Big Ugly Man Doll

Yep, fer sure fer sure, it’s the 6th of June, and you know what that is, right?  

I just can’t help reposting the classic C.W. McCall lyrics, but you should hunt down the song for yourself yerownself:

————————————————————————————-
 Uh, breaker one-nine. This here’s the Rubber Duck
You gotta copy on me Pig-Pen, c’mon? 

Uh, yeah 10-4 Pig-Pen, fer sure, fer sure
By golly it’s clean clear to Flag-town, c’mon? 

Yeah, that’s a big 10-4 there Pig-Pen, yeah
we definitely got the front door good buddy,
Mercy sakes alive, looks like we got us a convoy. 

Was the dark of the moon on the sixth of June
In a Kenworth pullin’ logs
Cabover Pete with a reefer on
An’ a Jimmy haulin’ hogs 

We’s headin’ fer bear on I-one-oh
‘Bout a mile out a’ Shaky-town
I sez Pig-Pen, this here’s th’ Rubber Duck
An’ I’m about to put the hammer down 

Cause we got a little ol’ convoy, rockin’ through the night
Yeah, we got a little ol’ convoy, ain’t she a beautiful sight?
Come on an’ join our convoy, ain’t nothin’ gonna git in our way
We gonna roll this truckin’ convoy acress the U.S.A.
Convoy, convoy… 

Uh, breaker Pig-Pen, this here’s th’ Duck
an’ a-you wanna back off with them hogs? 

10-4, ’bout five mile or so, 10 roger
Them hogs is gittin’ in-tense up here. 

By the time we got into Tulsa town
We had eighty-five trucks in all
But they’s a road-block up on the clover-leaf
An’ them bears was wall to wall 

Yeah, them smokies as thick as bugs on a bumper
They even had a bear in the air
I sez, callin’ all trucks, this here’s the Duck
We about to go a-huntin’ bear 

Cause we got a great big convoy, rockin’ through the night
Yeah, we got a great big convoy, ain’t she a beautiful sight?
Come on an’ join our convoy, ain’t nothin’ gonna get in our way
We gonna roll this truckin’ convoy across the U.S.A.
Convoy, convoy… 

Uh, you wanna gimme a 10-9 on that Pig-Pen?
Uh, nega-tory Pig-Pen, yer still too close
Yeah, them hogs is startin’ to close up my sinuses
Mercy sakes you better back off another ten 

Well we rolled up Interstate forty-four
Like a rocket sled on rails
We tore up alla our swindle sheets
And left ’em settin’ on the scales 

By the time we hit that Chi-town
Them bears was-a-gittin’ smart
They’d brought up some reinforcements
From the Illinois National Guard 

There was armored cars and tanks and jeeps
‘An rigs of every size
Yeah, them chicken coops was full o’ bears
And choppers filled the skies 

Well we shot the line and we went for broke
With a thousand screamin’ trucks
And eleven long-haired Friends O’ Jesus
In a chartreuse micro-bus 

Uh, Rubber Duck to Sod Buster
Come on there, yeah, 10-4 Sod Buster
Listen, you wanna put that micro-bus in
behind that suicide jockey?
Yeah, he’s haulin’ dynamite and he
needs all the help he can get 

Well we laid a strip for the Jersey shore
And prepared to cross the line
I could see the bridge was lined with bears
But I didn’t have a doggone dime 

I sez Pig-Pen, this here’s the Rubber Duck
We just ain’ta gonna pay no toll
So we crashed the gate doin’ ninety-eight
I sez let them truckers roll, 10-4 

Cause we got a mighty convoy, rockin’ through the night
Yeah, we got mighty convoy, ain’t she a beautiful sight?
Come on an’ join our convoy, ain’t nothin’ gonna git in our way
We gonna roll this truckin’ convoy across the U.S.A.
Convoy, convoy… 

Uh, 10-4 Pig-Pen, what’s yer 20? …Omaha?
Well they ought know that to do
with them hogs out there fer sure
Well, mercy sakes, good buddy, we gonna back on out a here
so keep the bugs off your glass
and the bears off your…tail
and we’ll catch you on the flip-flop
This here’s the Rubber Duck on the side…we gone..bye, bye…

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I’ve heard a lot in recent years about eggs being one of the superfoods, something you should eat and enjoy eating, something filled with protein and eggy goodness, the perfect shape, and good for you, too. 

