Horatio

Horatio is my big brother. He was nearly man-sized by the time I turned four, so sometimes it felt like there were three adults in my family.

He was also smarter than me. When we played with army men, all of his guys had super weapons and flying packs. They looked just like my guys, but Horatio insisted that his were different. I held up one of my guys that looked the same as the guy Horatio had just flown from under the bed to a sniper position on his desk.

"Can this guy fly too?" I asked.

He compared the two identical army men, shook his head and handed mine back to me.

"No," he said, "your guy has a regular gun and can't fly."

So it was Horatio that taught me about lying, a lesson I've been grateful for ever since.

Of course not all his lies were intentional. One day before I was born he looked up at the dull February sky, and then across a blinding patch of icy snow and told our sister with great authority, "The only light in winter is the snow."

But I always believed him. When I was seven, a neighbor kid started bragging about how tough his sister, Kathy was. "Horatio could beat her up," I bragged.

"No, he couldn't," said the neighbor. "How old is your brother?"

"Fifteen!"

"Yeah, well Kathy is SIXTEEN!"

That night I asked my brother to prove how tough he was by beating up a sixteen-year-old girl. He refused, although he insisted it wasn't because he was scared. "He won't fight, but it's not because he's yellow," I told Kathy's kid brother the next day.

"Then why won't he fight?"

"I don't know, but I'm pretty sure Horatio has a good reason. I just can't figure out what it might be."

Years later, Horatio went off to Perversity University. They still wore gym uniforms back then and I stole his shirt first chance I got. I wore it constantly - so often I never found time to wash it. "Pee Yeww!" said Gilderfroom Hockinfielder as I walked into 8th grade English class.

"Yes," I said, "PU rocks!"

It also rocked because when I wore the shirt into the local package store, I could buy whatever I wanted. I'm not sure if they thought I went to Perversity University, or they just wanted me to buy my stuff and leave. Dozens of us at the Foster Brooks Middle School got our college-prep credits in binge drinking because of Horatio and his PU gym shirt.

But none of us could drink like Horatio's best friend, Tippy. Two days before Horatio got married; Tippy led a group of us out for my brother's bachelor party. The party consisted of eight hours of bar hopping. We had to go to several because I think Tippy drank each bar dry - at least of all the Budweiser. At 2 AM we ended up at Horatio's house and watched amazed as Tippy urinated on the hedge non-stop until 2:25.

"What kind of shrubs are those?" I asked my brother.

"When I planted them, they were boxwood." he said, "but now I guess they're Anheuser bushes."

Horatio is a Grandfather now and very pleased about it. His grandson is just getting the hang of walking and talking. I wonder if Horatio has already bought an army men video game so he can play with the little guy - with two identical armies...

Except that Grandpa's guys will have super weapons and flying packs.

Horatio and I are both getting more like Grandpa Simpson.  Won't this blog be great then?

Just Plain Stupid Year (3) in Review

I know, it’s February, not December. Putting together a year in review post seems out of place.

But not in a Just Plain Stupid world.

My first post for JPS was February 28^th 2013. There are now over 300 posts on this blog, and I, for one, am surprised. I never thought I had so much to say, even if most of it was useless dribble.

This Year’s Failures

The dribble has flowed slower this year, and so I began the immensely unpopular serialization of Dirk Destroyer’s Less Destructive Brother. S.B. and someone I don’t know from Russia faithfully read each post of Dirk, so it hobbles along. If you’re off your meds and wish to start reading this Donald Trump-less political satire set in a world inundated by sheep, here’s a link to the firstinstallment, and better yet, here’s a link to the firstinstallment that has anything to do with the story.

Several posts other than Dirk Destroyer have failed to attract attention this year; many because they didn’t deserve any, but a few I thought were worth reading. Tricycle Baskets Full of Evil falls in that latter category, along with Apply Yourself, and the not-yet-immortal story of Mortimer the Drop of Goo.

This Year’s Successes???

Picture posts – those stolen from FB, or taken from tee shirts or catalogs have always been among my more popular subjects, along with guest posts from other Go Figure Reads writers.

