Posts Tagged ‘comedy’


This page is what’s commonly referred to as “the beginning of the end.”



Welcome back for another heaping of childhood trauma! Now where did I leave off last time? Oh that’s right. Something along the lines of…

“DDDAAAAMMMMMMMMMNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Give or take an exclamation point, of course.

My skateboard, my magnificently crafted utopia on four wheels, had careened into the infamous “Tunnel of Doom” like a pair of dentures into a mouth full of gingivitis! It was now trapped in the wild black yonder alone and scared.

Now, you could say that it was my fault for skating him in there with all the grace and poise of an inebriated rhino. Or that I never should have placed my rollable little friend in the runoff gutters in the first place. But we all know it was my little brother Brian “BD” Dickens fault. Not sure how exactly but it was. Probably had something to do with that helmet he was wearing. Thing could distract a pregnant woman while she was in labor.

“So…what’re we gonna do?!” excitedly asked BD the guilty little helmet wearer.

We’re gonna send your little butt in there after it!!” I very calmly replied.

“We are?!”

“Of course! I can’t fit in there!”

“Yea, but I don’t think I can either!

“Well you should’ve thought of that before I skated my board in there! Now get on your tiny knees and start crawling!”

Having been moved by my powerful words and perhaps a verbal threat or two, BD reluctantly removed his trusty yet ugly-ass skate helmet as he got to his knees. I think he might’ve mumbled something about “If I don’t make it, tell my mom I love her.” But I honestly wasn’t paying much attention. My skateboard was in trouble! And I wasn’t gonna let anything keep BD from getting it back for me! Not some scary tunnel with slime ridden walls, not plague carrying rats, not BD’s crippling claustrophobia, nothing!

After several minutes of cowardice, BD finally poked the upper half of his body into the terrifying tunnel.

“Do you see it?” I bravely asked from a safe distance.

“If I say yes, will you let me out of here?” asked the helmet-less BD.

“Of course, buddy!”

“Yea, it’s a little ways up. But I can’t quite reach…” I quickly grabbed BD’s little legs and started shoving him in like a pickle into a barrel.

“Grab it! Grab it!” I politely yelled at the top of my lungs.

“Ow…OWWW!!! Stop! STOPPP!!!” he exclaimed for some reason.

“Just hurry up and grab it already!”

“I can’t! it’s too far! Now pull me out! These rats are really mean!”

Realizing that my little brother was ironically too little to reach the object of my affection forced me to reassess the situation. I yanked,..I mean, gingerly pulled the little guy out of the sewer pipe and started working on another tactic while he inspected his rat bites.

“What if I grabbed you from the back and kinda threw you into…”

“I’ll tell Lindsey about that dream you had.” Said BD quickly.

“Alright, alright, fine! I won’t throw you. But what if we threw something else?”

So we quickly scrounged up some rocks and put plan “B” into place. It was fool-proof…in theory.  I’d throw rocks at the skateboard from the top end of the tunnel and try to knock the board out of the bottom end of the tunnel. Unfortunately, because the tunnel was so dark, I couldn’t see it  from the upper entrance. But the skateboard was visible from the bottom end. So BD was going to wait at the bottom and keep an eye on it. If I hit it, he’d let me know and I’d aim for that same area again. Like I said, the plan was fool-proof. Too bad we were idiots.

“Just shout out which direction I need to aim!” I yelled to my partner in buffoonery. “I probably won’t hit it the first time!”

“Ok.” Said idiot number 2.

I threw a rock into the tight, cylindered abyss like a pitcher on a tee-ball team. It hit nothing but wall. And maybe a rat or two.

“Aim it more center!” he yelled like a verbal conductor at a symphony.

I reared back and threw another rock into the rat highway.

“What’s the word?!” I asked. “Did I hit it, BD ?!” This time, I managed to avoid the walls and the rats and also the skateboard. “Hey BD did I…?!….BD? Um…” But, I did hit my little brother….hard.

When the little guy finally regained consciousness, we decided to move on to another plan.

“The rocks were a bad idea,” I professed like a world renown sage. “We’d  have to hit the board a million times to get it out of there. They’re just too small.”

