Tender Vitals

Tender Vitals

by Headley Hauser

"Look!" said Dander. "There it is again. They named a candy after you, Skittles!"

Skittles pouted. "It's not named for me. There are lots of fairies named Skittles."

"But not near this Seven Eleven! Look, some of the candies are green like your eyes, some of them are yellow like your teeth, and some of them are red like the color your cheeks get when you're angry."

"Stay back in the flower bed!" scolded Skittles. "A human will see you - or worse, a cat!"

Dander gave a little jump at the mention of the C word. There were a lot more of them now, and they weren't staying in houses and getting fed small cans of meat and meat byproducts; they were out hunting for birds, rodents... and fairies!

"A-ha!" laughed Skittles, "worried about your tender vitals, I see."

"The humans never should have named their cat food that. The cans turn every content calico into a fairy hunter."

"The humans named the cat food Vittles," said Skittles.

"Close enough!"

"And they don't think cats can read, or even understand their language."

"They don't think cats can read," said Dander. "They don't think cats can turn door knobs, or drive an SUV, or load and fire an M16. Humans aren't very bright."

"Most cats prefer Uzis. They're easier to carry."

"It's not like the old days when we twitched our wings and flew out of the cat’s reach."

Skittles bobbed her antennae. "It's hard to out-jump a nine millimeter bullet traveling at four hundred meters per second."

"I'll give the humans one thing," said Dander, "Their veterinarians help slow the rate of fairy-folk genocide."

"Yeah,” said Skittles. “They get those cats right in the bob-o-links.” Like most fairies, Skittles chose her euphemisms from among the names of small flowers and birds.

"Shush," said Dander in a whisper. "There's a tabby at five o'clock."

"What's she packing?"

"It looks like a Kalashnikov."

The two fairies hid among the marigolds. Marigold scent was unpleasant, but it masked their fairy airy from the hunting feline. The cat must have heard them, or seen movement because she was staring at the marigolds. Three banana clips hung from the cat's collar, and she wore a small medal with the word, "Neverland" inscribed at the top. This was no casual Sylvester, but seasoned campaigner. A lot of Tink's best fairies bought it in the catastrophe of '07.

A mole scampered across the path, catching the cat's attention. The calico released the Russian-made automatic weapon's safety and followed after the small rodent.

"You know," said Dander after the danger had passed, "maybe we fairy-folk should consider a new career as house pets."

"Like the canaries? You want to live in a cage?"

"We could avoid cages by using a litter box, and making ourselves useful. We could help them find their house keys after the imps steal them. They might even feed us Skittles!"

"Very funny," said Skittles, "but count me out. Humans claim to love their pets but how is it that the world is filled with homeless cats? Remember what happened to Charlotte’s 4H friend, the pig. Instead of feeding us sweets, the humans are more likely to feed our Tender Vitals to their cats."

“You’re right,” said Dander. “We should stick to fairy stuff. You go paint a water stain of the Virgin Mary on that Seven Eleven, and I’ll grab the candy while the humans are staring at it.”

The moments before that cats landed in Neverland 2007.

Jesus Cheers for Notre Dame

Stop me if you’ve heard this one…

Now that I’ve put together a veritable manure pile of blog posts, it’s getting more and more difficult to remember what I’ve posted. I did a quick scan of my post titles. It’s infuriating how often my post title has little or nothing to do with what I put in the post. I’d divorce myself, but who would get custody of the Pop Tarts? Can’t take that chance.

So I’ve been working on a sports parody the last few weeks, and it brought to mind another sports parody I wrote 12 years ago. Almost immediately, my song was out of date. My second stanza of the first verse proclaimed that the Red Sox would never again win the World Series, I referred to the Tampa Bay baseball team as the Devil Rays, I mentioned Vandy – a team that’s gone to bowls the last two years – as a perennial sad sack, I reference Doherty as the North Carolina coach, and I mention Tommy Lasorda who everyone seems to have forgotten.

Thank goodness the Cubs have been consistent so far.

For a few years I tried to keep up – changing the song to reflect the changing nature of sports.

Boy did that get old.

So even if in my growing manure pile, I might have posted this song before – here, for the first time is the original 2002 lyrics (to be sung in a soft lyrical brogue.)

A Jig for Holy Sport’s Fans

(Chorus)

Don't ya know that Jesus

Cheers for Notre Dame?

The Spirit likes les Habitants

The Canadians the same

The heavenly host helped MJ

But the Lakers now they cheer

And the Father above’s a Yankees man

Though their fans drink too much beer

Oh heaven’s not a refuge

If you’re a Cubbie fan

Cheer all you like for the Red Sox

But they’ll never win again

Vandy and Northwestern

Are great with cap and gown

But don’t look to them for football

For they’ll always let you down

(repeat Chorus)

Oh, Mary’d like the Saints now

If she ever saw them play

Teresa was a Celtics fan

Till the poor got in the way

The martyrs don’t like Lions

They remember all the pains

And the Devil cheers the Raiders and

The Miami Hurricanes

The popes, they liked Lasorda

So the Dodgers had a run

The angels would help their namesake

But they don’t think baseball’s fun

The Oilers had a blessing

Till Gretsky left for Hollywood

And no-one likes a Devil Ray

‘Cause they’re just no damn good

(repeat Chorus)

Now Krzyzewski has the blessing

For Doherty is no Smith

The Demon Deacs want Duncan back

That heavenly monolith

And meanwhile all God’s children

From New York to Anaheim

Let mercy slow and evil grow

For on sports we waste our time

(last Chorus)

Don't ya know that Jesus

Cheers for Notre Dame?

The Spirit likes les Habitants

The Canadians the same

The heavenly host helped MJ

But the Lakers now they cheer

And the Father above’s a Yankees man

Though their fans drink too much beer

(spoken in brogue) Like a bunch of Lutherans, they are

(sung slowly) Their fans drink too much beer

Back in the 60s and 70s, My Mother the Car was often referred to as the worst TV show ever.  I wonder if people would still say that today.  There's a lot more really crappy competition out there now.