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Thursday, November 28, 2013

The Holiday with an Inferiority Complex

Thanksgiving has completely surrendered to that 800 pound gorilla of a holiday that shows up a month later. Let’s face it; Halloween is barely holding its own. This year, Black Friday starts on Thursday because retailers believe (with probably some justification,) that the longer the spending season goes, the more likely you are to feel that a sweater, a pair of socks, and a Whitman’s sampler is just not enough for Aunt Hortensia, and you’ll need to get her a pair of diamond earrings as well.

Part of the problem is the saturation of the airways and Muzak torture devices with ubiquitous Christmas music. I’m only aware of one Thanksgiving song, We Gather Together. It’s a hymn which means it’s practically illegal to play it in any secular setting.

I figure I should do something about it. I decided to put secular words to the hymn.

There was the fear of lightning from above for desecrating a holy tune, but Go Figure Reads author (and liturgical egghead) Stanley McFarland assures me that Martin Luther used a drinking song tune for A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.

Turn-about is fair play. (Whatever that means.)


This Thursday We Gather
a Thanksgiving song by Headley Hauser

This Thursday we gather
To watch people marching
Seen before, it’s a bore
But a comfortable one
We watch flying Snoopy
And commentators, loopy
Tradition says we watch
And pretend that it’s fun


This Thursday we gather
To eat the big turkey
We’ll baste it, then taste it
Then break the wish bone
Unless you’re not bluffing
‘Bout oysters in the stuffing
‘Cause then, I’d rather eat
A ham sandwich – alone


This Thursday we gather
To watch some bad football
Though Romo can’t throw no
Better than Grandma Nan
And while we’d much rather
Not hear all Boomer’s blather
We’re captives in our seats
Frozen by tryptophan


This Friday we’ll gather
To fight other shoppers
Once grateful, now hateful
We tear up the mall
With all of our grabbing
Our carping and our crabbing
We’re buying peace on earth
And frickin’ good will to all



Happy Thanksgiving to all, and to all a good nap!


Sunday, November 24, 2013

Cute Enough to Make You Choke


Just to show you folk out there that I'm not the curmudgeon some people say I am, I'm doing a post of cute. So get those ohs and awes ready, cause here comes a whole crapload of cute.


This has got to be a top candidate for picture of the year. For you nonfootball fans who don't recognize the impersonation – don't worry about it. Just think, Baby=cute. But enough of the human species. For true footpounds of cute – you gotta go with the animals.

Do elephants like hats? If not, this guy better worry, because this little guy is going to get a lot bigger, and elephants never forget.


I guess this cat is cute, but I'm not thrilled that he has better facial hair than I do.


I'm not surprised the multi-colored looks confused. The gray tabby is clearly cheating.


Mother cats are supposed to be cute, right? I mean that's what I've been told.


Here's a bobcat with a deer. This is my last feline, 'cause even though I know people say how cute they are, I know this cat is just holding onto the deer in case he gets hungry.


Here's another deer with a dog this time. I'm beginning to think that deer are cute because they're not that bright.


Here's a canine that's a little confused. He knows he's supposed to run down prey, but what comes next is still a muddle.


Alright, I have no explanation for this one.


For my money, dogs are the second cutest creatures going. The cutest have to be rabbits. I think this picture sums up my argument.


Yeah, you can't out-cute rabbits.


Our video is full of bunnies and just needlessly cute – so much that I wish I hadn't eaten so much at lunch.

Thursday, November 21, 2013

Little Loose Glute


So I’m watching football with my friend Cral. The pizza I scored from the delivery guy is especially good (thank goodness for screwed up orders.  No - I'm not admitting calling it in.) The TV is showing a replay over and over of a big guy flopping over the back line of the end zone catching a pass. The question is – did his backside land inbounds before his elbow hit out of bounds. The cameras are zooming in of this guy’s wavering butt, and Cral sings out “little loose glute,” to the tune of the Beach Boy’s Little Deuce Coup.

