Study Finds Masses Can’t Understand Gibberish

We’ve been working on this study for many years now. It’s our endless quest to find people in the world-at-large who can understand the plainly spoken, well articulated and otherwise flawless and fluent language that is spoken by so many of my peers; I’m talking about the language known as Total Gibberish. Today, sadly, our world-at-large failed once again.

Here you can see me giving up on the shrugging guy who, I guess, never learned the universal language of gibberish.
Here you can see me giving up on the shrugging guy who, I guess, never learned the universal language of gibberish.

We went down to the new community center to check out the offerings and see what all the lack of fuss wasn’t about, only to find they threw in a park for good measure. Wherever there’s a park, I feel it’s my civic duty to play on it. After all, if people like me don’t use the toys that are offered, it’s like I’m throwing away the tax dollars I probably should have paid but didn’t.

The park had more to offer than I could have expected. It had different areas for different ages, an assortment of fun, brand new toys -though of what brands even the city can’t likely say. And, I got to tell you, the whole experience was really great.

I saw a very, very old man (not sure how old he was, but from the looks of his weathered features and outrageous height, he had to be at least 15-years old) who was just sitting on the swings. He wasn’t much swinging and he surely wasn’t taking in the full fun the park had to offer. I always feel bad when I see the elderly missing something so plainly obvious, so I took it upon myself to help him out.

I went over to him and explained whatever it was I explained. Maybe it was something about the other climby-toys or maybe it was a quick tutorial on how a swing is commonly enjoyed, but none of what I said is the point. The point is how I said it, which was plainly and clearly in articulate, fluent gibberish… and he didn’t understand a syllable of it.

What is our society coming to that people still don’t understand me? I know I’m not but aren’t the masses at least modestly educated? I can’t garble my margle zous* any more clearly than I already do, but no matter what I said and how I said it, he just couldn’t get my meaning.

Although my assessment is as yet unresolved in all this gibberish studying business, I have to say that my latest bit of study has only disheartened me further. If you’re looking to take up a second language, and you really should, consider Spanish (so you can talk to those who speak the third most common language in this country) or gibberish (so you can speak the second most common language, and the one that all of your children learn long before whatever language it is you claim to speak as a “first” language).

Think of your language study as a business investment. Us garble-mouthed juniors are a huge market segment and we force purchases like few other demographics. If you guys could just figure out what the heck we’re saying you could sell us better, forge more and better business alliances with us, and maybe even figure out how to make us eat a vegetable or two.**

* That’s a pretty common phrase in gibberish, but I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that. I’m sure you already got it. It’s a pretty clever joke, isn’t it? I’m pretty clever, I know it.
** And don’t try that “drowning it in a sea of molten cheese” business. We’re hip to that. We just lick the fatty goodness off and leave the leafy greenness behind for you to squeegee from our plates.

Above - I tried and I tried to explain what I meant, but he just couldn't get my meaning. I think he was trying to say he understood me, but I don't think he did, and the endless shoulder shrugging and "wha' huh?" hand gestures told me just as much.
Above – I tried and I tried to explain what I meant, but he just couldn’t get my meaning. I think he was trying to say he understood me, but I don’t think he did, and the endless shoulder shrugging and “wha’ huh?” hand gestures told me just as much.

 

Nostrils Roughly Finger-Sized

For those of you as new to fingers or faces as I am this may come as much a shock to you as it did to me, but the facts support the findings; your finger is roughly the right size to cram all the way up your nose.

I later learn this is taboo... how embarassing.
I later learn this is taboo… how embarassing.

I spend hours a day studying for my K-SATs, you know, the SATs for admission to Kindergarten. Mind you it’s still some years off but there’s so much competition and an awful lot to learn, but this feather is one that’s sturdily in my cap.

Here’s a sample K-SAT question:

Key is to Lock as Finger is to:

  • A- Belly Button
  • B- Light Socket
  • C- Nose
  • D- Arugula

 

Let’s first go through this by working backwards.

