Big Ugly Man Doll

This foggy mooorrrning
I hit the Staaaaarrbucks
A Grande coooffee
I gave them twooooo bucks

They gave me SIX CENTS CHANGE

And I went down the hall
And I went down the hall
And I went down the hall

To the McDoooonald’s
To break my faaaast late
An Egg McMuuuuffin
It came to Two Oh Eight

I offered TWO OH SIX

And would they spot me 2?
And would they spot me 2?
And would they spot me 2?

That would be steeeealing
Oh no she coooould not
And she was frowwwwning
Oh no she woooould not

I gave her THREE GREEN BACKS

And then she winked at me!
And then she gave one back!
And she would spot me 2!

This happy ending
This breakfast sandwich
From the McDonalds
Lead to this song which
Has now gone ON TOO LONG!

A Two Pen-ny
OPP – ERR – AAA!

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I used to write headlines for a small(ish) daily newspaper, so I keep an eye out for the really good ones. ABC news gets the win with this one:

Police Find Secret Passage Through a Wardrobe to Darwin’s Hideout

Oh. My. God. I wish I’d had a chance to write that. Bravo!

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… so, just to keep everyone up to the minute with my life: I gotta pee.

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So there I was, taking number one son to his swimming class. This class is run by the county and relies on volunteers to help the kids with everything from proper swimming stroke mechanics to the more basic “don’t drown in this, it’s wet” kind of instruction. As we approach, the guy in charge waves to number one son, and turns to an older gentleman. As my son is sitting himself down by the side of the pool, I hear the guy running the class ask the older gent if he’s worked with my son before. He then starts in telling him a little of what to expect, where he’s at with the whole “don’t drown” thing, and so on.

Meanwhile, I glance back to the pool, and number one son has already entered the pool, swum over to a volunteer, and introduced himself. He’s clearly decided which volunteer he’s working with today. Have I mentioned that he’s seven years old? Anyway, he went straight to the one who looks the most like Angelina Jolie with pigtails.

That’s my boy.

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Well, this is it. The end of an era.

Even in this Internet age of ADD, of instant idiom and constant communication, the passing of an American Icon is worthy of pause, of notice, of reflection upon who we are as a generation, of where we’ve been, and at the last, where we’re going. I speak, of course, of the passing of Dick Wilson, at 91 years of age.

Mr. Whipple has finally squeezed the Charmin.

Yes, the man we all knew as the last best protector of the irresistibly squeezable soft white fluff that is Charmin asswipes, is gone. We loved that old fart, not just for his staunch defense of the Charmin against the grocery-squeezing public, but because we knew that deep down, he didn’t blame us for wanting to give that package a lusty hug. We knew he was going to pinch it himself, as soon as he closed up when we were out of the store, and the best part was that he knew that we knew it. And he didn’t care. The quiet hypocrisy of his official position (“Please, don’t squeeze the Charmin!”) was his shield, but we all saw him give us a wink from behind it.

Now, we are left with nothing, and less than nothing. We are left with simpering bears, without even the decency to shit in the woods as bears should, but rather stomping off, leaving a trail of Mr. Whipple’s familiar roll of squeezable white fluff. Ursus arctos horriblis, a 700 pound omnivore, needs 4 squares of cottony goodness to wipe his furry ursine ass? I’m not squeezing THAT.

So fare thee well, Mr. Whipple. After more than 500 commercials, still, we hardly knew ye. May all the TP be soft in heaven, and may you squeeze to your heart’s delight.

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