Tuesday, January 22, 2008

I, Party Animal

"Your Playboy is here," I said, tossing FooDaddy's mail onto the kitchen counter and helping myself to a cold, refreshing can of Dr. Pepper from the fridge. "Does The Girlfriend know that you're receiving such material?" I "tsked" and shook my head in the manner of an unusually sagey sage.

"It's not mine," FooDaddy replied, snatching the Dr. Pepper from my clutching hands before I could pop it open. "It's for Sprocket."

"Right." I wasn't buying the argument that FooDaddy's cat was a fan of the magazine. I tried for a Sprite. "I thought he'd been fixed?"

"He just likes to paw through the pages and see if there are cats included in any of the photos," FooDaddy said. "It's nothing base, I assure you." The Sprite, too, disappeared quickly and I began searching for a carton of milk.

"Playboy cats? That's ridiculous," I said, promptly setting about to prove this statement. Sure enough, although I searched every page thoroughly, paying particularly close attention to the center-fold, there wasn't a cat to be found.

No sooner had I completed this vital mission, than FooDaddy returned home from an eight-hour shift at work.

"Are you still here?" he asked. "I thought you would have gone out and played in traffic by now."

"Nah, too cold. But your heating bill is due." I handed him the bill, which I had opened for his convenience. "I'm thinking that some new insulation is in order, my friend."

"You're reading my mail?" FooDaddy asked, obviously incredulous at my thoughtfulness.

"Yep!" I beamed and handed him another opened envelope. "Here's an invitation to a New Year's party. Can I come?"

FooDaddy read the invitation. "It's from Kevin," he said. "I'm not sure he'd want you hanging around. He's odd that way."

I laughed appreciatively at FooDaddy's witticism, although I didn't find it all that amusing. "I'll be there," I said. "We're gonna paaaaartay!" With that proclamation, I left to prepare for the big night.

* * *

The evening arrived shortly and I drove over to Kevin's house in the midst of a blizzard. I slid into the driveway and accidentally put a dent in another car that someone had inconsiderately parked in my way.

I trudged to the front door and, knowing I was welcome, walked inside. "Who drives the formerly mint condition silver Cobalt?"

The Girlfriend looked up. "That would be me." There was a pause and then she said slowly, "Formerly mint condition?"

"Well, I'd hardly call a vehicle with a large dent all along the left side 'mint condition'!" I said, chortling and shaking my head. I should not have had to explain that. "I'm glad it's yours, though. I was afraid the owner would be a stranger and, therefore, mad at me. But now I see that--"

The onslaught of cookies, baby carrots, and meatballs that assailed me was stunning. I hadn't expected there to be so much food at this party and felt a little self-conscious about my own contribution. Perhaps I should have brought something more substantial.

Putting my nervousness aside, I reached into my pocket and then held out my offering. "Anybody want a Chiclet?"

Nobody did and I was touched by their thoughtfulness. They had instinctively understood that by eating the Chiclets, it would be made perfectly clear how little I had contributed. Ah, well. I'd know better next time and would be sure to bring something more filling, like Starburst.

The festivities were soon well underway and I found myself in possession of a very noisy party horn, which I quickly put to use in a very clever fashion. By sneaking stealthily up behind unsuspecting revelers and blowing the horn loudly, I could cause varying reactions: a high flailing leap, the dropping of a punch glass, sudden flatulence, or an outburst of profanity. On at least one occasion, I managed to elicit all four at once.

My antics were unspeakably hilarious and soon everyone was begging me to stop. But I knew they were just playing along with the gag, so I continued the pranks.

Eventually, however, some of the partiers got a little carried away and decided to throw someone out in the snow. By sheer coincidence, I was chosen as the victim and soon found myself in a deep drift. Struggling to my feet, I turned to go back into the house, when something hit me on the head. I picked up the object and found it to be my package of Chiclets. This was closely followed by my car keys and it was at this point that I decided to head home. I knew I had been the life of the party, but I was getting too tired to continue my capers. I knew if I went back inside, they'd all expect me to get back into the act and I just didn't have the energy.

The ride home was quiet and I snacked on Chiclets as I plowed through the partially plowed streets. Once at home, I got ready for bed and slid beneath the covers, sighing with contentment. Another successful outing.

I turned out the light and then, because I just couldn't resist, blew one final blast on the party horn.

"Holy...!" thbthbthbhtbhtb

My, but the neighbors were up late.


Anonymous said...

Oh Craig, you are one silly man! Of course you would be invited to come to a party at my house. Permitting that you can get pass the guard baboons. Very surly they is....