 

  • It can’t be Belly Button because a finger doesn’t go in far enough. Maybe it’s the wrong kind of key for the lock, but even still the act of unlocking my belliest button would leave it untied and a huge mess. It’s a portal best kept in it’s presently locked state. Rule this one out.
  • A Light Socket is much too big for a finger and, though I’m sure it would be an enlightening experience, all I think it would unlock is the puzzle of electrocution. Too dissimilar, rule it out.
  • Arugala is vampire cabbage, so that can’t be right. I’m not even sure how that one made the list, but rule it out for sure.
  • That leaves only Nose, so there’s your answer.

 

I’m not Romanian and I’ve only once been accused of being a vampire, so the test is obviously culturally biased, if not outright speciously so. But if you think I’ve got a bone to pick let me tell you that you’ve got no idea. You should see the nose I have to pick.

My deductive skills are as valuable as they’re oddly, paradoxically, concurrently invaluable*, but it’s still no match for the certainty stemming from my own personal experience. I need not work backwards my friends, for I’ve already worked my fingers forward right in to my own protesting head.

But it isn’t all fun and games. It’s only mostly fun and, as far as a game goes there’s just no way to keep score. If I’d made this discovery before my first birthday I could likely score it 0-LOVE, but that’s just me being as silly as my joke is obscure.

Now for the disclaimer. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. We are trained professionals acting under close adult supervision. Long or jagged fingernails are not just unattractive but can lead to serious discomfort and even injury. Our research concurs this shouldn’t be attempted at home, but rather in your car while you’re driving as is most commonly the case.

I can’t pick my family and according to my family I can’t pick my nose, and that’s okay. I’ve found no benefit from my discovery aside from the experience itself, so I suppose it suits me well enough, and it’s just that “well enough” I’m prepared to leave alone… like my nose.

Today I’m smarter and I gladly share my knowledge, and therefore today you are smarter too.

* How can valuable and invaluable be synonomous. It’s nonsensical. It’s as crazy as if “flammable” and “inflammable” meant the same thing.

ABOVE - Oh great, this is just what I need to bolster my run for congress, a collage of me drilling for my sinuses.
ABOVE – Oh great, this is just what I need to bolster my run for congress, a collage of me drilling for my sinuses.

 

Goof Time Adjusts Perspective, Inverts

I work pretty hard at bringing the news to my teaming swarms of fans, I guess, but if you redo the math by age or weight (even on account of my beefy thigh stubs) I’m the hardest working kid in the biz by a mile. Sometimes I just need to relax, unwind, adjust my perspective and, oh yeah, invert my perspective too.

Now THIS is living... I mean, it is, isn`t it?
Now THIS is living… I mean, it is, isn`t it?

Currently I dedicate roughly 48% of my total life to sleep, with 4 percents each to dressing and bathing, but the 39% presently devoted to goofing off just doesn’t always cut it. It’s that lingering 3% I spend on work that wears me out like knees on cheap jeans.

And I’ve just got to find more time to unwind!

I pose for a couple quick photos, babble off the random memo for my production staff to transcribble. But, after six or so minutes of this workaday grind I simply must find something to take me away from it all and Calgon just don’t cut it. Playtime is good (and I know because 78% of my waking life is invested in it) but the mad goofing of “off” works for me as a much tastier recipe.

Playing is good but goofing is better. Goofing requires parental super-duper-double-vision and can really adjust your perspective on life. I know it’s adjusted mine, and not just by blurring it with exhaustion, but in fact (on occasion) by inverting it.

My perspective is as adjusted as my perception is inverted, and that’s a good 180 degrees by any account. It’s the wonderful inversion that floods my heart and my very brain with heavy emotion and even heavier blood.

But since today is my big day off I’m going to have to bid you dear wisdom-word-clinging readers now promptly on your way. It’s not that I don’t like you, indeed I imagine I do. It’s just that I’m working my hardest at not working and my head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds or so (45.36Kg) and I can’t think straight any more than I can see straight.

