Author Archives: Ken Hansen

Jingle All Night Long

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Note: this story was pulled out of the archives during a time when I was still working. However, all too many of the premises in the story still hold true for me today…

Santa Claus is coming already! I suppose you folks all have your shopping done, right? Well, not me. I always wait till the last minute. It’s kind of a ritual, I guess. There may come a time when I quit procrastinating, perhaps tomorrow or the next day. But until then, look for me at the all night department store, right into the wee hours of Christmas Eve.

Wonderful rationalizations get cooked up in a part of my brain (which I lovingly refer to as the “lazy cortex”) around this time of year. First of all, I figure the number of other shoppers in the middle of the night is way down; and that’s the way I like it. Therefore, I tell myself, it’s best for me to shop later at night.  Secondly, since I’m always living from paycheck to paycheck anyway, the last check of the year is the logical choice for holiday shopping. Sure, I suppose I could squirrel away a few dollars here and there to prepare for the holiday season. However, that would require something terrible of me: discipline and planning. Those two concepts just scare me to death!

Once upon a time, I did do a little shopping for my Beautiful Honey Pie while on a business trip to Pennsylvania a few years ago. Because of a tight schedule and absolutely NO CLUE where to go, I asked Siri The Nice iPhone Lady where the nearest shopping was. She directed me to Promenade Place; which appears to be where all the rich people go. Although I’m blessed in millions of ways, I’m not independently wealthy. But I ventured into a jewelry store with hope of finding a nice pair of earrings for my sweetie. I knew I was in trouble when none of the items in the fancy glass cases had prices on them. Then I found what seemed to be a reasonably priced pair of turquoise earrings. The nice man said, “Those are 4-0-5.” And he didn’t mean 4 dollars and 5 cents. I thanked him for his time and hit a two other stores called Francesca’s and Charming Charlie’s. Between the two of those I found about 6 pairs of nice earrings that fell well into my price range.

I had grandiose plans of stashing some of the jewelry for Christmas; but the rule when I traveled on business is that I was to “bring back a surprise.” Even though I was only gone for a couple days I missed my Baby so much that I ended up giving her all the loot in one shot. That, of course, meant I had to go on the hunt again; with Christmas drawing ever nearer.

My wife just shook her head and laughed at me, bless her soul. And that year, with the economy “in recovery,” the stores are enabling my last minute mania.  Stuff just kept going down in price!  It was amazing!!  Of course you have to be willing to wade through hordes of other procrastinators.  And unfortunately, some of them are getting rather ornery.   I was in Meijer the other day (our local everything store, for those of you who don’t know Michigan), and it was a complete madhouse.  People packed and zooming all about.  After I finally arrived at the cashier, I joked with her, “Well you must be completely bored today, what with it being so slow and all.”  She smiled and related how nice it was to have the time whiz along.  “So, at least folks are in a good mood,” I added.  “Nooo,” she said in a low tone, “people are nasty.  Getting mad ‘cuz nothing’s in stock, or it costs more than they think it should.”

Like the cashier has any control over such things.  Unfortunately, our wonderfully materialist world has all too many folks convinced that Christmas is all about the presents, instead of the peace on Earth and all that stuff.  Couple that with the pressure of uncertainty in the job market… heck, uncertainty in the world, and people get a bit antsy.  Then add a little “holy cow it’s only 4 days before Christmas and look at all I gotta do,”  and some folks get downright nasty.  All that lovely Christmas spirit gets converted into scowls and hustle-bustle.

I don’t get ornery… I’ve just pretty much accepted the fact that my Santa mode doesn’t kick in very early in the season.  In other words, one thing about my holiday shopping is pretty predictable: I’ll be running through all the stores with my just-before-Christmas-paycheck like a head with my chicken cut off (or something). By the time I reach the last checkout, I’ll be too exhausted even to balk at those crazy tabloid headlines.  Something like, “120 YEAR OLD WOMAN CLAIMS TO BE TRUMP’S TWIN SISTER,” would usually prompt me to snicker or chuckle. By then, it will just be a cold stare, and robotic “hmmm.”

I’ll fumble for the credit card, cram the receipt in my wallet, drag all the stuff to the car, and it’s home again, home again, jiggety-jog. On the way home, I love to tune the AM dial and look for that distant station playing Dickens’ “Christmas Carol.”  Maybe sing some carols while it fades out.

The approach to the homestead involves a little Santa trick. I kill the engine, coast into the driveway, sneak inside with the goodies, and hide somewhere to make lots of crinkly noises with wrapping paper until 4 a.m. Finally, I’ll stash the loot under the tree, and flop into bed; vowing to start at least two days earlier next year.

Or not.

Maybe if I learned a few things from Grampy, all the Christmas presents could be built right at home!!

To My Friends Of Whom I Have No Intrusion

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Dear Mandible Jigglers,

Good afternoon, ladies and germs. I’ve been thinking of what a horrible time I had getting to this point in my life, but then my legs fell off when I climbed down the drain to rescue the noodles which were trying to escape my chewing machine. I know I am a lazy green tomato shaver, but every time I have an urge to yell “No Twinkies for YOU!” at Brobe, the local shredded wheat policeman person, a large and ugly nail collector jumps on my belly like a trampoline.

Now as you all well know, I have been impersonating a sofa for many years. New people have been looking under me for the long lost Legos, but when they lift me up I jingle too loudly so they cry for assistance. Fortunately, I wear a red raspberry raincoat to protect me from the flying squid. Those things make me really scared. Have you ever seen an angry squid show its wings? Ooooo, they don’t have any. But if they did it wouldn’t be my fault. I was never there and you can’t prove anything I say is real or smelly.

