Coup Attempt

Like the rest of the world, I have been watching events unfold in Egypt with rapt fascination, and not just to laugh at the improvised helmets made from buns, taped to protesters heads.

No, I have darker thoughts…

 “Department of National Defence, Private Parlez speaking bonjour hello!”

“Yes – I’d like to stage a coup, please.”

“Beg pardon?”

“I’d like to stage a coup and suspend the Constitution and take over the state-run radio and TV stations, and I could use a few tanks and armoured personnel carriers.  How do we arrange that?”

“I’m sorry, sir.  We don’t do that sort of thing here.  This is Canada.  Who would want to take over the CBC anyway?  Now there’s a rat hole you don’t want to go down.  I mean, ‘As It Happens’ is still good, and I’ve still got a crush on Wendy Mesley, but really, are you sure you want to go there?  Besides, we don’t have tanks anymore anyway.  I’m not even sure who has the gun this week…”

“Can I speak to a General, please?  I’m going to need the support of the Generals, apparently, if this coup idea is going to work...”

“I’m sorry, sir, but why do you want to stage a coup in the first place?  We have it pretty good here, you know.”

“Well, I’ve been reading about how the Mubarek family in Egypt amassed a fortune worth billions of dollars, and it started way back when there was a state of emergency, so I got to thinking…”

“If you are a student of history though, sir, you’ll also know that before you enlist the army, you need to have some sort of secret police, first.  I’ll transfer you...”

“You have reached RCMP Headquarters.  To file another complaint, press one…”

I hit zero a few times and got the secretary to the Commissioner.

“Yes, I need to set up a secret police force to arrest and torture my political opponents, to whom should I
speak please?”

“Is this Mr. Ignatieff again?”

“No, I’m just a private citizen trying to get ahead.  Who should I talk to about this sort of arrangement please?”

“I don’t think we do secret stuff any more, darn the luck.  It sounds interesting, but I don’t think we can help you.”

“You’d be able to hold people up for money at airports…”

“We already do that.  Nah – I don’t think we’re interested.  Thanks for calling, though.”

This was not going as I had planned.  I needed some way to skim money off of everything in the country, then spirit it away where no one would ever be able to trace it.  Just like they do in third world countries.

Then inspiration struck and I laughed maniacally...

“Long Gun Registry, how may I direct your call which is not being monitored for training or security purposes or anything we swear no really?”

“Yes, it’s the Prime Minister’s office calling.  We’re about to implement some policy changes in your program and I thought we should have a meeting…”

Awesome Music Video!

This is so eye-wateringly dreadul you'll love it!  Hilarious!  Better than the original!

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #5

Overheard at the Vancouver Boat Show:

• "She's got a cozy galley"
• "That's a big mast you've got there"
• "She's got impressive topsides and a V bottom"
• "It's a lot smoother ride if you take down her jib"

Benchley Contest Finalist

So the Robert Benchley Society people have finally gotten around to short listing this years writing contest - and I made it to the top ten!  Yippee!

See the list here: http://www.robertbenchley.org/competition/index.htm

Sneak Attack

It was Saturday morning.  I had no meetings, no soccer games, no classes to take kids to – nothing.  I could sleep in. 

I never get to sleep in. 

Knowing all this created a delicious, warm feeling within me.  Then I realized the warm feeling was about to be related to my bladder, so I got up and went to the bathroom.  THEN I got the delicious feeling of anticipation as I padded back to bed.  Ahhhh. 

The plan of attack was to surprise my enemy at the break of dawn, when he would least expect it.  I lay in wait, carefully camouflaged against a dark background.  My target rose right on schedule and walked to the noisy small water room, then returned to my attack place.  He never saw me.  All was in readiness. I purred quietly in anticipation. 

As I slid between the still-warm flannel sheets I began to giggle deliciously.  This was going to be great.  I snuggled in and arranged the blankets just so.  Then, in an act of supreme hedonism, I slid a spare pillow between my bony knees, thus guaranteeing me at least two hours of dreamy, wonderful snoozing.

