So, today I did something pretty wonderful, and if I’m not going to toot my own horn, who will (there’s almost certainly a blatant masturbation joke very thinly shrouded in here—though, traditionally, it’s not one I’d make as I have a long standing masturbation joke already. You know how men tend to name their penises? Well, mine has a name too, but more for hilarious purposes than because I think it deserves one. Mine is named Matters, and, as everyone knows, sometimes it’s necessary to take Matters into one’s own hands. Ha! Does that fall into the category of “too much information”? Probably. But now you’ve seen that mental image in your head and you can’t unsee it. And it’s not like YOU don’t do it too. And, if you don’t, then you’re a stupid head and I don’t care what you think). It was wonderful on two different levels.
Today I bought Libby flowers for our 15th “dating” anniversary. Fifteen years ago today (I think, there’s been a little bit of debate on the exact day of the month of our first date, but since Libby can’t remember either, I think it’s safe for me to declare an arbitrary date around the right time of the “correct” date—and it’s not like I’m just declaring it today, May 7th has been that arbitrary date for at least five years now), Libby and I went on our first date. We went to see “Grumpy Old Men” at the dollar theater. Yeah, good stuff. I was pretty romantic back then, obviously. And a big spender. Now, all of those old men are dead, but somehow Libby and I have managed to not kill each other, so I consider that a win in our column. Eat it, Burgess Merideth’s ghost!
The first level that I’m wonderful on is the surprise/sentimental value of the gift. As a rule, I am strongly opposed to buying flowers for people. I think it is a waste of perfectly good money to purchase something that is already dead when paid for. Over the years, when I’ve bought Libby flowers, I’ve tried to buy living ones of some sort. Of course, these have all invariably died as we’ve never successfully transplanted even one, but the POTENTIAL of life was there, so that counts for something. So, obviously, there is the surprise that she’s getting flowers in the first place (which will be a surprise despite me posting this because she’s out of the office at a training today, so she likely won’t even read my blog until tomorrow at the earliest). Then there is the sentimental aspect of the gesture in the first place.
Which brings me to the second way that I am wonderful. I remembered! This, actually, is quite a feat for me. Typically, the days of the month—and even the years, to be brutally honest—just sort of slip past me in a haze of absent-mindedness and date-oriented apathy (I also tend to be equally bad with directions and addresses in the exact same way, though I blame that on the fact that Libby is GOOD with those so I can afford to be a slouch when it comes to knowing where I’m going because Libby will point me in the right direction eventually if she doesn’t want me smacking the steering wheel in frustration and banging my head into the horn. The date thing I have to blame on a combination of my innate scatterbrainedness and the fact that, on a daily basis, I don’t really NEED to know what day it is because they all pretty much run together identically). So, for me to actually remember that today was our 15th anniversary was a pretty wonderful feat of positive brain functionality. Though, really, I suppose I don’t deserve any accolades for something that most people can just do on a semi-regular basis, namely, remember important dates. I don’t DESERVE them, but I still expect them.
Now, I should note here (because Molly pointed this out to me when I told her what I was doing, and I tend to agree), that I think celebrating a dating anniversary is utterly stupid. I think celebrating pretty much EVERYTHING is stupid, though. I am not one of nature’s celebrators. But, since this was one of those “special” five-year occasions, and because Libby’s been dealing with a lot of Stupid Boss related work stress, I figured it was a good time to do something special (does this fall into the first category of how I’m wonderful, or is this a third way, effectively earning me a Wonderful Hat Trick? I’ll leave that for Karma to decide, I suppose. You hear that, Karma? I’m expecting something pretty terrific to come my way if, indeed, I pulled off a hat trick). The only other time it’s ever been celebrated was on our ten year anniversary, and that time Libby was also suffering from work related stress (at the same job and with the same boss, so that has to tell you something about her durability as an employee if nothing else).
The Chunnel in Peril!
Our story today is our first in an at least two part series involving our superhero characters. I know it will cover at least two days’ worth of stories because I’ve already taken the pictures (and the video, though, if I were dedicated, I would try to redo them both because neither of them was particularly good, but I’m not that dedicated, so you’ll just have to appreciate them for what they are).
