Of course, we’re all looking forward to the beginning of summer, but here’s some signs you might be over-anticipating the summer fun.
You’ve replaced all your belts with inner tubes.
“Really, Barbara, must you wear that silly inner tube?” “If I want to keep my pants up, I do, Betty!”
You refuse to eat anything that doesn’t come on a stick.
“Hi, yes I”ll have a corn dog.” “Sorry, we don’t have corn dogs.” “Then give me some cotton candy.” “Sorry, no cotton candy.” “Popcicle?” “Nope.” “Shish Kabob?” “No.” “Would you by any chance have a carmeled apple or chocolate banana on a stick? “Just order a Happy Meal, Bub.”
You’ve asked Al Gore for a little extra “fun in the sun” global warming.
What’s that? You want a little more global warming? Oh yeah? Come up here a minute, I’ll give you a little extra global warming!”
You’ve got a bee up your bonnet and you’ve never been happier!
“Yes bees! Summer’s here! Somebody get me my bonnet!”
Two Words: Thong City
What? Wait . . . not those kind of thongs!
You’ve gone a little crazy because you can’t find your pail and shovel.
Wait a minute fellas! Dear God! Is that my pail and shovel over there?
You refuse to relax on anything that doesn’t inflate.
“Come on Marge! You’ve been out there 17 hours. Don’t you want to come in for dinner?” “That depends . . .did you get the inflatable dining set blown up yet?”
You’re getting a reputation as someone who has a lot of beach balls!
“Wow! Those are impressive balls!” “Thank you!’
And there you have it Dear Readers! Now get out there and have a great weekend.
Hello Dear Readers! What shall we do today? Hm . . . Oh I know! Let’s look at how Moms have been portrayed as Brain Dead through the decades. As it just so happens, I found a few vintage cookbooks that we can use to contrast and compare.
Brain Dead Mom from 1937
Poor Brain Dead Mom from 1937! It looks like she might have infused just a tad too much personality into her baked goods. So much so that they are now holding her hostage. And is her shadow sprouting a horn? Oh my! But somehow Brave Brain Dead Mom of 1937 still manages to smile even though she can’t quite hide the terror in those vacant peepers of hers.
Brain Dead Mom from 1953:
Ah! Brain Dead Mom from 1953 is clearly relieved and happy now. The War is over! Hitler’s dead! And, judging from her eyes, her doctor just prescribed a lifetime supply of Seconal for her anxiety as well as Benzedrine to be taken every ten minutes to ensure her waist circumference stays at 11-and-1/2-inches. Which gives Brain Dead Mom from 1953 lots and lots of energy so she can dedicate her entire existence to cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking . . .
Brain Dead Mom from 1959
Brain Dead Mom from 1959 has her act together! No more cowering in the horn-sprouting shadows from her baked goods. No more mindless cooking and cooking and cooking. No sir! When one gazes into the eyes of Brain Dead Mom from 1959, one can clearly detect a Valium-induced, vague optimism for the future of her country, the future of her family and the future of her green pepper. Clearly Brain Dead Mom of 1959 is a more confident women than her predecessors. Why? Because she doesn’t know any better, that’s why!
Brain Dead Mom From 1965
A Ring a ding ding, Baby! Brain Dead Mom from 1965 has it all going on! She doesn’t even have to open her eyes anymore! Oh sure she’s still popping a few “bennies” now and then, but come on! How else is she going to maintain her 11- and-1/2-inch waist what with all the food she’s been eating and all those martinis she’s been swilling with her new devil-may-care attitude? Brain Dead Mom from 1965 would never cower from her own baking! Ha ha! Don’t make her laugh! Because Brain Dead Mom from 1965 has a life! She’s fancy! She’s frivolous! She’s fun! And somewhere along the line she learned to play the triangle!
I have a feeling there are lots and lots of other examples of Brain Dead Moms Through the Decades out there on the shelves of my favorite thrift store! And I make this pledge to you, Dear Readers, that I will not rest until I have messed up everything on the shelf looking for them!
