Welcome Dear Readers to the Weekend Trifecta Challenge. Today’s challenge is to write a haiku. : an unrhymed verse form having three lines containing five, seven, and five syllables respectively.
No oranges for you
Someone times them by zero
They all disappeared!
Until next time . . . I love you
Welcome Dear Readers! Well it seems the time has finally come to talk about baby eating, a topic that some of you may find a tad offensive. However, for those of you brave enough to continue reading past this point → •, let’s dig in and talk about baby eating, shall we?
Cue the first slide:
Is it just me, or does this woman look like she’s not really trying very hard to save her baby? I mean, she could just reach over and pry the baby out of the lions mouth. Maybe she could even get the lion to open his mouth on his own with a few “here kitty kitty’s.” But no. Instead she looks like she’s about to say, “Wait here while I run home and get the rest of my children. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lambs tail and I’ll even bring the lamb for dessert.”
Cue the next slide:
Okay, here’s a mother who will clearly never make mother of the year. She seems far more concerned with the fact that the window washer is squeegeeing the underside of her husband’s calf than with the fact that one of her babies is playing with a fire-breathing dragon while another one is being eaten whole by a farmer on his lunch break.
And don’t you get the feeling that the man at the gate just sold her a case of Big Daddy Magellan’s Medieval Mesquite Baby Seasoning Salt?
And the next slide please:
Okay, here’s a baby eater that can’t even keep up! He’s got babies coming out of his ears! Clearly this baby eater has it all, wings, a full head (and body) of hair and a bellybutton that looks like Mickey Mouse. And even though he’s feasting on a baby, he still has rather kind eyes, don’t you think?
In fact, I have a feeling he’d make a better mother than the other mothers pictured above. Maybe that why people babies are lining up to be eaten by him — probably figuring that since they’re going to be eaten anyway — they might as well be eaten by a kind sort of monster — at least one who has a belly button shaped like Mickey Mouse.
Whoa! Here’s a baby eater that can clearly pack it away (and probably never gain a pound!). He’s got no qualms about chowing down on a baby two-thirds his size. I just hope his eyes don’t prove to be bigger than his stomach and I just hope his stomach is able to handle an entire baby-leg in one bite.
Nobody would eat a baby like this today. The potential for choking is far to great! We can only assume that this man is competing in some sort of Medieval baby-eating contest for which the prize is an all you can eat baby buffet. Let’s just hope he’s got a big supply of Big Daddy Magellan’s Medieval Mesquite Baby Seasoning Salt on hand cause he’s gonna need it!
And that concludes today’s baby-eating themed post. And if you enjoyed it enough, perhaps there will be more Baby-Eating Themed posts in this blog’s future.
Until next time . . . I love you
Hello Dear Readers! Happy Wednesday! The only day of the week that has a hump — giving the rest of the days of the week something to grip onto thus keeping them from flying off into space.
Plus Wednesday is also Friday Fictioneers Day, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple — so it’s all good.
Here’s the prompt picture which will serve as this week’s inspiration for a 100-word story provided by Dawn M. Miller.
Mademoiselle Bouillabaisse-Bourgeois crossed the lobby of the Eiffel Tower, and all eyes drank of her beauty like they were drinking a tumbler of Chardonnay after eating a 16-inch baguette.
But no eyes drank more than Benny Flump’s. Benny’s eyes were bigger than his stomach when it came to beautiful French women. And Benny thought Mademoiselle Bouillabaisse-Bourgeois the most beautiful creature he had ever pronounced.
They would marry!
At the top of the Eiffel Tower she said “I do.” Benny replied “adieu” and then jumped.
Oh, Benny Flump’s French left a lot to be desired I should have probably said earlier.
Until next time . . . I love you
Welcome Dear Readers! This weekend the Trifecta Writing Challenge editors have challenged us to write a children’s story in 33 words. This is perfect timing for me since all my grandkids are visiting this weekend!
