Rainbow Association

Blue came moping into the meeting an hour late and carrying nothing but a book of Walt Whitman’s poetry. He sat at the table and put his head in his hands waiting for the inevitable rebuke. Red immediately stood and screamed in his direction, “BLUE! You are an hour late! This is an important meeting! WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?” Blue kept his head in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut against Red’s tirade. He finally raised his eyes to meet Red’s and whispered an apologetic “Sorry.” Yellow leapt under the table the instant Red began screaming, while Green leaned towards Blue to see what book he had brought with him. Pink’s chair was the only empty chair, but no one was surprised. Pink liked to make a “Grand Entrance”. Violet was fuming in the corner, refusing to sit at the table. Orange was embarrassed. Indigo stood silently against the wall and blended in with the background; unnoticed by the other members. Brown was sitting in his chair at the table, with peanut shells all around him and used fast food wrappers on the floor by his feet. He was dozing and snoring quite loudly with his head thrown back and his mouth wide open. White and Black were arguing as usual about some obscure topic, neither one willing to listen to the other’s side. Plaid suddenly burst into the meeting room from the kitchen playing the bagpipes very loudly while everyone else covered their ears. Paisley rolled out from under the table looking extremely tired; he was obviously stoned again. Red fumed for a few more seconds, and then loudly banged his gavel on the table. The room gradually got silent.

“I now call this meeting of the Rainbow Association to order!” Red authoritatively stated amongst snickers from Paisley and Brown, who had been awoken by the sudden noise of the gavel.

“Some rainbow,” Violet muttered as he dragged himself up to his spot at the table.

“What was that Violet? Do you have a matter for the Association to discuss?” Red authoritatively asked as Violet muttered under his breath and grew silent.

Red took roll call noting Pink and Indigo’s absence. After roll call was finished, Indigo revealed himself suddenly, frightening the other members. He slowly walked over and nonchalantly sat down at the table. Just then, Paisley leapt to his feet and shouted “Dat’s a spicy-a MEAT-A BALL!” Brown collapsed in hysterics as Black and White immediately took opposite stances about the pertinence of the existence of a Rainbow Association. Blue wept openly, utterly depressed about the chaos that the meeting had already dissolved into. Violet violently whipped a pencil at Blue’s head. Green stole Blue’s Walt Whitman book. Plaid put his bagpipes down and started river-dancing around the table quite vigorously. Yellow whimpered under the table. Indigo disappeared into thin air. Red banged his gavel over and over again gradually getting the meeting back in order.

“First order of business: Mandatory Drug Testing.” Red slowly stated each word while staring pointedly at Paisley. Paisley’s half-closed eyes widened at this. “Dude,” he whispered.

“I WILL NOT SUBMIT!” Violet furiously declared to everyone and no one at all as he slammed his clenched fists on the table. At this, Plaid stopped river-dancing and sat at his spot in the table, stroking his beard and wondering when the meeting would be over. Indigo suddenly reappeared right next to Blue, causing Blue to begin writing an extremely depressing poem about the transient nature of light and color. Orange turned to Violet and said “Calm down Purple Puss!” At this, Violet punched Orange in the face and all hell broke loose. Black and White immediately started debating abortion issues, with each taking completely opposing sides as usual. Blue screamed in anguish and tried to kill himself with the edge of his chair (he didn’t succeed). Green hid the book he stole from Blue and then looked at Plaid’s bagpipes wondering if he could fit them under his shirt undetected. Yellow was still under the table, presumably passed out from the sheer stress of the meeting. Orange and Violet wrestled on the floor while Paisley and Brown laughed hysterically. Paisley shouted “Look man, Halloween!” as he pointed at Orange and Violet, causing more fits of wild laughter from Brown, followed by a loud fart. Indigo covered himself with a dark cloak and melted into the floor.

Red watched the meeting dissolve yet again and wondered why he put himself through this. He smashed his gavel on the table so hard it broke in two, yelling “STOP! STOP THIS INSTANT! MR. BIV IS HERE!”

