Twas a night B4 Xmas..... by Jody Kuchar
With Apologies to Clement Clarke Moore and Lewis Carroll
Twas a night around christmas and all through the town
most lights were turned on, houses dressed up like clowns;
Duke Energy rejoiced and counted killowatts
with hopes that customer checkbooks were not tied in knots;
the children were shopping online with credit cards
with visions of UPS trucks dashing through yards;
And Dad in his jockeys and I in my thong,
were careful not to spill the contents of the bong,
when out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed without my pajamer.
Away to the window I flew like a flash
tore open the curtains and threw out my stash.
Rising up in the sky a star to the east
a feeling inside, I turned into the beast;
suppressing that feeling, try as I might,
to my spouse I called out "Tonight is the night!"
We dressed in mere seconds, our attire all black,
this was no hour, to be in the sack!
With stealth and with silence we slipped out the door
down the stairs, cross the carpet, and over creaky floor;
into the moonlight we crept and we crawled
we knew it was time for a nativity to be mauled!
"On Darlin! On husband! On Wife, oh you Vixen!
Now dash it, now prance it, now on with our mission!"
Across darkened churchyard we gamboled and gyred
we stealthily made our way to the seasonal byre.
There were camels and love sheep and cows all aflutter,
there were wise men and virgins and Joseph, feeling buggered.
and there in his manger, the silent child
soon would he know how it felt being defiled.
We pushed and we pulled until he just toppled
"It won't be for long that you feel coddled!"
We placed one wise man on top of another,
the third one was positioned to bugger his brother.
The camel was made to fellate the sheep
red lipstick we placed on the cow - she looked cheap.
Our mission accomplished, the manger in tatters,
laughing so hard, we put stress on our bladders.
Across yards and lawns we headed for home
on the way, just for sport, we molested a gnome.
Inside the house we tore off our clothes
while peals of laughter from us arose,
the children long sleeping heard naught a thing
it wasn't long 'fore the phone started to ring,
t'was the Reverend Longsermon and his missus in tears
it seemed someone had stolen their christmas eve beers.
we raided the cookies, had warm tea with rum
"what a joke is this christmas and Santa's a bum
let's go back to bed, on each other start pawing!
let's go back to bed and wait until dawning
when the neighbors all shuffle on down to the church
won't they be surprised, their manger's besmirched!"
We sprang to our mattress, our sheets now all cold
our eyes were quick closed, the night was now old,
this story is long and this story is gripping
we've had lots of fun Nativity Tipping!
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Friday, December 22, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
The Great Poundcake Fiasco
My in laws left yesterday after spending a weekend with us. Note the absolute joy in my words as I inform you of this. Actually, I am not alone with my less than ecstatic attitude; Sunkist, after having to stay confined to cages for the entire time, actually bit me on the cheek when I freed him from his imprisonment. And he drew blood. You know he wasn't happy.
Husband and I have spoke of the toll having parents around can take on grown children.
When the in laws came to visit during the summer, and the yard was open and the pool inviting, there was space to get away from each other. But with the weather cold and the yard basically closed for the impending winter, the only place to go for some solitude was the bathroom. Grab a book, pull up a bench, turn on the ventilator fan so it sounds like serious business is taking place in there, and enjoy 20 minutes of peace.
In preparation for the visit, husband was talked into baking a pumpkin poundcake by myself. This suggestion was not without personal agenda as I love pumpkin and was anticipating my first pumpkin confection of the season. Saturday morning, before the arrival of the visiting parents, husband was in the kitchen baking a cake. The house smelled fabulous! Pumpkin-y and spice and warm ... very nice on a cold day.
When it came to be time to take the anxiously awaited poundcake from the oven, it seemed to look a bit flat to me. As minutes passed, the poundcake began to settle and oddly, the butter seemed to be separating from the cake. I commented how the cake reminded me of a fallen souffle, or that perhaps it needed more flour. Husband thought that the pumpkin might not have been good. Bravely, we all stood around the center kitchen island and tasted the crunchier bits of the cake and it was sweet, but tasty. However, it soon became apparent that it was much too heavy to eat.
That evening while exploring our local Wild Oats market, husband was convinced to try another poundcake. We bought the cream cheese, more eggs, flour, pecans, and vanilla. Sunday morning husband started to bake cake number two.
Praline Pecan poundcake is amazingly sweet - normally. And everyone was looking forward to an awesome dessert after dinner. While the cake was in the oven, I began to prepare the evening meal which included egg dumplings. Now this is my recipe and I've not shared it with husband before. Since he was kind of hanging around watching the progress of cake #2, I asked him if he wanted to learn to make dumplings. He eagerly said yes.
