Sunday, December 31, 2006

What I Did On My Christmas Vacation Part One

I'm breaking this down No Cool Story random style!

My oldest daughter, Sunbum, keeps getting asked by other girls at Church if she's "EMO." She does indeed wear her hair over one squinty eye, she likes Fall Out Boy, and openly despises bubbleheaded fakey people. Papi has taken to calling her EMO EMU which she doesn't quite appreciate either. So, Santa left this little beauty in her stocking with a note that said, "For the good little EMO girl on my list- a white belt to make your wardrobe complete!"

So, we're waiting behind a lady at Target processing her 351 Christmas card photos on the Kodak computers when she types her name, "SHARON BOX," into the onscreen order form. Before I could stop him, my oldest son asked her if her husband's name was Jack. Yes, we just met Mrs. Jack In The Box!

My 5 year old son kept calling her "Chicken Patty!" during our annual viewing of Charlie Brown's Christmas Special. She's definitely a white meat patty with some fillers added and a plethora of preservatives. That girl is what, 50 years old by now, and she still looks like a child??!!???

We passed one of those calendar kiosks at the mall and the amazing color photographs of the all new Outhouse Calendar for 2006 really churned up some major excitement within me. I already subscribe to "Outdoor Crapper Monthly," and their December centerfold featuring a rare two seater privy with golden fixtures was truly stunning. I'm not ashamed to admit that I don't buy that publication just for the articles. I can't wait to see what fabulous outhouse pic will represent my birthmonth of May!

I wrote a Christmas skit this year that we performed at Church for our Ward Christmas Party. My Papi, usually loathe to participate in our skit madness, joined in too. While our daughter Natalie (so named after the infamous Thoroughly Mormon Millie) held up the famed "burrito stick" with a tethered frozen burrito dangling down, Papi and I waltzed our way underneath it as our kids sang with gusto, "I saw Mommy kissing PANCHO CLAUS underneath the BEAN BURRITO last night!" Then, I ceremoniously dipped Papi backwards and smooched him to a rousing chorus of applause. Papi had to wear a sombrero lined in pink and he kept calling it the "gay sombrero of doom," so I appreciate him showcasing himself in the gay sombrero for all at Church to see......and laugh at.

Friday, December 22, 2006

The Greatest Gift Of All Time

Chutzpah-Channukah's Da Bomb! The finest in Jewish rap available on the Internet.

My Papi gave me the gift of XM Satellite Radio last year and it's the greatest thing ever! I'm in the car an extraordinate amount of time every day and the monotony of standard FM broadcast was driving me freakin crazy. Now I have 170 stations at the touch of a button. As God as my witness I shall never go back to Top 40 crap again! XM started broadcasting the first Hannukah radio station ever last week and I can't get enough of it. They also have a Christmas station dedicated to playing music designed for your "dysfunctional family get togethers." Finally, me and my kinfolk have our own holiday soundtrack. This week I've heard a song called "Tourette's Christmas" complete with random bleeps, "Grandpa Got Run Over By A John Deere", and "Wrap It" set to the tune of Devo's classic, "Whip It" song. My favorite seasonal song of all time though comes from the worlds only Jewish rap supergroup, Chutzpah. They the shiz, boi! The chorus of "Hanukkah's Da Bomb" makes me wanna scream out, "True Dat, my Kosher homies. True Dat!" They also perform "Challah (holla) If You're Hot!" These guys are obviously somewhere on Weird Al's Family Tree. They're hogging the spotlight and the limelight during the Festival Of Lights. So to any and all followers of Judaism, Happy Hanukkah and Shalom! May your menorah shine brightly and a bounty of lotsa motzahs upon your table.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

A New Meaning To Tip Sheets!

You know how the PBS stations keep you abreast of progress made during their annual, semi-annual, monthly, weekly, seemingly daily Pledge Drives, right? It's usually a big freakin deal with lots of hoopla and machine manufactured bubbles floating around. "Tiny Bubbles" for Don Ho and bigger ones for Lawrence Welk. Man, that dude had some BIG bubbles! It's time for an update on The 2006 Infidel Newspaper Carrier Donation Drive. Brought to you without any bubble interruptions or gagarific PBS styled Peter, Paul, and Mary music.
So far I've received almost 100 envelopes containing a various assortment of cash, checks, and gift cards. All totaled I have a subscriber base of nearly 700 customers so I'm rapidly closing in on a 15 percent response mark which ain't too shabby.