And how come I’m working towards not working, what’s that all about?

If your stress levels are too high and you need a micro-vacation, hide under some stairs, hang out on the porch and flip yourself upside-down. Don’t waste your money on costly airline tickets or strangely overpriced hotels, just throw your feet in the air and wait for the impending (and guaranteed) rush to hit you.

The headache may haunt you but it’s one legal and acceptable way to alter your perspective, heck, to even invert it.

 ABOVE LEFT - Smiling with a favorite McToy from beneath my plastic picnic table. Obviously my time off is well spent and even better enjoyed. ABOVE RIGHT - Passing time in the waiting room while Dominic gets his (much deserved) jabs, I struggle to find the best way to make good use of my minutes. The solution is easy, I unwind, adjust my perspective and dangle upsy-down on the Daddy-O jungle gym.

ABOVE LEFT – Smiling with a favorite McToy from beneath my plastic picnic table. Obviously my time off is well spent and even better enjoyed. ABOVE RIGHT – Passing time in the waiting room while Dominic gets his (much deserved) jabs, I struggle to find the best way to make good use of my minutes. The solution is easy, I unwind, adjust my perspective and dangle upsy-down on the Daddy-O jungle gym.
ABOVE - What screams "goofing off" like hiding under the stairs and grabbing passing ankles? THIS is how you unwind... well, it's how I unwind at least. I recommend it, still, you know.
ABOVE – What screams “goofing off” like hiding under the stairs and grabbing passing ankles? THIS is how you unwind… well, it’s how I unwind at least. I recommend it, still, you know.
ABOVE - Please to enjoy the pie charted breakdown of my days activities, as I'll assure you it took much longer than the time allowed and ran us over our payroll probably for the whole month.
ABOVE – Please to enjoy the pie charted breakdown of my days activities, as I’ll assure you it took much longer than the time allowed and ran us over our payroll probably for the whole month.

 

Post-Apocalyptic Theme Party a Real Riot

As a pseudo celebrity I’ve oft been invited to (and attended) a wide range of cutting edge theme parties. I make few qualms about it, I take most every invitation and crash it with entourage in tow. I’ve seen them themed across the spectrum, but these “post-apocalyptic” parties confuse even my own limited sensibilities.

One of the few pictures we could take amidst the chaos.
One of the few pictures we could take amidst the chaos.

“Halloween” is frighteningly common; “come as you are” is a nirvana for slobs; “pajama” is a bit of a yawn, and the “Brando/Pacino” parties are as ho-hum as you’d hope to find.* I estimate we’ve hit them all. It’s all dull to me, anything to the tame side of a Rosencrantz’s guild party bores me to mad tatters.

But this experimental theme might just be over my top and not just because I’m 3-foot even.

Maybe it’s the hippity hop music blaring poorly from distorting, reluctant Teac’s or all the trash on the ground that turns me off. Likewise it may be all the independent teenagers in the ruling class or grown ups Duff hammered worth than a bald Simpson on a Sunday afternoon. Whatever it is, this theme ain’t cutting the mustard, if you’ll pardon my Frenches.

The party themed cars at this hootenanny are noisy, carbon spewing go-carts and pocket bikes. And if you think they’re smoky, you should see the fifteen year old girls. They’re pretty, but also Kool, and that ain’t cool, legal, nor approved by the surgeon general.

Maybe I’m too young, too old, too mature of too childish to enjoy the theme but I don’t see it like that. My brothers are older and younger than me and their joy was likewise limited. Even my handy attending parents were less than thrilled, and they’re as old and immature as anybody I know.

Is it just me or is this a lousy theme?

I mean, everybody’s sweaty, scavenging the buffet table and leaving their waste to lie where it will. Aside from cul-de-sac basketball there ain’t much to do, and even that’s to a hoop five times higher than I’m able to toss. Believe me people, I tried over and again between attempts at my trample. Much too high indeed.

All in all the party was a total bust, and I don’t just say that on account of all the snug and plunging tube tops, I think it was really a failure all around. All that even though the shirts were mammorescent of simpler times for me.