Going to the pantry cabinet with a large bowl and a measuring cup, I began to measure out the flour for the dumplings. It was at this point that husband said, "Is that the flour? Then what is in the cabinet?" I turned to look at him and said "which cabinet?" He pointed to the spice and sugar cabinet. It was then that I understood his cake failure ....
In his eager ness to escape the immediate presence of his parents, husband invaded the kitchen with one thought in mind; to make a good cake. He didn't think about the ingredients, if he had he might have remembered that the flour is where the flour has always been and the sugar is with all of the other sugar products.
Two poundcakes and not one good enough to really eat. In fact, after tasting the crumbly bits again, I began to have a stomach ache from all of the sugar.
Of course, the poundcakes were flourless. Sans flour. Instead of flour, husband measured out two cups of powdered sugar. No wonder those fallen cakes were so sweet.
And no wonder that he thought we had run out of 'flour'.
It would have been hysterically funny except that poundcakes cost about $15 a piece to make. Well, it was funny - after I found something else to eat.
Husband and I have spoke of the toll having parents around can take on grown children.
When the in laws came to visit during the summer, and the yard was open and the pool inviting, there was space to get away from each other. But with the weather cold and the yard basically closed for the impending winter, the only place to go for some solitude was the bathroom. Grab a book, pull up a bench, turn on the ventilator fan so it sounds like serious business is taking place in there, and enjoy 20 minutes of peace.
In preparation for the visit, husband was talked into baking a pumpkin poundcake by myself. This suggestion was not without personal agenda as I love pumpkin and was anticipating my first pumpkin confection of the season. Saturday morning, before the arrival of the visiting parents, husband was in the kitchen baking a cake. The house smelled fabulous! Pumpkin-y and spice and warm ... very nice on a cold day.
When it came to be time to take the anxiously awaited poundcake from the oven, it seemed to look a bit flat to me. As minutes passed, the poundcake began to settle and oddly, the butter seemed to be separating from the cake. I commented how the cake reminded me of a fallen souffle, or that perhaps it needed more flour. Husband thought that the pumpkin might not have been good. Bravely, we all stood around the center kitchen island and tasted the crunchier bits of the cake and it was sweet, but tasty. However, it soon became apparent that it was much too heavy to eat.
That evening while exploring our local Wild Oats market, husband was convinced to try another poundcake. We bought the cream cheese, more eggs, flour, pecans, and vanilla. Sunday morning husband started to bake cake number two.
Praline Pecan poundcake is amazingly sweet - normally. And everyone was looking forward to an awesome dessert after dinner. While the cake was in the oven, I began to prepare the evening meal which included egg dumplings. Now this is my recipe and I've not shared it with husband before. Since he was kind of hanging around watching the progress of cake #2, I asked him if he wanted to learn to make dumplings. He eagerly said yes.
Going to the pantry cabinet with a large bowl and a measuring cup, I began to measure out the flour for the dumplings. It was at this point that husband said, "Is that the flour? Then what is in the cabinet?" I turned to look at him and said "which cabinet?" He pointed to the spice and sugar cabinet. It was then that I understood his cake failure ....
In his eager ness to escape the immediate presence of his parents, husband invaded the kitchen with one thought in mind; to make a good cake. He didn't think about the ingredients, if he had he might have remembered that the flour is where the flour has always been and the sugar is with all of the other sugar products.
Two poundcakes and not one good enough to really eat. In fact, after tasting the crumbly bits again, I began to have a stomach ache from all of the sugar.
Of course, the poundcakes were flourless. Sans flour. Instead of flour, husband measured out two cups of powdered sugar. No wonder those fallen cakes were so sweet.
And no wonder that he thought we had run out of 'flour'.
It would have been hysterically funny except that poundcakes cost about $15 a piece to make. Well, it was funny - after I found something else to eat.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Sayonara Sushi-ga
My pet fish, Sushi, committed betta-cide by jumping out of his habitat and landing on the hardwood floor.
Taken just as this sentence, it sounds pretty funny. There is a PBS commercial that airs quite often of a gold fish doing just this; jumping out of its bowl. But the goldfish has much better luck than Sushi had. It jumps from its bowl into a large water container, a puddle on the street, off a canopy and into some other wet environment, eventually to find its way to a body of freshwater. Sushi, on the other hand, landed on a dry floor and his little fancy fans stuck to the floor.
Now the really funny part of this story is still to come; Sunkist who was in his cage while this happened and who was in full view of the fish bowl, actually saw the whole thing happen.