Sideways Farm kept Farmer Larry busy. Every night, Farmer Larry’s animals would fall asleep and roll to the bottom of the hill and every morning Farmer Larry had to sort them out again.
Until next time . . . I love you
Welcome to Friday, Dear Readers! And on Fridays this blog takes some time off from goofing off to pursue more leisurely pursuits like flipping through old magazines.
And to that end, here’s a magazine from 1953 I found stuck between two cookbooks at the Thrift store yesterday:
Come on, let’s look inside:
Is it just me or is this little guy wearing a saucer on his head?
This says: “Every Woman is Beautiful Thru Pregnancy”
Uh . . . not in this outfit she isn’t.
The note at the top of this page says: Painted for the Green Giant Company by Norman Rockwell.
Just think! In 1953 you could still hire Norman Rockwell to illustrate your ad!
Uh . . . judging from the color of their complexions, I think it might be a good idea for them to lay off the Libby’s Tomato Juice for a while.
Something in me longs for the days when gunning down Mother if she didn’t fix her children a snack of canned meat that had been “deviled” was considered wholesome fun!
While big brothers are chasing little sister (who has a a 35-year-old woman’s face) so that they can lasso her around her neck (good luck with finding her neck), the important thing here is that they won’t scuff the floors thanks to Simoniz self-polishing floor wax!
Well, Dear Readers, my scanning elbow is starting to act up again so we’ll quit for today, but I hope you enjoyed this little romp back to 1953!
Until next time . . . I love you
Welcome Dear Readers! It’s time for recess! Friday Fictioneer Recess! This week’s photo prompt is brought to us by Claire Fuller’s camera. Novelist Claire Fuller.
Friday Fictioneers is a little writing event that happens every week starting on Wednesday, when Rochelle Wisoff- Fields at Addicted to Purple picks a picture, posts it, and we all write a 100-word story inspired by the picture. And then link up with other Friday Fictioneers over at Rochelle’s blog.
Knock! Knock!
Yes?
One pepperoni pizza! That’ll be $148.53.
What? For pizza?
We charge extra to deliver here.
Why?
Delivery guys never come back.
I’ll get my money. Follow me to the dunge—uh, basement.
Okay.
Sit down in that chair.
In that electric chair?
Don’t worry. It’s not plugged in.
I’ll stand.
At least take a weight off and lean up against that rack.
Why does it have straps?
I’m a dentist.
I gotta go!
I’ll extract your wisdom teeth for free!
You’re crazy!
Wait! I’ll split my pizza with you 50/50?
No!
40/60?
No!
70/30?
Well . . . okay.
* * *
Until next time . . . I love you
Dear Readers! Here’s some shenanigans from around the world gleaned from various places around the Internet®algore. These true news items have been either slightly altered, drastically changed or completely and utterly falsified to make it more fun.
The World’s Lamest Zoo
When the lion at the Henan Province Zoo in China was sent away to a breeding center, zoo keepers got a great idea!
They took a Tibetan Mastiff, owned by one of the workers, fluffed up his fur with massive amounts of hair gel — then blew it dry with China’s only un-exported, hand-held hairdryer.
All that was left to do was slap a sign on its cage that said “Africa Lion” and open the zoo up for business as usual.
As luck would have it, shortly thereafter, a conscientious mother of one visited the zoo with her son for the express purpose of teaching him what sounds animals make.
When the lion started barking, the mother was almost as outraged as the little boy was confused. When the mother complained, the zoo keepers said they had to pass the dog off as an African Lion for “safety concerns.”
Either way, they will all be executed at dawn.
Glow in the Dark Bunnies
Bored with pulling the wings off flies and tying tin cans to the tails of cats, a group of scientists led by Dr. Stefan ‘Lenny’ Moisyadi, a biogenesis researcher based in Turkey, decided to clone a colony of rabbits that glow bright green in the dark.
“And on top of it, their fur is beginning to grow and the greenness is shining right there in the fur, it’s so intense!” Moisyadi is actually quoted as saying.
