Tag Archives: humor

Barkley, Mister Hooper and the Farm

He’d left his giant pile of Legos and I’d gotten so used to the noise of him rooting through for specific pieces that the silence pulled my attention out of my book. He was looking out the window watching the rain.

“Guess no playground today, huh dad?”

“Probably not, kiddo. It’s raining pretty hard.”

He went back to the Legos and started sifting through again. I have to give him credit, he handles bad news well.

“Okay, how about we dip into the yard sale stuff?” He perked up instantly and ran to the closet where we keep the “new” toys I yard sale for him. I get so much that my wife and I decided to keep a storage closet of toys for when he deserves a reward or something. It keeps him from being overwhelmed by all of the toys at once and kind of makes it fun for everyone.

“Okay, we have some superheroes, this stack of books, some old wooden puzzles…”

“Wooden puzzles!” he exclaims. I pull down the stack and hand them to him. “Why are they wood? Wood’s so heavy.”

“That’s what some of the puzzles were like when I was a kid. As a matter of fact, I had this one as a kid!”

I found the Sesame Street puzzle and pull it from the pile. Instantly I remember playing with this one in the 70s with my dad and mom. He looks at it and looks up at me.

“You had this one? You watched Sesame Street? Did you love Elmo too?”

“There was no Elmo when I was a kid. But yes, I loved the show. I used to ask for aqua instead of water, that’s how much I watched it.”

I love how slow and deliberate he is with new toys. Any other kid would dump the pieces out, start the puzzle and then move on to another, leaving this one for me to clean up. But not him. He runs his hands across the shiny wood, feels the little knobs and then starts naming Muppets.

“Big Bird!”

“Yup.”

“Grover?”

I nod. Then he comes across the big, shaggy white, orange and brown dog.

“Who is this? I don’t know this dog!”

“That’s Barkley. I don’t know if he’s on the show anymore. I haven’t seen him. I’m surprised I remembered his name!”

He frowns and looks at me. “Where did he go?”

“Um…maybe he moved to a farm.”

“Were there others who moved to the farm?”

“Mister Hooper…kind of.”

He starts pulling the knobs and realizes there are more characters behind them. “Whoa! Oscar was behind Big Bird! Look there’s Big Bird’s nest!” I smile. I can’t believe I remember this puzzle so clearly. I must have been three or four when we had it. “There’s The Count! One! Ha ha ha…” I try not to laugh at his impression. It’s not very good. “Cookie Monster! He’s eating a cookie! I hope he ate his carrots first!” I find that a little disturbing, but only a bit.

He goes through each piece, looking at what’s behind it and then gently placing it back until he’s checked them all twice, then pushes it away.

“Want to do another? I have a Bert and Ernie one, Cabbage Patch Kids and Wuzzles.”

“What’s a Wuzzle?”

“I have no legitimate answer to that,” I say.

In the Middle of Nowhere

The car was broken down, and while Jennie and I were sulking, Doris and Roy were sitting on a log chuckling to themselves, having a little picnic with the brown bag of goodies Doris had bought at the five and dime. She ate half the apple and then handed it over to Roy.

“I have another one if you want,” she said to me, and I just shook my head. I couldn’t understand how they were so calm. Roy’s car was busted and we hadn’t seen a car in the whole two hours since it broke down.

“Aren’t you guys worried we’re stuck here?” Jennie asked her.

“Nope,” Doris said with confidence. “Someone will come along soon, I’m sure.”

“That’s my girl!” Roy responded. “Always the optimist! Isn’t it beautiful here? I don’t miss the hustle and bustle of the city.”

I can’t believe I just heard Roy actually say that. In the fifteen years I’d known him he’d never been this relaxed. Or this happy.

“What will we do come nightfall?”

Doris smiled as she rooted through the bag to the bottom and pulled out a few pieces of penny candy and offered them around. Jennie took one and listening to her unwrap it was wearing on my nerves. “We could sleep in the car! Roy, you have blankets in the trunk, right? The ones we keep for emergency picnics?” He nodded as he pulled a toy pipe out of his pocket and started pouring bubbles into it. “Wait, you bought it?” she asked him.