I’m not looking forward to any more parties thusly themed, not even if they stretch the genre and call them “Escape from New York” parties, also not any escapes from LA** or even Nantucket, despite the latter’s many fine limericks.

If this is the best we can romanticize the period I’m really not looking forward to the real post-apocalypse. Talk about a downer of a party, and that one won’t even come with an “until” time, not even “cows come home.” Apparently the cows have already voted unanimously to not come home from that one. Silly, draft dodging, mad, Canadian, defector cows. No pride among the bovine, man, no pride.

* Brando/Pacino parties are hard to pass on, they kind of make you an offer you can’t refuse, if you know what I mean.
** Los Angeles nor Louisiana.

ABOVE - Even Dominic was a bit put out by the madness.
ABOVE – Even Dominic was a bit put out by the madness.

 

Perplexing Times Announces Quality/Quantity Shift

As we’re approaching our landmark 1,000th article, we’re excited to announce a dramatic shift in our longstanding publication schedule. Effective this week, Perplexing Times is delighted to announce an improvement to our breakneck pace of news and review articles.

This isn`t exactly a related photo, but the point is that there are things in life more important than reporting every last little thing we do.
This isn`t exactly a related photo, but the point is that there are things in life more important than reporting every last little thing we do.

Perplexing Times will reduce the number of articles published from seven to five per week. This wasn’t an easy decision for us to make and it’s the result of a combination of factors. It’s not that we don’t have enough material to create, it’s more of a matter that we don’t have the time to give 100% to everything we run.

There were many factors we had to consider in changing our schedule. We didn’t want to alienate any of our readers or take away the value so many people come in for each day, but we had to consider our own needs and our desire to keep things as fun and interesting as possible. Ultimately it was a decision for quality over quantity. Factors we considered include:

 

  • Time – The amount of time required to maintain a daily publication schedule is extreme. We’ve been publishing almost 4,000 words per week with very few absences for several years. Between creating the articles, shooting the pictures and the editing of these pictures as well, it’s more than we can insure. We usually have as many as twenty articles lined up to run, and sometimes as many as fifty to seventy, but lately it’s been down to a handful which leaves us running lean, and quality can suffer at those times.Rather than leave readers wondering where we’ve gone for a couple days from time to time, we’ve decided to make it official as we tighten up the operations. Now you won’t have to wonder if everything is okay with us, just know that we’re taking a couple days off each week.
  • Quality – With the focus taken away from a rampant schedule of publication, we are free to get back to doting over the quality. Many of our articles currently do not enjoy the attention they deserve. Sometimes it means simple mistakes in spelling or grammar, but most often it means we don’t get the chance we need to make sure we covered all of our important points succinctly and cleverly. Five new pieces per week is a respectable pace, but by dropping our output by 40% we’ll have that much more opportunity to work out the finer points of each piece individually.five-days2Left – Even though there are any number of things we can now do with our days off, one of the more fun and exciting ones is to play with toys. In Dominic’s case, it was a Buzz Lightyear toy, and I must say he had a great time playing with it.

    New stories take a lot of time to make, so by redirecting these efforts to revising pieces prior to publication, we can make every piece a gem with greater ease. Quantity has served us well, but we can only serve you well with quality, and this change is designed to reflect this appreciation.

  • Money – The site was originally supposed to flesh out our college fund, but that has never really happened. It’s a bit exasperating for us because we do our best to bring our A-Game every day, year after year. Although this shortcoming is frustrating for us, it is by no means the deciding factor. Daddy-O doesn’t keep the money we make off the site, and right now he’s got to dedicate more energy knocking out the house payment and keeping our daily budget otherwise in line.Still, if our newspaper could even cover a fair percentage of the college fund, which it never has, I’m sure he could be convinced to ramp it back up to seven stories a week, assuming that such a move would actually be valuable to readers.
  • Commercial Success – More accurately, it’s the lack of commercial success. The last big factor in stepping down to five is the overall success of the publication. Although our readership continues to grow, we don’t have any syndicates that require more than a piece or two per week. If there was a daily column running in a newspaper, this could be a requirement that would keep us racing full throttle. That need has not arisen therefore it’s not something we can consider for us to keep up the pace.

