Farewell, Mrs. Brady

With the sad news of the passing of Florence Henderson – who played Carol Brady, my 3rd favorite TV mom behind Ann Romano and Alice Hyatt (don’t judge me) – I feel I had to find a way to pay homage to her work.

But then I remembered I don’t do “homage.”   So, in lieu of an homage, I’d like to put forth ideas for Brady Bunch episodes I wish had been.

“Shovels Ahoy!”  –  Jan is (finally) learning how to drive.  But one day, she takes the car without permission to go to a boy’s house!  As luck would have it, she hits a hobo on her way back home and pulls into the driveway with his corpse sticking out the windshield.  Can the kids all band together and get the body buried before Carol and Mike get back from the farmer’s market?

“The Doctor Is In”   After he walks in on Greg doing some under-the-shirt-over-the-bra stuff with the class slut, Bobby decides that he and Cindy should play “doctor” to see what all the fuss is about.  Mike walks in on them in the laundry room and beats them both with his belt until he sprains his wrist.  But the wrist sprain nearly costs him a big job when he can’t complete the drawings in time.  Looks like everyone learned a lesson this week!

“A Little Case of the Sniffles” –  Between baseball, school work, and his paper route, Peter has bitten off more than he can chew.  So like any 12-year-old, he starts doing cocaine.  Gobs and gobs of cocaine.  His dealer fronts him “enough to get him through regionals” but when Bobby can’t pay, he gets beaten after school.  His only solution is to steal money from Alice’s purse.  As he rifles through it though, he finds her .38 special.  When he goes to meet up with his dealer, he puts three slugs in the guy’s chest.

“A Swinging Good Time” –  Familiarity (and six frigging kids) have taken their toll on Mike and Carol’s intimacy.  They find the solution when the new neighbors invite them over for a key party.  Their new found zest for living backfires however, when Marsha and her boyfriend show up at a swingers’ party Mike and Carol are hosting at the local adult theater.  Mike sees Marsha from across the room, but before he can get to Carol, he finds that the boyfriend is next in line at her glory hole.  Oops!

“The Over/Under” –  Sam the Butcher’s shop is having a rough go.  A new “supermarket” has moved in around the corner and is stealing his business.  To help make ends meet, Alice starts running an illegal sports book out of the Brady’s house.  Everything’s going great until a huge upset in the World Series leaves her over-extended.  In order to pay off the bets, she and Sam burn his shop to the ground for the insurance money.

“Welcome Back” – Things get tricky when Carol’s husband comes back from the dead.  Turns out, he’d faked his death to get away from the suffocating responsibility of three daughters.  He threatens to weasel his way back into the girl’s lives unless Carol gives him $250,000 in cash.  Mike says they don’t have that kind of money, but Carol confesses.  She and her ex had stolen almost half a million from a Moroccan drug dealer when they were on their honeymoon.  The money is stashed under the dog house.  They pay him off and he disappears before the girls suspect anything.

“Candid Camera” – Suspicions arise when Cindy comes home one day with a brand new bike.  Peter figures something is up when she buys a new pair of roller skates a week later.  He corners her that evening, holding the red hot poker from the fire place an inch from her eye until she confesses.  She’s been taking naked polaroid pictures of Jan and Marsha and selling them to the boys at school.  Peter says he wants in on the action.  Cindy agrees and tells him she has a big order from the glee club who are looking for pictures of Greg in the shower.  When he tries to get the pics, he drops the camera in the toilet.  Oh, Peter!

“Kidney Pie” –  Greg’s band, “Brownie and the Po-Boys,” book a gig at a bar in Tijuana.  Mike and Carol refuse to let him go and he moves out of his sweet pad over the garage and onto Big Papa’s (the bassist) couch.  They go to the gig anyway and Greg starts doing tequila shots after the show with one of the local girls.  The rest of the band wants to leave but Greg refuses, sensing that he is about to get lucky.  An argument ensues that results with Greg staying in Tijuana with the local girl, slamming shot after shot.  The next day, he wakes up in an ice-filled bathtub missing a kidney.  He’s forced to call Mike and Carol who give him a big fat “told ya so.”

