Earhart's Antarctic volcano base. We're rescuing Jared, remember?"
"I knew that," I protested, "I meant, within the confines of the previously mentioned Antarctic volcano base, where are we. That is to say, where are we relative to Jared?"
"I'm not sure." He pulls a map out of his pocket and then goes over to a map on the wall.
"It's mighty convenient for there to be a room full of pillows under the volcano entrance to break our fall," I note. "It also seems suspiciously convenient that there is a map of the volcano base here in the room we landed in that seems to have everything labelled."
"That is true," said Alistair, "perhaps that will come clear later. If it doesn't, that's just bad writing."
"What was that?" I just wanted to make sure I heard right.
"Bad writing," he reiterated, "It's just bad writing of the plan on our part if we there's something out there we didn't expect. We should prepare for that just in case."
Because we didn't bring any thread with us, we unravel some of the pillow cases to make a thread that will help us find out way back if we need to. While we were doing that, Douggy marked our path out on the map. We were tryin to get to the throne room, which appeared to be between the Mervyns and the Frogurt place, if the map was accurate.
For the first five minutes, things seemed to be going swimmingly. We passed the Buckle and then checked our path towards the Build-a-Bear workshop. There was something off about the stores, though. Not only were there no customers, but all the employees appeared to be penguins wearing name tags. Not only that, but both name tags I saw read "Gunther". Now, I don't deny the possibility that there may just happened to have been two penguins who happened to be named Gunther working at that particular Build-a-Bear Workshop, but somethin about it didn't seem right. It seemed my companions had the same feelings and we stopped to consult.
"This is creepy," began Douggy.
"Yeah," said Alistair, "why the heck does it look like a mall?"
"I dunno," responded Douggy, "but I don't like it. There's something not working about this scenario."
"Well," I asked, "what should we do? Go back or press on?"
Before we could decide what to do, the lights went out with a thud. Off in the distance, there was a spotlight or somethin shinin on us. Then we heard the laughter. It started as a low rumble, like a tank left in neutral while the soldier went to pee but the soldier didn't know the tank was on a hill and so he's peein and he gits this sneakin suspicion somethin is wrong and then he feels the ground shakin under his feet. It sounded like that moment, and just like that soldier, we were filled with impotent panic. The rumble grew into an avalanche and finally, like a bit of pineapple in the middle of jello, a voice rose.
"Pat O'Neil," it echoed around us.
"Uh, yeah?" I wanted to be friendly. "What can I do ya for?"
"Not so smart now, are you, Pat O'Neil?"
"Well," I reckoned, "It would seem not. But I don't think I was so smart then, whenever then was."
"The contest, Pat O'Neil! The Makin Stuff Up Championship! That trophy was mine and you stole it from me! Now I shall have my revenge! I've been watching you travel through my fake mall, Pat O'Neil. Little did you know that I have stocked all my stores with a penguin army. And I can assure you, Pat O'Neil, that they are all quite mad. Quite mad indeed. Ha ha ha!" She didn't actually laugh there, she really just said "Ha ha ha!" I've never heard anything like it. I didn't have much time to think, however, because, right at that moment, the lights came on and we were inundated with penguins.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Editorial note
I've gone back into all the old posts and created paragraph breaks. I've been meaning to do that and now I have. Now I can mean to do something else for a month. Also, I've been thinking about having a squimonk design contest. Let's give it a whirl. If you would like to conceive of and then render a squimonk in some fashion and then send it to me electronically, I will consider that a contest submission. If I get one that I would like to put on a t-shirt, I will send you a free t-shirt first. I guess I have to put the legal stuff here, but I don't know how it goes. I'll just say that if you send me stuff, you agree to let me put it on shirts and possibly make money off that design and you'll get a free shirt out of the deal, but won't make profit off the shirt sales (it's minimal anyway). I won't put a date or anything on the contest, I'll just put the first one I really like on a shirt and that'll be that.
Also, while I'm writing, would some of you readers mind clicking on the ads? You don't have to buy anything from them, but I'm tryin to raise some beer money for myself and maybe get some money to buy my wife a nice birthday present. If I don't get her something sparkly, she'll hit me. She's asian, and they know how to hit people. They're all born with this Kung-fu know how. It's awesome. We had to fight actual ninjas one time, and she kicked them all in the face with one foot and in the butt with another ALL AT THE SAME TIME! I wish I'd taken a video of it, but you usually don't think of video cameras when you're being attacked by ninjas. So, in short, if you don't want me to be a bruisy face/butt guy, please just click an ad after you read and before you hit the "stumble" button.
Thanks.