Until next time . . . I love you
. . .. and cooking and cooking cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking and cooking . . .to be continued . . .
Hello Dear Readers. Well, if this is Wednesday, it must be Friday. Because at this blog, Wednesdays are the new Fridays!
That’s because Rochelle Wisoff-Fields over at Addicted to Purple is the gracious hostess of Friday Fictioneers even though she doesn’t serve refreshments (that I know of) — where writers are inspired to write a 100-word story based on the weekly posted picture. Here’s this week’s picture:
window-dressing-janet-webb.jpg
Louise Goes on a Date
But Louise, how could you borrow a Pietro Pairajelli dressfrom your place of work to wear to the movies with Howard?
“Well, I didn’t know we’d get robbed waiting in line, and they’d steal the Pietro Pairajelli and Howard’s toupee — the only two things we had of value. I had to watch the movie in my slip, Betty, and poor Howard caught pneumonia and died.”
“From the draft on his head?”
“Uh huh. And now I’ll be fired.”
“Wait! Isn’t that the Pietro Pairajelli over there on the fire escape, Louise?”
“Yes!”
You’re the luckiest person on earth, Louise!
“I know, huh.”
* * *
And there you have it Dear Readers. This week’s story came in at 104 words no matter how much I tried to cram it into 100 — some stories just refuse to cooperate!
Dear Readers. I would like to make a formal apology at this time to the decade of the 1970’s. Lately, I’ve been mercilessly picking on how strange, weird and downright creepy the seventies were. But then, after not thinking about it very much, I decided who cares? So join me won’t you as we laugh at the seventies and not with them.
Let’s flip through the pages of this Woman’s Day Knit & Stitch Magazine from 1973, shall we?
She’s a 70’s Gal, and she’s all gussied up in the knitted robe and matching knitted knickers she knitted! knitted! knitted! herself! Because in the seventies, not only did gals know how to knit! — they also knew how to pretend they were actually going to wear the stuff they knitted out in public! But you never actually saw anyone out and about wearing a get-up such as this one, except for maybe Mick Jagger who combined a hat deceitfully tipped below one eye and a scarf (but it was apricot.)
Have Beach Mat Will Travel Will Not Have Fun!
Well here’s a case where the 70’s sewing project has not only taken center stage, but also has taken over this poor woman’s life. Oh sure, she’s at the beach but all the fun is clearly being had by the beach mat itself. Do you get the feeling this 70’s woman doesn’t make a move without consulting the lady on her beach mat first?All the instruction on how to make this groovy beach bag that doubles as a fun-loving beach mat are included in the magazine. Unfortunately, there are no instructions about how to tell if the clogs you wear with it are three sizes too small.Aside from the fact that this looks a little like the Second Coming of Christ (when shrunk down smaller), it was also one of the miracle ways to kill some serious 70’s decade time. The Heir-Loom was an ingenious gadget that made daisies and more daisies and more daisies until the daisy-maker became trapped in a sea of her own daisy-making madness. She would go so nutty she would start making clothing out of the daisies and then a house and then a car and then . . dear lord! . . . a daisy dust cover for the entire planet earth! The only thing that will stop her is the second coming. Pray for the second coming dear readers! Pray like you’ve never prayed before!See? When shrunk doesn’t this picture look like the second coming?
And there you have it, Dear Reader. Today’s romp through the ridiculous fields the the 70’s. I hope you had as much fun as I did laughing at the 70’s expense!
Hello Dear Readers! It’s Wedfrinesday again. Where writers are challenged to stretch their synapses in the Making-Stuff-Up Hemisphere of the brain every Friday by writing a 100-word story from a picture prompt posted on Wednesday by Rochell Wisoff-Fields!
I know it sounds confusing the way I’m explaining it. But that’s because while I was stretching my synapses, I got a cramp . . .
When Sally saw the condition of the phone, her heart — which was located almost in the middle of her chest — (but too far to the left for her boyfriend, Charlie’s liking) — sank.