A Cautionary Tale…

I wish I had kept the letter I got from the Department of Philosophy and Religion when I changed majors to Philosophy (from Aerospace Engineering – I was an endless river of good decisions in my youth).  It read half like a sales letter, insuring me that companies LOVED Philosophy students because they knew HOW to think.  Try to guess if that’s true.  I may as well have been a fucking English major for all the good it did.  (Pipe down English majors, you know it’s true.)  But none of that mattered, I was going to go to law school or maybe get my PhD and teach.  Turns out, law school is expensive (who knew, right?) and grad school is very hard to get into especially if you spend your first two freshman years beating your GPA to a bloody pulp.

So plan B.  Get a job.  Ugh.  Well, step one was to keep my job washing cars at a rental car agency.  This was important because your landlord does not give a shit if you’re a college grad.  So that was fun, but I was raking in over $5.25 per hour.  No, no I wasn’t.  I was raking in exactly $5.25 an hour.

Obviously, I moved back home pretty quickly.  But I still needed a job.  And after a month of not, I finally landed something.  I was the new Lube Tech at Jiffy Lube!  It’s not as much fun as it sounds.  But at least I had to leave off my degree from the application as I had learned from previous misses that these low-end gigs aren’t gonna hire someone with a degree.  Now I was making a whopping $5 per hour.  Bit of a set back, but as my mother had set my rent at $0 a month, it worked out.

Four weeks into my position there, I was promoted to Assistant Manager!  You can’t stop the success train!  So with my 50 cent an hour raise in hand, I set out to take the rapid lube world by storm.  Of course, my alarm failed to go off the next morning and I was late too work.  No big, the manager was cool so I wasn’t worried.  Except that I got there, and it turns out he had quit the night before.  And some big wig was there with a truckload of management trainees so they could learn how to open a store.  From me.  Who was late.  And had never opened a store before.

Anyway, the best part of the job was that it was right next door to a liquor store, so every night, after everyone had gone and I was left to do lube-related paperwork, I would go next door, get 2 airplane bottles of bourbon and have a sit-down.  This was also the job that taught me customer service was not my bag.  After suffering the slings and arrows of an unjustifiably angry suburbanite, I snapped.  I looked her straight in the eye and said, “Ma’am, I need you to get the fuck out of my store.”  I left the rapid lube biz shortly thereafter.

What I left for was the fast-paced world of automobile recycling.  Which is to say, I took cars apart in a junk yard.  But, I was up to $7 per hour!  Cha-ching, bitches!  You start to rethink some choices when you are laying under a 1987 Ford Taurus in 35 degree rain and hoping that they guy operating the forklift doesn’t forget that you’re under there.  You start to rethink more when you get home, spend 30 minutes washing transmission fluid out of you hair, and then write your student loan check.

Nine months later, I got a call from a company I had sent my resume to the year before.  An interview for a management training program!  Which is code for warehouse labor.  But it was raise.  And indoors.  So off I went.  I languished in the warehouse for a couple of years, partly because I refuse to go work at the sales counter.  (Remember the suburbanite from Jiffy Lube?  If you think they’re bad, try a pissed off plumber who’s been standing in a septic tank all day.  They’re real good at cussing.)  Eventually I weaseled my way into a job in the purchasing department.  Truth be told, if it weren’t for my boss, a milque-toast of a wanker, it would have been a good job.  I bought shit for a living.  Sales people called me and kissed my ass and took me out to lunch.  All in all, pretty good.  Except for my boss, who didn’t like the fact that I would leave my desk to find out why the computer showed we had 1000 of something, but no one could find them.  He told me to stay at my desk.  Period.  Despite the fact that I could my job in about 3 hours a day.  He didn’t care, which led to me falling asleep at my desk several times a week.  He somehow managed to ruin a job where people had to kiss my ass all day.  Think about that.

My next job was back in a warehouse at a company called Frischkorn, I suppose because I lacked the aplomb necessary for a white collar position.  No surprise there, really.  Somehow though, I kept getting dragged into meetings with the president of the company, where my honesty was not seen as “refeshing.”  In fact, I do believe he had precious little appreciation for a warehouse guy who kept telling him his plans wouldn’t work.  (In my defense, I was right.  Which I think made it worse.)

Obviously, my career at that company was not going to go anywhere, so I interviewed with a company to do software training.  Hey!  Now I’m getting somewhere!  I get to use my brain!  And they offered me a pay cut of over $10,000 a year.  I actually laughed at the guy.  Out loud.  Pretty hard, too.  I was the picture of tact.  So back to the warehouse.

