Look into my eyes. You’re getting very oinky.

August 31st, 2010

By Tiber

I picked up my sister, Erin, from her after-school job today. As I’ve said before, she’s now working at Larry’s Discount Occult. (“Sure you want to hex them but why pay full-price?”) It turns out I sort of like it there plus Erin plays good music.

Today, though, the only sound I heard at the shop was the braying voice of Larry, the owner, as he came out from the stock room. To my mind, you can’t look less magical than Larry but then again, his shop is a success so maybe he is.

Anyway, he soon left and right after that, a goddess entered. This woman was beautiful. Erin could see my jaw slacken and my eyes go all pointy so she made the sale quickly and the goddess had exited before I knew it.

I was heading out after her when Erin threw herself in front of the door and blocked my way.

“What are you doing?!? I want to talk to her!”

“You don’t want her.”

“Come on, Erin. Don’t worry. I’ll check her out before we hook up.”

“She bought the spell kit that turns men into swine. You think pigs can file restraining orders?!?”

Great. My relationship M. O. has always been to seek out the crazies, end up miserable and then harp on it forever. Erin, being young and stupid, may have just spoiled my perfect record.

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Raise the drawbridge, lower the Dad

August 28th, 2010

By Tiber

Here Dad is trying to cut expenses and now he’s got another person living here.

Cook’s sister, Saskia, just lost her job and her husband.

As a side note, when did women start getting so big? I don’t mean fat. I just mean big. Cook’s taller than I am and Saskia’s even bigger than she is. I really think her husband may not have left so much as just run away. Duncan’s always maintained that the reason Cook never knew her father was because he was actually a sasquatch. And with the appearance of this giant sister, he claims this confirms it.

“Her name’s even Saskia! She’s named after him!”

Duncan is going to get us all killed one day by the simple use of his mouth.

Anyway, Cook asked Dad if her sister could live here until things get better. Knowing that money’s tight right now, though, she had already worked out the perfect space and job for her. She could be our gatekeeper! Our house was built long before security cameras and for almost a hundred  years, someone did live in the gatehouse and screen visitors.

So, even though Dad has still kept on his regular security guys, as a favor to Cook, he said yes to Saskia living in the gatehouse.

“You won’t even know she’s there!” Cook assured him.

Ha.

Dad knows all too well that she’s there.  Because of her ex-husband, maybe Saskia’s wary of all men now. But for whatever reason, she never remembers who Dad is. And every time he drives in or even out, she throws herself in front of his car, yelling, “Halt! Who goes there?”

Dad’s feeling less and less like a man just coming back home with his dry cleaning and more and more like a barbarian salivating  to storm the castle.

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Spork dork

August 25th, 2010

By Tiber

Obviously, I had planned to do a little accelerated work on quantum physics today, but it’s so hot that my mind selected another equally important topic to ponder.

Sporks!

I like sporks. Sporks, of course,  are those combination utensils that are part fork and part spoon. I wouldn’t even care if they called them “foons” and gave the other one top billing.

Some people think they’re stupid. Maybe that’s why I feel compelled to defend them. I’m turning into my sister, Iris Nell, who always feels compelled to defend any underdog…or undercutlery, in this case.

I just like sporks and I can back it up. You’re eating meat with some gravy. You need a spork! Vegetable soup? Better with a spork! Evidently, the aesthetic police hate them because they aren’t “pleasing” to look at. Who cares?

Vanessa says, “They look like something Neanderthals would use.”

Fine! Maybe it’s an attribute the Neanderthals had over us. They had an appreciation for the simple, for the less chaotic life of having fewer things around.

Actually, now that I think about it, Neanderthals probably spent every waking second of their lives wishing they had a million more things around. But still, now we’ve overdone it. We need to simplify our item count.