By making rabbits that glow green in the dark, Dr. Moisyadi is attempting to advance medical research to develop treatments for life-threatening illnesses such as Shimmering Measles, Tuber-I-see-you-culosis and Kermit the Frog’s Disease.
Dr. Moisyadi stressed that the rabbits are not affected by the fluorescent protein and will have the same life span as other rabbits.
“Being fluorescent at night, during prime hunting hours, has nothing whatsoever to do with the length of their lifespan,” Dr. Moisyadi didn’t go on to say as he was too busy pinching puppies.
Is that you God? It’s me, Fresno
People in the town of Fresno, California have started to gather around a Crepe Myrtle tree after sharp-eyed parishioner, Maria Ybarra, first reported drops of liquid falling from it and naturally assumed it to be God manifesting himself in Fresno. As news of this miracle spread, many people began gathering around the tree to pray.
Fresno arborist, Jon ‘Get Real’ Reelhorn, however, believes the explanation for the drops falling from the tree is tree lice excrement.
A rabbi, a priest and a minister have been called in to determine if God is manifesting himself in Fresno in the Crepe Myrtle tree in the form of tree lice excrement.
Texting and Driving While Asleep
Concerned friends of a New Zealand woman notified the authorities when the woman kept turning up at their houses, sound asleep, after having driven hundreds of miles to their homes — all the while sending them incoherent text messages along the way.
“While her being found safe and well is a relief for everyone involved, the potential for tragedy was huge.” Senior Sergeant Dave Litton said.
Police are looking into whether the woman was really asleep by trying to determine if the incoherent text messages were due to slumber — or if they were simply the result of her being an over-age-55 texter. They don’t expect the case to be solved any time soon.
And there you have it, Dear Readers, Shenanigans from Around the
World!
Until next time . . . I love you
Welcome Dear Readers! This week’s 33-word Trifecta Challenge is to ponder the resurgence and ultimate triumph of nature and growth and light.
I hope the good editors don’t mind that I have taken the liberty of putting my own spin on what I would consider the ultimate triumph of nature.
Dear Monster Quest:
Stupendous news!! I’m elated to inform you that hidden cameras have revealed Bigfoot exists, and he’s agreed to a reality show!
Not quite as stupendous news. He has an agent.
Until next time . . . I love you
Welcome Dear Readers! Say, have you ever speculated what people would have worn to the office if they would have had casual Friday back in the 1970’s?
I’m going out on a limb here, Dear Readers, and guess that the answer is no. Well, it’s high time we speculated then, don’t you think? Let’s get started.
She’s Got Slightly-Creepy 70’s Spunk!
She’s got style! She’s got vision! She’s got more 70’s spunk than a barrel of Mary Tyler Moores!
This casual-Friday, slightly-creepy 70’s outfit really puts the sass in sassafras and proclaims to the world, “I’m beautiful, I’m optimistic and I’m wearing a yellow hat!
Even Lou Grant could see that she has “taking a nothing day and suddenly making it all seem worthwhile” written all over her!
Tie Dye For!
Here’s a slightly-creepy seventies couple who obviously ride the bicycle they share to the beat of a different drummer!
You won’t find them jumping through their 1970’s boss’s demands! Their casual-Friday, slightly-creepy 70’s outfits say,” What? You got a problem with our 1970’s counter-culture casual attire? Screw you boss man! We’ll jump on the Schwinn that we share and ride, ride, ride! Away from the demands of “society” and its stupid “rules!” And, rest assured, Boss Man, the very second we learn to ride the bike that we share without trainings wheels? . . . Well it’s gonna be Sayonara Suckers!”
Most Popular 70’s Casual-Friday Attire for the CIA
Daring to wear an outfit like this in today’s office setting might cause a few double takes, but back the slightly-creepy 70’s, this outfit would have been considered just plain boring!
Nobody but nobody would have given the person wearing such an outfit a second glance.
The CIA knew that if one wanted to be inconspicuous against the back drop of the slightly-creepy 70’s office decor, this outfit fit the bill like none other! Which is why on any given day back in the slightly-creepy 70’s, anybody wearing an outfit like this was more than likely a CIA agent.
