Septic Tanks and Vacuum Cleaners

When I lived in West Virginia, I had the septic tank vacuumed out by John Goodman.

It was just after Arachnophobia came out, and I wondered why he needed the work.

As he stood next to his humungous Vac Truk, sucking the worst of my labors out of the ground, he told me the story of the only time his Vac Truk ever let him down.

“Vienna Sausage can (he pronounced it vy-enne),” he said, as his hose glugged away. “I sucked up a gall dern Vienna Sausage can. Hell if I can figure how it got in a septic tank. I didn’t figger a feller could flush down something like that, but I sucked it up in the Vac Truk, and knew, sure as shootin’, something was bad wrong.”

He patted the Vac Truk lovingly with a hand which appeared more tanned than the rest of his body, while he continued his war story. “I had to take the suction hose and pump apart right there in the gravel driveway. There was a good bit of solids stuck up in the hose… and of course, that had to come out first… then I found it… a Vienna Sausage can! A gall dern Vienna Sausage can. Still had the label on it.”

So, this morning, as I vacuumed my floor, the pitch changed on the Kenmore, and I knew something bad wrong happened to the vacuum cleaner.

I thought back to Mr. Goodman in my West Virginia backyard, chewing the fat around the septic tank, and I decided to take the vacuum apart right there on the linoleum.

There was a lot of dog hair stuck up in the hose, so of course, that had to come out first. Then… a checker! A gall dern checker.

Berries Are Food, Too

I hope you folks haven’t forgotten about me!

I’m still alive, I’m still a dad, and I’m still a student of life. In fact I probably haven’t posted for a long time simply because I’m too busy learning new things.

For example, I may have come up with a new side dish!

Let me begin at the beginning.

I plowed into my elderberry bush next to the driveway. It’s okay, because I plowed into it with my plow. It’s a snowplow, not a bushplow, but that didn’t seem to matter to the plow or the bush, because the plow is fine, but the bush isn’t. The bush now looks more like the second Little Pig’s house... post-wolf.

I didn’t plow into the bush on purpose. I was just trying to push the snow off the driveway at high speed. High speed plowing throws the snow really well, but you tend to hit things or just run off the road, due to lack of visibility. It’s hard to see out because of the condensation, flying snow, and the fact that I haven't cleaned the windshield since... okay, I don't think I've ever cleaned it (you can see pretty well if you stick your head out of the window and blink a lot, but that is just unpleasant).

So, I hit this Elderberry bush pretty hard and broke it.
A lot.
A bunch of the berry clusters landed on the hood, which was hot from plowing. Then the berries started cooking on the hood. Then I parked, and the burnt berries froze to the hood. Then I plowed a few more times, and the berries were still there.

I knew it was stupid, but I couldn’t help looking at those burnt-frozen berries stuck to the hood and wonder what they tasted like. So, I picked some berries that were less likely to have Ford paint cooked to them, and tried them out.

You know how when someone tells you that a movie is really bad, and when you see it, you’re pleasantly surprised because of your low expectations?
Well this was nothing like that. I expected them to be really bad and they were really bad.

But then I got some frozen ones off the ground near the crash site that never took a ride on the hood, and they weren't horrible.

I don’t think they’re going to take the place of strawberries or blueberries, but they could do in a pinch… like if there was a world war and all the grocery stores in the world were obliterated by evil-doers.

Lesson of the day: frozen-burnt elderberries are bad, just frozen elderberries are not as bad.

There's a nugget you can use in everyday life. You're welcome.

What's For Dinner?

I’ve got the whole cooking-dinner-every-night thing figured out.

Fast food is super cheap and it’s everywhere. Tell your family that you have new menu ideas for dinner, then go buy fast food and dispose of all the wrappers.

It’s close to genius!

When you’re family gets sick (which they will), give them some raw vegetables for a few days until their bowls start working again, then get back to the easy stuff.

Here’s a sample menu:
Monday, get a bag of hamburgers and fries from McDonalds.
Tuesday, get a bag of the cheap tacos from Taco Bell.
Wednesday, get a bucket of chicken from KFC (use a coupon, they’re expensive).
Thursday, hit the dollar menu at Wendy’s and shake it up.
Friday, something chickeny from Jack in the Box.
Saturday and Sunday, act like you’re tired of cooking and maybe your spouse will cook something.

There are a couple of things you should watch out for.
First, your children will gain a scary amount of weight, get really lethargic, and may periodically vomit. This is normal, don’t freak out, just keep an eye on the diabetes.

