Tag Archives: humor

Freak Speak

Hey Little Baby, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT NEXT TIME, OKAY?

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Post #9 from Kidlit’s Crankiest Curmudgeon’s Blog–

OOH, the doctor is less than happy!!!!! He just got back from the movies and he’s so ticked he can hardly type. But he’ll do his best to explain what happened.

How’s this for a nice setup? You go to the IMAX to see Puss in Boots in 3D with a couple of your best buds. You get seats right in the middle where the screen is as big as North America and you have on those glasses and just the intro to the Dolby Sound System makes your ears so happy they try to put on party hats. Then the movie starts and you’re in heaven till… W-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-H!! Some baby starts wailing nearby. Nearby as in the seat just in front of you to the left. Like fingernails on your ear drums. You’d think the mother would whisk her bratty little kid out of the theater and give hundreds of paying customers a little peace and quiet. Think again. The lady puts her lil punkin head on her shoulder and tries to comfort her/him/whatever. (It was hard to tell.) The baby quiets down to maybe half the volume as before — maybe police siren level — and then lets out a nice portion of barf right on you know who’s leg. Only then does the lady get up and muscle her way toward the aisle. I’m sitting there, my chin somewhere near my belly button in amazement, while my two (former) friends are laughing so hard they’re practically shooting their Cokes up through their noses. So I do what I have to. Try to get out of there as unmessily as possible. Guess what. It was impossible. I ended up getting barf on either the people I was trying to slide past or on the backs of the chairs right in front of them. Of course, they got mad at ME!! Like it was my fault!!

So I finally get out of there to the bathroom and have to spend 10 or 20 minutes pretty much trying to get into the sink to get my pants less filthy. Bad enough in itself but think about the other people coming in. I tried to explain to the first couple, but it sounded so bad, I just shut up and kept my eyes down. But I knew everybody was staring at me and probably telling their friends what a doof I was.

When I finally get to my row, this man demands that I clean up the mess I left on the seat back in front of him. What am I going to do? Say “Make that lady do it?” She wasn’t even back yet. So there I went, back to the refreshments counter where I had to ask for some paper towels, then come back and do what the guy said, then leave again to throw away the trash.

Was I having fun yet?

I finally got back to my seat and then here comes back that lady with the baby. At least the little creature has calmed down. Boy, was I wrong! Two minutes later, like Ke$ha says, “This place about to blow.” More chunks, smaller and, as I was to find out, even harder to dispose of. The only good thing was my friend next to me got at least a bit of the overflow. And some of it went in his Coke.

I’ll spare you the rest of the details. I’ll just say, “Lady Lunkhead and Barfbaby, whatever your names are, if I ever find you, you owe me $10, you owe my friend $10, and you owe me a new pair of jeans, and much, much more.” How much I’m still trying to figure out. But it’s going to be a lot.

Till then, I’m a very PO’d Dr. Crankenfuss

Freak Speak

Uh, God, can I make a suggestion?

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Post #8 from Kidlit’s Crankiest Curmudgeon’s Blog–

Okay people, I know I’m all full of myself and all and I like to complain/whine/moan/kvetch, you name it, but I’m always right, which makes my rants justified. But you know all that already, don’t you? But tonight, I have a different “concern” and this one concerns all of us, but especially kids in school. I guess I’ll have to put it to the only guy who can actually change it for the better. So here goes:

Dear God,
I’m only a regular — actually better than regular, but you know that — kid in North Carolina and usually I don’t ask you for much. I mean, I know life isn’t fair and all that and you’ve set it all up the way you want, but I just have a little request, not for just me, you understand, but for millions of people like me. See, around this time of year, daylight savings time ends and that means that around 5 o’clock, like whoa, it gets too dark to see the basket very well and my shots keep missing, but it’s not all my fault, you know, cause how can anyone expect me to score when I can’t see? It’s not the cold weather that gets to me — hey, I can play shirts and skins in a snowstorm, though I have to admit I’d rather be a shirt — but this daylight thing is a real hindrance. Now I know we could go back to daylight savings, but that wouldn’t work either because then I’m waking up and it’s still dark. Not good. Just a couple weeks ago I smashed my toe on the bathroom scale cause I couldn’t see anything and it was already past six in the morning. Now I’m not blaming you, you understand, but it really did hurt.

So here’s my humble suggestion. Can’t you just tilt the Earth just a tad different or maybe let the sun move around as much as is necessary to keep daylight hours a little more even? It wouldn’t be that hard for you and think how much kids would appreciate it. I can’t speak for all the adults but I have the feeling that a little more regularity would be appreciated by all.

As I said, this is only a suggestion. Maybe I don’t get it all and it would be impossible but — oh yeah, I just thought of this — think of how hard it must be for kids in Alaska who have to live in the darkness for months every winter. Man, how are their dads going to kill any moose for dinner if they can’t see? I’m sure there must be others who’d agree with me, but anyway, just give it some thought, okay?

Thank you for listening.

From one of your biggest fans,
Dr. Crankenfuss (I know you know who I am, but this is for my readers. I’m sure you understand.)

