Tag Archives: Watching Tv

Brotherly Love In It’s Purest Form

With Zippy the College Boy and Sarcasmo away, poor little Hyper Lad is the only little dude left in the house, outnumbered and outgunned.

He came home from school the other day while I was walking Buzz, the garbage disposal that walks like a dog, and I hailed Hyper Lad and waved him over to talk. We played with Buzz in the front yard, chatted a little bit about his school day and such like that.

Down the street, we saw a young dude named Marky K get out of his car. Marky K goes to school with Zippy the College Boy and was his ride home for spring break. Which, apparently, Hyper Lad had forgotten.

“What’s Marky K doing here?”

“He came home for spring break with Zippy the College Boy.”

“What?” Hyper Lad asked, dropping the stick with which he’d been teasing the dog. “Zippy the College Boy’s home? Why didn’t you tell me?”

He raced across the lawn and through the front door, pausing only to shed his backpack somewhere near the front entrance, and pounded up the steps to where his brother sat on the couch watching TV. I don’t think I’ve seen Hyper Lad that excited and that happy for a long time.

Growing up, I was the oldest child. I wasn’t left at home with only the parents. I was the one who took off, so I have absolutely no idea what Hyper Lad is going through. He and his middle brother grew especially close when Sarcasmo went off for his one-semester try at college.

They bonded tighter than ever. And then Zippy the Monkey Boy became Zippy the College Boy and poor Hyper Lad was left all alone.

I wonder how Zippy the College Boy feels, being the recipient of that wide, joyous smile? Knowing his younger little brother adores and worships the ground on which he walks? Does he understand what a lucky young dude he is, to be so admired?

Curious, I asked the young dude exactly that.

“Hewuh?” was the answer I got.

Yep. About par for the course. They might go off to college, but their brains are still on vacation.

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Operation Mighty Hunter II

by Richard

With our feline advance guard out of the way, the mouse horde was primed to take over Casa de Dude with a degree of ease not seen since the great underwater sponge migration of ’78.

Okay, so it wasn’t much of a horde, considering we’d only seen one mouse, but my wife, known to me as She Who Must Be Seeing Mice Everywhere Never Mind About What Proof, had tasked me with terminating with extreme prejudice the leader of the mousy brigades.

I pursued that course with vigor, basically by delegating the job to our cat, Nari, who promptly failed to do anything more than nap when in close contact with the enemy. So it was up to me.

I spent the first night in my recliner in the TV room. Watching TV. But I was thinking really hard about how to get rid of the mouse when. . . suddenly something small and dark scampered across my field of vision. It scampered so I knew it wasn’t a huge cockroach, which scuttles.

Realizing the opportunity, I quickly instated Operation Mighty Hunter II. I softly closed the recliner and tip toed to the kitchen, where I quickly grabbed a tupperware container. Once again on soft toe, I made my way back to the living room where I dropped to the floor and eyeballed the space under the couch.

Empty. Disheartened, but not finished, I tried to think like the enemy. Nothing. I tried to think more like the enemy and my nose twitched, my tail itched. . .

I got it. Next to the couch we have a wicker basket which holds blankets and ankle weights, you know, like you do. It also stood up on short legs, giving a bit of headroom underneath it. That, I figured, was where the enemy had gone to ground.

I wriggled my butt, getting a good stance, the tupperware in my right hand, the basket handle in my left. I game myself a silent count, to make sure I was coordinated with the rest of the unit (heh, he said unit).

Considering the amount of adrenaline pumping through my system, it’s a wonder the basket didn’t go flipping through the window behind it. Still, I managed to control its ascent. There, snuggled down in and amongst the carpet weaves, was the face of the enemy. The most depraved species in existence. The ones who will gnaw on your living bones and then laugh about it, with fleshy bits stuck between their teeth. One of. . . these.

Much more frightening in person than it looks.
Operation Mighty Hunter II bags its first captive.

Yeah, look at the size of that Shiela. She’s a beauty, all right. And I managed to capture that monstrosity all by myself. It was a titanic struggle, my trying desperately not to drop the basket holding weights and blankets onto the ground so as not to squash me.

The mouse fighting back with all its considerable strength and cunning. Finally, I managed to trick it by yelling “Cheese! Look! Over there!” The poor fool looked and didn’t have time to look back before I lowered the boom.

In this case, the boom was the tupperware container in which you see him. Or, as I like to call it, the transparant mobile rodent prison transportation system.

After I managed to get the horrible creature out of the house, a journey and epic adventure worthy of its own legendary, mythologic storytelling event, I came back into the house, confident that Operation Mighty Hunter II had been classified as a complete success.

Little did I know, the horror was just beginning. The horror. The horror.


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In The Land Of The Armless, The One-Armed Man Is King

by Richard

To quote Mel Brooks, “It’s good to be the king.” Or at least it would be if I really were in the land of the armless. Unfortunately, I’m in the normal land here where most everybody has two arms, two hands and can actually get stuff done.

Yep, you guessed right. It’s time for a whine-fest.

It’s been almost two weeks since I had my shoulder operated on and I’m already getting very, very, very tired of walking around with one arm in a sling, strapped to my body. My right arm is basically useless. I’ve been told I can’t even hold things with my right hand because I don’t want to strain the newly repaired muscles and tendons in my shoulder.

I never realized how much I actually do during the day until I couldn’t do any of those things.

I have to get help from my young dudes to tie my shoes. Zipping up is a monumental task. Putting on deodorant requires a few acts of contortions that would strain the credulity of India rubber men at the freak show. I can’t even wash dishes.

See, the thing is I know I have ADD. I can’t sit and do just one thing. If I’m watching TV, I’ll also need to read a book at the same time because I can’t just watch. During most evenings, I will be doing stuff in the kitchen while also keeping an eye on the TV or something similar. Now I can’t.

TV, by itself, is just so boring.

Sitting at the keyboard to write is a chore now. I have to type so very slowly. By the time my fingers have hunted-and-pecked their way to being even with my brain, my brain has moved on and forgotten what I was writing about in the. . .

Still, I can’t get too annoyed. I know I will get the use of my right arm back. Eventually. I’m a lot luckier than a lot of people who are learning to adjust to life with only one arm.

Still. . .

Still. . .

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