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Showing posts with label comedy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label comedy. Show all posts

Saturday, June 23, 2012

So, I Was Recognized on the Street Today...

In a rare moment of Rafe fame (fame mostly due to happening to have acquaintences that are also Facebook friends and, despite not having seen me in person for years, can still recognize me from my FB pics) I was recognized on the street today.

In other words: I ran into someone who I once met, but don't know very well.


In still other words: No real fame will be presented in this tale.

In still more other words: I have a fun if not funny story to relate. ^_^

I should get started...

I was walking home from confession this Saturday* (remember, I'm Catholic... we do stuff like that) and I was about half way home when suddenly a Wild Rosi appeared whilst driving a car.


*Saturday would be today if, in fact, you read this on the same Saturday that I post it on. -_-

Her eyes were wide with excitement, her grin was ear to ear, and she was pointing and waving with the frantic energy of a million, mad stallions!

She obviously recognized me. And was exceptionally happy to see me. -_-

To be fair, she looks less like Ben Franklin than my drawing...
At first I thought I recognized her... then I realized she wasn't who I thought she was.

Then she pulled into a driveway I was nearing. I briefly considered the possibility that she belonged to that house, but this only made the matter curiouser, because I know almost less than nothing about the occupents of that domicile.

That was when she burst out of the car and ran towards me, still frantic and excited.

She definitely wasn't who I thought she was, but I definitely recognized her face... but I definitely couldn't place it. Definitely.

"Hi! I'm a Wild Rosi!" She shouted (thus enabling me to remember who she was). "I'm Ellie's cousin!" (Ellie dislikes being called "Ellie," which is why I have opted to make her nom de blog "Ellie.") >:D BWUAHAHAHHAA!!!

Anywho... the Wild Rosi continued speaking. "We're trying to get to Ellie's, but we're kind of lost. I saw you and was like 'hey, I think I know him! He's Ellie's friend!'"

Didn't even remember my name... :(

My Fame-Ego took a small blow...


But I rallied on.

"Can you tell us* how to get to Ellie's from this road?"


*There was, apparently, another wild Ellie cousin in the car.

"Does this road go all the way to Ellie's house?" She asked.

I looked at the street, *le shrug* "I haven't seen it go anywhere yet." (I'm so clever...)

The Wild Rosi then made it unmistakably clear that she wanted directions to Ellie's domicile.

Again... just because my drawings are freakish does NOT mean that the people they represent are. ^_^ The Wild Rosi and Ellie are both new to SDA, and I don't want to insult them more than I intend to.
I proceeded to give her the most confusing--yet still somehow true--directions I could think of.

-_- Because I'm cruel like that.

Anywhozits...

That's pretty much the story of the time I was recognized on the street. I'm now officially (not really) famous. :D

Go do some evil, and Ciao!


~Rafe

*1000 cool points to those who know what is printed on my blue shirt in the second pic. ;)

Sunday, April 8, 2012

Flap and Eva -- A Very Special Easter Story

Okay, so I'll admit it's funnier if you are in on all the inside jokes. But, due to the nature of some of the jokes (and the people involved in them) I can only say this: It's  funnier if you're in on all the inside jokes. ;)

Enjoy my wicked awesome prose, anyway. You may get a laugh or two out of it.

So, without further ado... I give you...



Flap and Eva

and the

Curse of the Easter Pig


Once upon a time Flap and Eva were playing in their back yard. It should be noted that Flap was the Kwisatz Haderach, and Eva spoke with a thick Hungarian accent. Other than those to facts, they were mostly normal children from Normal World.
 
Mostly.

 
They were un-normal by virtue of their parents. Their father was Sir Boone, Lord and Grandmaster of the League of Men Who Raise Magical Dogges, and their mother, Theodora Rossé, was the personal assistant of Judge Norwegian—the only Norwegian judge allowed to judicate in Normal World, not to mention the most respected judicator in all of Normal World.
 
