Posts Tagged ‘humor’

The Egg Hunt


I wake with my mom hovering over me.  Before I can protest, she picks me up and carries me to the prison chair.  Once my legs are locked into it, I can’t escape.  Trust me, I’ve tried.  Why is she trying to shove food in my face before I’m fully awake?  The small bosses wander into the room and sit.  I presume they are my siblings, but I’m still learning the language and so haven’t figured out all the details.  Nevertheless, they do periodically amuse me.

The larger boss with short hair rubs his eyes and stares into his multi-colored num-nums before dumping the white juice on them.  Why does he drown them?  They are perfect the way they are.  Each one fits my hand and mouth.  Because he drowns them, he has to dig them out with a shiny shovel.  Silly.

After I finish eating my portion, I cast the rest away from me to obtain a clear surface.  I’ve not been diagnosed with OCD, but I’ve noticed the tendency in me.  Perhaps I’ll have that checked later.  For now, it’s time for my sponge bath.  I take these in stride.  They aren’t fun like a real bath, but at least they’re better than when my mom spits on a rag and wipes my face.  That always leaves me feeling kissy faced.  Nevertheless, as long as I’m in the prison chair, I comply.  Resistance is futile…for now.

I’m hoisted from the chair and carried into my room.  Mom puts me into my cage while she gathers my garments.  There appear to be more than usual today.  This will require some patience on my part.  I am not a fan of getting dressed.  It seems unnatural to cover my body.  After all, naked is the original wrapping in which I came.

My mother tucks my arms into a white shirt.  To further annoy me, she puts a vest over that, then a coat.  Really?  Is this necessary?  I attempt to run away in protest, but her strong hand pulls me back and forces me down on my back.  Only her raspberry on my belly keeps me from releasing my wrath.  She shoves on pants and shoes.  I look like David Niven, whoever that is.

After grunting in her foreign tongue to the other bosses, my mother carries me to the car where I am once again imprisoned.  In protest, I kick off my shoes.  That’ll show her.  The little boss beside me has something yellow in his hand.  It looks like a birdy.  He bites off the head and chews.  I want some, so I open my mouth and look at the boss.  He pulls his hand away and glares at me.  This is wrong.  Food is for me.  You can’t eat food and leave me out.  I cry out my righteous indignation until my mother reaches back with a bird of my own.  Immediately, I cease my protest to feast on the spongy delight.  It’s big and hard to shove all the way in my mouth.  Several layers remain on my cheeks, but it’s worth it.  The sheer delight of soft, gooey sugar sends me into ecstasy.  Never before have I known such joy.

I’m not sure if it was the bird indulgence or the vibration of the car, but the last thing I remember, I was nodding my head.  My mother yanks me from the car, holds me until she shuts the door, then sets me on the ground.  Her hand seizes mine.  She appears displeased by something.  Oh no, out comes the tissue.  She spits on it and rubs my face.  This woman has cleaning issues.

I look to my (this hand) and see the church.  This is the yard out back it seems.  We stroll into a crowd of giants, small bosses and actual people.  The actual people wear too many clothes like me and seem to have mothers that imprison them too.  There’s a huge scary white thing over on the side.  It looks like a very tall bunny.  As long as it stays over there, we won’t have issues, but if it comes over here, my mom needs to kill it.

This is all very exciting.  I have no idea why, but this crowd of real people makes me happy.  Each of us is handed a basket.  The two small bosses head over to a group of small bosses and march away.  They’re probably in training for something.  Now it’s just moms and people.  The large woman shows us a plastic egg.  It is shiny but doesn’t smells like anything.  Evidently, there are several of these in the field.  We are told that the bunny put them there.  That giant creepy thing bounces towards us.  I hide behind my mother’s leg and cover my eyes.  If I can’t see it, it’s not there.  If I can’t see it, it’s not there.  But it is there, I can feel it.  When I remove my hands, the giant monster is in my face!

I scream and fall backwards.  All these clothes make it impossible to run.  “Mother, destroy the monster!” I bellow.  She doesn’t do it.  Instead she picks me up and holds me.  She forces me to be still while the monster pets me.  Inside the monster, I hear my father’s voice.

“It’s just daddy,” it says.  “Don’t be afraid.”

I snap from my fear and study the beast.  It must be OK if it has father’s voice, but I’m not going to trust it.  As long as mother has me, I’ll remain calm.

When the monster walks to the side, my mother places me on the ground and the woman yells “Go!”  All the other kids run into the field to find the plastic eggs.  I follow and begin to search.  I spot one, but another kid takes it.  There’s another, but it’s snatched too.  I stand and stare.  All the other people have four or five eggs and I don’t have any.  This hardly seems fair.  I begin to search for one that no one else can see.  I wander to a tree and look in a hole.  There’s a plastic egg sitting between two roots.  I pick it up and hold it in the air.  I found one!  No sooner do I hold it up then another person snatches it from me.

“Hey, that’s my egg!” I cry.   Surely someone saw the infraction.  First I’m sent out to find eggs I don’t want.  Then I have to compete for them with trained professionals.  Now I have the one I find ripped from me?  This is injustice at its worst!