“Yup.” At that he put it to his mouth and bubbles started to explode out of the plastic piece of junk.

“But it won’t come to that,” Doris added. “Someone will come.”

I couldn’t take this much longer. What would we do, huddle up in the car under a tiny blanket, shared by each couple? Doris and Roy were bananas if they thought I would get a good night of sleep in that jalopy that couldn’t even handle a simple drive to Cape May. Doris and Roy started whispering and giggling to each other in that loving way. The way they always do it.

Jennie came over and sat next to me. It wasn’t long before she started whispering to me, copying off of them.

“Aren’t they so cute?”

“Sure, sure. They’re cute, and they don’t seem to mind we might die out here.”

“Oh come on. Why don’t we whisper like that anymore?”

“Anymore?”

“Yes! We were just like them when we met.”

I thought back and had to agree, we probably were. But not as annoying. Just to shut her up and reached up and held the back of her hair a bit, pulling her in for a kiss. She smiled. I rose.

“Should I start foraging? Maybe there’s an apple tree or something nearby.”

Doris looked in my direction. “Everything will be fine, Raymond. You’ll see.”

At that I heard the backfire of a truck in the distance, and a tow truck came into view around the bend. Doris stood up and brushed some dirt and leaves off the back of her skirt and smiled at me.

Goats Can Be Heroic, Too

“This is the part of the zoo where you can feed the animals,” mom told us as we walked to the cage. “Only feed them these pellets. Dennis, are you listening?”

My older brother had that smile at just the edges of his mouth, the one that meant trouble. Mom put a hand on each of his shoulders in an attempt to grab his attention. “Did you hear me?” His fake smile appeared and she fell for it. Again.

I was the good one. My brother was always causing my parents trouble, and I hated seeing my mom cry over his ridiculous antics. He always came home with unexplained bruises and cuts, or being chased by older, faster kids. My mom automatically defended him against upset neighbors, teachers, and officers. So I always tried to keep my nose clean. It just seemed fair. She worked so hard around the house, and my dad was always on emergency calls, being the town doctor.

After doling out half of the little pellets she got out of the penny machine to feed animals, she sat down on a nearby bench. It wasn’t even two seconds before Dennis ran out of the pellets, which of course he was throwing at a duck that was more interested in dodging them than eating them, before he came and wrenched my wrist to steal mine. Luckily I knew him well enough to expect this and had pocketed a few as soon as my mom handed them out.

“Hey!” was all I said. I turned to my mother, who heard my cry and looked up, so I just smiled and waved. It just wasn’t worth getting her upset. I turned my attention back to Dennis, who was easy to spot in the crowd considering he was wearing the same red and white-striped shirt as me. I carefully followed behind (he’d caught me following him once and I could still feel phantom bruises from that lesson) and watched as he pelted a little lamb with the rest of the food before he came upon the goat.

He approached the fence where this huge billy goat stood almost eye to eye with Dennis (if memory serves it had a few inches on him, but you know how memories become distorted) and Dennis instantly reached his hand through the large spaces between the wire and yanked the creature’s beard, pulling it closer. I could see from my vantage point that the goat’s eyes widened. I was pretty sure we weren’t supposed to be pulling the animal’s fur. Dennis looked around for something to feed it but only discovered the lid to an aluminum can someone had thoughtlessly discarded from a packed lunch.

“Eat it!” Dennis said to the goat, who kept moving its mouth away from the garbage. “Come on! Goats eat trash, I know it. Eat the can!”

I’d watched Dennis bully people my whole life, including myself, and I couldn’t stand it. Even the boys bigger than him always took the worst of it in a fight. What chance did this goat have?

The goat opened its mouth to make a noise and Dennis’ quick reflexes had the lid in the poor creature’s mouth before a sound came out. The sides of the lid were sharp and may have cut the goat, I have no clue, but it made a screaming sound, lunged at Dennis’ hand and grabbed it between its teeth. Dennis screamed out “Mommy!” and of course she came running. I tried not to laugh when I realized my brother was crying, actually crying, and when my mom ran up and looked at his hand, she saw teeth marks.

“Oh Dennis, come on. Look at your hand! It didn’t even break the skin.”

