Saturday, May 29, 2010

The Paint Fairy

Two Christmases ago I posted a poem about my having extended the Santa myth just a bit longer than I probably should have. To set up this story, I need to share that ditty once again:

'Tis the night before Christmas and up at the table,
Little Ben is a-scribbling as best as he's able,
The kids at the school have been dissin' the man,
So Ben's little mind is devising a plan.

Ben should be nestled all snug in his bed,
But questions of truthfulness buzz in his head;
He scrawls on his card stock; I bring the ink pad.
He's cleverly testing if he has been had.

The milk and the cookies have always been downed,
But now he needs proof a little more sound.
His marker, it moves with a flair and a flash,
"Lev your tum print Santa---" he ends with a dash.

Our little wise guy, so cunning so slick,
Has baited his trap for alleged Saint Nick.
Then carefully sets out the ink pad and note,
So Santa will use it (like Iraqi's all vote).

"Ben's dashing, now dancing, now prancing, and fixin'
to check if old Santa rides a sleigh that he sits in!
I say, "To bed with ya now!" [down the end of the hall]
"Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
So Ben mounts to the bunk, his bed way up high.
Then Mom and I wait for the whispers to quiet,
We've got us a ploy, but not sure if he'll buy it.

Next morning Ben's thrilled by the handsome ink blot,
But checks out each hand, looking for spots.
With nary a stain on the parenting mitts,
He exultantly cries, "There is a Saint Nick!"

Mom and I stifle our dance in the zone,
(lest high-fives now possibly make our sin known:
With a wink of my eye and a nod of her head,
Without overt lying, we've once more misled).

A year then has past and (kids getting pubescent)
I figure it's high time that I get confessant.
I lay out the truth as plain as you come,
Answers Ben back: "How 'bout the print of the thumb?"

"Didn't check my toes, didja?" I humbly admit.
Ben looks at me hard, then utters, "Aw ... shux!"
But he heard me exclaim, ere he walked out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to y'all, and to y'all a good-night."

So now, here's the reason for that poetic interlude:

I'd just shoved the key into the lock when I heard the phone ringing. We'd had a wonderful three-day visit with that amazing bundle of energy and imagination who is our three-year-old granddaughter, but we (having hugged the darling goodbye and completed our four-hour drive home) were thankful to be home. Again the phone screamed for attention, so I quickly pushed the door open, stepped to the nearest phone, grabbed the receiver and handed it to my social secretary.

Joyce spoke:
Oh hi Ben! We just walked in -- are you ready to go to supper?
Where did you work today?
So how long do you figure it'll take you to drive back from ... ? Wow!!! Someone went and painted the living room and kitchen while we were gone!

By this point even I had started smelling the latex fumes and begun marveling at the dazzling brilliance that was so recently the patched ceiling (which I'd re-textured more than a year ago). I got on the phone and started quizzing Ben about how he could have accomplished all this in short time we'd been gone.

Then after we said goodbye to our youngest son, I spotted the note on the kitchen counter:

Monday, May 24, 2010

Now Global Warming Makes Sense

Joyce: Now that's ridiculous!

Bob: What's that?

Joyce: This article says that global warming is being caused by all those baby-boomer women going through menopause at the same time.

Bob: So you mean to tell me the scientists were wrong, and global warming's not being caused by flatulent cows? ... Ummm, then again ...

Joyce: I can't believe you said that.

Saturday, May 22, 2010

Inconceivable? - Apparently Not

So the big news is ... It seems James's beautiful bride is NOT ...

Now, as for baby names. After hours of discussion, Joyce and I have finally picked out the perfect name -- a name everyone has heard repeatedly in the past year, but one which will not likely be shared by half of the kindergarten class of 2016: "Eyjafjallajokull" (you know, that active volcano in Iceland that's been fouling air traffic in Europe).

Okay, so maybe giving a wee baby a 16-character first name (added to the injury of a 10-character last name) would be going a bit overboard, but that's easily fixed. We'd just use the nickname: "Eyja".

We're still working on a boys name. Yeah, it'll be hard to top "Eyjafjallajokull" but we're working on it. James and Amber, you can count on us.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Corpus of Christie

I know I'm not suppose to look at porn (even Conservative Porn like this), but I just can watch this video of New Jersey's Governor Christie enough times.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Joining That Long Line

Finally (after months of waiting, while rumors flew and preparations proceeded fitfully), James's unit has received orders -- they will deploy to Afghanistan around the beginning of July. And so it is that James leaves his young bride and joins that long line of soldiers who've gone before.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

A Mothers Day Hint

Upon learning that Joyce and I have been married for over 32 years, folks often ask, "So what's the secret to a successful marriage?"

And I always answer (despite my having to interrupt about three seconds into Joyce's "Ummmm, well ... uh, let me see ... uhhhhhh ..."): "Gift giving! Joyce can always count on me to give the perfect gift on just the right occasion. I mean, how can she keep herself from loving a guy who knows how to satisfy her deepest desires the way I do?"

And since I'm such a caring and sensitive guy (as a service to my vast readership here at the LOST FART), I always keep my eye out for helpful holiday gift ideas that can aid you on your journey to marital bliss.

Some of you may remember my dynamite Mother's Day gift suggestion from last year: "The Rodenator". As great a gift as the Rodenator was for any mother with a troublesome gopher infestation, not all moms are potato farmers in Idaho. So as Mother's Day looms, you may be asking yourself, "But what should I get my non-agrarian mom on her big day? Is there a gift that almost every mother can use?"

Indeed there is. I have found that perfect present for virtually every mom. Consider this: It's simply a statistical fact that most moms are married, and among all those married moms, the vast majority of them are wed to a member of the cruder gender. And further, among all those mothers who foolishly married men, there's a near statistical certainty that her man suffers from chronic nighttime flatulence. So here it is: The one Mother's Day gift that is sure to make mom's life much more pleasant.

Don't thank me. I'm a giver.