BD and the softball size lump in his forehead stared at me with restrained malice as I spoke.

“Oh, and they hurt. But I’m guessing you’d know that better than me, ‘ey bud?.” I fearfully chuckled.

Plan “C” would’ve made Wile E. Coyote himself proud. Which should tell you something. We figured that if small and apparently painful objects were the problem before, we’d go the exact opposite direction. We thought a well placed basketball would surely knock the skateboard out of that constipated pipeline. So, I lined up my shot like a professional bowler with type II diabetes and let ‘er rip right into the pie hole of the tunnel. Amazingly, the ball actually made it almost half way into the tunnel before it got stuck.

“Hmmm. Honestly didn’t see that coming.” I remarked.

“Imagine that.” said BD with an ice pack draped over his forehead.

“Don’t worry, ice-face. I’ve got a little back-up plan.”

“You have a back-up plan and you want me not to worry?” inquired BD with full support.

I quickly scooped up all kinds of balls from our houses. Volleyballs, footballs, even tennis balls. Nothing was off-limits.

“Alright, so the first thing we gotta do is get the basketball unstuck.” I proudly pontificated. “Then we can use all the rest of the balls to get out the skateboard. It’s perfect!”

“Are you sure this is gonna work?” asked BD…again.

“You ask me that so often that it’s lost all meaning.”

And without any more pessimism or good sense from BD, I started chucking a couple of balls into the unforgiving black hole. To my genuine surprise, the basketball didn’t budge. So I threw in a few more. And it only seemed to get more stuck. I unfurled every piece of throw-able sporting equipment we had into that damn dark tube! And it didn’t care! Like an expectant mother at a buffet, what it took, it kept!

“Son-of-an ass-head!!” I casually remarked in passing. “We’re completely out of balls, ideas and time! My mom is gonna be home any minute, man! And when she sees what happened she’ll kill me! And that’s if she’s in a good mood!”

“Would your dad kill you?” wisely asked BD.

I pondered the little guy’s question as the clock to my demise ticked further down.

You see, my mom bought me the skateboard for my birthday after I begged her for it. It was expensive, dangerous and she hated doing it. But she did so because she wanted to shut me up. And it worked. My dad on the other hand, didn’t even know when my birthday was and couldn’t care less about some  skateboard I had.

“No BD, he wouldn’t!!”

Now it was time for plan “D” for “Dad.” BD and I quickly ran to our respective houses and grabbed our dads. We figured the two of them working together would be able to come up with a solution twice as fast. BD and I regaled them with our dumb-ass exploits at break neck speed and awaited their council. Without a word of debate or even acknowledgement, our dads casually gazed into the tunnel of doom and were as unimpressed at our crisis as they would be watching an infomercial starring George Foreman at 3:00 am.

Plan “D” was ingenious. It was inspired. It was basically just taking two big-ass 2 x 4’s and shoving them into one end of the tunnel until everything came vomiting out the other end Olsen Twin style.

Our dads never did say anything to our moms about the “Tunnel of Doom” incident. They never even got mad at us about what happened.  They made no threats and issued no warnings about what would happen if we ever did anything so stupid again. They never had to. Because everybody knows that a real tough guy speaks softly yet carries a big stick. And holy bacon wrapped blue jeans dipped in caramel sauce, sticks don’t come much bigger than giant, rat-proof, tunnel length 2 x 4’s!!!

The End…until next time

Tunnel of Doom

Posted: July 1, 2012 by baki3626 in Family Fables
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

When I was just a little tike, I would often times badger,…I mean, ask my parents for a little brother. And my parents would often times assure me that it wasn’t gonna happen. So I decided to turn to a higher power and ask Santa Claus for one. When he suggested I just settle for a football or candy bar, I figured I would bust out the biggest guns I knew. If my so-called parents and an out of work actor with clinical halitosis in a Santa suit couldn’t get me what I wanted, surely God could. I didn’t really understand all the mechanics of praying but I’d heard enough people in my family yell out God’s name as they asked for something crazy. So one day, I rode my busted little Huffy to the top of a hill, sat Indian style under a tree, folded my grimy little hands closed one of my eyes and asked the biggest of big guys for my own little brother. And believe it or not….NOTHING HAPPENED!! The wind didn’t move, the clouds didn’t start to whirl and the stork didn’t crash into my house!