He was sniffling and snot started running down his face. I never thought I’d see the day that anyone or anything would get the best of my older brother, the terror of our neighborhood.

“Billy,” my mother called to me. “We’re going to sit on the bench. Come find us when you’re ready to go.”

I nodded and reached into my pocket, pulling out the few pellets I’d saved from my brother. The goat backed away, but I used my best soothing voice and said “Come here, boy.” The goat approached and I reached my hand through the fence with the pellets in my hand and fed my new hero.

The Road Not Taken (By the Undead)

The Road Not Taken (By the Undead)

By Robert Frost and Dennis Finocchiaro

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, zombies on my trail,
And sorry I could not travel both not knowing which was safe,
And be one traveler, long I stood worried I would fail,
And looked down one as far as I could looking for detail
To where it bent in the undergrowth; I must avoid the zombie strafe.

Then took the other, as just as fair, because I had to choose,
And having perhaps the better claim, of safety and deliverance,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear; no mark of dragging feet or shoes,
Though as for that the passing there seemed safe as I could muse,
Had worn them really about the same, I hoped I had a chance.

And both that morning equally lay two bodies long decaying,
In leaves no step had trodden black. But trails of blood there lay,
Oh, I kept the first for another day! In hope there’d be no slaying,
Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I found one creature buffeting,
I doubted if I should ever come back, to try the other way.

I shall be telling this with a sigh that my knife did seep into it’s brain,
Somewhere ages and ages hence: it’s former soul did feel my blade,
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— much in vain,
I took the one less traveled by, and a zombie I have slain,
And that has made all the difference in this, my long crusade.

The Z Word, my first published novel is available now here.  Make sure you like it on facebook by clicking HERE. Feel free to come by and post any zombie poetry you write on our page!

And yes, I know I’m going to literary hell for what I have done to this classic poem. It’s all in good fun.

18 Miles of Books

He approached her.

“Look, we have the same book.”

She looked at the book in his hand and nodded. “Is this the part where we realize we have all these things in common and then fall in love, like we’re in some romantic comedy?”

His smile flickered but he regained his composure.

“I know you saw me with it and picked it up.”

She frowned. “I did not.”

“Mhmm. Next you’re going to tell me Eggers is your favorite author and you’ve read all his books and love him. And it will be a lie.”

“I HAVE read all of his books. This is a gift for a friend.”

“Mine too.”

She wrinkled her nose at him and then cracked a smile. “Of all the bookstores in all the world, you had to walk into mine. And bug me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, this is your bookstore? You must be wealthy. I’ve heard there are over sixteen miles of books here.”

“Eighteen. But who’s counting?”

He laughed and she cracked a smile.

“You’re kind of a wise ass, aren’t you?”

She fidgeted with her book and scraped the ground with the tip of her left Puma. “Maybe a little.”

“I like that.”

She reached into her bag to look for something.

“Oh I didn’t ask for your number yet.”

“That’s fine,” she said as she pulled out a copy of an old Jacques Cousteau book. “I wasn’t offering. I am planning on going to the park to read my book.”

His eyebrows raised again and his face gained a look of surprise. “You won’t believe this but –“ he reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a different but just as worn Cousteau book.

Now she looked surprised but tried to hide it by picking up a random vintage book from a nearby shelf.

“Ever read this one?”

“Nope. Is it good?”

“Quite.”

“Maybe you could read it to me in bed tonight.”

An older woman who was clearly eavesdropping from across the aisle dropped her book and shuffled away, mumbling to herself.

“Why sir, how forward of you!” she said with a giggle.

His smile started to grow as well. “Well…I was just…er…” he started cracking up and her face broke out into laughter as well. She fell to the floor, shaking with giggles as he collected himself and offered her a hand.

“Had enough of this little game?” she asked him as she accepted his hand and stood.

“Sure. You laughed first though,” he said as he pulled her to her feet.

“No way! It was totally you!”

She looked into his eyes and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“Let’s go home.”

 

Birdwatching on Bicycles in Bilborough

“Let the first trip of the Birds and Bicycles Club begin!” announced Randolph Harrison Thursby to his companions. They all clapped lightly yet with enthusiasm as one of them took a photograph to capture the moment. Rand bowed and waved a hand as the small group of seven mounted their rides and stood, waiting for him to climb aboard his 1955 Regency De Luxe Tourist, his pride and joy.

