Would You Mind Reading and Responding to a Message That was Left in My Comment Section? Um...That's What I was Afraid Of.

TAKEN FROM SPARKLEFARKLE'S "So Make It One for My Baby..." COMMENT SECTION, Friday, December 30, 2011 (Read it and weep. I DID.):

"THE THING OF IT IS: As if I wasn't crushed enough, I pathetically resorted to going over my blogspot stats, where I fully and blatantly realised the following (along with a MAJOR stringer of other numbers that made me cry out, 'OUCH!'):

Since early this morning (Being it's a holiday week-end, I was excitey and my hopes were soaring! So, fool that I am, I checked the records at about 7:30-8AM Central. Why I'm bothering to tell you all the silly details, I'll never know.), this particular blog article, which, unfortunately, has followed the same miserable path that the majority of my other entries have, has been viewed 8 times. Here comes the wretched part: Only three people--count'em, THREE--responded. And, ready or not, here's the even more heartbreaking pièce de résistance: TWO OF THOSE COMMENTS WERE LEFT BY ME.

Especially because my 'story' was all about wishing stoppers-by a Happy New Year!, you'd think the polite thing to do would be to respond in kind. But, NO.

CRIPES ALMIGHTY...

Seriously, what is it with YOU people?! Are you so shallow that you can't even be bothered to leave a meaningless 'Happy New Year, SparkleFarkle!'? Yeah, I'm a nice person, and, yeah, you guys hurt my feelings. CONTINUOUSLY. Think about how YOU would feel if nobody ever talked to YOU --actually chose NOT to talk to you? Over and over again.

Man, what a perfectly crappy way to ring in the New Year... You skin-deeps make me sick to my stomach.

Again, a BIG 'Happy New Year!' goes out to dear pal RottieGirl! But as for all you other--dare I say it? H*** yes, I dare-->SCHMUCKS, I've changed my mind: Have a rather bland 2012 instead. Uh-huh, 'I'm as mad as h*** and I'm not gonna take this anymore!'

'I'm a human being, God d*** it! My life has value!'-ly yours,
Love,
SparkleFarkle 'Beale'"

• • • • • • •

P.S. Believe it or not, after all is said and done,

FIVE WORDS:

• • • • • • •
Rest in peace, Mollo, Zuzie, 2011, and possibly my stoopid blog.
"Mad as H***" Image Credit: Robert Landrum

So Make It One for My Baby...

(See how they glow?! Uh-huh, knowledge is power!!!)

"IF I EVER BECOME a mummy, I'm going to have it so when somebody opens my lid, a boxing glove on a spring shoots out. " --Jack Handey

HAPPY
Jack Handey
FRIDAY!

WHILST I STILL have my head about me,

*"accidentally" tips breakfast box of White Zin,
waaay-ahead jumpstarting a private brand
of New Year's Eve party*

well...

maybe sort of.

Anyway, I'd like to take this opportunity
to wish you all a

!!!!!

MAY EVERYTHING you hope for
in 2012 happen!

HM.

Care to taint those Best Wishes with what my "Here, while I'm at it, let me put a damper on that, too" mother always has to say? Momsy:

"Dream BIG, but NOT too big."
. . . . . .

(If you said Jorge Garcia's thumb playing Hugo "Hurley" Reyes's thumb in the ABC television series Lost, you answered right to "Who's helping to grip the above lotto ticket?" Take anything on the second shelf, little lady/young man,

anything on the second shelf!)

DID YOU KNOW THAT a person's chances at winning a lottery prize worth $12 million are approximately 1 in 34, 475,684,284? (Yes, as do a countless number of Baby Boomery others born into families who would Never--I can't emphasize the capital "N" on that "Never" enough--be owners of "a mighty fine set of almost World Book Encyclopedias, sold door-to-door back in the day by a one-time Fuller Brush Man, who, for some secret reason, "changed lanes mid-stream," (Maybe you remember him? He was the rabidly gum-chewing, shiny odd blue-suited guy, who would forget to remove his hat (My Aunt Myrtle excused him, saying something like, "Most traveling men in retail are bald and feel quite shamely about it."), then ask for a glass of water, even though it seem as if there was "something more" he actually wanted from my obviously flattered and compliant aunt.

