Transporting Sasquatch

by Rose A. Valenta

“A bachelor never quite gets over the idea that he is a thing of beauty and a boy forever.”~ Helen Rowland

CNN recently reported on the continued search for Sasquatch, The Abominable Snowman. Uncle Harry was at my house reading the same story in the local newspaper. He was so tickled by the large Sasquatch footprint photograph that he cut it out and hung it on my refrigerator with tape, waiting for a reaction from Uncle Dick, who was expected to arrive for dinner any minute. These two single seniors in my life like to prank each other and have never quite grown up into manhood.

Apparently, way back when Christ was a Corporal and the two of them attended their Senior Prom, Harry’s date Matilda earned the nickname “Sasquatch” when she poured her size 24 self into a size 18 ½ brown chenille A-line gown, complete with large gaudy feathered accessories, for the Prom.

They traveled to the dance in an old Ford Roadster. Matilda weighing in at 240 lbs. had to literally back into the car to get into position for the seat. Dick’s date looked more like Olive Oyl, in her size 5 spinach-green Edwardian-style gown.

After Harry finished waltzing Matilda and before the night was over, she had literally punctured the floorboard in the Ford with her high-heels. Harry swore that there was no necking room inside the car and that he had to stretch like a deer forging for figs, to reach her face in the moonlight.

He noticed that you could actually see the dirt road whizzing by though the holes in the floorboard on the way home. So, he went to the local bakery and talked the head baker into selling him a sheet pan to cover the damaged floor in the car. The next day, he and Dick repaired the floor and hid the pan with a throw-rug for future use.

Dick told him that he should seriously consider dating thinner women, but Harry wouldn’t listen. In later years, Dick would tell Harry that all those “No Hazmat” signs on the highway were there because of his old dates, rotted floorboards, and general taste in women. As I recall, Harry’s ex-wife actually did look like an Abominable Snowman in her wedding dress. Her maid of honor wore a gown that rivaled Tula’s bridesmaids in “My Big Fat Greek Wedding.”

Just then, the doorbell rang. Dick came in with a bottle of Chardonnay and a case of Samuel Adams Cherry Wheat that he promptly put in the refrigerator. He immediately saw the photograph of the alleged Sasquatch footprint.

“Harry, you never told me that you took Tildy out for a barefoot walk on the beach on Prom night,” he said.

One story led to another and they had me laughing all night. I figured that "Transporting Sasquatch" would make a great episode for Shipping Wars.

I’ve never been quite sure if Helen Rowland, author of The Rubaiyat of a Bachelor, actually knew my Uncles Harry and Dick.

© 2014, Valenta, All rights reserved.

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Throwback Thursday - Give it up For 'The Flim-Flam Man'

by Rose A. Valenta

My Uncle Harry has it in for complainers. I feel that God has to look out for them more because they are misguided; so is Harry, but he is clueless.

Harry smelled my bacon cooking this morning and invited himself over for breakfast, as usual, with a solution to yet another social issue.

“Look at how many complainers there are,” he said. “Some people only complain about a few things, like the high price of food, clothing, and shelter; while others complain about practically everything. Do you realize how many personal attacks there are because Kilroy was here and Paul, the late Psychic Octopus, picked Spain to the win the World cup? Some people have no sense of humor. Whatever happened to honest solutions and self-motivation?” He said.

“Harry, what have you been smoking?” I asked. “I just rolled out of bed; put the cat out; started cooking bacon and eggs; still need coffee to wake up, so I can put on Tyler Florence and enjoy myself; and you come over here talking about Kilroy and self-motivation. I was already motivated before you came over.”

“See, you’re complaining already, just what I’m talking about.”

“How do you want your eggs this morning?” I asked.

“Did you check the expiration date on the carton?” he responded.

“Harry, can I get a straight answer, please?” I asked. “Obviously you forget that I’m always in the world of discombobulation before coffee.”