As it was (and it usually is as it is, so it stands to reason that it was—most probably—as it was on that day) it was Saturday. More precisely, it was Holy Saturday. (For those of you who don’t know it, that is the day before Easter Sunday.) Being that the next morning was a day filled with egg hunts and sugar highs, Flap and Eva were excited—as kids are wont to be. However, like every other child in Normal World, they were also weary. Weary because they knew of the curse of the Easter Pig.
 
It was said that on every thousandth Easter (and it was—of course—the thousandth Easter) there would come, flying over the mountains—coming straight from Abnormal World (which is, contrary to popular belief, not the World of Normal Abs; that’s quite a different world)—the infamous EASTER PIG!
 
(Yes, grammar fans, the preceding sentence was convoluted, likely a little confusing and probably qualified as a run-on. I don’t care. Get over it.)
 
The Easter Pig, some thought, was just a legend, or an old wives’ tale designed to make children fear winged pigs. Most, however, knew the ominousity (ßnot a real word) of the truth of the legend, and they feared the coming of the Easter Pig as most would fear rabid Chihuahuas—which is, like, A LOT!
 
Flap and Eva, though, were super-mega-geniuses with a combined IQ of well over a billion. They knew that with a little effort they could protect their chocolaty loot from the hated flying swine. So they set out to pig-proof their house, and—if they could—capture the Easter Pig, thus making Normal World a safe place to celebrate candy once again!
 
After much thinking, planning, and plotting, Flap had an idea.
 
“I’ve got an idea, Eva Jo,” He said.
 
“Ah, do tell it to me, dahling.” Eva answered.
 
“What if we got Boris to help us?”
 
“The drunk Russian?” Eva was shocked, “You know mother said we’re not to hang out with him anymore.”
 
“No, not that Boris. The bulldogge Boris.”
 
“Is that really how you spell ‘bulldogge’?” Eva asked.
 
“It’s Olde English, I think,” Flap said, “But that doesn’t matter. You’re supposed to be hearing me, not reading me.”
 
“Ah, yes, dahling. I tend to forget tiny things like that. Do go on.”
 
“Where was I?”
 
“Not getting the drunk Russian to help us.”
 
“Oh, yeah.” Flap continued his plan, “Suppose we get Boris to stay up all night and talk to the Easter Bunny—he won’t come if we’re awake, but it doesn’t mind dogs!”
 
“The Easter Bunny is probably a girl, dahling, considering it lays the eggs.”
 
“It’s a rabbit, Eva Jo.”
 
“And?”
 
“A mammal?”
 
“And?”
 
“A mammal that lays eggs?”
 
“And?”
 
“Is this turning into a Coke 0 commercial?”
 
“Probably, dahling, let’s just move on. What will Boris do to the EB when she arrives?”
 
“Okay, we’ll have Boris stay up to meet the Easter Bunny, and when it arrives, we’ll have instructed Boris to instruct the Easter Bunny to leave all the eggs in one place—to not hide them!”
 
“But then our egg-hunt will be rather anticlimactic, don’t you think?”
 
“That’s not the point.”
 
“What is the point, dahling?”
 
“The point is we’ll have the highest concentration of chocolate per square foot on the block; the Easter Pig won’t be able to resist it! Plus, we’ll know EXACTLY where he’ll be headed, so we can lie in wait!”
 
“Can I squat in wait, Flap? If I lie down I’m apt to fall asleep.”
 
“Whatever.”
 
So, without much further ado about nothing, they set their plan into motion.
 
Boris—not the drunk Russian Boris—readily agreed to help them… provided he got fifty percent of all chocolate gained through the Easter celebrations.
 
“But, Boris, dahling,” Eva said, “Chocolate is terrible for dogges!”
 
“Arf, I know!” Boris said, “I’ve got some friends I wanna off.”
 
“Oh, well in that case…” Flap rolled his eyes, “Sure.”
 
“Which friends?” Eva asked.
 
“That’s none of your concern!” Boris barked (literally).

 
“Just agree, Eva Jo.” Flap whispered in her ear, “We’re gonna welch on the terms anyway.”
 
