How to Drink a Castor Oil Sandwich in 1949

I found this little 1949 booklet at the thrift store the other day.

Apparently, back in 1949, before Facebook was invented, people had to make friends with whomever (or whatever) they could scrape up.

Alright fine, but how hard up does a person have to be to count Pure Bicarbonate of Soda as one of their friends?

I’m talking to you people of 1949! What were you thinking making Bicarbonate of Soda your friend?  Hello?  . . . ok, fine don’t answer me.

I’ll make something up and say it’s true. That’s what you get for ignoring me!

Let’s start by pretending we live in 1949.  What else were you doing today anyway. (I mean besides pretending to be working).

As you know, the first thing to do when pretending anything is to rush over to Google and start asking a lot of unnecessary questions:

What was the cost of a first class stamp in 1949?   

Google says: $.03


Who was the President of the United States in 1949?

Google says: “Harry S. Truman”


Why did Newfoundland join the Canada Confederation?   

Google says: “You’re joking right?”

How do you write 1949 in Roman Numerals?  

Google says: “Get outta here kid, ya bother me.”

Well apparently Google got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. So let’s try to conjure up 1949 by using this picture from 1951 that I found in my baby book and subtracting 2 years from it in our minds.

Checking to see if limbs are operable
Me and Mom (I'm on the right)

As you can see from this picture of me and Mom, 1949 was rather bleak, stark and dark. On the upside, they did have doilies (one) and lamps (one) and a window (one).

And even though you don’t see any “friends” in this picture, I’ll bet you anything if you were to go into the kitchen, you would have found Mom’s besty, Pure Bicarbonate of Soda, relaxing on the kitchen shelf, at the ready for Mom should she suddenly need Dear ol’ Carby.

OK, now that our minds are firmly ensconced in 1949, let’s just pretend something came up, and we are going to need our new BFF, Dear ol’ Carby, to come to the rescue.

Let’s say we were in need of . . . oh I don’t know maybe a . . . CASTER OIL SANDWICH?

Apparently back in 1949, there was some weirdness going on. First, that a Caster Oil Sandwich was actually on any menu at all, and second, that  it was a sandwich  you were suppose to :“Drink while effervescing.” 

I don’t know about you, but I rarely effervesce when I drink sandwiches . . . but that’s just me.

What’s say we toddle back  over to Google, shall we?  And let’s ask Google why anybody would want to drink a Caster oil Sandwich:

Under what circumstances would someone drink a Caster oil Sandwich?

Google says: “Get outta here kid, you bother me!”

Fine be that way!

If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen with Dear ol’ Carby preparing a Caster oil Sandwich for our new besty, Goog.

Eww!
Until next time . . . I love you

Trifecta Weekend Challenge Try 2: Poindexter’s Birthday

The Weekend Trifecta Writing Challenge is to take a scene that involves (or affects) at least three people and write this scene from the point of view of three of the characters, using 33 words for each character.  —  HA! Just realized after writing my story I didn’t follow these directions . . . oops! 

Poindexter’s Birthday

“I hate my name,”  little Poindexter Hepatitis remarked to his mother, Roberta.

“Which one? Poindexter or Hepatitis?” Roberta asked absently — for her mind was more agreeably engaged with the placement of the candles on Poindexter’s birthday cake.

Poindexter was about to answer when he was interrupted by his father, Vladimir Hepatitis. 

“Nonsense!” Vladimir Hepatitis harrumphed. “Vladimir is a good enough name for me and it’s a good enough name for my son.”

“But father, you didn’t name me Vladimir, you named me Poindexter”

“No kidding? What was I thinking?”

The Hepatitis’s couldn’t stop laughing as they ate their cake.

Vladimir Poindexter Hepatitus

The Weekend Trifecta Writing Challenge: The Adventures of the Three Mosquito Brothers

The Weekend Trifecta Writing Challenge  is to take a scene that involves (or affects) at least three people and write this scene from the point of view of three of the characters, using 33 words for each character. 

NOTE to Trifecta Challenge:  I am assuming it’s OK to use mosquitos instead of people. 