Oh, I forgot to tell you that smartphones are all programmed to barf large amounts of blue slimy cake-waste on the 29th of August. Don’t pay any attention to that man behind the curtain! Can anyone hear me? I made jelly with lint yesterday, and it’s difficult to play the harmonica now. In fact, I think I put too much duck breath in the pie today. I have been a mess like this lately, and it’s probably due to the large pile of rotten tongue depressors I found in the middle of the road. I mean, you can tell that the trees are just happy to be here. They’ve been singing those same stupid tree songs ever since I can remember. Then they wrap dirt in fancy paper and present it to each other during that “Dumb Dirt Festival” they have everyday on the Breadhouse lawn.

Ah yes. The Beautiful Breadhouse. The only thing wrong with such a house is that it’s really a mess when it rains. Mold comes and they have to get out the lawn molders to chop it down to less than knee-high by the fourth of July. But the stupid trees keep going to the bread store to build a new house; then they have nightmares about french toast and butter knives. I tried to convince them to use Elmer’s glue and rice, but they sniggled at that idea. Now look at them, they can’t get a job and they won’t eat their house. I just don’t know. I could mail them some weeds! But then I would be getting close to another paragraph page, and I don’t think I can talk about this kind of thing for more than eleven sixty two.

So there, I have bared my soul to you. You are now fully aware that I am not the guy you have come to know, I am merely a small piece of the space shuttle looking for a nice garage sale. Can you please guide me to the nearest litter box? I have something special in mind for the creeps who turned my car into a hammer handle.

Well, my dearest friends, I can’t for the life of me remember your names. But if we ever meet again, please give me a lot of money. I know that’s a big request from a

stranger, but you know as well as I do that the best things in life are free… So give me your money darn it!!! Do you really want to trap your soulds in useless material possessions?? Give me all you have and let me bear the burden for you!

I promise I won’t sell your most beloved things until I get around the corner. If your pets are selling watches on the street, what business is it of yours? They can’t work at McDonald’s all my life. I mean hey, we gotta get something from somewhere and find out what the heck it is! Otherwise, we won’t know what we have, and then we’ll be at the end of this letter! And it’s about doggoned time!!

Sing loudly and bark at the bugs!

Insincerely yours,

Hembert “Crinkles” Wopplecracker

a.k.a. Your Favorite Life Coach

And now for something completely different…

How To Bake Bread

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People have been baking bread for thousands of years. In fact, bread has become one of the most important foods on our wonderful planet. But no one, NO ONE, makes bread the way I do. That’s probably because I’ve never made bread!! But I have eaten it many times. After a very small amount of imprecise research, I have gathered some truly scientificable ideas on the making of bread. I’ve also learned a few amazing remarkables by listening to other bread basket talking peoples. Therefore, I have decided I should share my secret bread making observations with all of you, right here and right now, whether you like it or not.

The main ingredient in any good bread is, of course, grain dust. You know, the stuff that happens when they grind up wheat, oats, or rice, for example. Sure, some people call this flour, but I find this too confusing. I mean, I love the smell of spring time, and occasionally someone hands me a blossom of some sort and says, “Here, sniff this flower.” Of course, being the friendly person that I am, I put this flower up to my nose and sniff its wonderful sniffiness.

But suppose I have my eyes closed, and I’m offered flour instead of a flower. I might be able to notice by touching that it was a bit powdery. But if I had my eyes closed, and was not holding it, and I put my nose in the flour and sniffed… that would not be pleasant. I would probably have a very powdery sneeze. Then I would reach for a tissue; and if I wasn’t careful I might make paper mache’ in my nose!

Therefore, my professional opinion is the term grain dust is much more correct. I suppose one could call it “powdered wheat,” or something like that. I just think grain dust has a nice ring to it, OK? So anyhow, grain dust is the main ingredient in bread. You certainly couldn’t just fill up a pan with grain dust and bake that, now could you? All you would get is cooked dust, and it would make a real mess if you tried to put it in the toaster. No, you have to make the grain dust soggy with something so it will stick together. That’s where the moo juice and chicken seeds come in handy. Oh sure, now someone has to know what moo juice is, right? Of course, it’s the white water from cows!

**!!WARNING!!**

Cows make two kinds of juice: one is yellow and one is white. Never, *NEVER* USE THE YELLOW MOO JUICE FOR COOKING. Very ocky. Whew! Glad I warned you! Of course, unless you live on a farm, it’s not likely you’ll see much of the yellow moo juice.

Not sold in stores.

And chicken seeds? That’s where new chickens come from. Just plant some under a warm mama chicken, and the seeds will sprout baby chickens in a matter of weeks. It’s truly remarkable! Infertile chicken seeds will not germinate, so those are the kind normally used for bread construction. You wouldn’t want to kill a baby chicken just to have bread, right?? These infertile seeds are also called “eggs,” and are used for baking cakes, kromkaker, omelettes, and other neat things to stuff your face with.

OK, so now we have the stuff to make the grain dust gooey so it will stick together. If we mix some grain dust, moo juice, and chicken seeds up in a bowl, the goop will just sit there and look at you. Not very bready looking, if you know what I mean. We have to put some stuff in the goop to make it floof up, so the bread will be puffy instead of flat. Bread bugs are just what we need.

