Dodo Eggs

Two men sat at a table staring at one another.  They were at opposite ends of life’s spectrum.  Tim was young, sadly jaded, and hard pressed to get the information he needed.  The other an older gentleman with a flair for life and a keen understanding.  The interview wasn’t going well. 

With the mysterious Roger Kiser as his journalistic summative, Tim could get his diploma but the old man was batting his questions around again. 

Skechenko leaned back in his chair aware of Tim’s frustration.  “Really, you want to know about Roger Kiser?  Let me tell you something kid, you can’t get to the sweet part of the nut without going through the shell.”

Tim spoke into his teeth.  “Well, you got the nut part right.”

“Wicked puns will not help your cause.”  Skechenko took a deep breath.  “Kiser was always there, condemned us, participated reluctantly, scratched up a few clouds of dandruff, and went home.” 

Tim’s hair had begun to thaw and the resulting moisture resembled perspiration.  Thoughtlessly, he wiped it away.  “C’mon sir!   This was a man who was an alternate belief system and three concubines away from starting his own cult!”  
 
Skechenko tightened his lips and widened his eyes.  “He would have done no such thing.  The second he had an opportunity to break his curse he disappeared like a mom at her son’s bachelor party!”
 
“A curse?  What does that mean?”  Tim’s attitude fringed on excitement.  “Are you telling me there’s some spooky aspect to Mr. Kiser’s disappearance?”

Skechenko’s tone continued to stiffened with his posture.  “Wouldn’t you rather hear about my exploits?”

This was Tim’s twelfth session with this eccentric.  He was tired of hearing the same point of view and being harshly rejected whenever Mr. Kiser was brought up too often. 

“Skechenko sir, I know about your activities.  You have already told me about your upbringing by professional hippies or whatever.  I’ve already written two papers regarding your strange fascination for the nutritional benefits of prairie dog meat and four C minus papers on all your other twisted stories.  My professor told me that if I do another story that involves you the only signature on my degree will be yours!

Please, tell me about Roger Kiser.”

Skechenko slapped the table with his left hand then pointed at the small tape recorder with his right.  “That reminds me.  Did I mention that I used to shave patterns on the prairie dogs I raised?  I would use the designs to tell each one apart.   It’s what gave me the idea to shave advertisements on the sides of male buffaloes.”
 
The old man was doing it again.  Ignoring the direct questions and discussing whatever came to misshapen mind.  Skechenko was like a dark well where no one ever achieved the bottom.  In this case, the bottom was the whereabouts of Roger Kiser. 

“Skechenko sir,” Tim bit at the end of his eraser and resolved to try one more time.  “Sir, we all appreciate the contributions you have made to the rich heritage here in Buffalo Rind, North Dakota.  We know about your book THE TOME and the hundreds of copies it sold in Canada.  I have heard how you have appeared on at least two nationally televised game shows.  We know about the late, great Minot and Oswego’s ruined life.  We’ve read about Winny, Hulio, Swaboda, Dvorak, Hovda, Pokorny, and the others.  Who we want to know about is the man named Roger Kiser.”

Skechenko looked as if he had swallowed a rancid lemon.  “Well kiss my cancer cells!  Fine!  I guess at this point it really doesn’t matter if you know something about him. But I cannot tell you where he is now.” 

The journalism student popped a new tape into the recorder and found a pencil with a new eraser.  “Well then, what else can I ask for?”  

“There isn’t a single interesting thing to say about Roger Kilwein so you are really wasting your time.”  Skechenko’s voice had taken on a calmer more narrative tone even though he still punctuated every sentence with a strong hand movement.  “Just picture a common mannequin.  Dress him in a plaid shirt and dirty jeans add a few ill-placed birthmarks on the right side of his head and that’s him.”

Tim was jotting notes furiously.  Many had tried and failed to track down the elusive Roger Kiser.  In fact, other than the few times his photo managed to make the Buffalo Rind Press, nothing was known about him, where he came from, or were he was now.  The only people who might know were Mr. Winny and Mr. Skechenko who never spoke about their longtime friend. 