The Adventures of the Three Mosquito Brothers

“If only I sucked as much as you do, Ted!” Mosquito Tod Plurp remarked to his brother Ted “the slurp” Plurp – which immediately made their other brother, Edwardio, jealous.

“But Edwardio sucks big time too, Tod.” Ted said and shot Tod a look that said you’re hurting his feelings Bro!

Edwardio, who was sulkily sucking, just sighed.

Ted and Tod were in the process of apologizing profusely to their brother Edwardio  (who continued his sucking sulking) when a hand came down and flattened both Ted and Tod Plurp which made Edwardio stop sucking long enough to smile before skedaddling!

The End.

The idea for this post was suggested to me by Asifa at Crazy Life . . . Always Expect d UnEXpec TEd!!!!  who wants to spread awareness through posts for  Nothing But Nets a global, grassroots campaign of the united Nations Foundation to raise awareness and funding to fight malaria — the cause of large scale deaths in developing countries. So thank you Asifa for bringing this to our attention.

The Mysteries of Existence Explained

Welcome Dear Readers to Lazy Friday Blog Day where I go to all the trouble of finding something I’ve already written, shaking the cobwebs off it, airing it out a bit and then giving it a quick once over with the iron.  Anyway here it is:

The Mysteries of Existence Explained

Good News!  I finally found a hobby!   It’s thinking up theories that would explain the mystery of existence. It’s fun.  Here’s what I’ve got so far:

The Advanced Form of Donkey Kong Theory of Existence

Could it be that we don’t really exist in this world at all?  Maybe we are actually in some cosmic Pizza Parlor playing a video game that seems like real life only when we die; it just means our pizza is ready?

There is a lot of evidence supporting this particular take on the nature of reality in that when your pizza is ready they “call your number”.   And we sometimes refer to someone’s dying as “their number being up.”  It seems plausible to a science  hobbiest such as myself,  that life might be just an advanced form of Donkey Kong you are playing until your pizza’s ready.

The “I Say Congealed You Say Cajoled” Theory of the existence

This one goes like this. Life is merely a humongous glob of uncongealed matter put here to cajole us into thinking that matter matters.

The Great Uncongealed

This conglomeration of The Great Uncongealed is designed to keep us so busy we won’t even notice that we don’t know who we are — what we are — where we came from — where we are going – or what we’re supposed to be doing. If true, it seems to be working pretty good so far.

The Life is Simply a Figment of One’s Imagination Theory of Existence

This is the theory where upon  everything exists because and only because you “think” it exists.  It goes something like this:

You’re brain concentrates only on the things you want to have in your life.  It does this by directing a beam of energy out of your eyes and into, say, your living room, where whatever it is you just thought about is materialized just seconds before you sit down in that chair that was there seconds earlier but isn’t there anymore. (The Universe thinks this is hilarious, by the way, so just pretend you don’t notice or you will only encourage it.)

I know it’s a little confusing.  Perhaps if I tried explaining it in a different way . . .

Let’s say you are out in the forest when a tree suddenly falls just as you are entering the cottage of the three bears.  And as far as you know, there is nobody else in the forest.  Well, except maybe for Goldilocks but just for the sake of argument, let’s pretend she’s deaf. Isn’t this fun?

Did  the tree make any noise when it fell?  If you answered no, did it ever occur to you that you might have been slurping your porridge so loudly you couldn’t have heard a nuclear explosion?

My point is – and I assure you I have one . . . I think . . . well, now you’ve got me so upset about poor little deaf Goldilocks, I forgot what my point was . . . I hope you’re happy.

“Say what?”

Until next time . . . I love you

The AARP / AAA Smackdown for Little Ol’ Moi

Gosh! I haven’t been this popular since I was in the eighth grade and three boys liked me at the same time.  But that magical time of youth was nothing compared to the fuss AARP and AAA are making over me. It’s enough to make a girl blush into a coma! LOL (laughing out loud)

And all because I’m so alluring (ly old).