PS, those submissions can go to squimonk@gmail.com
PPS If I get anything in there about getting a new mortgage or improving my *ahem* manliness, it will be deleted without even looking. Just to be safe, put something from a Pat O'Neil post in the subject line.
Also, while I'm writing, would some of you readers mind clicking on the ads? You don't have to buy anything from them, but I'm tryin to raise some beer money for myself and maybe get some money to buy my wife a nice birthday present. If I don't get her something sparkly, she'll hit me. She's asian, and they know how to hit people. They're all born with this Kung-fu know how. It's awesome. We had to fight actual ninjas one time, and she kicked them all in the face with one foot and in the butt with another ALL AT THE SAME TIME! I wish I'd taken a video of it, but you usually don't think of video cameras when you're being attacked by ninjas. So, in short, if you don't want me to be a bruisy face/butt guy, please just click an ad after you read and before you hit the "stumble" button.
Thanks.
PS, those submissions can go to squimonk@gmail.com
PPS If I get anything in there about getting a new mortgage or improving my *ahem* manliness, it will be deleted without even looking. Just to be safe, put something from a Pat O'Neil post in the subject line.
No more bacon!
I think I will never have anything to do with bacon every again as long as I live. I will eat no more BLTs, no more bacon cheeseburgers and quite indubitably no more bacon chocolate chip cookies. Now, I ain't never thought I'd reach a point in my life where I'd be swearin off bacon like it was tobacco and I was a canary running on a treadmill in an asbestos lined coal mine, but that's exactly what I am doing starting yesterday. So, goodbye bacon. You were my friend once, but now I got you pegged for what you truly are; foodstuffs of the devil.
No, bacon, I don't mean that. I just got all worked up. I can't let you go, bacon. Even if you done me wrong lately, I gotta take you back. It's like you, bacon, are a hot twenty-year-old blond with shapely gams and I'm a wheelchair-bound octogenarian with a billion dollars and a bottle of Viagra, no matter how bad you treat me, I gotta take you back. Except in this case, you're not a hot twenty-year-old blond with shapely gams, and you are, instead, a smoked, cured meat product.
I apologize, people. I seem to got a little ahead of myself there. I didn't want for you to be a part of my breaking love affair with bacon, but I had to get it off my chest right up front. As you'll see, bacon has done me wrong over the weekend and I aim to get it back somehow. Maybe I will get my revenge by eating a pack of it a day from here on out. I seen on the tv where there was this 108 year old man that eats a pack of bacon and smokes a pack of tiny cigars every day and he's still goin strong. I figure that's the right kinda diet for me. I could do that one. It would certainly have to be better than the "eat only oranges and mucilex" or whatever diet Frank is on this week. There I go gettin distracted again.
I suppose y'all may want to know how the whole Jared situation shook out. I just wanna warn ya up front that there's gonna be some more adulty-type stuff in this one, but nothin too dirty. If it were a movie, I'd call this one pg-13. Now ya know what's goin on right up front, you can't blame me for this later. If you don't care for that kind of stuff, I'm not hurt, you should just skip ahead to the last paragraph of the next update. If you are all right with that kind of stuff, read on, because the kind of stuff I've got in here that made me warn you about that kind of stuff is exactly the kind of stuff I was talkin about. Just so we're clear, we're talkin a little nudity, nothin graphic, and some vomit here.
After Jared disappeared, we were frantic at the shop. Alistair began the search usin some of them latest investigative techniques like you can see on CSI, except this was real and didn't use them weird CGI shots. Actually, if you were watching it, maybe it would have them shots, but I was involved and didn't get to see them edited in later. Even with his super Nasa space technology stuff, he couldn't find anything. Apparently, ninjas don't really leave traces behind. I didn't know that before, but you learn somethin new every day. They wear gloves so they don't leave fingerprints and their heads are all wrapped up so the don't drop any hair or nothin. Alistair told me that when I was gettin too nosy and a little too CSI about what I was askin, he explained that what he was really lookin for was vegetative spores that would give us a clue as to where the ninja who took Jared was comin from. It took him a couple hours and work with some of the tiniest, cutest tools I've ever seen. I wouldn't suggest tellin a squimonk his tools are cute, though, unless you want to wake up with a squimonk pulling out one of your nose hairs with his tiny little pliers yellin, "Who's got cute tools now!?" If that's your thing, though, go right to it.
