Role Supermodel

The youngest had his school conference last night. The Lovely Bride wasn't able to attend so that left dear old Dad to handle it. For some reason he always thinks I'm going to embarrass him at these things and he wasn't reassured when E., his best friend's dad, offered to go with us.

"We'll tell the teacher I'm your other daddy," E. said.

My son closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"And we'll bring E.'s son and tell the teacher he's your pet," I added.

"Then we'll go to my kid's conference and do the same thing," said E.

"This is going to be the best conference ever," I said.

My son finally opened his eyes and twitched a couple times. "Shut up," he suggested.

The conference went fine. He has excellent grades and his standardized test scores are excellent as well. It must be my influence, as I told my mother when I called her to report in.

"I very much doubt that," she said.

"What a horrible, hurtful thing to say," I replied. "I'm having trouble breathing I'm so upset. Did my children ask you to kill me?"

"No jury would convict them if they did," she said. "Nevertheless, this does not at all sound like one of your conferences."

"Why are you lying?"

"Would you like me to recite what they told us at every conference for most of your school career? 'Snag is a very bright child who is not achieving to his potential.'"

"That's because I didn't have a good role model at home. My kids are luckier than I was, fortunately."

"Are you saying we were not good role models for you?" she asked.

"You tried," I said. "It's just that it was hard for me growing up in a household where people couldn't read or write."

"What are you going on about?"

"You know. Like that time the neighbors had to witness your mark when you signed the deed to the house with an X."

"Don't be ridiculous. Your father and I both went to very good colleges."

"Sure, because you're athletes. That doesn't mean you went to class. Weren't you the first woman in the country to get a boxing scholarship?"

"Have you bumped your head recently?"

"Not since the last time you threw an uppercut at me."

"Put the Lovely Bride on the phone. I need to speak with her."

"She's not here. Just me and the boys."

"God help them," said my mother.

Untitled - Part 14

So far.

Fourteenth

Jeffrey finished his coffee and pushed away from the table. He stood.

“Are you going to wash the car now?” Tyler asked.

“Hold on, Sparky. I need to change.”

“Okay. Hurry up.”

“Pick up your room while we’re waiting for your father,” said Linda.

“Do I have to?”

“Yes. Scoot.”

Four Days Until The Election

Let's get it on.

Untitled - Part 13

So far.

Thirteenth

Ray and Mike drove through the city. At a stoplight a woman pushed a stroller past their car. They watched her walk away.

“Good legs,” said Mike.

“Not bad,” Ray agreed.

“Do you know to get there?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I had a job out there once.”

“Nice neighborhood?”

“Nice enough.”

On A Happier Note

Sic 'Em

I don't write much about my next door neighbor C. I'm trying to be a better person.

Her kids are grown now and have moved away. They were nice enough kids when they lived here. The police came once or twice when the parents were out of town and someone down the block got worried a drunk kid was getting behind the wheel of a car. One summer the younger one had a job that required him to leave home at 6:00 a.m. every day. He had a diesel pickup. I didn't get much sleep that year.

C. has always had an obsession with her yard. She's been a stay at home mother and wife for the many years we've lived here and as far as I know has never volunteered in the schools or coached or delivered Meals On Wheels or done anything else to help anyone besides herself and her family. She has her flowers and they seem to be enough. Although her garden is nothing especially elaborate, it's pretty and she spends three or four hours a day puttering in it. Her husband is constantly mowing, fertilizing, and watering the lawn while she stands on the porch and points out things he's doing wrong.

A few years ago she complained about a maple tree in our front year. She didn't like the seeds or the fact that the roots might infringe on her yard. I didn't have strong feelings either way about the tree and it sometimes interfered with our basketball hoop so I took it down.

Like a lot of the people who live in the area, the neighbors on the other side of her, the T.'s, have kids about the age of mine. He's a hardworking blue collar guy, the mom works part time now that the kids are older, the oldest girl graduated at the top of her class and won a scholarship to study journalism, and the boys are pretty typical boys. For reasons I can't begin to guess at, C. has always vocally disliked them.

"Why does she always complain about us?" Ms. T. would ask the Lovely Bride.

"I don't know and I don't care," the Lovely Bride would answer. "Better you than us."

Now that C.'s own kids have left home she's gotten worse. Many of us hoped that as empty nesters they'd sell the house and buy a condo but I suppose that wouldn't leave her enough jobs to assign to her husband.