 

Because I know how you internet people love to foster kooky myths let me dispel a few real quick before you have a chance to actually form them.

This change is NOT because we’re running out of material or great photographs, and it’s not because we’re running out of steam or passion for the project. We still have as much to write about as ever, we just don’t have the kind of time it takes to bring it all to the reading world seven full-fledged, full-quality times a week.

We’re NOT going to stop publishing and can’t imagine why we’d want to do that. We’re just trying to lighten the workload on our administrative staff while increasing the quality of material to our readers. Very few readers choose to go through all of our newest stories anyhow, so we reason that even our biggest fans won’t actually feel an impact from this change.

You still have alternatives if you really love to read our stuff. If you really want more than we’re able to deliver on this new schedule, go back through the archives. There are well over 900 articles covering almost every topic relevant to pre-kindergarten kids on everything from soup to nuts. You can type in a keyword or two in our site search box or follow the inter-article links we provide that point back to relevant stories from the past.

And, if you really want more Perplexing, use the contact link up above and drop us a line. For that matter, use it anyhow just to tell us what you think of our publication and our works, even if you don’t mind that we’re dropping the workload a bit.

For now the schedule will be a new article every weekday with weekends off. Saturday and Sunday are our two lowest readership days historically anyhow, so it makes the most sense this way. We may ramp back up to seven per week, but for now we’ll do it like this. Besides, when you say you go to work every day, you still only mean five-days a week, right? We don’t even get sick days and our vacation time is always our busiest writing time, so we’ll take this opportunity to lighten the load, tighten up the stories and see how well we can catch up on other parts of our lives.

Thank you and God bless!

Above - Although this isn't a picture of anything in particular, what it really is is NOT a picture of us, since we weren't working at the time but doing something else.
Above – Although this isn’t a picture of anything in particular, what it really is is NOT a picture of us, since we weren’t working at the time but doing something else.

 

Filler Story Arrives, Re/Disappoints

In the thick of our leanest content days here about these perplexing offices of Perplexing Times I foolishly begged an assignment as if to prove I can fill in like frosting between the tasty slabs of cake. Let today stand as the finest example. I’m roughly incapable of mocking up just such filler.

Gotta admit, no idea what this stuff all does.
Gotta admit, no idea what this stuff all does.

It was a noble prospect at the outset. I made the offer to bang out some vowels and consonants. Editor Brendan wasn’t doing it so I saw a need and offered to cover his shortfall. I was supposed to look good. I couldn’t have ever imagined he’d have taken me up on it.

He did. Oh, that elder and most incriminating brother of mine took me up as if I was serious (which I most decidedly was not) and gave me a blank assignment with a deadline. No story, no headline, and no topic just a due date, which fortunately I hit… but right about there is where she ends.

I haven’t done anything intratesting in days and I’ve got fewer topics than politicians got straight answers. Just a deadline? I can’t write about that.

Should I write an article about:

 

  • Deadlines Requested, Unreasonable
  • Nothing Happened
  • Baby Bragsmith Called Out
  • Sun Rises, SetsYou see, it’s all been done, is uninteresting or makes me look bad. In any case, if found guilty of such lacklustery of intent de la reportitude, I’d be precluded from the Ivy League, condemned to spend my college years in the drudgery of Standford, Berkley, or [shudder] a major state university.

    I can’t post a filler article, I just can’t.

    So with that said, I officially retract this very article as I concurrently submit it to my editor, knowing painfully well he’ll run it, half to spite me and half to stop the gap.

    No less, I apologize, for my experience, for my ill-preparedness, and most of all for my own coming back to bite my bitty baby braggery. I’m truly sorry. I talked the talk but I can only barely walk even my own toddlesome walk, which is herky, jerky, sideways, and rarely in excess of a dozen left-right left-rights.

