Category Archives: Paffooney

October 3, 2015 · 2:48 pm

Lazy Plugs for Small Holes

I have been working on final edits for my novel Snow Babies. I have also been struggling with diabetes, arthritis, and COPD. At the same time, I have been writing up a storm on my blog and posting all kinds of incredibly goofy and somewhat creative stuff. So today is a break without leaving a hole in my goal of posting a blog post every single day of 2015. I have to go all the way to Balch Springs, Texas today for a flag football game. So, if you are disappointed with this meager post, go back and look at any of the other recent posts you may have missed. I’m not saying they are worth the effort, but wasting your time is what I do.

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Filed under NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney, writing humor

Tagged as humor, novel writing, paffooney

October 2, 2015 · 2:01 pm

I Can’t Believe I Did That

I was a teacher, once upon a time. I learned to do the job correctly. I think I earned the pay they gave me. I think I choose to believe at least a few of those kids who told me, “Mr. B, you were the best teacher I ever had.” I’m not full of myself and conceited or anything. But the world needs good teachers. And I think I answered the call.

But I had to give it up. I am not well enough to even be a substitute teacher. I can’t breathe very well. My body is wracked with arthritis pain. I am subject to bouts of depression brought on by chronic pain. And I am worried that it is a job which has become so very much harder to do. Politics and people’s opinions of teachers and the sacrifices you have to make in pay for your work are all making teaching an impossibly hard job. I fear that more and more it is being populated not by the best and brightest, the ones who love teaching kids, rather it is a place for losers. A job held by people that were trapped by mistakes they made or lack of real choices. A job that they don’t take up as “holy mission from God”, but as a way to get by. Too many people are taking up teaching so they can fake it and pick up a paycheck. They hate the job. They hate the kids. And there is no joy in Mudville.

So here is the best thing that I can say or do to try to help this problem. Read this plea and seriously think about doing it. Become a teacher! It is the most important thing you could ever do. And who, exactly am I talking to? Well, you made the mistake of reading this far, didn’t you? If you are young and have your life ahead of you, especially if you are brilliant enough to be reading my obscure little posts on my obscure little blog, you have to realize that becoming a teacher is about more than building your own personal career castle. It is about guiding future generations in the pouring of concrete, the shoring up with strong wooden and stone pillars, and the laying of strong foundations for their own castles. The castle you build will never be as grand as the castles you will help others to build.

http://funnyfunda.com/amazing-places/neuschwanstein-castle.php

Neuschwanstein castle will look like a sandcastle next to those. I can testify that there is no more satisfying experience than seeing a child you taught grow and thrive and become a worthy citizen of the world.

And I know some of you are smugly thinking that, “He’s not talking to me. He’s just talking to those young goobers headed to college or not sure what they want to do with their lives.” Not at all. I am talking to you too. No adult is immune to the needs of the young. Every act of every day can be used to show the way. Read to a kid. Tell them that story about that time your Uncle Everett learned the hard way that raising chinchillas was not the road to riches and easy money, that it came with numerous foul-tempered rodent bites. Spend time with them. Get to know them. And if you are like me and have lost your good health and your access to kids other than your own, then write it all down in your blog, all the stuff that you know. It will help them and heal them and give them wisdom to grow. If that sounds like Dr. Seuss stuff… well, that’s because it is. Dr. Seuss was one of the best teachers I ever had.

I can’t believe I did that. I can’t believe I just told you all to be teachers. I am alone during the school day, feeling ill and feeling depressed. I strut and fret my hour upon the stage (of the front of the classroom) no more. But what can I do about it? I just did it. And I feel better!

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Filed under humor, Paffooney, teaching

Tagged as autobiography, being a teacher, humor, hyperbole, impassioned pleas, Paffoonies, sacred missions from God, teaching

October 1, 2015 · 2:26 pm

The History of Government as I See It

In the beginning, God made men naked and helpless. He made women naked and in charge. And then he tossed an apple to the women and said, “let there be evil and monsters and such.” So, naked people began to huddle together in caves to get out of the storm. They began to kill and eat other animals that didn’t eat them. They began to wear the fur of whatever they killed and ate. And then because Cain had a you-like-him-better-than-me fit, they began to kill (and hopefully not eat) each other.