We did however move from my hometown of Pennsylvania to North Carolina. And on the day that we moved in, the family that lived next door came over and introduced themselves to us. They called themselves “The Dickens” and were really nice people despite the fact that they talked kinda like cartoon characters. I was a seven-year old from Pennsylvania. I’d never heard a southern accent outside of Yosemite Sam or Baloo or some other random Disney animal. Any hoo, this funny sounding group of folks had a little boy of their own. And when I say little I’m talking Mario BEFORE he eats the mushroom, little. Guy was resting his chin on my knee and I barely stood at sea level. But despite his itty-bitty, little witty stature, I instantly liked him. His name was Brian(I called him BD for short) and before the end of the day we were closer than butt-cheeks. If I was Batman, he was Robin. If I was peanut-butter, he was jelly. And if I was the big brother, he was the little one. This tiny-tubby was the answer to the prayer I sloppily made on the hill a few years earlier.

Since I was the bigger brother, we both ASSUMED I was the smarter of the two. Which means any bonehead, dumb-ass, sure-to fail scheme or plan I concocted, BD followed like Sancho Panza on a quest with Don Quixote. One such “Windmill” adventure was when I thought it would be a high quality idea to ride our skateboards down the runoff gutters next to the street. They were kinda these long running half-pipe thingies that went down at a slope from BD’s house to mine. Oddly enough, our skateboards fit in them perfectly. The only hiccup was that at the end of this canal of fun resided a very long, tight and dark tunnel that ran under my driveway. Plus there were some rats that lived in the tunnel. But I was a professional skateboarder. I’d seen Tony Hawk on television at least three times and had all his moves down pact.

And if Tony could do it, I could. And if I could, BD could. Or he’d at least severely injure himself trying to try. Besides, that big, scary tunnel was all the way at the end of our kick-ass skate path. And the rats usually only bit girls. So what could possibly go wrong!?! Other than damn near everything.

As I clumsily positioned myself at the top of the canal, BD carefully put on his skate helmet and tried to figure out exactly what we were doing and why we were doing it. “Are you sure you saw Tony Hawk do this?” he asked.

I laughed at my little brother’s stupid innocence. “Have I ever NOT been sure of anything?!”

“That time at the pool when you dove in off the lifeguard tower and landed on….”

“Yeah, I know who I landed on, BD. I was there, remember? And she’s mostly fine now.” I then assured my little bro, who I now realize SHOULD have been the brains of our outfit, that his goofy looking skate helmet was cutting off the thinking to his brain and that this was gonna be more fun than anything else we’d ever done before…ever!

And without another sensible thought, I got a running start and blazed off down the canal. I easily made it 7 feet before I flew off the board like ribs from a grill during a cookout at a family reunion. But sweet lord of Haagen-Dazs extra chunky rocky road ice cream, was it fun!

“Can I try?!” asked my plucky young sidekick.

“You’re wearing that stupid-ass helmet, aren’t ya!?!?”

And like Jumping Jack Flash, BD took off down the canal like bacon grease on a hungry tongue! And he made it even further than I did before he flew one way and the board flew in every other way.

We indulged in our little sewer made carnival for another hour or so. And although it was even more fun than I had planned, we had yet to skate the entire length of the canal. We’d either fall off before we got to the end or REALLY fall off. So I decided that I was gonna make it to the end. No matter what, I was gonna do it. I was gonna skate right up to the very tip of the tunnel and then I’d zoom out of the canal at the last-minute before entering it. Just like Tony Hawk would do! And who’d know more about doing what Tony Hawk would do than me?!

