Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Happy Thanksgiving. Do You Have A Reservation?

Dear Diary,
This afternoon, while playing on the beach with some of my siblings, I saw three ships, with banners waving, coming my way. Flags of their homeland told of whence they came, and my curiosity got the best of me so I went out to meet them. A bunch of white guys rowed smaller boats to shore and I greeted them with nervous anticipation. They seemed friendly enough at first; that is, until they started raping and pillaging. But I’m not one to hold a grudge. Live and let live, right?

Dear Diary,
Some time has passed since my first encounter with the white guys. I’m trying to be non-judgmental so I decided to forgive and forget. Some friends and I showed the crackers how to plant native crops, catch fish, and hunt for wild game. To their own surprise a handful of them survived the first year. They wanted to celebrate by having a big feast and said we could come if we brought the food. We said “why not?” and brought a butt load of tasty vittles. They called it “Thanksgiving”, and we called it “Your-welcome-giving.”

Dear Diary,
As it turns out our white acquaintances have a lot of relatives AND they invited them all over. They asked if we wouldn’t mind pulling up stakes and giving them a little more space. To help us feel better about the move they gave us a delicious drink that helps you forget you’ve just been ripped off and a bunch of blankets made of this lovely European wool. They called them “Small Pock Comforters” and they were cozy. We didn’t want to seem unaccommodating sooooo, ok.

Dear Diary,
Our white neighbors got in a big fight. I heard that Johnny Reb is mad at Billy Yank because apparently Johnny wants to keep his Negroes and his autonomy but Billy is a control freak and said “no way.” Ironically, while Billy's army is fighting for our black cousins some of his army is out here giving us trouble, but for the most part their guns are pointed at each other, so it gives us a little reprieve. Maybe they’ll all kill each other and we can split the land with the Negroes.

Dear Diary
We found out that there’s gold on our land today. Talk about your bad luck. No time to write, as I have to get packing before my wife and children are murdered.

Dear Diary,
Well, we’ve settled on some God-forsaken worthless toiletbowl-of-the-Earth. No tatonka, no trees, no water, nothin’. Not even the Mexicans would want it.

Dear Diary,
Well I was wrong. They wanted our craphole too. Not to worry though. Our white friends have assured us that they have reserved, on our behalf, some land that they can find absolutely no use for. Just to be sure we asked them to have one more look around just to make sure they couldn’t squeeze an Indian head penny out of the area. They tried and they couldn’t, so it’s ours. To celebrate, me and some of the guys passed around the pipe. No tobacco of coarse, but plenty of broken treaties for everybody to smoke.

Dear Diary
While standing, on break, near the entrance of my casino I saw three cars, with campers trailing, driving my way. License plates of their homeland told from whence they came…

Saturday, November 17, 2007

Would you like some egg with your face?

Once, at the beginning of a blind date, my date asked if I would come into her apartment and quickly help her move a couch. In an effort to make a good impression I kindly obliged. With her and all her roommates in the front room I carelessly picked up the couch and let my pecks flex unrestrained. Well, as those of you who know me can probably guess, my rippling pecks, shoulders, and arms ruptured my shirt like Mt Saint Helens leaving it torn asunder and hanging useless from my belt. I don’t know who was more shocked, them or me. I just stood there, couch in hand, with my gorgeous, Herculean muscles on display for all the girls to ogle; the very archetype of masculinity trapped in a hot-den of rabid femininity. Well, naturally they started swooning and shrieking with pleasure and breathing heavy and heaving their bosoms with passionate rapture; so much so that I thought some of the poor creatures were going to hyperventilate and/or bosoms were going to fly free from their lacy, cupped restraints. That was only the beginning. The breathing and heaving was soon followed by the fighting which broke out over who had the right to love me up and bare my children. You could have cut the angst filled fertility with a knife. There was screaming, clawing, hair pulling, gouging, punching, kicking, back biting, and all kinds of slanderous gossiping. And all the while I’m just standing there awkwardly with my date's couch over my head.
I was SO embarrassed.

I now want to hear your embarrassing date stories. (Thanks for the idea Anjie.) Please submit them by way of comments. Prizes will be awarded for the best stories. Mind you, the stories have to be true like mine. No artistic liberty should be taken. The grand prizewinner will win a cruise for two to Beautiful Island Place of Happiness.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

A Latte of Deep Thinking

One of the reasons I chose to teach high school, as apposed to jr. high, is because I wanted the students to be at a higher level of reasoning. I knew that with higher reasoning skills came more opportunities for deep and meaningful discussions about the various subjects we would be studying. They would not only have the chance to learn the mere facts of history but they would also be able to explore their deeper meanings; the philosophical and cultural ramifications of those facts. Today’s deep conversation was no exception.

Student: Mr. Quinn. Do you know what the weather is going to be like on Sunday?

Me: It’s supposed to be sunny with a 100% chance of rain with a cold front from the west and some snow flurries then a blizzard with freezing temperatures and a heat wave with possible drought bringing in a tropical storm with 175 mile an hour winds which should spur a typhoon followed by ship wreck and 30 days of night and rivers of blood, locusts, plague, pestilence, rabies, murder, male pattern balding, and…

Student: So you don’t know?

Me: No. Why?

Student: Because my mom is taking me for coffee on Sunday and I’ve really been craving a latte.

Me: OK.

Student: Well, I’m hoping it’s cloudy so I can get a latte.

Me: They only sell lattes on cloudy days?

Student: No. It’s just that I only like to get them if it’s cloudy.

Me: Well sure. That makes sense.

Student: If it’s cloudy I like to get a latte and if it’s sunny I like to get an iced coffee. Don’t you drink latte?

(There’s a long pause while I stare at her and contemplate not only the generational, but also the intellectual gap.)

Me: No.