NOW WHERE WAS I again? Oh, yeah--> As do a countless number of other people born into families who would never be owners of "a mighty fine set of almost (Or even the "real deal" kind, because wouldn't that have been great?! I pee a little just thinking about it!) World Book Encyclopedias" during the early 60s (<--But that didn't stop me from for perpetually longing for one, because I still do. You should see how I salivate over long rows of BIG red books at some used books sales.), proudly and masterfully I do google nearly every passing thought that pops into my grey matter. Maybe to somehow fill the hole in my encyclopedia-less life? I dunno. But probably the real reason I "search" so much, is because, in doing so, I am always--and I do mean always--reminded of Jiminy Cricket, which is hardly what I'd call a bad thing, would you? Ah, sweet memories... Aunt Mert was forever grateful that "Knuckle Walt" (She always called Mr. Disney that in order to kindly appease a little-girl me, who wished Mickey Mouse's dad was a member of our family. (Sometimes, I would even go as far as to tell the entire playground that he actually was my dad. Who was never at home. Because... Because... Because HE WAS A TRAVELING SALESMAN! Yeah, that's it! A traveling salesman!

Tommy "Yeah, that's the ticket!"Flanagan
as my father is more like it, huh?
Such pathological liar-y cuteness-genes I did inherit, eh?!)

*oh-sighs* It would have been beyond incredible to have been able to, just once, tell the other kids that Walt Disney shared in our Thanksgiving Day spread!) had not used the hairless but hatted, blue World Book pusher as his model for

the knowledgeable, insecty
befriender of pointy-faced wooden kids,
he invented.

"What a cripes-almighty mistake that would have been!" Mert opinioned, as we watched the Encyclodedia salesman head to our neighbor's house, dragging his wares behind him in a leashed suitcase. He looked thirsty again, but I don't think for water. As I recall, he never did drink the glass-full Myrtle had set on a hand-crocheted coaster on the end table next to him.)

I'M BACK. Did you further know the odds of being struck by lightning are 1 in 2,000,000? (Yes, wise guy, I did google twice. And, as a matter of fact--AND for the record, Mr. Ripley--it was in rapid succession, because I am that good!) Yep, you have a better chance of being hit by lightning than winning the lottery.

So, you figure it out.
No?
Then allow me:

("You do realize, of course, if this thing does ring...we're all dead,"
advised a strapless and blinged SparkleFarkle, center. )

Get yourself some TALL friends. If lightening strikes, they'll get hit first.

*switches to the "good stuff"*

SPARKLEFARKLE'S
NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION:

I will NOT become my mother.

AND ON THAT uplifty note, again with the Happy New Year! --AND one more for the road: please do sing with me this final Christmas carol of the season (Because I love it (<--the time of the year and the song-->) so!):

"Fairytale of New York"
Songwriters: JEREMY FINER, SHANE MACGOWAN

Sung by The Pogues & Kirsty MacColl

. . . . . . .

Dare to dream BIG-ly,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

Rest in peace, my Mollo, ZuZu, Kirsty MacColl and Tarzan's sidekick, Cheetah.

"My Mom is Home from Afghanistan!"

IF THE FOLLOWING reunitey togetherness
doesn't warm your heart-cockles,
absolutely nothing will:

"When a U.S. Air Force Captain returns from a year serving in Afghanistan, no one is more excited to welcome her home than her eight-and-a-half year old dog, Molly. Listen to Molly’s emotional wimpers in this touching reunion between a military mom and the dog who missed her."

RECORDED JANUARY 12, 2011 • UPLOADED BY LibandCam, JANUARY 16, 2011 • SUMMARY SOURCE: Global Animal

SEVEN WORDS:
Absence does make
the heart grow fonder!