Second, your family's taste buds will slowly dissolve. There's nothing you can do about that.

Third, you have got to keep the cob webs out of the kitchen and dust off the stove top regularly. If your spouse is cooking on the weekends, this should take care of itself.

Finally, if you live in a small town, you have got to disguise yourself and your car when you go to the franchises, so the high school students don’t start recognizing you. Throw on a Hannah Montana wig, and use that blue painters tape to give your ride a new look each week. Don’t use duct tape – it leaves sticky stuff on your paint job.

If I see a fake blond driving an SUV with 3” wide blue pinstripes in the drive-through, I’ll give you a nod and a wink.

Now go get some junk food and rent a movie (you have time now)!

Dern Dogs

I’m tired of my dogs freeloading.

All they do is eat, sleep, grow hair, look at me, and poop in my driveway. All I ask is that they go poop in the neighbor’s driveway.

I realize I shouldn’t be too upset, considering the size of the “presents”. When I was a kid, my friend, Bucky, had a Saint Bernard named Hoss with a digestive disorder. Big dogs leave behind big packages. Hoss left behind a semi-liquid trail of horror that could ruin your day if you weren’t paying attention to where you were biking, walking, or skateboarding.

My dogs are small, which creates another set of problems. They’re not big enough to do any work. I hooked them up to my sled and they just stood there. They didn’t even try to pull me.

I suppose the white one could herd ducks or something, but I don’t think duck farmers have a need for herding dogs. The only thing I think I could ever get the fat black one to herd would be roasted chicken or bacon.

I don’t even think these dogs are big enough for a baby to ride. Bucky’s little brother rode Hoss until he was maybe 5 or so. Even if my dogs were big enough for infants to ride, I don’t think babies can hang on very well. Even Bucky’s little brother fell off no matter how many times we stuck him up there.

I need to figure out some way to get a return on my investment.

Dog shows are totally out. There is no way I’m stuffing the fat black one into a swimsuit. It’s demeaning for all fat black dogs. And the white dog already has a tendency toward vanity. When she finds a well-dead animal in the woods, she rolls in it and prances around the neighborhood to show off her new perfume. I don't want to encourage that sort of behavior.

I could dress them in stupid costumes and rent them to rich women who like to carry dogs around in their purses. Minor problem… I don’t know any rich women who would carry around a crazy cock-a-poo with fish-breath and sticks in her fur. If you know someone like that, could you drop me a line?

Sick and Tired

I’m sick and tired.

I got sick on New Year’s Eve, and I’m tired of dragging my bloated head around.

Now I sit here startled at the amount of mucus my sinuses have produced in the last few minutes. If there is a contest, I’d like to enter it.

It makes me wonder how big my sinuses really are. It’s the same sort of mystery as seeing a really large woman in stretch pants… how did all that get in there? It seems to defy physics.

If there really is that much room behind your eyeballs, couldn’t we use that space when we’re not sick? I’ve often had the conundrum of where to keep my car key while I’m out for a jog. Based on what these Kleenex are showing me, I could hold a set of keys and my wallet up there.

How about that boarding pass the next time you fly? You know you need to keep it handy, but you’re also toting a carry-on the size of a dishwasher, and you have your kids’ toys, snacks, and eighty dollars worth of bottled water in your hands. Wouldn’t it be nice to have your boarding pass safely tucked away in your nose?

Oooo, I can see the future of cell phones. Just make them small enough to shove up a nostril and start talking. The crazy people will love this better than Bluetooth earbuds. Everybody will look like they’re talking to themselves, but they won’t have things stuck in their ears.

You could hit Speaker, and your friends voice will come out of your nose.

Click on iTunes and you would get awesome sound through your eustachian tubes.

There would be no more pocket dialing, unless you’re a nose picker. You’d have to be careful about sneezing, though. One whiff of pepper and you could shoot your phone smack into the Dispoz-All.

I don’t think the camera function on your phone would be very good. You’d have to tilt your head waaaaay back.

The vibrate function would be pretty cool. You would definitely not miss a call, ever.

I think I should take a Sudafed, drink more cough medicine, and try this out.

Nerf Wars

Last year I was in a store with my son shopping for pots and pans that either never get dirty or that clean themselves, and we passed the toy isle.

I bought two Nerf guns and a load of darts thinking that someday my 10 year old son and I would have a little war.

This was stupid for two reasons. First, boys with Nerf guns shoot sisters without following any moral code. Eyeballs and screaming mouths are excellent targets for foam darts.