 

Boy-Toys Seek Companions, Don’t Understand ‘Boy Toy’

Three professional, ambitious, exceedingly handsome young men have made it perfectly clear that they wish to be boy-toys in an article published on the internet. Although that article published on the internet is actually this article published on the internet, the bigger concern is that the aforementioned boys don’t actually have any understanding of what a “boy toy” is.

Here we are. Just boys curiously intermingled with toys.
Here we are. Just boys curiously intermingled with toys.

As it was originally understood, it meant to us that we were two critical components of the phrase. We are indeed boys, and we are likewise no less than toys. Clearly we are boys, and since we chose to bury ourselves in the thick of our less-than-lean toy box, it should be quite apparent that we were and indeed are toys.

Unfortunately, due to linguistic shortcomings, we had no idea exactly what we were suggesting, and fortunately — I am told — we are still completely unaware.

As it plays out, we thought that because we were neck-deep amidst dogs, bears, meese and skeleton-rats, we just figured that it meant that we were toys. We know that we love meeting new people and that we’re always looking for “friendship and maybe more” but we didn’t recognize that there could be other connotations with such a statement.

So although we would still like to assert that we are boys, that we are as much fun as a box full of toys, and that we’d love to make new friends, that we are not actually in a position to be dating right about now. It’s beyond strange that anyone would mistake our meaning, in fact, it’s outright befuddling.

For now, readers may rest assured that we have every intention of remaining up to our juice-holes in assorted toys and plush cuddlies, and that we are likewise seeking only friendship and nothing more. We haven’t had “that talk” yet, and can’t even imagine what “that talk” might be about, but we’ve been assured by parental types that it is not important right now and that we must stick to doing our journalism and a militant schedule of play and nap times, and that we must not worry about “that talk” for as long as humanly possible.

boy-toys-wide1boy-toys-wide2boy-toys-wide3

 

Perp Times Behind, Jr. Hands Still Tied

With our official office budget as oralfically low as I’d ever care to teeth upon, I know our staff resources are stretched Laffy Taffy thin. We’ve fallen behind in scribble-dee bits and snappy-doo shots but no one’s called on me to help, and I can.
story692

Bro Brendan, the next eldest brother-man of mine is a capable editor and among the smartest cookies I know. He “writes” much, picture poses more and is more concerned (and qualified to be concerned) with our collective success than anybody. Still, I know of at least one boat he’s missing.

My editor said both Daddy-O and the pretty MissLissa lady have had to nip their pro bono donations of rampant hours in the bud. Because of its literary fabrication and the staff’s ability to get it in to print has been horrifically stymied. We’ve been short of pictures painting a thousand words and the thousand words themselves.

So why hasn’t he called on me?

As a college bound toddler on the Perplexing Times staff I’ve got a vested interest in our financial future around her too, you know. I’m older than editor Brendan was when he went to China, but it seems there are those around here who still think me no more than a baby. I’m experienced, if not weathered and/or grizzled. I swear I can help.

If there’s no assignments I can be left to write what I want to and experience:

 

  • Carpet Yucky.
  • Home Electronics Vandalism Delightful.
  • Teletubbies Fascillating.
  • Soy Milk Chalky, Vanilli.
  • Tickling Tickles, Delights.See, I’ve got the headlines. Just give me the greenlight and let me fill out the ranks of our otherwise flattening posts. Historically we’ve been as religious as a pope at mass in keeping up our surprisingly rampant pace of publication. By that I mean, in part, that it’s all Latin to me, man. Still, without understanding what all it entails, I swear I can do it.

    So, dear brother Brendan Alexander, I invite you to share the burden with me. As much as you say it ain’t so, this is my paper too. I’m willing, eager, and maybe even able to help you too. Take a chance on me, I’ll only probably let you down barely mostly.

    Note: some of the bulleted headlines aforementioned may come to fruition, who knows?