Ain't love grand-ly yours,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

Rest in peace, my Mollo, ZuZu, and all the soldiers who didn't make it home.

Quote-art credit:
Brian Andreas

I Never Claimed to be a Babysitter --Good, T’otherwise, OR Over the Phonely

My sister (For privacy’s sake, but mostly for lack of a better name, I’ll call her

“Rhoda” ),

who I try to avoid at all costs: thank God she lives 199 miles, 3 hours and 40 minutes away from my front porch am not as close to as I probably should be, called to throw a couple of tantrums and behave unreasonably or inappropriately “chit-chat.” About thirty-five minutes into the "conversation," I finally got a word in edgewise, then she abruptly hung up. Hm. Perhaps it was something I said, which just happened to be:

“IF I WERE you, I’d send my
Inner Child to military school.”

YES INDEED, I am a powerful tool (HEAR ME ROAR!), freeing and releasing hidden agenda-areas within that perpetuate into life-long unhappiness if not dealt with.

IN conclusion,
TWO WORDS aimed directly at Rhoda:
You’re welcome!

Sensitively and positively,
because to re-traumatize is not to heal-ly,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

Rest in peace, my Mollo and Zuzie.

You'd Best Watch Out for the Mistletoe!

WELCOME TO the happily-hosted-by-Grandma’s-Goulash Succinctly Yours, a perfectly wonderful meme that picks up where our dearly ♥ departed Microfiction Monday left off by asking the burning question:

How low can you go?

THE GIST: Use the photo provided by GG as inspiration for a story of 140 characters or 140 words. (It doesn’t have to be exactly 140, just not more.) Oh?! *nods an impressed head* You want an even BIGGER challenge?! Then incorporate the word of the week into your flash tale. This Monday's assignment is "buoyant," which I chose to skip, since that smitch of the game is optional. <-–Whew! and thank God, because I DON'T need that kind o' preshah!

HERE’S
December 26th’s picture
AND my story:

I spy a "vacancy"! See it? Yeah, right there, next to the littliest "piggy"! (Looks like there might have been a struggle, though, dudn't it?)

As Chloroformy, Santa's "special" little helper, tucked the spent rag into the borrowed-from-the-Tooth-Fairy tool bag, he creepily smiled back at his boss.

"Ah, yet another Christmas wish granted!" boasted an even creepier St. Nick, after having just extracted the nasty, freakish extra toe from Billy's right foot. Later, the elf, under the direction of Mr. Claus, would launch the freshly solo-ed tootsie from a sky-highing sleigh, as they gleefully would together shout,

"Missile toe!!!"
--74 words--

. . . . . . .

ONE WORD:
macabre (?!?!)

I didn't get any sleep last night, does it show?-ly yours,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

Rest in peace, my Mollo, ZuZu, and Billy's toe.

When the Mountain Touches the Valley...

IF I COULD HAVE been cast in any Jim Henson production, I would have chosen my all-time favourite,

Emmet Otter's Jug-Band Christmas
(original airdate: 1977),
based on

the same-titled children's book
written by Russell Hoban
and illustrated by his then wife,
Lillian Hoban.

OF COURSE, I would
have wanted to play

the lead (Emmet),

but being that dirty laundry holds me hostage my interest most of the time, Jim would have probably encouraged me to try out for the when-I'm not knitting-socks-and baking-pumpkin-pies-for-a-living-I'm-washing-other-people's-duds "Alice" part. There's no denying I most certainly have all the motions down pat, and since I no longer suffer from Tide Bottle Elbow (which is similar to racqueters' tennis elbow, only I "caught" mine from lift-and-pour-the-Tide overuse. "Just say yes to 'OUCH!'" snickered the heavy, couldn't-care-lessy orange detergent flask, to which I replied, "cLiCkY-cLiCkY--<-- HERE."), it would have been a breeze, I tell ya. A BREEZE!