Driven to Slightly-Creepy 70’s Casual-Friday Distraction!
Here’s a slightly-creepy 70’s, casual-Friday outfit that drove everyone in the 70’s office wild! So much so that she was asked to go outside and lean up against a slightly-creepy 70’s tree.
Today, you would find workers out there with her smoking cigarettes, but back in the slightly-creepy 70’s, everyone just smoked at their desks happily puffing and blowing smoke down the hall, around the corner and up the nostrils of their slightly-creepy 70’s boss.
The only people who were ever asked to “take it outside” were the slightly-creepy 70’s fashionistas who went for broke, fashion-wise on slightly-creepy 70’s casual Friday.
And, of course, we can’t help but love them all for it!
And there you have it, Dear Readers! I hoped this answered your questions about . . . uh . . . well whatever the question was, I hope this answered it!
Until next time . . . I love you
Welcome Dear Readers. Good News! We’re going to get old! We’re going to die! And it’s going to be so much frigging FUN!
And all because of AARP. Everybody’s “Getting Old and Dying” BFF!
In fact! I think we should click on The Stars and Stripes Forever before we continue and take a moment to celebrate this inevitability, not only in our hearts, but also, in our ears as well because, after all, the word “hear” is just the word “heart” without the “t’.
Are you ready for the “Getting Old and Dying” AARP good news?
Before we continue, I have to issue a word of caution: Those of you who AARP has pegged as “getting old and dying” need to be warned that AARP is pretty sure this news is going to blow your orthopedic socks off your crippled, bunion-covered feet!
The Drumroll Please!
I don’t know how the Vernon Family will celebrate getting money from my AARP Whole Life Insurance once I’m dead, but I kind of hope it’s with a Hootenanny or at the very least a HootenGranny. (Sorry for the bad joke, I’m old, I’m going to die and my bunions are killing me!)
But wait! There’s more! Included in this AARP Life Insurance offer is this inexplicable AARP Medicare Supplement Plan Brochure:
I don’t know what to make of this, Dear Readers. Why do these two people represent a team? And why are they playing softball with a grapefruit?
Oh! Perhaps AARP is just messing with my pre-posthumous synapses yet again? (Oh that AARP, always with the jokes! Hahaha!)
Oh wait . . . maybe the two people represent an Ebony and Ivory thing! That would be apropos, I suppose, because, I don’t know about you, Dear Readers, but the song Ebony and Ivory, does make me want to die.
Now don’t worry if you are having trouble wrapping your posthumous-synapsed brain around any of the AARP’s “Growing Old and Dying” money-making offers. They’ve anticipated your confusion and have provided a solution:
Now doesn’t that sound like fun? In fact, I think you’ll have to agree that nobody puts the FUN in Funeral like AARP, nobody!
Until next time . . . I love you
Welcome, Dear Readers! Today in this blog’s little neck of the woods, we shall see if we can make up a story that’s not too big and not too little but just right!
It’s time for the 100-word, Friday Fictioneer’s weekly writing challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple and the three bears.
This week’s picture porridge was provided to us by Roger Bultot.
Howard, don’t you think we should hire professionals to put in the pool?
Why?
You’ve never operated a bulldozer before.
I worked for Uncle Vinnie, and he owned a bulldozer!
But Howard, you were just mowing his lawn.
It’s the garage isn’t it, Meredith? The one time I park the car in the garage without opening the door first, and you never let me forget it.
And the sprinklers.
What? You’re bringing that up again? I only drove next door!
But through the front yard.
You need to trust me more, Meredith.
Okay, Okay. Go fire up the bulldozer, Howard.
* * *
Until next time . . . I love you
Hello Dear Readers and welcome to my brain, Peanuts remembers. Today’s topic is my mother, Janey.
Janey was a Fainter
When my mother was little, my grandparents had a record they would play of a bird singing. Every time, my mother heard it, she would pass out by falling over backwards.