After gettin nothin on the whole spore thing, Jared's mom came by the shop. She was there to pick him up after work. She was askin where he was and I said that he had to run down to Wal-Mart to get us some more powdered sugar for the donuts. Then she told me she had just come from the Wal-Mart and Jared most certainly wasn't there. So I told her that he had to take my truck and they won't even allow my truck into the Wal-Mart parking lot these days and she asked me, "The rabies thing?" and I responded, "Yeah, the rabies thing." But then she pointed out that my truck was in front of the shop and I ran out of things to tell her at that point. As I was reaching into my magical sack of hot air, she closed her eyes and fell right to sleep. I thought she was either tired or a narcoleptic. It turns out that it was actually the tranquilizer dart in her neck. It was put there by Douggy. When I discovered it, I looked up at him and he just shrugged and told me, "Half ninja," as if that explained everything. What was done, was done though, so we trussed her up, and kept her on a steady drip of knock-out drops until we could figure out where her black-nailed kid had gone.
Following another coupla hours of waitin, the squimonk found their first clue. Even though they hadn't found any plant spores, they did find animal droppings. They sent it through some special analyser or something and finally had an answer.
"Penguin poop," Alistair announced.
"Really?" I was surprised. I'd never really had a penguin in the shop. One day last week, a seagull flew into the window, but I don't think that counted. "How do you know?"
"First of all," he explained, "we found an unusually high level of mercury in the droppings, which led us to thinking it was a marine creature or fed on marine creatures. Second, we analysed the substance of the droppings and found that the mercury was coming from herring, which is a favorite of all types of sea birds. Finally, we checked composition and found that the scat itself was black and white, leading us to the penguin."
I learned yet another new thing. "Penguin poop is black and white?"
"Oh certainly, penguins are the only purely monochromatic species in the world. Scientists used to believe that Zebras were also entirely monochromatic, due mostly to their striped poo, but, since the advent of the color camera, we have discovered that Zebras are red inside, putting them in the 'partially monochromatic' family of animals with polar bears and orca."
"Wait, wait, wait! Penguins are black and white on the inside, too?"
"Oh, most definitely," he stated evenly. It was at that point that he lost his composure and started laughing. "I'm sorry, Pat, I couldn't resist trying to get one past you. Victoria bet me ten dollars I couldn't do it. Regardless, we just analysed the DNA and found it to be penguin."
I was shocked. He was pretty convincin at that makin stuff up stuff. It's a good thing he's on my side. I asked him what this meant for Jared and he didn't know right then so he went and did some additional research that proved fruitless. We then had to call Lindbergh, who put all of his computers and his spy network towards the effort of finding Jared. On Saturday, he called us back to tell us he had discovered that Amelia Earhart kept a secret snow base a mile below the antarctic, the only entrance to which was through a volcano that only she had the control to.
I thought it looked hopeless, but Alistair and Douggy felt that we just needed the right plan. After some pretty serious back and forths, three of which ended in blows and one of which ended in a balloon animal making contest, it was decided that, in order to penetrate the volcano, we needed to drop in on it from above, falling fast, while covered in some sort of combustible material that would burn off as we torpedoed our way though the lava. Ideas were bandied about as to what the combustible material would be. It would have to be something that we could coat ourselves with, but nothing toxic. It would also have to be something that would not freeze in the antarctic air that we were falling through. I only knew of one material that had those properties, and that was bacon grease. I do regret saying anything about it now, but at the time, it seemed like a good idea.
The final plan was this: we would fly the stealth zeppelin to the Antarctic, jump from a mile up wearing only flight suits and a four inch thick layer of bacon grease. We would then plummet through the heart of an active volcano, going fast enough that we would penetrate into Amelia Earhart's secret lair before the bacon grease was burned off and we were consumed by fiery liquid magma. Then, we would attack the ninjas, find Jared, see if we couldn't steal some secret plans or something while we were in there, boogie out and get back home in time for Idol.
There was one small snag to the plan. I was informed, just a little too late, that squimonk are vegetarian creatures who cannot stand to see any food wasted. This meant that only two of us going on this mission had to eat all the bacon we had to fry up in order to render it for its fat, and those two were Douggy and me. For the four days it took to get here, Douggy and I did nothing but fry bacon, eat bacon and regurgitate bacon. Now, we are preparing for our assault on the Antarctic Volcano base. Wish us luck.
No, bacon, I don't mean that. I just got all worked up. I can't let you go, bacon. Even if you done me wrong lately, I gotta take you back. It's like you, bacon, are a hot twenty-year-old blond with shapely gams and I'm a wheelchair-bound octogenarian with a billion dollars and a bottle of Viagra, no matter how bad you treat me, I gotta take you back. Except in this case, you're not a hot twenty-year-old blond with shapely gams, and you are, instead, a smoked, cured meat product.