“Sir, what was he like as a person?”

Skechenko slapped his face and pulled his aged facial features down.  “Son, do you remember what I said about the mannequin?  The same goes for his personality!  There is nothing of interest there!  All he wants is to be left alone.  Untouched by heartbreak, anxiety, ambition, anger, competition, and any other stress that comes with interacting with other flawed human beings.”
 
“Ok, well, what else can you tell me, especially regarding this curse.  That seems interesting.”

“You’re not listening!”  Skechenko paused briefly.  “You see, most people like Kilwein end up a certain way.  They grow up confused about their ultimate purpose and fail to find it in immediate pleasures.  They get hooked on the same vices that their forebears stumbled into.  By early middle age, they are spending their evenings staring at a television.  They ignore their problems and abandon their ambitions as impossible dreams of youth.  They die and are forgotten.”

Skechenko saw what the young man was writing and added, “Ok, wait, maybe that wasn’t Roger’s ultimate plan but it’s close. What he really wanted was contentment.  He wanted a simple life that didn’t involve any unnecessary drama.  All he wanted was a job of intermediate significance and a place to call his own.”

Tim picked up his pencil.  “Huh?  That doesn’t make any sense!  He was an intricate part of every odd plot that was hatched.  Chaos seemed to surround him as much as it did you!”

The old man propped his arms on the table and brought his palms together in a slow and deliberate motion.  “Son, do you believe in the metaphysical?” 

When Tim failed to answer, Skechenko continued.  “Here is the way I see things, extraordinary happenings are not easy to account for.   Some heathens use the word ‘weird’ but I take offense to that.  They secure humanity’s sanity and by extension its sense of surprise by making these visits somewhat infrequent.”

The young man’s pencil had ceased scribbling.  His face had gone blank.

Skechenko dropped his hands and straightened.  “Why are you looking at me like I’m babbling?  Maybe your limited thinking is keeping you from understanding.”

“Sir, I don’t see how this has anything to do with Roger Kiser.”

“Ok then, here’s my point.”  Skechenko gave a pained smile.  “What if the stranger aspects of this world grew impatient with always being held in wait?  What would happen if the outlandish were to overwhelm the commonplace?”

Tim reached over and turned off the tape recorder.  “Sir, if you weren’t going to say anything else about your old friend then just say so.  I’m working on my fourth battery here.”

“Fine, turn your stupid tape recorder back on!”  Skechenko replaced his stern look with a scowl.  “You apparently have no taste for philosophy.”

Tim reactivated the audio recorder, picked up his pencil, and found the end of the notes he had been taking. 

Skechenko scratched his nose.  “We’ll begin this story with the odd events surrounding Roger Kiser’s journey from Arkansas.”  A slight chuckle escaped.   “You see, that’s where Roger grew up.  When he was adopted his official name was changed to Roger Boykin.  That’s why you and the others cannot find his records.  They are all under Boykin.

Then I’ll fill you in on the trip to North Dakota where we greet each other with the encouragement, ‘Hey, at least we’re not Canadian.’  Ha!  That’s funny son, at least write that in the margin.  Ok, fine then, just listen…”        

Here’s a quick book idea for anyone interested in doing the necessary research…The Encyclopedia of Sarcasm, Abusive Idioms, and Leveling Put Downs.  Written with humorous definitions and specific examples this could rocket to everyone’smost popular bathroom reading.  Heck, sitcoms have lived for hundreds of years force feeding it to audiences by the spoonful.

I’ve considered doing it but I’d end up quoting Matt Teply 389 times.  For instance…

Situation #1:  Your coworker has waltzed into your office to complain about the latest “dandruff-free” policy at your place of employment and how this chains him to white shirts even after Labor Day.  With your screen turned away from him, you start typing profantiy in the middle of your draft. 