I'm obsessive compulsive about the tips too. I keep a notebook where I chronicle the days haul by dividing it into sections by date, last name, address, amount given, and then I make small notes detailing whether or not they wished me a Merry Christmas, or if they sent a particularly lovely card. That way I have everything in order when I make my deposit slips and a nice detailed account for writing out my thank you notes without having to pilfer through an entire envelope stack. I have a system. A very anal retentive system.

Papi's new daily ritual involves excitedly asking me at the tallying up conclusion how much I got, and what that brings the grand total to. When I revealed my booty today, (hee hee 'BOOTY') he rubbed his hands together with apopletic glee, and I swear he licked his lips. So I casually told him that we could always re-enact that classic movie scene between Woody Harrelson and Demi Moore in "Indecent Proposal" where they roll around passionately on a bed filled with the million dollars in small unmarked bills that Demi 'earned' from getting it on with Robert Redford. Sweet. I grabbed up the envelopes and gift cards in preparation to spread it around the bed with reckless abandon but Papi only looked at me while shaking his head NO. I bet he would have done it if it had all been in cash. What a snob. Like, a few Target gift cards stuck to your butt never killed anybody.

The Veronicas-4EVER

I can't blame the Devil for making me do it this time! No, I only have Radioactive Jam and his cast of thousands of monkeys to hold responsible for the latest earworm to infect the Infidel household. Ordinarily I would strictly forbid music with numerals instead of words in the song titles, but after listening to this track repeatedly I've relented a bit. Nobody tell my oldest daughter, but Sunbum is receiving her very own copy of The Veronicas CD in her Christmas stocking on Monday. You're all sworn to secrecy, okay? Crikey, this twin sister act is the hottest thing to come out of Australia since Vegemite sandwiches, Ambrosia, The Wiggles, and koala on a stick. Beauty mate!

Further at home musical experiments have shown that Radioactive's scientific studies are indeed on the mark. 4 out of 6 Infidel monkeys found the music irresistible. Now, if The Veronicas could just hook up with 60's sensation The Archies for their next World Tour.......

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

You Spin Me Round Round Baby Round Round

Raise your hands if that classic little slice of the 80's is stuck in your mind now.

Ever wonder what kind of Christmas card an avowed Infidel would send out? Well, wonder no more! Here's the big unveiling. I found these cards on sale at the end of the season last year at Dillard's and I knew that I just had to have them. The spinner actually works too and I've already spent countless hours asking it if I'm the fairest of them all, and if he loves me or loves me not. The spinner just keeps landing on NAUGHTY and MOSTLY NAUGHTY though. What's that supposed to mean???!?? I got more life altering answers from my awesome Magic 8 Ball. The stickers shown below the card is a pivotal part of the signed, sealed, and delivered card process. There is nothing more festive than a stoner hippie Santa Claus. Climb up on his lap kids and smell the incense and peppermints! He's guaranteed to always have a giggle for you and the cookie munchies. Jerry Garcia would definitely approve of this sticker too except he always preferred to say "Piece On Earth, maaaan." I have to ration out my super groovy stickers now because the supply is running low. I purchased a whole bag full of them 10 years ago and I've never seen another one since. Something tells me there's a commune up north somewhere with a psychedelically painted Volkswagen bus full of the remaining stock of Hippie Santa stickers.

Since none of you will give me your actual names let alone your actual physical address here is your Christmas card. From my Infidel house to yours!

Saturday, December 16, 2006

It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year!

That's because all my hard work and effort slinging newspapers 365 days a year is finally rewarded. Yes, tis the season to be tipping. Fa La La La La La La La La! You can keep your gay apparel, just show me the money.

In Spanish speaking countries they celebrate something known as "The Thirteenth Month" where by law, yes, by law, those in servitude must be paid a month's wages as a Christmas bonus by their employers. Well, in the glorious capitalistic society that is America we operate a bit differently. We extend our open hands while earnestly repeating, 'GIMME GIMME!' The end result remains the same though, Christmas cashola for the peon, lower caste, white trash, Twinkie loving peoples. That would be me.