A while back she asked if she could have my youngest son's outgrown bicycle for her nephew. I gave it to her. Why not? In return she called the police to tell them kids were playing Wiffle ball in the street, yelled at my boys for making too much noise dribbling basketballs in the driveway, and notified the city when she thought I wasn't mowing the lawn often enough.

I do my best to ignore her. When she's in the yard I avoid eye contact and conversation. It helps my blood pressure. Many of the other neighbors must feel the same as they also avoid her when possible. My kids try to stay inside when she's around; she likes to watch them, hoping they'll give her an excuse to complain.

That's not always possible, though. C. recently trapped a mother from down the block who was on a walk with her young daughter.

"I don't know why they spent so much money on that middle school," C. said, launching into one of her favorite harangues. "It's like a palace."

Truth be told, it's a pleasant building but it's not ostentatious. With the budget cuts education has taken in this state, there are an awful lot of kids packed into its rooms. C. is just one of those people who thinks she shouldn't have to pay for education now that her own children have graduated. From public high schools and colleges, of course.

"It came in under budget and it's going to last for fifty years," the mother replied.

"It's a waste. Those middle school students don't appreciate it. They're spoiled."

The mother finally snapped. "Face it, C. You don't like kids."

"That's not true."

"Yes it is. Everyone knows it. Snag's boys won't even come outside when you're around and neither will the T. kids."

"They're noisy."

"They're kids. They're good students and polite and you're lucky they're good kids. The way you treat them, it would be awfully unpleasant for you if they weren't." With that the mother stalked away.

That seemed to shut C. up for a while. I haven't seen her much in the yard, which has been no great loss on my part. Tonight, however, I got home from work, late and tired.

"C. was complaining about Lucy this afternoon," my oldest told me when I came in the door.

"Why?"

"My brothers were playing out front and she was in the backyard and Lucy was barking because she could see them."

"For how long??"

"A few minutes."

"What did C. say?" I asked my youngest.

"She said, 'That dog is bothering the whole neighborhood and you need to bring it inside.'"

God knows it depresses home values if kids play football on a fall afternoon while their puppy watches.

"Did anyone else complain?" I asked.

"No."

Of course not. Everyone else on the block has a dog of their own.

"Did you bring Lucy inside?"

"Yes, right away."

After swearing for a while I calmed down enough to discuss this rationally with my children.

"Boys, let me explain. C. has a worm in her brain. It's eaten away all the nice parts and now she can't help the way she is. It's a disease."

"A disease?" asked my middle son skeptically. "What's it called?"

"Bitchitosis."

My youngest one giggled and my oldest smirked.

"You can't tell anyone though. If people found out she'd be very embarrassed. All you can do is feel sorry for her."

"Is it serious?"

"Unfortunately, no. It's a chronic condition."

The Lovely Bride walked in just then and asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing, my precious."

She rolled her eyes and left.

I continued. "The saying 'nagging illness' was invented because people with bitchitosis nag people."

"What are we supposed to do when she yells at us?"

"Speak to her gently and quietly and politely. You wouldn't blame a leper if his leg fell off, would you?"

"I heard that," the Lovely Bride said from the other room.

"What else can we do?" asked the middle boy.

"I'm going to teach Lucy to kill," I said.

Wish me luck.

Untitled - Part 12

A recap:

First

"What's in this?" he asked.

"Nothing. Eggs. Salt. Pepper."

"Is it good?"

"It’s fine. It’s eggs."

He took a bite. "Not bad."

"I told you."

“So.”

"So?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know."

"Is it safe?"

"I don't know. Probably not."

"We have to do it."

"Yes. We do."

Second

They’d talked about it for weeks. Risks, rewards. It was like a business to them. It was a business. Not the way most people thought about business, maybe, but a business still. It took planning and investment and sweat and if things went well there was profit to be made.

Third

The radio played while they ate. The window was open and the music carried in the still, heavy morning heat, a song that wasn’t good and wasn’t bad. A year from now nobody would remember it. Mike smiled to himself and pushed his toast around the plate, drank some coffee.

Fourth

Ray finished his eggs. “Those were good,” he said.

“Glad you liked them,” said Mike. “Ready to make the call?”

Ray shrugged. “You’re sure this is the right number?”

“I checked it. Three times. He’ll be there.”

“What if he’s not?”

“He will be.”

Ray dialed.

Somewhere the phone rang.

Fifth

Nobody answered. It rang and kept ringing.

Ray hung up. “You said this was the right number.”

“It is. I checked it. Twice.”