This dolt then tells you about the speeding ticket he was tagged with this morning in his $67,000 dollar SUV.  He tells you it’s an expence he, “Just can’t afford.”  Well, look out beans and rice!

He finishes with a quick rant on taxes, the efficiency of government programs, the inconvenient orbit of Jupiter, or some other fact of life you can do nothing about.

Quotation:  “You make more noise than a squeak toy on a po-go stick.”

Additional Application:  This playful one liner is the smoothest way to tell someone to shut-up.  Its down-home appeal adds a humorous effect.  So innocuous, you could even us it on your grandma when she’s listing her health problems.

Situation #2:  You’re a male getting dressed for church, a night out, or special event.  Your wife is trying on clothes and is working herself into an “I’m self-conscious about how I look in all of my clothes” tizzy.  You need to diffuse her spiral with something other than half hearted assurances of her everlasting beauty.

Quotation:  “Does this shirt make my pectorals look too big?”

Additional Application:  The poison question every woman asks has a million variations.  Try experimenting with your own and avoid using it more than once.  How about, “Does this polo knit make me look pregnant?”

Situation #3:  A Student and/or subordinate in your charge isn’t accomplishing anything.  Perhaps they are taking too long for lunch or they are just sitting in front of their computer screen.   

Quotation:  “So this is your world famous houseplant impression?”

Additional Application:  Works wonders as a one-liner for friends who told you they would help you move then sit around eating all the snack foods and pizza you’ve set out.

Situation #4:  Your wife is pregnant and is suffering from the goodie bag of assorted maladies that come with a body turned construction site.  You want to help but you know there’s really nothing you can do after getting her water and a heating pad.  Try…

Quotation:  “Just remember darling, you’re having MY baby.  Doesn’t that make you feel better?”

Additional Application:  If your wife has even a shade of humor left about her…she’ll still kill you.  But I’m begging you.  Do it anyway.  You’ll all have a good laugh at the 50th wedding anniversary of your next marriage.     

Dumbknuckles can be found in almost any environment.  They are one of the most adaptive sub-species on the planet.  From pompous suits before a board meeting to porch sitting on a hot summer evening, you cannot predict the next dumbknuckle sighting.    
 
And remember your field assignments!  You must sight at least three dumbknuckles before our next class.  If you’re having trouble, try ecosystems where you can find fireworks with unsupervised kids, wine tasting, and terse exchanges regarding fantasy sports.   

If you’ve completed lesson one, you’re ready to move on to number two.

Scenario Two

The gyms I remember best were dirty places with a thick layer of rust and grim covering the bars and plates.  There weren’t too many windows but plenty of mirrors which you would only use in passing or if you were actually lifting something.  It was called “watching your form.”  The music came from second hand speakers or a boom box that had seen better days.

There was a machine against the far wall that no one really understood.  There was the standard pad and pulley but the pad was raised and facing one side.  I would have guessed it was an abdominal machine if there were a seat closer to the pad.  As it was, the only use I could have imagined was to rest your chest against the pad and bow at the hip.

A young kid had another idea.  After using much of the other equipment, he wandered over to the mystery machine.  He looked at it for a minute before placing his forehead against the pad and pushing it down with his neck. 

Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared.  The guy wouldn’t have known since the pad also covered his eyes.  With a grunt and teeth clenched, he worked his neck forward and back.  He was the center of attention until he finished his set, rubbed blood back into his forehead, and wandered off to the next weight machine.

 Question #1 – How would a neck as thick as a redwood impress the ladies?
 
A. It makes the nodding gesture, “That way” make her want to go “your” way.
B. A bulging neck turns girls on to giving hickeys.
C. A thicker neck makes getting thorns tattooed around your neck that much more practical.
D. Hey, a thicker neck means a deeper voice.

Question #2 – Circle the answer that best completes the sentence.

 The next muscle group this young man plans to work out would be his (ear wigglers / underarm hair follicles / self esteem estimators).