Scientifically known as “yeast,” these tiny little bread bug organisms are poured out of their package and into the goop. Then they are allowed to have families, make babies (lots of them, too!) and eat the goop for a while. The bread bugs pig out really well and burp a lot while they are eating. This burping makes bubbles in the goop, and the mixture begins to rise from all the fun the bread bugs are having. Such bread bug burp mixture is often referred to as dough. Science is very remarkable about naming things, because until this (not very) extensive research about bread, I was always under the impression that dough was another name for money.

Who knew it applies to bread??

It’s always good to have dough, especially when you want to buy something. I’ve always figured that’s why bakers work so hard… they knead the dough. Hey, I need dough as much as anybody else, and it sure seems like you gotta shell out a lotta clams (another term for money) for everything these days. So maybe I’ll go to work in the bakery so I can shell the dough and knead the clams.

Anyhow, you have to knead the dough to bake bread. Then you have to be able to loaf; and then into the oven the dough must go. So does this mean if you’re a good loafer, you can get a lot of work done baking bread? Apparently so!! Very confusing, but I’ll push those thoughts out of my brain while I sniff the delicious odor of freshly baked bread.

OK. Now you may or may not have all the information you knead to bake bread. I’m getting hungry with all the bread talk! I think I’ll make myself a clam sandwich and get a nice glass of that white moo juice so the clams will have something to swim in when they’re inside my tummy.

Happy Bread Baking, and don’t loaf too hard!

My Holiday Requirements for 2024

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Dear Friends,

Hopefully all of you had a very nice Thanksgiving. According to the TV commercials, we are well into the Holiday Season. Anyway, as I hope you truly know, I love all of you very much and hope you have a very Happy Merry and a most Joyful Wonderful. My sincere hope is that all of you are blessed each and every day of your living lives, and that you are as happy and healthy as possible. If you have trouble believing that I feel this way about each and every one of you, I’ll be compelled to call my Cousin Rocco (yes, I really do have a Cousin Rocco who hails from Brooklyn).

Please don’t make me go there.

Those of you who know me well are aware that I’m not exactly Mr. Material Wealth Guy. I am a product of the 60’s, and am perfectly happy growing vegetables organically and letting what’s left of my hair grow just as long as I can. I do try to express gratitude to Those God People, but sometimes my wants exceed my knees.

The upcoming Holidays, after all, are a time of giving. Therefore, I would like all of you to remember to buy me the things I will list here; and if you don’t mind, just consider them demands and get with the program already because there are only a couple of weeks left to shop and HOLY COW I’m way behind with my own shopping but I already scored some cool stuff for my family so I think I’m gonna be OK but just in case I’ll probably hit some stores at the last minute because I truly intend to quit procrastinating either tomorrow or the next day; but until that time I’ll just marvel at this run-on sentence since this is probably one of the first one I’ve ever written that didn’t have at least one comma or semi-colon oh wait there are four commas and two semi-colons but really I have to wonder why anyone would want a semi-colon anyway as it seems it would be very bad for your digestive system because a full colon likely could be much better.

OK.

Without any further ado, here is my list of required gifts you must get for me this year. Simply work together and coordinate between youse to satisfy my need for the following mandatory items:

A) 12 sets of matching pretzels (none of my current sets match).

12) The 10th edition, signed copy of “Don’t Sniff The Railroad Tracks,” by Wilbur “Flathead” Grumpington.

6r) A dark yellow pair of flannel boxer shorts with both USB and HDMI ports.

5) One or two jumbo 14.7 oz. boxes of Kelloggg’s Plastic Pops Dental Floss Cereal.

y9q) Why is the coffee pot so stinky?? OH FOO!! I LEFT IT ON WHEN IT WAS EMPTY AGAIN!!! Oh wait… that’s not supposed to be on the list…

M) A Blu-Ray copy of that famous 1922 holiday classic, “Billy’s New Nostrils.”

Pox) Next time you go to the store, would you please pick me up some more kitty litter? Oh, and we’re almost out of toilet paper. Probably could use some raisins for tomorrow night’s gravy also. What? No, I don’t have any money!! Sheesh, I thought you had some! Oh nevermind.

1W) I’ve always wanted a radio controlled tape dispenser!! Better get 3… I’ll use them often.

P3G) One time I was dreaming, right? And there was this bowl of blue shiny stuff that smelled just like licorice. People would step in and it would make them speak strange languages. Please buy me one of those.

X5) I’m pretty sure my robotic ear itcher needs a new crambosis membrane… nudge-nudge, wink-wink…

Finally, I’ll be needing larger amounts of cash than last year. I’ll accept gold bullion or even platinum ingots if absolutely necessary.

If you can’t come through with any of the aforementioned items, please be aware that my kale and potatoes are sleeping soundly in the garden under a nice blanket of leaves topped with snow. Come by some time and we can dig up some tubers and leaves; and we’ll make some snake eye soup and gorge ourselves on tree bark.

In the meantime, please have a blessed day, every day. Peace and love to you all.

So there.

Yours with much flaming dandruff,

Broink Zubblepuff

a.k.a. Ronky “The Belch” Burpenwiggles

Here’s a novel old gem… watch for appearances by Laurel and Hardy, The Marx Brothers, and the Three Stooges!! Animated, of course…

Good Mung, Dad!!

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Money. I hate money, especially when it isn’t plentiful. Like right now, at my house. I’m so broke, I can’t afford to pay attention. My wallet has been converted from a billfold to a card library.

Wait! I found a whole dollar in there!