That was where I was when my son was born and I transitioned flawlessly into stay-at-home daddy-dom.  But more importantly, in one of my final acts at the job, I managed to convince the rest of the guys in the warehouse to pose for a “Boys of Frishckorn” calendar that I then distributed around the company.  It even made it’s way to corporate headquarters where someone hung it in the copy room for all to enjoy.  It may be my greatest job-related accomplishment.  I have included it below.  You’re welcome.

 

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Psalms 2: Electric Boogaloo – The Complete, Unabridged Psalms of Reverend Buddy Bell

Psalm 151 – Guilty feet hath got no rhythm.

Psalm 152 – Every rose hath its thorns, just as every night hath its dawn.

Psalm 153 – Carryeth on, mine prodigal son.  There shalt be peace when thou art done.

Psalm 154 – Dust in the wind, all thou art, is dust in the wind.

Psalm155 – Mine anaconda wanteth none unless thou hast buns, hon.

Psalm 156 – When a problem cometh along, thou must whip it. When something goeth wrong, thou must whip it.

Psalm 157 – If there be a problem, I shalt solveth it, checketh out the hook whilst mine DJ revolveth it.

Psalm 158 – Oh, baby, thou, thou hast what I needeth, but thou sayeth he’s just a friend.

Psalm 159 – Waketh me up, before thou go-go, keepeth me not, hanging on like a yo-yo.

Psalm 160 – Thou hast to fight, for thine right, to party.

Psalm 161 – Thou must beatest it, no one wanteth to be defeated.  Showest how funky strong is thine fight. It matters not who’s wrong or right.

Psalm 162 – Verily, I sayeth unto thee, fat bottomed girls, thou makest the rocking world go round.

Psalm 163 – Thou must knowest when to hold ’em. Knowest when to fold ’em. Thou shalt knowest when to walk away, and knowest when to run.

Psalm 164 – Tis but a jump to the left. And then thou shalt step to the right. Hands on thine hips, thou shalt bringest thine knees in tight.

Psalm 165 – Searcheth for thine lost shaker of salt. Some shalt claimeth a woman be to blame, but thou knowest – tis nobody’s fault.

Psalm 166 – If thou covet pina coladas, and the rain, if thou refute yoga and possess half a brain, tis I thou doth seek, write to me and escape.

Psalm 167 – Never gonna giveth thou up, never gonna letteth thou down. Never gonna runneth around and deserteth thou.

Psalm 168 – Thou better shape up, alas, I needst a man. And mine heart is set up on thou. Thou better shape up, to mine heart I must be true.

Psalm 169 – Thou art nothin’ but a hound dog, cryin’ all the time. Thou hath ne’er caught a rabbit, and thou art no friend of mine.

Psalm 170 – Thou shalt rolleth down the street, smoketh endo, sippeth on gin and juice. With thy mind on thy money, and thy money on thy mind.

Psalm 171 – Thou shalt not stop believin’. Verily, I command thee, holdest on to the feelin’. Streetlights, people.

Psalm 172 – Our Lord on high, Rebekah, cast thine gaze upon her buttocks. Tis grand. She doth appear as if one of those rap guys’ girlfriends.

Psalm 173 – Thou shalt no be forgetful of mine number. Verily, love hath fortitude beyond that of a thunder.

Psalm 174 – Thou may dance if thou so desire, thou may abandon thy friends. For if thy friends danceth not, they shalt be no friends of mine.

Psalm 175 – Yon projectile hath pierced mine heart and thou art to blameth. Dearest maiden, thou hath bestowed upon love a bad name.

Psalm 176 – I hath been tryin’ babay, tryin’ to holdeth back this feelin’. And if thou feelest like I feelest, let’s lay together as if man and wife.

Psalm 177 – Verily, Mickey, thou art so fine, thou art so fine, thou blowest my mind. Alas, Mickey! Alas, Mickey!

Psalm 178 – If I stayest here with thou, girl, things shalt not remain the same. Lo, I’m as free as the dove, now, and this dove thou canst change.

Psalm 179 – Thou must cut loose, footloose. Kick of thine Sabbath shoes. I plead of thou, Louise, pullest me off of mine knees.

Psalm 180 – Shouldst there be something strange in thine neighborhood, who art thou gonna call? Disembodied apparition busters!

Psalm 181 – So, serving wench, bringeth forth a carafe, another round of wine. Maiden, why don’t we get drunk and lay together?