Question #3-Write a ten word essay describing your attitude toward the young man in this story.  Try using relevant prompts and comparisons such as…crash victim, better head banging, face plant, trophy mount, and making giraffes jealous.

There are a few things in life I just don’t understand.  Here’s a short sampling…

1.How binary code runs computers  (I’d lock up too if all everything I read was yes, no, yes, yes, no, no, no, no, yes, no…)

2. “Enabling” another person’s bad behavior  (If someone’s boat is taking on water, you should try plugging the hole not just bailing their water.)

3. Black Licorice (News flash!  No body likes these!  When thrown in with the rest of my jellybeans, I become angry!)

4. Modern “Dancing” – (Dancing as an art form seems to be on a downward spiral.  I’d rather watch sixteen hours of break dancing than be subjected to ten minutes of bump and grind.  I’m embarrassed for them.  Really embarrassed.)

5. Overweight kids 

It’s the new health malady for which no shot can make one immune.  It pulls the lich pin away from every other aspect of health, even so far as self-concept and confidence.  It’s hard to have self-esteem when you look in the mirror and find a middle-aged man without the body hair.

In most cases, I blame the parents.  A red-blooded kid will never choose the bran flakes over the sugar loops or the broccoli over the French fries.  It is the adult who is in charge of making responsible choices for kids who aren’t mature enough.

Of course, everyone loves junk food from chips to chocolate.  So what do you do? 

If you live life in a constant state of denial, you may end up a bit grumpy.  Life is worth a little less when you constantly deny yourself.  Besides, self-discipline of this sort is difficult to pull off with donuts and an empty stomach pulling to each other like magnets.

The key is to never buy the junk at a grocery store.  Never buy the garbage at a gas station. In fact, never buy it at all.  There is so much for free in our society that if you relegate yourself to what comes your way without cost your intake will regulate by itself.

When someone at work offers you a piece of cake, eat it.  If someone at church offers you a donut, take it.  When at a picnic and there is a bowl full of potato chips, go ahead.  If your host offers you a soda, drink it.  It’s almost rude not to accept other’s generosity.  But never, ever, buy the junk. 

Well, except for peppermint patties.  I like the sensation.   

Adulthood rule number 482.3 states, “When buying eggs at the grocery store be sure to open the carton’s lid and make sure none of the eggs are cracked.” 

It may seem strange that I should mention this but the other day I saw a ten-year-old boy leave his mother’s shopping cart to fetch eggs for her.  He dropped the carton, picked it back up, and raced over to his mother. 

Here are two stories.  One has been dropped and is no good.  The other is still in pristine condition.  Which is which?

Egg #1 – The winters in Dakota Territory can be harsh.  I’ve heard of families cramming into their refrigerator for survival when their furnace went out.  ( I’m kidding, sorta.)

On a frigid afternoon, Mama Teply asked me to take her car to the gas station for a fill up.  When I arrived, the cap on the gas tank would not twist off.  I worked it relentlessly and only managed to budge it several millimeters. 

The obvious conclusion was a frozen gas cap.  It didn’t matter that gasoline freezes at a ridiculous negative seventy.  With wind chills actually approaching that harsh number, anything was possible. 

I knew one thing for certain.  It was crazy to just stand beside my car with  Jack Frost doing a whole lot more than just nipping at my nose, ears, hands, liver, prostate…

I drove home.  Mama Teply gave me a skeptical look then sent me out with a hair dryer that I plugged into the electrical post for the block heater.  After running the hair dryer near the cap for a few minutes, I tried again.  The cap remained stubborn.

“Well,” Mama Teply began.  “Take it to Woston’s Auto Repair and ask John to help us out.”

With the gas needle slipping further through E, drove across town to Woston’s.  John was an old friend and wouldn’t have an issue taking a quick look at the problem. 

I pulled him outside and he popped the cap off with ease.  He offered me the freed cap.  “What was the problem?  Where you trying to turn it the wrong way?”