“Hey BD?!” I yelled. “Stop bleeding for a sec and watch this!!” I took off down the skate canal with all the grace and skill of Jackie Chan in a bar room brawl! Me and the board were one. I was doing it! I was skating the canal like Blackbeard skated the high seas. I was making Tony Hawk proud! Nothing was going to go wrong! I had made it! I was all the way at the end of the skate canal and….and I couldn’t stop!! Not sure why this surprised me. I had no control of myself when I was going slow at the top of the hill and crashing. Now that I was at the bottom and actually had some real speed, I was in a whole new rainbow of screwed!!

“Jump!!” yelled BD. And for the first time, I decided to listen to him. Not hours ago like I should’ve! But now! I mustered every last striation of muscle tendon I had and ejected from my board. And by some random act of the cosmos, I made it off safely. Apparently God really does love babies and fools! As I got up and used my hands to carefully place my heart back in its chest, I realized that my trusty, kick-ass skateboard wasn’t around. I also remembered that my skateboard was very expensive and my mama told me not to lose, damage, scratch, or even hurt it. And that if I did lose, damage, scratch or hurt my skateboard she would do all the above to me….A LOT!

“Where’s the skateboard, BD?! You see it?!”

Brian slowly raised a single finger and pointed at the deep, dark, dingy, dank tunnel of doom. “There.” he said. “It’s in there.”

“DDDDAAAAAAMMMMMMMMNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I casually remarked.

To be continued…**CLICK HERE FOR PART 2**

I don’t know about you guys, but when I think of Father’s Day, I automatically think of Darth Vader.  The “Star Wars” movies are riddled with ongoing daddy themes, and of course, there is that monumental moment where Vader announces to Luke Skywalker, “I.AM.YOUR.FATHER.”   (You just read that in the James Earl Jones voice… don’t lie.)

People don’t generally dig having their “dirty laundry” aired, so I’m not going to delve deep into the Skywalker’s daddy issues, but I’ll say this much, I think that Darth Vader is really misunderstood.

Take the scene where he chops off Luke’s hand, for instance.  Darth Vader was just trying to knock Luke’s light saber away, as Luke clearly wasn’t trained properly in its use (just ask Yoda.)  Any good dad tries to keep dangerous objects away from their children.  Am I right?  You wouldn’t let your child run about with a kitchen knife pretending to use “the force” on a bell pepper, now would you?  No, you would not, but accidents are sure to happen when you’re using a real laser sword to do your bidding, just as Darth Vader was.  Luke was in the wrong place at the wrong time, surely, and he should be thankful he didn’t lose anything else.

And don’t even get me started on how Vader blows up his daughter’s home planet; she was kidnapped at birth for God’s sake.  Sheesh…give the guy a break here.   He’s a little miffed about that, and who wouldn’t be?

Stepping off the soap box now….y’all don’t come here to listen to my political views.

So clearly I am not alone in my clichéd appreciation for a “Star Wars” themed Father’s Day.  One could spend an entire day internet window shopping for just that.  I personally believe that at least 50% of the handmade community makes a living on “craftifying” “Star Wars” in some way.  If you don’t believe me, go cruise Etsy; type in “Star Wars Father’s Day,” and just sit a spell.  You’ll be there all day.  You’re welcome. 

Cruising these handmade websites is how I decided what to give my baby daddy for Father’s Day this year.

Happy Father’s Day, Ben.

My son’s Father’s Day gift idea for his out of this world daddy actually originated here , and I happened to find a pretty sweet tutorial here.  While I love supporting the handmade community, I am also pretty damn crafty myself, so if I can save a buck or two on a gift by going it solo, I’m game.

I essentially followed the tutorial spot on; however, instead of super glue to attach my Lego people onto the card stock, I used my glue gun because I love my glue gun more than words can describe, and make it a permanent appendage if I could get health insurance to cover the surgery.

Also, Will asked if he could “autograph” the pictures.  That’s pretty much priceless; you can’t buy that anywhere.

The Lego figures were pretty entertaining.  Here are some outtakes of our project!

As you can see, I was trying to get them to reenact scenes from the movies, but Han Solo was up to his typical shenanigans, so Princess Leia had to shut him down pretty quickly because she’s a bad ass mo’fo’, and NOW we know why Vader was so distant and moody all of the time…. “Tootsie?”  I told you he was misunderstood.