“I’ll take them scrambled, but not watery like they were on Sunday.”

“Oh! Okay, here is the frying pan and two eggs. I guess you can get self-motivated. I’ll be in the next room watching Tyler. The bacon is cooked already. It’s an honest solution.”

“It’s my day off, like Sunday!” He said in disbelief.

“Yes, and I just asked God for inspiration. I said ‘God please help me deal with this man, who questions my cooking; doesn’t pay for the food; watches that idiot Bill O'Reilly, who forgot to ask the President Super Bowl-related questions, on my TV; stores his flip-flops on my screen porch; and thinks he can solve the world’s problems because he is being influenced by chronic complainers.”

“What chronic complainers influence me?” He asked.

“FoxNews!” I answered. “They could be 'Mikey' in a cereal commercial. You're addicted. Just think about how much more pleasant your world would be today, if you put on ‘Funniest Home Videos’ or, since it's Women's History Month, a nice documentary about Eleanor Roosevelt, instead of Fox News on the TV.” I said.

“Very Funny!” He said sarcastically. “Obama’s got the whole world on a sinking ship, and you want me to watch comedy or a woman's life story, who could have beaten Eisenhower hands-down if the Democrats weren't so stupid. They chose to run Adlai Stevenson? Ha!”

“It’s the way you look at things, Harry. Why dwell on politics every day, when you know Obama's term is almost over?”

“Like the Mayan Calendar ran out in 2012 - its too late, and we owe $17 trillion.” He said.

“Oh, so you saw that movie too! No wonder you are grumpy. You would prefer that they skin Obama alive in 2014, so you can watch and buy Gold because the world might come to an end after all? How will you spend your earnings? That makes a lot of sense. You’re going to have to trust me on this, Harry. If you watch every comedy movie ever made via Netflix between now and the primaries, instead of Fox News, your blood pressure will drop 20 or 30 points," I said.

"Nothing will change, Fox has made a soap opera out of our Commander-in-Chief called Rodney Dangerfield Incarnated. You will be pleasantly surprised at the new list of candidates for 2016. Maybe the media will show some respect for the next person we elect. After all, Obama is our president, not the dictator they depict. He consults with the Secretaries of Agriculture, Commerce, Defense, Education, Energy, Health and Human Services, Homeland Security, Housing and Urban Development, Interior, Labor, State, Transportation, Treasury, and Veterans Affairs, as well as the Attorney General. As far as I know, none of them are communists,” I added; plus, if you have any doubt about his sense of humor, watch the real interview he did with Between Two Ferns."

“Damn! and you didn't have coffee yet? Will you make me some scrambled eggs, if I wean myself gradually?” He asked.

“How about watching the cooking channel with me today?” I answered. “Tyler doesn’t spew hate and makes a helluva good old fashioned American apple pie. Then, we can go out to the movies and see the old comedy for throwback Thursday The Flim-Flam Man.”

“Okay, it’s a deal,” he said.

Yes! Give it up for The Flim-Flam Man!

A Stimulus for President’s Day

By Rose A. Valenta

President’s Day is an annual Federal holiday celebrated on the third Monday of February. It was originally celebrated on February 22nd, President George Washington’s actual birthday. However, in order to include President Abraham Lincoln, who was born on February 12th, the celebration was consolidated to fall in between those two dates and generically called "President's Day."

Although, George Washington was our first POTUS under the Constitution, we completely forget that the 13 colonies were operating as a government before that under the "Articles of Confederation and Perpetual Union" with John Hanson of Maryland as the first POTUS. John was born on April 14th, so I am including him today, because he participated in drafting the U.S. Constitution.

I'm not sure I like a generic President's Day. The achievements of our American Presidents are legendary, so there is no need to elaborate, but since our current President, Barack Obama, is so fond of signing “stimulus” packages to help off-set our national debt, it would make more sense for us to celebrate all our significant President's birthdays separately.