Today it’s AAA that’s come a-courting.  For instance, this tender love letter  arrived only moments ago by special dispatch because, ahem . . . there’s not a minute to lose:

Now that’s exactly what I was thinking on the way to my mailbox . . .  I was literally thinking if only someone, somewhere would just give an old, sick, poor loser such as myself one last chance . . . well, I just figured it was just some kind of OFFOM! (old-fogey fantasy of mine)

And then when I proceeded to read:

“Or you may want to wipe out any outstanding debts after your passsing or relieve your family from the expense of a funeral.”

Well, doggone it, my heart melted, AAA! (American Automobile Association!)

You are so Frigging Sweet!  You mean to tell me you want to wipe out my debts after my passing?  You are soooo adorable OMG ! (oh my god!)

One small question though– you don’t say after passing what?  Do you mean after passing the bar exam or something because I’ve never been to law school — you must be getting me mixed up with someone else. ROFBAHL  (rolling on floor breaking a hip laughing!)

Anyway, I’m delighted that you want to relieve my family from the expense of a funeral and that’s great and all, but we don’t normally go around paying for random people’s funerals so I’m a little confused MBTA! (must be the alzheimers!)

But wait a minute.   Are you being ironic on purpose AAA?  Because didn’t you just imply that any minute now I could KTB? (kick the bucket?)  Oh I get it, you’re just messing with my SM!  (senile mind!)

SILLY AAA! (silly american automobile association!)

PS. I so frigging love you right now I can’t even say!

************

Until next time . . . I love you

Ain’t Monday Smarvelous!

It’s Monday once again. (I’m starting to sense a pattern here.) I thought it might be nice to start the week out with some happy peppy people. And I just happened to have a few stashed away in the corner waiting for a time such as this to spring them on you. And so, fresh from their last appearance at the Thrift store may I present:

Happy Peppy People Who Are A Little Bit Too Happy and Too Peppy for Their Own Good.

What are these Happy Peppy People doing?

They are being the spokes models for the Ray Coniff Orchestra with every fiber of their being.

Isn’t it Smarvelous?  The back cover tries to explain what’s going on with this inexplicable explanation:

‘S Connif too, with a companion volume, although in no sense a sequel to his bestselling “Wonderful! This time the music is moodier, and the arrangements a little more subtle . . .

Subtle, yes well . . . I mean what could be more subtle than fully clothed pole dancers? Or maybe they’re fully clothed people hugging gigantic pencils? Either way, it’s subtle alright. In fact, it’s Subtle Marvelous or Smarvelous, if you will.

Oh look!  These adorably diminutive Happy Peppy People who have just been run out of town on a rail are the New Christy Minstrels!  Not to be confused with the Old Christy Minstrels who the New Christie Minstrels bound and gagged and hid in the backstage closet.

Of course, the New Christy Minstrels are now, themselves, the Old Christy Minstrels.  Not to worry, scientists knew this was going to happen and have been working ‘round the clock since 1972 to prepare the new ones.

They are hoping to have The New Christy-Clone Minstrels ready in time for Christmas.

Here’s some Happy Peppy People who named themselves Serendipity.

This is a group of fun-loving singers who are awaiting their chance to bind and gag the New Christie Minstrels and stash them in the closet along with the Old Christy Minstrels so they can replace them both as the New Most-Improved Christy Minstrels.  Talk about Serendipity!

And finally here’s a Happy Peppy Person who is so happy and so peppy he is literally having — and I quote:  “The Time of My Life!”

The first sentence on the back cover explains:

“John Davidson is a six-foot, blue-eyed young baritone who sings with a unique combination of warmth and power . . .”

It’s a good thing he sings with power too because somebody seems to have stolen his microphone . . . shhhh . . . don’t tell him though, there’s no reason to ruin the time of his life.

Until next time . . . I love you

Trifecta Weekend Writing Challenge: A 33-Word Letter of Apology Try #2

For this week’s challenge, you have to write a letter of apology in exactly 33 words. Addresses, salutations, closings, etc. (should you wish to include them) do not count in the 33 words.

Try #2

What happened to your shockingly-sensational, silk sari sipping Seven-up in the surrey at six on Saturday certainly sucks seriously.

Super sorry about your sari, Sarah.

P.S.  Oh and sorry about the Salmonella too.

Sid

Sarah