I apologize, people. I seem to got a little ahead of myself there. I didn't want for you to be a part of my breaking love affair with bacon, but I had to get it off my chest right up front. As you'll see, bacon has done me wrong over the weekend and I aim to get it back somehow. Maybe I will get my revenge by eating a pack of it a day from here on out. I seen on the tv where there was this 108 year old man that eats a pack of bacon and smokes a pack of tiny cigars every day and he's still goin strong. I figure that's the right kinda diet for me. I could do that one. It would certainly have to be better than the "eat only oranges and mucilex" or whatever diet Frank is on this week. There I go gettin distracted again.
I suppose y'all may want to know how the whole Jared situation shook out. I just wanna warn ya up front that there's gonna be some more adulty-type stuff in this one, but nothin too dirty. If it were a movie, I'd call this one pg-13. Now ya know what's goin on right up front, you can't blame me for this later. If you don't care for that kind of stuff, I'm not hurt, you should just skip ahead to the last paragraph of the next update. If you are all right with that kind of stuff, read on, because the kind of stuff I've got in here that made me warn you about that kind of stuff is exactly the kind of stuff I was talkin about. Just so we're clear, we're talkin a little nudity, nothin graphic, and some vomit here.
After Jared disappeared, we were frantic at the shop. Alistair began the search usin some of them latest investigative techniques like you can see on CSI, except this was real and didn't use them weird CGI shots. Actually, if you were watching it, maybe it would have them shots, but I was involved and didn't get to see them edited in later. Even with his super Nasa space technology stuff, he couldn't find anything. Apparently, ninjas don't really leave traces behind. I didn't know that before, but you learn somethin new every day. They wear gloves so they don't leave fingerprints and their heads are all wrapped up so the don't drop any hair or nothin. Alistair told me that when I was gettin too nosy and a little too CSI about what I was askin, he explained that what he was really lookin for was vegetative spores that would give us a clue as to where the ninja who took Jared was comin from. It took him a couple hours and work with some of the tiniest, cutest tools I've ever seen. I wouldn't suggest tellin a squimonk his tools are cute, though, unless you want to wake up with a squimonk pulling out one of your nose hairs with his tiny little pliers yellin, "Who's got cute tools now!?" If that's your thing, though, go right to it.
After gettin nothin on the whole spore thing, Jared's mom came by the shop. She was there to pick him up after work. She was askin where he was and I said that he had to run down to Wal-Mart to get us some more powdered sugar for the donuts. Then she told me she had just come from the Wal-Mart and Jared most certainly wasn't there. So I told her that he had to take my truck and they won't even allow my truck into the Wal-Mart parking lot these days and she asked me, "The rabies thing?" and I responded, "Yeah, the rabies thing." But then she pointed out that my truck was in front of the shop and I ran out of things to tell her at that point. As I was reaching into my magical sack of hot air, she closed her eyes and fell right to sleep. I thought she was either tired or a narcoleptic. It turns out that it was actually the tranquilizer dart in her neck. It was put there by Douggy. When I discovered it, I looked up at him and he just shrugged and told me, "Half ninja," as if that explained everything. What was done, was done though, so we trussed her up, and kept her on a steady drip of knock-out drops until we could figure out where her black-nailed kid had gone.
Following another coupla hours of waitin, the squimonk found their first clue. Even though they hadn't found any plant spores, they did find animal droppings. They sent it through some special analyser or something and finally had an answer.
"Penguin poop," Alistair announced.
"Really?" I was surprised. I'd never really had a penguin in the shop. One day last week, a seagull flew into the window, but I don't think that counted. "How do you know?"
"First of all," he explained, "we found an unusually high level of mercury in the droppings, which led us to thinking it was a marine creature or fed on marine creatures. Second, we analysed the substance of the droppings and found that the mercury was coming from herring, which is a favorite of all types of sea birds. Finally, we checked composition and found that the scat itself was black and white, leading us to the penguin."
I learned yet another new thing. "Penguin poop is black and white?"
"Oh certainly, penguins are the only purely monochromatic species in the world. Scientists used to believe that Zebras were also entirely monochromatic, due mostly to their striped poo, but, since the advent of the color camera, we have discovered that Zebras are red inside, putting them in the 'partially monochromatic' family of animals with polar bears and orca."
"Wait, wait, wait! Penguins are black and white on the inside, too?"
"Oh, most definitely," he stated evenly. It was at that point that he lost his composure and started laughing. "I'm sorry, Pat, I couldn't resist trying to get one past you. Victoria bet me ten dollars I couldn't do it. Regardless, we just analysed the DNA and found it to be penguin."