“Binoculars at the ready?” asked Ruby Merriweather, his best friend since they were children, equaling over twenty years of friendship. Many of her boyfriends over the years were a bit jealous of their relationship; so jealous, in fact that she had yet to marry.

The other members of the group nodded or grumbled accordingly, eager to move on.

Rand jumped to the pedals and gave a slight push forward, the strap of his binoculars across his chest, the binoculars bumping into his back lightly as he pedaled.

Ruby placed a packed lunch and her binoculars into the small basket on the front of her B.S.A. Keep Fit bicycle, a gift from Rand when it was brand new only two years ago, the same as his bicycle.

She pedaled hard to catch up to Rand as they left the others behind by a few meters.

“So what did you make in the packed lunch?” Rand asked, nodding towards her basket, taking a break from scanning the nearby trees along the path searching for birds.

“Fish and chips,” she replied with a laugh.

He looked at her with one eyebrow raised. “Now I know that’s not true.”

“And how would you know that?”

“Because you know I don’t like fish. That’s how I know.”

“Oh Randolph, you know me too well.”

The others fell behind a bit as one of them, an elderly gentleman named William Williamson pointed towards a grove of trees and stopped his bicycle. In the distance the group let their bikes drop as they all peered through binoculars, except for William who used his Brownie 127 to capture an image of the fowl.

Rand and Ruby failed to notice as they were ahead of the group. When Ruby turned and realized they were alone, she broached a subject long on her mind but had to build up her courage to ask.

“Rand,” she shook a little as she asked. “Why is it, do you think, that neither of us ever married?”

“Well, you’re too choosy, let’s face it. I set you up with that fellow Edward, he was perfect! But you found flaws.”

She sighed. “And what about you?”

He continued scanning the sky and pedaling. “Dunno. Haven’t found the right bird, I guess.”

“It doesn’t seem that you try very hard.”

“Maybe not,” he said as he braked. “Look!” After gently placing his bike on its side he twisted his body so that the binoculars swung around from his back to his front and caught them in one smooth motion, holding them to his eyes. His finger moved the focus dial as he aimed at the top of a nearby tree. “I think…I think it’s a rare one!”

Ruby propped her bicycle on the kickstand and pulled out her viewers. Aiming in the same general direction as Rand she moved them around a bit and finally spotted the bird. She gasped.

“It’s a Black Redstart! So rare!”

“I knew it! Just remember, I spotted it first. Everyone!” he called to the others before realising they were all gone. “Where did they go?”

“They fell behind ages ago. Williamson spotted something and they stopped.”

“Drat! They’re going to miss this Redstart. They don’t hang around long. Have you ever seen one?”

“I don’t even know anyone who has, to be honest,” she replied.

They both watched the creature in silence. It hopped from one branch to a lower one and froze as it spotted them. They both felt as if it were looking directly at them as they savored the moment.

“Wow, Phoenicurus ochruros. What a magnificent creature.”

He smiled and looked at Ruby. “Absolutely beautiful.”

She looked at him and smiled and he failed to notice her cheeks become the tiniest bit red.

“What do you say we head up that path and try that lunch you’ve made us?”

They both turned to look at the bird, its little orange belly still facing them as it watched them a moment longer, cocked its head and took off, flying out of sight.

*  *  *

The bicycles in the story:

Special thanks to Tracy of this blog for mailing me the photograph all the way from London, England that inspired the story.

Everything I Needed to Know I Learned From 80s Cartoons

Dennis Finocchiaro is the author of a few novels and loves everything 80s.

 

“Everything I needed to learn about being a good person I learned from 80s cartoons.”

“Really,” she responded with obvious dubiousness, one eyebrow raised and a sly grin on her face.

“Sure. G.I. Joe taught me to resolve my arguments with peace. And not to talk to strangers. And any other number of lessons. They had public service announcements after each episode. I learned from Slimer and the Ninja Turtles, Mickey Mouse and everyone else to say no to drugs thanks to Cartoon All Stars to the Rescue. I learned to treat my family right and to be good to people in general thanks to the television shows I watched.”

