retro fun: players and haters edition

Yeah. I’m still making these. Everyone’s gotta have a hobby, right?

And yes, I say “players and haters” instead of “playas ’n hatas” because I’m a 37 year old white woman with a desk job.  Word.

If you like these, be sure to check out my Retro Fun page. If you don’t like these, then you should definitely never, ever go to my Retro Fun page. Seriously. Don’t even hover your cursor over it cause you might accidentally click on it and see more of these defaced old ads and then you’ll either start screaming or crying, but either way, I don’t need that drama right now.  

the requisite the-year-that-was-review post

If you have a WordPress blog, you’ve received a nice email from them detailing how your blog did in 2011 using data compiled by what they call their “stats helper monkeys” (is the ASPCA aware of this?).  The report is animated with fireworks and pretty colors and they basically try to make you feel like your efforts over the past year haven’t all been in vain.  They even give you the option to share this report with your readers.

Yeah.  Nice try.

See, WordPress sent me one of these emails last year with the same option of posting my year-end statistics on my blog.  So I did.

And guess what?  That post received the fewest comments of any post on my blog that year. I’m not making that mistake again.

What I learned from that experience is that focusing on the year-that-was is kinda counter-productive.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of what I posted on my blog last year. Content wise, it was my best year.  I’m also very grateful for every person who took time out of their lives to read and comment (that’s you, by the way).

But I tend to measure my success one day at a time, not year by year.  I’m only as good as my last post and it had a freakin’ zombie killing robot in it so I gotta be on my game.

Dammit.
How can I possibly top a zombie killing robot?
I’m screwed.

on the sixth day of BlogFestivus

“Mama, mama!” Billy ran into the kitchen, the screen door slamming behind him.  “You gotta see!”
Mrs. Hickson turned from the sink and wiped her hands on a dish towel.  “What’re you hollerin’ about?”
“In the yard.” Billy hopped up and down, his untied shoelaces slapping against the linoleum. “They’re in the yard.”  He hopped to the door and held it open.  “Come see!”
Mrs. Hickson followed her son out the door and into the yard.
Billy ran ahead and pointed. “Look!  Six geese!  A layin’ in the yard!  Dead!”
Sure enough, dead geese were scattered around along with enough white feathers to make it look like snow had come early.
Mrs. Hickson shook her head. “Damn dog.” She walked back to the house and yelled to Billy over her shoulder, “Tell your daddy we’re havin’ goose for supper.  For the next three weeks.”

We’ve reached the half-way point. I thought this would get easier as I went along, but it’s getting harder.  Killing the geese helped.

Check out the other participants of this little challenge (note a couple of new folks have been added):

Blogdramedy (writing challenge instigator)
Shouts from the Abyss
Stevil
Tori Nelson
A Few Clowns Short
Grouchy Mom
Rewind Revise
The Original Bean
Becoming Bitter
Words that Rhyme with Purple
Mad Hatters
A Daft Scots Lass
Random Says
Suzanne Forte PR
Slightly Whimsical
Trail Blazer 1
Lenore Diane
Ivanna Marie

on the fifth day of BlogFestivus

Ryaleth dismounted from his trusty steed and strode swiftly across the courtyard.
Entering the Great Hall, he slowed and walked, reverently, toward the throne.  He knelt before King Stryffant and bowed his head.
“Rise, Sir Ryaleth,” said the King.
“I have accomplished my mission, Sire.”  He retrieved a velvet pouch from his belt and handed it to the King.
The King smiled and waved over his daughter, Princess Aryiolne.  “Sweetheart, Sir Ryaleth has found the five golden rings you implored me to acquire for you.”
Princess Aryiolne sauntered over, tossing her golden locks over one shoulder.  She took one look in the bag and rolled her eyes.  “Daddy, golden rings were so last week.  If you really loved me, you’d get me an emerald brooch.”
The King turned to Ryaleth.  “You have your mission, Knight.”
Ryaleth sighed and walked slowly back to his horse.

Another story without death, but I kinda want to kill that Princess.

Check out the other folks participating in this little experiment:

Blogdramedy (writing challenge instigator)
Shouts from the Abyss
Stevil
Tori Nelson
A Few Clowns Short
Grouchy Mom
Rewind Revise
The Original Bean
Becoming Bitter
Words that Rhyme with Purple
Mad Hatters
A Daft Scots Lass
Random Says
Suzanne Forte PR
Slightly Whimsical
Trail Blazer 1

on the fourth day of BlogFestivus

Harold sat with his wife, Beverly, at the restaurant bar.  They each enjoyed a glass of red wine while waiting for a table.
“This is nice,” said Beverly.
Harold grunted and took a sip of wine.
“Why don’t we go out more often?” she asked.
He looked at Beverly, who was now perusing the menu, and shook his head.
A lilting, female voice rose over the murmur of the bar, “Calling-Birds, party of two.  Your table is ready.”
“Ooh, that’s us,” said Beverly as she stood.
Harold took a deep breath and followed his wife to the hostess stand.
A young woman holding two menus greeted them.  “Shouldn’t there be two more?” she asked with a grin.  “You know, as in four calling birds?”
“Every damn time!” Harold turned to his wife.
“You could give them a fake name,” said Beverly with a sigh.