I was shocked. He was pretty convincin at that makin stuff up stuff. It's a good thing he's on my side. I asked him what this meant for Jared and he didn't know right then so he went and did some additional research that proved fruitless. We then had to call Lindbergh, who put all of his computers and his spy network towards the effort of finding Jared. On Saturday, he called us back to tell us he had discovered that Amelia Earhart kept a secret snow base a mile below the antarctic, the only entrance to which was through a volcano that only she had the control to.
I thought it looked hopeless, but Alistair and Douggy felt that we just needed the right plan. After some pretty serious back and forths, three of which ended in blows and one of which ended in a balloon animal making contest, it was decided that, in order to penetrate the volcano, we needed to drop in on it from above, falling fast, while covered in some sort of combustible material that would burn off as we torpedoed our way though the lava. Ideas were bandied about as to what the combustible material would be. It would have to be something that we could coat ourselves with, but nothing toxic. It would also have to be something that would not freeze in the antarctic air that we were falling through. I only knew of one material that had those properties, and that was bacon grease. I do regret saying anything about it now, but at the time, it seemed like a good idea.
The final plan was this: we would fly the stealth zeppelin to the Antarctic, jump from a mile up wearing only flight suits and a four inch thick layer of bacon grease. We would then plummet through the heart of an active volcano, going fast enough that we would penetrate into Amelia Earhart's secret lair before the bacon grease was burned off and we were consumed by fiery liquid magma. Then, we would attack the ninjas, find Jared, see if we couldn't steal some secret plans or something while we were in there, boogie out and get back home in time for Idol.
There was one small snag to the plan. I was informed, just a little too late, that squimonk are vegetarian creatures who cannot stand to see any food wasted. This meant that only two of us going on this mission had to eat all the bacon we had to fry up in order to render it for its fat, and those two were Douggy and me. For the four days it took to get here, Douggy and I did nothing but fry bacon, eat bacon and regurgitate bacon. Now, we are preparing for our assault on the Antarctic Volcano base. Wish us luck.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
A bad afternoon
So I'm out and about this afternoon on a little errand and I leave Jared in charge of the shop. His mom wants to boost his confidence or whatnot. That's how it is today, always tryin to boost the confidence of the kids. But in my day, my ol' pappy taught me that confidence ain't gonna get no oil changed and, unless you're some sorta public speaker or carnival barker or somethin, confidence ain't gonna put food on the table. Not that I got anything against carnival barkers. My great uncle Astrid was a carnival barker when he was young, or so the story goes. He was known far and wide for bein able to separate any sortsa penny pincer from the pennies he or she was pinchin. One time, an old lady on a pension came to the carnival to get herself a candy apple and nothin more, but Astrid was havin none of that. He lured her in with every trick in the book, he started out with the 'hear ye, hear ye', then moved smoothly into the 'step right up', then he started convincin the woman of the relative merits of seein the bearded lady and aligator boy, pointin deftly at their pictures with his cane and finally convincin the woman that, if she were to part with her immortal soul that very evenin, she could do so secure in the knowledge that she did not pass up on seein even one of God's miracles of show business. She did not budge, however. So Astrid starts talkin to her about the candy apple she was eatin and was told that she wanted to have just one to remember her dear, departed husband who perished from a military fever those many years ago. Tearin up and sobbin, Astrid explained how his very own pappy had also died of a military fever shortly after defeating the kaiser, leaving him, Astrid, as the sole provider for his bizarrely shaped family, including his unusually hirsute sister and his brother whose eczema was so bad he had to sleep in a tub full of calamine lotion with a straw stickin out of his mouth so as to breathe with. He went so long and so deep into the bait that he may really have believed what he was sayin, despite the fact that he knew his father was alive and well, travelin the rails in order to learn the fine art of whimsy carvin. Well, the old lady begins weepin over her apple and soon they're just collapsed on the ground in each other's arms carryin on and cryin so much they form a lake around them and have to swim to safety. Their tears flowed so profusely that they flooded the entire state of Mississippi in the middle of the dry season and it resulted in the largest bumper crop seen in them parts for 100 years. Afterwards, the old lady was so grateful for the catharsis, that's the word she used (I don't know what it means, but I've always figured it had somethin to do with swimming), that she paid him the nickle without even tryin to see the bearded lady. In the end, Alligator Boy's eczema was completely cured by the flood of tears and he went on to become so successful in business that he cornered the brick market in Peru for 20 years and had himself a palace made out of gold and emu skins. What I'm tryin to say here is that confidence in itself ain't gonna harm a person, unless you're one of the 30 people drowned in a tear flood, but havin some skills to back up that confidence may be better for a lot of people than bein a carnival barker. That bein the case, I figure I'd help Jared get some of the skills he's gonna need before goin off to college along with the healthy dose of confidence he's gonna need if he wants to deal with elderly women carryin candy apples, or if he wanted to be a faith healer. I'm not sayin he does, but I wanna hedge my bets just in case.