With that declaration, all activity in the room stopped instantaneously. Violet stood up, letting go of Orange’s hair. “He’s here? Right now?” he asked timidly. Yellow poked his head out from under the table, fearfully looking at Red. Blue gathered himself together while Green put Plaid’s bagpipes back against the wall and quickly took his seat. Indigo materialized out of thin air and sat down attentively.

Red, satisfied that he finally got the association’s attention smiled grimly and said, “Yes. That was my surprise for you all. Mr. Biv has graced us with his presence today, and he has an extremely important announcement.” The association members all slowly took their seats and waited attentively. You could cut the silence with a knife. The tension in the air intensified with each second.

At that moment, a door opened and in walked Mr. Roy Ganapolous Biv. The man himself was here. No one could breathe as he slowly walked across the room and took a spot at the head of the table standing next to Red. He was a breathtaking figure, decked out in a suit that changed colors every second depending on the angle of the light. He was smoking a huge cigar and staring at each association member in turn, making eye contact for an uncomfortable amount of time. He was clearly unhappy.

“Where,” he began, “is Pink?” Red shifted uncomfortably and answered, “Um, uh, Pink is absent, Sir.” No one at the table had ever heard Red speak in such hushed tones, much less call anyone ‘Sir’. Not in their lifetimes.

“I see,” said Mr. Biv, putting his cigar out and rubbing his temples for a few seconds. No one at the table had exhaled a breath since he walked in.

“Does anyone know why I am here today? Anyone? Blue, do you know why I am here?” Mr. Biv directed his question to Blue who nearly shrunk out of existence from the sheer weight of his stare.

“No, sir, Mr. Biv, sir,” Blue squeaked in response to the question posed to him.

“What about you, Yellow? Do you have a guess as to why I came to this meeting today?” Yellow immediately fainted.

“Violet, Paisley, help Yellow, will you?” Mr. Biv asked for things quietly, and those things immediately happened. Violet and Paisley immediately ran over to try to revive Yellow.

“I am here,” Mr. Biv began, “to tell you all that I am making you all a part of the new rainbow!” There was an even deeper silence (if that was possible) followed by shocked whispers and unbelieving faces. Red was beaming as Green tentatively raised his hand. “There is going to be a new rainbow, sir?”

“Yes, Green,” Mr. Biv answered good-naturedly. “This new rainbow will not consist just of the standard colors. You will all be a part. Paisley, White, Brown, Plaid, Black…even Pink. I want this to represent a display of my good nature. All are welcome in the rainbow!”

“But, sir?” Brown raised his hand tentatively and Mr. Biv nodded towards him, still smiling. “What about ‘The Anagram’? The Anagram has existed since the beginning of time! What will the school children do?”

“Sh-sh-sh,” Mr. Biv waved away Brown’s question. “There will be time for Anagrams later. We’ll figure something out. I want to make a fresh start. Despite all of your questionable behavior, I want to show that everyone can have a second chance; a new lease on life, as it were. Don’t disappoint me.”

And with that, Mr. Biv turned and left the room, leaving the Rainbow Association members to excitedly celebrate and talk about this most unexpected turn of events. The associate colors were suddenly promoted! There were no more ranks, everyone was equal! Not everyone was excited, as Violet was noticeably disturbed by this news. He could be overheard grumbling something about Pink and “lack of attendance,” but for the most part, there was much rejoicing and celebrating as the news spread that the rainbow was expanding to include everyone.

A few days later, during a misty rain high on a mountaintop in Hawaii, two hikers looked into the sky and noticed a giant rainbow arching through the mist from a cloud to the ground. The rainbow had the standard Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo and Violet, but something was different. The hikers squinted at the rainbow; noticing new colors.

“Is that Plaid?” one hiker said to the other.

“Sure is. I think I see Paisley!” the other hiker replied.

“Pink?!?” they both said simultaneously.

The hikers looked at each other and shook their heads in disgust. “Friggin’ Obama,” they said, and continued their hike.