Psalm 182 – Alas, I hath been caught pilfering, once, when I was V…I enjoyest pilfering, tis just as simple as that.

Psalm 183 – And the name of the beast shalt be Kris Kross, and Kris Kross shalt maketh thee jump, jump.

Psalm 184 – Tis rainin’ men, Hallelujah. Tis rainin’ men, Amen. Thou shalt go out, thou shalt lettest thineself get absolutely soaking wet.

Psalm 185 – Lo, lo, lo, lo baby-pop! Cometh yonder, giveth unto me kiss. Thou best make it fast, or alas I shalt become pissed.

Psalm 186 – Money talks, but it doth not sing nor dance nor walk. If I can haveth thou here with me, I’d preferest to be, forever in blue jeans.

Psalm 187 – Once, I raneth unto thou. Now I shalt runneth from thou. This tainted love thou given unto me, I hath given thou all a boy could givest.

Psalm 188 – Shouldst I stay or shouldst I go now? If I go, there shalt be peril, and if I stay it shalt be two-fold.

Psalm 189 – Tonight, I shalt rejoice as if it were the year of our Lord, nineteen hundred and ninety-nine.

Psalm 190 – I hath mine hands up, they art playing mine hymn. I knowest I shalt be okay, forsooth, tis a party in the Promised Land.

Psalm 191 – Forsooth, if thou were indeed enamored of it, then thou shouldst have put a ring upon it.

Psalm 192 – In West Canaan, born and raised, in the temple was where I spenteh most of mine days, preachin’ out, maxin’, prostelyzin’ all cool…

Psalm 193 – Thou spinnest me right ’round, betrothed, right ’round like yon millstone, betrothed.

Psalm194 – Someday somebody shalt maketh thou wish to turn ’round and bid farewell. Art thou to let them holdest thou down and makest thou weep?

Psalm 195 – I’m sailing away, seteth thine sextant for the virgin sea. I shalt be liberated, free to faceth the life that’s ahead of me.

Psalm 196 – Thine kiss is upon mine scroll, of the best things in life. Thine kiss i can ne’er resist, when I blowest out yon candle.

Psalm 197 – Tis a parable for all the fellas, thou may attempt to do what yon maidens tell us, getteth shot down cause thou art over-desirous.

Psalm 198 – The Hitites doth speak, canst they just letteth me live? I needeth not permission, maketh mine own decisions, tis mine prerogative.

Psalm 199 – She’s a limestone dwelling. She’s dressed immodestly. The maiden’s stacked, and lo, tis a fact, she doth reserve nothing.

Psalm 200 – My perils doth be one shy of a century, but verily, a disrespectful maid of low moral standing be not one.


Psalm 172 – Dance Remix

I had intended at some point to do a thing where I showed what it would look like if my 9th graded English teacher graded Si Mixalot’s “I Like Big Butts” as if I had turned it in for a poetry project.  It’d be mostly just different ways of saying “This is INAPPROPRIATE!”  I never did that.

But now, I’d like to present you with “I Like Big Butts” if it were from the Bible.  Presented with the help of Daniel, from “Jessie’s Girl, The Aftermath” fame.  No, not fame.  Infamy?  No, that’s too much.  Well, whatever the opposite of fame is that’s not infamy.

Our Lord on High, Rebekah, cast thine gaze upon her buttocks. Tis grand. She doth appear as if one of those rap guys’ girlfriends.

 

None who walk the Earth understandeth those rap guys.  They speak upon her solely because of resemblance to an unvirtuous maiden.

 

 

 

Her buttocks art so grand.

I stand in awe of its size perfect symmetry

Tis presented for all mankind to witness

Tis not a desiderata.

Verily, she is so Egyptian

 

 

 

Yea and verily, I like posteriors as big as the Jordan, and I doth not lie. You other pharisees cannot deny.

 

Forsooth, upon the entrance of yon maid with an itty-bitty waist and who presenteth a round thing unto thine visage, thou become sprung.

 

 

 

I doth want to pull up tough. Hark, thou believeth that the butt is stuffed. Deep in yon jeans she’s wearing, I am desirous and cannot help but to cast my visage upon them.

 

 

 

Oh, baby I doth desire to lay with thou
And cast thou image
Mine companions tried to warneth me
But alas, that butt thou possess
Maketh me desirous for the pleasures of the flesh.