With this in mind, I was on my way to the Wal-mart in the next town to pick up some spark plugs, wires, an oil filter, a case of 10w-40, some windshield wiper fluid, toothpaste and a spark plug gapper, all of which I thought I'd use to show Jared how to tune up a car, using the Continental we towed in as an experiment. Well, that's not exactly true. The toothpaste I was gonna use to brush my teeth and I thought I'd pick it up while I was out. For a week or two now I been nearly out of toothpaste, but I never remember when I'm anywhere toothpaste is so every day I gotta squeeze that little tube harder and I get less and less for it, kinda like a boa constrictor tryin to suffocate a troll about sunup time, just as the troll's turnin to stone. This mornin, I had to set up a contraption in my front yard so I could back Mable Lou up over the tube of toothpaste and have a drop no bigger'n a pea forced out onto my brush. That's why I'm finally breakin down and buyin toothpaste. That and I got a cupon in the mail yesterday, which I found in the pocket of my overalls this mornin. Ok, I'll admit it, the trip was largely a ruse in order to convince myself to finally by that toothpaste I needed. There, I said it. In the meantime, though, since I was travellin all that way and risking life and limb on the county roads out here, I thought Jared might as well learn how to tune up a car.
I'm stopped at the side of the road on 15, havin myself a little "me" time. I'd drunk a mess of coffee this mornin and some of it was ready to be released back into the wild, if you know what I mean. So, there I am, enjoyin the outdoors in the way it was meant to be enjoyed (steadily more satisfying), when I see a black figure crawlin up towards me in the grass. Now I figured that it was either a) another robot ninja who just picked the wrong time or b) Hammish's shadow which had torn free from its master and come to seek its revenge on those who did it wrong. With the array of choices before me, I found myself surprised at hoping that I would be fightin a ninja. I wouldn't even begin knowing how to fight a shadow. I suppose you could shine a light on it or somethin, but I don't know if that would be effective at all, not to mention that what I was currently holding in my hand was not a flashlight, nor was it capable of shining light in any way. I highly doubt that a shadow is defeated by spraying it with a little ammonia. Lucky for me, though, it turned out to be a ninja and I didn't have to resolve that particular confuddlement right then. I did have to return to a civilized state before readying myself for some more punching and head popping and possibly fire that seems to happen when I fight these things.
The ninja's just crawling along, trying to be stealthy, so I decide to be helpful by yellin', "I see you there in the grass, you might as well stand up if you're here to fight me."
And he does. He stands up out of the grass like an afternoon shadow gettin longer. For a bit, he tries lookin' around all innocent like, sorta like when a cat runs into a glass door and then pretends to clean itself, hopin you'll just ignore the fact that it walked into a door that's always been there. The only difference is that the ninja in this case does not clean itself. Also, the ninja is not a cat and there's not a door in sight. Another difference is that, after you see a cat run into a door, it rarely jumps at you in a spinning double roundhouse kick aimed at where the coffee goes in and also where the coffee comes out. Rarely, I've noticed, do you have to jump backwards from said kick and then jump forward and, with both fists, punch the cat, or in this case, ninja, directly in the stomach and solar plexus while he or she or it is in the air. It is also very uncommon for the cat, or ninja, to be more yielding than previous robots that you have fought, leading you to the conclusion that this is, in fact, not a robot. Furthermore, cats do not often, in my experience, have small platypus stitched into their chests. So, except for the fact that I was now fighting a real ninja, and a member of clan platypus, it was just like that cat thing.
The ninja was down on his face for a couple of seconds and I took the time to apply my alligator wrestlin skills. I jumped on his back and covered his eyes with my hands. Unlike alligators, ninjas do not fall asleep when you cover their eyes. I learned just today, in fact, that they are far more likely to kick you in the back of the head and then put you in some weird arm-lock while you are down than they are to fall asleep. In my experience, that happens 100% of the time when fighting actual ninjas. Luck, and invisible zeppelins, were on my side, though. Just as it felt like the ninja was ready to turn my arm into several thousand toothpicks, he was attacked by a half dozen or so squimonk. They raced up his back, legs and arms, biting and scratching the entire time. He let go of me to focus on his smaller enemies.