So, the need for government came about as a matter of survival. Cavemen put their thick heads together and decided that some guys were bigger and tougher and got more girls than the rest. And some guys knew how to use their heads for something more than a place to keep their animal-skin hats. So, when all the heads were put together, the smartest ones realized that if they made weapons for the big guys to kill other guys with more efficiently, then the big guys could protect all of “us” and kill all of “them” and we would all be safer and live better lives. Of course, the big strong guys wanted to keep all the better girls and all the stuff they took from others, and they expected everyone they protected to give them more stuff. Thus, taxes were born. And when you had to count stuff and plan stuff and figure stuff out (like managing taxes and keeping track of who you need to hit because they haven’t paid) that task went to the scrawny guys with the big heads. And so, Kings were born. And queens were mostly the kings’ sisters, because, after all, the big guys still got all the best girls. And as time went on, we had kings and their big guys and all the other “common” people. But you couldn’t just kill (and hopefully not eat) all the “common” people, because they were useful too. You could put them to work so they could pay more taxes and make more stuff for you and it made your life better if you had a lot of them working for you. But some old king named Louie discovered you had to make the “common” people a little bit happy too because they outnumber you by a lot. Unfortunately for Louie, he didn’t discover this until they cut his head off… some argument about eating cake or something. So, some other smart guys with big heads got together and decided to make a new government. It was really still the old government. They just had the brilliant idea of re-naming everything and lying to the people. Now, instead of kings and their big guys who got all the good girls, you had “elected representatives” who were actually the kings of old. They just figured out how to lie to people and make them believe they worked for the “common man”. And the big guys were re-named the “Military Industrial Complex”, or maybe it’s the Illuminati. I’m not sure. And then there’s a Pope, and possibly some alien beings from Roswell, and… okay, maybe I need to save the rest for the Tinfoil Hat Club when we meet every Wednesday evening and plot how we are going to “wake up, sheeple” and take over the world. (Dues are fifty cents. We are meeting again on Sunday because we think the world ends next Tuesday… or something.)

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Filed under humor, Paffooney, satire

Tagged as good government, goofiness, humor, paffooney, philosophy, satire

September 25, 2015 · 2:07 pm

Weirdie Poetry

The Man Who Had Bird Knees

I once knew a man…

Who had knees…

That bent backwards, like a bird’s…

And this man…

Could only walk…

Like a limping, lame old duck.

The children all laughed…

And pointed at him…

When he passed them in the park…

And it made him smile…

And laugh to himself…

That his handicap made them happy.

Every single night…

He oiled his weary knees…

And tried to fight the pain…

And every single day…

He used his silly legs…

To do the Chicken Dance for kids.

And then there came a day…

When the bird legs came no more…

To be noticed by kids at the park…

And the parents all learned…

That the poor man had died…

And the whole world brought him flowers.

The next day in Heaven…

St. Peter saw a man…

Whose knees bent backwards like a bird’s…

And all of Heaven laughed…

As he did the Chicken Dance…

While angels clapped in Heaven.

The thing I find to be most witlessly true about both poetry and life is that things can be funny, and make you laugh, and at the same time make you cry on the inside. Humor is hard to write because it can be both happy and sad at the same exact moment. How do you define that quality? The bitter-sweet nature of nature? That’s saying it in a way that is both contradictory and odd. It can give you a wry smile at the same moment it both confounds and confuses you. So better just to shrug your shoulders and tell yourself you know it when you see it… and this either is or isn’t it. Sorry if I made you think too hard, cause I know that sometimes thinking hurts.

Mickey at the Wishing Well of Souls

I found a country well, and I thought I had a quarter,

But I fished in pockets hard, and found nothing for the warter,

And since I had to warp a line to make the poem rhyme,

I figured I would just look in, because I had the time.

I looked into the warty water which sat there still and deep,

And could not see the bottom, and I began to weep.

The water was clear and dark and black,

And the only thing I saw… was Mickey looking back.