You’d think after the initial discovery, my grandparents wouldn’t have played that record anymore, but people just thought things like that were funny in those days.
Janey also fainted in movie theaters and department stores. Once when I was in the 8th grade, we were shopping in the Crescent Department Store in downtown Spokane looking at sweaters. I hadn’t seen my mother for awhile so I thought she was trying on clothes. Well, it turns out she had fainted and woken up in the manager’s office.
Funny, it never occurred to me until just now that when Janey fainted, the clerks must have drug her into the manager’s office — like in the movies when somebody gets murdered! (If my mother was alive today, I’d call her up right now with this new revelation!)
Janey had a delicate appetite
One of my mother’s main themes in life was that her appetite was easily ruined. Any number of things could occur in which Janey could lose her appetite, not the least of which being unpleasant conversational topics at the dinner table, as well as having to observe someone (such as one of her kids) not using good table manners.
One never knew exactly what would set off Janey’s “loss of appetite” but looking back on it now, she never seemed to equate it with the case of Nestle Crunches she always kept on the top shelf of the cupboard and that she was always nibbling on — as being a factor in her “loss of appetite.”
The time Janey was a trooper
Janey was never big on water sports, but one summer Janey bucked up and decided to try her hand at water skiing behind my dad’s new fishing boat.
His boat had a weak outboard motor that was about as powerful as a sick kitten. It barely managed to pull a child up out of the water on skis, let alone an adult.
But for some reason, Janey, who had never been much into water sports decided to try water skiing. We were all a little shocked when she suggested it, as we had never see her swim without keeping her hair from getting wet, but try she did.
Stand back! Janey’s going in!
She slipped right into the water, oblivious to the fact that she could ruin her hairdo as well as smudge her fire-engine red lipstick. My brother, Peter, helped her position herself in the water with her skis. When she was finally ready, Peter gave the signal and my dad gunned it as it were.
But instead of popping Janey up out of the water, the boat pulled her along underneath the water.
I’ll never forget the image of Janey’s fire-engine red lipstick shimmering from beneath that green wake of water that was pouring over the top of her head.
But still, she hung on for dear life. And she hung on and she hung on until finally a miracle occurred! She suddenly popped up from beneath the water, and proceeded to water ski in a big circle around Williams Lake — albeit in a squatting position, but still!
Janey was water skiing! Hurray!
I hope it’s true what they say about your whole life flashing before you eyes when you die. Because I do so want to see that part again, Dear Readers!
Until next time . . . I love you
Welcome Dear Readers! This weekend’s Trifecta Challenge is to write a 33-word story using the word tooth.
Let’s climb Mount Everest, Floss!
No way, Tooth!
Why?
Moi? Dental Floss? Climbing?
But you’ll be between a rock and a hard place . . .
Oh, I love that, Tooth!
Tell me about it, Floss!
* * *
Until next time . . . I love you
Dear Readers Welcome! I am happy to report I actually made it home safely from my road trip on the freeways of this great state of California, the longest state in our great nation, mind you, — where I spent four wonderful days visiting my daughter Jackie, her husband, Tyler, and my new grandson, Henry.
Peanuts gets worried
Of course, driving there, Dear Readers, took a tad bit longer than it should have due to the fact that I had to go 45 minutes at 40 mph before I could get my nerve up to pass a semi that seemed to my brain, Peanuts, anyway that it was driving recklessly.
The Menace of Rest Stop Pigs
Of course, my brain, Peanuts, the crazy story maker upper, had the truck driver pegged as a legally-blind, drunken serial killer/truck driver on crack who was texting his friend waiting at the rest stop up ahead to see if there were any Little Old Lady Granny-Types, such as myself, that he could murder and chop up into a million little pieces and feed to the pigs.
I know it’s a preposterous thought, Dear Readers, I have to laugh actually, because I’ve never seen any pigs at rest stops.
Restrooms, Restrooms Everywhere and Not a One to Use
Still, I didn’t stop even though I needed to use the restroom. I decided, instead, to stop somewhere in King City which the sign said was only 27 miles away.