 

 

Hark, lay hands upon that smooth skin.
Thou desires to ride upon my oxcart?
Then, useth me. Yea, useth me.
Because thou art no mongrel disciple.

 

I hath lain in witness of their gyrations
And it hath rendered me impervious to the notion of romance
She’s sweat,wet, hath it goin like a turbo chariot

 

 

I grow weary of those scribes
That say flat butts are of divine importance.
Take the ordinary Egyptian and inquire thus, and verily he shall speak:
“The maiden most possess an abundance of back.”

 

 

So apostles(amen), apostles(amen),
Testify if thine betrothed hath the butt (hallelujah).
Well shakest it, shakest it, shakest it, shakest it, shakest thine most glorious posterior.
Maiden hath back.

 


I preferest them as the apple and grand

And whence I deliverest a sermon

I cannot avoid temptation

I am but a lowly beast

Alas, I present my sins

 

I desire to lay with thou

Not once, but two-fold

I speaketh not of Grecian statues

Granite be reserved for idols

I preferest them sturdy and heavily laden

 



So discovereth that heavily laden rear

The Prophet Mixalot is in peril

His pleas rise for of piece of that posterior




As I observe the drama unfolding upon the stage

Disavow these maidens parading as for sale

Thou mayest retain those maidens

I shalt keepeth mine more the Hitite



I speaketh now to the Egyptians

I doth desire to lay with thee

I shalt not peak poorly or strike thee



I shalt not lie, I wish to lay with thee

Until the sun reappears in the East

Maiden hath it in plentitude



A lot of Pharisees shalt care not for this platitude

For they desire no more than to lay with thee and then return to the field

Nay!  I shalt remain with thee, as I am strong of loin, and I wisheth lay my seed in thee

So maidens (amen), maidens (amen)

Doth thou desire to ride upon mine oxcart?

If thou dost, simply display thine grandeur.

And, Lo!

Even the Romans shalt exclaim

Maiden hath back

Verily, maiden

Upon reference to the female form

Ecclesiastes hath nought to do with mine decision

36-24-36?

Only if she’s 3 cubits tall.




Alas, your betrothed throws a fruit cart

Observing the ways of Mary of Magdalen

But Mary hath no oxen in your cart




Mine river asp waneth none unless thou possess buns, hun.

Thou may take great care of thine physique, but, if it please the Lord, do not loseth that butt.

Some Pharisees wisheth to harden themselves

And preach that thine butt is not valuable

Whence they discard it

I shalt be there with most haste to recover it.



Though the scribes may callest thou corpulent

Alas, I cannot abide by this

For thine belly is like that of an urchin

And thine remaining proportions enticeful

I am of a mind to lay with thou.



And now I address the waifs

Thine conceit is misplaced

Bestow upon me a disciple

Figs and grapes did miss her



A heretic did ponder to dismiss

And, lo, his maids were brought before me

The heretic did raise his hand to them

And I rescueth them from his bile



So, maidens, should thine hind quarters be bulbous

And thou desireth to lay with someone with great vigor



Search out the prophet Mixalot and lose thineself in the pleasures of the flesh

Maiden hath back

Maiden hath back

A dearth in her mid-section but she hath much back

Oh my god Becky, look at her butt
It’s so big.  She looks like one of those rap guys girlfriends


Who understands those rap guys
They only talk to her because she looks like a total prostitute


I mean her butt
It’s just so big
I can’t believe it’s so round
It’s just out there
I mean, it’s gross
Look, she’s just so black


I like big butts and I can not lie
You other brothers can’t deny


That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist
And a round thing in your face
You get sprung


Wanna pull up tough
’cause you notice that butt was stuffed
Deep in the jeans she’s wearing
I’m hooked and I can’t stop staring



Oh, baby I wanna get with ya
And take your picture
My homeboys tried to warn me
But that butt you got
Make Me so horney


Ooh, rump of smooth skin
You say you wanna get in my benz
Well use me use me ’cause you aint that average groupy

I’ve seen them dancin’
To hell with romancin’
She’s Sweat,Wet, got it goin like a turbo vette

 

I’m tired of magazines
Saying flat butts are the thing
Take the average black man and ask him that
She gotta pack much back

 

So Fellas (yeah) Fellas(yeah)
Has your girlfriend got the butt (hell yeah)
Well shake it, shake it, shake it, shake it, shake that healthy butt
Baby got back

I like’em round and big
And when I’m throwin a gig
I just can’t help myself
I’m actin like an animal
Now here’s my scandal

