Squeak’s Squeals

I had a dream… a bizarre, disturbing, gothic-circus-freak type dream… about the guys from work, my kids and my mom… and I NEED to share it.  Let me start by setting some real-world visuals for you…

Bull is our resident tech.  He is a very large man, standing roughly 6′4″ and pushing 300 lbs.  He is very religious, very crude and vulgar and always dressed in khakis and a polo shirt.

Batman is my fellow code monkey.  He is tall and lanky with a Robert Downey, Jr.-style moptop and glasses.  He perpetually dresses in black from head to toe and I have yet to see him wear a shirt that wasn’t printed with a gray skull.

My mother is 4′11″ with glasses, artheritis, red hair and a nasty temper.

My daughters (note there are only TWO) are 4′6″ and 4′10″ and weigh 80 lbs. apiece.

Yesterday, I pulled myself out of bed, stumbled down the stairs, made a pot of Folgers 1/2 Caff coffee and nuked up a bowl of oatmeal sprinkled with Splenda Brown Sugar Blend (yes, Neanderthal’s heart attack has freaked me out… my kitchen looks like it was attacked by a health food store… my kids are gonna hate me).  But apparently, 1/2 Caff doesn’t work… two hours later, I was taking a nap.  And as I napped, I dreamed…

Bull, Batman and I decided to take a trip to the mall, accompanied by Batman’s friend - a midget dressed like a pilgrim.  Batman wore his standard head-to-toe black ensemble with his Jon Bon Jovi a la 1984 sunglasses.  Bull started out wearing his standard khakis and a gray polo with the company logo embroidered on the left side of the chest.

We entered the mall and went separate directions… I went one way, Bull went another way and Batman and Midget went somewhere else.

I finished my shopping rather quickly and exited the mall via some rear entrance.

As I walked through the door, immediately to my left stood my mother, holding aloft - with one arm - my younger daughter JellyBean (who was inside a blue mesh laundry bag).  JB was sobbing hysterically and the bridge of her nose was gashed open and bleeding.

“What happened?” I asked my suddenly super human strong mother.

“Knife fight.” She replied.

“Who won?” I asked.

“That one.” She said, pointing at a carbon copy twin of JellyBean laying in the grass, sound asleep, still holding the dagger which had sliced JB’s nose.  Roo lay sleeping in the grass not far away.

“Cool,” was my response as I walked past the four of them and proceeded on my way.

As I walked toward the front of the mall, Bull came into view… but no longer donning his trademark khakis and polo.  His eyes were madeup to resemble Mimi from the Drew Carey Show.  On his head, he wore a tropical headwrap…. on his chest, a matching belly shirt - the combination of the two makes me think of the Chiquita Banana girl.  Below the waist however, he modeled a white leather sequined thong and gold stilettos…. and he was prancing quite proudly, asking, “So what do you think of the new skivvies?”

Batman and the midget pilgrim were sitting against the front wall of the building.  Midget was silent, apparently just there for moral support and WTF factor.  Batman was sucking on an empty pair of black stockings.

For some unknown reason, this whole scenario seemed perfectly normal… like something that would happen to anyone, any day of the week.  So I walked back to the rear entrance of the mall, stripped off my clothes to reveal a bathing suit and went swimming since the entire mall was now filled with chlorinated water.

And that, kids, is why health food is BAD and should NEVER be consumed prior to napping.

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“AAAHHHHHHHHH!” came the cry of terror from the backyard.

The screendoor slammed.

“Mommy!  Mommy!  It’s gonna get me!”  JellyBean screamed while barreling through the house.

“What’s gonna get you?”

“The bug, Mommy.  It wants to eat me.  It was scary.”

“A bug?”

“Yeah.  It was big… no, HUGE.  And it was hairy and fuzzy and it had feathers.”

“Oh, my… hair AND feathers?”

“Yes.  And it was THIS big.”  She spread her hands apart to the size of a football.  “And it was all brown, with giant brown wings… and its eyeballs were under its chin… and its mouth was on its forehead… and its nose was next to its mouth… and it didn’t have any ears….”

“What about antennae?”  I asked, chuckling to myself.

“No.  Nuffin’.  It was just all hair and feathers on top with no ears.  And when it got mad, it blowed up THIS big…”  She spread her hands all the way out to the sides.

“Wow.  That sounds scary.  It was a bug you say?”

“Yes… a big scary, fat bug… and I screamed at it and it flew away.”

So now you know, if you are ever under attack by giant mutant puffer bugs, screaming will save you.  I’m sure you’ll sleep better tonight armed with this knowledge.

You find more mutants at humor-blogs.com.

The kids and I were chasing each other around the first floor earlier this evening - running from one room to the next until someone wised up enough to go the opposite direction and cut the runner off as they lapped the area - when I was viciously attacked.