And nothing of the wishing well, its magic could I see,

For only there just staring back, the secret thing was me.

I apologize for inflicting poetry on you when you probably came here looking for goofy stuff to laugh at. But my poetry is just like all my word-mangling and picture-crayoning. It tends to be goofy and weird and walking a tightrope over a shark tank between chuckle-inducing and tear-jerking. You probably can’t even tell which is the poetry and which are the burbled brain-farts of commentary that pad this thing out to five hundred words. Four hundred and ninety six, actually.

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Filed under humor, Paffooney, poetry

Tagged as autobiography, bird knees, goofiness, humor, misspelled words, Paffoonies, philosophy, poetry, self-reflection, warped ideas, writing humor

September 24, 2015 · 2:04 pm

The Nutter’s Nest

These little birds of gray and white and often some other pastel color are synonymous with crazy people. Why? Because while the rest of the world orients itself upright from gravity, these little nutters are always hopping along the tree bark upside down, or at a truly odd angle from the rest of the world.

There is something eerily off about an upside-down bird. And you should listen to the bird calls on the Audubon website; https://www.audubon.org/bird-family/nuthatches Don’t they sound like absolutely demented little buggers (bugger in the sense that they pick bugs out of bark and then eat them)? And where do they keep their nests? In those holes? Yes!

What a truly daft little bird! And why is daft little Mickey obsessing today about nuthatches and where they keep their eggs? Because the nutsy noodler needs a new idea every day to make a completely daft and dewy-eyed post about something that could possibly only matter to Mickeys. So where does Mickey get his ideas to screw into concentric circles of purple paisley prose? Does he make a list of ideas and schedule his posts? Does he keep notes?

Of course not! That would make too much sense. No, he putters around the house all day, retired and ill, but with his brain constantly on fire. And he keeps all the pots of memory, trivia, silliness, and factoids boiling as they perch upon the grill in the kitchen of his mind. Something is constantly cooking.

Take, for instance, the matter of moose bowling. Where does an ultra-goofy idea like that come from? Well, that was in the memory pot. Having been a teacher for kiddos that don’t handle English very well, I have a number of mangled-language stories to share. One time I had a drawing of a Bullwinkle-like cartoon on the board (which I generally refer to as a Moosewinkle). A Vietnamese child was asking me about the Moosewinkle, wanting me to explain what that was all about. I said something about him being a really good guy, someone I would like to go bowling with some time. So, the boy asks me, “Mr. B, how is that you throw a moose to knock down the bowling pins?” He understood about bowling, but not about how you could have a moose as a friend. And this from a culture that thinks Doremon is perfectly normal and okay to live with.

So it can be said that Mickey picks random memories out of the air and twists them into pretzels to get an idea for a post. Or maybe it is not totally out of the air. I don’t know how many times Mickey has seized on an idea from Facebook, posted by friends of all kinds… former students, fellow teachers, other writers, racist cracker friends from Iowa and Texas, and a distinct lack of normal people. They post all kinds of weird stuff… not pictures of food and kids and kids eating food like normal people. And Mickey’s brain is always on fire and boiling up the pots. He makes connections to random things and ends up with a post about nuthatches. What a Nutter!

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Filed under birds, humor, Paffooney

Tagged as Audubon, autobiography, birds, goofiness, humor, nuthatches, paffooney, prewriting ideas, writing

September 23, 2015 · 3:34 pm

Overcoming

When you have six incurable diseases, are a cancer survivor since 1983, and were forced to retire early due to health and income problems, you have probably seen your share of really, really bad, horrible, rotten, no-good, black-hearted, totally-depressive days. Yep, me too. I just made it through a four-day, no-air-breathing illness, potential car problems, and too much work with too little energy to apply to it. But I made it through. I have secret knowledge.