Sally’s eyes welled up with tears nearly simultaneously-; the right welling faster than the left (something Charlie abhorred). Sally grabbed the receiver with her right-hand while wiping tears away with her left and dialed Charlie’s number with her nose — located basically in the middle (but off centered enough to be unattractive Charlie thought) of Sally’s face.
Dear Readers! I’ve been away from my blog for four whole days! My kids visited, and we all whooped it up Vernon Style in a combination, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Spring Birthday, Memorial Day celebration! Gosh we had a good time! We figure it will hold us over until June when we’ll all get together again to celebrate National Accordion Month! (Can! Not! Wait!)
But Dear Readers, as you know, life isn’t all fun and games. No siree! Sometimes life is a serious business and as such, you have to get the most out of every single minute — which brings us to today’s topic:
What Color Is Your Parachute You Wish You Had Right Now?
“Ha ha! A must read for anybody hanging by their necks until dead” — The Executioner’s Quarterly
Clear and Present Danger, Tell Me Something I Don’t Know Edition
“A real no duh, engrossingly obvious read!’ — Hangin’ Judge
Amy Vanderbilt’s Complete Book of Swinging Back and Fourth Etiquette
“A complete guide to avoiding that final faux pas!” — Washington State Penitentiary’s Gallows Supervisor
The Pit and Hey Lookee Me I’m the Pendulum
“Great last-minute death-penalty zen tips” — Zen Masters Weekly
The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People Who Can’t Breath
“I heartily recommend this to anyone who is undergoing personal changes from, say, alive to dead.” — Pope Benedict XVI
Literally Lord of the Flies
“The most effective step-by-step fly management program to date.” –The Association of American Fly Farmers
The Agony and the Ecstasy Only Ixnay on the Ecstasyay
“The Agony and the Ecstasy abridged version that ‘Death Penaltees’ won’t be able to put down until it drops out of their hands on its own accord.!” Billy the Kid’s Ghost
Ο Things to Do Before You Die, The Heavily Discounted Edition
“Literally thousands of great suggestions not included! And at a price you’ll love” — Necktie Party Publishers Weekly
And there you have it, Dear Readers! Now, I must admit, this post was a little weird even for me. I’m blaming it on too much cake while whooping it up with the family. I’m really going to have to watch it at next months National Accordion Celebration!
Hello Dear Readers and welcome to Wed-Fri-nesday. I decided to make up a new day of the week because 1) it’s high time somebody did 2) the Friday Fictioneer 100-word writing challenge starts on Wednesday.
Every Wedfrinesday, Rochell Wisoff-Fields, provides a weekly picture prompt, and writers are challenged to write a 100-word story. Go here if you want to join in: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Addicted to Purple Blog and you should! Why? Well, what better way to celebrate the very first Wedfrinesday?
Copyright Sarah Hall
The Doing, the Undoing and the Redoing of Sean
Sean squished a spider crawling on his prized lawn trophy with his half-emptied whiskey bottle; congratulating himself in one instant, and disgusting himself in the next – with just how low he had sunk, accomplishment-wise.
When he was riding high with two consecutive wins at the Lawnmower Blade Sharpening British Open, the money and the fame had gone to Sean’s head.
His wife left, his kids left, his dog left, and even his goldfish . . . wait . . . no! He still had his goldfish!
Sean straightened his tie, picked up his goldfish bowl and headed into the future.
P.S. This story came in at exactly 100 words not counting the title and the 1,000 words the picture tells.
Though Ancient Romans tried valiantly to crucify, burn and/or feed to wild animals as many people as possible on any given day, it seems they were no match for the killing powers of the plague bacterium, Yersinia Pestis, which, experts believe, was responsible for killing an estimated 100 million (MDLXXXVII) Romans.