ABOVE - With my hands still (quite literally) tied I still endeavor to go about my day. As you can see here I'm trying to tickly the teddy, but on account of my metaphorical limitations, I'm literally encumbered to do even this most basic task.
ABOVE – With my hands still (quite literally) tied I still endeavor to go about my day. As you can see here I’m trying to tickly the teddy, but on account of my metaphorical limitations, I’m literally encumbered to do even this most basic task.

Juleaster Fireworks Beautifully Terrifying

I knew my day wasn’t done when I rubbed my eyes back open from my prolonged late afternoon nap. I slept well after the first half of my candied day and didn’t even wake up with a killer candy hangover as expected. With the sweets and bunnies behind me it was time for the barbecue half of my day.

Here you can see us sitting back at a safe distance, enjoying the prettiness of the fireworks overhead.
Here you can see us sitting back at a safe distance, enjoying the prettiness of the fireworks overhead.

Juleaster is a lesser known holiday, especially to me, but it’s the wonderful day when banks and post offices are mysteriously closed while all their workers rejoice in the freedoms afforded to all Americans by our founding fathers, mothers and great-great uncles. What better way to shout “I am free!” than by gorging on potato salad, potato chips and other more varied foods, such as French fries.

We all celebrated our freedoms in different ways. Dominic chose to tear off his diaper and run around bare naked, Patrick did it by pointing and laughing hysterically, and I myself did it by climbing all the way up to the very top landing of my toy room bookshelf.

We each got in our own kinds of trouble for it, Patrick least of all because his choice was determined to be “only natural” though I’m filing an appeal that climbing to dangerous heights and nude frolicking are no less natural than laughing about it.

As the sun set and our tummies finished filling we went to the window to see the show of fireworks. We couldn’t actually see any, though I kept insisting the airplane flying by must be fireworks, you know, since it was lit up in pretty flashing colors. Instead we headed out to find us some good, wholesome, family, illegal firework fun.

We ended up at a school playground where all kinds of lawbreakers had all kinds of combustible expressions of freedom.

There were four camps at each corner of the playground, each group was lighting off their own variety of amazing displays. We never got anywhere even remotely close to them, staying all the way back on the steps of one of the temporary buildings* a good, safe distance away.

We could see everything from where we were and it was a beautiful, amazing, terrifying thing. We clapped, cheered, yay-said and jumped up and down. We clung to each other and our handlers, and within a half-hour we had seen enough.

Dominic was the first to say “car”, which surprised all of us. The parents asked me if I wanted to go home and I seconded the motion. Patrick had been covering his ears the whole time so it was harder to get him to hear the question, but he ayed the motion and it passed unanimously.

We went home and quickly made it to bed and to sleep, but it was a great day and very, very fun. If you live in America and you haven’t yet taken part in fourth of Juleaster (or as it’s more commonly known, “Fourth of July”) festivities, it’s something you should think about checking out. Not right now though, wait until next year. I’m told the parties have all wound down and from a quick check of the local newspaper’s What’s Happening section, it doesn’t look like there’s anything else coming up anytime soon.

I wish I could give you more information, but I think it’s a floating holiday and I don’t think the technology yet exists to predict the coming of a Fourth of July. I’m sure the scientists are working on it so don’t feel too bad, just keep an eye on the night sky and be on the lookout for explosions of every glorious color.

* You know what temporary buildings are, right? They don’t have a real foundation and are prefabricated and transported whole. They’re basically mobile homes without a kitchen, but they’re only for temporary use for a time period no longer than thirty or forty years… You know the kind, “temporary.”

Above - This is a bit of a "before" picture of us watching the fireworks. The quality is terrible because it's hard to take pictures at night (or so says my staff photographer).
Above – This is a bit of a “before” picture of us watching the fireworks. The quality is terrible because it’s hard to take pictures at night (or so says my staff photographer).
Above - Whether from the flash of the camera or the fireworks is unimportant, what's important in this "after" picture is the joy on our half-blinded faces... also, the photographer (AKA Daddy-O) insisted it was about as good of a picture as he could take in the low lighting.
Above – Whether from the flash of the camera or the fireworks is unimportant, what’s important in this “after” picture is the joy on our half-blinded faces… also, the photographer (AKA Daddy-O) insisted it was about as good of a picture as he could take in the low lighting.