BECAUSE EMMET OTTER'S JUG-BAND CHRISTMAS is so very special to me--Not only did this special special (<--HBO) utilized a number of different puppetry methods and featured extensively platformed-up sets, all created with great attention to detail, but the psychiatrist I use to go to (<--Imagine that! ME?! With a mental "problem"?!?! Yeah, I know what you mean, it is to laugh!) bears a striking resemblance to Jim Henson (Hm. SparkleFarkle switched to present tense. Does that mean she's still seeing "someone"? ENQUIRING MINDS WANT TO KNOW. Perhaps SF is merely mistaken and thinks the court-appointed psychi-guy is her friend.), except my since defunct doctor wears a handlebar moustache and one of his fingers (WARNING: bad word choice ahead-->) cripples (<--strangely short and bent at the tip in the exact same way

--Sorry, folks, Telly hides his candy cane-shapey fingy in this picture. I just wanted to point out that "Living Doll" (1963) is one of my favourite Twilght Zone episodes, is all. I thought Enquiring Minds might want to know. FYI, though: Mr. Savalas plays a mean mean stepfather (Erich Streater), who has to battle it out with Talking Tina in this one. It's a Must-See, I Telly you, a Must-See!--

Telly Savalas
wore his deformy digit.)

WAIT. Where was I again? (<--Just call me "Stray.") Oh, yeah. Because Emmet Otter's Jug-Band Christmas is so very special to me, as are you, the video-clip experience, below, is my Santy Claus gift to you!

"When The River Meets The Sea"
written by Paul Williams and sung by the quartetty members of the Frogtown Hollow Jubilee Jug Band: Emmett Otter (washtub bass), Wendall Porcupine (jug), Harvey Beaver (kazoo and washboard), and Charlie Muskrat (cigar-box banjo), Alice "Ma" Otter, and Henry John Deutschendorf, Jr. AKA John "Far OUT!" Denver.

When the mountain touches the valley
All the clouds are taught to fly
As our souls will leave this land most peacefully
Though our minds be filled with questions
In our hearts we'll understand
When the river meets the sea

Like a flower that has blossomed
In this dry and barren sand
We are born and born again most gracefully
Plus the winds of time will take us
With a sure and steady hand
When the river meets the sea

Patience my brothers
And patience my son
In that sweet and final hour
Truth and justice will be done

Like a baby when it is sleeping
In its mother's loving arms
What a newborn baby dreams is a mystery (a mystery)

But this life will find a purpose
And in time we'll understand
When the river meets the sea
When the river meets the almighty sea

O Holy Night cow!
I just now found us a blooper "reel," too!
Man, this is like having two Christmases, isn't it?!

(Think of it as a little something extra in your stocking!)
Emmet Otter's
Jug-Band Christmas Bloopers

TWO WORDS:

You're welcome. Merry Christmas!
Love,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*
Rest in peace, my Mollo, ZuZu, and Mr. Henson.

If Baby Jesus Had a Chatty Cathy Cord, Chances Are Slim to None That I Would Pull It

Plastic Baby Jesus Sans Swaddling Clothes and Manger

(By the by, don't make the mistake of thinking this is me holding the above faux Christ Child. The reason I know it's not me is because my fingers are made out of regular flesh, NOT over-cooked stadium hotdogs. And, apparently, the mystery lady gripping the tiny, synthetic Messiah, didn't know that on the sixth day God the Father also created manicures. See Genesis 1:27 ½)

"A GOOD WAY TO THREATEN somebody is to light a stick of dynamite. Then you call the guy and hold the burning fuse up to the phone. 'Hear that?' you say. 'That's dynamite, baby.'"--Jack Handey

HAPPY
Jack Handey
FRIDAY!

IT'S NIGH ON "Here Comes Baby Jesus!" Eve! It doth maketh me so happy, how abouteth you you-eth?! (<--timely and impressive Biblespeak) Yeah, can you believe it? Tommorow is already the Night Before Christmas! ("and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse." Sorry, I just had to include that part, because it's my entire-y favourite line from Clem Moore's St. Nicky poem! I have always enjoy when little-mice-sleeping-in-matchbox-beds scenery comes into my head, and this smitch of the "'Twas the Night Before" story is The Sure Thing, if it's all about getting my grey matter to do just that. Yay for me, huh?!)