I've thrown the same route for several years in an upper crust neighborhood with some homes nearing the million dollar range. One thing I've noticed is that a spirit of gratitude earns you a bigger payout. My tips have shown a steady amount increase from the same customers over time, and I can only attribute that to the fact that I hand write a thank you note for each and every one, even if it's only 5 bucks. I feel impressed that someone would take time out of their busy life and pay postage to send something to me. I don't play favorites, but let's just say that those who tip 50 dollars on up enjoy elite gold member benefits like having their paper double wrapped and tied at the end on rainy days. I adopted the slogan iterated in the Disney flick, "Lilo And Stitch" as my own when it comes to tips. "Nobody gets left behind or forgotten!" You've only been a customer for a week? No problem. That's plenty of good service given to reward your carrier for. You were gone on vacation when I distributed the card solicitation? No problem. I carry extras in my truck just especially for you on your return. You only take the paper on Sunday? No problem. You should have lots of extra money laying around thanks to the money saving coupons in the Sunday paper. You got your paper service cut off for being a deadbeat? No problem. I still love you and won't harshly judge you like my boss does. Feel the love and send me a love offering!

This year I eschewed the standard Houston Chronicle printed cards and designed one on my own. So far, I'm on the path to a stellar, record setting tip season. I wonder if my super awesome card had something to do with it? Viva la 13th month!

Thursday, December 14, 2006

Love Will Keep Us Together!

It's True. However, "Muskrat Love" Raises The Ire Of Animal Rights Groups. Some People Are, Like, So Close Minded. The picture below is an amazing likeness of jams and his woman too. Well, except for the fact that he calls her Captain.....and Master......and Commander.
I'm happy to report that my esteemed blogger friend, jams o'donnell, is much too gentlemanly to engage in such beastly acts and was never actually implicated in the Great Muskrat Love Scandal of 1975. He does own a fabulous muskrat fur coat and matching ear flapped hat though.

Please join in celebrating a milestone landmark for jams and his woman. This weekend marks the anniversary of their first encounter 25 years ago. Yeah, 25 years of togetherness! That's right, two and a half decades of kitty cat parenting, wiping poorly aimed piss stream off the loo seat, laughing courteously at the same repeated jokes, dealing with in-laws and out-laws, feigning euphoria at new recipes no matter how awful, sharing a bathroom and all that entails, fighting over the remote control, taking bets on which "Farewell" Rolling Stone Tour actually will be, coordinating alibis 'just in case', asking 'does this make my butt look big?', insult contests (go not-wife!). Yes, there is much love here to behold. He's taking her out to see their favorite musical acts, Robyn Hitchcock and Hawkind this weekend, live in concert. I know that he's doing it to get lucky, but it's still a sweet gesture.

So, stop by his place or leave a note here of congratulations. Please don't be ill mannered and say something stupid like, "25 years???!!?? Wow, I was only 7 when you guys hooked up!" Ummm, well, because, I already did that.

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

It's The First Day Of Christmas

What Did Your True Love Give To You?
In keeping with time honored tradition of at least one fart story a month, this morning while Papi and I tried to catch the last few winks of blissful sleep, I rolled over and unexpectedly released a ginormous gas explosion that shattered the morning silence. Now, this is in keeping with my beliefs, since I believe that organic matter should never have to endure inhumane captivity. No, let's all embrace the philosophy of Sting and "Set Them Free." Immediately, Papi started chiding me for my sudden outburst and the ensuing foul wind. Nobody ever said that standing strong in your beliefs was an easy task. Sometimes, it's a downright dirty job. Does he not follow the admonition of the great Sting? Then, Melody sprung out of bed in one huge leap and scurried quickly out of the room while repeating, "Yuck, yuck, yuck." :(

I then remembered what day it was and I serenaded my beloved Papi in my very bestest singing voice(think Alfalfa), "On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, a fart that made me leave in a hurry." Papi seemed unimpressed. I reminded him that we have twelve whole days of this, and what surprises may await him on the second day. Number TWO!

Monday, December 11, 2006

Ray, Ray, Go Away!

Rachael Ray's publicist has conspired with all that is unholy to make sure she reaches complete saturation of the public marketplace. Saturated, and unhealthy for you like many of the things she hawks and endorses. Gaw, I'm so SICK of seeing this chick on the front of every magazine, plastic wrapper, and box while perusing the aisles of the grocery store. Maybe, it's just my anti-perky nature but I find the woman supremely fake and annoying. Rachael's best known for her "endearing" little catch phrases, giggling incessantly over nothing, and she should be indicted under the Flagrant Acronym Abuse Act of 1999. Seriously. What exactly is her obsession with E.V.O.O? (Extra Virgin Olive Oil) There's even an online community dedicated to mocking her at Rachael Ray Sucks! She's cute as a button, but enough already!

So, when I picked up our favorite brand of crackers, and gazed upon Rachael's grinning face oncemore, I turned to my kids and said, "For Heavens sakes. With her on the front, they should rename them 'DITZ' crackers." My kids laughed uproariously because they are an ever appreciative audience and they want to keep me in a good mood so I continue feeding them.