From above, I heard, "Quick, Pat, Run!" And so I turned and headed for the truck. I threw Mable Lou into drive and looked back to see how the fight was coming along. The ninja could barely get his hands on one squimonk when another would stand on his hand and pry his thumb back. He was thrashing around like a bearded lady trying to swim in a newly formed lake of tears, but it didn't seem the squimonk were making any headway. I was gettin ready to drive off when I started thinkin about all the good things them squimonk have done for me in the past couple of months. They're always protectin me and makin donuts for me. They fixed Mable Lou twice. They introduced me to Charles Lindbergh who has always been a hero of mine, even if he is a little nutty and his breath smells like brine. With all of that, I couldn't take the risk that one of those squimonk, one of my friends, could get hurt or killed while I just ran away. Somethin rose up from deep inside me and I yelled out, "No ninja hurts my friends!"
With that, I slammed the truck into reverse and drove it straight at the evil covered in fur in the middle of the road. Just before impact, I yelled "Squimonk, clear out!" They did without a moment's hesitation. It looked as if a yeti had exploded, leaving only a burnt husk behind. Then I hit him. I was goin pretty fast, but he still tried to jump into the bed. He missed the jump by only an inch or so and so he flipped around and landed face first on Mable Lou's heiny. He stood up and I could see that his nose had been bloodied but he was still ready for action. Just as he was pullin his fist back to punch through the glass, I hit the brakes and he was thrown clear. It's a good thing I stopped when I did because he was thrown right back into the black hole that's out there on 15. He got all stretchy for a bit and then just sorta disappeared. I know he's in there right now being all swirled around with the light and the time and all, like when I put my light-up watch in the blender by accident that once.
When he was taken care of, I drove forward to where I left the squimonk. They were dusting themselves off and getting ready to reboard the stealth zeppelin when I pulled up.
"What was that?" I asked.
"I don't know, Pat," said one, "I just don't know. We'll have to check with Alistair to get a full report."
Once I got back to the shop, Alistair started grillin me on what happened. He said he got back this afternoon and the shop was empty except for a Clan Platypus throwing star left blithely on the counter. That and a whole tray of Boston Cremes was missing. I guess ninjas love Boston Creme. Then it struck me.
"Jared," I said, "Where is Jared?"
Alistair looked around but none of the squimonk met his eyes. "None of us have seen him," he said.
His mom called me about an hour ago and I told her that he was out back fixing the car. I don't know what I'm going to tell her next time she calls. Hopefully, by then, we'll have found them. Until then, we're all hoping for the best. Wish us well.
With this in mind, I was on my way to the Wal-mart in the next town to pick up some spark plugs, wires, an oil filter, a case of 10w-40, some windshield wiper fluid, toothpaste and a spark plug gapper, all of which I thought I'd use to show Jared how to tune up a car, using the Continental we towed in as an experiment. Well, that's not exactly true. The toothpaste I was gonna use to brush my teeth and I thought I'd pick it up while I was out. For a week or two now I been nearly out of toothpaste, but I never remember when I'm anywhere toothpaste is so every day I gotta squeeze that little tube harder and I get less and less for it, kinda like a boa constrictor tryin to suffocate a troll about sunup time, just as the troll's turnin to stone. This mornin, I had to set up a contraption in my front yard so I could back Mable Lou up over the tube of toothpaste and have a drop no bigger'n a pea forced out onto my brush. That's why I'm finally breakin down and buyin toothpaste. That and I got a cupon in the mail yesterday, which I found in the pocket of my overalls this mornin. Ok, I'll admit it, the trip was largely a ruse in order to convince myself to finally by that toothpaste I needed. There, I said it. In the meantime, though, since I was travellin all that way and risking life and limb on the county roads out here, I thought Jared might as well learn how to tune up a car.
I'm stopped at the side of the road on 15, havin myself a little "me" time. I'd drunk a mess of coffee this mornin and some of it was ready to be released back into the wild, if you know what I mean. So, there I am, enjoyin the outdoors in the way it was meant to be enjoyed (steadily more satisfying), when I see a black figure crawlin up towards me in the grass. Now I figured that it was either a) another robot ninja who just picked the wrong time or b) Hammish's shadow which had torn free from its master and come to seek its revenge on those who did it wrong. With the array of choices before me, I found myself surprised at hoping that I would be fightin a ninja. I wouldn't even begin knowing how to fight a shadow. I suppose you could shine a light on it or somethin, but I don't know if that would be effective at all, not to mention that what I was currently holding in my hand was not a flashlight, nor was it capable of shining light in any way. I highly doubt that a shadow is defeated by spraying it with a little ammonia. Lucky for me, though, it turned out to be a ninja and I didn't have to resolve that particular confuddlement right then. I did have to return to a civilized state before readying myself for some more punching and head popping and possibly fire that seems to happen when I fight these things.