State of the Onion

*A man paces back and forth in the kitchen, obviously agitated and excited. His family sits expectantly at the kitchen table.*

My fellow family, I’m going to level with you: the situation is bleak. There are layers left, but not many. I do know this, our sandwiches will survive! *The speaker’s wife and kids spring to their feet at the kitchen table, wildly cheering and applauding. The man’s cat and dog stand on their hind paws and kind of claw at the air in an attempt to applaud.*

*Man waits for applause to die down, and his family gradually sits back down at the kitchen table. His cat and dog fall awkwardly back down onto all fours.* We will work together to make sure the Onion is distributed evenly and fairly. There will be justice in this kitchen, because this kitchen is the greatest kitchen in the world! *family rises back up out of their seats applauding and whistling. The man’s cat and dog jump back up to stand on their hind paws and awkwardly paw at the air again in a facsimile of applause*

I know times are tough, and this kitchen is going through one of the darkest periods we have seen in our lifetime. The pantry is bare and the refrigerator is empty. This Onion, with all of its layers, will be the thing that brings us back; that makes all other kitchens rise up and take notice. Mark my words; we shall have a tasty onion-enhanced tomato sauce with dinner by the end of this very WEEK! *family shoots up to their feet, clapping and screaming in appreciation. After the applause dies down and the family sits back down, the man begins again* and by the end of this month, we shall all be crying tears as we chop as many as 6 onions all at once! *family members leap back to their feet, screaming and foaming at the mouth as they frantically applaud.* Onion, onion, who got the ONION!?! *continued chaos as the man’s family is whipped into a frenzy of adulation* I said WHO’S HOUSE? ONION’S HOUSE! *the family is convulsing with applause and hysterical weeping and cheering* When I say ONION you say RINGS, ONION *pause waiting for a response of ‘Rings’ from his admiring family, which doesn’t come due to the screaming and applauding* ONION *pauses with his hand held up to his ear, then shrugging and continuing* My Onion brings all the BOYS TO THE YARD! *wife blows out her vocal chords from screaming and the entire family passes out from over excitement*

We, as a family, can thank our forefathers for the blessings they have given us. This Onion *man holds up an Onion which has been partially peeled of its layers* represents Hope. This Onion represents Life! This ONION REPRESENTS EXISTENCE! THIS ONION REPRESENTS OUR ENTIRE WORLD! *silence in the kitchen as the man’s family remains passed out on the floor. The man’s dog spins in place chasing its own tail. The man’s cat is nowhere to be seen.* I implore you, pass the Onion bill and let future Onions be protected from gross negligence. Let our future families be surrounded by Onions for the rest of their days! *man pauses for applause that does not come. The man’s dog briefly attempts to stand on its hind paws and farts during the attempt. The man’s cat appears behind him and sits facing away from him* Um, *man looks down at his notes* Onions are known for making people cry, but we shall never cry again! *silence* I, uh, I will grant each of you 100 Onions per year for life! *silence* French Onion soup? *silence*

My fellow family, thank you for your time. May God Bless this kitchen, and may God Bless the Onions of our family! *silence in the kitchen as the man’s family groggily regain their senses and stand up to greet him as he slowly exits the kitchen. The man’s dog immediately latches onto his leg as he passes, humping his calf as rapidly as possible. The man’s cat swishes by with its tail in the air, appearing to not give a crap.*

As he and his family slowly file out of the kitchen, the man glances down at his notes, pausing to read the title carefully. “Is that a ‘U’ or an ‘O’?” he says as he squints at his crumpled note cards holding his left hand over his left eye. “Wow, I was way off on this speech. That puts a whole new spin on things.” He pauses to erase the ‘O’ in the title, replacing the ‘O’ with a ‘U’. At this, his dog trots by with an Onion in his mouth, pausing to lift his leg and urinate on the wall of the kitchen. “I’ve got to stop writing these speeches at night in the dark with a pencil. I’ll type them out from now on.” He goes upstairs to type out his speech, making the crucial adjustment to the title.

The next day, the man arrives at work with his newly re-written speech in hand. He steps up to the podium and begins: “Ladies and gentlemen, please take care of your feet! *pausing for applause, the man is greeted by stunned silence* Uh, Bunions are very dangerous and cause a lot of pain across this great nation of ours! *more silence broken by a nervous cough* Um. *the man squints again at his note cards, holding one hand over his left eye* Damn! Should have fixed that stuck ‘B’ on the keyboard when I had the chance, he thought to himself.

