The New Guy

"Hey, who's the new guy?", asked somebody.

"I don't know", said someone from the other cubicle.

"He kinda looks weird", whispered someone else from another section.

"Yeah, he doesn't look like any of the other groups", said another.

"Maybe he was put here by mistake because he certainly doesn't look like he belongs with us and there doesn't seem to be a designated area for him", remarked Tines.

"So, what's your name?", Spooner asks the new guy.

"My name is Jacques, Jacques Couteau".

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Visit Magpie Tales for more of this week's prompt.

The Dot Club

It was in Grade 1 of elementary school when I became a member of the "Dot Club".

There were about six or eight of us - I can't really remember - that were set apart from the rest of the class.  At the time, I had no concept of what a 'browner' was or what 'remedial' meant, all I knew is that we were given different tasks and studies than those given to the remaining students in the class.  A few years later I would learn the meanings of 'browner' and 'remedial' and that I was one of the former.

Our group would become decidedly mischievous since we were left to do our own work without much supervision from the teacher.  This is not to say the rest of the class was of the remedial type and needed special attention, but that the teacher trusted us enough to work on our own.

Too trusting, indeed.

Our desks were situated in the back corner of the classroom.  We would talk quietly amongst ourselves and help each other with assignments.  When this got boring, which was more often than not, we would scribble on the desks, make up stupid words, fling tiny bits of paper across the room when teacher wasn't looking, or tried to hit one of the other kids in the back of the head with the tiny paper projectiles, and other silly stuff.  We were too young to know about spitballs then.

Then there was Steven.  Steven sat next to me all the time.  He was generally shy and I would have to goad him into having a bit of fun.  During the bore sessions, I would occasionally poke him with the eraser end of my pencil and, in kind, he would poke me back.  One day I caught him off-guard and jabbed him in the ribs which made him jump up and disrupt the rest of the class.  The teacher looked at him scornfully.  He apologized and sat back down.  In retribution, he jabbed me back.  Hard.  With the newly sharpened end of his pencil.  In the left cheek.  Of my ass.

Needless to say, we were both ejected from the classroom, but we laughed all the way to the Principal's office.

The graphite "dot" from the jabbing remains visible to this day.

Yeeeowch!

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Visit Magpie Tales for more of this week's prompt.

"L-O-L-A Lola"

I'm dying for a Caramilk bar.  It's one of the many edibles I miss living on this rock.  Oh, there are some Cadbury bars down here, but not my favourite Caramilk bar.  Sob.  "How do they get the caramel in a Caramilk Bar?"  was one of Cadbury's most successful ad campaigns.  I think they even had a contest about it.  And then there is the Crunchie bar, also produced by Cadbury. A chocolate covered sponge toffee piece of heaven that would stick to your teeth for some glorious molar licking sweet aftertaste.  Great hang time on the toffee, for sure.

"Don't eat so much candy...it'll rot your teeth."   So the saying goes.  So does methamphetamine.  Meth addicts like candy.  I guess they are doubly cursed.

But some of my favourites in the candy family were penny and Halloween candies.  Pixi Stix, Twizzlers, Shoelaces, and "Rockets".  There were also individually wrapped little hard candies, caramel cubes, tiny Tootsie Rolls, your basic suckers and the like.  The "gummies" came much later, but I enjoy those too.

Ice cream, snow cones and Popsicles are other things I consider candy.  One of my summer favourites was the "Lola":  a large triangular-shaped ice treat that I believe was introduced about the time the song of the same name was released by The Kinks.   It would take almost 2 hours to finish one of these ices and, if you were successful in sucking out all of the flavour (thereby leaving only the ice behind), you could crush the ice in its packet and cool your body off on a hot summer's day. A truly multitasking treat in my opinion.  Alas, Lolas are now relegated to smaller wedges:   it's just not quite the same.

So, if you are now craving "candy" and you really, really, REALLY don't want to screw up your diet or whatever, eat a banana, suck on a lemon or consider that your teeth may eventually look like this:

(My "Elvis".  I think he smoked coconuts, not meth)

Else, have at 'er!

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It's Theme Thursday - check it out

The Siren

It taunts me.
Just sitting there, in its box.
It awaits liberation.
I look away.
Like a bowsprit figurehead, it beckons my attention.
Like the Siren that beckons the sailor.
It's too messy in here.  I'm such a slob.
It's a conspiracy, no room, junk all over.
It deserves better than this.
I'll have to tidy up.
Maybe tomorrow.  It's too hot today.

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Visit Magpie Tales for more of this week's prompt.

Craptions

It's been a rather crappy week here in blogsville.  No matter where I landed, almost every post or comment dumped in a reference to poo.  Shit was everywhere!

And, in a complimentary fashion, I was honoured by nonamedufus in his weekly caption contest with this award:

I am also honoured to share this award and hang out with two other funny cling-ons, Tom at Moose With A Twist and Chris@Knucklehead.

Thank you again, dufus!  And thanks to all of you bloggers who dropped a load.  It kept me regular all week.

;-)

Pooh-pooing

When I first started this, ahem, journal, I met up with some strange... (me: "oh, jeez, must I?" IT: "yes, you must, you must.")... BLOGfellows that helped me shed some of my mortal insecurities and from whom I will become insane to whom I will be eternally grateful.

At the onset of this journal, I was inflicted with, or rather recovering from, a gastrointestinal problem in which my bowels were not so much irritated, but were just downright furious.  This stretched into a week-long bout of sleep deprivation, eventually degrading into depravation where I accused a fellow journalist of  "telepathic plagiarism" since he seemed to be stealing my posting topics right out from under my nose.  He, too, was having trouble sleeping at the time.  I'll admit, I am a bit slow on the uptake, but, c'mon!  Those were my ideas!! 

Or so I thought...

Some time has passed since I joined this lunatic fringe online community, but have noticed that I wasn't imagining that a "telepathic plagiarism" conspiracy is unfolding in these, um...(IT: "yes, you must, you must.")...BLOGS (ugh).  I've noticed "themes" and "prompts" being played out here and there.  These were intentional in nature and I have participated in some.

What I am referring to the completely unintentional mindset that exists between, um, ...bloggers (yeah, yeah, I'm getting used to it) .  This past week's theme seems to be  "poo", "crap", "dropping off the kids", "coffee rumblings", and the like:  in otherwords, the inevitable bodily function that makes one charge to the crapper  visit the privy.  There were topics, pictures, bitches, and even a caption contest about it .  You name it, it was there and you probably stepped in it.   Hey, I even won an award for it! *cheesy grin*  The interesting thing here is that these posts and/or comments were completely unrelated or unconnected in anyway whatsoever.

It's like poetry in motion. (Poetry:  another 'telepathic theme' I noticed recently among bloggers  - myself included -  who aren't normally poetic. )

Go figure.

An Aside...

George Carlin:  "By and large, language is a tool for concealing the truth."

00dozo:  "Just ask any politician!!"