If you’re counting, that’s two posts now where the “birds” lived. I think I may be coming down with something.

Read what others did with the calling birds:

Blogdramedy (writing challenge instigator)
Shouts from the Abyss
Stevil
Tori Nelson
A Few Clowns Short
Grouchy Mom
Rewind Revise
The Original Bean
Becoming Bitter
Words that Rhyme with Purple
Mad Hatters
A Daft Scots Lass
Random Says
Suzanne Forte PR
Slightly Whimsical
Trail Blazer 1

on the first day of christmas

Daryl walked to the edge of the clearing and stopped so suddenly I almost stumbled into him.
“What is it?” I asked in a half whisper.
He squinted his blue eyes and pointed ahead, then raised his crossbow and took aim.
“What are you looking at?”
“In the tree across the way,” he said
“Is that a partridge in the pear tree?” 
“Yep,” he said. “Now, hush.” Daryl steadied himself then pulled the trigger on the crossbow. There was a rustle within the tree then a soft thump as his quarry landed in the tall grass. He turned to me, displaying a satisfied smirk. “We got dinner.” He shouldered the crossbow and walked to the tree.
“What would I do without you?” I asked, following him.
He snapped off a piece of dry field grass and placed it between his teeth. “Starve, I reckon.”

~*~

So, not only is this the second post in one day (shocking, I know), but this little drabble seems to have something to do with a certain Christmas song.  What is this craziness, you may ask?  Well, I have accepted the challenge of Blogdramedy and am participating in her BlogFestivus.  I’ll let her snazzy little graphic explain the premise for me.

Yep.  It’s the 12 Days of Christmas.  Bloggy-style.  We have to use the “gifts” in the song somewhere in a 144 word story (12×12, get it?).  So, this one was “partridge in a pear tree,” obviously.  Tomorrow, there will be a story with “two turtle doves” featured, then “three french hens” and on and on.  The best thing about this challenge is that the stories don’t have to have anything to do with Christmas whatsoever if we don’t want.  I like that.  Christmas and me aren’t exactly best buds.

For today’s story, I managed to sneak in a little zombie love.  Don’t see it?  Well, that’s Daryl Dixon from The Walking Dead shooting dinner with his crossbow like a boss.  I like Daryl.  He’s dreamy.  And wears zombie ear necklaces.

So, tune in tomorrow to see what I do to those poor turtle doves.

And, be sure to check out the rest of the gang who are participating in BlogFestivus.

Blogdramedy (writing challenge instigator)
Shouts from the Abyss
Stevil
All My Answers
Tori Nelson
A Few Clowns Short
Grouchy Mom
Rewind Revise
The Original Bean
My life: a constant work in progress
Becoming Bitter
PamBamBam
Clan of the Cave Hair
Words that Rhyme with Purple
Mad Hatters
A Daft Scots Lass
Random Says
Susan Forte PR
Slightly Whimsical

 

happy thanksgiving (retro fun style)

just like the pilgrims did it

This is a re-run, but this is the best Thanksgiving related story that I have, so I’m sharing it again.  Hope it makes you giggle.

Whatever possessed my family to go camping in The North Georgia Mountains in November I’ll never know. I suppose the thought of spending Thanksgiving out in the wilderness free from the distractions of modern life with only nature and family for company seemed peaceful and authentic. I suppose it was peaceful even with my raucous family, however, as we would learn much later, it was far from authentic.

The North Georgia Mountains are beautiful. There is no doubt about it. However, when it is 30 degrees outside the majestic pines and the clear, rocky rivers and roaring waterfalls are difficult to enjoy. The adults at least had alcohol to help defrost themselves, but I was a pre-teen so the campfire was my only source of warmth. This was a primitive campsite, so there were no bathroom facilities and the only running water was the freezing river. Plus this was in the days before cell phones, laptops or mp3 players. My entertainment included listening to the grown-ups tell stories and watching them almost fall into the fire after enjoying too much “liquid warmth.” If it weren’t so cold, I would have sworn it was hell.

In addition to my immediate family (mom, stepdickdad, older sister) our cousin Chris and his wife Gini were camping with us. Chris is a big bear of a man with jet black hair and the most impressive beer gut I had ever seen. At some point during the day before Thanksgiving, Chris started bragging that he could trek into the woods and kill us a wild turkey for dinner. Other than beer, Chris tends to be full of shit, so we didn’t take him too seriously. But he insisted that he could hunt down a turkey. He had even done some research and said he knew that there were turkeys in the area. My mom was one if his biggest detractors. She outright dared Chris to go hunting and return with anything other than frostbite. Better than that, she said if Chris killed a turkey, she would gut it, pluck it and cook it over the campfire. Chris gleefully accepted her challenge.