Unlike Vader, no one contemplates whether my husband is a good father or not because it’s quite obvious what Will thinks of his daddy.

The Secret to my Success

Posted: May 23, 2012 by baki3626 in Ferne's World
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Two years ago, I was an exercise addict.  Two years later, I am addicted to candy bars, but let’s not focus on the present just yet.  I’m all about focusing on the past here.  We have to look backward in order to move forward.  Stay with me. 

During this exercise binge, I exercised daily on my Wii Fit, which worked really well because I love video games.  By working out in this way, I was able to convince myself that I was playing a video game as opposed to exercising.  That was delusional, and this delusion is CRUCIAL to my success.  Here’s why. The mathematical formula for a successful work out plan for me is (10% being there/showing up + 90% Delusion) = I’m kicking ass

I was definitely winning and because the Wii Fit was in my living room, the “showing up” part of the ratio was in the bag. 

Another reason the Wii Fit is awesome is that you get to design a “Mii,” which is your little Wii Avatar.   You then workout (PLAY) as your avatar.  Genius!

 This fitness plan was successful for quite some time, but eventually I got bored with the Wii Fit because I’d mastered all of the fun mini-games, so I decided to purchase the Zumba DVD collection.  If you’re not familiar with Zumba, it’s a Latin dance workout  with hot Latin dance instructors that has hit the infomercial scene HARD.  They even have a Zumba video game for the Wii Fit. 

Here is my official review:  “Meh…..not super impressed.”  The instructors on the DVD are totally trying to get you pumped by talking to you and cheering you on and what not, but just like another notorious children’s Latin television star that I know, “Dora the Explorer,” they aren’t really talking to you, nor can they hear your response, which might be good in my case because there was a lot of Zumba cursing going on. 


Plus, I felt like a tool pretending to get excited to clap and dance with myself.  The only time I’ve been remotely excited to dance alone was when my sister and I created our own dance workout called “Cardio Video.”  This invention has little to do with my successful exercise ratio, but I can tell you it is 100% buffoonery; therefore, it is fun.  We can touch on this invention another time.  I can’t share all of my crazy with you guys ALL at once.  Just know that it is awesome! 

Now that we’ve touched on my exercise history and what it takes to be successful if you’re name is Ferne Emery, let’s get back to the present.  About a week ago, my friend Alison told me about this Zumba class she was attending called “Happy Girl Fitness.”  Fun, right? She asked if I wanted to go.  Given that I’d had such an awesome experience with Zumba prior, I politely told Alison to “bite me” because I wasn’t going.  After Alison told me how much fun she’d had, I decided to give it a go, plus the instructor’s name is Precious, so it was worth me going just to see if she had any affiliation to the two blockbuster movies that popped into my head…… 

I’m so glad I decided to give it a try because Zumba with Precious might have just been the best hour of my life.  I also owe Alison an apology for the whole “Bite me” thing.  Precious was so full of awesome energy, and the class was so much fun, that I didn’t even curse once, nor did I have the breath to.   

There was ZERO judgment, and trust me; that’s a good thing.  Precious can seriously move and seriously motivate!  I am now a “Zumba with Precious” addict and a “Happy Girl.”  If any of you live in the Piedmont Triad of North Carolina, you have to look this girl up, and get in on a class.  You’ll be so happy you did. 

As for my workout equation, Precious doesn’t hang out in my living room, although she’d be welcome to, so these classes are obviously not in mi casa, but it’s all good.  I look forward to classes all week, so the (10% being there/showing up) of my workout equation is in the bag because I am excited, and I don’t think I need any help with being (90% Delusional. )



I hope to see you guys in class. 


Posted: May 20, 2012 by baki3626 in Hall of Heroes Interviews
Tags: , , , , ,

She stopped reading the book as a broad grin smeared her face. At long last, she had found what she’d been looking for: proof. She closed the book, placed it on the table, and literally danced out of the room. “I knew it!!” She began to laugh like a fanatic. “Finally, with this…” She checked her person and noticed she was missing something. “Pooh.” She re-entered the room and picked up the book. “With this, I shall be victorious!”