The man was fired on the spot and forcibly removed from the building. He never wrote another speech again. The news was not all bad: His family had an overwhelming respect for Onions the rest of their natural born lives, when otherwise they wouldn’t have given a tin shit about Onions.

Facebook Quizzes

I recently took a quiz on Facebook titled: ‘What crazy bitch are you?’ My result was Sinead O’Connor, which makes sense because I have a shaved head and I once tore up a picture of Mickey Mouse outside of Disneyworld to protest the fact that the Disney Corporation wouldn’t let me publish my book ‘It’s a Small Girl After All’: my semi-autobiographical account of the world’s first midget transvestite. I guess ‘Mr. Toad’s Wild Gay Parade’ and ‘Space Mountain: A look at the heart of Colombia’s heroin trade...and roller coasters’ are out of the question.

 I have so many unpublished books.

The quiz reminded me of an awesome day when I went to McDonalds and ordered two “Quintuple Cheeseburgers”. The drive thru attendant responded by saying ‘What kind of crazy bitch are you?’ to which I responded, ‘the fat kind, now make with the quints.’ Although I may have been banned from that particular location, the other McDonald’s eateries are still ‘Open for Business’ as they say.

Facebook is awesome. I found out so many interesting things about myself through seemingly hundreds of quizzes and tests set up by Facebook experts. For instance, I found out the following:

--What kind of pee are you? (Canary Yellow)
--If your entire body were one big fist, what surface would you strike first? (Sinead O’Connor, which is so ironic in at least two or three ways)
--What kind of ass are you? (Jack. I was pulling for “Horse’s” but I think question 4 had a racial bias...)
--If you were a character in the Facts of Life, which character would you be? (Tootie, which I already knew, but it’s nice to have it confirmed in an official capacity)
--What crazy periodical element are you? (Berylium, but that’s a no-brainer. Tell me something I don’t know, Facebook!)
--If hair was free, how much hair would you have? (100 pounds. The questions seemed to have nothing to do with hair, but ‘In Facebook We Trust’. Ah, if only hair were free. Facebook is like a fantasy wonderland.)
--What kind of morose sad sack are you? (This quiz had no questions. Somehow I think the quiz question itself was the only question)
--If Facebook had to borrow some money, how much money could Facebook borrow from you? C’mon, you know Facebook is good for it, right? (I don’t know, a hundred bucks I guess?)
--What internet abbreviation are you? (‘QT’. A lot of my friends were ‘CUL8R’ which is so them!)
--What cup of tea are you? (Earl Grey, which delighted me to no end!)
--What bone are you? (Fibula)
--What candy corn are you? (Candy Corn. *shrug* I don’t know what I expected.)
--What kind of wild accountant are you? (Tax extension processor. Aw yeah!)
--What sort of freakish librarian are you? (Cardigan sweater wearing.)

Go take some quizzes and report back so I can learn something about you. I’m especially interested in hearing which characters on the A-Team you all would be.

Nursery Rhymes

I feel that I’ve had enough experience reading nursery rhymes lately that I can write my own book for the kids of today. Here are some of the nursery rhymes I have come up with so far for today’s modern little lady and gentleman:

Here comes Charlie
Walkin’ down the street!
Smack-a-doodle, Smack-a-doodle
Charlie just sheet!

Mary, Mary what a scary
Way you blink your eyes and stare-y
At my bulging belly here
Don’t you know it’s full of beer?

Isn’t this a lovely tree?
Full of rabbits looking at me!
One is blue, the others pink,
The blue one smiles and drops a wink!
He knows the truth behind the lies,
The pink rabbits are gay.

Tippity Tappity Over the Bridge
Rippity Rappity here come the kids!
Bippity Bappity running along
Sippity Sappity singing a song!
Lippity Lappity what a big dog!
Mippity Mappity dragging a log!
Flippity Flappity what do I see?
Whippity Whappity the log is made of dog crap.