After I’d taken the pizza and Cral’s Calvin and Hobbes collection hostage, Cral graciously allowed me to use the idea in this post. (Thanks Cral!)

Little Loose Glute

by Roger Christian, Brian Wilson, Headley Hauser (and Cral.)


Tired of the hazing working out with the jerks

So I got myself a girdle tight as Captain Jim Kirk’s

It’s a specialty model looking trim, looking tone

Even comes with six pack made of hard Styrofoam

But will my little loose glute

Show the world what I got?

Stupid little loose glute

Show the world what I got?

 

Head off to the treadmill, gonna run for a mile

See blonde-headed babe and I flash her a smile

Don’t bother with the warm up, I just slam it in gear

Then I thought I caught a laugh falling on my ear

Is it my little loose glute

Shows the world what I got

Flappin’ little loose glute

Shows the world what I got

 

I’m at the free weights for a couple of reps

The girdle pulls fat up to pump up my pecs

I grab a pair of twenties for a couple of curls

Sure my silhouette will impress all the girls

But then my little loose glute

Shows the world what I got

Sweating little loose glute

Shows the world what I got



Later on the bike, and I think I look neat

Till a hottie asks me what is hanging over my seat.

I look down at my shorts – I should have known

That which pulls fat up will also push down
I wear a towel home from waist to knee joint

But no one is fooled, jerks are starting to point

I want to toss the girdle then I stop and recant

This must be the reason they invented sweat pants

Cause then my little loose glute

Won’t show what I got

(In pants) a little loose glute

Won’t show what I got.


As I’m giving Cral credit (I don’t want to do that in more than one post,) I might as well post the video he sent me. (Yes, Cral – it’s a good video. Thank you very much, Cral. Yes, you can have your Calvin and Hobbes back.)

Monday, November 18, 2013

Gandhi Song - Multiple Rip-Off Blog Post


The song below is absolutely my work. It’s true that the facts in the post were inspired (researched… stolen) from the life of Mahatma Gandhi. It’s true that the tune of the song is inspired (borrowed… stolen) from the Disney (evil amalgamation of bloodsucking lawyers without a hint of the creativity of its founder) Corp movie, Mary Poppins. It’s true the concept of the lyric is inspired (taken… stolen) from a joke that made the rounds in the early days of the internet.

But this song is all mine!

The Gandhi Song

by Headley Hauser (except the tune, concept or details)


Now I will walk without my shoes on dirt or rock or sand

And I have walked so many miles across this Indian land

Now you may think I'm 5'4" but I'm not quite 5'3"

For and inch of callus underfoot just makes a taller me.


Chorus

I'm a super calloused fragile mystic plagued with halitosis

You may think my feet are bad, but my breath, it is the grossest

Some people, they may say I'm great, I really hate to boastest

I'm just, super callused fragile mystic plagued with halitosis.


Hum diddle iddle dum diddle eye

You eat a little bit more than I


Last night I had a spoon of mush and in it was a gnat

My heart was filled with such distress that out that gnat I spat

Don’t know what people see in food, it makes me really blue

I think I'll go without it for at least a week or two

Repeat Chorus

The party gave a rally and it's me they want to hear

I just had some onion juice cause I won't drink the beer

Still no one heard a word I said, cause when it came my turn

From out my mouth there came a blast to make Nehru’s jacket burn


Repeat Chorus (followed by)


I'm a super callused fragile mystic plagued with halitosis

Sikhs and Muslims are OK but to Buddha I'm am closest

More peaceful than that Mao Tse Tung,
less fiery than Moses

I'm that super callused fragile mystic plagued with halitosis

Last post I had Tom Lehrer's Elements Song.  Here's more from him. 

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Poetry Playhouse


Poets to the Rescue
a play by Headley Hauser

Scene One

(Knock on door)


Woman: Is it the plumber?

Poet 1: No

Woman: The electrician?

Poet 1: No

Woman: Martha Stewart?

Poet 1: No Ma’am, it’s the poets. Let us in please.