Mind you, when I say I’m broke, it certainly does not mean I’m poor. Not by a longshot. But since my wife’s passing, income is less; so I’ve been trying to cut corners a bit. Yesterday I made an elegant meal of Stouffer’s macaroni & cheese mixed with Swiss chard from the garden, some slided up hot dogs, onions, and green peppers. Came out OK… hey it was nourishing (I think). When I described the managerie to my son he said, “You mean like that mung you used to feed us?” “Ha ha, yeah, I guess!!” I chucked. “I forgot about mung!! Sounds like a good ‘Happy Friday!!!’ topic!!”

More about mung later…

My Mom knew how to save bucks by being creative in the kitchen, a feat I never fully appreciated until we were blessed with children. Poor Mom tried her best to make a silk casserole out of a sow’s rib cage, but my brother Eric and I would taunt her when something was less than delectable.

Take Chicken Fricassee, for example. No, really. Take it. That stuff was nasty. Chicken molecules in a creamy white sauce with carrots, celery, onions, potatoes and stuff all cooked to death and plopped in our bowls. This was the end of the road for the chicken carcass and bones essentially. It was OK I guess, but we had it once too often one month. When my bro and I learned it was on the menu AGAIN, we went outside to march to and fro while chanting:

“Chicken fricasee is blech! Chicken fricasee is BLECH! Chicken fricasee is BLaaeeCH!”

Mom would come out and sigh, “Awright youse guys…,” and go back inside and put more stuff in the pot. Seemed to work for a while, we didn’t have chicken fricasee for a few months afteward.

I have since renamed the dish Fricken Chickasee. It’s not allowed at our house.

Other days brought predictable staples: macaroni & cheese with hotdogs and spinach; potato hotdog soup; spaghetti with God Knows What (whatever meat happened to be around); and macaroni & cheese with tomato sardines and spinach. Anybody see a pattern here?

Eric and I were the older kids, and with sis and another brother we numbered four. God bless Mom, she always managed to keep our bellies full. She got her frugal kitchen skills from growing up during the Great Depression, and used her knowledge to stretch Dad’s paycheck. We always asked, “What’s for supper, Ma?” Usually cheerful even when she had to scrimp, she’d answer, “Leftover Delight!!” We’d groan and go back outside. If we asked about the menu when she was bummed by life, the universe, and everything; she would scowl at the pots and mutter, “Slum Gullion.”

When I became a Dad (and a Mom, when my lovely wife was working nights), I really appreciated this culinary legacy. Especially when our cash supply was running in phantom mode. I went a step further and became creative when naming my impromptu dishes. I stole one such name from Saturday Night Live, when Mike Meyers and Dana Carvey were doing a “Wayne’s World” skit and uttered the word, “Mung.” Garth asked Wayne what that meant, and Wayne confessed that he didn’t know, but he liked the sound of it. There are such things as mung beans, which are often found in Asian dishes in the form of sprouts; but that’s not what Wayne was talking about. Needless to say, I really liked the way mung rung.

Hee hee!

So, when asked what’s for dinner, and I had to improvise, I’d tell the kids, “We’re having mung;” and they’d reply, “Oh jeez.” Mung could be anything from Hamburger Helper with extra pasta and a vegetable, to spaghetti with GodKnowsWhat. One of my personal favorites was Chicken Cockamamie: leftover chicken (and hey Mom, I actually DEBONED it first!) heated up with a couple cans of cream of celery soup, and veggies plopped in there. Served over those crunchy Chinese noodles. If the flavor passed the test, the kids would warm my heart by saying, “Good mung, Dad!!”

Of course, I got leftover mung for lunch the next day at work. That was always wonderful. I’d plaster it with garlic powder the night before, and when I’d nuke it at work, inquisitive noses came a-sniffing:

“Hey, whatcha got there? Smells pretty good!”

“Mung. Leftover mung from last night.”

“What’s mung?”

“Well, today it’s Chicken Cockamamie.”

“Right. Oookay. What the heck is that?”

Then I’d explain. Many ran away screaming. But others listened intently, mulled the recipe about, and would often modify it out loud…

“Oooo. Maybe some peas would go nicely in there too.”

“Bet that would be good on mashed potatoes.”

“Sure,” I’d nod with a smile.

Payday would finally arrive and there’d be no need to make any mung for two, maybe three days. Then I could daydream about such delightful entrees like… oh I dunno, how about Bread Helper. Or Mashed Mung with gravy.

I knew one thing for sure… it wasn’t gonna be no Fricken Chicasee.

OK kids, pardon the slapstick, but this is still a funny one. Nor sure if they’re making mung or what…

A Grand(son’s) Story Suggestion

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When our grandsons spent the weekend with us, I was sometimes given a suggestion regarding a topic for Happy Friday!!! So lemme think… I believe this was in March of 1897… that one year the cannibals went to the grocery store for cake or something. Anyway, after the customary cartoons before bed, my Beautiful Girlfriend asked, “Whatchya gonna write about tonight?” “No idea,” I replied. Then Ollie piped up, “How about The Secret Habitat Of The Wumbledorg?” “Wumbledorg??” I asked.

OK… so this was the result.

The Secret Habitat Of The Wumbledorg

by Ken Hansen

It is not common knowledge, but as I’m sure none of you remember, there are things in this world which simply cannot be sold to potato ranchers unless it’s raining really hard and the knobs on the toaster are set to 92 just before the trees slide sideways through the grocery store while small children ask why this run-on sentence doesn’t stop; please stop now please.

Thank you.