“Oh, you mischievous fool!” Eva slapped him in the arm. “Boris, we cannot agree to these terms, and don’t trust my brother; he plans on reneging on any promises he makes to you.”
 
“Well then why in the heck should I help you two whippersnappers?” Boris barked again (still literally).
 
“Because I said so.”
 
All three jumped at the unexpected voice. They looked up and, standing above them, they saw Sir Boone, the Lord and Grandmaster of the League of Men Who Raise Magical Dogges himself.
 
“Hi, Dad.” Eva said.
 
“Pops.” Flap nodded.
 
“My liege!” Boris groveled.
 
“Hi, kids.” Sir Boone said, and then turned his attention to the bulldogge, “Boris, I need you to do whatever they ask of you, even if it involves a sweater vest. Their mission is too valuable to Normal World to be hampered by the ego of one such as thee.”
 
“Yes, my liege!” Boris did not bark. None who love life dare bark at Sir Boone. “Of course, my liege!”
 
“Good.” Sir Boone said. “Back to what you were doing, kiddos.” With that, he left.
 
So they explained their plan to Boris, who—reluctantly—agreed.
 
That night they went to sleep in their comfy beds while Boris stood his ground in the living room, waiting for the Easter Bunny to arrive.
 
As Easter Bunnies are notoriously shy—no human has seen one and lived to tell the tale—we know absolutely nothing about what occurred when the EB finally did show up. So we take up our story again when Boris barked for Flap and Eva to wake up and take their positions hiding in the living room.
 
They gazed at the pile of sugar-filled eggs, drooling excessively, for a moment, and then scurried away behind furniture to await the dreaded Easter Pig.
 
“How long do you think it will be, dahling?” Eva asked.
 
“Don’t know, Eva Jo.” Flap smiled, “That rhymed.”
 
“You are quite the accomplished poet.” Eva rolled her eyes.
 
“Shh!” Flap shushed her. “I think he’s here.”
 
Sure enough, the front door creaked open. In the shadows it was difficult to see all the details of the creature’s form, but it was, without question, a winged pig—the Easter Pig!
 

“Stop fiend!” Flap yelled as he and his sister burst from their place of hiding.
 
The Easter Pig snarled. “Flap and Eva! I should have known.”
 
“You’ve met your doom now, dahling!” Eva cried.
 
The Easter Pig laughed, “You can’t stop the Easter Pig! No one can. Your boppa tried once; Sir Boone and Theodora Rossé never told you what happened to your boppa, did they?”
 
“They told us enough,” Flap said, “They told us you killed him.”
 
“Which was terribly rude of you, dahling.” Eva added.
 
“No, Flap and Eva,” The Easter Pig’s deep voice boomed throughout the room, “I am your boppa!”
 
“No-o-o-o-o-o-o!!!!”
 
“Join me, Flap.” The winged swine said, “Join the Abnormal World, and we can steal Easter candy together, as boppa and Kwisatz Haderach.”
 
“Don’t do it, Flap, dahling!” Eva called out, “It’s not worth it! At least make him cut off your hand first!”
 
“No! I’ll never steal Easter candy with you!”
 
The Easter Pig said, “Then you will surely have Easter candy stolen from you.”
 
With that Eva pulled out a lightsaber.
 
“That’s enough chit-chat, dahlings. Let’s end this.”
  
She lunged at the pig.
 
He drew his own saber.
 

The duel was epic.
 
Eventually, however, the Easter Pig was overpowered—with much thanks to the Kwisatz Haderach’s many kidney punches. They tied him up and quickly dispatched him to court where Judge Norwegian exiled to him for his crimes to Kansas (which is another abnormal world) forever-ish (unless he leaves).
 
That, friends and countrymen, is how Flap and Eva defeated the curse of the Easter Pig and saved Easter candy for everyone forever.
   

The End
The Lands of Flap and Eva


Thursday, December 15, 2011

"A Modest Tribute" aka The Poem I Wrote, Lost, Subsequently Found and Ultimately Forgot the Meaning Of

So I cleaned my room this morning... EARLY.

I haven't even gone to sleep yet, and it's 3:18 AM.