The ninja's just crawling along, trying to be stealthy, so I decide to be helpful by yellin', "I see you there in the grass, you might as well stand up if you're here to fight me."
And he does. He stands up out of the grass like an afternoon shadow gettin longer. For a bit, he tries lookin' around all innocent like, sorta like when a cat runs into a glass door and then pretends to clean itself, hopin you'll just ignore the fact that it walked into a door that's always been there. The only difference is that the ninja in this case does not clean itself. Also, the ninja is not a cat and there's not a door in sight. Another difference is that, after you see a cat run into a door, it rarely jumps at you in a spinning double roundhouse kick aimed at where the coffee goes in and also where the coffee comes out. Rarely, I've noticed, do you have to jump backwards from said kick and then jump forward and, with both fists, punch the cat, or in this case, ninja, directly in the stomach and solar plexus while he or she or it is in the air. It is also very uncommon for the cat, or ninja, to be more yielding than previous robots that you have fought, leading you to the conclusion that this is, in fact, not a robot. Furthermore, cats do not often, in my experience, have small platypus stitched into their chests. So, except for the fact that I was now fighting a real ninja, and a member of clan platypus, it was just like that cat thing.
The ninja was down on his face for a couple of seconds and I took the time to apply my alligator wrestlin skills. I jumped on his back and covered his eyes with my hands. Unlike alligators, ninjas do not fall asleep when you cover their eyes. I learned just today, in fact, that they are far more likely to kick you in the back of the head and then put you in some weird arm-lock while you are down than they are to fall asleep. In my experience, that happens 100% of the time when fighting actual ninjas. Luck, and invisible zeppelins, were on my side, though. Just as it felt like the ninja was ready to turn my arm into several thousand toothpicks, he was attacked by a half dozen or so squimonk. They raced up his back, legs and arms, biting and scratching the entire time. He let go of me to focus on his smaller enemies.
From above, I heard, "Quick, Pat, Run!" And so I turned and headed for the truck. I threw Mable Lou into drive and looked back to see how the fight was coming along. The ninja could barely get his hands on one squimonk when another would stand on his hand and pry his thumb back. He was thrashing around like a bearded lady trying to swim in a newly formed lake of tears, but it didn't seem the squimonk were making any headway. I was gettin ready to drive off when I started thinkin about all the good things them squimonk have done for me in the past couple of months. They're always protectin me and makin donuts for me. They fixed Mable Lou twice. They introduced me to Charles Lindbergh who has always been a hero of mine, even if he is a little nutty and his breath smells like brine. With all of that, I couldn't take the risk that one of those squimonk, one of my friends, could get hurt or killed while I just ran away. Somethin rose up from deep inside me and I yelled out, "No ninja hurts my friends!"
With that, I slammed the truck into reverse and drove it straight at the evil covered in fur in the middle of the road. Just before impact, I yelled "Squimonk, clear out!" They did without a moment's hesitation. It looked as if a yeti had exploded, leaving only a burnt husk behind. Then I hit him. I was goin pretty fast, but he still tried to jump into the bed. He missed the jump by only an inch or so and so he flipped around and landed face first on Mable Lou's heiny. He stood up and I could see that his nose had been bloodied but he was still ready for action. Just as he was pullin his fist back to punch through the glass, I hit the brakes and he was thrown clear. It's a good thing I stopped when I did because he was thrown right back into the black hole that's out there on 15. He got all stretchy for a bit and then just sorta disappeared. I know he's in there right now being all swirled around with the light and the time and all, like when I put my light-up watch in the blender by accident that once.
When he was taken care of, I drove forward to where I left the squimonk. They were dusting themselves off and getting ready to reboard the stealth zeppelin when I pulled up.
"What was that?" I asked.
"I don't know, Pat," said one, "I just don't know. We'll have to check with Alistair to get a full report."
Once I got back to the shop, Alistair started grillin me on what happened. He said he got back this afternoon and the shop was empty except for a Clan Platypus throwing star left blithely on the counter. That and a whole tray of Boston Cremes was missing. I guess ninjas love Boston Creme. Then it struck me.
"Jared," I said, "Where is Jared?"
Alistair looked around but none of the squimonk met his eyes. "None of us have seen him," he said.
His mom called me about an hour ago and I told her that he was out back fixing the car. I don't know what I'm going to tell her next time she calls. Hopefully, by then, we'll have found them. Until then, we're all hoping for the best. Wish us well.
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