ALONG WITH Santy Claus up on the rooftop, cLiCk, cLiCk, cLiCk!; doorbells and sleigh bells and French nappy poodles (WAIT. How does that song go again? Aw, never mind. Since "long-winded" will probably turn out to be the best description of this blog entry, we'd better stay on track: KEEP READING.); twinkling lights and mega-gobs of dangly tinsel (<--One can never have enough of this stuff! Am I right, or am I right?! I especially love the

"probably loaded with lead or another such terribly toxic, because, man, nowadays you'd be hard-pressed to find even a half of a box of this silver-glistening tree bling in any Baby Boomer's mom's attic, let alone a store, because I'd be willing to bet Hazmat-suited Tinsel Cops long ago confiscated the last of this deck-the-halls" kind.

*gets sidetracked reminisce-y and sighs*

ICICLES LIKE THE KIND my Aunt Myrtle (whose Birthday would have been today. Happy Birthday, Mert! I miss you. Dreadfully.) meticulously draped each and every needle of our back-in-the-day Christmas trees, just do not exist anymore... Unless you're lucky enough to go to an estate sale of a dead someone who once built a panic room for their holiday garnish.)

GOOD GRIEF! Now where in the heck was I?! Oh, yeah. Along with all the typical stuff that goes on to make this time of the year so simply won-Won-WONDERFUL!, I like Christmas because it's the one time of the year when I don't feel foolish praying to or firing my most serious problems at a newborn.(You gotta know, I usually "talk" with the thirty-three-year old version of the Redeemer.) I must admit, though, I do make any messages to Baby Jesus short and sweet, and then, immediately and intentionally, I get preoccupahdoed with something--anything--else. WHY? Because what if Holy Infant So Tender and Mild decides to literally answer my prayers, right then and there?! Huh? Don't you get it?

TWO WORDS:

(And you didn't know Jesus wore turtlenecks either? Yeah, count this fashion statement among His first miracles. As for dickeys, He made them happen some time down the road. I think it was during His "Loaves and Fishes" event, but don't quote me, okay? I can't be positive.)

Baby talk.

YEPPERS. Someone solving my problems via baby talk, well, I DON'T WANT TO GO TO THERE. And give this a think, too: the only thing worse than a baby-talk talking Emmanuel, who has O Come O Come, would be Baby Jesus talking in an adult voice! YIKES! Like I said, Yule days are the only ones that I'll address a diaper-clad Christ, yet, with that being said, directly after "Amen," I'm outta here, man! Er, I mean...WHAT DO I MEAN, because you're the "two distinct natures" type, aren't you, JC? N-NO, D-DON'T ANSWER THAT. You know how baby talk gets to me. Thanks, Lamb O', you're such a doll!

No doubt blasphemously,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

P.S.
Hold on to your winter beanie,

(Please and thank-you to a lookee-lookee very, very closely. I'm perched on the swirly one. But then again, maybe not. I just prayed to Baby Jesus, so, likely, I've already left.)
I'm on a roll!

YOU'RE PROBABLY FAMILIAR with the legend of the Christmas animals? You know, the shared-by-many-countries tale whose “according to” is this in a nutshell (copied and pasted [and dabbed with a few by-me change-ups] from who knows where, because, cripes, I lost the source web page!):

"Christ's birth occurred at exactly midnight. Inside the stable, the animals watched in wonder as the new-born Christ the Lord was lovingly wrapped in swaddling clothes and placed in a manger. Suddenly, God gave voice to the animals and immediately they began to praise God for the miracle they had just seen. This went on for several minutes and, just before the entrance of the shepherds--who had hurried to the stable because angels had told them the Christ had been born there--the animals again fell silent. The legend of the talking animals persists to this day in Scandinavia. And every Christmas Eve, wide-eyed children creep into stables just before midnight."