Pencil Peacock Peaches Pie
Don’t make Santa start to cry!
If you do, he’ll make a list
And mark your name with a deadly fist!
Then he’ll open both his eyes,
And turn his tears into fireflies!
Each one jetting for the coast
To the house of the boy they hate the most!
Once they find you then you’ll see
Just how vengeful Santa can be!
*this nursery rhyme should be accompanied by the sounds of thunder and lightning and deep ominous laughter…for the kiddies’ enhanced enjoyment!*

Turn your eyes toward yonder bear!
What a hat he tries to wear!
He bought it at the corner store,
And now he wants one hundred more!
Maybe I will help him out
With 50 cents I just took out
Oops, the bear just bit my hand
Then tipped his hat and ate my intestines...man.

Blueberries three
Baked in a muffin
Strawberries two
Ate them, now there’s nothin’
Blackberry one
Can’t remember where I stuck it
Raspberries Zero
Those are my favorite! Awww...something something! (NOTE: Finish this later)

Wizzle wuzzle wazzle woo
Twenty five birds just crapped on my shoe
One left a feather perched upon my head
Twenty five birds will soon be dead.

Johnny Joe just tried to fly
With wings of paper very wide
He landed on a cotton ball
And broke his ass

Mister Murphy water and wine
Kissed a mule and made him cry
Now he rides alone at night
With court ordered therapy and pumpkin pie?

Sally ran down to catch a ride.
Sally fell down, Oh My!
She opened her eyes and noticed a duck.
Duck off.

Cheeky chucky chooky do
Choky chacky...

Ah, forget it.

Urgent Questions: Volume 4

As an adult, have you ever snuck (sneaked? sneaken? snook?) onto a playground late at night to swing on the swings, slide down the slide and play in the sandbox, laughing and singing to yourself while you try to remember where you hid your house keys...and why you have house keys when you don’t own a house?

How many times have you thrown a handful of change into the air as high as you can, only to get hit in the head with 23 cents and a huge pile of bird crap?

When a cute little puppy raises itself up on its hind legs and walks towards you very fast, don’t you think you better run because if he figured out how to do that he probably already knows your address and how to use a tazer?

Did you ever talk to your TV all night long and expect a reply with a shotgun pointed at the cable box so the TV could clearly see who is in charge here?

If my mail ends up at your house will you please translate it to smoke signal and smoke it over to my house already, double-time?

Does a semi-colon ever feel like a crippled colon; like a full colon with a twisted little comma foot? For that matter, does semi-sweet chocolate ever feel inferior to fully sweet chocolate? Hey semi-sweet, chin up bucko. You are still pretty gosh darn sweet to me.

If Harry Potter, Superman, Batman and all of the X-Men got into a huge fight in the middle of the desert, no weapons allowed, could you be any more of a super geek?

When you were nine years old, did you look up at the moon and think it was following you as you walked? Did you then walk a little faster and realize that you couldn’t shake the moon, no matter which way you turned? Did you then run as fast as you could to try to outrun the moon only to find that the moon is a cunning hunter that will not be denied its foolish prey? As I’m sure you now know, the moon is not made of cheese. The moon is made of finely ground nine year old boy bones.

Have you ever boldly walked up to a man and shook his hand firmly and confidently, with no hint of self-consciousness, only to realize that he is sitting on the toilet, and that’s not a hand?

If a mailbox suddenly opened its mouth and ran down the street screaming with its little red flag stuck up in the air, would you chase after it or just start screaming yourself, so that people would be distracted and not try to hunt down and shoot your rogue mailbox?

Have you ever been so hungry that you tried to bite your own hand because it looked like a turkey sandwich with fingers and fingernails…and no bread...and veins...wait a minute, that’s just my hand!

Have you ever hired a grown adult man for your child’s birthday party who calls himself “Dingdong the Magician Clown”? If so, you deserve every bad thing that followed that catastrophic decision.

If a beautiful baby boy spits at you from his carriage, will that finally give you the motivation to take off your “Virginia Is for Lovers” t-shirt and burn it? Follow-up question: If Virginia is for Lovers, what is Delaware for? Seriously, does anyone know what Delaware is for? I’m coming up blank here.