Second, boys, in general, break everything.
Everything.
My son has broken rocks, lizards, pants, food, and every plastic toy that has breached his ½ mile destruction zone.

Last week, I scheduled a “play date” (I hate that term) with a boy and girl who are the same ages as my kids. I also knew that the boy had Nerf guns, so I asked him to bring ‘em along for a friendly war.

Today, before they arrived, I pulled out our Nerf guns and found that they didn’t work. Not exactly a surprise. I found all of the darts that had not been partially digested by the dogs, and hid them so I would have unlimited shots during the war – hey, don’t judge me, it’s my house.

The guests arrived and rolled out of the Toyota with gigantic battery powered Nerf guns with magazines, bullet belts, and a bag of darts. They had enough firepower to take out a village of Smurfs.

Game on.

I went over the basics, you know, “Whomever gets all the flags wins,” and “If you get hit, lay down and count to ten,” and “If you see blood, call for a time out until we figure out where it’s coming from”.

After we hid our flags, all hell broke loose for about two hours. I was sweating within the first five minutes, and I think I counted to ten enough times to hit 6 digits.

I soon realized that the children had formed a Survivor-type alliance with each other to take the old man down. Another reason to keep your kids away from reality TV.

During the mayhem, I noticed the tykes weren’t picking up the darts they were riddling me with, so I devised a diabolical plan. During my ten counts, I took every dart I could reach and shoved them in my pockets. If I’m the only guy with ammo, I will win, right?

Wrong.

My son remembered the goal and took all the flags while I lay on the floor guarding my groin while being peppered with darts from the other three hoodlums. Next year, I’m getting one of those Smurf destroyers…and I’m going to wear a cup.

Cheap Maids

I’ve got a new idea to run by you guys… Monkey Maids!

Spider monkeys, lemurs, macaques, it doesn’t really matter, as long as they have prehensile tails.

Here’s a little background for you.

There are only two things I really dislike about being a Stay At Home Dad (there really is a group of guys calling themselves SAHD).

First, I don’t like cooking. I dig the shopping part – riding on the cart, asking elderly ladies where the prophylactics are, putting Kotex in other guy’s carts when they aren’t looking, and telling little kids that the magazines taste like candy if you lick them; but the cooking part is a waste of time. No matter how much time or care you put into the meal, it gets all mangled up with spit and swallowed, then even worse things happen to it. Picture Van Gogh finishing Starry Night, then turning and feeding it to Nermal the goat. Total waste of time.

The second thing I dislike about being a SAHD is cleaning. I don’t mind blasting stuff with the pressure washer, or smashing things in the recycle can, but the real cleaning part stinks. So, I started thinking of cheap labor…. otherwise known as children.

You can pay them a quarter to do any kind of work. And they are happy to do it! And if you start out with dimes, you can get them positively ecstatic with mention of a buck.
I bet I could get a bus-load of kids to repave my driveway for $3.50 if I threw in some Capri Suns and powdered doughnuts.

Now, picture a half-dozen kids dressed in fleece footie pajamas and amped up on Mountain Dew. They could get a hard wood floor sparkling in seconds. Now wrap duct tape around them with the sticky side out and toss some Skittles around the room. No more cat hair, no more crumbs, and no more of Aunt Bertha’s fingernail clippings. Then you get the added bonus of watching them remove the duct tape! Now that’s entertainment. You could also dip them in Tilex and let ‘em fight in the shower – shiny clean… at least the bottom half of the shower.

The problem lies in those pesky Child-Labor Laws. I’m not a fan of jail.

So, monkeys are the obvious solution. I’ve never heard of Monkey-Labor Laws, and monkeys are really just hairy children that don’t speak and have better table manners. Monkeys are the perfect house cleaners – almost. You can stick a rag in both hands, both feet, AND a tail. Try doing that with your Cock-a-poo and see if you don’t get bit.

There’s a little issue of hygiene, which might cause problems. I’ve heard that upset monkeys fling their poo. I can’t picture that going over well with… anyone. I doubt my wife would notice the dusted furniture and minty fresh toilet bowl, if there was dried monkey poo on the windows.

I guess I could make them wear diapers. Would you be more likely to hire a bunch of naked monkeys, or monkeys wearing diapers? I’ll work that out later, right now I have to get some monkeys. Used ones would be okay, but not senile ones. That has horror flick written all over it. I wonder if I should go straight banana diet or if Purina makes Monkey-Chow?