“You said three times.”

“It doesn’t matter, I checked it. It’s his.”

“Why didn’t he answer?”

“He’s not there.”

“Or he doesn’t want to talk to us.”

Sixth

She picked up the phone and listened to the dial tone for a moment.

“Who was that?” asked her son.

“Nobody,” she answered. “A wrong number.”

“Was it Dad?”

“No.”

“Where is he?”

“He’ll be home soon.” She began putting away groceries. Soup. Oreos. Green peppers. A bottle of wine.

Seventh

Ray swore and poured more coffee. Bourbon was better but that was for later. When they had the money. When they were gone, nothing left behind but some dirty dishes.

Mike dried the frying pan. “What are we going to do?” he asked. “I’m counting on this. I have plans.”

Eighth

“We all have plans,” said Ray.

“What are we going to do?” Mike asked again.

“We’re going to find him.”

“It’s a big city.”

“He’s a big man. We’ll find him.”

“What if we can’t?”

“He’ll find us,” said Ray.

“Why?”

“He’s got a wife. A kid.”

Mike grinned. “Right.”

Ninth

“What are we going to do today?” Tyler asked his mother.

“We’ll see,” she answered.

“Can we go to the zoo?”

“We’ll see,” she repeated.

“Where's Dad?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is he late?”

“A little.”

“Call him.”

“Not yet," she said. "In a few minutes. If he isn't home soon.”

Tenth

“Where does he live?” asked Mike.

“In the suburbs,” said Ray.

“That figures,” said Mike. He jammed the pistol in his belt.

“You going to use that?” asked Ray.

“Maybe. If I have to.”

Ray shrugged. “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”

“You always drive.”

“Someone has to.”

“Why you?”

“Why not?”

Eleventh

Jeffrey pulled into the driveway. His wife and son were at the door.

“Where were you?” Linda called. “We were getting worried.”

“I stopped for donuts,” Jeffrey replied. “Chocolate.” He held up a bag. “There was a line.”

“You’re sweet,” said Linda. “Coffee?”

He gave her a kiss. “Yes. Thanks.”

Twelfth

“Can we go to the zoo?” Tyler asked his father.

“We’ll see.”

“That’s what Mom said."

"Your mother's a smart lady."

"Please?"

“Maybe.”

“That means no.”

“That means maybe.”

“The zoo would be fun,” said Linda. She smiled.

He smiled back. “Let me wash the car first. Then we’ll go.”

Obscure Pleasures - Part 1

Untitled - Part 11

So far.

Eleventh

Jeffrey pulled into the driveway. His wife and son were at the door.

“Where were you?” Linda called. “We were getting worried.”

“I stopped for donuts,” Jeffrey replied. “Chocolate.” He held up a bag. “There was a line.”

“You’re sweet,” said Linda. “Coffee?”

He gave her a kiss. “Yes. Thanks.”

Mememaker, Mememaker, Make Me A Meme

Jennifer (and Rotten) are meming up the joint and the peer pressure's too much.

My uncle once: performed a mime version of Cabaret.

Never in my life: have I shaved a trout.

When I was five: I molted.

High school was: discretionary.

I will never forget: the time my leg fell off while I was giving a presentation.

Once I met: the Keebler elves.

There's this girl I know: who was foolish enough to marry me.

Once at a bar: I won my youngest child in a game of pool.

By noon, I'm usually: awake.

Last night: there was a total eclipse of the heart.

If I only had: two nickels to rub together.

Next time I go to church: N/A.

What worries me most: worry itself.

What I miss most about the 1980's: my hair.

If I were a Shakespeare character, I'd be: Yorick's skull.

A better name for me would be: Lucky the Three-Legged Dog.

I have a hard time understanding: gibberish.

If I ever go back to school: I would violate a restraining order.

You know I like you if: I give you a pint of my blood.

Take my advice, never: exhume a corpse without permission.

My ideal breakfast is: after noon.

Why won't people: give me money?

The world could do without: my enemies.

My favorite blonds are: Peruvian.

If I do anything well, it's: N/A.

And by the way: another thirty minutes of my life, gone forever.

Untitled - Part 10

So far.

Tenth

“Where does he live?” asked Mike.

“In the suburbs,” said Ray.

“That figures,” said Mike. He jammed the pistol in his belt.

“You going to use that?” asked Ray.

“Maybe. If I have to.”

Ray shrugged. “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”

“You always drive.”

“Someone has to.”

“Why you?”

