Who Died And Made It Wednesday?
(The title of this entry was way funnier when I wrote it yesterday. Which was Tuesday. But now it is 12:51, and it's not funny anymore. And, I guess I could fix it, but...wait, are those druids on tv right now? GOTTA GO.)
Hi, y'all! So, hey, remember that time I did Bad Limerick Wednesday, and waxed poeticish about choosing to spend the night with four wiener dogs, and how that did not exactly turn out well? And remember also how when I did that, I apologized profusely and said y'all could come to my house and steal all my liquor?
Maybe? Or has everyone blocked it from their collective consciousness? Because, I would not blame you.
But, um. Guess what anyway! I am about to assault you all anew, with even more bad poetry about the dogs. Because, this is what happens when I am stuck in traffic for too long: I start to rhyme. I do not really know why, exactly. I think it has something to do with rocking to the rhythm of crazy, which I have also discussed here on a previous occasion.
(Which, now that I think about it...you guys? Please do not tell anyone what I put on this website. Turns out, I am maybe a little bit crazypants. Shh!)
So, anyway. Rhyming! And all about an evening we had not too long ago. Don't y'all shoot me too much.
Also, be warned that this poem is kind of gross, but apparently, I can't just come out and embrace scatological humor; I have to rhyme it. And, y'all, that probably has a deep meaning. Possibly even deeper than, "If I rhyme, maybe my mom will not notice that this poem is kind of about poop."
Why I Will Not Spend The Night Out Ever Again
Or: Medieval Times, You Are On The LIST.
One evening not too long ago,
My friends all decided to go
A very long way
So that we could pay
To see a ridiculous show.
But Dukay and I are not bright.
Because, on this ill-fated night,
We left wieners alone
In my once-pleasant home,
As if that could turn out all right.
But we put down food for the boys,
Plus water and blankets and toys,
And three little beds
For their three evil heads.
(We even played music for noise!)
And just before leaving them all,
We lay piddle pads down, wall to wall.
(A crucial precaution,
Because just one dachshund
Can piss like a tropical squall.)
But as I was closing the door,
I saw Bo staring up from the floor;
And his eyes said to me,
"If you leave, it shall be
A clear declaration of war."
"DANGER, WILL ROBINSON!" said
The voice that lives inside my head.
But I chose to ignore,
And so I closed the door,
While inside, Bo thought, ""Oh, she's dead."
But I put that thought out of my mind,
And then, with my friends, tried to find
The famed destination
With our reservation
For drama and dinner, combined.
Maybe you already know,
But in Georgia, not too long ago,
Something opened which we
Had discovered with glee:
The Medieval Times Dinner Show.
And though we were all rather vague
About what might occur on the stage,
We all said, hell yes,
It'd be a success
If we didn't catch head lice or plague.
While certainly, back in our youth,
We learned things "medieval," in truth,
Now, all we know
Is, "It was long ago,
In castle somewhere in...Duluth."
And so, we drove halfway to Gaul,
To this place that was sure to enthrall;
When at last, it appears!
Tucked next to a Sears.
That "castle" is part of a mall.
We were met by a wench once inside,
Who pointed towards doors on one side;
She said, with a yawn,
"Yeah, the horse show is on."
"Horses?" we asked, horrified.
We went through the doors, most unsure
And though it may seem immature,
We all recoiled and cried
Upon walking inside:
That whole place smelled just like manure.
For, dressed in medieval costume,
The horses performed 'round the room,
Pausing just to emit
A great mountain of shit
And then the horse show would resume.
Spam looked at us all, quite pale faced;
and said, "Maybe it's personal taste,
But I do deeply feel
That one should eat his meal
Some distance from animal waste."
But the show was about to begin,
So we sighed and we all settled in;.
And I think it is best,
If I sum up the rest,
By saying we won't go again.
(I will say we wondered out loud
Why no forks or knives are allowed,
And yet they brought me
a "Ye Olde Daiquiri"
That would make a historian proud.)
(And also, y'all? Jousting is boring
When there's not going to be any goring.
Which made me say the words,
"It's like wrestling, for nerds!"
Over the sounds of our snoring.)
Finally, it was all done
And we left to find actual fun.
As we scavenged for food,
I remembered my brood,
And wondered what all Bo had done.
After many more hours had passed,
We went home to the doggies at last.