So I should just shut up and plagiarize?

Particularly surprising was the popularity of Will Wright’s rant about his bad cruise on Royal Caribbean, but less surprising was Walter Bego’s lionization of the art of Terry Gilliam.

Unfortunately for my more faithful readers, I remain incapable to taking a hint. I continue to write a few posts with a minimum of plagiarism, and some of them have done well (if sickening large numbers of people can be defined as doing well.)

Gloves vs. Mittens preyed on the public’s fascination with celebrity, and I exploited my brother’s secrets in the post, Horatio.

Clearly, many of my readers would prefer Horatio to be the Hauser that writes this blog.

The top post of this third year, Body Part Insults (written with assistance by Kim Webb,) was based on an ill-advised Facebook post of a Grammy award nominated FB friend who probably wishes now that A) she hadn’t posted her desire to not insult our noble excretory system when addressing jerks, and (especially) B) that she hadn’t clicked ‘accept’ to my friend request.

But even Body Parts can’t hold a candle to the most popular post of the life of this blog, Basketball, BWG, but no Little Debbie Twinkie, which I wrote very early on in the first year.

So much for showing progress.

I’d like to thank you each personally for reading my blog, but I don’t want to risk the ensuing storm of rotten vegetation (or worse.) As we limp into year Four there’s always the hope that somewhere along the line I’ll learn to write good stuff.

Or at least learn to shut up and plagiarize.

So for the video I looked up Best of 2015 on youtube and got this.  These are toys, right?

Male Mosquitoes

“Look at that male mosquito,” says my female co-worker at Amalgamated Monster. “It’s big, flimsy, clumsy, too stupid to get out of its own way.”

“Yeah,” I reply, because I can’t think of anything else to say.

She looks at me and then at the mosquito. “Typical male,” she says.

It didn’t used to be this way!

I remember my father, Horatio Hauser, and my grandfather, Hornblower Hauser. These were what used to be called, men’s men. They were like lions, whose single growl brought the whole family to attention, and whose roar made the mountains tremble (warning – possible hyperbole in the last sentence.)

Now a man’s man is just another term for gay.

TV programs were full of men’s men. There was Matt Dillon, Daniel Boone, Joe Friday, Paladin. Bonanza had four of them in one program. Manliness was so prevalent that even sit-coms frequently dispensed with mothers in shows like Bachelor Father, Family Affair, My Three Sons, The Courtship of Eddie’s Father… oh, and Bonanza again.

If we had a show named Father Knows Best today, it would be meant ironically.

What happened?

We can look at the easy answers – the woman’s movement, easy living, Dr. Spock (maybe even Mr. Spock,) but I think it’s not a social change – it’s an evolutionary one…

Our human race is transitioning from mammal, to insect. Guys are typically referred to as slugs, while women are busy bees.

You know what happens to male bees after mating don’t you? Or even worse, what happens to preying mantises.

Pray we don’t evolve into them.

You don’t believe me? Twenty years ago, people didn't buzz Now try sitting through a movie or even a wedding without hearing somebody’s cell phone vibrate.

It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for what was happening in the insect world. More and more species are evolving to reproduce without male involvement. There’s even an insect in Brazil where the females are growing their own euphemisms.

What’s the answer mankind (as opposed to humankind?) Tim Taylor tried expressing his manliness with grunting, growling and scratching himself. He just became an object of ridicule.

Last weekend I wandered up to the wilderness and tried to join a wolf pack. At first they welcomed me, but they got tired of waiting for me to tie my shoes when we went on the prowl, and when I snuck out a Pop Tart during the evening raw rabbit feed, they all looked at me as if to say – really?

So instead I sit at my work station at Amalgamated Monster, watching the stupid male mosquito bounce himself against the flickering florescent light, hearing the misandrist comments of my female co-workers.

And I wonder how long it will take for the great evolutionary bug zapper of history to end our existence.

Until then – I’m through dating. No sense rushing things along.

Four videos in this post!  Four!  Talk about extra value!