But have you heard
"THE REST OF THE STORY"?

A SMITCH BEFORE midnight, Mary's nesting instinct kicked in again. A grin-and-bear-everything, but dead-tired Joseph (<--as of yet, he had not been declared a saint, but, boy, oh, boy, this just might do it), who had ever so compliantly pushed the barn furniture out of the way so that the Blessed Mother-to-be could feverishly vacuum, decided to leave things "put," after she had finished. Then, LO AND BEHOLD! Mere seconds before the clock was to strike twelve, the very first talky miracle occurred! (<–You didn't know there were two, did you?)

FROM OUT OF THE SHADOWS an observant, little pony, taking notice of where Joseph had inappropriately planted the manger, spoke his praise-be-our-nearly-hearly-Savior mind:

"Nobody puts Baby in a corner!
he heavy-on-the-neighs spouted.

NEEDLESS TO SAY, Joe scrambled and the rest is legendy history --that of which, if I might add, also inspired a massive box office hit!

P.P.S

FYI: Not all the animals fell silent.
Much later on, the horse gave "birth" to

Reality television.

Rest in peace, my Mollo, ZuZu, Aunt Myrtle, the famous Mr. Ed, and Patrick Swayze.

P.P.P.S.

I could afford to retire,
if I had a dollar for every time I hyphenated.
OR watched Dirty Dancing.

Glad Tidings of Comfort [Food] and Joy!

IS ONE DISGRUNTLED Christmas bulb stopping your O Tannebaum from firing? Do you still have tons of presents to wrap, but the only tape left in the house is a near-spent reel of Duct? Did you discover that the hook-part on all the candy canes in the box you just brought home from the grocery store, are broken due to an overzealous bag boy? Then I guess it's safe to say the answer's "Yes," if I were to ask you, "Are you feeling a smitch humbugged?"

NEVER FEAR,
I've got the beer cure!

NINE WORDS:

(I found these guys and instructions to "build and melt" them on a defunct website called Crazy Domestic. <--Give this a be-my-guest cLiCkY-cLiCkY to locate the easy details!)

IT'S EASIER to be cheerful
on a full stomach!

On my way to make the oven preheaty-ly yours,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

Rest in peace, my Mollo and ZuZu. I miss you most at Christmas.
But you already know that, don't you?

Go, Dogs, Go!

I just love this kind of stuff!

THREE WORDS:

"Jingle Bells" rocks!

Jingle all the wayly,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*
Rest in peace, my Mollo and ZuZu.

"Love" Is Never Having to Say "Paper or Plastic?"?

MARGE SIMPSON: “Miss? Miss? Do you have a Chanel suit or any other high-quality clothes?”

SALES CLERK: “No ma’am, but we do have a shipment of slightly burned Sears Activewear coming in this afternoon.”
MARGE SIMPSON: “Oh, I give up.”

CLETUS SPUCKLER: “What time and how burnt?”

BECAUSE I FEEL THAT far to many people treat them like they are less than human, I have a tendancy to be Golden Ruley, extra-nice to people who work in retail. (<--WHEW! I've been there.) With that being said, I find myself time-and-againly uttering a heavy-hearted "Ouch!" after having just arrived home from the neighborhood pharmacy (I'm not naming names, but Wall minus one "l" and the plural version of the colour associated with Ireland make up it's autograph. You do the math.), where the sales clerk literally chewed me up and spit me out (I kid you not. Like I said, "Ouch!") because, with a genuine smile on my face (Come to think of it, shouldn't they all be?), I courteously asked for a bag for my 14 items (You see, although there once was a spot in my life when I actually wanted to join the circus, I never did. So, that indeed makes me NOT a juggler. And since I must walk with a cane (Yes, as a matter of fact, I did christened her "Candy"!), sacks take the edge off carrying stuff.), and then had "the audacity to take up waaay too much [of his] time" (<--his words only without the "fancy"expletives) zipping my purse before "hobbling away" (<--sadly, the phrase of which he seemed most proud).

