Lunch in Action Figure Land

A conversation between Scooby Doo’s gang and the guys from Speed Racer.
Topic: why my daughter is not eating lunch.

Daphne: Gee, Fred, I don’t think M is eating lunch.
Fred: Hmmm, Daph, I think you’re right. Let’s check it out. We should split up. Velma, Shaggy, and Scoob, you go inspect the dust bunnies behind the fridge while Daphne and I get a closer look at M’s lunch.
Scooby: Wimper.
Shaggy: Well, Scoob, it looks like we’re stuck behind the spooky fridge again. Like, I hope we don’t run into any of those not-groovy ants!
Velma: Oh, no, my glasses!

Meanwhile, Speed and Racer X squeal to a halt by M’s plate.

Speed: This looks like there might be trouble here. Be on the lookout for Snake Oiler.
X: No, Speed, the raspberries have secret weapons. Look out!
Fred: (crouching beside the Mystery Machine) Wow, Daphne, look at those cars. What do you think they’re up to?
Daphne: Gee willikers, Fred, they must have something to do with M’s not eating lunch.
Fred: You stay here, Daphne. I’m going to get a closer look.
Daphne: Well, Fred, that driver with the blue shirt looks kind of cute. I could just use my girlish charm to ask him what he’s doing.
Fred: Well…okay Daphne, but give me the signal if anything goes wrong.

Daphne: (having crossed over to the plate) Hi, I’m Daphne. I am here with some friends. Our van broke down over there by the back door.
Speed: Oh, I’m Speed Racer. We had to stop to try to get around these raspberries in the road.

At this point, Spritle jumps out of the trunk of the Mach 5, but Chim Chim is nowhere to be found because he’s on safari in the family room.

Speed: Oh, no, Spritle, what are you doing here? It’s not safe for you. Pops is going to blow his top! But I would really like to race on a team…sigh.

Daphne: We need to get to the bottom of this mystery: why isn’t M eating her lunch?

At this point, M picks up Daphne and throws her across the kitchen. Next, Spritle hurtles across the room. Daphne yells calmly for help. Spritle’s arm is broken badly upon impact He manages to survive all of those races completely unharmed in the trunk of the Mach 5, but one kitchen hurtle takes him to death’s door.

Fred: Oh, no, they’ve got Daphne. Come on, gang!
Shaggy: Like, come on Scoob. Maybe there’s some pizza on that side of the kitchen!


Update: After some major surgery and some latex intervention, Spritle’s arm is ok for now. Daphne was saved by Racer X, but in the scuffle, X lost an arm. It was successfully reattached at the shoulder, but the doctor warned that since it has been popped out of the socket once, recurrent dislocations are likely to occur with less force than sustained in the initial injury. X will have to take it easy.

The raspberries were eaten after Fred called the sheriff. M’s last words: I would have gotten away without the berries if it weren’t for those meddling kids and their dog!

Awesome Audio Cables

It's a good blogging day here in Delaware. News of odd:

June 5: Man killed by an avalanche of soybeans. Actually, this is a sad story. He was buried by the beans while trying to repair machinery in the silo at a hatchery. I guess he fixed it. That's irony.

June 16: Dairy farm burns: $1 million in damage. We actually saw this one. Rural Delaware does not have many fire hydrants. Trucks sprayed the fire and then had to drive about 2 miles to refill at the nearest hydrant, which is only there because a new school is being built. Thank goodness for overcrowding. Good to know that all of the cows were saved. Farmers from neighboring towns, including towns in Maryland, transported the cows to their own farms for milking. Apparently, cows become ill if not milked. Anyone who has ever breast fed knows the reality there. What I want to know is, is there a farmer phone tree?

Unrelated News

Check out some of the funniest Amazon reviews. This product is an audio cable being sold for $499. MSRP: $500. Savings: $1. But shipping is free!




And there are more. Here's the link:

CABLES

Buckets in the Sun

Have you seen the scene in the movie Parenthood in which the little boy puts the bucket over his head and runs around? Well, that was my son today. I looked up, and there he was across the yard, bucket over his head, running full speed into oblivion. He managed to make it to the swingset and even climbed up the ladder into the fort. That was when I had to speak up: "Do not go down the slide with the bucket over your head!"

Oh, yeah, the brain cells are being killed off by the minute. Mine or his, I don't know.

As we were picking strawberries today, my daughter walked alongside, pelting herself on the head just to prove the point that she does not hurt herself when she hits herself. Yes, you read that correctly. It was spawned by my refusal to let her and her friend dig through a pile of rubbish in search of a mouse we had seen. I told them the mouse would bite. They wanted to know if it would kill them. I guess if it's not fatal, it's ok. I told them it would likely not bring about their untimely demise, but it would hurt. That's when the self-beating began.

Were we all like this?