Egg #2- I never win anything.  I never, ever get to walk down the isle at faculty meetings and select from the fabulous selection of donated prizes.  When offered, I always get a ticket but it has become just a formality.  It’s a learned response like taking a donut when one is in arm’s reach.

I’ve decided that door prizes and other drawings are perks for other people to enjoy.  I no longer look as gift certificates make faces as they are presented to the two people sitting beside me. 

And yet, Mrs. Gramm has won a least three or four times.  I pondered this as she waddled up to the front and took her basket of office supplies this month. 

I bent toward Mrs. Vantiegum.  “She’s won so often the IRS is looking into her winnings and whether she needs to start paying taxes.” 

Vantiegum gave me the quick smile and nod that means, “Quiet you fool.  You’re not funny and I’m focusing all my cosmic energy into my number.”

I have come to believe there may be a genetic trait that allows us to win raffled prizes.  To test my theory, I approached Mrs. Gramm just before our next faculty meeting.

“Hello Mrs. Gramm.”  I began.  “Would you try something with me?  If I win the door prize, I’ll give it to you.  If you win, then you can give it to me.  Would you do this please?  It’s something of an experiment.”

She gave me the short “aren’t you sweet” smile.  “No, let’s just stick with the number we have.”

Sure enough, Mrs. Gramm’s number was the third one drawn and she strolled out with movie passes. 

So, in which story do you see cracks?   Chiefdodo will post the answer with the next Good Egg & Bad Egg submission.  Check Good & Bad Egg 4’s comments for its answer.

From the Desk of Norm dePlume
Dakota University – Medora Branch
Winner, DUMB’s Most Incomprehensible Syllabus Competition
Recognized as One of America’s Worst Groomed Intellectuals

To My Colleagues,

We’ve been able to take our research to the next degree.  Amidst the avalanche of neon paperwork that publicizes college bands and parties, one with a very significant typo found its way into Binko’s hands.  The bulletin announced a coming fraternity party but instead of saying “Greeks Only” it said, “Geeks Only.” 

Binko burst into his dorm room with every observable indicator of excitement.  He even dared to flutter the notice between Zits and his computer screen.  This is the only known way to rouse any belligerent reaction from Zits.  In this case, Zits simply reached up and crumpled the paper.

Binko protested.  “What are you doing?  Stop it!  That’s my ticket to hot women and fast times!”

Zits turned slowly from his game and gave Binko a deadpan look. “I still see the same feeble offering that has been turning girl’s heads the other direction for a semester now.  And the pheromones you ordered from that comic book spilt and now we have almost ten thousand mice!”

“But these woman could be intoxicated!  It’ll be dark.  I’m three times better looking in the dark.”

Zits declined the offer leaving Binko to try the social extravaganza on his own. 

I recruited two members of my study team and secured entry to the party for them. 

Note to Auditor:  The $258 dollars in grant money spent on alcohol was for this purpose.  Please remember, most grad students have a low attractiveness rating and I had to make the fraternity a serious offer.

Here, Binko made an important adaptation.  He approached the party from the back where the band entered.  Binko was dressed in boots, a black T-shirt, and khaki shorts.  He was still noticeably shorter and less visibly appealing but his camouflage was enough to gain entrance.  Binko simply picked up a speaker and slid in through the rear doors.

The remainder of the evening went less successfully.  Flushed with his initial success, Binko began advancing on three women at a time, saying, “I’m in the band,” and offering himself like a cheese platter.  The kind hearted ladies laughed; others took defensive positions behind furniture.

At the Control Center, the video from our agent’s cameras brought a few to an emotional reaction.   They were distressed to watch Binko experience rejection after rejection many times before he was able to get a word out.

“This is just like watching a nature show where you want the cute little antelope to escape the lion but you know it won’t.  Or the little mice chewing on a bit of corn becomes lunch for a mean snake.  Only Binko isn’t cute but it still hurts to watch.”