I wanna get you home
And UH, double up UH UH
I aint talkin bout playboy
’cause silicone parts were made for toys
I wannem real thick and juicy


So find that juicy double
Mixalot’s in trouble
Beggin for a piece of that bubble


So I’m lookin’ at rock videos
Knockin these bimbos walkin like hoes
You can have them bimbos
I’ll keep my women like Flo Jo

A word to the thick soul sistas
I wanna get with ya
I won’t cus or hit ya

But I gotta be straight when I say I wanna —
Til the break of dawn
Baby Got it goin on

Alot of pimps won’t like this song
’cause them punks lie to hit it and quit it

But I’d rather stay and play
’cause I’m long and I’m strong
And I’m down to get the friction on

So ladies (yeah), Ladies (yeah)
Do you wanna roll in my Mercedes (yeah)
Then turn around
Stick it out
Even white boys got to shout
Baby got back

Yeah baby
When it comes to females
Cosmo ain’t got nothin to do with my selection
36-24-36
Only if she’s 5’3″

So your girlfriend throws a Honda
Playin workout tapes by Fonda
But Fonda ain’t got a motor in the back of her Honda


My anaconda don’t want none unless you’ve got buns hun
You can do side bends or sit-ups, but please don’t lose that butt
Some brothers wanna play that hard role
And tell you that the butt ain’t gold
So they toss it and leave it
And I pull up quick to retrieve it



So cosmo says you’re fat
Well I ain’t down with that
’cause your waist is small and your curves are kickin
And I’m thinkin bout stickin

To the beanpole dames in the magazines
You aint it miss thing
Give me a sista I can’t resist her
Red beans and rice did miss her

Some knucklehead tried to dis
’cause his girls were on my list
He had game but he chose to hit ’em
And I pulled up quick to get with ’em

So ladies if the butt is round
And you wanna triple X throw down

 

Dial 1-900-MIXALOT and kick them nasty thoughts
Baby got back
Baby got back
Little in tha middle but she got much back

Y’all Be Trippin’

See, the thing about religion is that’s it’s usually a small journey from, “Hey, that’s a good idea!” (see, “be nice to everybody) to “Wow! You just may be batshit crazy!” (lots of examples about this, am I right?).  Well, guess which one I’m here to talk about.

A friend of mine was recently trapped in a conversation with a man who felt she needed some saving.  This despite the fact that she is in fact a church-going Christian and informed him as much.  He could tell by looking at her that she wasn’t religious enough.  A handy, I suppose, super-power, if perhaps a little boring.  Her short-coming, as evidenced by his 2 PAGE DIAGRAM, was in the field of chastity (she’s married, by the way).  According to his rant, “Chastity (a Virtue (capitalization his, not mine)) means to see everyone as made in the image and likeness of GOD” (again, his capitalization).

Except, that’s not what chastity means.  Even a little.  There’s probably a thing that does meant that.  But it’s not chastity.

For him, and whatever weird little church he belongs to that doesn’t have a good grasp of vocabulary, being Chaste involves something called SPICE.  One then has to assume the Spice Girls are necessarily Chaste.  Except Ginger Spice, of course, as gingers have no souls.

What is SPICE you ask?  Well, it’s an acronym unsurprisingly.  It’s an acronym where each word makes up one of the five petals of a flower (aside – he misspelled “petal” though he did draw a diagram of the SPICE flower – the center of which, the pistil, is labelled “love,” which is nice).  The five petals of the SPICE flower are:

Spiritual

Physical

Intellectual

Creative

Emotions

I’m gonna go ahead and assume he meant “Emotional.”  Anyway, the important thing for chastity is that all five petals are in balance like a “beautiful flower” and not like one of those jacked-up flowers that you find in the bottom of the flower fridge at the grocery store at 6pm on Mother’s Day.  If they’re not, you have to focus on developing the ones that are out of balance.  (Duh.)  For instance, he writes, “Women that are not dressed appropriately have an extreme Physical petal…”  I’m gonna stop here and take a guess that he could tell she needed this info because she was wearing yoga pants (in public! gasp!), or as the internet calls them, whore pants.  Then he adds, “they actually don’t show enough.”

Wait, what?  Now maybe he explained this during his rant, but on paper, this makes no sense.