“Why not?”

Tater Tots

My youngest is Star Student at his school this week. We were over at my friend E.'s house after basketball on Saturday when my kid reminded me he needed my help with the assignment.

"Jesus, we have to do Star Fucking Student this weekend?" I said.

E.'s wife gave me a withering glance.

E. laughed. "Nice parenting," he said.

"Like neither of the little bastards have ever heard that before," I said, gesturing at our kids. They shrugged in agreement and went back to working on a puzzle.

"Careful buddy," I told my boy. "Last time you choked on a puzzle piece. Remember, use your hands, not your mouth. If you're hungry we can make you a nice paste sandwich."

"Hey," said E. "I can help you guys do the Star Student thing. Is that the one where he has to tell the class about himself?"

"Yeah," I said. "I think he should focus on his love of popcorn. That's the most interesting thing about him."

"Shut up," both kids said.

"Or he could talk about his pet potato," I mused.

"That was the stupidest damn thing you ever did," said E.'s wife.

"Watch your language," I said. "These children are sensitive. Besides, it wasn't stupid, it was educational."

A few years ago we went to a reunion for the Lovely Bride's family. It was held in a small town park and there were a hundred people, give or take. We don't see most of them very often and the Lovely Bride enjoyed catching up.

Meanwhile my youngest and middle son played catch. When the youngest took a short break I encouraged the middle boy to give his brother a hug to thank him for playing so nicely. He did, but as he turned to walk away the youngest gaped at him in horror and then threw a baseball at his back, dropping him in his tracks.

The Lovely Bride stormed over and asked the youngest for an explanation while the crowd watched with interest.

"He hugged me," he said, pointing at his brother.

"He told me to," his brother said, pointing at me.

"Oops," I said, avoiding my wife's glare.

"Keep them away from each other," she hissed. "In fact, take the middle one to the grocery to get some more hot dog buns. Don't bother to hurry back."

At the store my boy suddenly veered toward the produce section.

"What are you doing?" I asked. "I want to go look at the meat counter."

"Can I get a potato?" he asked.

"Why? You don't like potatoes."

"For a pet."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Sure. Why not."

When we got back to he reunion he was proudly clutching his potato. The Lovely Bride watched him suspiciously as he threaded through the crowd toward her father.

"Grandpa, look, I have a potato. He's my pet. His name is Larry."

My father-in-law eyed his middle-school aged grandson with bemusement. "Larry?"

"Would you like to hold him?"

The Lovely Bride cornered me. "What's he doing?"

"He wanted a potato. For a pet." Even I realized how odd this sounded.

"We only get together with these people once a year. Can't you try to pretend we're a normal family for six lousy hours?"

Meanwhile his younger brother had figured out his brother had something new. "That's not fair!" he howled. "How come he gets a pet potato and I don't?"

The crowd was back to watching us and the Lovely Bride was back to glaring at me.

"You can have one when we get home," I said.

Perhaps not surprisingly we left that family reunion early and after an icily quiet drive home I went to our local grocery to get another potato for the household. A few days later E.'s son demanded a potato of his own. The following month our families went out of town together on vacation and the potatoes came with us, a source of no small irritation to the Lovely Bride and E.'s wife.

Ultimately the potatoes became mottled and disgusting. They ended up in a bonfire.

"Pray for their souls, boys," I told the kids.

"Potatoes don't have souls," said the Lovely Bride.

"Neither do I, but I still hear you praying," I told her.

"Not for your soul," she said.

Untitled - Part 9

So far.

Ninth

“What are we going to do today?” Tyler asked his mother.

“We’ll see,” she answered.

“Can we go to the zoo?”

“We’ll see,” she repeated.

“Where's Dad?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is he late?”

“A little.”

“Call him.”

“Not yet," she said. "In a few minutes. If he isn't home soon.”

Untitled - Part 8

So far.

Eighth

“We all have plans,” said Ray.

“What are we going to do?” Mike asked again.

“We’re going to find him.”

“It’s a big city.”

“He’s a big man. We’ll find him.”

“What if we can’t?”

“He’ll find us,” said Ray.

“Why?”

“He’s got a wife. A kid.”

Mike grinned. “Right.”

Eleven Days Until The Election

I wish Paul Wellstone was here to cast his vote.

Untitled - Part 7

So far.

Seventh

Ray swore and poured more coffee. Bourbon was better but that was for later. When they had the money. When they were gone, nothing left behind but some dirty dishes.