It was at that point I entered the Twilight zone where the forward motion of my car was just an illusion wherein an evil force was pulling the road underneath me like a treadmill and causing me to quit making any forward progress. Here’s what the road signs kept saying:
27 miles to King City
45 minutes later:
11 miles to king City
40 minutes later:
3 miles to King City
a half an hour later:
You just passed King City
Carl Jr. Saves Me From Kidnapping Gypsies
I’m happy to report, however, that I finally found an easy exit with a Carl Jr’s to stop at. I pulled in to park and just then a white van pulled up next to me, the doors flew open and lo and behold!
It was chalk-full of gypsies!
Peanuts assumed this because the women were wearing long black dresses with gold bric-a-brac sewn to them accessorized by lots of dangling gold jewelry.
And they were clearly speaking a language that sounded very much like not English!
My Last Meal Pro-active-ness
As I was walking into Carl Jr., the gypsy driving the van and his cohort got out and stood next to my car. I heard them chatting about something and even though I couldn’t understand what they were saying, Peanuts thought whatever it was had a definite “untoward” ring to it.
My brain, Peanuts, started making up a story about how they were a roving band of gypsies, tramps and thieves — as the lyrics to the Cher’s song, Gypsies, Tramps and Thievess is the only thing Peanuts knows about gypsies.
Peanuts started thinking that maybe the Gypsies were in cahoots with the crack truck driver/serial killer, and that they were out looking for Little Old Lady Granny-Types , such as myself, and well . . . . well, never mind about the “well.”
The Final Gulp
So when I got into Carl Jr.s and looked back to see them still standing by my car — even though I wasn’t the least bit hungry — I went ahead and ordered the Orange Cream Hand-Scooped Milkshake because I thought it would be a fitting last meal.
If one were forced to eat one’s last meal at Carl Jr., that is.
The One-Piece Arrival
Anyway, Dear Readers, you’ll be happy to know that in the end I made it home safely.
And I must say! I’ve got a new lease on life! After all, it’s not everyday, one is spared from death by not being kidnapped by Gypsies and cut up into a million little pieces by a legally-blind, drunken serial killer/truck driver on crack and fed to rest stop pigs!
Proving once again, Dear Readers, that it truly is the little things that make life worth living.
Until next time . . . I love you
Welcome Dear Readers! I woke up in the middle of the night and was writing my blog in my head. The only line I can remember now went something like:
Daddy is a Friggin’ Genius and Mama Ain’t no Slouch
Of course, at 3 am in the dark this phrase seemed a lot funnier.
Peanuts thought it was hilarious. (Peanuts being my brain’s nickname for itself). I must admit that Peanuts is usually funnier when asleep. Here’s another line Peanuts came up with while sleeping:
Goats on the Skids
I thought maybe I could make this the title of a novel about a group of fun-loving goats who had fallen on hard economic times. I plan to run it by Peanuts next time I’m asleep.
I remember once reading about how you can program your subconscious mind to solve problems for you if you pose a question for it just before drifting off. So one night I asked Peanuts if it would be kind enough to think of a way I could make a million dollars. I fell asleep and dreamed about a new invention:
The underwater bicycle
Which proves two things:
1) You really can program you’re subconscious mind
2) to come up with a lot of stupid ideas.
Of course, my family is never ever ever going to quit teasing me about The Underwater Bicycle idea. Fine. It’s well worth the ribbing if it will keep them occupied and off the streets for another day.
I also hold the family record for making the lamest joke in the history of the Vernon Family. We were driving on a steep, winding road near Yosemite and we met a couple of gray-haired guys in a Model A going the other way. So I quipped: “Hope your brakes hold there, Joe.” OK, maybe it wasn’t a quip as such, but hey — at least I tried.
Somebody had to say something for heaven sakes! Can I help it if Peanuts hadn’t thought up “Goats on the Skids” yet?
Until next time . . . I love you
Linda Vernon Humor 