After studying a boatload of ancient skeletons, Barbara Bramanti, an Archaeogeneticist at Johannes Gutenberg University in Mainz Germany, was flabbergasted to discover Yersinia Pestis was responsible for all the plague epidemics in the last 1500 years — almost as flabbergasted as she was to discover the Johannes Gutenberg University in Mainz Germany actually offered a degree in Archeogenetics!
“Oh wonderful! Another full parking lot!”
There’s Bones in Them Thar Parking Lots
Digging up parking lots and looking for bones is the new Archeology craze that is sweeping the UK! The recent discovery of the royal bones of King Richard the III, underneath a Parking Lot in Leicester has given rise to The UK Bone Rush of 2013 causing archeologists with bone fever to leave their wives and families, and risk everything to go downtown and dig for ancient bones underneath parking lots all over the UK.
Recently, some lucky archeologists struck bone after digging up a parking lot in downtown Scotland that turned up big, huge nuggets of bones from a medieval knight and his family. And the mining of another parking lot at the corner of Newarke and Oxford streets, yielded the Motherlode when an entire Roman Cemetery was discovered!
UK traffic experts fear if this worrying trend continues unchecked, there will be absolutely nowhere to park in the entire British Isles by this time next year.
Listen, if TLaloc II-TC says they’re not rocks, they’re not rocks, okay?
Robot Finds Little Mysterious Spheres in Ancient Temple
In order to explore a tunnel in the pyramid of Teotihuacan in Mexico, claustrophobic archeologists sent in a remote-controlled robot affectionately dubbed, TLaloc II-TC, that had an infrared camera and a 3D laser scanner strapped to where it’s little eyes should be.
Archeologists were positively giddy when little TLaloc II-TC, working all by itself, managed to discover mysterious spheres laying around everywhere on the floor of the tunnel.
When experts pointed out that the spheres looked more like rocks than spheres, the team of claustrophobic archeologists rushed to cover little TLaloc II-TC’s ears and insisted it was merely a coincidence. The experts were then told, in no uncertain terms, not to let the ten-ton, secret-pyramid-chamber door hit them on their way out.
Welcome, Dear Readers, to this Sunday’s edition of The Bible According to Gregory.
Let’s listen in and see what Gregory learned in Sunday school this morning, shall we?
Awkward Moments For Moses
One beautiful biblical morning, the Lord began saying to Moses.“Depart and go up from here to the land of which I swore to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob . . .”
While the Lord was talking, Moses began sighing and picking leaves out of his sheep’s fur, secretly wishing the Lord wouldn’t always feel the need to recap the entire events of mankind before moving on to His next topic.
“. . . I will send My angel, and I will drive out the Hittites, the Canaanites and Amorites . . .”
Moses quietly opened his satchel and started nibbling on his fig sandwich.
“. . . and the Hittite, the Perizzite and the Hivite and Jebusites . . .”
While Moses was adjusting his sandals the Lord said,”Go up to a land flowing with milk and honey for I will not go in your midst, lest I consume you on the way, for you are a stiff-necked people.“
Say what? Did the Lord just say he liked to consume stiff-necked people?
” Okaaaaay . . . ” Moses said, “but just a quick question, Lord. By consume, You don’t by any chance mean “eat” stiff-necked people, do you? Moses hung his head while he asked the queston to make his neck looked limper. “I only ask because eat and consume usually mean the same thing.”
But the Lord didn’t hear Moses’ question, what with all the noisy sacrificing going on in the background.
When Moses relayed to his people, the Peoplites, about the Lord’s plans to relocate them to the land of Milk and Honey — but that the Lord wouldn’t be coming along personally due His, ahem, Inappropriate Eating Problem, they mourned and took off all their ornaments and laid them on the ground. (This was way before they had Christmas trees to hang them on.)
Then the Lord told Moses exactly what to say to the Peoplites about his inappropriate eating problem.
“Say to the children of Israel, “you are a stiff-necked people, I could come up into your midst one moment and consume you. Now therefore take off your ornaments so that I may know what to do.”