Mike dried the frying pan. “What are we going to do?” he asked. “I’m counting on this. I have plans.”

Untitled - Part 6

So far.

Sixth

She picked up the phone and listened to the dial tone for a moment.

“Who was that?” asked her son.

“Nobody,” she answered. “A wrong number.”

“Was it Dad?”

“No.”

“Where is he?”

“He’ll be home soon.” She began putting away groceries. Soup. Oreos. Green peppers. A bottle of wine.

Mother Snag

While Kathleen's sending her significant other out for McMuffins I thought she'd enjoy boning up on some of the nursery rhymes she'll need to know.

Birds lay eggs and Snag eats eggs and that's why I have scurvy
I think I have rickets too, just like you.
Yes, birds lay eggs and Snag eats eggs and that's why I have scurvy
I think I have rickets too, just like you.

Hickory, trickery, tromp,
The moose ran through the swamp.
The clock struck six,
The moose shit a brick!
Hickory, trickery, tromp.

Jack is stupid,
Jack is dumb,
Jack's little brain
Is completely numb.

Humpty Dumpty lived on a farm.
Humpty Dumpty cut off his arm.
The ambulance came to take him away
But Humpty was already cold as the clay.

Ladybug! Ladybug!
Get out of town.
Your meth lab's on fire.
And your pit bull's been drowned.

Mary, Mary, fat and hairy,
How do you make soup?
With veal stock and pickled hocks,
And a dog that died of croup.

Old King Cole was a nasty old man,
And a nasty old man was he.
He called for his whip, and he called for his gun,
And he called for his prisoners three.
Every prisoner had a broken knee,
And a very sore back had he, had he.
AAAGH! AAAGH!, went the fiddlers three,
AAAGH, AAAGH! AIEE!
AAAGH! AAAGH!, went the fiddlers three,
AAAGH, AAAGH! AIEE!

Untitled - Part 5

First

"What's in this?" he asked.

"Nothing. Eggs. Salt. Pepper."

"Is it good?"

"It’s fine. It’s eggs."

He took a bite. "Not bad."

"I told you."

“So.”

"So?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know."

"Is it safe?"

"I don't know. Probably not."

"We have to do it."

"Yes. We do."

Second

They’d talked about it for weeks. Risks, rewards. It was like a business to them. It was a business. Not the way most people thought about business, maybe, but a business still. It took planning and investment and sweat and if things went well there was profit to be made.

Third

The radio played while they ate. The window was open and the music carried in the still, heavy morning heat, a song that wasn’t good and wasn’t bad. A year from now nobody would remember it. Mike smiled to himself and pushed his toast around the plate, drank some coffee.

Fourth

Ray finished his eggs. “Those were good,” he said.

“Glad you liked them,” said Mike. “Ready to make the call?”

Ray shrugged. “You’re sure this is the right number?”

“I checked it. Three times. He’ll be there.”

“What if he’s not?”

“He will be.”

Ray dialed.

Somewhere the phone rang.

Fifth

Nobody answered. It rang and kept ringing.

Ray hung up. “You said this was the right number.”

“It is. I checked it. Twice.”

“You said three times.”

“It doesn’t matter, I checked it. It’s his.”

“Why didn’t he answer?”

“He’s not there.”

“Or he doesn’t want to talk to us.”

Untitled - Part 4

First

"What's in this?" he asked.

"Nothing. Eggs. Salt. Pepper."

"Is it good?"

"It’s fine. It’s eggs."

He took a bite. "Not bad."

"I told you."

“So.”

"So?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know."

"Is it safe?"

"I don't know. Probably not."

"We have to do it."

"Yes. We do."

Second

They’d talked about it for weeks. Risks, rewards. It was like a business to them. It was a business. Not the way most people thought about business, maybe, but a business still. It took planning and investment and sweat and if things went well there was profit to be made.

Third

The radio played while they ate. The window was open and the music carried in the still, heavy morning heat, a song that wasn’t good and wasn’t bad. A year from now nobody would remember it. Mike smiled to himself and pushed his toast around the plate, drank some coffee.

Fourth

Ray finished his eggs. “Those were good,” he said.

“Glad you liked them,” said Mike. “Ready to make the call?”

Ray shrugged. “You’re sure this is the right number?”

“I checked it. Three times. He’ll be there.”

“What if he’s not?”

“He will be.”

Ray dialed.

Somewhere the phone rang.

Untitled - Part 3

First

"What's in this?" he asked.