The next morning, Chris emerged from his tent in full hunting regalia which for him consisted entirely of boots, bow and quiver of arrows slung across his chest and a loincloth. He stood, fists on hips in the frigid mountain morning air, beer gut glistening in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the pines. The rest of us were gathered around the fire, speechless at the sight. Did I mention that Chris used to do a lot of drugs?

So, my mostly naked cousin hiked into the woods and up the hill in search of the illusive wild mountain turkey. We lost sight of him and then after a while we heard him sound his turkey call. He called a few more times and, unbelievably, we heard a turkey gobble in reply. Then again, Chris sounded his call and we heard a turkey answer. All of us back at the camp were amazed that he had actually tracked one down. But could he get a shot at it?

We got our answer when we heard a rustling in the woods and then saw Chris tramping toward us holding up the limp body of a turkey by its legs. My mom’s jaw dropped. The crazy bastard had actually done it. He dropped the turkey at my mom’s feet and said, “I believe you got some work to do.” My mom, true to her word, began cleaning the bird for dinner.

For years afterward, we would recall this story at family gatherings and over drinks with friends. My mom would sheepishly admit that she was bested by her cousin, but it was worth it to have fresh caught wild turkey for Thanksgiving dinner.

Many years later, I believe it was at Christmas, we were at Chris and Gini’s house talking after dinner when the turkey story came up in conversation. It was then that Chris told us, as Paul Harvey would say, the rest of the story.

A few days before the camping trip, Chris went to a farm and bought a live turkey. He kept the poor thing in a cage in their living room until it was time to leave for the mountains. They arrived at the camp site much earlier than we did which gave Chris enough time to lug the caged turkey far into the woods where it was left until the morning of the fateful hunt. He had the whole thing planned, but when my mom challenged his hunting prowess and wagered that he couldn’t deliver, it just added another level of hilarity to the situation. Chris admits that when he was standing over the turkey in his loincloth, arrow poised, he almost couldn’t go through with it. He was a hunter, but killing a caged animal just wasn’t sporting. I suppose that the opportunity to make my mother eat her words won out over his ethics.

The turkey story continues to be one of our family favorites, but now for a completely different reason. Even my mom found the whole thing too funny to be miffed that she was tricked.

I hope that everyone has a wonderful Thanksgiving filled with friends, family and laughter. And, if you have turkey, I hope you don’t have to kill it and clean it yourself. Or, if you do, I hope you aren’t wearing a loincloth.

this is not the blog you’re looking for part 3: i still know what you searched last summer

Yep. It’s time for another search term round-up here at the FIOD corral. So, straighten your Stetson and sharpen your spurs ’cause this filly’s a feisty one.  And, if any of you fellas are ridin’ bare-back under your chaps, you’re at the wrong rodeo.

However, whoever found me with these search terms ended up in the right place:
sarcastic Christmas lyrics
sarcastic remarks about Christmas
sarcastic Christmas
sarcastic Christmas list
sarcastic Christmas pictures

I have these Christmas-themed retro ads to thank for those searches.

Then someone had to go and ask:
can you use sarcastically in a sentence

Puh-leeze! I can sarcastically use sarcastically in a sentence.  I work in sarcasm the way other artists may work in oils or clay. (Bonus points if you know this movie reference. Yes, I’m being sarcastic. There are no “points.”)

Then, as is often the case, things take a turn for the weird.

man gets attacked by flying toast – Toast can smell fear, you know.

suck a cork and massage a grape at the same time – I think you may want to follow the ass-less chaps fellas out of here.

happy person with drill – That’s much better than sad person with a drill, let me tell ya.

mad baby seals -  But, they’re so cute when they’re angry! They get mad when you say that, by the way.  Which just makes them cuter!

I'm mad at you. Stop giggling! I'm serious! Grr!

whispy ambigram – Is this some sort of pretentious new age Enya cover band or something?  They can go on tour with Feathery Palindrome and Misty Spoonerism.  (I think I new a girl in high school named Misty Spoonerism.)

just add a kid – What is the best way to ruin your life, Alex? (Aw, stop it! I’m just joking. Geesh!)

grandpa’s soggy balls – I quadruple-dog-dare any of you to do a Google image search of this.  At work. On your boss’s computer.

kitten kills a retard – I . . . umm . . .uhh . . .  Okay, internet.  You win, man.  You win.
::holds up hands and backs slowly out of the room::

As with most sequels, you may want to start at the beginning:
This is Not the Blog You’re Looking For
This is Not the Blog You’re Looking For Part 2: The Wrath of Google

 

it’s a cookbook! a cookbook!