Nobody wants to talk about the dark side.  Nobody tells you about the danger you might be facing.  Take it from me – those things could kill you.

So there I was, busily typing a nomination for sainthood.  The director of the preschool where the Reigning Queen of Pink, High Duchess of Fluff, and Protector of Barbies has attended is a saint.  (If you need a preschool in the Northern Virginia area, you’ll not do better than Accotink Academy.)  Since this was the last day of class, my letter needed to be complete before I dropped her off, and so I awoke early, started the coffee and the, ahem, hard boiled eggs, and went to my typing with my usual vim and vigor.  

As I composed my deathless prose, thanking teachers and staff for seven wonderful years (the Human Tape Recorded and Number One Son both attended as well), I heard the distinctive sounds of said Number One Son being awake in the kitchen.  You know he’s awake because you can hear things being crashed into one another; in this case it sounded like shoes hitting something metallic.

You know this ends badly, right?  OK, you’ve been warned.

SOBUMD wakes up, sees me typing, and pauses to read, listening only in the background to That Boy.  She finally pauses and asks, “What is he doing?”  

“Banging around,” says I, “at least he’s letting me type.”  

Just about then, we heard him hit something a little harder, something that fell with an almighty crash.   I stood up and hastily put on my angry face.  (You know the one – when you’re not really all that mad, but you need to inspire terror just to ensure the lesson is received.  The one that shows that it’s not OK to break things, even if it was something I was going to use for target practice with the cats, because someday it might be something marginally more important – like the actual cat, for example.  So even though you don’t have the energy to work up an actual mad, you have to show mad.  That face.) 

I stride purposefully into the kitchen, looking for the usual suspect, my best mad face up for the game.  The coffee is done and ready.  The kitchen is devoid of life.  What it is not devoid of, however, is eggs. 

Number One Son, blissfully unaware that we’ve been mentally maligning him, is sleeping the sleep of the innocent, upstairs in his bed.  The eggs, which I had put on the back burner of the gas stovetop to boil in the pot full of water, are black as tar, the water having long since hard boiled away.  It is not necessary to put an egg in the microwave to cause it to explode – that’s simply quicker.  Eggs, bits of white and yellow, were everywhere.  The ceiling.  The walls.  Shards of these little cholesterol-laden bombs were more than 15 feet away.  These “hen’s fruit” hand grenades had rattled around in their pot, absorbing energy like small reactors waiting quietly for a critical mass.  

They reached it, then they reached for the sky.  Hard rubber spheres of yoke were bouncing like ping-pong balls on mousetraps, and the whites on the walls looked like Jackson Pollock had painted his idealized representation of Monica’s blue dress on our kitchen.  While hungover. 

I turned off the gas, wishing I could as easily turn off my mind, willing myself to un-see the horrors that lay before me, beside me, above me.  Worse, I knew it was my fault – the prolixity of my deathless thanks had put the eggs on the back burner of my mind just as surely as my hands had put them on the back burner of the stove, not 30 minutes prior.  Oh, the eggnominy!  

My shame turned to anger as I considered the harm that Might Have Been – one of the kids, or the cats, or any hapless kitchen wanderer might have stepped into the line of fire at any time!  Those jagged little shards might have taken someone’s head clean off!  Truly, this is bad cholesterol.  It should come with warning labels.

At least the coffee was good, and SOBUMD was very gracious about not making “egg on my face” or “the yoke’s on you” jokes.  She was also nice about sending me to drop off the Reigning Queen of Pink, High Duchess of Fluff, and Protector of Barbies, along with the letter, while she cleaned up the bulk of the mess (I’d gotten the floor).  

Yep.  Eggs should come with warning labels.  Or maybe I should….

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Robert Asprin passed away a few days ago.  If you don’t know who he was, this won’t impact you.  If you do, then you’ll probably know this already…  

He’ll be myth’d.

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The  Good:  You’ve got two tickets to Paradise, baby!

The Bad:  You don’t get to pick your traveling companion.

The Ugly:  They’re one-way tickets.

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It’s time once again for the Time Suck of the Week:  

I would like to present, without further preamble, The Best Page in the Universe . It’s true, just ask the creator.  If you’ve glanced at it, and still need further proof, I suggest you review the section concerning Comic Book Covers. 
 
Oh god.

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