Freak Speak

No, no! Sign ME up!

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Post #7 from Kidlit’s Crankiest Curmudgeon’s Blog–

Hey, I’m not much of a 60 Minutes watcher — let’s face it, the youngest dude on that show can barely remember age 50 — but my Mom is and she was sad because their old commentator — and I do mean old, he was like 92 — died last week. His name was Andy Rooney and he was known for complaining all the time.

Remind you of anyone?

My Mom showed me this article from Patch.com by Michel Salt Horn to make that point. I’ll quote from the part that matters.

We’ll miss American’s favorite curmudgeon… 60 Minutes’ resident kvetch Andy Rooney died on Friday. He was 92 and worked right up until the end. He had one of the best and longest running jobs on television – or anywhere. He got paid for being perpetually perturbed, and he complained about almost everything.

Paid for being cranky? I’m actually qualified for this – sign me up!

EGGZAKLY!! (Now don’t go all emo on me and say I don’t know how to spell. That was intentional, dudes.) But you got the wrong guy in mind, Ms. Horn. It’s not you! I be da man for dis job!

So get in line, Ms. Horn. I think I’m probably more qualified than you since I’ve been told (many times) that I was a colicky baby so I’ve been kvetching — now that’s a cool word. I had to look it up. — since the day I was born. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. Besides, I bet you couldn’t grow eyebrows like Mr. Rooney had. Like dude, ever hear of scissors? Or lawn mowers? You could’ve done ads for Miracle-Gro.

Anyway, I’m gonna do some research on YouTube about this Andy Rooney. If I find some really good rants, I’ll pass them on. He’ll probably get me more PO’d than usual. If that’s possible.

Freak Speak

Too Much of a Bad Thing

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Post #6 from Kidlit’s Crankiest Curmudgeon’s Blog–

Okay, I’m in the middle of doing my Math homework. It’s pre-Algebra and it’s not that hard. Stuff like 3X – 15 = 60. (I can do ones like this in my head. It’s 25.) Now some are a bit harder, but nothing ol’ Crankenfuss can’t handle. Ha, but here’s the rub (whatever that means. We had it some Shakespeare piece we had to do.) Our teacher, who shall remain nameless here so I won’t get sued or anything — but you know who you are, don’t you, Mr. __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ ? — gave us 25 problems to do. THAT MAKES NO SENSE, DUDE! In my case, I get it, so why make me do 25 of them to prove it. Wouldn’t five or six be enough to show you what I can do? And what about those guys who don’t get it? Why give them 25? So they can miss all of them? Not so good for that old self-esteem, is it? Again, if they miss three out of three, even you would be able to figure out they need some extra help. So, lissen up, you mean Mr. Math teacher. Use that old noodle — and I DO mean old — and start doing the right thing. Don’t give us 25 problems when five makes W-A-A-A-A-Y more sense.

From your would-be and should-be adviser (if you can handle the truth),
Dr. Crankenfuss

Freak Speak

It Would Be So Cool…

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Post #5 from Kidlit’s Crankiest Curmudgeon’s Blog–

WARNING: The following post does not even contain a complaint. Yeah, I know that’s kind of hard to believe, coming from Crankenfuss and all, but I was watching the World Series a few days ago and I got to thinking. “Uh, oh,” you’re saying, “when Crankenfuss gets to thinking, we better get out the anti-diarrhea medicine.” No, no, I’m serious. I saw this guy on St. Louis — David Freese — and he grew up in St. Louis and always cheered for his team the Cardinals and now he was playing in the World Series for that same team. How cool is that! But it gets even better. He got two huge hits in the sixth game and and the second one was a home run that won the game for the Cards. Ooh, it can’t get any better than that, can it? But it did. In the seventh game, he got another monster hit that started the Cards off to winning the whole World Series. I mean, here’s a guy that grew up just like you and me. He used to be in middle school, too, and probably got in trouble with the teachers just like you and me do. (Well, me anyway.) And now he’s like super-famous and he won a Corvette for being the MVP in the Series and everyone (at least in St. Louis) loves the guy and all the baby boys — and maybe some of the girls — born in Missouri for the next year will probably be named David Freese Freebenhauser (or whatever last name the little guys happen to have).

Is that ever a dream come true or what? And it really happens to people, at least some of them. “Why not me?” I was dreaming. Well, unless I get way, way better in sports, it won’t happen like that. I’m not even good enough to make my school team. Not yet anyway. It could still happen though. You never know. Right now it looks like my best shot is something to do with computers — like Steve Jobs — since I’m pretty good with them. Or maybe I could be a comedian ’cause I can make people laugh sometimes — and not because I’m funny looking, bone brain — and if I write some good jokes and get on YouTube and the video goes viral someone might invite me on their tv show. And then some director might happen to be watching that day and he sees me and puts me in his movie. It does happen, you know.

So excuse me while I try to remember some of my best jokes and start writing them down. But the only thing I can think of right now is that stupid chicken joke. That sure won’t work. Let’s see…

Why did the blond chicken cross the road?

What’s a road?