Deck your Host with Christmas Brawling

Christmas party ©Fotowerk
(licensed to Bill Graham by Fotolia)

I went to a Christmas party last night. No, I wasn’t invited, but I figured no one would notice if I wore my bright red shirt. I’d blend right in, and everything would be fine. I almost got away with it too, but someone noticed me taking sips out of the eggnog bowl with the ladle. There weren’t any cups left. I didn’t have time to wait around for more. I needed a drink. Just as I was taking my third or fourth sip, a tough guy came over and asked if I had been invited to the party.

“Yes,” I said somewhat sheepishly.

“Would you mind telling me who asked you,” he asked.

“I don’t remember,” I said. “I forgot his name.”

Pointing into my chest, the tough guy said, “If anyone would have asked you, it would have been me. This is my house.”

“Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry. I lost your invitation.”

“What’s your name,” he asked.

“Empty Plate,” I said.

“Well Empty,” he said as he continued pointing into my chest, “I want you out of here in three seconds or else I’m going to pick you up and throw you out. I don’t appreciate you eating my food and drinking out of my punch bowl.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, “You forgot one thing.”

Losing patience, he asked me what he forgot. I told him it was Christmas, the time for giving.

“Oh that’s right,” he said. “Why you’re absolutely right. Christmas is the time for giving. What would you like me to give you”?

“A nice piece of pumpkin pie, some ice cream and a cup of coffee,” I said.

“Empty,” he said, “I think I can help you.”

“Really,” I asked.

“Really,” he said, “Come on over here. I have something for you.”

I followed him to another table that was loaded down with cake, pie and cookies. When he picked up the pumpkin pie, I thought he was going to give it to me. He smiled at me. What was I supposed to think? Then, I saw him rear back, but I noticed a cookie on the floor just as he was about to throw the pie. When I went for the cookie, the host threw the pie into the face of his friend’s fiancée. It smeared all over her face and fell onto her pretty new dress. Immediately, she began to cry. When the friend saw his sweetheart was hurt, he went over to tough guy and decked him.

After the first blow, they got into a huge brawl and a crowd gathered around. I ate cookies and cake while I rooted for the friend. The fight went on for five rounds before the host took one on the chin and passed out. By that time, I had eaten three pies.

Before I left, I walked over to the host’s friend, slapped him on the back and congratulated him for his fancy footwork. He thanked me and said, “Merry Christmas, man.”

As an aside, I heard the people in the party break out in full-throated harmonized singing after I got outside. It went something like this:

Stanza 1

Deck your host with Christmas brawling,
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
‘Tis the season to be falling,
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Don we now our fray apparel,
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Roll your host just like a barrel,
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

 

Stanza 2

See the blasted mule before us,

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Strike the host and join the chorus.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Follow me, and we will measure,

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Just how long he stands the pressure,

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

 

Stanza 3

Fast away our old host passes,

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Hail the new champ lads and lasses,

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Sing we taunts and slurs together,

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Push him over with a feather,

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

Empty Plate: CNN Hero of the Year?

On December 2, 2012, CNN gave a lady named Pushup Basket their Hero of the Year award.  All she does is herd up children who have parents in jail and send them to school somewheres. That ain’t what I call a good deed. Sending anyone to school is downright mean. What’s worse? Sending a feller to jail or sending him to school? You don’t have to tell me which one. I know. Time in the slammer is a playground compared to school. In school, they expect you to do homework and take tests.

No sir, I don’t think Pushup Basket did those rug rats any favors. In prison, they wouldn’t have had homework. Now they won’t be able to work their way out of it. No matter how much they get done, there will always be more homework. What kind of tyrant is that woman? In prison, they would have had three hots and a cot at taxpayer expense. Now they’ve got to go out, get a job, pay taxes and scrape together little they have left every month to buy a few beans and taters. What kind of life is that? Prison life would have been much kinder to them. Shame on Pushup Basket!

I think CNN should change their minds and make me Hero of the Year. They can tell Pushup Basket they made a mistake. She’s a good sport, and it won’t hurt her feelings. On the other hand, I’ll be crushed if I don’t win the prize along with a supper and dessert. There’s still time for them to withdraw the prize from Pushup Basket and give it to me. What’s keeping them?

My reasons are tighter than the spandex shorts I wore to church yesterday. First of all, I have to endure constant demands from my old man, Fuller Plate. He’s always telling me to pick up after myself and turn off the lights when I leave a room. I am 76 years old, and old buzzard beak treats me like a six-year-old brat. I’d like dad to go to jail, but no one wants to arrest him. They all say he’s a nice feller. If only they knew him like I know him.

My mom, China Plate, says I’m her hero. Don’t take my word for it. Ask her. Every day she says I deserve a medal for braving it out in this cold, cruel life. She’ll tell you I’ve never had a job for more than a few hours, because my employers didn’t understand my special needs or the talent I brought to the table. She’s absolutely right!