Every religion has their quirks.

Catholics have their bloody crucifixes and a flair for the dramatic.  Southern Baptists tend to take things a bit too literally and believe alcohol is evil.  Hindus have their cows and Buddhists strike a pose.

Seventh Day Adventists are very concerned with what they eat. Or, more specifically, what they won’t eat.  Strict SDAs are commonly vegetarian and they also do not ingest alcohol, caffeine or spicy foods such as chili peppers (black pepper is a no-no as well).  Dairy products and eggs are also excluded or eaten only in moderation.

So, what do they eat?  Well, I’m glad you asked.

It so happens that my grandmother is a SDA.  I stole borrowed this church published cookbook while staying in her condo back in September.

Exhibit A

Looks harmless enough.  But, let’s take a look inside, shall we?

As expected, I found quite  few soy-based recipes and various propaganda regarding the evils of a meat and caffeine laden diet.

Yeah, just try to take coffee away from one of those tottering old people and you'll see how spry they can be.

Then there were some . . . unexpected . . . recipes involving soy.

I don’t know who this Donna person is, but I’d be willing to bet she was born without taste buds.  I can’t even begin to imagine what this would taste like, or look like for that matter.  What is a #2 can?  Do they sell those at Williams-Sonoma? I love how Donna leaves it up to you to decide how much garlic salt to use and the soy sauce adds a nice Asian flair to this peanut buttery, tomato juicy can of despair.

Soy sauce pops up quite a bit in this recipe book.

What the heck did waffles ever do to deserve such a fate as this? Can you imagine how salty this unholy gravy would be?  With the briny olives, chicken seasoning, salt and soy sauce, I can feel my blood pressure rising just thinking about it.  Then, if the olives are too adventurous for your palate, they suggest substituting them with “scrambled tofu.” So that would be soy milk, soy sauce and tofu – a trifecta of soy.

But, even all that soy sounds perfectly reasonable compared to this next dish.

What the hell is “209″?  That’s not a food, that’s a number.  And it comes in a can.  Maybe it’s a #2 can. Can I substitute two cans of 104.5 if that’s all I got?

Had enough?  Well, we’re just getting started, my friends.

Behold!

Can you say “Gluten Roast” without your breakfast trying to crawl back up your throat?  If you can, you are made of sterner stuff than I.  The only ingredient used more often than soy in this grimoire of ghoulish delights is gluten, which sounds alarmingly like paste, if you ask me.  If you don’t want to make your own paste gluten, then you can apparently purchase a product called ”Do-Pep.”  I wonder if it is in the same aisle with cans of 209?

Ready for some more words you’ve never heard before?  Brace yourself.

What sort of Lovecraftian horrors are Protose and Nutose?  It sounds like something created in a dank, basement laboratory by a mad scientist in a dirty lab coat and unruly hair.  And what, in the name of all that is pure and good, are they doing to that poor, innocent peanut butter?  “Gluten will become stringy (this gives texture).”  Have more depressing words ever been penned in a book meant to provide people with nourishment?

What could possibly be next?

Surprise, kids!  It’s gluten logs!  Kids?  Why are you crying?

“Tender Bits” sounds like cat food.  Sweet/Sour Cat Food almost sounds more appetizing than this gluten monstrosity.  “Skallops” must be like “krab” only sadder.

There’s more.  So, so much more.  But I’ll spare you the recipes and just let you chew on a few of these names:

Pinto Bean Oat Waffles (refried waffles?)
Prairie “Fish” (quotes not added by me)
Cashew Cream
Cashew Cheese
Cashew Loaf (cashews must be the holiest of all nuts)
Chicken-Style Toast Quickies (gives “quickie” a bad name)
Shamburger (I swear I’m not making this up)
Soybean Sandwich Filling (and yet, my sandwich is still so very empty)
Vegelona Hash (another new word!)
Wheatmeat (hungry yet?)
Peanuteena (soyteena’s younger brother)
Chicken a la Queen (gave the King a wig and size 14 pumps)
Glorified Rice (this is a dessert)
Rice a la Apple (this, too)
Apple Prune Betty (Brown Betty’s irregular Aunt)

You guys had enough?  Okay, I’ll stop.

I must emphasize that not all, or even most, Seventh Day Adventists concoct such palate deadening recipes as these in their homes.  Most SDAs are super nice, normal people going about their daily business like everyone else.  I bet a lot of them have never even heard of Do-Pep or know what 209 is.  (Yes, I’m covering my ass so people don’t think I’m a religious bigot, which I’m not.)

And, if any of you out there are brave stupid enough to make and/or consume any of these recipes, please DO NOT let me know.  I got enough crazy in my life without having to deal with the likes of you.