I was on the computer (ahem) and Sunkist really said "Fish". But I ignored him. Sunkist is always saying something and generally it isn't as benign as "fish". And unless he says something really funny, or I am interacting with him, I do ignore much of it. Why I didn't key on him saying fish which he never says unless we are visiting Sushi, I do not know.
I left the studio to check on the visiting cat who was eating in the garage and when I returned I saw something on the floor that looked rather unsavory. Actually, it looked somewhat like a piece of poo.
Not knowing where random poo would come from, I got a piece of paper to pick it up when I looked to my left and realized that the fish was not in his bowl.
I looked at the poo like object and began to discern dry eyes and even a bit of movement. I picked poor Sushi up and put him back in his bowl ... he was still alive.
It was pretty awful because he was so messed up I knew he would not survive. How does one kill a fish that is/was a pet? All I could do is flush him down the toilet like ... well, a piece of poo.
It is sad.
Sushi taught me that the sport of fishing is not as cool as I once thought it was. he also taught me that fish actually crave attention even though they are in a different environment than we are.
Poor Sushi.
I won't be getting another betta for awhile.
Taken just as this sentence, it sounds pretty funny. There is a PBS commercial that airs quite often of a gold fish doing just this; jumping out of its bowl. But the goldfish has much better luck than Sushi had. It jumps from its bowl into a large water container, a puddle on the street, off a canopy and into some other wet environment, eventually to find its way to a body of freshwater. Sushi, on the other hand, landed on a dry floor and his little fancy fans stuck to the floor.
Now the really funny part of this story is still to come; Sunkist who was in his cage while this happened and who was in full view of the fish bowl, actually saw the whole thing happen.
I was on the computer (ahem) and Sunkist really said "Fish". But I ignored him. Sunkist is always saying something and generally it isn't as benign as "fish". And unless he says something really funny, or I am interacting with him, I do ignore much of it. Why I didn't key on him saying fish which he never says unless we are visiting Sushi, I do not know.
I left the studio to check on the visiting cat who was eating in the garage and when I returned I saw something on the floor that looked rather unsavory. Actually, it looked somewhat like a piece of poo.
Not knowing where random poo would come from, I got a piece of paper to pick it up when I looked to my left and realized that the fish was not in his bowl.
I looked at the poo like object and began to discern dry eyes and even a bit of movement. I picked poor Sushi up and put him back in his bowl ... he was still alive.
It was pretty awful because he was so messed up I knew he would not survive. How does one kill a fish that is/was a pet? All I could do is flush him down the toilet like ... well, a piece of poo.
It is sad.
Sushi taught me that the sport of fishing is not as cool as I once thought it was. he also taught me that fish actually crave attention even though they are in a different environment than we are.
Poor Sushi.
I won't be getting another betta for awhile.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Rants & Rambling by the Pythia of Carmel
After my last dangle over the fissure, in a typically stoned mode of logic, I realized that pets are slowly taking over the world. Forget over population of humans, it's all the spare dogs and cats that will end up as masters on this planet.
Both dogs and cats have long been the staple of cartoon illustrators; useful tools who are drawn with moveable mouths which say such clever things. Yet we all know, yes, even those who have not owned canines and/or felines - they do not talk. Not one word. They do not ask for food with linguistic skill. They may practice extreme body language, like charades for pets, they have their way of letting us know that we are no more than human can openers. Yet they do not articulate anything other than what has become known as "bark-alerts".
You know bark-alerts; that annoying thing where Fluffy 5 doors down may see a squirrel out the back window, and begin barking. Soon, Spot who lives next to Fluffy sees same squirrel and takes up the cause. When Fluffy ceases to see said squirrel, Lance who lives next to Spot now envisions the grand chase and takes up where Fluffy left off. And on and on it goes until each and every dog in the neighborhood has announced the presence of the rodent with the fuzzy tail. And this is not so bad, unless of course, the dogs reside outside and begin the chorus while you are trying to examine the inside of your eyelids for light leaks.
Oh, and dog walkers are another issue. Most places there are laws about picking up your dog's feces. Dog walkers amble about sidewalks with plastic bags tucked into their clothing so they can pick up Muffy's droppings from your front lawn - but only if they think you or your neighbor might have seen Muffy leave them next to the mail box. As neighbors proudly walk their miniature Poodles, their Bichon Frise, their Yorkshire Terriers, I wonder to myself: "Oh wither the noble wolf?" Is it any wonder then that the wily coyote has taken to subterfuge, it can not abide being related to the useless and hairless Chihuahua. And no amount of clever, talking Chihuahuas will make me yearn for Taco Bell.