I finished cleaning my room maybe an hour ago. :\

Anywho... the point is this:

Whilst throwing away trash I stumbled on a piece of paper with a poem I wrote who-knows-how-long ago.
My room was dirty. :\


Anywhosits, I've decided to share the poem I wrote, lost, and subsequently found with you. (I'm leaving all the grammar, punctuation and capitalization exactly how I found them. Some of it's kind of weird... so... sic!)

Here 'tis:
A modest tribute in a thousand words
could utter we
To the flowing of the faerie's sigh
Wishing we could see
What heaven hath brought with Michael's name
A conqueror of Smiles
A lover's game
From Something past to something more
With someone laughing
And Someone's war
Shall be to see what they can make
Of this and that
of give and take.

Yeah... I don't get it either. :\

If it ever meant anything--a claim I cannot swear to--I have forgotten it entirely.

So, really, this is the question: What does it mean to YOU?

Comment and tell me. ^_^

(Yes, I know this one is a quickie... but I had naught else to brighten your day with at this very early moment.)

So, Ciao!

And, as per my usual request, go do some evil!

~Rafe

Monday, December 5, 2011

Life Updates - Who is With Whom and Who's Having Whose Baby - P.S. Mr. Weirdman

Note the proper uses of "Who," "Whom," "Who's," and "Whose." -_- (This will be really embarrassing if I used one of them wrong...)

So, this post is just an update on some of the peeps I mention a lot in my blog. Just so you know what's going on in their lives... and so I can mock them. :D

To begin with, my most ardent follower, Satchel.

Satchel, as you know, is married to Sheriff Woody, and they have three sons, Jose, Jimp, and Lex. As you also know (if you read my posts) Satchel and Woody are expecting another baby.

A "Baby Boulder" is like a "Baby Bump" ... only... BIGGER ... but iz a cute kind of "BIGGER"
The new baby will be the fourth minion from Satchel Minions, Inc. Will technically be my fifth minion though. Mr. Wilson (not previously blogged about) was my first true minion, but I haven't heard from him for a while.

Jamaal (the diminutive one... remember?) is about ready to marry Chief (who is, incidentally, Mr. Wilson's uncle).
I'm fairly certain he'll actually wear a tux on the day of.
Queenie cut her hair, dyed it, and is forcing me to watch My Little Ponies: Friendship is Magic.
She's actually rather intimidating when she wants to be...

Honestly, I would never have even considered watching Ponies if it weren't for the unending blah-blahing that Queenie is capable of.

I'm proud to say I've lived through a few episodes. o.O No one can ever accuse me of not being open anyway...

So that's where they stand right now.


Have you ever met a Mr. Weirdman???

(Smooth segue, eh?)

It's that one guy with an obnoxious mustache (or a mullet) and ball cap who rambles on and on about everything and nothing whilst making strange faces and leaving you no recourse but to nod and say "uhuh."
Mr. Weirdman either the life of the party or the bane of the...other party... :\

He's the guy that brings a gun to a tornado.

True fact.

It was a stormy afternoon not too many months ago when we were on our porch watching the weather (as Kansans are wont to do) and our neighbor came over. He was wearing shorts, no shoes, a T-shirt, a ball cap and... a holster? He held a beer in one hand, and a revolver in the other.
He was the mullet kind of Weirdman
"Here," He handed Evic his beer, "Hold this while I load."

The End! :D

(Don't you hate it when writers bring the story to the first interesting instance and then... stop?)


Mr. Weirdmans are everywhere.

Watch out for them.

Now... go do some evil. -_-

Ciao!

~Rafe

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Thanksgiving and birthdays on the 24 of November, 1982

Yeah, the title pretty much says it all.

So, I posted on my facebook asking for blog ideas from my readers. :D

Only one responded. :(

It was Satchel, nonetheless.

Satchel Posting
What she posted was  "thanksgiving and birthdays on the 24 of nov. 1982" [sic].