Twelve of the things that can’t be sold to potato ranchers are accustomed to living in electric caves that zig and zag under many parts of New Jersey. In fact, Zelda Snorklefoot called all the toads in the Brinkle District to instruct them all to please quit barking at the new sand eating applesauce jars. When the toads received this request, all 17 of them quietly marched into the electric caves to complain to Brambo, King of Neeflehoppen. Of course, each toad carried his or her own Cosmic Crayon in case there were any large paper antelopes blocking their way. It seems that these creatures do NOT like being colored in any way, as they prefer their natural shade of Jellyfish Purple.

All but 29 of the toads lost their way to Brambo’s Palace. None of them had maps, and only 34 of them knew how to use GPS. That didn’t matter much anyway, because when you’re in an electric cave it’s difficult to get electronic devices to sneeze politely. No, they simply had to rely on the maps that were made in The Ancient Times by their ancestors. These maps were very valuable, because without them it was impossible to find out where the secret doors were clanging softly during all those very cronkulary exploding mustard songs.

Zelda tried to warn the toads before they left on their cave marching journey. In fact, she did her best to warm them musically with a song that sounded rather familiar, especially around this time of year.

All 58 of the toads smiled a gribbly smile as they fondly remembered the words…

“You better watch out!!

Better not cry!!

Better not pout!!

I’m tellin’ you why…

Wumbledorg is under

the ground!!”

Although most of the 82 toads had heard this sung to the tune of “Santa Clause Is Coming To Town” before, some of the youngsters were really greasy from playing on the sculpture of a minivan that was made almost entirely of fried chicken. So the youngsters cried and pouted on their way down inside the electric cave; not aware of the danger that could be in store for them. The other 136 toads tried to get them to “SSSHHHH!!!” but they were all insistent on throwing radios during the entire cave march.

After the 23rd radio was tossed, a small “binking” sound could be heard. As the group approached the corner of Cavern Boulevard and Stalagmite Street, the binking grew louder and louder. The closer they got, the louder the binking; until they arrived at a shimmering part of the cave wall that didn’t look anything like the rest of the ketchup castle.

Vornis The FlyBiter was the oldest toad, and therefore the most experienced in electric cave crayon cribbling. Despite his best efforts to keep the location a secret, he was horribly aware that young Skeebles was going to put his hand near the shimmering wall. Vornis shouted, “DON’T!! YOU’LL WAKE UP THE WUMBLEDORG!!”

Too late, unfortunately.

Suddenly the shimmering wall began to open as if someone was operating a floppy curtain while trying to ride a bicycle into an oatmeal box. As the wall opened, the binking sound got much louder, and now it was accompanied by flashing lights and streams of gold and silver confetti. All 251 toads stood motionless and wide-eyed as a strange creature with large, furry eyebrows and red pajamas with white polka dots came out dancing. “Oh great,” snorted Vornis. “You woke up the Wumbledorg. Now we’re in trouble.”

The Wumbledorg wasted no time. He smirked a smiggly smirk, and started chanting As Seen On TV commercials. “The fantastic Salad Exploder cannot be found in stores!! Order today for only $19.99 plus shipping and handling!! If you order RIGHT NOW, you can get 2 Salad Exploders for the price of one!! Order today!!” All 379 toads were enchanted at first, but after the 45th commercial, they all replied in unison, “Thanks, but no thanks.” They marched away from the Wumbledorg with their heads held high, and doing so prevented them from seeing the Magic Manhole they all fell into. It was OK though… each of the 759 toads could be heard shrieking with glee as they slid into the Magic Manhole, which of course was lined with insect flavored gummy bears.

The moral of this story, of course, is: never wiggle the shimmering wall or the Wumbledorg will try to sell you things you never knew you needed.

The End.

OK here’s something weirdly ha ha. Bad Lip Reading makes me laugh until I fall on the zucchini. Suggestion: turn on the closed captions ( CC ) while watching this video. Prepare to be tightly wrinkled.

The Fond Memory Of A Grandsons’ “Happy Friday!!!”

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This week’s “Happy Friday!!!” was the result of suggestions from our grandsons way back in the good of days of 2018. Oliver was 9 years old at the time, and Gabe was at the ripe old age of five. We went to pick them up for a weekend visit at our house, and on the way home I asked, “What should I write about this week?”

Ollie answered, “How about a cat that lives inside a vacuum cleaner?” Gabe quickly added, “Yeah and he’s wearing a hat that got sucked in!!” Wasn’t really sure how I would approach this challenge, considering that it’s usually late outside when I start writing. That’s because of a tradition that began many moons ago: we’d watch very old cartoons until it’s very late. After a big day of chores and getting them settled into bed after several cartoons; my creative energy tended to dwindle.

Fortunately, though, they both got me off the hook. While lying in bed, Ollie said, “I changed my mind. I’d like a different story.” “OK,” I replied, “how about something like The Adventures Of Marble Face Moe?” “Yes!” Ollie returned; at which point Gabe quickly chimed in, “Yes, and The Adventures Of Nonsense!!”

So here we go:

The Adventures Of Marble Face Moe And The Adventures Of Nonsense

by Ken Hansen

Marble Face Moe was often teased by the neighborhood kids. That’s because when he was very young, marbles got stuck to his face and wouldn’t come off. All the neighborhood kids thought that he looked pretty weird. Marble Face Moe’s appearance kind of scared them really; so they didn’t know how to react except to tease poor Moe.