In San Francisco, California, the bastion of single, non parent humans, dogs are the symbol of status. There are more accommodations for dogs made in high end restaurants, boutiques and bistros than there are for the human inhabitants. Yes, you may want a Gucci frock that is costlier than a Rolls Royce and it is possible to take your pooch with you so as to make sure the matching haute couture frock you purchase for Fluffy, fits. To me, this is disgusting! I do not want to spend that kind of cash for an outfit only to find, once I have it home, that it is accessorized by canine hair. And why aren't dogs made to wear shoes and shirts as they go to that trendy bistro on the corner? Damn it, I have to wear a shirt - if they can be served without one, why shouldn't I?
On the island of Tarawa in the South Pacific, dogs are called Kang Kang. Roughly translated, kang kang means "tasty dog". And at this rate, a meal of dog might be easier to obtain than let's say, a salad. A friend of mine married a man from Kenya named Mike. Once they came to America, Mike was obsessed with the amount of space devoted to pet food, supplies, toys and accouterments that are available at every grocery store he went to. In Mikes words: "In Kenya, we only recently have gotten beyond eating stray dogs." Here in the USA, we take up the cause of doggie over population with 'Walk A Thons" that raise money to microchip and sterilize cats and dogs. Never mind those homeless folk living under the bridge, dog and cat fundraising allows one to be fashionable while the community watches these good deeds. See, no one knows, nor cares that you flipped that homeless guy at the side of the road a ten spot - other than the homeless guy who just might use it for a place to spend the night. Homeless guys living under the bridge do not lick your face when you get home at the end of the day. Well, maybe they might for a ten dollar bill - and then again, maybe you wouldn't want them to.
Don't take this the wrong way; I do not hate dogs. I have owned dogs. Dogs have served many purposes in the evolution of humanity. They have hunted with humans, guarded humans and been transportation for humans. But their day as co-hunters has passed. And in all but the remotest arctic outposts, dogs do not help humans transport from place to place. In fact, because of multi-dog households, the mighty SUV has supplanted the humble car on the streets of America. But dog ownership has passed to a new plane, one which speaks more about pedigree than security or companionship.
Now, I've barely touched on cats. People do not generally take their cats for walks. Cats are like pillows with fur, pillows that place themselves in various poses through out the house. First on the sofa and when that is covered in an inch of fur, they retreat to the bedroom, or your pillow. Double pillows ....
Cats are basically nice, pretty creatures who are credited with rodent removal (sans bark-alert) and NEVER would my cat eat an endangered songbird! No, my cat only goes out at night, when birds are asleep, therefore, it can not be a danger to anything other than mice, voles, other cats ....
On the other hand, companion bird owners are a far less numerous group than dog and cat owners. Why this would be I do not know. After all, dogs and cats can not say "Wanker" for the neighbor's children. Although both dogs and cats can be observed participating in the sport of wanking, neither of them can announce their intentions to wank. And believe me, a parrot that can say "Wanker" to the five year old next door is an asset to a person's peace and quiet. Parrot ownership is a tenuous relationship. And it has its ups and downs. First of all, a parrot is not owned by a human. The parrot owns the human. If you have a parrot, chances are you have no life outside cleaning up poop from expensive and well loved shirts.
It is the master plan of creation that insects and rodents were created to scavenge from parrots. Every morsel of food that a parrot partakes in ends up by various degrees on the floor, in the drapes, in the companion human's hair. Only to be shortly followed by insects who are drawn to it.
The up side to having a parrot in the house is that it can amuse it's human companions in a fine assortment of ways. For example it can say "Little Shit" just as your mother in law is joining you at the dinner table. And parrots are much less prone to begging for food. Just plop whatever it is you are eating into a parrot's dish and you will have an enchanted friend. And just like you and I, parrots really enjoy sitting in front of the television eating junk food! Plus they don't complain about the programming.
Both dogs and cats have long been the staple of cartoon illustrators; useful tools who are drawn with moveable mouths which say such clever things. Yet we all know, yes, even those who have not owned canines and/or felines - they do not talk. Not one word. They do not ask for food with linguistic skill. They may practice extreme body language, like charades for pets, they have their way of letting us know that we are no more than human can openers. Yet they do not articulate anything other than what has become known as "bark-alerts".
You know bark-alerts; that annoying thing where Fluffy 5 doors down may see a squirrel out the back window, and begin barking. Soon, Spot who lives next to Fluffy sees same squirrel and takes up the cause. When Fluffy ceases to see said squirrel, Lance who lives next to Spot now envisions the grand chase and takes up where Fluffy left off. And on and on it goes until each and every dog in the neighborhood has announced the presence of the rodent with the fuzzy tail. And this is not so bad, unless of course, the dogs reside outside and begin the chorus while you are trying to examine the inside of your eyelids for light leaks.