Binko’s long hair and well-developed coping skills will allow him to survive.  For the Male Research Team, it was another lesson in Nature’s uncompromising ways. 

On behalf of the my team,

Dr. Norm dePlume    

A huddled figure raced to his destination under a heaven full of motionless stars.  They twinkled a bit, the only things moving in a town frozen into suspended animation.  It would be hours before the sun would rise on the tableland of western North Dakota even then it would stay cold enough to punish those planted here by fate. 
   
 “There’s n-no colder place in the galaxy than Buffalo Rind, North Dakota.”

One hard sniff followed another and then another.  This kind of weather made Tim’s nose run and run and run.  It was a clear indication that man was not designed to exist in such a frigid environment.  

But Tim was one of the smart ones.  Once he graduated, he would find money and warmer temperatures in Nebraska.

Tim stopped his thinking to sniff again.  He had forgotten to plug his block heater in last night and now he was stuck walking. 

He had text messaged a friend of his at We-Know-Pizza asking her to send a pizza to his address.  It wound up arriving a minute or two before he did.  He caught the pizza dude just as he was walking back to his van. 

Tim completely forgot to go back and plug in his block heater.

 “It didn’t matter.”  Anther sniff, his nose was driving him crazy.  “Morons put the wrong toppings on again!  I order Canadian bacon and those wonks put bacon on again.  Don’t they understand that Canadian bacon means ham!  Shouldn’t my local pizza professional know that?  What could possibly be in their employee handbook?!” 

He reached up to scratch his head and finally smiled.  When he rushed out the door that morning his hair had still been wet from the shower.  Now that it was frozen into place his scalp felt covered by a bed of frozen needles.
 
A block later, he left the sidewalk and approached a series of rather depressed looking apartments.  These living quarters were designed for purpose and cost efficiency, not for aesthetic appeal.  The dormant, bare shade trees and sparse shrubbery were planted to soften the obtrusively box-like shape.  They failed.  The shadows cast by streetlights and these sorrowful plants added the only variance to the long worn siding.  Most windows were dark or glowed with turquoise light of a television set left on because no one bothered to turn it off.

Before opening the door, Tim took the largest breath possible.  The smells inside were stale and reminded him of an existence without care.  People lived here desperate for their next distraction, their next anything. 
 
At least it was warm.  He advanced down the dim hallway to a door unmistakably marked with a hundred different postings and warnings.  Some were nailed, some taped, and one appeared to be super glued.  Many overlapped and obscured others.  The gist was clear; the occupant of this apartment wants nothing to do with you, your friend, your mother, or your puppy.

  The knock was a combination of sorts.  Tim struck with force twice, then softly three times, and verbally said, “knock, knock, knock” three times.  He could only guess that this elaborate announcement allowed Skechenko to create an aura of importance.  It was still pretty stupid.  

An odd voice both forceful and quick with an eager tone pushed its way through the door.  “What’s the magic mantra?”

Tim had done this before.  He took a deep breath and harshly whispered.  “Some people are only smart enough to breed.  This point I will concede.”

Several bolts were slid back before the door flew open. 

Skechenko was a tall and broad man his body seemed in denial of its age.  He wore polo shirt and blue jeans both name brand and expensive.  His nose was slightly bulbous and easily the most prominent feature on his face.  His head was crowned with amazing waves of naturally gray hair and his eyes had the look of an interested predator.      

He gave Tim the wide welcoming smile he had used flawlessly for years.  “Well, round mounds my son!  Come in.” 

“Sir, I’m still not sure what that’s supposed to mean.”

Skechenko gave the young man a pat on the back.  “To be honest with you Tim, I’m disappointed you care.”

The apartment was unchanged from Tim’s last visit.  There was a small living room that opened into a kitchen the size of a walk in closet.  A hallway opposite the kitchen led to the bedrooms and a small bathroom.  Between the countless boxes and plastic storage containers the carpeted areas were worn and dirty.  Newspapers were tacked to the wall along with sideways black and white photographs.  The only clear space was the old table and chairs set in a bumped out breakfast nook.        