I will personally give the smackdown to anyone who saw her risque FHM magazine photo shoot and replies using the Ritz catchphrase that "Everything Tastes Better On A 'DITZ!'"

A Proclamation To The Blogging World

I'll admit it. Sometimes, I just don't feel very "bloggy", and I take a few days off. Sometimes, I just lurk and I don't leave a comment. It's nothing personal, sometimes I just want the luxury of reading without thinking. However, I've resolved that I will henceforth from this day forward leave a comment no matter what. It may say; "I read over your blog and found it to be very inquisitive." Or, it may even read as, "LOL! You're too funny!" Whatever. Prepare for the onslaught of comment mediocrity, but at least you will know that you are loved and your writing is being enjoyed. I will stroke the blogger egos of my friends. I will add to their comment counts. I will be a shining example of blogging sportsmanship to bloggers the whole world over.

You should know that when you go to pay tribute to me that I prefer to be cast in statue form made out of chocolate and mounted on a base of graham crackers and marshmallows.

Friday, December 08, 2006

It's A Dead Man's Party!

Click On The Title. I Dare You.......
Despite the gaily festive lights and wreath adorning this Colonial style building, its primary function is one of somber ceremony. Indeed, every day of my young life I deliver a newspaper under the porte cochere (Ummm, you know, the covered carport thingie) at this Funeral Home. Yes, Funeral Home.

When I'm driving through here, in the middle of the "Silent Night", alone, I often ask myself, Holy Crap! "Do You Hear What I Hear?" The very worst thing possible in these circumstances is to sing a slaying song tonight, and if I ever see something in that front window, "Rocking Around The Christmas Tree" I will probably shat my pants. Their Crematorium staff can always be heard humming a little tune about something "Roasting On An Open Fire", and the day they had an explosion and ashen flakes went swirling about through the air, one employee gleefully yelled, "It's going to be a 'White Christmas', after all!" The guy in charge of the body coolers is nicknamed, "Frosty", and remember that poor stricken "Grandma that Got Run Over By A Reindeer?" This Funeral Home received her burial account bringing much publicity to the once humble operation. Yep, those ain't "Silver Bells" you hear jingling from their main office. KA-CHING!

My Mom didn't give me a lot of useful advice in my childhood, but one thing she always screamed at me has permanently resonated in my mind. "TURN THAT MUSIC DOWN, OR YOU'LL WAKE THE DEAD!" I'm not an obedient child, past or present, but I do flip the radio off when cruising by the Funeral Home in the morning. The last thing I want to do is wake the dead. :o

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Basement Jaxx-Take Me Back To Your House

Do you enjoy videos featuring brightly outfitted Cossack dancers shaking it with unbridled joy? How do you feel about giant banjos with another little banjo player nestled inside of it? What about dancing bears? Do you like Russian stereotypes of men falling down drunk? What about Communist imagery of a military man in a Soviet tank while a peppy tune plays in the background? Do you like the sweet harmonious sound of the banjo mixed in with your club music? Have you been looking for a video that combines all of these elements? Your wait is finally over!

This is the Infidel Jam Of The Week. After hearing it, you will be powerless in stopping your body from throwing up your hands and screaming, "AAAWWWWW YEAAAH BOI. DIS RIGHT HERE? DIS IS MY JAM!"

Work beckons me forth. Tomorrow, I'll have a real blog post back up. Meanwhile, kick back, put your feet up, and enjoy a little Infidel music. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT try any of that Cossack dancing at home. Those are trained professionals in the video and I cannot be held liable for any Cossack dancing injuries you may sustain.

Monday, December 04, 2006

Feast Your Eyes!

Super Bloggy Buddy, No Cool Story is looking for ornament pictures, and her wish is my command!
This is my son Boo Boo's favorite ornament. See how the dalmation is rescuing a dalmation puppy? I didn't think so. My photography skills makes everything look like something hanging in the Museum Of Contemporary Art.
My Mom gave us this one because we used to have a red Jeep Cherokee. Well, that was before the day that we needed seating for a party of 8. See how Santas yakking on his cell phone? He's telling Mrs. Claus to fire up the oven and have his reindeer casserole ready because he's on the way home.
Who can resist the cuteness of a dog in a basket? Although, I usually prefer hot dogs in a basket surrounded by chili fries.
This pink scooter ornament was purchased last year to prove that we're boring on the outside but harbor secret "Easy Rider" desires on the inside.
You can't read the little sign because I suck. :( It says, "SNOOPY & WOODSTOCK 2004." Hey, they ran a strong ticket, and I hope they'll try again in 2008. I'll probably be voting for them since they have superior dancing skills and support passing through the all important goofy hat legislation.