He should repeal the consolidated holiday. It would stimulate our economy to have three President’s Day sales in February and April, and if all applicable Federal agencies, schools, and financial institutions were closed on February 12th, 22nd, and April 14th; employees and students would be cutting coupons and out spending more money on millions of consumer products. This would be a win-win situation for both shoppers and retailers.

Not only that, but how can we justify an almost hit and miss celebration to pay tribute to the impressive sacrifices and achievements of such honorable men?

With an in-between birthday - Lincoln’s belated?

If they did that to somebody like Ann E. Dunwoody, she’d be pissed and she’s only a retired four-star general! She wants her NordicTrack ViewPoint™ 3600 right on her special day.

We need American retailers of all bottom lines like Best Buy, BJ’s Wholesale Club, Bloomingdale's, Costco, Brookstones, Fingerhut, Hallmark, JCPenny, Pier 1 Imports, Pep Boys, Saks Fifth Avenue, Sam's Club, and Victoria’s Secret to come together to work, struggle, and convince the powers that be to pull off three President’s Day Sales for the betterment of our economy and to pay tribute to three of our greatest heroes.

In the words of President Barack Obama, “What do you think a stimulus is? It's spending - that's the whole point, seriously!”

I want to go to Macy's, I ain't loafin':

Better Than NORAD?

"There are three stages of man: He believes in Santa Claus; he doesn't believe in Santa Claus; he is Santa Claus."

The North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD) did a great job tracking Santa again this year; but it didn't compare with the early Christmas Eve reports of reindeer poop on the Eiffel Tower and the Empire State building that circumvented modern technology and allowed kids to track where Santa and his reindeer really had been. These sightings are based on help desk reports from the North Pole. As you know, reindeer poop was in demand during the past few years for those folks, who were put on Santa’s naughty list. Entrepreneurs even packaged the stuff with poems like this one:

Santa saved a precious gift
and it's especially for you.
Just a little something extra
and it comes from Rudolph, too!

He knows that you've been naughty
instead of being nice.
Once again you're on the bad list
and he's checked it over twice.

Santa hopes this little poem
doesn’t throw you for a loop.
All you’re getting this year
is a bunch of reindeer poop!

The Elves

Recycled reindeer droppings can be used for mulch, potting soil, pranks, fertilizer, and fiberboard. You can contact the North Pole directly for Reindeer Poop® franchise information. Proceeds from the franchise initiative support Santa's workshop.

While 10 million people from 212 countries had a good time tracking Santa Claus via NORAD, Google Maps and Google Earth, and the Twitter microblogging service, including 24 "Santa cams" around the world that were later put up on Youtube; some small folks were still having fun learning where Rudolph and friends really made pit stops.

I went online to see if there were any web sites dedicated to reindeer poop sightings, as Santa was feeling a bit guilty about some of the splatters, especially the one dropped in mid-town Manhattan at about 11:00 pm EST, flattening the roof of a taxi, plus, the hoof and Claus marks on the forehead of an old lady in Skidmore, Texas; but there were none to be found.

By the time the sleigh reached the New Jersey Pine Barrens, Santa and the reindeer were feeling the side-effects of all those chocolate chip cookies. In an act of desperation, Santa began dropping notes asking kids for nachos and beer, instead of milk and cookies.

You always wondered why the Washington Monument faded in two-tone, right?

Volunteers at the North Pole help desk fielded nearly 195,000 phone calls reporting a need for WINDEX®; over 940,000 e-mail complaints demanding that a pooper scooper be installed on the sleigh; and one from irate House Speaker, John Boehner, who is still tanning himself while it hits the fan.

The root cause analysis?

The 24-hour marathon of "A Christmas Story," interference by Randolph, and Christmas!