Either the stiff-necked Peoplite’s ornaments were jingling so loud the Lord couldn’t hear himself think, or the Lord wanted them to take off the ornaments as they tended to get stuck in the Lord’s Beard whenever He “consumed” stiff-necked Peoplites.
Anyway, by now the Lord and Moses were pretty close friends. By today’s standards, they would have not only been friends on Facebook; they would have made sure to click the like button on each other’s blog posts.
So Moses pitched a “meeting tent” where he and the Lord could meet. Moses sat inside the tent while the Lord appeared outside the tent as a pillar of smoke, (the Lord’s favorite avatar).
Everything was going really great, relationship-wise, until one day Moses blurted out, “Would you mind if I took a peek at your real face, Lord?
What followed was an awkward silence of epic proportions. Finally the Lord just flat out told Moses that if he showed Moses his face Moses, Moses would die from looking at it — thither on the spot!
Talk about awkward! After that Moses didn’t know what to say and either did the Lord.
Finally the Lord just completely changed the subject. “Cut two stones and meet me up on Mt. Sinai tomorrow, Moses.”
“Sure!” Moses said, hugely relieved. May I inquire as to why?” Moses sat down and prepared himself for another of the Lord’s long, drawn-out explanation.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out” was all the Lord would say.
Stay tune next week when Gregory retells what he learned about the Ten Commandments in Sunday School.
Until next time . . . I love you
“No I’ve been listening, Lord. You were saying something about the Vermiculites? “No, Moses, I was talking about the Hittites! Will you stop fooling with your sandal and listen!”
Hello Dear Readers. Today is the Trifecta 33-word challenge. Today’s challenge is to incorporate an example of onomatopoeia –words that sound like what they mean –like splash, whoosh, and yadda yadda.
Little Horribella
Little Horribella pulled the string on her talking doll.
“Oink!”
Horribella whacked it and tried again.
“Ding-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling!”
“Oh this stupid doll!” Horribella lit the dynamite.
I twitter and I don’t know why. In fact, speaking as a baby boomer that’s not getting any younger at an alarming rate, I predict that “I twitter and I don’t know why!” will be the new aging-boomer catch phrase that officially replaces, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!”
I have a feeling it all boils down to Bob Hope
Do I have any idea why I twitter? I have tweeted 696 times. But to what purpose? To what end? Frankly, I suspect since I have to ask, I’m too old to be twittering (or is it tweeting?).
I think understanding Twitter is one of those generational-gap phenomenons that were so popular in back the 60’s — where we baby boomers would roll our eyes when our parents laughed at Bob Hope wearing a Beatles wig while singing, “she loves you, yeah yeah yeah”. Only now instead of Bob Hope, hashish and shaggy hair we’ve got Louis CK, hash tags and Friday Follow.
Hey what’s everybody talking about? I said what’s everybody talking about? Hello?
Twitter, for me, is like being in a group of people where everyone is laughing and talking about something — but I’m late to the conversation and I can never quite get the gist of what they are discussing.
So I just try faking it by smiling and laughing along hoping I’ll figure it out in minute. During a lull, I might ask the person next to me what everyone is talking about, and just as they are about to fill me in, somebody says something funny and the person starts laughing again and never gets back to me.
Now Just Slow Down There A Minute Sonny . . . Granny don’t go that fast!
Take this morning for instance. I went to my twitter account and I saw that a blogger who used to have a funny WordPress blog is now a comedian. So I tweeted a reply congratulating him and went to click out of Twitter one second later and saw that he had already replied to my reply. And he has thousands of followers! How can he go so fast? That’s what this old lady wants to know? (Btw, you can follow Rob https://twitter.com/MyHairyLife — maybe, I don’t know.)
And so I put it to you, Dear Readers. Why do you tweet? What is the purpose of tweeting? I would love to know why I tweet from those of you young enough to understand why.