You could even caulk your bathtub with a spork. Of course, Neanderthals didn’t have bathtubs either. But the Romans did. So I wouldn’t be surprised if, one of these days, a discovery is made that proves that the Romans, along with roads, aqueducts, an effective military and an unsupported architectural dome, also gave us …sporks!

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Reality bites…Just somewhere else

August 22nd, 2010

By Tiber　

As I’ve said before, Gabby, one of my parents’ maids, is our expert on all things “celebrity.”  The way things are trending in our culture, she may end up being the most important person in the house.

Recently, she expressed an idea over in the staff wing that quickly made its way over here. Since Dad needs more money, why didn’t we do our own reality show?

Iris Nell, whose brain has dug out certain well-worn trenches, naturally thought first that “maybe a prince will be watching and then want to marry me.” This prince thing has seriously got to be stopped. There can’t even be enough of them to go around, even if they were handing them out.

Honor heard about the idea and said she would never consider putting the triplets on any show because of the bad influence. We all knew, of course, that  the “bad influence” would be on the entire crew of teamsters the kids would end up taking out, causing us to be sued for a lot more than we were making.

Dad was initially all for a reality series since he seemed to picture it being more of a sophisticated talk show with him as the urbane host, rather than the much more likely scenario of demonic edits and close-ups from a toilet-cam.

Mom was the one who put a complete stop to it, though. In another of her sudden reveals of “things we never knew about Mom,” she brought out a clutch of ribbons she’d won in college for sharpshooting and murmured that anyone bringing a reality producer anywhere near the house could draw his or her own conclusions.

I’m thinking it’s a no-go.　

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“What doesn’t kill us just makes us…weird”

August 19th, 2010

By Tiber

When you lose your job, suddenly everyone starts driving up in the big, old cliché-mobile.

“Well, Tiber, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade!”

The problem with that, though, is that life didn’t give me lemons. (On a piece of fish – delicious) It gave me crap. I guess I could make crapade out of it but my guess is, the demand would be limited.

You’re also told another classic, “But when one door closes, another one opens.”

This, of course, presupposes that all open doors are good. Remember, there’s a door to solitary confinement, a door to the dentist’s office, a door to hell. You get my point.

I’ve also been “comforted” with “Well, just remember, there are lots of people who are worse off than you are.”

Great. Now, besides feeling sorry for all of those other people, I also realize there’s even farther for me to fall.

But the most popular remains, “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.”

Oh, yeah? I’d had a few beers, granted, but the other night, I came across an antique Edison cylindrical record that my father has, and started commiserating with it.

 “You poor bastard. You never make music at all anymore, do you? Well, nobody can hear my song now, either! Tell me this, if your job is outsourced in a forest, can you still hear your paycheck?”

Erin and Vanessa stumbled on me talking to the little tube. They took one look at each other and immediately exited by opposite doors.

I don’t think, “Tiber seems so much stronger now,” was exactly the thought they went out with.

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Duncan’s “I Can Live With That” Dating Service – Part II

August 16th, 2010

By Tiber

As I’ve said before, my brother, Duncan the Dim, has actually come up with a business that has some money-making potential. He and his wife, Honor, seem to be making a go of their “I Can Live With That” dating service.

They’ve set up in the cloak room off the entrance hall, since Mom won’t let their customers any closer into the house. And I watched Honor in action with a client today.

“Now, how we’re different is that we believe it’s not the things you share with a partner that make a relationship work as much as how many of your “dumpable” traits the two of you can tolerate, as long as you  know about them in advance.”

The guy nodded vigorously. “That‘s why I liked your ad! A number of ladies have definitely ended up wanting to kill me.”

“Then let’s get all of you right out in the open Okay, first off, I see that you’re overweight.”

“Yes, but I’ve just joined a gym!”

“Now, remember who you‘re talking to. Do you ever plan to go”

“…No.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m a very active sports guy, though.”

“Playing or sofa?”

The guy shuffled around a bit but finally came clean.