NINE

"Danger, Will Robison, Danger!"
WORDS to the wise:

The bad guy doesn't always
wear a black hat.

Has anyone seen the Band-Aids?-ly,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

Rest in peace, my Mollo and ZuZu.

Image Credit:
Black hat courtesy of BestEast.com.

WRap,WraP, WrAp, They Call Me the WraPpEr!

GUESS WHAT I'm doing today?

THAT'S RIGHT!

Drinking Pepsi!
Dressing up Yuletidey packages!!
. . . . . . .

SPARKLEFARKLED
Christmas
Gift Wrapping Tip #67:
Giftags

WHEN YOU GET to the "From:" part,

FOUR WORDS:

sign your name BIG.

Luv and kissies from:
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

Rest in peace, my Mollo and ZuZu.

“A Melting Moment, A Melting Moment, My Kingdom for a Melting Moment,” Wished Frosty

WELCOME TO the happily-hosted-by-Grandma’s-Goulash Succinctly Yours, a perfectly wonderful meme that picks up where our dearly ♥ departed Microfiction Monday left off by asking the burning question:

How low can you go?

THE GIST: Use the photo provided by GG as inspiration for a story of 140 characters or 140 words. (It doesn’t have to be exactly 140, just not more.) Oh?! *nods an impressed head* You want an even BIGGER challenge?! Then incorporate the word of the week into your flash tale. This Monday's assignment is "nimble," which I chose to skip, since that smitch of the game is optional. <-–Whew! and thank God, because I don't need that kind o' preshah!

HERE’S

December 19th’s picture
AND my story:

DOROTHY: Did you say something?
FROSTY: [indiscernible sounds from the frozen solid snowman]
DOROTHY: He said oil can!
SCARECROW: Oil can what?
DOROTHY: Oil can.
SCARECROW: (leveling with Frosty) Forget it, little friend. Tin Man goo’s not gonna do you any good.
DOROTHY: (distressing over ultra-frigiddy Frosty’s stock-still state) If only he had an Auntie Em to take care of him.
SCARECROW: Correction, Dot, Auntie Freeze.
(word count: 68)

FIVE more WORDS:

Get it? Got it? Good!

Go ahead, groan if you have to-ly yours,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

Rest in peace, my Mollo and Zuzie.

All I Want for Christmas Is a Can of Raid

If I were in charge of farm hat distribution.

"SOMETIMES KIDS are so cruel to animals, especially insects. I remember one time I caught this grasshopper, and I made him wear a little straw hat I made. Also a little pair of denim overalls. I made him hold this little tiny pitchfork. So guess what he looked like? What is the enemy of the grasshopper and the one thing he wouldn't want to look like? That's right, a farmer." --Jack Handey

HAPPY
Jack Handey
FRIDAY,
all!
. . . . . . .

Disney's Grasshopper with a devil-may-care, don't-give-a-rat's-arse, party-on attitude that, back-in-the-day (and even nowly), impacted me.

I WAS BORN worry worty. And as a smitch I was also afraid of nearly everything. So, lots of times, I would temporarily remedy these "unsettling situations" (<--a kind way of putting "gone abnormally cuckoo over everyday life") by entering television cartoons. Yeah, *buffs nails on lapel* I actually could do that. (Are you truly that surprised? LOL! I didn't think so. More like "impressed," though, huh? Right?! I knew it!) And I still do it. (Come on, does that really surprised you either? *makes with a BIG har-dee-har-har* I didn't think so, again!) Yep, but not so much with the continuous-y. Now it's on a PRN basis... or just for fun! <--Because what the hey and why not?! "Know thy medicine and when to take it," says SparkleFarkle.

This used to be YIKES!