"Nothing. Eggs. Salt. Pepper."

"Is it good?"

"It’s fine. It’s eggs."

He took a bite. "Not bad."

"I told you."

“So.”

"So?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know."

"Is it safe?"

"I don't know. Probably not."

"We have to do it."

"Yes. We do."

Second

They’d talked about it for weeks. Risks, rewards. It was like a business to them. It was a business. Not the way most people thought about business, maybe, but a business still. It took planning and investment and sweat and if things went well there was profit to be made.

Third

The radio played while they ate. The window was open and the music carried in the still, heavy morning heat, a song that wasn’t good and wasn’t bad. A year from now nobody would remember it. Mike smiled to himself and pushed his toast around the plate, drank some coffee.

Untitled - Part 2

First

"What's in this?" he asked.

"Nothing. Eggs. Salt. Pepper."

"Is it good?"

"It’s fine. It’s eggs."

He took a bite. "Not bad."

"I told you."

“So.”

"So?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know."

"Is it safe?"

"I don't know. Probably not."

"We have to do it."

"Yes. We do."

Second

They’d talked about it for weeks. Risks, rewards. It was like a business to them. It was a business. Not the way most people thought about business, maybe, but a business still. It took planning and investment and sweat and if things went well there was profit to be made.

Untitled - Part 1

First

"What's in this?" he asked.

"Nothing. Eggs. Salt. Pepper."

"Is it good?"

"It’s fine. It’s eggs."

He took a bite. "Not bad."

"I told you."

“So.”

"So?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know."

"Is it safe?"

"I don't know. Probably not."

"We have to do it."

"Yes. We do."

Guilty Pleasures - Part 3

The Running Of The Spaniels

Friday night I heard a muffled crash. That usually means our puppy Lucy has been reaching up on the counter again. Sure enough. This time she'd managed to find a knife. Holding it in her mouth by the handle, blade facing out, she charged toward me.

"Get away!" I yelled, scrambling backwards.

She wagged her tail and feinted toward her left.

"Damn dog, leave me alone!" I grabbed a Milk-Bone and completed the delicate negotiation required to confiscate the knife.

So I was feeling none too kindly about the idea of pets when my mother showed up on Sunday morning.

"Help," I heard her call when she opened the door. "Help, someone."

"What's wrong?" I asked from the other room.

"Your dog won't let me in the house."

"Her training's paying off," I said.

"Very funny," she said as my oldest corralled the dog. "Keep it up and I won't let you have your magnets."

My mother just got back from Spain. She's taken to bringing home magnetic souvenirs for me. She brings home an identical set for R., who's been my best friend since 7th grade. At some point he became part of the family through that magical process mothers use to adopt their sons' friends.

"Ooh, magnets," I said. "I love you, mom. You're the best."

"Stop it," she said while I tried to hug her. "Let me show you what I have."

As she dug through her bag I saw a small tin.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Olive oil. I brought it for the Lovely Bride."

"Did you declare it?" I asked.

"Don't start with me," she said.

"No wonder Lucy reacted that way. She's a natural customs dog. Did you mule in any heroin?"

"Why are you so ridiculous?" she asked.

"Maybe you think it's ridiculous to protect your grandchildren from narcotics. I don't."

"I'm sorry," my mother said to the Lovely Bride, who shrugged in response.

I started singing. "God damn, god damn the pusher man."

"Your singing is worse than your attitude," said my mother.

"It's all genetic," I said.

"You're adopted," she reminded me.

"Did you smuggle me across the border too?" I asked.

"Can you smuggle him back?" asked the Lovely Bride.

I Wish I Was A Headlight

Running perimeters of the base, I used to sing this to myself to be somewhere else.

Bon Appétit, Volume 11 - That's Some Good Wolf

Anyone can cook up a storm with gallons of truffle oil and a diamond encrusted pan. When times are tough, though, that's when a chef proves his mettle. To prove mine, I've assembled some of my favorite recipes for those on a budget. Tighten your belt, grab a seat, and let's dig in!

1. Foreclosure Foie Gras

Snare five large pigeons. Forcefeed pigeons for at least three weeks with a half-and-half mix of sand and lard. Remove livers, reserving other organs for garnish. Simmer carcasses in three quarts unflavored water overnight. Cool pigeon stock and strain out feathers. Mix together livers, stock, and a handful of fresh acorns until desired consistency. Serve with reserved organs and day old white bread.

Serves 150 former homeowners or 1 CEO.