My targets lay beneath a thin cover.  I spotted them easily.  Two neat rows of five each, parked side by side at the base of the bed, like battleships at anchor. 

I had studied the attack of Pearl Harbor by watching a dreadful movie (Ebert only gave it one and a half stars), so I knew how to proceed.  I would inflict maximum damage by using surprise and overwhelming force, while avoiding love triangles at all costs.   My claws were ready.  My fangs were ready.  I was ready.  In fact, I was in mid-air, hurtling towards my destiny…

Time is somehow compressed when you’re dreaming.  I was walking down palm-lined beaches, smelling the tropical air and the beautiful flowers that were everywhere.  It was paradise…

My timing was perfect.  No alarm had been raised, and the tender, juicy targets were just lying there, stationary.  They took no defensive measures of any kind.  From high altitude I rolled in, claws extended, out of the rising sun…

The drool from my grinning, snoring mouth was just beginning its journey to the pillowcase when all hell broke loose.  From out of nowhere, red hot pokers sank into the flesh of my warm, slumbering feet, accompanied by a ferocious squeal that could best be described as “Bonsaiiiiimmeeeooowwwww!!”

My feet recoiled in horror, dragging my assailant up under the covers to the middle of the bed.  A mad thrashing commenced, reminiscent of several angry badgers stuffed into a small sack.  I tried to dislodge the talons but my attacker doggedly (?) (hey – ‘cattedly’ doesn’t work) held on and enjoyed the ride.  I may have uttered something inappropriate such as “Goodness gracious!”  I can’t remember.

I have never had so much fun in my entire, short life!  It’s not often you get to wrestle big toes under the covers like that, and it was truly epic how they thrashed about.  It was like having ten tethered mice right there in front of me, unable to escape my evil clutches!  It was really fun chasing them around in the dark, biting and slashing…probably the best morning I have ever had. 

Battle damage assessment continues as I wash the sheets in cold water.  I have to admit it was a surgically precise strike, with very little collateral damage.  The scabs, scrapes and fang marks should heal without scarring, I think. 

It’s the psychological damage that is taking its toll…

No more lying in bed, dozing, while a kitten sleeps contentedly on top of the blankets.  As I fall asleep, the slightest touch causes me to lurch my feet higher under the covers, whimpering.  I awake in the night, sweating.

This was a day that I seriously considered calling the SPCA and making an appointment. 

This was a day that will live in infamy. 

Things That Sound Dirty But Aren't #4

Pertaining to Water Bottles:

- To get things going you need to pull on the nipple

- Sucking works as well as squeezing

- Some of them are so big you need to use both hands

- Some are made from silicone

- They bounce around when you run

Things That Sound Dirty But Aren't #3

Overheard in the Workshop

"I'm looking for a screw on the floor"

"Hit reverse and back it out slowly"

"Tighten those nuts!"

"Hold it in place with your fingers then hammer it home"

"I hit it so hard it bent!"

"That's not white glue!"

"They call me...Six Eyes"

So I got some swanky cool new eyeglasses the other day.

Boy are they strong.  I can see the scratch on the beak of that crow across the valley from here.  It's what's a foot in front of me that is causing me problems.

My eye Doc has apparently changed my subscription by a few ornithopters, such that now I can't see anything directly in front of me.  This can cause some d9je8*wlow eout029ur5 jfeirt lsityq well you see sometimes my fingers don't hit the right places on my computer.

Until I broke my most recent pair, my glasses were fine for typing and up close viewing.  Then I broke them and had to make do with my old, old prescription.  This was OK, but I looked like a dork (more so than usual, if that is possible).

So now what I do is wear my contact lenses during the day, coupled with the reading glasses I perch on the end of my nose for up close reading or whatever.

When I get home and take my eyeballs out, I switch over to my new Super Power XRay Star Viewer Glasses with Telescopic DiOpticators!