No, I was not attacked by my children, but by something much smaller and more sinister.

You see, it was my turn to be chased and as I ran through the entry, I felt the stabbing pain of pierced foot flesh beneath me.  I fell to the floor and turned my left foot toward me.  There it was… small, evil, vile, sinister…. it was a butterfly-shaped mood ring… firmly attached to whatever bodily tissues live in the soles of my feet.

The ring was shaped much like my crude little drawing to the right, with giant, pointy wings on top and small, pointy wings on the bottom.  I was lucky enough to land on the upper, giant wing which cut right through the flesh and slid roughly half an inch into the ball of my foot and embedded itself quite firmly.

After forcibly removing my temporary, new appendage, I left a lovely trail of blood across my tan rug and up the stairs where the wound was cleaned and bandaged.  The hole is about as big around as a pencil and hurts like mad.  I could probably use stiches, to be quite honest, but that’s a medical bill I really don’t need if I can avoid it.

And just in case you were wondering, the evil little beast was dark purple, as in “Very Happy”.  The little bitch.

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Generally speaking, I try to avoid discussing politics here at the ol’ blog, but in my advancing age, I’ve become compelled to start forcing my opinions on others as well.  Please bear in mind, any flaming comments will be declared spam and my mad little Akismet baby will never let you post again.  Anyway… on with it!

Today, I would like you all to bow your heads and observe a moment of silence in memory of the die-hard, tie-dye clad, poetry-writing, wannabe hippie, liberal who once lived within me (back in my college days, when I thought it cool that the President was getting his strange).  For, this morning, I am publicly confessing that come November, my vote shall be cast for the McCain/Palin ticket.*

“But why, Squeaky, why!?” I hear you cry through your sobbing, looking at me with those giant, tear-filled, anime eyes.  “Do you really feel that John McCain can effectively lead this great nation?”

No, my children.  I think John McCain is an embalmed corpse being kept alive by some radioactive, intergalactic technology emitted by Dick Cheney’s brainwaves.

“Then, why, Squeaky!?” I hear you plead.

Because I think Sarah Palin is a member of the Alaskan Eskimo Society of Gubernatorial Ninjas.  I think this woman kicks some serious ass.  And I’d be willing to bet if she accidentally shoots someone in the face on a drunken hunting trip, they won’t live to joke about it.

Honestly, any woman who can survive five pregnancies, five deliveries, a household with five children, run an entire state AND thrive in the barren wasteland that is Alaska, can certainly accomplish as much on a bad day as the ol’ Dick-n-Bush have accomplished, in a combined effort, in the last eight years.

A comment was made to me earlier this week… something to the effect of ‘Do we really want a menopausal woman with her finger on a button that could annihilate half the globe?’  My answer: Hell, yes!  What’s more frightening than a middle-aged woman having a hot flash on a bad hair day with baby vomit on her clothing, standing on a bear skin rug she shot, skinned and tanned herself?  Catch her on the wrong day and some little, previously unheard of country suddenly disappears from the face of the planet as a warning to the others to keep their asses in line.  Besides which, the woman JUST had a baby.  She’s not menopausal yet.

“But, Squeaky, do you agree with her viewpoints on the issues?” I hear you inquire.

No, young Jedi, aside from her opinions on the death penalty, I do not agree with her stance on much else.

“Then why, Squeaky?” You ask again.  And put away those anime eyes.  They’re getting annoying.

Because she has opinions.  That’s it.  Simple as that.  This woman actually has hard and fast opinions.  There seems to be no one behind her, pulling a string, with a hand in her ass, or floating above her in a spaceship telling her what to say and when to say it.  She very simply states exactly what she believes.

Example:

Is she pro-choice or pro-life?  Pro-life.  Even if her own child will ride a short bus.  Abortion is not an option.  She states it.  And she lives it.  And I respect that.  Even if I dont’ agree with it.

“But, Squeaky,” I hear you say, “what about the feminists who think she should stay home with her children?”

HAHAHAHAHA!  My dear, gentle readers, these people are not feminists at all!  These are poor, misguided souls who aren’t sure who they are or what they believe.  “Women should not have to stay in the home and take care of the children!  Women should be able to venture out of the kitchen and into the workforce!  Having children should not hinder a woman’s right to grow and develop and become who and what she wants to be!  Women can do whatever a man can do!”….. but apparently ONLY if that woman is a liberal.  What a crock of bullshit.  Anyone subscribing to this philosophy and calling themselves a feminist, is nothing more than a hypocrite.

“But what’s wrong with Barrack Obama?” I hear you whisper among yourselves.

He is the devil, my sweet babies, nothing more than Lucifer himself.

And is it just me, or does Governor Palin look an awful lot like Detective Benson?

*This statement is subject to change at a moment’s notice anytime between now and November.

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