Then, all of the sudden, we’re done with the SPICE flower and have moved on to answer the question, “What is the Mass?”  Apparently, and I’m just gonna put the entire quote in it’s entirety, it’s a marriage ceremony where “God is marrying his bride the Church.  We are the Body of Christ here on earth.  And at the consummation of the Mass he shares his real Body Blood, Soul and Divinity (sounds familiar, doesn’t it?).  *This is called the Theology of the Body!”

Okay, let me take a breath and go through this one item at a time.  “God is marrying his bride the Church.”  I’m guessing he means “congregation” not Church, so I’ won’t pick on this.  But then we get into “We are the Body of Christ here on earth” which doesn’t even follow from his previous sentence, so I don’t know what he means.  And then, “And at the consummation of the Mass he shares his real Body Blood, Soul and Divinity (sounds familiar, doesn’t it?)”

Phew.

I’d like to assume that by “consummation” he means “completion” and not, you know, what everybody else means by consummation.  But you never know with crazy.

“He shares his real Body Blood, Soul, and Divinity…”  That’s a lot of sharing.

“(Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”)  No, It doesn’t sound familiar.  Not even a little fucking bit.  Familiar to what?  To whom?

“This is called the Theology of the Body!”  The only reason I bring this sentence up is that when I Googled “the Theology of the Body,” Google auto-filled with “the Theology of Yoga Pants” which I thought was frigging hysterical.

Then he says that “the reason women can’t be priests is because the priest must be an Icon of God/Jesus who is male and he gives to the bride….hence the bridegroom and the bride.”  Hence the bridegroom and the bride?  What?  How is that a “hence”?  Does “hence” mean something I don’t know?

That’s followed by a diagram of the trinity of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, with the Father at the top, as usual.  Then there’s an arrow pointing to the next diagram labelled “at Home” which is the trinity of the Husband, Wife and “Child that shows their love.”  Though he misspelled “their” as “there” but then wrote over it.  Maybe it was the other way around though.  And of course, the Husband is at the top of the pyramid.  No explanation as to why this is included at all.

After that, he writes “Catholics are supernatural and have multiple dimensions!”

Wait, this is supposed to be Catholicism?!  Sweet damn.  I did 13 years in Catholic school and not once did “supernatural” come up.  And neither did “multiple dimensions” but that was probably just because the word “multiple” would maybe make us think about “multiple orgasms” and that’s not just not okay.  I mean, I heard a lot of crazy shit come out of the place.  (One nun told us all that masturbation is a sin because it is homosexual in nature since you are performing a sex act on someone of your own gender.  That messed my head up so bad, I couldn’t masturbate for almost 3 hours.  Almost.  I suppose I could have argued that I was trying desperately not to masturbate, but that I was having trouble find someone to do it for me, though I doubt that was her point.)  If I’d known I was supernatural, I’d have at least tried to pick up girls with that line.  Thanks, Obama!

What’s left is the word “worry” in huge print with an arrow pointing toward the word “devil.”  Under that, just as big, “suffering” with an arrow pointing to “God.”

I guess that worrying leads to the devil, but suffering leads to God?  No, that doesn’t sound right.  Worry is caused by the devil, but suffering is caused by God?  Hmmm….that’s probably not it either.  Worry equals devil?  Suffering equals God?  Worry made the devil and suffering made God?  I really got nothing on this one.

As my friend was relating this encounter to me, all I could think was, “Lucky!”  I love meeting crazy people.  They’re so much more interesting than normal people, and sadly, as I grow older, my ability to attract the crazies seems to have diminished, much to my chagrin.  She did not match my enthusiasm.

Still.  Lucky.

Toy Story 4

We open on the interior of a house.  Party noises emanate from the distance.  Camera pans from the empty family room up the stairs.  Party noise grows louder.  Camera rounds the corner into a child’s room where toys are dancing and drinking and eating and begins to center on two toys talking in the corner, a GI Joe, drunk, and a chubby, androgynous, vaguely humanoid fur-covered creature.

GI Joe: “Man, this is the life!”  Throws arm around furry creature.  “I could get used to this!”

Furry creature nods with a slight frown.  Camera pans up to a framed photo on the dresser.  It shows a family of 3 including a young boy, age 4.  Camera zooms in on boy then the screen begins to shake.  Camera pans out.  The boy is flanked by his parents, strapped into an airplane seat, the plane is bucking wildly and screams fill the cabin.

Fade to black.