Then it gets a little weird.  Since these aren't bifocals (a mental lapse brought on by abject poverty), I am now forced to wear my reading glasses in addition to my super cool new spectacles.  I will provide a picture of this ultra-cool visionary ensemble in due course.

I may also need a small suitcase to carry around all my optical accoutrements, and their cases.  Regular (new) glasses.  Reading glasses.  Sun glasses.  Old glasses (just in case).  Sixteen bottles of fluids for contact lenses.  Dinky little holder thing for my contacts.  Special glasses wiper cloth thing.  

Yup.  Six Eyes.  That's me.

It's great getting old isn't it?

Recorders

Mean Judge: “I sentence you to 20 minutes of having two children practice their recorders in your car!”

Me: “Nooooooooo!  Please!  Mercy!  Whip me instead!  Hang me!  Water board me!  Not recorders!  NOT RECORDERRRRS!!!!” 

[Prisoner, foaming at the mouth, is escorted from the chamber.]

The torture instrument known as the recorder (an ironic name in that it has never been recorded without attendant ear pain and screaming), is one of the more popular instruments inflicted upon parents by sadistic music teachers. 

Other dreadful instruments in this category include the Xylophone, Glockenspiel, Messerschmitt, Budweiser, Lubejob, Pomegranate, and Woodblock.  

The recorder, known in its native German as DersqueelingkEarsbleeden, or ‘Annoying Large Whistle’, is a wooden interpretation of what a badger being run over by a five ton truck might sound like. 

The sweet melody produced by these instruments (we really do need a sarcasm font, don’t we?) always brings back memories which I thought had been erased by many years of therapy.

It all started in elementary school, where I was sentenced to several years of musical instruction by my parole officers (or “Parents” as some people refer to them). 

My first music teacher was a charming French woman named Mrs. Boehnert (pronounced Bo-nair). 

Mrs. Boner, as we instantly and maturely called her, was a charming and matronly woman, who we suspected was also deaf as a post and unable to speak English. 

Her favourite (perhaps only) English phrase was “Vey fine!” (very fine).  Everything was “vey fine” no matter what transpired.

Me (raising hand): “Mrs. Boner?  MRS. BONER!  May I please go to the washroom?”

Mrs. Boner: “Vey fine!”

Me (after an hour of wandering the halls, committing various acts of vandalism and truancy): “Mrs. Boner? 
How do I play this recorder thing?”

Mrs. Boner: “Vey fine!”

I graduated from the recorder (from the Latin to “squeak horrifically”) to the clarinet (“play only while drunk or attempting to become so”), to the saxophone (did you know a skillfully loaded saxophone can hold up to twelve cans of beer?). 

I will never forget the sound of our high school band, winning music competitions with sweet melodies like “Overture for Zits,” “Variations on a Theme of Puberty,” and “Concerto for Dorky Blue Uniforms Vey Fine.”

Band tours were common until the government found out.  We would routinely inflict ourselves on unsuspecting communities where families, who had upset the local school in some way, were forced to take us in.    

People not only had to let us stay in their homes (“Back away from my daughter or I’ll play this recorder!”) but also assemble in their gyms and listen to us “perform.”    I suspect they were bribed to do this with large cash grants from the municipal emergency reserve fund.  No one would volunteer to do any of this without coercion of some form. 

These and other warm memories come flooding back to me as I observe my children beginning their musical odysseys. 

I observe only, since I am wearing earplugs.

Things That Sound Dirty But Aren't #2

    
Pertaining to the Insertion of Contact Lenses:

• There should be no pain associated with a proper insertion
• Excess fluid can be wiped up with a tissue
• Do not insert anything that appears torn or damaged
• Leaving one in for more than 12 hours can cause dryness and discomfort
• Video recording yourself during insertion can be awkward using one hand, but is healthy and normal
• A great place to do it is in front of a mirror in the bathroom
• Holding the eyelids open during the act is not a sign of boredom