My mother comes out and picks me up.  Other moms pat me to let me know it will be fine.  There better be some egg justice and not just a bunch of touchy feely stuff.  The woman has all the children dump their eggs in a big basket.  Then she distributes them evenly among all the people.  This share the wealth approach seems reasonable to me, but the kid that took my egg is howling that they are all his.  Obviously, he comes from a different socio-economical viewpoint.

Anyway, inside the eggs are chocolates kisses, M and Ms, Skittles and other brand names I’m not going to place here.  All in all, this is a worthwhile adventure, but I’m curious as to its meaning.  A giant bunny with a voice like my dad laid candy filled eggs in a pasture by our church.  Personally, I think Santa’s got this beat, but that’s just me.


Terminology of Endearment



“Hi there, Sweetie Pie.”  Sounds like something a grandma would say, right?  “Give me a kiss, Sugar Lips.”  Perhaps we’ve heard that phrase in an old movie.  “Sweet Cheeks,” “Honey,” “Baby Cakes” and “Sugar Dumplin’” spring to my mind when I think of terms people use to express endearment.  But what makes one term more appropriate than another?  What kind of food product is off limits and why?  Is there some science to all this or is it strictly hit and miss?  Someone had to invent the first phrase.  Why is theirs better than another?

Why not say “Infant Pastry” instead of “Baby Cakes?”  Is it any less endearing?  Why?  The song “Sugar Pie Honey Bunch” could very easily have been “Chocolate Soufflé Bee Hive” and be grammatically accurate, or?  The complexity of sugary foods is baffling at times.  So tell me, my appetizing readers, what is the secret ingredient to making a proper term of endearment?  Is “Affectionate Scone” not a proper response to “Love Muffin?”  Why not?

The Family Trials

It’s been bizarre the last few days.  My brother had to have heart surgery. it went well and he’s home, sweet. Yesterday the computer went out on the van, so we took it to be fixed, meanwhile my son’s car blew out a tire, stranding my wife en route to the hospital. I changed places with her and got it fixed. We picked up the other car, came home and the power went out.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, my mom should get out of the hospital tomorrow, yay! So, en route, my sister and nephew were broadsided by another car. They are OK, but the car is totaled. Then, after a visit, on the way out of the hospital, my grandfather nearly passed out and wound up in the E.R. from low blood sugar. Everyone is fine, but it’s been an interesting time recently.

As a man of faith, I’m not going to worry, but I am going to sit here away from sharp objects.

I Goosed Shakespeare

I sometimes wonder what the literary world would be like if Mother Goose wrote Shakespeare’s plays. Here’s what I think Hamlet would have looked like:


Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio:
a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.
He hath borne me on his back a thousand times.
And now how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it.
Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft.
Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs?
your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table
on a roar?
Not one now to mock your own grinning? Quite
Now get you to my lady’s chamber,
and tell her, let her paint an inch thick,
to this favour she must come.
Make her laugh at that.

Mother Goose’d—

Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio
He was such a funny fellow
A thousand times, I rode his back
Now I cringe and want to yack
Here were the lips I often kissed
Now your jokes, games and songs don’t exist?
Where is the laughter you brought while we ate?
Will no one make fun of your gaping palate?
Now go to the room of my wench
Say pile on your makeup a good inch
She must attend this affair
And make her laugh while you’re there.

Elevator Escort

I went to Lawrence Hospital (near Kansas University) to visit someone having a procedure. When I asked where it was to be done, a woman near the desk told me it was on the third floor and escorted me up there, since it was on her way. There, another woman told me that the place was on the second floor and she escorted me there.
“Here it is,” she said, leaving me near the desk. “Just tell the nurse there.”
The nurse told me that the place for that procedure was moved to the first floor, so she escorted me down to the first floor and showed me the waiting room.
“She’s already in the room,” said the woman behind the desk. “Her family is downstairs in the cafeteria, though. I’m on my way down, so I’ll show you the way.”
So I trod down the stairs with my escort to the cafeteria and the floor on which I started the trek. Unfortunately, I could not find the family. Back up the stairs I went to the waiting room.
“Did you find them?” asked the woman, sipping her diet soda.
“No, I’ll just wait here if that’s OK.” I quickly took a seat before she could call me an escort.

Sometimes it’s more helpful to not help. 🙂

A Little Query Humor


Poultry Proverbs Performed Pathetically

There was a baby rooster that stood by a road staring intently at the other side.  A kindly hen strutted up and inquired as to the cause of the long face on the rooster. 
“Edna and her chicks went over to that side,” exclaimed the rooster.  “She took my best friend, Rodney, with her!”
“Really?  Why would she go over there?”
“I heard the crossing was merely a whimsical exercise in assertiveness.”
“That Edna always was a rebel.  There, there, I’ll lay you a new friend.”
“Thank you,” sniffed the rooster, “I’m so glad to have a friend that can lay eggs.  You have to have a hen before formulating embryonic fowls.”
“Yes indeed.”

After laying five eggs and taking appropriate steps to fertilize them, the hen perched upon her nest and warmed the potential playmates of the baby rooster.
“This is grand,” said the rooster with a big smile.  “I’ll have five new playmates now.”
“Try not to get your hopes up, dear,” replied the hen, soothingly.  “We mustn’t calculate the number of hatchings before they break though their shells.”
“Oh right you are.  I tend to forget that it’s not wise to place all my hopes in a single wicker container.”