It all started when Moe began collecting marbles. Many marbles. Many, MANY marbles. Moe collected so many marbles that he had to keep them in a big wash tub. He really liked looking at all his marbles, and was always trying to figure out how to get the best view. Moe thought maybe if he stuck his whole face inside the big pile of marbles, they would look really cool when seen up close. He began to push his face into the marbles when his mother walked by and noticed him.

“Moe, I think you have your face too close to all those marbles!!” she warned. “Be careful, you never know what can happen!! Back away a little bit please!!” “OK Mom,” Moe replied. Then he waited for her to leave and rammed his face deep into the pile of marbles. Unfortunately, things didn’t go the way Moe was hoping. Not only did he find the marbles very uncomfortable on his eyes (because they were so close), but many of the marbles stuck to his skin. He tried to brush them off but that didn’t work.

Moe got pretty scared, so he ran to his Mom and she got pretty scared too. She tried to calm Moe down with her loving voice, but all the while she was wondering how in the world all these marbles got stuck in Moe’s skin. Next, of course, she was thinking really hard about how to get them off. She tried just brushing them off with her hands; and of course just as Moe told her, that didn’t work. Then she tried smearing various household things on Moe’s face, hoping to wash the marbles off somehow. First, she tried soap and water. No luck. Then she tried butter, mayonnaise, peach jelly, cat food, and even cheese sticks. Finally she gave up and took Moe to the face doctor.

Once they got to Dr. Skinslimer’s office, he began to squint at the sight of Moe’s predicament. “Ah yes, the old marble face thing. You didn’t listen to your Mom, did you young man??” “No, sir,” Moe said sheepishly. “Well, I hate to tell both of you this, but those marbles are there to stay… at least for now. You’ll have to wait till you grow out of them.” “Oh no, Doctor!!” gasped Moe’s Mom. “How long will that take?” Doctor Skinslimer answered, “Could be a week or two, could be a few months. Think of it as a bad case of pimples.”

Moe and his Mom hung their heads with sadness and left the doctor’s office. Soon after they got home, (note to the reader: this is where The Adventures Of Nonsense begins) Moe tried to capture some eels with his pickle pencils. Both Moe and his Mom found out that telephones often like a gooey snack during TV crunching time. Once both onions were allowed outside to hunt for seagull boogers, the only crayons that learned how to shave were singing loudly during The Great Purple Goat Festival.

Ponk, ponk, ponk went the tiny truck wagons as they flew backwards during the cranberry storms. Evil weevils stole all the oatmeal, but then they figured out that if you try to paint your eyebrows with dark blue cupcake juice, all of your friends will laugh at the whipped cream tire tracks that never decorated the sidewalks. Actually, if you put cheese inside a computer screen, not only will you get enough paper to fry bananas, but you will also have itchy elbows for the rest of the movie.

Yes, yes, YES!!! I have tried sniffing toasted bookshelves and I still am not hungry for them today!!! Please, if you want to make me a nice meal, just get the bottle of frozen washing machine parts and shake it loudly. During the noise, the recipe for my favorite dish, Macaroni and Sneeze, will appear on the kitchen wall next to where all those ants have been making vacation cabins. Lucy likes licking licorice lamps lately. Steven says sauerkraut smells snergelly; so Santa sneaks sardines southward! Many more Martians mumble miggly-boo and foompa-dissnockey.

That is the way of my people.

So as you can see, more hammers are found in the ocean than any other pile of dried fly swatters. Do you want to taste this pair of headphones? Are you going to explode if you don’t ever chew bacon again? Will cars, trucks, trains and airplanes ever wear funny hats and go to parties together? Listen… do you smell anything? The answer to all these questions is, of course: tree shoes.

Thank you and please don’t forget to enjoy your cabbage bath. The ducks are waiting…

OK… here’s an example of the cartoons we enjoy until it’s too late to wash the frogs:

A Funny Hallowe’en Story

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Holy cow it’s late outside right now!! Just got back from the last home football game for the Kenowa Hills Knights. I’m not really a sports nut, but I did find myself rooting loudly for the home team at various times. The oldest grandson, Oliver, is in marching band, so that of course was the primary draw for us to attend the game. The band was simply fantastic, and the home team won their game. A perfect way to wrap up the season.

However, this all made for a rather late evening, and silly me, I neglected to have anything ready for the weekly “Happy Friday!!!” blog thing. But that’s OK, I have many stories from days of yore that many have forgotten. Therefore it is with considerable pleasure that I reminisce with a very silly Hallowe’en story I was summoned to write a few yingles ago.

The scene: the grandsons were at our house, it’s late outside, and cartoons are done. Time for the youngsters to hit the hay, and if the hay doesn’t cry too loudly or hurt too badly, then Ollie and Gabe might be able to get some sleep. The hay may not like being hit you see. Not sure if anyone has ever asked. Who started this hitting the hay stuff anyhow?? Regardless… teeth were brushed, grandsons were getting settled in for the night.

“Good night you guys,” I said to both.

“Will you write us a story?” asked Gabe.

“What should I write about?” I queried.

“Ollie,” said Gabe, “what should Papa write about?”

“Well it’s gonna be Hallowe’en soon…” I offered.

“Yeah,” says Ollie, “write a funny Hallowe’en story.”

Well I don’t know about funny, but I do know how to write very silly things. So here goes:

I think this Hallowe’en should be extra special. Ollie could maybe dress up like a vacuum cleaner, and Gabe could be an electric train set. No… that won’t work; we’d have to have very long power cords so they wouldn’t be able to go very far. Perhaps Gabe could be a corn stalk and Ollie could be a bean pod. Or maybe we could color them both green and they could go as two peas without a pod!!

