Missouri Mosquitoes take a toll

You know I have been a pretty good transplanted Missourian. I have tried to fit in and live a pretty unremarkable and decent life. I have gone out of my way to NOT feed the hillbillies or pick the state flower off trees (White Hawthorne Blossom). I do not complain about the weather, despite my undisputed legitimate right , when the temperature drops 50 degrees in a single day. So why must I endure the indignity of endless blood sucking by these relentless Missouri mosquitoes (M&M’s)?

In California, M&M’s were for eating not for slapping and scratching. In fact mosquitoes were practically non-existent within 10 miles of the ocean. In Missouri, they seem to travel in marauding gangs that hover ceaselessly looking to sample my life juice. Hey I know the only mosquitoes biting me are females, but why can’t I be this attractive to women of my own species? You’d think I WAS the mosquito as many times as human girls have told me to buzz off.

With literally a million different types of insects to ‘bug’ and only fifty four hundred or so species of mammals in the world, why must Missouri mosquitoes focus so much on me. Is my milky slab of flab so enticing that those Ozark ‘fly-by-biters’ find me totally irresistible, and ready to probe freely without remorse? I thought usually that kind of thing only went on in prisons - not out in the open in a suburban backyard.

So now you name it; in-between my poor knuckles, the backs of my knees, the tops of my ears – I’ve been violated mercilessly everywhere, by these stealthy skeeters. If these little flying freaks are so head up for a carbon dioxide fix, why not just dive into a Diet Coke and suck-up a bender on a bounty of bubbles? I know that in reality, the M&M’s, like everyone after a dose of diuretics, are just answering nature’s call. With my trusty ‘skeeter-squisher’ in hand, I too must answer the call to duty – but MY response will surely exact a far costlier toll!

The Luxuries of Laundry

What’s the deal with all of this luxurious stuff required to do laundry now days? I rolled in an overloaded hamper into the laundry room and was faced with a cabinet full of sprays, detergents, brushes and those irritating sorting bins. I cannot believe all this is necessary to get the stink out of clothes. How do people who live under bridges or in cardboard boxes handle such chores?

Do you think our ancient ancestors put up with all of this processing and these intricate procedures to prepare their loin cloths for quality time with a rock in the river? I honestly doubt it. As I recall, whenever I’ve ventured to antique shops, all that was required was a tin tub and a washboard. Even the more modern washing machines simply had a motor, pulley, and an impeller to slosh the clothes around – what else do you need?

We have spray that specifically attacks stains, little bottles to preserve colors, big bottles to supposedly wash the clothes, bleach for whites, and some kind of conditioner packets. After the clothes go for a swim, then they get to tumble around in the heat, like a day at the beach, with some anti static sheets. Eventually the duds will finally find their way racked on hangers of every size, shape, color, and configuration.

Sometimes I wonder if those homeless folks are on to something with their simple, no frills lifestyle. I’m fairly capable at walking around with a month’s worth of grime ground into my clothes. Just think of all the water I could save if I did all my wash in a local city fountain. I could sort my vast wardrobe of socks and overcoats using sturdy chrome shopping carts instead of those flimsy plastic baskets we use now. And even if I can’t quite get all the 'ripe', street-people ardor washed out, you know the drying will really be top notch. After-all, when your homeless, hanging around stinky is the ONE THING you’re pretty darn good at.

Cone to Cream Paradox

Though my wife ‘T’ is not particularly infatuated with ice cream, she does love a good Sugar Cone. Since those cones have no tops, they aren’t much good for gun powder so the wife ends up with Breyer’s Vanilla ice cream on top instead. If she is going to take in the calories, no other brand or flavor is an adequate substitute.

Now my kid on the other hand has a preference for those regular flat-bottom cake cones but she prefers any kind of ice cream EXCEPT vanilla. Since I am more from the ‘tar pit’ edge of history, I possess many mammoth qualities in addition to the prerequisite sticky pits. So I live by the rule that I will eat just about ANYTHING that is smaller than I am and does not gag on me as a hot appetizer first.

So goes the paradox. My freezer can barely hold another bag of frozen peas, much less ten kinds of ice cream. All this flavored ice cream real estate is kind of cramping my freezer’s tater-tot to pizza roll reserve ratio. I have room in the cupboard for both styles of cones, but all that protective crush-proof packaging is very bulky. The Cream of Wheat remains loyal, but it has heard rumors and rumblings from the cold cereals of a possible mutiny if things don’t change soon. I clearly need a combo Cream n’ Cone solution and fast.