We thought they'd be sleeping,
So we went in creeping,
But that plan was given up fast.
'Cause I'd had all the poop I was able.
I'd eaten with turds in a stable.
So I was not of the mind
To come home an find
Bo shitting on my coffee table.
But sure enough, it was adorned,
With Boris, Most Wrongfully Scorned,
Who finished his work,
And jumped down with a smirk,
That clearly said, "Bitch, you were warned."
Then he sauntered right out of the den,
Across piddle pads laid end to end;
For all my protection,
He'd found an exception
And now he was rubbing it in.
And I stood there, shocked and unstable,
When I suddenly thought of a fable:
While I've heard it told,
"It's a dish best served cold,"
Bo served his revenge at the table.
As I later sat scrubbing the den,
I mused on the wages of sin;
Between befouled stables
And pooped-upon tables,
Y'all go out -- I'm staying in.
Hee. Yay! And, in case you wanted the short, non-stanza version of that story: Bo pooped on the coffee table one time. Then I had a conniption fit. The end.
P.S.: Medieval Times smells like horse poop.
In other, non-rhyming news, tomorrow is Valentine's Day! Which is one of my favorite holidays, for no particular reason whatsoever. It just is.
Although, now that I think about it, Valentine's Day probably should make me all bitter, and should remind me of the countless February 14ths spent in middle or high school. Every year, the school set up booths where the boys bought carnations for a dollar, and the money would go to a good cause, such as "buying more glitter pens for homecoming." When a boy bought a carnation, he would write down a girl's name, and the carnation would be secretly affixed to her locker while we were all in class.
So, at the end of every class period, I'd be filled with a secret, burning hope that maybe, maybe THIS year, there would be a carnation on my locker! And I would hold my breath as I walked down the hall, heart pounding, hoping hoping hoping, until I'd finally turn the corner, and see...
Nothing. No carnation; just a shiny, blank locker, reflecting my fizzling disappointment, and reminding me that, ONCE AGAIN, NOBODY LOVES ME.
NOT THAT I AM BITTER. But honestly, do y'all know that in all my many years, nobody ever put one of those fucking carnations on my locker? Not one! Even when I had boyfriends, the little degenerates didn't get me any carnations. And, hello! This is some kind of travesty! A travesty which apparently I forgot about for the last twelve years, but now that I remember it? Dude! That carnation thing sucked! We should start a petition!
But, you know. Despite all that crushing disappointment and heartbreak, I still turned into a grown-up person with a job, who can operate some machinery with a minimum of death. And also, I ended up with a very cute boyfriend who brings me flowers that are much nicer than wilted old carnations. HA.
So, hey! Kids out there who are sad about not getting carnations? Listen to me! I am about to go all after-school-special on you, and say, buck up, little camper! Do not lose hope! Because, things will get better. And also, I heard somewhere that carnations give you genital warts, so...whew! Well done, escaping from that.
...I think I am done talking about carnations now.
Now, uh, because this entry has apparently turned into an experiment in how many words I can actually type in one sitting, I am going to stop writing now, before we get into the horror of middle school dances, which would be the logical progression from my last rant, an then I might start hating Valentine's Day, and we don't want that. No! Especially because, I have got something for you!
So, I just redesigned my entire shop, and added a whole bunch of new stuff, including a lot of original paintings (fancy!); however, because I've been so busy lately, I never managed to order the Valentine's cards I'd been designing. So I thought, hey! I can make it so you can download them! And then y'all can print them out yourselves, and have free Valentines! That is called sharing.
You can get the cards by following the "Free Valentines!" link from the homepage, or you can go straight to the new free downloads page. Print them out on letter size paper (use cardstock if you want them to be all card-like, but I bet you'd figured that out) and give them to someone adorable. It may not be a carnation, but it's a hell of a lot better than shitting on their coffee table.
Happy Valentine's Day, y'all! Everybody have a good one!
Oh, but look -- one last thing, because I just checked my email, and there was this from Dukay, with the subject line, BO SAY HI. And, so he does:
Bo got some teeths! Maybe he poop on table later.
And I would also like to mention that I am a generous and saintly person, because I cropped Cookie out of this picture, the reason being that she is clutching a glass of wine in one hand, and a large bottle of Rebel Yell in the other, and this picture was taken before lunchtime, and I care about her reputation.
Even though she's a big old drunk. Happy Valentine's to you!