Or not…

I know!! They could just wear their regular costumes, but we could start our trick or treating journey in that one neighborhood where the only treats you get are pepperoni and venison jerky. I believe that’s in the Upper Peninsula of Italy if I’m not mistaken. On the other hand, we could stay local and when we get to people’s houses we could sing “How Much Is That Turkey In The Window” and ask for drumsticks and wings. We could keep the gravy in our pockets… nothing is more satisfying that dipping a turkey wing in your gravy pocket just before a nice nibbling session.

The new Hallowe’en tradition that never happened ever in our living lives is the truly awesome practice of yodeling with a mouthful of chocolate milk. This is done by the full moon while walking between houses during trick or treating. If you are actually able to do this, you can imagine yourself as a werewolf who enjoys making strange gargling noises. Try to keep the chocolate milk in your mouth while you walk, we wouldn’t want any stray werewolves to slip and slide on the milk trail.

My costume will probably be… um… I dunno… how’s about I dress up like a raisin tree. You know, a tree that is in full bloom with raisins. Yes, I know there’s no such thing as a raisin tree; but walking around makes me hungry and when we go trick or treating I’ll be able to pick the raisins off my costume and eat them with my face and hands. I know one thing: I refuse to shove raisins in my nostrils and ear canals any longer!! I mean hey, I get a bit weary of not being able to hear myself trying to sneeze!! Then when I finally do sneeze, snotified raisins fly in random directions. For some reason, people nearby do not appreciate getting pelted with such booger blastings.

I really hope we manage to find some houses that give other kinds of really cool Hallowe’en treats this year. Dunno about you, but all those calamari candy bars are not really my favorite anymore. Oh and we need to stay away from Mrs. Flumpkonkel’s house. She’s been handing out chocolate covered eggs. No, I mean real eggs. And she always forgets to cook them!!

Finally, when we all get back home we’ll need to dump out your trick or treat bags to count how many pieces of turkey venison pepperoni jerky you get. We’ll also need to make sure that if you get any chocolates by mistake, that I take them and quickly plop them into my gravy pockets so I can munch on them later.

If you don’t like any of these ideas, I suppose we could just go regular trick or treating and just get a bunch of candy and stuff.

But that might be boring.

What’s For Dinner? Medicine!

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Seems like every autumn is accompanied by sniffles, coughs, and sneezes. So to enjoy the spirit of fall, my nostrils started gribbling and my gigantor nose thing started sneezing today. Bit of a sore throat too… a tickle anyway. And no I don’t have allergies. It’s just some kind of sinus bug I believe. I decided to counterattack the germs by making medicine for dinner. That doesn’t mean I load up with over the counter cold remedies; although of course some of those can be part of the cold killing arsenal. Nope, it’s much more basic, much more traditional, much more practical than that.

I make soup.

Soup has been known for centuries as an excellent means of warming and nourishing the body. There are lots of time tested, soup based, medicinal concoctions that have been passed down through the generations; chicken soup being one of the more well known. Seems to me, though, some very important combinations of effective natural germ killing additives for soup are too often overlooked. If I must say so myself, I’ve gotten pretty good at making yummy but powerful cold killing soups over the years.

I start with stock, of course. Often, my soup stock starts as compost. HUH??!! Well OK, it’s not technically compost yet, but it would have been if I hadn’t tossed it into the gallon sized freezer bag first. Still confused? Ha ha, yes I know… OK enough silly: whenever I trim the ends from carrots, or the peel of an onion, snips of celery, et cetera, I put them into a gallon size freezer bag and pop them in the freezer. Once the bag is full, it’s available for stock. I empty the contents into our 4 quart Revere Ware pot and cover with water. I put the cover on, then boil the heck out of the snippings until they start to fall apart. Then I take a potato masher and smoosh them around so they release more goodies before I strain the contents through a colander into another pot. The stock becomes soup, and now the snippings can be thrown in the compost.

I add a cup of beans, ½ cup of barley, ½ cup of lentils ½ cup of rice for the protein. Quinoa could also be used by itself, as it contains complete proteins. And yes you could use meat such as chicken or beef; but I choose not to.

I cook the previous ingredients in the stock till they’re done, then the fun begins. If you don’t have anything to make stock, you can of course buy some. Sometimes I use a can of chicken noodle soup to provide a base. Here comes the cold killing stuff:

1 big handful of finely chopped fresh parsley

1 medium yellow onion (diced)

2 or three carrots, sliced (I didn’t have any carrots today so I diced up a turnip instead)

4 cloves (at least) of fresh garlic (minced) Note: there is a medicinal compound in garlic called allicin, which is activated by exposure to air. To get the greatest benefit, mince the garlic and allow it to sit in the open air for at least 10 minutes before adding it to the soup.

1 teaspoon of dried thyme leaves

1 heaping teaspoon of sage (powdered)

1 ½ teaspoons of fresh chopped rosemary leaves (dry is OK too)

1 teaspoon dried oregano

1 bundle of wild cabbage (or kale) leaves, chopped (stems and all… wild cabbage is from our garden and is an ancestor to other cole crops like kale, broccoli, and Brussles sprouts).

Salt to taste (be careful… those eating the soup can always add more). Sometimes before salting the soup I’ll slosh some Kikkoman Organic Soy Sauce in the mix for a little more flavor.