Finally, I’m hungry. I want one of them fancy meals thrown in my honor. I expect people to toast me while I eat and drink all I can. If I can’t get enough during dinner, everyone should turn the other way while I stuff my pockets with food.

That there’s why I think I should be CNN Hero of the Year. I deserve that award.

Uncle Sam is My Daddy

©Sebastian Kaulitzki
(licensed to Bill Graham by Fotolia)

Today, I found out President Obama munched lunch with Mitt Romney. I heard they had white turkey chili and grilled chicken salad with all the fixins. Them’s good eats and all, but I’d like to know why they didn’t invite me. You’d think with all his money, Uncle Sam could buy me lunch. Well I’m here to tell you, he left me out in the bitter cold. I felt downright neglected until I saw a bumper sticker that said, “Uncle Sam ain’t your baby’s daddy.” That’s when I got the idea to adopt Uncle Sam as my daddy.

My ex-dad, Fuller Plate, said he didn’t mind me disowning him. He disowned me several decades ago, and he’d be happy to give me up to Uncle Sam. Then he started to look around. When I asked why he was lookin’ this away and that, he asked where mom was. I told him she was at the grocery store. As if he were in a hurry, he smiled, asked for my papers and said he wanted to put his John Hancock on the dotted line right away. For the first time in my life, Mr. Scrooge gave me something I wanted. He said it was an early Christmas present.
I wrote the document earlier today, so I was able to produce it immediately. It said:

I, Fuller Plate, do hereby give away my boy, Empty Plate, to Uncle Sam. Hereafter, Empty Plate shall be the son of Uncle Sam, and the same shall henceforth and hitherto be his daddy. Whereof, the provisions of this declaration of dependence shall take effect immediately upon the signing of the same under my hand on this twenty-ninth day of November, 2012.

Yours truly,

Fuller Plate

Before the ink dried, old Grumpy told me to get out of his house.

I told him I needed time for my new daddy to pick me up. He said that wasn’t his problem. I was a stranger, and I was trespassing on his property. I argued that mom wouldn’t be happy. He said she was no longer my mother. She still had his last name, and I didn’t. He threatened to call the police if I didn’t leave immediately. To drive the point home, he picked up the phone and called 9-1-1. Luckily, Delbert Collins, our 9-1-1 Dispatcher, was on vacation. The Grinch had to leave a message.

While that old buzzard was still on the phone, mom walked in and heard the whole thing. After he hung up, mom lit into him like white on rice. She was furious. I told her everything that happened, and said Mr. Malcontent told me he didn’t want me around anymore. When I showed her the document he signed, she stomped into her room, slammed the door behind her and refused to talk to Grumpy McGrumperton. Later, when he asked her about dinner, mom said he was on frozen dinners for the next year, and I can stay as long as I want.

Fireside Turkey

Note: Click here if you want to hear Empty Plate's refusal to accept responsibility for this incident.

Two days before Thanksgiving, mom went to the grocery store and bought a giant frozen turkey. That bird was so big it almost didn’t fit in the freezer. Later that day, our neighbor visited, and started talking about his new turkey fryer. I loved the idea and was going to ask if I could borrow it sometime. Before I could ask, dad cut me off and said “Empty, you’ve had enough deep-fried food.” Our neighbor and my dad enjoyed a good laugh at my expense. Mom and I gave dad a dirty look, but he kept laughing.

When Thanksgiving came around, I spied our neighbor reading instructions and setting up his turkey fryer on his wooden deck. After he was finished, he came over to ask mom if she had any pecans she could spare. She said she had already used all the ones I hadn’t eaten in a sweet potato casserole. He said, “Shoot! Guess I’ll have to go to the grocery store.” Finally! My opportunity had arrived. The grocery store was 45 minutes away. We have a dime store and a mall in Simpleton, but no grocery store. We buy our groceries in Dullard.

While mom was whipping up the taters, I took the turkey out of the freezer, stuffed it in my shirt and smuggled it through the kitchen. I didn’t think she saw me, but mom told me to be careful with the turkey fryer as I tiptoed behind her. She has a seventh sense about these things. Before I got out of the house, I heard her tell dad to go with our neighbor and pick up another turkey. He asked what happened to the one she got the day before. She said she had to throw it out, because it accidentally thawed out and spoiled.

After they left, I sneaked over to our neighbor’s deck. I noticed he left a jug of oil next to the fryer, but he hadn’t filled the pot. My plan was to fry the turkey quickly, and wash the pot before they returned. I filled the fryer to the top and turned on the gas. While the oil heated up, I removed the turkey from its wrappings. The only thing that wasn’t obvious to me was how to lower the turkey into the fryer. When the oil was hot enough, I decided to drop the turkey into the pot.