Tim stepped in front of his host and walked to the table where he set down his satchel.  It only took Tim a few moments to set up his micro-tape recorder and lay out a large yellow legal pad filled with notes.  Most had been scratched out as useless.

Skechenko took the seat directly across from his interviewer.  For the past few weeks, Timothy Wojik had gathered information from Skechenko for a biographical paper but the old man knew the truth.  Both men understood that Tim was fishing for information about a local folk legend, a Mr. Roger Kiser. 

The disappearance of Mr. Kiser happened almost twenty years ago.  By now, it became something of a local mystery and the only two people that could possibly know his whereabouts were Skechenko and a loony named Mr. Samuel “Winny” Hamastead.  

Once both men had settled in, Time began. “Oooookkkk, last time we met we were discussing the ads you had taken out in several major papers.  These classifieds encouraged readers to send small amounts of money to your personal address to support a fictional tree planting foundation.”  Tim scanned his notes.  “Let’s see, the Money Tree Foundation.”

“Everyone knows I used 15% of the money raised to plant trees.  My overhead wasn’t that unusual for high profile charities.  You’ve got to pay to attract the best management.”

 “You were the only one on staff.”

 “Trees were planted.  It’s one of nature’s miracles.  Don’t you believe in miracles, Tim?” 

“Indeed I do, especially once you throw in your making peace with the IRS and the avoidance of jail time.  Would you like to elaborate on any of this?”

“No, not really.  I told you that last time you were here.”

Tim coughed and flipped a few pages further.  “Ah yes, a couple of days ago we discussed your scheme to hire sorority s as double agents.  Um, let’s see, the idea was to gather data about a particular female’s preferences and then feed that information to desperate guys eager for a conversational starter and the appearance of kismet.  In some instances their likes and dislikes were posted on line…let’s see, Date-with-a-headstart.com? ” 

Skechenko folded his hands and assumed a rather hammy look.  “That was Oswego’s idea.  I would never knowingly participate in such a retched, vile, and utterly ridiculous plot.” 

Tim nodded and tapped his pencil.  “I see.  Well then, maybe you can fill me in on what role Roger Kiser played?”

Note: Thanks for reading. Buffalo Rind will continue next Saturday.

Pro-Activity, Cooperative Retroflexing, Synchronous Omni-Market Approach, Executive Plastic Surgery…This is the Verbiage that makes DodoEggs.com the world leader in typos and misspellings.
Less Comprehension for a Brighter Tomorrow!

Dear Employees,

We don’t have any women on staff here at DodoEggs.com.  Thusly, I have modified all female bathrooms in our Manhattan office building to equestrian centers for miniature ponies.  The pony near my office is just for me so if I catch anyone riding Glue Stick I’ll take all the glitter out of the grooming kits on your floor.  I’m talking to you Eugene!

Back to the point…Our legal department has informed me that we need a sexual harassment policy to protect any strange women who deliver food or walk into our offices by accident. 

I don’t want there to be any confusion.  Women want to be noticed and have their hair, clothes, and eyes complimented BUT NOT if you fall into any of the following categories: ugly, creepy, short, fat, clumsy, wart-ridden, or uncontrollable facial hair.  I’m still talking to you Eugene!

The following list contains derogatory names that I think are so funny you can use them.  None of you were planning on running for public office anyway.

“Sugarbritches” – Cock one eyebrow up a bit as you say this for maximum effect.  If you’ve got an oiled, pencil-thin mustache, that would help.

“Lovebutt” – Shortened from the Latin phrase, “I love your butt.”  The meaning is largely maintained in its current from.  Always remember, girls love to know you like their butt.

“Trancechest” — Women love to be called by this name. It assures them that there are other parts of the body we can focus on during a conversation besides her eyes.