If 2 + 2 = 4, and -2 + 2 = 0, then does me + pizza = delicious?

Are you allergic to pets? Specifically, are you allergic to pets with tiny pollen guns and dust mite breath? Yeah, me too.

If Tom ever catches Jerry (fingers crossed), will Tom be merciful or will he go medieval on Jerry’s mouse ass?

Does Ralph Macchio ever go to the zoo and stare at the cranes nostalgically until zoo security arrests him for suspicious crane staring?

Do you remember that night, late December, back in ’63? Man, what a night that was.

Are you going to just stand there and scream at me in the middle of this parking lot? If so, then I’m going to put my clothes back on and climb into my own shopping cart. But then, who will push me? You? I didn’t think so.

Why do English accents always make me instinctively double over in pain, crying out for God’s sweet mercy to save me from inevitable death? Through 10 years of exhaustive research, I have tracked it down to a combination of Earl Grey tea, Stonehenge and Crocodile Dundee. Oh, he was Australian? That’s not a knife...THAT’S a knife! Man that really WAS a huge knife he had.

If 35 penguins run down a hill toward an igloo in the remote tundra of Alaska and smash into it, shattering the icy bricks with their tiny heads, how long will it take for an Eskimo living in that igloo to despise the haphazard nature of penguins?

If I eventually do get sent to jail (long story), will you smuggle in a DVD copy of the complete works of Bobcat Goldthwait for me? I’ll need something in the big house to convince me that there is still a just and fair world worth fighting for. Better yet, if you can get Bobcat himself, all the better. He’s available.

First Date

A man and a woman meet at a small café in the heart of Manhattan for the first time.

“It is very nice to meet you, Jennifer.”

“I am pleased to meet you as well *consulting a small post-it note* Timborius.”

“Please, call me Timmy.”

“Thank God.”

“I do, every day. He is my strength and my guiding spirit. He provides and keeps me whole. He listens when no one will. He loves me.”

*silence* “Do you like movies?”

“NO! Ah God, NO! Oh my God, you...” Timmy bites off a furious insult as Jennifer sits in stunned silence.

Jennifer starts again. “OK, ah, what’s your favorite—“

“Reverse bicycle helmet.”

“What?”

“Were you going to ask me what my favorite sexual position is?”

“No, I was going to ask you what your favorite ice cream flavor is. What is ‘Reverse Bicycle Helmet’?”

“I probably shouldn’t say.”

“Probably.”

“Rocky Road, to answer your intended question.”

“Are you sure that isn’t just another sexual position?”

*Tim squints and bites his lip*

*Jennifer raises her eyebrows*

“Yes it is.”

“OK, I think this date is over.”

Book of Tobias: Verse 9, Chapter 6

And they came to a mountaintop which was full of various types of animal poop and dung. They fell to their knees shouting to the heavens: “GOD! Why hast thou FORSAKEN US!” God spoke to them and said, “Be-eth not such drama queens. It is just a little poop. Wipe it off. Move on.” At this, they stood to their feet and gingerly stepped around the poop to the other side of the clearing to begin their journey back down the mountainside. As they began walking, God taunted them saying, “Beware small twigs, ye prancing ninnies! Look out for yonder clump of dirt, ye twirling sissy-maries! Uh-oh, here comes some tiny raindrops, cover ye heads ye blithering skirt-holding women!” Knoweth this: God is the master of rubbing it in. In his name we pray.

Mr. Weather

Oliver was walking home from school one day, when out from the bushes jumped a strange little man. He wore a large purple top hat with symbols printed all over in silver stitching. His large purple overcoat resembled a velvet rain jacket. He wore bright purple galoshes and carried a silver cane in the shape of a long lightening bolt.

“Hello! I’m Mr. Weather!” He squeaked in an abnormally high pitched voice. The pitch of his voice was not entirely surprising as he was no taller than 5 feet at the most.

“Uh,” Oliver responded, suddenly nervous at being accosted by a garishly dressed man with a squeaky voice and a silver cane.