2. Bankruptcy Barbecue

Skin and butcher two sacks of varmints. Set aside musk glands to make tea. Marinade varmints overnight in a mixture of one-half pound tallow, a pinch of salt, and one bunch dandelion stalks. Cook over a charcoal briquette until warm and serve immediately.

Serves 23 Okies.

3. King of the Road Kasserole

Stir together two potatoes, a turnip, half a squirrel, and a handful of collards. Pour over one pound minced gravel and slowly mix in one cup ketchup. Allow mixture to ferment until pungent. Accompany with an unoaked turpentine.

Serves 14 hoboes.

4. Soylent Soufflé

Soak one large corpse in water overnight to remove impurities. Drain and blot dry with 401(k) statements. Roll in a breading mix of Malt-O-Meal and hooch. Cook under a hot magnifying glass until edible.

Serves a boy and his dog.

5. Black Monday Macaroons

Boil two gallons water. Stir in one teaspoon flour, a photograph of a coconut, and three cups school grade paste. While still warm, form into macaroon shapes. Dust lightly with grit and store in a damp, cool place until serving.

Serves 6 widows or 14 orphans.

Value Added

Brilliant.

Yo

How much would you pay to see me do my Dr. Dre imitation?

Not as much as my kids would pay to see me stop.

Oh, What A Beautiful Morning

"What the goddamn hell is going on?" I yelled down the stairs. It's never a good thing when I have to deal with my kids in the morning. School started late today so I didn't have a choice. I suppose I could have gotten out of bed earlier but that's not really a choice.

"Nothing, Fat Man," said my middle son. I feel like Sidney Greenstreet whenever he calls me that.

"Shut up or I'll kill you," I said.

"Let's go outside and play football," he said to my youngest. They went outside as our puppy head butted me in the groin.

"Get the hell away from me," I told her, pouring a cup of coffee. I looked around. No newspaper. I went to the front door.

"Bring me the paper," I ordered my kids. They ignored me and kept throwing the football.

"Someone bring me the paper or I'll kill you both," I said, a little louder, hoping the neighbors weren't around. The youngest one giggled and picked the paper out of the street where it had fallen. It was waterlogged, of course.

"I swear to God, someone's going to die," I said. I threw the paper in the trash and sat down with my coffee, fending off the puppy who desperately wanted to climb in my lap. Meanwhile, my middle son walked in the house and down the stairs.

"You better not have your shoes on," I shouted.

"I don't," he shouted back.

"That's white carpeting," I said.

"No it's not."

"What?"

"It's more like a beige."

I shrieked in pain. "If you come up the stairs wearing shoes, you're dead."

He appeared at the bottom of the stairs with his shoes poorly concealed behind his back.

"Give me those!" I demanded.

"What?"

"Give me the damn shoes!"

I snatched one from him and threw it into the front yard. My youngest started laughing so I grabbed one of his shoes and threw it in the front yard too. Now they were both laughing and the puppy was trying to sneak out the door before it closed. My head hurt and I was having trouble seeing.

The phone rang.

"I've got it!" the youngest screamed, trying to grab the receiver out of my hand.

"Who is it?" screamed the middle child.

"The Cancer Society," I said. "They're having a cancer raffle. I hope I won."

"You're not that lucky," said my oldest.

"Tell me about it," I said.

Guilty Pleasures - Part 2

Moosic For My Ears

Ten of my favorite songs about animals:

1. Barracuda - Heart.

2. I Dig A Pony - The Beatles

3. Shock the Monkey - Peter Gabriel

4. A Horse With No Name - America

5. Will The Wolf Survive? - Los Lobos

6. The Lion Sleeps Tonight - The Tokens

7. Monkey - Low

8. Birdland - Manhattan Transfer

9. Black Dog - Led Zeppelin

10. The Crane Wife 3 - The Decembrists

My least favorite song about animals:

Ooh, Pick Me

As Friends of Befouled know, my campaign has developed some serious Snagmentum. It seemed only appropriate that I join Senator Joe Biden (D-MBNA) and Governor Sarah Palin (R-Clueless) at the debate. For those who missed it, here are my answers to Gwen Ifill's questions.

Q: As America watches these things happen on Capitol Hill, was this the worst of Washington or the best of Washington that we saw play out?

A: I'd be hard pressed to say it was the worst of Washington; the legislation doesn't actually require us to bomb any foreign countries and there weren't any pages being molested while the bill was drafted, at least as far as I know. On the other hand, I'm disappointed Congress did not adopt my amendment permitting investment bankers to be tarred and feathered, which would have made it a much easier sell back home.