Fade in.  A woman is tearfully tossing toys into a cardboard box.  Camera pans out and we see it is the little boys room.  Woman picks box up and leaves, turning the light out as she goes.  The furry creature is hidden in the top of the closet with the GI Joe and a few other toys.

Furry creature:  “Oh, yeah.  I could get REAL used to this.”  Furry creature smiles an evil smile.

The furry creature then turns to the other toys and praises himself for being smart enough to hide from the woman.  Now they are free, he proclaims, no more playing dead when humans come around.  And then he realizes that’s the secret to everything.  No more people means freedom for all toys.  His gospel slowly spreads throughout the toy community and that’s how it all starts.

We see toys around the globe slipping rat poison in their people’s coffee and cutting brake lines, setting the skateboard at the top of the stairs and spreading vaseline on the tub floor.  Clips from news programs are talking about the sharp uptick in accidental deaths around the globe.

Soon, a small band of toys try to stem the tide and save their people, but the promise of freedom proves too much for most toys and the rebellion is quickly squashed.  Cut to the furry creature overseeing the fiery destruction of a mob of these “traitors” as he calls him.

Switch to Woody and the gang.  They’ve been returned to Andy’s mom after the mysterious death of the little girl Andy gave them to at the end of Toy Story 3.  They are discussing in hushed tones their suspicions of the other toys and how they murdered the girl.  They are glad to be out of the house and amongst themselves, the only toys they know they cantrust.  Word of how traitors were being dealt with had circulated quickly.

Andy’s mom, flush with worry about her son, now a senior in college, Skypes him early one morning to check on him.  Woody happens to be in the room when she does.  The computer screens snaps on and we see Andy, laying in bed, hair tussled and messy, a thin line of dried drool staining his cheek and forming a discolored ring on his pillowcase.  The angle suggests he left his laptop on his bedside stand.  Andy isn’t moving.  His mom calls his name, gently at first, then with increasing urgency, until finally shouting, “Andy!”

Andy sits up in shock, exposing the naked girl laying in bed beside him, a tattoo of a water lily adorning her back.  She turns over and sees Andy’s mom, pulls the sheets up hurriedly and rolls out of bed.

“Hold on, Mom!” Andy yells from out of frame.  The girl frantically gets dressed, grabs her backpack and flings it over her shoulder as she runs out of the room.  When she does, a purple blur falls out and onto Andy’s bed.  After a few minutes of yelling at an obviously hungover Andy, his mom finally says she “can’t do this right now” and clicks “End.”  Just as she does, Woody sees that the purple blur is the same kind of furry toy as the ringleader.  As the screen closes, an evil grin crosses its face.

Woody alerts the other toys to the danger Andy is in and they set off to rescue him.  They have a long way to go and between hiding from humans and roving gangs of bad toys, the going is slow.  At one point they are cornered by a large mob of toys, and in order to prove they aren’t part of the resistance, they have to take part in the murder of a family of five.  The mob blocks all the exits from the family’s house, and as he flicks the Zippo lighter to life, Buzz says, “For Andy” and holds the flame to the gasoline soaked curtains.  The dinosaur sheds and tear, hiding his face from the other toys.

While all this is going on, dissension appears amongst the bad toys when the electronic toys realize they need humans to manufacture batteries and replacement parts.  They bring their concerns to the furry creature but he dismisses them.  Soon, the electronic toys align themselves against the the bad toys and a civil war erupts.

This is the distraction Woody and the gang need to complete their journey.  They arrive at Andy’s apartment in time to see the purple furball trying to start an electrical fire but rubbing to ends of a frayed extension cord together.  The sparks are landing on Andy’s pile of dirty laundry.  The toys search for an entrance into the apartment and find that in his latest drunken stupor, Andy has left a window open.  It was the one he had thrown up out of earlier.  Mr. Potato Head discovers this by slipping in the vomit.  The toys make their way in and gang tackle the furball before he can start the fire.

“You might stop me, but you can’t stop us all!” he yells.

“Maybe,” Woody says, “but right now, you’re the only one here.”

And with that, the gang descends upon him.  The camera pans back and the furball begins to scream, Woody and the gang move in, ripping the furball to shreds, chunks of purple and stuffing fly about the room, and slowly, ever so slowly, the screams give way to silence.  The final scene is slinky dog’s face, a tuft of purple fur still hanging from his teeth and the camera zooms in on his cold, emotionless eyes.