Those Uppity Snobs

31 07 2010

Fine.  If the ducks didn’t want to talk to him, he didn’t want to talk to them, either.  Jerks.


The Little Things That Test A Marriage

28 07 2010

Sometimes Mrs. Poopmonster swore she could just smother him in his sleep and no one would ever have to know.  These nights when he snored to beat the band, it was all she could do from holding a pillow over his head.  She could blame his mysterious demise on an unfortunate combination of alcohol and aspirin, or she could say that she had always known he had a terminal case of sleep apnea.  Anything to stop the damn snoring.  Kicking him didn’t work.  Trying to roll him over didn’t work.  Slapping him on the back didn’t work.  Mrs. Poopmonster was beginning to understand where homicidal rage came from.

Diet Schmiet

22 07 2010

Ugh.  You eat healthy and exercise for months, manage to lose a few pounds, and then one long weekend of eating and drinking with friends ruins your good efforts and you put it all back on again.  How frustrating.

The World Hates Short People

19 07 2010

The photo booth’s instructions said to adjust the stool height to camera level.  The stool was helpfully marked with arrows so that you knew to rotate it clockwise to move down, and counter-clockwise to move up.  It was only after the guys had put their two dollars in the machine that they discovered the stool was stuck.  Four blank pictures later, they were understandably peeved.

Insane On The 7 Train

15 07 2010

Everyone in New York was crazy, Lucky thought.  There was that woman in Times Square wearing pasties over her naughty bits playing the guitar, and there was that guy wearing Speedos and chaps wandering around the Highline.  Even the friend he was visiting owned a tomahawk for the specific purpose of defending himself in the zombie apocalypse.  Crazy.  And now here he was on the subway, listening to some old lady play “Old MacDonald” and the Beatles’ “Yesterday” on the tin whistle.  This city was okay to visit, he thought, but he could never live here.  He was afraid the crazy might rub off.

How Do You Say “Goddammit” In Dutch?

11 07 2010

Even though Mr. Octopus’ uncle Paul in Germany had predicted Spain to win the World Cup (and Paul was never, ever wrong, that bastard), he himself had been rooting for the Netherlands.  Maybe it was because he went to Amsterdam that one time in college, or maybe it was because he had one beautiful Dutch friend, Wiebke, who he was secretly in love with, or maybe it was because he loved Heineken and hated paella.  It had been a good match in general, but Mr. Octopus felt the referee was totally biased against Holland.  Maybe his girlfriend had run away with a Dutchman and he was taking it out on the team.  Oh well.  Now there was nothing to do but sit on the fire escape, watch the melancholic sunset, and drink himself into a stupor.  Sadly, he didn’t even have any Heineken in the fridge, so he had to settle for an old bottle of wine.  This day sucked.*Dedicated to one Wiebke Van Amsterdam and her family, who showed us such lovely hospitality when we visited so many years ago.

Pinky May Be In A Pickle

10 07 2010

Pinky had eaten an entire jar of pickles, and was working on a second.  She just couldn’t stop.  She loved pickles, not only because they tasted delicious, but also because they were virtually calorie-free, so she could eat a bunch without ruining her diet.  Still, though, she thought to herself, it was unusual that she couldn’t seem to put the pickle jar down.  She was craving them at the moment.  Wait a minute…  She wasn’t…  No, she couldn’t be.  You have to, you know, and she hadn’t done that in a long time.  But supposedly when you were up the spout you craved random foods, foods like pickles…  No.  No.  There was no way.  Was there?  No.  Absolutely not.  She hoped…