(Woman opens door and three poets in work clothes and tool belts enter. The room is trashed. Bad art hangs on the wall. Three Children stare off into space.)

Narrator: When disaster strikes - call the poets!

Poet 1: Two roads diverged in a yellow wood. And being one traveler, long I…

Poet 2: I think that I will never see, a billboard lovely as…

Poet 3: There once was a man from Nantucket…

Narrator: Our competent staff of experienced professionals is ready for any emergency be it personal -

Poet 1: I rise…

Narrator: Family-related -

Poet 2: (to the children) Not in a box, not with a fox, not in a house, not with a mouse. I would not like them here or there…

Narrator: Or commercial -

Poet 3: If you think it’s butter, but it’s not…

Narrator: For a limited time only, with every poet visit, get free cliché-guard.

Child 1: Sticks and stones may gaaaachhhk!

Man 1: A man’s home is his bllluuuubghhhh

Woman 2: You know what Mom always said, yulieicht!

Man 2: (woman 1 is on phone and hears:) The check is in heiyayuriap!

Narrator: The poets will stay with you until the problem is solved - or you’re out of munchies.

Scene Two

(The place is neater and more tasteful. The children look awake and alert, though the youngest is smoking a pipe.)

Poet 1: Sorry about the pipe, that happens sometimes.

Woman 1: I don’t mind at all! Doesn’t little Nestor look distinguished!

Narrator: You’ll be very pleased with the results.

Woman 1: Thank you poets!

The End



Thanks to Facebook Friend, JA, for this song by one of my favorite musical poets: Tom Lehrer.

Monday, November 11, 2013

Sandy-Sue


Years before Headley and the Rug, when the internet was still a new thing, I wrote Sandy Sue on my WebTV. I could never get my PC to work properly with its newfangled Windows 95 software (which I miss these days because Windows 8 is horrid,) so I wrote in emails which I then stored as text files.

Were we ever so young?
Sandy Sue
by Headley Hauser

Sandy Sue laid an egg every day! Very unusual for a duck. Even more

unusual was the etching and coloring on each egg. Sandy was the daily

mother of great masterpieces.

Tuesday it might be a Van Gogh self portrait,
 Thursday the unicorn in captivity,
Sunday, the Pieta (a miracle!)
 each day a different perfect representation of a fine work of art.

Like most artists, Sandy was frequently misunderstood. Her Warhol

was thought by one park employee to be debris left from someones lunch.


Her Barnett Newman was mistaken by many to be a simple Easter egg.
Sandy showed no offence, no wounded pride, no artist's pique. She sat in her

little nest by her somewhat scummy duckpond content to create art for

the purest of motives: motherhood.

As time passed, she gained a celebrity among humans rivaled by only

the most accomplished ducks. The "Sandy Sue appreciation society (the

honorable Donald M Fowler, president)" numbered more people than the

entire province of Prince Edward Island. It was inevitable that her

many admirers, seeking a way of showing appreciation for her art, began

to consider her deplorable living conditions.

A magnificent new nest was constructed from the finest silk, with gold

filigree surrounded by tasteful aquatic bric a brac. The nest was

placed beside a radiant pool of fresh Evian water. Croutons from the

finest french restaurants were served (a la carte) by children of

impeccable breeding and education. Strains from Handel's water music

caressed her (imperceptible) duck ears.

For three days, Sandy nibbled contentedly and produced an

astoundingly detailed school of Athens
as well as two Gauguins (rather risqué with so many children present).
The next day she flew away.


A comprehensive search was initiated by D M Fowler himself. Sandy

Sue was found, chewing on a blade of grass by her tiny nest.

Risking nasty stains on the knees of his seersucker trousers,
the honorable Mr. Fowler approached Sandy.

"We've done all we could imagine to make you comfortable and happy,

Sandy Sue. Why is it that you've left such a lovely environment for

this unsanitary little pond in such a tawdry city park?"

0val rims of green lined deep pools of thoughtful brown in Sandy's

eyes as she studied her benefactor.

"Quack," she replied.


Here’s a duck related video