Oh, and dog walkers are another issue. Most places there are laws about picking up your dog's feces. Dog walkers amble about sidewalks with plastic bags tucked into their clothing so they can pick up Muffy's droppings from your front lawn - but only if they think you or your neighbor might have seen Muffy leave them next to the mail box. As neighbors proudly walk their miniature Poodles, their Bichon Frise, their Yorkshire Terriers, I wonder to myself: "Oh wither the noble wolf?" Is it any wonder then that the wily coyote has taken to subterfuge, it can not abide being related to the useless and hairless Chihuahua. And no amount of clever, talking Chihuahuas will make me yearn for Taco Bell.
In San Francisco, California, the bastion of single, non parent humans, dogs are the symbol of status. There are more accommodations for dogs made in high end restaurants, boutiques and bistros than there are for the human inhabitants. Yes, you may want a Gucci frock that is costlier than a Rolls Royce and it is possible to take your pooch with you so as to make sure the matching haute couture frock you purchase for Fluffy, fits. To me, this is disgusting! I do not want to spend that kind of cash for an outfit only to find, once I have it home, that it is accessorized by canine hair. And why aren't dogs made to wear shoes and shirts as they go to that trendy bistro on the corner? Damn it, I have to wear a shirt - if they can be served without one, why shouldn't I?
On the island of Tarawa in the South Pacific, dogs are called Kang Kang. Roughly translated, kang kang means "tasty dog". And at this rate, a meal of dog might be easier to obtain than let's say, a salad. A friend of mine married a man from Kenya named Mike. Once they came to America, Mike was obsessed with the amount of space devoted to pet food, supplies, toys and accouterments that are available at every grocery store he went to. In Mikes words: "In Kenya, we only recently have gotten beyond eating stray dogs." Here in the USA, we take up the cause of doggie over population with 'Walk A Thons" that raise money to microchip and sterilize cats and dogs. Never mind those homeless folk living under the bridge, dog and cat fundraising allows one to be fashionable while the community watches these good deeds. See, no one knows, nor cares that you flipped that homeless guy at the side of the road a ten spot - other than the homeless guy who just might use it for a place to spend the night. Homeless guys living under the bridge do not lick your face when you get home at the end of the day. Well, maybe they might for a ten dollar bill - and then again, maybe you wouldn't want them to.
Don't take this the wrong way; I do not hate dogs. I have owned dogs. Dogs have served many purposes in the evolution of humanity. They have hunted with humans, guarded humans and been transportation for humans. But their day as co-hunters has passed. And in all but the remotest arctic outposts, dogs do not help humans transport from place to place. In fact, because of multi-dog households, the mighty SUV has supplanted the humble car on the streets of America. But dog ownership has passed to a new plane, one which speaks more about pedigree than security or companionship.
Now, I've barely touched on cats. People do not generally take their cats for walks. Cats are like pillows with fur, pillows that place themselves in various poses through out the house. First on the sofa and when that is covered in an inch of fur, they retreat to the bedroom, or your pillow. Double pillows ....
Cats are basically nice, pretty creatures who are credited with rodent removal (sans bark-alert) and NEVER would my cat eat an endangered songbird! No, my cat only goes out at night, when birds are asleep, therefore, it can not be a danger to anything other than mice, voles, other cats ....
On the other hand, companion bird owners are a far less numerous group than dog and cat owners. Why this would be I do not know. After all, dogs and cats can not say "Wanker" for the neighbor's children. Although both dogs and cats can be observed participating in the sport of wanking, neither of them can announce their intentions to wank. And believe me, a parrot that can say "Wanker" to the five year old next door is an asset to a person's peace and quiet. Parrot ownership is a tenuous relationship. And it has its ups and downs. First of all, a parrot is not owned by a human. The parrot owns the human. If you have a parrot, chances are you have no life outside cleaning up poop from expensive and well loved shirts.
It is the master plan of creation that insects and rodents were created to scavenge from parrots. Every morsel of food that a parrot partakes in ends up by various degrees on the floor, in the drapes, in the companion human's hair. Only to be shortly followed by insects who are drawn to it.
The up side to having a parrot in the house is that it can amuse it's human companions in a fine assortment of ways. For example it can say "Little Shit" just as your mother in law is joining you at the dinner table. And parrots are much less prone to begging for food. Just plop whatever it is you are eating into a parrot's dish and you will have an enchanted friend. And just like you and I, parrots really enjoy sitting in front of the television eating junk food! Plus they don't complain about the programming.
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