I cannot wait for some time to myself, or some time with people who do not wet their pants and hit themselves. I have lined up a babysitter for August 9th: going to see Neil Diamond!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I can't wait. I am going with my husband and my parents. We're taking a limo. WE ARE SO COOL! At least I know none of use will wet our pants or hit ourselves. I cannot speak for Neil.

The Start of Summer

Yesterday was my first day of summer vacation. How did I celebrate it? With a pelvic exam! Now, I get to have a mammogram, woo hoo! I know, TMI. Really, though, I think I am entirely too young to need a mammogram. This sucks.

I was also on a seemingly endless search for those cheep, white, plastic chairs to use outside. I see them advertised for $4.99, but no one ever has them in stock. Although it seems pretty trivial, it is driving me insane. It most certainly is not the greatest of my worries, but it is the one I have chosen to fixate on. Stupid chairs.

In other news, our swingset arrived! It is sturdily constructed by the Amish and should last forever. Here’s the best part: the men were supposed to arrive at 7:00 A.M. I waited…and waited…and waited. I needed to get to work, but I needed to show them where to build it before I did so. They arrived at 8:10, just after I marked the ground with spray paint. An Amish man in full Amish garb got out of the truck, apologized for being late, and promptly explained that we were not on the GPS or Mapquest. I had to giggle. Apparently, the Amish are not what they used to be. And if you’re thinking he was a Mennonite, nope—good old Amish. Or new Amish. I bet his phone is making its way closer to the house every day.

Happy Mother’s Day!

If you find humor in the following questions and comments, you are a good mom, or you are very good friends with a good mom.

1. Well, when was the last time you pooped?
(It’s all about poop: what makes it, what’s in it, where it is, and how frequently it happens.)

2. Let me just admire your hair—really closely.
(Lice: they’re out there, and they’re looking for your child.)

3. Hmmmm, well, everyone misses the potty now and then. Let’s at least be sure we aim for something in the bathroom.

4. If you eat just one bite of something healthy, you can have all of the chips in the world.
(Small children are capable of surviving on cheese curls and Doritos.)

5. Let’s just wipe that off.
(A child under the age of 10 can wear an entire pizza on his or her face and have no recollection of seeing the food in the first place.)

6. Please don’t try to climb on my lap while I am on the potty.
(Separation anxiety.)

7. Those are boobies, not handles.
(I don’t know why God put them within reach of three-foot-tall clingy children. They really don’t assist in climbing at all. If anything, this explains why they begin to droop after children. The more children, the more drooping.)

8. Please don’t cry—I can fix that.
(Thank God for Gorilla Glue!)

9. You need a costume by tomorrow? No problem. I don’t need sleep, and WalMart is open 24 hours.
(Only the best are willing to make that 2:00 A.M. trip. Some odd creatures shop before the sun comes up—odd creatures other than sleep deprived mothers.)

10. Oh, well, you shouldn’t eat your boogies. I know they taste fantastic, but that gets your fingers slimy.

Fun with Animals

Say Hello to Roadkill Penguin!



Don't ask...

Newsflash!

My three-year-old son has informed me that it is perfectly acceptable to use potty words in the bathroom. Just so you know. It's OK.

Cotton Candy for Dogs

Diapers are the doggie equivalent of cotton candy. Once shredded, they even look like cotton candy. Yellow cotton candy. All over the bedroom floor. Yum.

Speech Racer

We CAN'T WAIT for Speed Racer to be released. According to my three-year-old son, we are going to see PEED RACER. Apparently, he's incontinent, but fast.

Cows

We went to the circus, which was AWESOME! 7 motocycles in one big ball! So cool! And, though my son feared it so, the tigers did not growl at or eat him. Mmmmmm, cotton candy, Homer Simpson drool...

So, here it is in rough, kinda really bad form, (actually it sucks) the text to Why There Are No Cows in the Circus. Some of you remember this from years ago (the book I never wrote).

Cows are not world-renowned for performance art.
They are neither frighteningly obscure nor unstoppably cute.
They are not at all flexible.
No contortionists here.
They do not ride bicycles.
They do not balance on the backs of goats.
They do not stand on their hind legs and twirl in circles.
They do not catch Frisbees.
They do not gallop and allow their riders to perform feats of skill.
Their ability to balance on the high wire leaves a lot to be desired.
Cows have difficulty jumping through rings of fire.
They are no good at riding motorcycles.
Hooves can’t grasp the handle bars.
Cows on bikes would just fall over.
No one fears them.
No one hangs on the edge of the seat in dreaded anticipation as the trainer stands in the cage convincing cows to do tricks.
Nowhere does anyone worry that the cows in said cage will attack and eat the trainer.
Cows chew cud.
We would not pay to watch them chew. No spitting contest will ensue.
Who would pay to watch a good milking.
That, my friends, would be a good bilking.