“Smurfs?”

“Of course! They were the kindest most congenial beings ever created. I can’t even watch them now…they’re so pure. It makes me sick.”

She laughed. “Okay what about He-Man? What could you possibly learn from him?”

“Are you kidding? Orko always caused some sort of trouble that I learned from. Don’t eavesdrop, don’t meddle, etc. That show had lessons after it just like G.I. Joe.”

“Okay, what about your precious Transformers? What could you possibly learn from them?”

“Seriously? They taught me the importance of doing the right thing, being a good guy instead of a Decepticon. Come on. Optimus Prime showed wisdom in every choice he made. I learned what a great leader possesses.”

She shook her head. “You’re ridiculous. Bugs Bunny?”

“That wasn’t 1980s, although I did watch it.”

“So what did you learn?”

“Not to fuck with a road runner? I dunno. That technically was the 70s and doesn’t count. The 80s were all about purity. Learning lessons. Being a good person. If I didn’t know better, I would think Humanists were running children’s programming.”

“Snorks? Centurions? Biskits? Shirt Tales?”

“Are you kidding me? You have got to be kidding. Snorks were practically an offshoot of Smurfs. Same comments apply. And the others? Trust me, every 80s cartoon was about teaching kids right from wrong.”

She looked at me across the table with pure seriousness.

“So you’re saying you don’t think kids need to go to church, so long as they watch 80s cartoons?”

“Exactly.

Valentine’s Day is For Suckers (And I Guess I’m One of Those Suckers)

“It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Yup.”

I’d never been a fan of Valentine’s Day, honestly. It’s a Hallmark scam. It’s a holiday that is celebrated once a year to show someone you love them when that’s something you should show them a little more often than that. Maybe not so often as daily, but not so rarely as once a year. Also, who wants to do what’s expected of them? I would much rather give someone flowers for no reason and as a surprise; it’s more fun than sending them a dozen roses at work on a day where everyone gets roses at work.

“Am I going to get flowers?”

“I gave you flowers last week. Remember? I surprised you with them.”

“But what about Valentine’s flowers?”

“What, so you can show everyone at work that you got flowers? Lame. You could show them the flowers I get you randomly any other week. Why do you need flowers today?”

We both think quite differently. She enjoys having a caring and loving boyfriend and wants everyone to know about me, about us. It’s cute, honestly.

People are often surprised at how little I care for Valentine’s Day. I’m an obvious hopeless romantic and everyone knows it, especially my girlfriend. And I think that’s why I just can’t get behind the idea of celebrating your love for someone once a year when you could be enjoying it more often.

Her big blue eyes are widened with excitement as we sit on her leather couch and discuss this. I can see anticipation in them . She is sure I wouldn’t have let her down on this holiday of romance.

“So what, just because you want to show off to your single friends that you have a caring and loving boyfriend, I should go all out when you know I’m against everything this day stands for?”

“Yup. And FYI it’s not just for the single friends. It’s for everyone.”

I think about the valentine I made her sitting on the table in the other room, cleverly hidden under today’s paper. A simple one I made on the computer using the design program I work with daily. A picture of me giving the thumbs up. The words, I may hate Valentine’s Day but I don’t hate you in big letters on the inside. The cute but inexpensive earrings I got her, mostly because I felt obliged to get her something she could wear today at work so when people asked she could show them.

“So what, you expect me to believe you did nothing in anticipation of today?”

I think of the full breakfast I made her while she was still asleep in bed, simmering on a low flame in the kitchen, her favorite: French Toast with blueberries. A fresh coffee brewing.

“You know how I don’t love this day.”

“But you’re a romantic.”

And yes, I think of the delivery man bringing her flowers at work, even though I think it’s a terribly common idea. Her favorite flowers, no less.

I smile at her as she expectantly waits for me to produce some kind of gift. She hands me a package, carefully and artfully wrapped in the comics section of the newspaper.

“I know how you don’t like this day, and how you think it’s a scam to sell heart covered things, so I used the comics.”

I open it and it’s a beautiful writing journal with my name etched on the front.

“I know you would want something useful, not fabricated to make Hallmark more money. So I decided on this.”