“Sofa…But at least I wouldn’t be out with other women…And I’d even be willing to take a real girlfriend away for a vacation.”

“Would you pay for a 3, 4 or 5 star hotel?”

“Oh, God, no. None of those.”

“Would you at least go for lodging without bedbugs or toxic mold?”

“…Yeah…I guess I could spring for that.”

“Now in terms of ‘crazy,’ how much are you willing to put up with? The categories are: 1) quirky 2) eccentric 3) fanatic 4) loco and 5) batshit.“

“Well, ‘batshit’ would be out. But I could probably go as high as a 3, maybe even a 4. I mean, I’m a fanatic about sports and we all can be loco at times.”

So eventually Duncan and Honor tallied the guy up.

“Okay, your category is ‘lazy, fat, crazy, obsessive and cheap, with a truly crap track record.’ Surprisingly enough, though, we could also give you ‘faithful and tolerant.’”

“I’ll take it!” the man yelled.

And my guess is, he’ll find a girl who will too.

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Chain, chain, chain…chain of fools

August 13th, 2010

By Tiber

Someone at my brother’s triplets’ school made the mistake of showing them how you can fold paper and then cut it to create a chain of children attached to each other.

The triplets decided to recreate one of these chains in real life and using two sets, they handcuffed themselves to each other.

I don’t know where in the house they actually found the handcuffs and since my parents have been hosting a group of good friends for the week, no, I’m not going to ask.

The kids had festooned themselves like a garland over a mantelpiece but they didn’t get quite the impressed reaction they’d wanted when my mother came in, saw them, gasped in horror and cried out for Dad.

My father came hurrying in, took one look at his handcuffed grandchildren and then rushed over to give my mother a big hug.

“Oh, Gwen! Well done! Cuffing them! What a great idea! They’ll be so much easier to keep track of!”

My gentle and elegant mother then hit him with the piece of stationery she was holding. What was she going for? A paper cut? But it showed just how annoyed with him she was.

Dad finally got it that the kids had done this to themselves and he helped them down. He had to call the fire department, though, to get the handcuffs off. And even they had to use industrial-strength metal cutters because the cuffs were made of hardened steel.

Quite a crowd of family members, guests and staff had gathered by this time to watch. It would have gone a lot faster if somebody had just offered up the keys but when asked if anybody had them, a truly mind-boggling number of eyes suddenly started staring casually up at the ceiling.

Evidently, just one night around here could have supplied Houdini for a lifetime.

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Blob of my heart

August 10th, 2010

By Tiber

Here I am, jobless, rudderless and relationshipless. Of course, eventually I’ll get another job and a rudder I can buy – but the right relationship? Some people never find one. More and more I’m thinking I could end up being that one single old geezer of the future bitterly ordering his “jetpack for one.”

To stop going further down that depressing road and to make myself feel at least a little better, I started reading an article about what were called the most revolting-looking creatures to live in the ocean. That seemed a little harsh, until I got into the article and saw that, no, that actually was pretty factual.

There are seapigs, who look less like pigs, who I actually sort of like, and more like over-inflated condoms with creepily trotting little feet. Plus, they don’t roll in the mud, which is fine. They eat it.

Next, there were hagfish, considered particularly hideous because they produce their own slime. For what?!? A gift? Hair gel? A rainy day? They’re already under water!

Last up were the blobfish, who truly could not be better named. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were really just doughy pieces that had fallen off some other creature who had gratefully evolved in a higher direction.

The article never made me feel better, though. Even while cringing at the sight of these guys, all I kept thinking was that each and every one of them, in normal ways or weird ones, is still having a relationship – right now. They’re all swimming around down there, and with no effort whatsoever, in their own ways,  they’re pigging and hagging and blobbing bigtime.

And for the far more civilized and attractive me? What’s the only thing I’ll be getting tonight? Pie. And that’s only if Dad and all of the seapigs I’m related to don’t spot the pie first.

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