“Please, call me Mr. Weather!” the little man squeaked again, and did a little two step followed by a hop and a small bow at the waist.

“OK, Mr. Weather,” Oliver started looking around for other kids walking home in case he needed witnesses.

“You don’t believe in me, do you?” Mr. Weather asked with a sly grin.

“Believe in you? I’ve never heard of you, to be honest.”

“WHAT? You have never heard of Mr. Weather? Impossi-rain!”

“Impossi-what?” Oliver asked in disbelief.

“Incredib-lightning!” Mr. Weather said and then chuckled in disbelief while shaking his head.

“Are you just saying words and then trying to put weather words at the end of them?” Oliver asked.

“Me? Not at all! Torna-don’t even think such ridiculou-stormy…weather…coming…” Mr. Weather trailed off slightly embarrassed.

Oliver stood with his arms folded, suddenly annoyed by this tiny man who was preventing him from getting home on time. “OK then, why do they call you Mr. Weather? Can you make it rain or something?” Oliver glanced at Mr. Weather’s hat and noticed all of the symbols sewn into the hat were representations of upcoming weather forecasts. He recognized the double cloud of “overcast” and the traditional single cloud with a lightening bold coming out of the bottom that usually represented “thunderstorms”.

“Rain? Mere child’s play, my boy!” Mr. Weather perked up and rubbed his purple-gloved hands together. “Watch THIS!”

Mr. Weather did an elaborate dance followed by some complicated hand maneuvers. When he was finished he stood, out of breath, with his silver cane raised towards the sky. “BEHOLD!” he bellowed.

Oliver looked up and noticed a clear blue sky with the sun riding lower as it was now 4:30. A few wispy clouds strayed across the sun. “Behold what?” he asked.
“PARTLY CLOUDY!” Mr. Weather triumphantly declared, lowering his cane and bowing.

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Oliver declared and picked up his book bag, brushing past Mr. Weather and continuing towards home.

“Wait! Stop! Let me conjure up a Tornado to whisk you safely to your home!” Mr. Weather immediately began spinning in place using his cane as a balancing point while Oliver sighed and continued walking. After a few minutes of spinning, Mr. Weather’s purple top hat flew off and he fell to the ground dizzy and nauseous. He sat alone on the sidewalk for a few minutes gathering his thoughts. He slowly got up, put his hat back on, and wobbled his way to the local bar.

After a few hours in the bar, Mr. Weather stumbled outside and immediately began urinating on the wall by the front door of the bar. “Makin’ it rain now, aren’t I? Make it RAIN!” he mumbled to himself as he finished relieving himself on his purple galoshes. Suddenly, he noticed the glare of red and blue lights reflected from the windows of the bar in front of him. He straightened up, weaving from side to side slightly. From behind him, he heard a familiar voice: “Wally, how many times do we have to do this?” Officer O’Leary said with an exasperated sigh.

“Tim, good of you to *hic* join me,” Mr. Weather slurred. “First round is on you!” he laughed to himself as he turned around to face his accuser. Officer Tim O’Leary stood with his arms folded across his chest and a stern look on his face. Passers by were amused watching the tiny man decked in purple being scolded by the much larger police officer.

“Wally, this is the third time this month! I’m getting sick of this little back and forth with you. Can’t you get your act together?”

“Mr. Weather. Please call me Mr. Weather!” Mr. Weather insisted as he bent to pick up his oversized purple top hat.

“Whatever you want Wally, I mean Mr. Weather. Looks like we have another public drunkenness charge to add to your long colorful history,” Officer O’Leary said as he walked over to escort Wally into his squad car. He gently guided Wally into the back seat of his cruiser, and got in to drive away while turning off the flashers.
“So, what is it this time, Wally?” Officer O’Leary began. “Wife leave you? Child Support payments late? Too many relatives bugging you around the holidays?”

“You don’t even want to know, Tim my boy,” Mr. Weather said in a tired, sad voice while looking at the ground in the back seat.

“Try me. You know I’m a good listener. Lord knows I’ve listened to enough of your stories to fill an encyclopedia.”