She knows me well.

“And I also know you got me stuff. I can smell French Toast, and coffee, and I know you probably made me a card, and you got me something. So come on, out with it!” Her smile is almost cocky, and this whole moment reminds me how much I love her.

She knows me too well.

“It’s somewhere in this room, right now you’re cold.”

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY

Dust

Image by Danielle Suzanne Photography.

“You’re going to miss me, right?”

She finally said it. Susie had been wondering if Tine would ever actually verbalize it, or if she would continue to keep her feelings bottled up.

“I love you Tine. You know that. I’m not going to go off to college and forget you.”

She shifted her weight on the old table in their secret place, an abandoned home on the outskirts of town. Her slight movement brought up a small cloud of dust. She sighed and then coughed a little when she inhaled. They laughed.

“We really should have cleaned this place up when we found it. When was that, eight years ago?”

“At least,” Susie said with a smile. “Right after we became blood sisters.”

Tine’s shoulders drooped a bit.

“I wish I could go away to school. But-“

Susie pushed Tine’s long curly hair behind her ear. “Your mom needs you. Nobody would be around to take care of her. You’re making a huge sacrifice, but it’s one of love.”

Tine tried to look her in the eye but only made it up to the blue and white stripes of her shirt. “I’m afraid I’ll resent her. I’ll keep seeing your facebook statuses, and everyone else’s and I’ll be able to see every single little thing about living away at school that I’m missing. I’ll see it but never experience it.”

Susie didn’t know what to say to her. What could she say? She noticed the handprints they kept leaving in the dusty surface of the table. The room was littered with their handprints from the past eight years.

“I’m sorry. You’ll visit me though, right? And I’ll make sure you have a whole semester’s worth of fun in a weekend!”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll even get you laid.”

At that Tine started laughing and shoved her in a hard but playful way, forcing Susie to jump off the table and land on her feet.

“Bitch!” she said with a humor-filled tone so Tine would know she was kidding. “Now I’m only going to hook you up with ugly guys!”

Tine started laughing at looked at her watch.

“I should really go. Mom will need to eat soon. And I have some chores.”

Susie walked over to her and took her hand. “You’re my best friend, Tine. And nothing will ever change that.” Tine held on for a brief moment and then made her way to the door.

“Love you.”

She stopped with her hand on the knob and didn’t turn back. “Love you, too.”

“I Wish I Had My Very Own Luck Dragon”

“Huh?” I asked her.

“A luck dragon, it’s-“

“I know what a luck dragon is, silly,” I interrupted.

She smiled. “Of course you do.”

“Would you name him Falcor?”

“No, duh! That’s too obvious. I’d name him…”

“Lucky?” I guess.

“No! That’s not what I was going to say.”

I give her a knowing look and she tries to hide in her oversized gray sweater-hoodie. After a few attempts to disappear under the hood she peeks out. I can tell from her eyes she’s smirking.

“You were totally going to say Lucky, weren’t you.”

“Yup,” she whispers.

“So would you ride him through Fantasia?”

“Who said he’s a he?”

“You just did. You called him a he. He’s a he.”

She thinks about it and shoves me a little. “Wise ass.”

“So what would you do with your luck dragon not-named-Lucky?”

She pokes her head out of the hood, more like the turtle in Neverending Story than a luck dragon. “First I’d scratch him behind the ear. They love that. Then we’d go for a ride and I’d see the city from above.”

“Well you better wear a coat. It’s only 20 degrees out.”

“Of course.”

“Where would you keep him?”

“You don’t keep a luck dragon, silly. He’s your friend. He’d be free to fly. Experience. Explore. Conquer. But he’d still show up whenever I need him most.”

“Really?”

“It’s just what luck dragons do. You know this.”

“I do.”

“You’re just messing with me.”

“Yup. I can totally see why you would want a luck dragon.”

“It’s not to skip out on tolls.”

“I know.”

“Or avoid traffic.”

“Or red lights. I know.”

“It’s just about the magic. That childhood tendency to fall in love with films.”

She sighs and pulls the sweater a little tighter.

“Come on. Let’s go get you some ice cream.”

Inspired by the most amazing post on Indyink here.