After a day or two NO ONE ELSE wanted me to blog about anything. :( Obviously my other fans hate me. However, I'm willing to do this blog dedicated to the ideas of Satchel, because I'm lobbying her to name her next child Pavel... even if it's a girl. :D

So, first, we will delve into Thanksgiving.
It's a day for giving thanks.

Nuff said?

Now for birthdays on November 24, 1982... >:)


A little bit of math (2011-1982=29) shows us that any person or persons with this birthday is about to become AO. Which, as everyone knows, is "Almost Old."

You see... ages work like this:
0-1 Baby
2-4 Toddler

5-12 Kid
13-19 Teenager (aka mentally imbalanced individual)
20 Limbo
21-25 Young Adult
26-29 Adult
30-45 Old
46-65 "Middle aged"
66-79 Young at Heart
80-89 Old (again)
90-99 Very Old
100+ Ancient Relic of the Dinosaurs...

Anyone born on November 24th of 1982 is approaching their last year of "Adult," and is almost Old! Shortly (very shortly) we'll have to drum said person out of the ranks of the youthful. :\ Unless he or she is a celebrity. Somehow they can stay young for decades...

Go figure.

Now, if we do some assuming, we should assume that Satchel wanted us to blog about birthdays on November 24th of 1982 because HER birthday is on November 24th of 1982.

I can see the tabloids now:

SATCHEL TURNS ALMOST OLD! REGRETS NOT NAMING CHILD "PAVEL"!

Obviously we have to prevent this from happening.


We have a few options:
1) Make Satchel into a celebrity (this can buy her a few more years).
2) Kill her before her birthday (sadly, not a legal option).
3) Get her to sign a contract legally naming her child (be it male or female) Pavel.
4) All of the above.


Personally, I'm a fan of #1... sadly, the most celebratory thing she's done is give me minions. :\ Not many people gonna buy her CD for that.


Her brothers, dad, and husband are big and scary, so killing her is basically off the table.


Number 4 is just stupid.


That leaves us only one option.


Satchel, if you're reading this, NAME YOUR CHILD PAVEL!
Or Melville... I like Melville too...


Anywho... peace out, ciao and go do some evil. -_-

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Magic Vans, Combustible Craniums, and Cinematic Awesomeness!!!

I love technology.


It makes people forget how to do things by hand. :)


My parents recently bought a magic van. You can open and close the side doors by pressing a button on the keys. It's MAGIC! Sort of.


I only bring this up because my mother, aka "Mom Lady," had a senior moment with the magic van.

Mom Lady with Magic Van... and neighbor's house.
 Mom Lady is a hippie. Minus the mind-altering drugs and free love, of course. She's one of those "sane" hippies... sort of.

The other day she got home from the store, and after we brought the groceries in, she tried to close the magic door by using the magic button.

It didn't do anything.

She tried again.

No result.

"It's not working." She said, "What are we going to do?"

"I'll get it." I ran over to the magic van, and (amazingly) pulled the door shut.

I turned back around, and Mom Lady was laughing.

"I did it the old fashioned way." I said.

She looked at me, "I didn't even think about that."

*SENIOR HIPPIE MOMENT!*

Silliness!

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking "what about combustible craniums and cinematic awesomeness?" Well, hold your freaking horses!

And, uh, can I ride one of your horses?

Anywho, I want to be a filmmaker.

My dream...
And so does Evic...
...and hers.
So we were both excited when we discovered a film school was opening up in a city close to us.

"Yipee!" ...or whatever.

They were going to call it "Brain Flame" or some other name that evokes graphic images of combustible craniums... I still might want to go there, so I don't want to mock them by their actual name. :P

We promptly found their website, and I e-mailed them.

No reply.

Months later...

...still no reply.

Evic e-mailed them.

No reply.

Months later...

...still no reply.

Since both Mom Lady and Dad Man are supportive of our dreams...

...when they found themselves in said city, only blocks away from said film school, Mom Lady said, "Let's stop by there, and see if they'll talk to us.

They stopped by.

They talked to them.

When Mom Lady and Dad Man returned home they told us all about it. It was AMAZING!!!