AND AS FOR eradicating any traces of congenital entomophobia, in particular myrmecophobia (a MAJOR fear of ants!)--merely only just a couple of the numerous, back-then fears to top the ENORMOUS stringer of my BIGliest smitchhood frights, which, togethered OR apartly, are phobias that could have gotten in the way of me implementing my self-invented, "televised-y" coping mechanism--I had no other recourse then to convince myself bugs could and did talk, especially to me! (FYI: "We" did it telepathically, so that my family and friends would remain none the wiser. Because I was an early reader, which included worry-warty absorbing a newspaper "tale" about psychiatric despair in a place called "Bellevue," this was smart of me, don't you think?! *proudly pats Child Within on the back*) Spiders are a whole nuther story --that of which I WILL NEVER BE GOING TO GO TO THERE, because CRIPES! I can't even say the word "spider" out loud, so scaredy-cat I am of them!

VIDEO PRELUDE TO this "What Ever in the Heck are You Trying to Get at Already, SparkleFarkle?!" sitchiation (Before the start of the Silly Symphony, below, please and thank you to OFFing the button on my Playlist (featured waaay caboosely on my blog page), or the the double-audio feed will drive you mad. That is, of course, if I haven't already. LOL!):

FOR YOUR CONVIENCE, A GISTY, SPOILER ALERTY SUMMARY: "A grasshopper hops through the forest, playing his fiddle and enjoying life to the fullest. He even sings a song, 'The World Owes Me a Living,' that reflects his world view. Everything in his life is owed to him by the world at large, thus, he does not need to look to the future. This does not work well with a colony of nearby ants. When the grasshopper distracts one of them from preparing for winter, the queen of the ants gets quite upset and tells the grasshopper that he will suffer that winter. The grasshopper isn’t convinced, to say the least. Of course, though, winter comes around, and the grasshopper collapses outside the ants’ tree. The ants are busy inside making merry with all the provisions they gathered, but they take time to take in the grasshopper and warm him up. The queen chastises him, but lets him stay if he’ll entertain them with his fiddle."--Ryan Kilpatrick, The Encyclopedia of Disney Animated Shorts

BUT TAKE-THE-WIND-OUT-OF-MY-SAILS sadly, even though a me-inside-the-TV loved side by siding it up with the industrious, wittler-than-wittle ant cutie pies, I couldn't for the life of me get passed how much the grasshopper as a "person," put me totally at un-ease! He scared me in a way I had never been scared before: BEJESUSLY. "Crappers!" I "swore" to my new-way-frightened self, then prayed,"Dear God, please don't let me ever in a million zillion years have to be near the likes of a grasshopper-losery someone like him! Amen." (Uh-huh, me attaching a "Y" to the end of some words actually did have an early beginning.)

BUT WOULDN'T YOU KNOW it? Over the last several years (31 to be exact), but, come to think of it, probably just midway into that first one, I came to realize

(FOUR WORDS:)

I MARRIED ME ONE.
(It's not the spitting, so much,
but rather the lack of ambition that alarms me most.)

RATS to time after time, deep-sighly finding myself asking me, "Why, oh, why didn't you companion up with a hard-working,

lusty farmer?"

OR maybe better yet,

an ant?!
*suddenly becomes a
"'Magic That is Me!' Bug" bug bite recipient*

OR how 'bout

a moose who occasional wears
a straw hat,
because, hey, I hear there's money in TV!
. . . . . .

Er... Honey?
If you're reading this,

Baby, it's cold outside.
And, it's gonna to get even "colder,"
if you don't at least take the garbage out already.

. . . . . . .

HM.

SHALL WE TRY TO sew this up on a brighter note?
LET'S SHALL!

AN "AGAIN, ABOUT THE CARTOON" BY THE BY: Ever since I was a smitch sitting two inches away from The Tube, watching Disney's A Mickey Mouse Cartoon called "The Grasshopper and the Ants," I've been thinking I couldn't be happier than if I lived in that tree stump that the ants do! What do you mean, "What tree stump? What ants?" You didn't watch the above video, did you? Well, then, I guess you'd better get hoppin'!

Laughing out loudly yours,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

Rest in peace, my Mollo and ZuZu.