I have restored myself to light and life in a number of ways. One was through happy discovery. I was able to peanutize myself with the help of a movie promotion I have been following on Facebook. http://www.peanutizeme.com/ This link allows you to turn yourself into a Charles M. Schulz comic strip character with Charlie Brown, Snoopy and the gang. Doing something nutty and foolish is a way to charm and dig and laugh yourself out of depression. It wasn’t all easy and stuff, though. I had to copy my hair and twirl it upside down to get the beard. And I also had to laugh about the chimney growing out of the top of my head like a brick unicorn horn. It’s the kind of goofy stuff that gives a semi-serious artist fits of giggling. So I owe BlueSky Studios not only my thanks, but the link in this paragraph as well. The advertising campaign for the new movie may have saved my life.

Another thing that helped was solving the automobobble problem. My little Ford Fiesta, the Ozzy Osbourne of motor cars, had a heat-fit yesterday in the middle of Lewisville, Texas, Interstate Thirty-Five rush-hour traffic. It developed a seemingly permanent “check-engine” light that threatened an Ozzy at the Alamo moment on the access road. The rush-hour stress built up in me to the point that my blood-sugar dropped and we barely crawled into Taco Bueno to cure it with crispy beef tacos and bean burritos. I have absolutely no money left in savings for more car repairs. So, I crawled into the Walmart oil-change center this morning and pried twenty dollars out of my wallet to get the car-juice sloshed and swirled. Low and behold, after having to sign a waiver that said the problems the car had were the ones it came in with, the new car-juice solved the problem. The engine purrs again and the car has completely forgotten about that “check engine” light, and possibly the biting-the-heads-off-bats thing as well.

So, here is me. You can compare Grumpy-Me to the Peanutized-Me and evaluate whether I appear to be worth saving or not. Notice, I am either holding a newly-purchased Barbie’s little sister doll to add to my maddeningly growing doll collection, or I have managed to kidnap a middle-school girl from Lilliput. I am happy again. At least, I have that old goofy grin again that indicates the pain is not overwhelming… and once again I have overcome!

I should also add that I have been getting work done on my novel, Snow Babies.

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Filed under autobiography, humor, Paffooney

Tagged as autobiography, car problems, depression, doll collecting, humor, illness, overcoming, Peanuts, the Ozzy Osbourne of motor cars

September 22, 2015 · 2:16 pm

Remembering Puppy Love

Yes, I admit it, I had some serious crushes when I was but a boy. Mickey (himself) always said that he hated girls. He said that repeatedly until he was fourteen and that lie could be twisted into some kind of “you-must-be-gay” sort of insult. Couldn’t have that, could we? Especially since my only experience of sex was violent and with another boy. But how could I ever admit the truth about the girls I loved? It was all too silly for words.

All pictures of Annette that I didn’t draw are from her Facebook page, borrowed (or stolen) with love.

Annette Funicello was someone I only saw in Disney movies. And she was quite a bit older than I was. She was born in 1942, and when I was a lovesick puppy of twelve, she was already an old woman of 26 years. I am thinking about her again now, and she has already preceded me in death. I was able to reconnect to her through her Facebook page here; Annette Funicello. But there was never a chance to meet and pursue her in real life. So, naturally, she is the one I told my friends about as the woman I loved when I was twelve and wise in the ways of the opposite sex.

I did not draw this. It is from Facebook.

But the real, secret truth is… ta, ta, ta, taaaah! I really loved another. She was in my class. She was, as my friends and I all agreed, the most beautiful girl ever born into our little community of Rowan, Iowa. She was a farm girl named Alicia Stewart (this, of course, is a lie. I fictionalized the name because we are actually friends on Facebook and she might actually read this post. It doesn’t bother me if she reads this and figures it out, but I want to provide her with deniability so no one else has to know. She has a beautiful family complete with grandkids, and I would never embarrass her in front of them.) To me, she looked like Annette Funicello. I never admitted my deep and abiding puppy-love crush on her to anyone. I loved her never-the-less… and probably still do.

There was that night when I was eleven, and snow was falling heavily after choir practice at the Methodist Church. The walk home was extra difficult. It was becoming a minor blizzard and I was plastered with snow from walking into the teeth of the wind. When I got as far as the Library on Main Street, Mrs. Stewart and Mrs. Kellogg called me into the Library to warm up. They called Mom and Dad to come get me because I really had no business trying to walk home in a snowstorm like that. Alicia was there.