I really think I am creative enough to solve this problem. Aren’t both types of cones REALLY made out of sugar anyway? I’m sure the cake cups must have sugar in them or they would be tasteless like cardboard – oh wait, THEY ARE! Ok then, let’s start off easier and check the refrigerator to try to dress-up that plain vanilla ice cream into something special for the kid. Hmmm, I’ve got pepperoni, jalepenos, dill pickles, leftover tater-tots – for some reason I’m feeling this combo is leaning more towards a pizza than my creamy iced-treat goal?

Oh forget it, I’ll just have to acquire a second freezer for my tots, peas, and party snacks. Let those picky specialty brands of flavored creams and cones keep the other ice-box all to themselves. I learned that problem-solving technique from our politicians. “There is never a problem of our own making that is too big to tackle, or too small to ignore.” Of course, the REAL paradox is getting someone ELSE to handle the problem for you, and then most importantly, pay for it, no matter what the cost, with THEIR OWN MONEY! Gee I wonder who will loan me a couple of million bucks for a big variety of ice cream, cones, and a really GOOD freezer?

'HIGH FIVE' reasons Ozzy's still alive

Although 61 years is not really a record-breaking age to live to anymore, it isn’t bad for a rock-head like John “Ozzy” Osbourne. I don’t think personal longevity is one of the pre-conditions when auditioning for a heavy metal band like Black Sabbath. I mean all the occult stuff, hard booze, drugs, and oh yeah, biting the head off of an occasional bat (The furry flyer kind not the wood baseball ones), usually leads one to a reduced lifespan or at best - rabies.

So since ‘Ozzy O’ has beaten the odds so far, in his foggy and muddled mind, he got the fun idea to hook up with a genome mapping company to find out what makes his DNA tick. Being British and never pale to ale, little did Ozzy know, when the DNA folks asked him to share a pint, they actually meant , a pint of his BLOOD. This should finally dispel the age old myth and definitely prove, you CAN get blood from a turnip.

So CLICK HERE to see a more detailed video summary of the ground-breaking DNA gene science and research expectations from a bag of broken-down Osbourne hemoglobin. Or just skip the egghead explanation and go with my ‘High Five’ reasons Ozzy’s main blood supply is still in ‘circulation’ even if his brain isn’t. Enjoy . . .

1) Ozzy is the poster boy for why ancient Egyptians removed the brain BEFORE mummification

2) Osbourne is the last living model for ‘Hippie-style’ John Lennon sunglasses

3) He is the last U.L. approved test monkey for aggressive shock-treatment centered speech therapy

4) Official hair extension donor for cousin ’IT’ and Lindsay Lohan

5) National ‘spokes-squid’ for the powerful union “Inked Brotherhood of human Cephalopods”

Dirty Work Sacrifice

Can somebody explain to me the science behind, why my house and windows get so filthy all of the time. This dump is like having a little baby again that needs to be pampered and preened every day. Actually, just like when I had a baby, I don’t even care if they TRULY are dirty, as long as it doesn’t show to the casual observer.

I especially hate working on the computer in the early morning when magically the sun will come up and scare me. No I am not a vampire, though as a blogger the similarity can be confusing; it’s just the rising sun at an acute angle, hits the windows just right. This of course, while signaling my primal need for caffeine, also dramatically highlights the rivulets of dirt, grime, and bird strikes on my home’s wall of windows.

I know I sound like a royal whiner but you have to understand, to remedy my castle’s need for clean crenulations – well it requires a lot of work. I will have to push the special doorbell that I installed into my daughter’s dungeon suite so that she will come out when I need her. I will have to show her where the soap, ladder, catapult, and pressure washer is. Then I may have to wait upwards of a WHOLE FORTNIGHT to finally receive ‘instant gratification’ that only sparkling parapet windows and siding can provide.

Lest you forget, I am from the dark underbelly of medieval society that forages for ideas and humorous asides from other people’s leavings, leftovers, and misfortunes. I don’t actually DO anything – I’m kind of like that irritating reminder of yesterday’s gruel left on your table plates - AFTER they’ve been cycled in the dishwasher. I hang-on long enough to needle YOU into action, but escape your ‘fingernail justice’ just-in-time with a light rinse under the tap. Yeah like my windows, it’s dirty work. But I'm happy to sacrifice myself (or more appropriately my kid), in the name of science and have the chance, to cleanly live-on to WRITE another day!