“Ginger Crotch”– First used by Randy Vanentino during his career in silent films. This surefire line will almost make her heart burst with affection.  In some countries the phrase is “Ginger Genitals.” Be sure to ask your travel agent.

Please remember, if the female becomes hostile tell her you work for ChickenPoop.com.

Grandma Josephine Teply was the only great-grandparent I ever came to know on a personal level.  She was a kind, soft-spoken lady who lived for many years in a trailer home behind her son.  As a young boy, I would spend afternoons with her playing cards or other games. 

When she died they had an estate sale that confused me even at the age eleven.  I knew she had nothing.  During the last years of her life she didn’t even own a car.  The sale was a small affair and was over in less than a few hours. 

In a left over pile of garbage, I found a cheap jewelry box with broken bits of costume jewelry inside.  One item was a plastic horse head from a chess set.  It was small and lightweight and taped to the bottom was something metal.

“Cool.”  I mumbled as I tore the tape away.  “I hope it’s a magnet.”

Instead I found something infinitely cooler.  It was a small silver coin with a date from the mid 19th century.  Even at that point in my life, I had a fascination for currency and coins.  If it had been American, I would have identified it right away.

A wax impression of the token was sent to a company specializing in rare coins.  We received a letter in reply indicating the token was from Bohemia.  Aristocrats of the time would disperse these coins as propaganda along parade routes.  The commoners would then use them as currency.  No real value was associated with the small, silver token just the weightiness of being the only substantive link to my European heritage.  (Teply is the Bohemian word for warm.)  
 
Years later, the coin has disappeared.  It was the victim of frequent moves and family upheaval.

Money flies faster than time.  I’ve lost thousands of dollars buying a home then selling it on a whim to move.  Huge amounts of money has been squandered on a college guy’s vain pursuits.  I’ve wrecked cars that were given to me for free, which forced me to purchase one.  I’ve rented to deadbeats, bought gym memberships I haven’t used, and purchased hundreds of CDs that didn’t age well. 

And yet the most frustrating thing to me remains the loss of something that cannot be replaced…history.

Rejection Letter from the Publishers of Greater Homes and Gardens

DodoEggs.com Staff,

Thank you for your recent submission to our magazine.  Our sponsors and subscribers demand better than the absolute garbage you sent us and in a No Postage Necessary If Mailed In The US envelope as well!

Our magazine is already 66% ad material, 23% pretty pictures, and 10% stuff we steal from Eastern European publications.  If your submissions do not fall into one of these categories then don’t bother.
 
The self important staff at Greater Homes and Gardens likes to keep a bulletin board across from the toilet where we post the worst ideas for our magazine’s features.  Yours has been pinned to the top for five weeks straight.  It even beat out a personal favorite “Teddy Bears and Nooses, New Arrangements for Spring.”

We have returned your letter to you and washed our hands in lavender soap.

****************************************************

Does the uplifting feeling that comes with giving a dollar to your church or charity get old?  Do you often wish there was a convenient way to offer the state additional funds?  Try instant lottery tickets!  Your receipt is often well decorated with foil and empty promises.  Plus, you can buy (donate) as much as your generosity allows.

Here, we offer additional uses for used lottery tickets.

10. Glued on backing for your mother’s worst recipes.

9. Wallet thickener to give the ladies the right impression.

8. Coasters with just enough pizazz to impress your low-end friends.  What a conversation starter!

7. Bait to lure stupid leprechauns.  They keep confusing them for their imagninary pot o’ gold! 

6. Nesting material for the hamster that has everything.

5. Identifying rows of marijuana in your garden without alerting the authorities.  Don’t worry, I won’t tell.

4. Create a scrapbook using the tickets as mementos from your favorite gas station.  “Man, that was a great fill-up!”

3. Labeling pyrite, otherwise known as fool’s gold.   (Note to DodoEggs.com readers: I was running out of ideas here.)

2. Getting the attention of ugly strippers.  (And definatly here.)

1. Book marking your place in the personal finance book you received for Christmas.