Q: As vice president, how would you work to shrink this gap of polarization which has sprung up in Washington?

A: By jailing my opponents.

Q: Now, let's talk about -- the next question is to talk about the subprime lending meltdown. Who do you think was at fault? Was it the greedy lenders? Was it the risky home-buyers who shouldn't have been buying a home in the first place? And what should you be doing about it?

A: Many people are unaware of the Albanian influence on the international economy, but in recent years they have cornered the market in dung. This in turn has driven up the cost of fertilizer, and by extension food. As people pay more for food they are increasingly unable to make their mortgage payments. You want to know why we're in this predicament? Ask an Albanian.

Q: You proposed raising taxes on people who earn over $250,000 a year. The question for you is, why is that not class warfare?

A: You're fucking kidding, right?

Q: You've proposed taxing employer health benefits which some studies say would actually throw five million more people onto the roles of the uninsured. I want to know why that isn't taking things out on the poor.

A: Because you're ignoring the choices people are making. First, they could choose a job that pays more. Second, they could choose not to get sick. My plan will encourage people to be rich and healthy. Isn't that what we want for America?

Q: What promises -- given the events of the week, the bailout plan, all of this, what promises have you and your campaigns made to the American people that you're not going to be able to keep?

A: Fortunately, my Organ Taxation Plan should generate enough revenue in kidney sales to allow most Wall Street executives to maintain their vacation homes. I acknowledge, however, that tough choices need to be made and we may have to delay implementation of our "Moose in Space" program.

Q: Last year, Congress passed a bill that would make it more difficult for debt-strapped mortgage-holders to declare bankruptcy, to get out from under that debt. Would you have supported this?

A: If we really want to get serious about personal responsibility, we need a much more aggressive system of flogging and debtors' prisons. Invisible hand? I got your invisible hand right here.

Q: Let's talk about climate change. What is true and what is false about what we have heard, read, discussed, debated about the causes of climate change?

A: We have the climate God wants us to have. Reducing greenhouse gases is like spitting on Jesus.

Q: Do you support capping carbon emissions?

A: As a carbon based life form, I find that question deeply offensive.

Q: Do you support granting same-sex benefits to couples?

A: I believe same-sex marriage should be mandatory.

Q: What do you believe is an appropriate exit strategy for Iraq?

A: I would move our troops from Iraq to the failed Benelux nations. Luxembourg is currently one of the primary sponsors of state terrorism and, along with the Canary Islands and Idaho, a critical part of the New and Improved Axis of Evil.

Q: What's the greater threat, a nuclear Iran or an unstable Pakistan?

A: I'm not going to fall for your gotcha journalism.

Q: Secretaries of state Baker, Kissinger, Powell, they have all advocated some level of engagement with enemies. Do you think these former secretaries of state are wrong on that?

A: I'll engage those bastards alright. With my fists.

Q: What has this administration done right or wrong -- this is the great, lingering, unresolved issue, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict -- what have they done? And is a two-state solution the solution?

A: I do not favor giving any of our states to the Israelis or the Palestinians.

Q: What should be the trigger, or should there be a trigger, when nuclear weapons use is ever put into play?

A: We should never use nuclear weapons without first uttering a good sound bite. "Hasta la vista" is good, especially if we're attacking a Spanish-speaking country. I would also keep "Go ahead, make my day" on the table.

Q: Senator, you have quite a record, this is the next question here, of being an interventionist. Is this something the American public has the stomach for?

A: I frankly don't care.

Q: Tell us now, looking forward, what it is you think the vice presidency is worth now.

A: Gwen, I'll take what's behind Door Number 1.

Q: Do you believe as Vice President Cheney does, that the Executive Branch does not hold complete sway over the office of the vice presidency, that it it is also a member of the Legislative Branch?

A: That's an interesting, if lunatic, theory. I can say that my vice president will be a member of Toastmasters, which offers a proven – and enjoyable! – way to practice and hone communication and leadership skills.

Q: What is your Achilles heel?

A: An Achilles heel implies imperfection. Your question therefore rests on a false assumption.

Q: Can you think of a single issue in which you were forced to change a long-held view in order to accommodate changed circumstances?

A: I used to be disgusted. Now I try to be amused.

Extra Tentacles, Please

I've decided to open a restaurant that serves nothing but grilled baby octopus. Because it's so damn good.