HOLLYWOOD, FL – SEPTEMBER 14: Annette Funicello (R) kisses Mickey Mouse 14 September 1993 after she received a star on the famous Hollywood Walk of Fame in California. The U.S. actress and singer is best known as a famous mouseketeer on the popular 1960’s television show, “The Mickey Mouse Club” as well as the beach movies she made with Frankie Avalon. (Photo credit should read VINCE BUCCI/AFP/Getty Images)

I had my Russian cap with the ear-flaps on and everything pulled down to protect me from the snow, including the front board which was like the bill of the cap, but could be snapped up out of the way. Snow was caked even on that little front flap. My eyes were mostly covered by that frozen and snow-encrusted front flap.

I said, “Gee, I think it might be snowing outside.”

Everyone laughed. Alicia lifted up the front flap and looked me right in the eyes.”Michael, you are so funny!” she said.

I wasn’t really that funny with my stupid little understatement. But her smile was priceless. And I keep it in my heart to this very day. It was the greatest gift any girl ever gave me during my sorry little childhood.

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Filed under autobiography, humor, Paffooney

Tagged as Annette Funicello, autobiography, humor, paffooney, puppy love, romance

September 21, 2015 · 2:28 pm

The Beg-Eye

“I want that chip… yes, that chip… that Pringle’s chip!”

“Are you talking to me again, dog?”

“Yes. I need that chip. If I eat that I will be a people again.”

“But I am eating this chip. I like Pringle’s. And I need energy if I am going to finish editing my novel Snow Babies. Let me finish eating my chips.”

“Look at my eyes. Can’t you see I NEED that chip? It is the most important thing in life that you give me that chip.”

“No, I will not look at your eyes. I know about your Beg-Eye super power. All dogs have it, and little dogs have it in spades.”

“Seriously, just look into my eyes!”

“Oh! Uh, I shouldn’t have looked into your eyes just now.”

“Smack! Crunch! Chew-chew-gobble! Um, yes, you should have. Always look at my eyes when you have food in your hands!”

“Well, maybe I need to start writing now. I am putting the food back in the pantry.”

“Awww! Shucksies!”

“Look into my eyes!” says Jade the talking dog. “You want to buy this book when it’s published, don’t you? Yes, I think you do.”

Playing Checkers With Old Guys

Amongst those who play checkers frequently and well, there is an unwritten rule. He who moves first wins. No matter how well you play, the other guy knows all the moves too. You can’t help but follow the same two or three patterns for the flow of the game if you are determined never to lose when you don’t have to. So, if you play checkers with old gassers who have glasses and bald spots on their heads, liver spots on their arms, and Buddha bellies, then there are no surprises. You can play checkers like the clock ticks, moving relentlessly and without thinking. It allows you to discuss the world, solve the European immigration crisis in the cruelest possible way, watch the grandkids rolling skating in the neighbor’s driveway, complain about frequent bouts of cramps and flatulence, and just generally enjoy life in a way that is as Norman Rockwell as all hell… without actually having to think about it.

Today is a day like that for me. Diabetes ravaged me yesterday, my blood sugar playing a fierce game of Chinese world-champion ping pong between high and low… all day long. My brain is full of sand today and I cannot think. I can write, but the only thing that comes out is sludge as boring as watching old guys play checkers. But I have a young family and duties that will not give me a break. Number two son is playing flag football for his charter school, and we have to get him to a game in Grand Prairie, Texas today, over an hour away through the metroplex in good traffic.

Flag football, of course, is not real football. But this is Texas. Anything even remotely related to football is super serious business in a cowboy-centric world. You have to get out there and cheer. You have show team spirit. You have shout bad words at the other team when they invariably intercept your son’s pass and run it back for a touchdown. And I don’t have the energy today for the drive, let alone the actual football. All things considered, I’d really rather be playing checkers with old guys.

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Filed under autobiography, humor, Paffooney

Tagged as autobiography, checkers, flag football, flatulence, humor, illness, old guys, paffooney

September 17, 2015 · 2:23 pm