I thank you in advance, and, as a lovely parting gift for reading this far, I will leave you with a few of my favorite tweets:
I got up out of bed (I would have sprung up out of bed but that particular spring is on the fritz.) Stumbled to the three C’s — Coffee, Computer, and Ceyboard. Stared out the window for a while but didn’t see any UFO’s. Wrote a post.
2)
Took my little dog/toupee, Cha, for a walk around the neighborhood while keeping a lookout for UFO’s. Still didn’t see any.
Toupee in Training
3)
Went to the Spaghetti Factory for lunch with the family. After that we went to park across the street. Didn’t see any UFO’s there either. (I think they’re deliberately avoiding me.)
4)
Went to a couple of thrift stores. And that’s when I spotted the UFO! (Not really — just trying to drum up a little excitement. Note to self: get new drum.)
5)
But while I was there I did come across this “Cool and Collected” magazine:
It’s so cool and collected it doesn’t feel the need to tell you what it’s about.
Let’s see if we can glean what “ca HOME +DESIGN” is about by the hints on the cover shall we?
Let’s see . . . maybe it’s about a man who enjoys wearing a 1945 Movie Theater Usher’s uniform while relaxing in his trendy, cement home that also doubles as a trendy nuclear fallout shelter and/or bank vault.
And it also looks like maybe 1945 Theater Usher Man put too much honey on his toast this morning and got honey all over his fingers and then reached into his pencil box and got honey all over his pencils too –getting everything hopelessly suck together and — at that exact moment– the photographers showed up to photograph 1945 Theater Usher Man’s trendy cement home.
Naturally he had nochoice but to throw the whole sticky mess on the coffee table hoping to pass them off as “art” which the photographers obviously fell for hook, line and sinker!
Oh that 1945 Theater Usher Man is such a stinker! A trendy, artistic stinker, but a stinker all the same.
And by the look on 1945 Theater Usher Man’s face, you can just tell he is eagerly anticipating licking the honey off those pencils the second the photographers leave.
“Mmmmmmm . . . honey . . . .”
1945 Theater Usher Man is also hiding his hands behind his back either because 1) he doesn’t want anyone to notice their covered with honey or because 2) he’s hiding the fact that he’s honey-glued himself to the wall.
“La la la la la la la . . . no, I’m not stuck to the wall, why?”
Oh that 1945 Theater Usher Man may be a stinker, but he’s nobody’s fool!
Well I’m sure there a many more fun pages to discuss in this magazine, Dear Readers, but I have to go find my camera now. . . I think I just saw a UFO outside the window. Either that or I need to wash them. Either way I bid you adieu.
Welcome Dear Readers! It’s time for Friday Fictioneers. And the good thing is you don’t even have to have any ears to participate!
All you have to do is go to RochelleWisoff-FieldsAddicted to Purple and take a look at the picture (which is posted every Wednesday) and write a 100-word story about it. Link up and Viola! Lookee you! You’re a Friday Fictioneer!!
Here’s this week’s picture:
icon-grill-ted-strutz
Brenda’s New Job Sucks
And they expected her to do this for eternity? Seriously? Brenda hadn’t even been a ghost for a full hour, and she was bored stiff.
Brenda swept her arm across the bar again. Everything went crashing to the floor again. Hardly anyone one noticed, again, because the jukebox was screaming Jeremiah Was A Bullfrog again.
“It’s a ghost!” Someone shouted. “I got her picture!”
Everyone rushed over including Brenda. Yeah, that was her alright. Everyone thought she looked spooky, but Brenda thought she looked fat.
Well, Brenda’s supervisor was coming tomorrow. Maybe he’d reassign her somewhere better. Like hell.
And there you have it, Dear Readers, this week’s Friday Fictioneer’s Challenge.
Hello Dear Readers! It’s time to get out the word shaker and shake out 33 words for this week’s 33-word Trifecta Writing Challenge. This time we are asked to “write the origin story to the superhero of your choice in exactly 33 words.”
That Tragic Extra P
Gobbling the third meal of the day faster than a speeding bullet by age 2.
More powerful than breakfast and lunch and dinner by 20!