Evic and I resolved to go visit them ourselves.

So, a short time later, Evic and I drove up to visit Brain Flame.

Next door to the film school was another "university" with a strange name. I told Evic it was probably a brothel-girl training school. She disagreed. Something about it being illegal, and that my mind was in the gutter.

Whatever.

We made it to Brain Flame.

Upon arrival... we found the doors locked. :(

It seemed that there was a conspiracy to keep Evic and I away from Brain Flame forever.

We discussed the annoyingness of not being able to contact them on the way home.

When I returned home and told Mom Lady about it she said "Oh, we didn't talk to anyone inside the Brain Flame building. You have to go into the brothel school and ask to see the Brain Flame people, and they'll come talk to you."

"So it is a brothel school?"

Okay, at this point I'm making up the brothel school stuff... maybe my mind IS in the gutter???

Anywho... here's a bonus pic for you.

I call it "Heil Hepburn!"

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

The Legend of the Spider of Death (AKA "Can you find the iguana?")

Are you a sufferer of arachnophobia?

I am.

It sucks more than a vacuum cleaner.

And that’s a lot.

One night I was in my room, sitting in bed, and enjoying writing a story about someone or something or whatever. Pen in hand, tea by my side, paper in front of me… *ah* …the only thing that could have made it better is if the tea was soda and the pen was candy… and the paper a movie starring Eddie Izzard, Ed Helms and Will Smith. Let’s throw Keisha Castle-Hughes and Karen Gillan in there for balance.

(Of course I would still wanting to be writing said movie, and would need at least a $100,000,001.82 budget. I’m not picky.)

This film would be entitled: “Snow White Powder and the Seven Dealers” it would win all kinds of awards (including “Coolest Writer”) and make me famous.

Me getting famous:

While I was trying to get famous, I innocently glanced at the floor.

*Was that movement?*

I glanced again (this time not so innocently)…

*GASP!* IT WAS MOVEMENT!

It was a spider…

…of death.

But it wasn’t just ANY spider of death. This was, I shit you not, the biggest, baddest, baby-eatin’est son of an eight-legged, creepy, crawly, she-devil I have EVER seen in my entire life.

Then it began running towards me.

Now, let me take a moment to say that I know I suffer from arachnophobia. I know that what I actually saw was probably something like this:

But that knowledge doesn’t help me.

It doesn’t help me one bit.

What I SAW, What I remember seeing, what has been seared with a hot-iron into my memory FOREVER looked like this:


I was terrified.

I was Petrified.

Mortified.

Stupefied.

By a spider.

That was charging me.

I jumped up.

And I screamed.

Like a girl.

And it ran under my bed.

At the sound of my heart exploding, Behemoth, my brother—who was asleep in his bed across the room, woke up… ish.

He (kind of) opened his eyes and (sort of) looked to see why I was screaming like a banshee.

Of course, by this point, I was merely hyperventilating.

So he did this:



And then he went back to sleep.

I was (for all intents and purposes) alone in my room with a giant, man-eating demon sent straight from the bowels of HELL to torment me for my SINS!

There was a spider in there too.

Okay, I kid…

…the spider WAS the demon.

Somehow (I don’t remember exactly how) I escaped the bedroom with my life.

I was determined(ish) to defeat this atrocity of creation, and reclaim my right as the ONLY ONE who could hide under my bed.

But I needed to find something to aid me in my quest.

I went looking for a flashlight.



I couldn’t find the bloody flashlight.

Damn.

I stumbled on an electric lantern.

After I got up again, I took it into my room and tried to peer under the bed. This is difficult to do when you refuse to get closer than ten feet from the bed in question. (I wasn’t going to stick my face down there for it to feast on!) Luckily my bed is raised a bit high off the ground, and none of my blankets were hanging down. So I could see decently well as I looked for the beast below.

I didn’t find it.

The next day my mother brought a flashlight in from the truck.

FML

I still couldn’t find it.

Actually, I never found it.

To this day a demon-possessed spider dwells in my room… and I sleep on the couch.

Did you find the iguana?