I'm Inspector Infidel Of The Name Police

And I'm revoking your naming license right now!
I've become a name obsessed freak the past year, and whenever I see birth announcement signs posted in people's front yards, I have to cruise slowly by to check out the baby's name. Then, I either gasp in horror, or clasp my hands with unfettered delight. I spotted a stork sign a neighborhood over from me proclaiming the joy of their new arrival. What I saw made me want to weep for the baby girl they brought forth into this world and then slapped a hyper-testosteroned masculine name on.

Sawyer on a boy, while not my favorite is marginally passable. Sawyer on a girl is an abomination. My heart sank when I saw the pink details painted on the stork and the little pink bow resting above the crapalicious name. This girl doesn't even have the luxury of a decent middle name to fall back on. And what exactly do you nickname a young lady named Sawyer? Do you call her Saw for short? Sometimes, if a first name is gender neutral you can tell the sex by looking at the second name. Sawyer Quincy is doomed to be mistaken for a boy from administrators, coaches, and everyone else for the rest of her life. Thrusting gender confusion on your innocent child. Good job Mom and Dad!

Obviously, the groundbreaking federal law from the 1970's faced a modern day overhaul, and eventually voters repealed it, calling it "antiquated." Yes, I'm referring to the little known statute that stipulates that you must never engage in watching the television show, "Quincy M.E." while simultaneously listening to RUSH's "Tom Sawyer" on the radio as you're attempting to conceive a baby. It is expressly forbidden since it causes great harm to the unborn fetus. We need to start signing petitions TODAY to stop this naming tragedy from happening all over again. Who's with me?

Saturday, December 02, 2006

The Stockings Were Hung On The

Crappy Broken Formica Countertop With Care, In Hopes That Ed McMahon Would Soon Be There....... Oh, alright, that's MY secret wish.
*Cute Infidel Kid Story Alert!* I repeat: *Cute Infidel Kid Story Alert!*
Had this been a NON-cute Infidel kid story, you would have already felt the urge to roll your eyes and sigh at the shameless Mommy blathering displayed. In the unlikely event of you being forced to actually read someone else's NON-cute Infidel kid story, barf bags will be provided. This has been a message of the National Cute Infidel Kid System. We now return you to your regular blog already in progress.

As soon as Thanksgiving dinner was digested, the fight over the last slice of pumpkin pie was over, and the toilets unclogged on Friday, the kids pounced on the Christmas decorations and busily went to work. They even deftly reconstructed the jillion pieces of our artificial tree with their nimble little fingers sans instructions. Sadly, I can take no credit for their supreme intelligence since I couldn't even install our new toilet seat correctly.

In a few short hours, my little brown elves transformed our home into a twinkling sparkling Grand Christmas Central. The best thing is how the decorations cover up most of the toddler graffiti splayed across the walls around here. Our littlest elf, Melody, impatiently stomped around the house all afternoon with her chubby arms folded across her chest demanding to know where her presents were. She feistily told me, "My stocking has hung there for three whole hours, and Santa Claus hasn't brought me nothing!" We all laughed while Melody marched over to her stocking, turned it upside down, and was amazed to see some forgotten chocolates and hair clippies from last year spill out onto the floor. She triumphantly yelled at us, "See? Santa loves Me, and not YOU. You no have nothing in your stockings. Ha-Ha!"

She's wrong. I looked into mine and found the traditional red cotton lint ball and dead silverfish that I get in my stocking every year.

Friday, December 01, 2006

You Are What You Eat

So says Mr. Dumass of Dumass Tacos.
I'm very excited to announce the opening of a Dumass eatery right here in the heart of Texas. I don't know about you all, but I strive to get my FDA recommended allotment of Dumass nutrients on a daily basis, because Dumass food makes you grow big and strong, and able to quote the deep thoughts of Ashton Kutcher on a whim. Yes, and I won't accept just any old imitation Dumass Taco either. Only the finest Dumass Taco made with 100 percent real Dumass will do.

I know that the apostrophe symbol is burnt out, but from the street you can't see it at all. Their sign on the shopping center marquee completely lacks any sort of an apostrophe. What a bunch of Dumass's! So, unto us, a new Dumass is born. Too bad they didn't locate it next door to my other favorite dining establishment, Chewy Balls. Chewy Balls and Dumass Tacos- A nutritious and delicious part of your everyday diet!