Thursday, March 18, 2010

A Formal Apology To Mr. Schuman...

Firstly, I would like to say upfront that this post is going to be pointless, boring, and totally random. There. Now you can't blame me for not warning you.
Secondly, this will take some explaining, and I highly doubt you'll care to hear the story, but I plan on including several pointless videos at the end of this post (hence the randomness), so feel free to just skip this bit if you wish. I'm going to try and make up for boring you nearer the end.

OK, story...
Back a few months ago, all the folks running for local political office were hob-nobbing about the neighborhood... you know, "Howdy, Ma'm, I'm runnin' for *insert position here* and I was hopin' I could count on yer vote", that kind of thing.

Cut To Scene :
My mother goes off to the store at around three o'clock on a Friday afternoon, and I stay at home to do whatever it is I do when I'm home (mainly dance about to Venus And Mars, but that's neither here nor there).
This plan is executed without any difficulty.
As I unload the groceries, she says "Did you find my organic peanut butter?"
Well, no, I hadn't, so I volunteer to go out to the car and see if it rolled out of the shopping bag.
Please, keep in mind that it's around the four o'clock hour.
I grab the car keys, open the front door, and see a pair of feet. In slo-mo replay in my mind, I remember going from feet to legs, recognizing blue jeans.
"Daddy's home from work early today", I think to myself. I open my mouth to say "Oh, what are you doing home?"
(Remember, we're still on slo-mo here.)
Once my eyes trail up and find a huge belt buckle, and a face I cannot place, the "Oh, what are you doing home?" turned into a bloody, horror movie, primal scream... which, come to find, I didn't even know I was doing.
(In my family, the immediate reaction to a stranger at the door is that he wants to kill/abduct you.)
The unfamiliar voice says "Well, uh, I did ring the bell". (Our doorbell, for those who don't know, is notorious for not working. Today was one of those days.)
He looks terrified, and I finally realize I'm screaming bloody murder. Once I shut myself up, he says, "I'm runnin' for *insert position here*, and I was hopin' I could count on yer vote".
He hands me a card through the door, when, FINALLY, for Pete's sake, someone comes to see what the whole fiasco was about. Stella, my mother's chihuahua, came up to the door and started barking. The man acknowledges that a dog is there and says, "Oh, I've got a doggie, too, see?", and he points at his little dog on the card.
"Yeah, thanks a lot," was all I could manage to say to him as I slammed the door in his face.
As I walk into our kitchen, my mother, the little monkey, says "Who was at the door?"
(Where were you three minutes ago, woman?)
I retell the story, show her the card, and she says, "Oh, that's Mr. Schuman, he lives down at the end of the block".
The worst part of it is that I HAD unloaded the peanut butter, I just didn't realize it.
Incidentally, folks have stopped ringing our doorbell.

Well, Mr. Schuman and his opponent are in a run-off election now, and the whole process is starting over again.

Cut To Scene :
Today, around four o'clock, the dogs start barking like mad beasts. The bell didn't ring (again), but it was one of those barks you know you shouldn't just let go by without investigation.
As my mother opens the front door, she calls to me, "Hey, your friend left you a note!"
I go to the door, and find this taped to our mailbox...
Was the poor man afraid to call on Fusspot Farm a second time?
I promise, we are NOT The House of Usher... we're mostly sane!

So, to Mr. Schuman, I would just like to say...

NOW. On to fun things that won't bore you!
These are just a few of the things running about in my brain bucket of late.
Number One... the new Jeopardy! set. Admittedly, I think they changed this a while ago, but I've only just seen it. Take a virtual tour and try not to expect Molly Ringwald and the Two Corys to come out with Mr. Trebeck.

Number Two... the dumbest Twilight commercial ever.
This is the only copy I can find on YouTube, but you'll get the gist of the thing...

...and they're running it during every ruddy commercial break during The Golden Girls.
Now, I know what it is to be a mega-fan of something, and you will find yourself speaking the parts of different characters (or just reciting the whole film, whatever)... but (and I don't know if you can see it in the terrible quality of the video) I don't understand crying whilst doing so.
This one's for you, Twilight weirdo...

Number Three... what the hell is this about?

This Turret Full Of Ravens blog post was brought to you by the letter 'T'...

Question... why does Mr. T (HAH!) not have any clothes on? And, more to the point, how does he play his little guitar without any arms?
However, a big congratu-well-done to the Sesame Street graphics department for getting the little 'T' to look like the singer...


Hey! How'd our favorite kitty get in here?

It's no wonder why Mr. Schuman wouldn't come to the door again...
OK, we're done, promise.

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