Later, a man awakes in a room with four stainless-steel walls and no door. “What in the world…?”

“No, sweetie,” said a voice over a loud-speaker. “What in my world.” The man watched as one of the walls slid down to reveal the woman from before sitting in a chair. “Good morning!” She chirped.

“Morning,” said the confused man. “You wouldn’t happen to know how I got here, would you?”

“Oh, I’d happen to know quite a bit. In fact…” she held up the book and grinned, “I’d happen to know every bit.”

“Nice diary. Look’s like you had a pretty good sweet 16.”

“Well, yes. They got me an ice cream cake that actually said my…Wait!” She slammed her fist down on her chair’s armrest. “This isn’t my diary. It’s yours…Super-Smasher.”

“Say huh? Super-what now?”

“There’s no need for the façade. Despite how well it may have served you all these years…” The woman leaned forward in her chair as a sadistic grin slid across her jaw. “..,it’s ultimately, proven as useless as your cynical little attitude.”

The man scratched his head. “Now, you’ve really lost me, lady.”

She furrowed her brow and said in a deep voice, “I’m no mere lady. I’m Mamma Hen. THEE Mamma Hen. And you’ll lose the act or I’ll lose my temper.”

The man raised his hands as if waving a white flag. “Sorry, my mistake Mother Hen. Didn’t mean to …”

The woman slammed both her fists on the armrests. “It’s Mamma! Mamma Hen! And you know it Smasher!!!”

The man studied her intently. “You really think I’m I’m him, don’t you?”

“I know you are.”

“How exactly, Mothe…I mean, Mamma Hen?”

She flipped through the pages of the book and then cleared her throat. “March 19th. Today, I was in line at Biggy’s when Mamma Hen got into a shoot-out with the cops across the street. I knew I had to act fast so I grabbed my gear and went to work.”

The man stood unimpressed. “And?”

“And sure enough, Super-Smasher showed up and worked me like an infant in a sweat shop!”

“Yeah, I saw him do it… through my video-camera. I’m with channel 8.

“What? Channel 8?”

“Yeah. The news station.”

“Fool, I know what channel 8 is! I just don’t care for their coverage. I prefer channel 3.”

“Clearly you didn’t see the story I did on bikini-wearing elephan…”

“Silence! We’ve played your game long enough. Now, we’re going to play mine. We’re currently floating one mile high over a school in Diamond City by way of my lovely airship. A fall from this height would kill just about anybody.”

The man began to show concern. “Yeah, I guess it would.”

“Except of course for Super-Smasher. Why, he’s virtually invulnerable. He’d probably just sprain an ankle or scrape a knee.”

“Probably,” agreed the man.

“However, all the itty-bitty, cutey-booty kiddies directly below him…”

“Would have a lot worse than a sprained ankle.”

Mamma Hen continued to smile as she opened a glass case housing a button. “I’m going to push this and you’re going to fall. If you are in fact Super-Smasher, you’ll have nothing to worry about. Unfortunately, your crash landing will Super-Smash several innocent children to bits. On the other hand, If you are in fact just some unlucky and very annoying cameraman, you’ll be the only one smashed to bits. And I suppose I’d owe you an apology. So, let’s see who’s about to get all…bitsy, shall we?”

“Wait, let’s just…”

“Good-bye camera boy!” She quickly pressed the button. The floor opened beneath the man dropping him like a rock. Mamma Hen happily clapped her hands in celebration. “Ooohh, that was oh so fun! Too bad I could only do it once!”

“That’s not the bad part,” said an unseen voice.

Mamma Hen looked around in a confused panic. “What in the world…?”

“No…” Suddenly, the man from before flew back up through the open floor. He was now wearing a cape and tights with the letter “C” on his chest. “What in my world.”

Mamma Hen was now as angry as she was confused. “Hey, Super-Smasher can’t fly!!”

“I know. But Captain Whirlwind can.”

Captain Whirlwind

“Captain Whirlwind?! Pooh. I got the wrong guy.”

The man smiled as he started to make the airship shake violently. “You have no idea, Mamma.”