BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Some of you may remember awhile back I had a series of blog entries about “Merp the Tech Hamster.” If you don’t, then go here:

February Is Hamster Month

Just follow the “Next” at the bottom of the entry, and each subsequent entry, to see all eight. Suffice it to say, way back when I used to doodle a bit. I’m definitely not what you would call an artist, but I could come up with a passable stick figure when pressed to do so.

As it happens, I used to doodle all sorts of things. Some of them utterly worthless, some of them not half bad, some of them not fit for mixed company – but that’s a different story. At any rate, I was surprised and delighted to receive an email the other day from a former co-worker. We’ll call her the Tamminator. Mostly because her name is Tammi. That, and the fact that I once saw her stomp on a bug with malicious intent. His name was…  Well, that’s a whole ‘nother story too, suffice it to say I’m willing to bet he has a few scars to this day.

Either way, I worked with the Tamminator for several years, and as we know I tend to amuse myself by poking fun at stuff. Well, I tried not to poke fun at the Tamminator, lest I meet the same fate as that guy… I mean, bug… but I did poke fun at stuff around her. One thing in particular being her ferrets.

You see, she had pet ferrets. Now, I need to point something out here – I’m not a ferret person. I don’t have anything against them personally, but I’m just not a ferret kinda guy. I leave that up to Major Frank Burns (Gratuitous M*A*S*H reference for you youngsters out there)… So anyway, the Tamminator used to have pictures of her ferrets on her desktop, and used to babble incessantly about them like they were kids. Fair enough, everyone talks about their pets that way.

But you know me. It gave me fodder…

One of the things she used to talk about was the ferrets doing what she called the “weasel war dance” whenever they were getting ready to play tussle with one another, or attack an empty paper towel tube or some such. She also had a picture of one of them peeking through the blinds as if on some sort of stealth recon.

And, well… I just couldn’t NOT do something with that… So, here you have the attachment from that recent email. A doodling of the military ferret kind, inspired by the old Sgt. Rock type of comic books from my youth, where in the early pages they would introduce the members of a particular squad.

The Tamminator is pretty sure she has more of these doodles, and if she runs across them I’m sure she’ll shoot them my way. To be perfectly honest, until this showed up, I had completely forgotten about drawing them.

And so, without further rambling, I give you…

The 151st Airborne Attack Ferrets

Image Copyright © M. R. Sellars

"Taking stuff and hiding it is our mission..."

More to come…

Murv

On any given day my life could be a sitcom. Or a soap opera. I guess it just depends on the day. Personally, I prefer the sitcom days because I don’t do drama. I laugh at drama. I shoot spitwads at the llama. But I don’t do drama. I even send friends packing when they bring their drama to my home.

Rule number 1437.5 – If you bring drama to my house, leave it in the car with your llama.

But, sometimes drama sneaks in the back door when someone leaves it open, and you have to chase it out with a broom. Been there, done that. But let’s run around a different block. As I said, I prefer the sitcom days, and I have way more of them than I have accidental soap opera days.

Now, if you follow me on Facebook (there we go with The Zuckman’s social network again… talk about drama…whewww…) Anywho, if you follow me over there you hear me mention E S. No, not E K… E S. No, E S is not Evil Stephanie, EKay’s heretofore unknown half-sister just announced on national TV. (How’s that for a gratuitous Oprah reference?)… But back to the story – E S stands for Ethical Society.

Yes Virginia (Fred, Joe, Sandy, Arlene, Bob, Carol, Ted, Alice, etc…) I am a Secular Humanist. Thought I was Pagan didn’t you? Not for quite a long, long time now… I have my reasons, but that’s another blog. Suffice it to say, I’m not anti-pagan, just like I’m NOT anti-Christian, anti-Semitic, anti-Muslim, etc. I’m good with all of ’em, but I’m not any of them either.

But, like I said, different blog.

So, anyway, the O-spring has friends at E S, as do Her Supreme Evilness and I. And we hang out at E S on Sunday’s, and even at other times. Like recently. Right after that foot of snow dropped on us. We even had some more falling from the sky to top it off a bit. Get where I’m heading? Good, because I don’t either.

Wait… Maybe I do. You see, after E S this past Sunday, the O-spring went home with one of her friends so they could hang out and do tween o-spring stuff. What with all the snow they did sledding and all that general wintry fun crap we used to do when we were young enough to be able to get back up off the ground after slamming into a snowbank at the bottom of the hill. Anyhow, as will happen they ended up snow covered, and as the snow melts the coat, etc ends up wet.

Fast forward to that evening. This is actually where the sitcom moment comes in. The Redhead and I hop into the Evil Mobile and head over to retrieve our kid. We arrive, business as usual, our friend – we’ll call her Alison because I promised I wouldn’t use her real name –  invites us in and calls the girls down from upstairs. While we wait for the kids to actually make it to the main floor, what with them being tweens and all, we stood around in the sitting room – yeah, I know – chit chatting.

Alison eventually says, “I’d better get o-spring’s boots. They were wet so I’ve been drying them out over here.”

The Hottest Thing In Kids Shoes

She takes a step over to the fireplace and when she turns back around she is holding a suede girls boot. Nothing terribly odd about this, except that smoke is rolling out of and off of it. Literally. In fact, it looks just like one of those smoking shoes that is left behind after Larry, Moe, Curly, or Shemp is blown out of his socks…

We all looked at it. No drama. No excitement. No nothing.

After a moment of us all staring at the smoking boot, in a calm, even voice Alison said, “I think I burned it.”

I replied, just as calmly, “Burned? Actually I think it’s still burning.”

It was. Smoke was still rolling off of it. Out of it. Around it. There even appeared to be some glowing embers spreading along the side around what used to be a buckle. And the rubberized sole was looking just a bit drippy.

The smell of a tire fire was beginning to permeate the room.

We all looked at it again. Calmly. No exclamations. No hurry. Just standing there staring at the hottest thing in fashion footwear for kids, so to speak.

“Yep,” E K finally said with a nod. “It’s definitely on fire.”

Alison said, “I think I’d better put it out.”

“Well, at least the kid’s feet will be warm on the way home,” I offered.

“Well, the other one didn’t burn,” Alison said as she headed out of the room with the smoking shoe with no more urgency than if she were just going to  grab a drink. Over her should she added, “Just this one.”

I shrugged. “I guess we need to move it closer to the fire then.”

I guess that makes me a bad parent.

Moral of the story? There isn’t one really. The kid ended up with a new pair of boots, and I ended up with a story. Of course, I guess I need to remember to ask Alison the next time I see her if the house still smells like someone tossed a steel belted radial into the fireplace.

More to come…

Murv