 

Kid Satire Crippled by Short-handedness, Not Shortness

As tall folk and carnie-style rides both insist, I’m a sub-short journalist and, indeed, even a short person. Lately we’ve grown infamous for falling painfully behind on our lifelong legacy of reporting breaking news, opinions, editorials and reviews on a daily basis but it ain’t because I’m short, I promise.

Work on the news is a big task.
Work on the news is a big task.

Miss Mama-Lady’s been under the weather as of late and Sr. Daddy-O and MissLissa have both been unfortunately forced back into day jobs (for what monetary reasons I’m hard pressed to imagine). The net result has been a modest breakdown in our otherwise rampant publication schedule and, I promise it’s hurt me as much as it’s hurt you.

I know ye fortunately literate and web-savvy folk are accustomed to seven articles each week of exclusive matter and steadfast journalistic integrity with ten to twenty unique and original photos that you just can’t get anywhere else. So I apologize with every ounce, indeed, all 536 of them, but I swear it’s beyond my control.

Under normal circustances we promptly run a crescent-fresh article every morning for your joy and delight, complete with glorious, full-color photos to fully and expertly accompany each one of them. Sadly, my two biggest contributing staff members have had to step from full to part-time helpery, which I think is head-maddened nonsense of both lunar and (curiously daytime) solar varieties.

shorthanded2LEFT – This is yet another shot of me trying to do work on “the paper”. In this instance I was outside, but no less I was totally crippled for my attempts to write a scrap and/or work on it in any other way… You think you’re sad, you should see how our potential advertisers feel. We haven’t even written back to them… of course, they’re all purveyors of porn, gambling and medicines of questionable nature, purpose and approval… I guess we wouldn’t have written back to them anyhow (which we haven’t.)

Daddy-0 has been my full time compatriot in transmographiing my gibberish into works of linguistic brilliance. In case you haven’t read the news lately, he had to go take himself up a cash-bearing job. It’s almost as though the smiles, hugs and affection I pay him don’t cut the mustard nor pay the bills.

Then there’s that poor, dear MissLissa lady, long faubulously famous for doing our final edits, tons of mad typery, and a gaggle of random, supplemental photo work. I pay her as much as dad out of the kittty, but up the ante by fully lip-on and cheek-on smooches (with which I rarely pay the Daddy-O). Still, she’s dropped us to part time to take up so-called “paying” or “gainful” employment in accordance with her slew of skills.

Then comes that Miss Mama-Lady lady. Apparently rearing three boys in diapers while sharing a wicked, double-ended flu with us has cut into her longstanding obligation to supplement our ongoing photographic needs. What gives, man? what’s the deally-o with this all business, man? we only need like 15,000 photos a year to faccilitate what we do. That’s only like 40+ pics a day, you know, so what’s the big deal?

With all that quasi-free help on tap the overwhelming majority of my life, you’d think I’d be greatful, but if you’d indded think such a thing, you’d be overthinking my Id and therefor my entire and overriding emotional status. I ain’t giddy, I’m disgruntled we’re behind.

If you’ve ever tried to run a business or been beyond three years of age and up, you likely understand how I’m telling you I regretfully feel. Bitter as rhubarb, baby.

My promises to you are as follows:

 

  • We ain’t burnt out or slowing down, just overworked in other sectors.
  • The hits is a-gonna keep on coming. And,
  • I’m H-E double elbow-pipe bent on getting us back up to daily news reports.With that said, I leave you to talk amongst yourself, grumbling crazily like a babbling hobo at the bus stop. Be patient, keep your foil hat donned foppishly atop your wildly goofy locks and count on us to get back up to speed in a hot, prompt, hurry effective heretofor, whenever that is.