Speaking of Chiclets, do they still make those? They always reminded me of a fat kid's tooth. You know the kind, the kind of tooth that could split wood like an ax.

Anonymous said...

Party animal? Some how that is funny to think about. Now me on the other hand, I am a true party gazelle.

Paul FooDaddy Brand said...

I kept the guard baboons at bay with a stick I found. They're partial to LeamonHeads too, so I tossed them some, you arse.

Party Gazelle? That'd make a good character on a children's TV show.

Anonymous said...

I never have any problem getting past the guard baboons, I could help too. (pouts)

TSB why is it that I keep throwing things @ you? first it was the brownies (Christmas) and now it is cookies, baby carrots, and meatballs. I really don't throw food that often.

I think the party gazelle is a good character on a children's TV show.

Paul FooDaddy Brand said...

I don't know why, but my favorite line is "I tried for a Sprite." It made me LOL. "LOL!" I went.

Perfect flow.

I also like the idea of you doling out Chiclets.

Now the criticism! You used formally when I think you meant to use formerly.

Dressed nice, or of the past?

Easily fixed, yes, and let it not detract from an otherwise great post! I'm surprised Dad hasn't commented on this one yet. He loves these.

Jack W. Regan said...

Whoops! Right you are, Foo. "Formerly," indeed. And I did it twice! In a row! Thanks for pointing that out.

Daniel Miller said...

Vote for Mike Huckabee

Anonymous said...

I love these! Did I say that already?

Jack W. Regan said...

Howdy, Duck Killer. Thanks for stopping by the Blog. Just a little note: feel free to support and/or vote for the candidate of your choice, but please don't use this Blog's comment space as a means of spreading his/her message, okay? Thanks, man!

CCG: Despite your claims of innocence and the outward appearance of angelic...uh, angelness with which you mask yourself, I know that inside rages the ragings of an evil Food-Thrower! No, no! Do not try to deny it, as I have made up my mind and will not be dissuaded, no matter what sort of evidence might be put forward to the contrary. (And, no, Killer Dan, that does not necessarily make me a Huckabee supporter.)

Anonymous said...

TSB My angelic angelness is not a mask. (ask the Foodaddy) I am not an EVIL food thrower.

Anonymous said...

That's huckatrue: I've never huckaseen her throw an evil food in her huckalife.

Subliminal advertising on huckablogs? Impossihuckable.

Party Gazelle sounds like a James Bond girl character person.

Jack W. Regan said...

FD'sFD: Are you vouching for CCG or the food?

CCG: Are you saying you're not a food thrower at all or simply not an evil one?

Hucka-bye for now!

Anonymous said...

TSB I am saying that I don't usually throw food. If I was going to I would not be evil about it.

Jack W. Regan said...

Oh, okay. In that case, you're off the hook. Until next time, that is.

Jacob Nordby said...

Down with the Religious Right!--and that includes Obama, Hillary and Gene Simmons (oh, Elton John usually makes the list, too, but has fallen off for some reason).

Ok...I see that the womens are studiously avoiding the tacit admission of porno-poring on the part of both Stupey, Foo ...and the cat--filthy little pervert!

Sorry gals, all your forced attempts at merriment don't fool me. I know that inside you are crying and your hearts are breaking over the lustfulness of your writer-dudes--and their cat(s).

Don't really know what to tell you.

Oh, and, Down with Huck Finn, too.

Anonymous said...

Nordby, I am not avoiding the fact the the Foodaddy or his cat are looking at Playboy. I know that neither of them are inot that sort of thing.

I wonder what is the point?

Is it to compare the women of the real world to those in the mag?

Is it really that much fun to look at something that you will probably never get to know or touch?

I hope that because or writer mens are like most of the male population that I can rest easily.

Jack W. Regan said...

CCG: Don't let Nordbyton get to you. He has used this technique before. In other words, accuse others of various "indiscretions" in order to keep anyone from digging too deeply into his own sordid past. If you were to peruse the archive of comments, you would see that this is true. He has so many skeletons in his closet that the merest breeze causes a veritable symphony as the bones clack together. HA! And you think I'm speaking figuratively...

This sort of behavior may work on the FBI, my dear Swineby, but not here!

"Down with Huck Finn..." That was funny.

Anonymous said...

TSB thank you for informing me of this. I was merely trying to explain that you and the Foodaddy are not the average man (which is a good thing, I think).

I can see what you mean about the skeletons in the closet I have known a few people such as this.

It get kinda old kinda fast