The turkey shot out of the pot like a cannon ball and landed in our yard. Nothing got on me, but the burner set the oil and the deck on fire. I hurried home and asked mom how to call 911. She told me to pick up the phone and dial 9-1-1. Before the Simpleton Fire Department arrived, I threw away the turkey. As mother and I watched the firemen battle the blaze, we drank hot chocolate, talked about our neighbor’s misfortune and told one another other how thankful we were for the comfort and safety of hearth and home.

A Scientifical Case for Reincarnation

Thawing turkey

Some folks say reincarnation ain't scientifical. Applesauce! Reincarnation is real, and all of us have seen the perfect example of it year after year. What am I talking about? I'm talking about turkey. You know—that overgrown chicken that everyone loves to shove down their gullets every year at this time. We buy a turkey, prepare it and eat it for Thanksgiving. How you prepare the bird depends on what you like. For example some people prefer to roast their turkey while others want to grill it or smoke it. Some folks deep fry their birds. When all of the guests are gone, the family that bought the turkey has to deal with the question of leftovers.

Folks are creative with leftover turkey. They use it to make sandwiches, casseroles, soup, turkey a la king. As we get further away from Thanksgiving, they use it in mystery meals. Every year, people think of new ways to go cold turkey.

Thanksgiving turkey

This rehashing goes on for several weeks after Thanksgiving. Turkey sandwiches show up on the midnight menu. Turkey casserole shows up the Monday after. A week later, it’s turkey soup. This goes on until we don’t want to see turkey again for another year. Yesterday, the turkey was a bird. Today, it’s a sandwich. Tomorrow, it's soup. It was reincarnated.

Every time I talk about reincarnated turkey, some hotshot asks “Did the departed turkey go to heaven or hell”? I don't care to answer such a ridiculous questions. If I had to guess, though, I'd say that turkeys want to avoid both places. In hell, everything’s roasting; in heaven, they're always having a feast. I wouldn’t want to be a turkey in either situation.

Even with reincarnation, the turkey shows up on someone's dinner table every time it comes back. Why do turkeys have to pay such a high price for us to say we’re thankful for this, that and what not? You know, I feel sorry for turkeys. We gobble them up like they were nothing. Just the same, I don't plan to stop eating the big bird.

Half-eaten turkey

As for the usefulness of the turkey’s body after death, it's undeniable. Even if you don't eat the whole thing, it's going to be useful to something. Some buzzard at a landfill will have a delightful time feasting on any turkey you decide not to eat. What the buzzard doesn't eat, the maggot will enjoy, and so on down the food chain. The turkey comes back again and again in different forms. That, my friend, is reincarnation.

Now you may ask how I know all of this turkey talk is scientifical. In fact, you may be saying that all I’ve done up until now is use stories for my evidence. Well I’m here to tell you that's all I need. Any story that backs up my point is just fine.

Since we’re on the subject of science, let’s talk about what it means. I’ve been told science is based on repeated observation. Do families come up with different ways to use their leftover turkey every year? Why yes they do! In fact, it’s been going on for quite a long time, hasn’t it? Is it not a repeated observation that turkey comes back in many forms every year? Why yes it is. I’ve just established the case for reincarnation.

Another scientifical principle is the use of test groups and control groups to prove or disprove a hypotenuse. That's fancy words for a shot in the dark. One group eats a turkey and throws the leftovers away. That's the test group, and they flunked. The control group takes control and uses the leftovers for different meals as long as they last.

When they see that the turkey's no longer in their frigilators, the test group folks think that's the end of it. Little do they know that a group of buzzards at the landfill has transformed their turkeys into maggot surprise. When the maggots finish eating the turkey down to the bone, they turn it into droppings, which then become another feast for small, squiggly things deeper down the landfill.

Meanwhile, the control group turns the turkey into a variety of other dishes and do the same thing the maggots do. We ain't special in that regard. So, the turkey ends up becoming a bacterial feast, and then it becomes fertilizer for our crops, which ultimately make it into turkey food and back on our table. There you have it! I've made the case for turkey reincarnation with the scientifical method.

Every time you gnaw on a turkey leg, part of it is reborn in your gut. It may not be easy to recognize at first, but you change when you put that turkey in your mouth. At first, it just makes you yawn. Then, you sit down in your recliner and fall asleep and grow a little fatter. Some people get a lot fatter after gobbling down a thanksgiving turkey. I know I do. From the size of my pants, I’m pretty sure that lots of turkeys have been reborn in me.

Apparently, those turkeys had lots of dressing because I waddle everywhere I go. When you get older, you’ll find that the turkey repeats on you after dinner. If you eat a lot of turkey like I do, it can repeat on you for the rest of the day. I consider that a bad form of reincarnation. My doctor, a man of science, agrees with me. He looks like he’s downed a few turkeys himself.

Turkeys are a lot like old cars in the junkyard. You can tear them apart and put them back together again in completely different ways. And when that turkey finishes breaking down as much as it can, what’s left of it will become part of something else until it's completely recycled. Case closed!