Hey Buddy! Can You Spare a PS4?

by Rose A. Valenta It was a dark and stormy night, a bit of purple prose, I know; but in this case it is highly accurate. My five-foot frame almost blew across the parking lot when the predicted "small gust" caught the hood of my jacket. At this point, the color of my parachute turned light ashen, just like my face. I groped around in between cars like Helen Keller hoping for a real car door handle, instead of those little slits automobile engineers have brilliantly put just under the side windows, to keep me grounded. Humph! I thought, they do the same thing with headlight assemblies so what do you expect, it's a conspiracy; they use three different types of screws to install them and make you use three different tools to remove them. I know, because I broke one once and tried to play stealth mechanic in the back of my driveway, so my husband wouldn't find out. It took both a flathead and phillips head screwdriver, plus a hex wrench to remove the screws. He caught me dropping the F-bomb at the hex wrench. Slowly, I inched my way towards the store. I could see the bright lights, it wasn't a mirage, I told myself. I'll get there. I started to rise off the ground like an old Life Buoy commercial, then an old parked Chevy attacked me from the rear and I had to use leverage at the bumper. I felt like Harry Potter's Aunt Marge. I swear, this is the last time I wait until Thanksgiving to go Christmas shopping, I lied to myself. My husband had a good excuse for not coming with me bringing the rope and mountain climbing equipment; he was home watching the Washington Redskins finish up a record-breaking losing streak, just like me in this parking lot. Finally, I arrived at the door of Best Buy. All the employees looked as if this was a wake; no one was in the store. All the other customers used common sense and stayed home. Some of the stock boys were in the back of the store entertaining themselves slinging paper clips with rubber bands. Two guys in the front looked at me as if they wanted to ask if I knew the deceased. I went over to the customer service counter and asked the $64,000 question [drum roll]: "Do you have a PS4 console in stock?" I asked confidently. "Hahahahahahhahaha" The manager responded. "Listen, lady, the line starts at 3:00 a.m. on Sunday, be here." I stood there looking out the window at my car, which was being pelted with empty battery boxes and flying receipts. It wasn't that far, I lied to myself, and besides none of these guys would really want to put me in one of those renegade shopping carts and wheel me over to my car for $5, would they? I think I'll stay here a while till the wind shifts and sail over there. All I want for Christmas is to kick Sony's ass.

Russia Developing a New Bomb

Everyone is speculating on what Russian strategy will convince Syrian President, Bashar al-Assad, to turn over his chemical weapons in the name of peace. My good friend Natasha, who works in Moscow assures me that Vladimir Putin has a good plan. Instead of twisting Bashar’s arm, he will visit with the First Lady, Asma al-Assad, and demonstrate a different type of Russian bomb that has no chemicals or TNT, but is just as effective, hoping that she will offer to intervene.

President Obama was given a demonstration last week. Both he and Secretary of State, John Kerry, think that Asma will like it and surely convince Bashar to import the new bomb in lieu of chemicals:

La Tomatina Festival - Not for Wimps

La Tomatina is the name of a week-long food fight festival in Buñol, Spain, that coincides with our Labor Day holiday. It begins on the last Wednesday of August and thousands of participants travel from all over the world to toss over-ripe tomatinas at each other in the streets.

The townspeople of Buñol gather at around 10:00 am and truck loads of rotten tomatinas are hauled into the Plaza del Pueblo, then; it’s every man for himself.

The week-long festival also includes music, parades, dancing, and fireworks.

La Tomatina started back in 1944 as a local food fight among friends and extended to hammering local politicians. However, it was banned under Francisco Franco for not being a religious holiday. It was resurrected again during the 1970s, and dedicated as a festival in honor of the town's patron saints, San Luis Bertran and Mare de Déu dels Desemparats, which translates “Mother of God of the defenseless.”

This holiday appears to be much more fun than our ordinary Labor Day celebration. If we adopted the tradition in the U.S., we could call it the Rotten Tomato and Salsa Festival, throw tomatoes at politicians, or equivalent effigy, and award cash prizes for the best salsa recipes.