Our story finds the group of evil super-villains, the Legion of Mean People, plotting nefariously to pull of a, er, nefarious plot. Their end goal is anyone’s guess, but my money is on them doing it just to be dastard deed doers and nothing else. Evil, after all, is its own reward. Their secondary goal is to strike a devastating blow against the group of superheroes, the Super Acquaintances. And their tertiary goal is to do some grievous bodily harm to some hapless citizens of the world—though, this obviously goes back to their primary goal of a bad job done well for its own sake.
In an effort to spread the Super Acquaintances ranks thin, the Legion sent members off on two separate missions.
The first operation, and the one we’re going to cover today, is an attack on the Chunnel, the underwater tunnel connecting England and France. Why the Chunnel and not some good, solid, patriotic American tunnel? Because none of our tunnels have names that sound like the combination of the best qualities of a long tube and the ground up fish parts used to attract sharks, that’s why. Actually, I think that’s something they should do at least once a year with the Chunnel to keep its existence fresh in everyone’s minds: fill it full of dead, pulped fish. I think it would be a gangbuster promotional event.
Anyway, angry at France for being so French, the Legion decided to blow up the French side of the Chunnel. Our heroes, thanks to the difference in time zones (their headquarters are in Intercourse, PA, obviously), are sound asleep in their hip, modular sleeping pods (except for Udder Nonsense and Captain USA! USA! USA! who appear to be, ahem, not sleeping together in the traditional sense) when they receive the calls for the two separate events.
The Super Acquaintances' super digs.
Udder and the Captain go in one direction (because they were already coming in another—buh-zing! Man, that’s a couple of sex jokes already in one short post. Perhaps I need to consider a cold shower or something today . . . or some hot something-something! Sizzle! Heh heh. Using that word like that made me laugh to myself. It’s so awesome being so easy amused) and Johnny B and Molly the Moose (who, I guess, doesn’t have a proper superhero name right now since I guess I moved away from that original idea of a linguistic-based superhero team, oh well) go off in another to be picked up tomorrow.
And, as you could see from their sleeping quarters, it’s all action with the Captain and Udder. They fly overhead to check out the Chunnel to get an idea of what’s going on.
Yes, that is a rhinoceros on wheels in the lead. Further evidence that the French are up to no good.
It doesn’t take long to spot their adversaries, though, since they are conveniently hiding right at the entrance behind what appears to be a very short partition wall (though, originally, this was supposed to be the cartoon style plunger for their dynamite, I just decided it wasn’t even worth trying to pretend it was after awhile, though). Within moments they swoop down to take out the bad guys.
Action pose!
Sadly, they are too late. The entrance to the tunnel is destroyed and the poor travelers unfortunate enough to be passing through at the time find themselves driving through a dark tunnel indeed (and, because I’m a jerk, I’m going to say the bright light they saw at the end of the tunnel was made by the fires of Hell—take that imaginary travelers! You thought you could recant on your deathbeds, didn’t you? No dice! It’s a cruel, angry world out there and you should have been better people).
The terrible, terrible aftermath. Don't worry, there weren't any kids in the bus, just one pederast bus driver who surely deserved to die. Though, this bus is pretty awesome. When you crash the front bumper into something, it makes noises. The first few times it's just a "running truck" noise, but like the third or fourth it switches to the sound of children screaming (though it might not be in terror, it might just be a general loud children noise, it's impossible to say but amusing to imagine the possibilities of).
And, worst of all, in all of the chaos of the explosion, the Meerkat Major and the Cranky Cracker were able to escape, unharmed, to wreak further havoc on an unsuspecting world. Our poor heroes, however, have to face the consequences of their failure as they help to clean up the mess and then submit themselves to the withering, terrible, exhaustive, and ultimately pointless judgment of the 24 hour news channels as they are the top story for the next two news cycles. During this time, the commentators endlessly analyze and criticize the heroes for what they did wrong. Until Brittany Spears “accidentally” shows the world her beaver again, which will then become the most important news story for almost a week. Oh, the humanity!
I'd like to say that he's getting better at taking direction, but I can't. Not honestly. Though he is getting better at repeating the words I'm saying to him when he doesn't do it.
Sizzle! Bwa ha ha.
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