“Mr. Mathematics is a dick,” Mr. Weather stated with certain finality.

Tim was caught off guard by this declaration. “Mr. Mathematics you said?”

“That is what I said, Tim. Mr. Mathematics is a complete dick and won’t leave me alone.”

“Um, I see. Well, what exactly is he doing that is so bothersome?”

“Where do I start?” Mr. Weather barked out an exasperated laugh. “He is constantly solving equations out loud at all the meetings. Square root this, factorial that. No one can stand him! Mr. Physics took a swing at him the other night at Karaoke. Mr. Space keyed his car! Mr. Balls thinks he should be kicked out of the committee!”

“Mr. BALLS?” Officer Tim asked incredulously.

“Yes, physical education, sports, that kind of thing,” Mr. Weather said distractedly as he turned his hat over and over nervously in his lap. “Personality quirks I can deal with. Character flaws? Fine. He personally goes out of his way to insult me! He’ll say things like ‘Hey Mr. Weather, looks like rain today!’ and then he’ll spit at me and smack my hat off!”

“Sounds like an unpleasant fellow,” Officer Tim sympathized from the front seat of his police car.

“You don’t even know the half of it!” Mr. Weather shouted with an unsteady voice as his face flushed. The other day he said ‘Oh, look out, here comes a tornado!’ and then kicked me as hard as he could in the nuts! He’s the one making me crazy like this! I can’t take any more of his nonsense!”

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Officer Tim broke the ice. “Wally, did any of this really happen?”

“Call me Mr. Weather…” Mr. Weather said as he avoided the question.

Officer O’Leary pulled the car to the side of the road and turned in his seat to face Mr. Weather. “Look, I know you are having a rough time of things. I don’t know any of these guys you are talking about, but the fact remains that you have to be an upstanding citizen. No public drunkenness. No public nudity. No assaulting citizens. No bending over and 'summoning hurricanes' in crowded restaurants. Remember that one? You are better than that.” He paused to let his little pep talk sink in. “Get out of here,” Officer O’Leary said to Mr. Weather. “You caught me on a good day. Next time, it won’t be a good day, got it?”

Mr. Weather squeaked out a ‘Thank You’ and then got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk as Officer O’Leary pulled away. He turned and slowly began walking down the sidewalk, by now thoroughly sober and still fuming thinking about his problems with Mr. Mathematics. The hem of his purple overcoat dragged through the dirt as he walked and he reached up to straighten his oversized purple top hat. As he walked, a car slowly drove past him, and a teenaged boy leaned his head out the window shouting, “Hey Barney, didn’t know you got so short! You look like a purple penis!” The car slowly pulled away as Mr. Weather listened to loud barking laughter from the open window.

Mr. Weather stopped and watched the car drive up to a stoplight. Frowning intensely, he rose both hands up towards the sky and brought them down dramatically while he looked at the car. Just then, a 10 second burst of hail peppered the car. Large golf-ball sized chunks of ice bounced in all directions, ricocheting onto the street after striking the windshield, the roof, the hood, the tires and the windows of the car. Just as suddenly, the hail stopped and the car pulled slowly through the intersection with the boy’s head once again popping out from the opened window, looking back at Mr. Weather. He smiled and raised his middle finger at the boy as the car drove out of sight.

Walking quicker now, Mr. Weather pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his purple overcoat. He dialed a number and held the phone to his ear.

“Balls? Weather here. I’m back! Yeah, it’s all back. Get Physics and Space and meet at my house. See if Mr. Aerodynamics is around. We’re going to finally get a little payback on Math. I think it’s long overdue. I think we’ll be adding a giant hurricane to his division of…subtract…forget it, just get everyone ready…”

As Mr. Weather walked with a hop in his step, happily chatting with Mr. Balls, the sun broke through the clouds and shined down on the street, melting the golf ball sized hail that had fallen without warning minutes before. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day.

Quick one

Headline on CNN today:

Ashton Kutcher squeals as chest is waxed.

*blank stare*

*squint*

I guess the economy is all fixed?

Here's a preview of tomorrow's headline:

New Jersey man angrily indifferent as celebrities do things.