Bring to a low boil, stirring regularly, then allow to simmer for about ½ hour more. Serve by itself or with a hunk of your favorite bread. The soup is especially helpful when eaten before sleeping, whether that’s at nap time or bed time.

Of course, the ingredients can be switched around a bit to your liking. In my professional opinion, there’s nothing like a good batch of medicine soup to ward off the sniffle bugs. And hey, during cold season, I’ve made similar soups even when I’m not sick.

As Mom would say, “it’s good for what ails ya, and if nothin’ ails ya, it’s good for that too.”

Don’t think we’ll be using this machine to serve dinner anytime soon though…

Columbus Corruptus

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Happy October to all the boys and girls in the Gregorian Calendar Universe!! Whether you’re a cat or an ant lion, I hope you all have a wonderful October; and may the Great Pumpkin bring you lots of presents on Halloween. But, hey, if you really ARE a cat or an ant lion, it’s not likely you’re reading this, so just nevermind. Go eat some antmice or something.

For all youse human reading-type beings, Happy October already. Not sure about your neighborhood, but ours will soon be extravagantly beautiful with glorious fall colors. Autumn is truly a magnificent time of year.

So this coming Monday will be Columbus Day.  A federal holiday here in the U.S.; which is why our daughter now refers to it as “no mail day.”  She actually calls it that for other reasons, which I shall elaborate upon in a minute.  Even though it’s a holiday, nobody invited us over for Columbus Cobbler with Moosetracks ice cream and small waffles dripping with olive oil.  Maybe I was expecting too much!!  I don’t need any of that stuff, anyhow. My COVID midriff is already becoming large enough to store unused motor oil. Wanna go get a Whopper?  I think they’re on sale!!  Anyway, I remember hearing about Columbus when I was very young. Most of you probably do too; you know… he journeyed over here in 1492 in three ships: the Ninja, the Placenta, and the Hanna-Barbera. Or something like that…

Now that I’m an old fart and have learned a few things, I’ll have to say I’m a bit confused about the fondness for Columbus Day. Well, I understand how the Italians think it’s pretty cool; he was one of theirs, after all. But when I was a kid, the teachers lied to me with their faces. They told me that Columbus discovered America. This makes me cry inside. They even made us learn that stupid poem:

In fourteen hundred and ninety two,

Columbus sailed the ocean blue.

If he hollers let him go,

Eeenie, meenie, mynie, moe.

Pretty weird poem. Even though I may have it a little wrong, my revised version makes about as much sense as Columbus “discovering” America. Sure, he was able to talk Isabella into financing a voyage to look for a new route to India. He basically got lost and ended up in the Caribbean, in what later became known as the West Indies.

Eventually he figured out where he really was, so he made several more trips and got the ball rolling for Spain to conquer Central and South America. Then lots of Europeans were catching on to the riches in “New World.” Bad medicine for the folks who were already here for several thousand years (not so good for lots of Africans, either). The white folks were absolutely sure they lived in a Superior Universe, and if you didn’t believe them, they had the weapons to prove it.

OK, I digress.  Remember when I mentioned that my school teachers lied to me about Columbus “discovering” America?  Well that’s because archaeologists and historians have learned otherwise.  Turns out Vikings were here about 600 years before Columbus, and even tried to settle in a place they called Vinland. Didn’t work out so well, so they went back home. Guess they were happier chasing whales and herring.

My ancestors were vikings, but that’s not your fault.  Come to think of it, it’s not my fault either!! And it’s also not my fault that when I was a kid in school, we white folks didn’t seem to get nearly enough information on the history of the Native Americans; who were really the first ones here. But hey, why should we have focused on any of that?  We Europeans stole this continent from them fair and square!

Can you tell I feel strongly about this?? I mean, Columbus didn’t discover ANYTHING. Lots of folks knew about this place before he did. When I was a younger lad, I’d rant and rave about this stuff like there was no tomorrow. Get really emotional and all that. Veins protruding from my neck, pale face turning into red face. With freckles. Now I’m still a young lad, but I live in an old man’s body; so I’m pretty sure all that red face vein protrusion stuff is not healthy.  But I’ve learned a few things over the years; and now I can do something REALLY weird. I can pay attention to what’s going on, and vote. Change the things I can, accept the things I can’t.  No more red vein protruding face stuff.

Sure, I love living in a free country and having the luxury of owning too much junk. But I try to be sensitive to those who were here first. I still get mildly irked about all the Columbus Day hoopla, but it’s numbed out substantially. Thankfully, the term “Idigenous Peoples’ Day” is being celebrated as a substitute for Columbus Day in more and more places every year.  As our daughter so accurately stated:  for us, “Columbus Day” is just another day when we don’t get mail.

As I said in the beginning of this little rant, the Autumn colors of the trees will soon reach a peak. Now, THAT’S something to celebrate for a Happy October!! Fresh apples and lots of other fall harvest goodies are ready and waiting for us at the farmers markets and in the stores!!

Well, it’s getting late outside. Just got back from a football game over in Walker, about a 40 minute drive from here. It’s rather warm tonight, but we had frost warnings earlier this week. Holy Varfnoggles!! I missed a grand opportunity!!

I could have gone outside to “discover” cold air!

Oh, and remember when I mentioned that one of Columbus’s ships was the Hanna-Barbera?  They made a lot cartoons!!  Unfortunately, I could only find snippets of them on the interwebs; so I didn’t really want to plop a lousy snippet here for the weekly video.  So here’s a here’s an early Merrie Melodies gem I “discovered” after some digging (meaning I’ve never seen it before).  Hope you like it as much as I did.