Sunday, November 29, 2015

Protectors of the Earth: Part 1

Hark Dread Baby Bells, O My Joyous Shepherds!

Here are a few facts about Christmas carols and me.

(1) I know the words of a few of them. Like, the one that has "Batman smells" in it and the one that goes ding-a-ling, hear them ring.

(2) I will mumble and fake-sing Christmas carols if I do not know the words.
(3) I do not think there has ever been a Christmas-themed professional wrestler, has there? Okay, yes. This is off the topic of Christmas carols. But please apprise me if there has been a Christmas-themed professional wrestler. Hector Grinchinator?

Well, that went quickly. Let's move on. Did you know that there is a Christmas carol for every occasion? Here. Let me demonstrate. These are all real titles of Christmas carols.

1) A Dread Hath Come Upon Me
That's every Monday morning, right? Project deadlines? Tax season? It's the Christmas carol that keeps on giving dread year-round.

2) A Voice from the Desert Comes Awful and Shrill
I have no idea what this one is about, but all I'm thinking of is this:

3) At the Beginning of the Meat

4) Where Is That Goodly Fragrance Flowing?
Almost always from the FebrezeTM bottle

5) The Kiges Baner on Felde is Playd
Okay, you can go ahead and call it a "Middle Englishe Carole." I'm calling it a freakin' text message.

6) Lacking Samite and Sable
Sounds like a craigslist ad to me, followed by ...Will trade Mimite and Mink for same.

There should definitely be a Christmas carol random generator, don'tcha think? Here are the top words that you can combine to make your own Christmas carol. I advise adding a question mark, 'cause many carols are basically rhetorical questions.

Holly Hark Bells Baby Dread Jolly Wonder Snow O'er Merrye O Hail Joyous Upon Virgin Sweet Shepherds Santa Christmas Ring Doth Yon My Silvery Holy !

Here's mine: Hark Dread Baby Bells, O My Joyous Shepherds!

Saturday, November 28, 2015

Turn Your Dog Into A Small Wolf in 7 Easy Steps!

STEP 1: "Sure! It IS a nice day outside. Let's go outside and frolic."
STEP 2: "So, whaddya feel like doing? Maybe a little needlepoint? Oh, puppy tug. Sure, you'd like to play some puppy tug?"
STEP 3: "Well, you sure do like this, huh?!"
STEP 4: "Well, you sure do like this, huh?"
STEP 5: "Well, you sure do like this, huh?"
STEP 6: "Well, this was fun. But, it's time to head back inside. Uh, hello?"
STEP 7: "Sweet Jiminy Christmas. One Adam 12, see the Cujo...Cujo in progress in backyard.*"
*She's actually really happy in this picture, but it's a bit scary-looking. The white on her chin and on her chest kind of blend together and look like a crazy beard.

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Things Not to Be

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

My Hippie Classroom

I was in what was called "a hippie classroom" or "an open classroom" for a few years back in the day. No, I wasn't in reform school. No, I wasn't in "special school." I was just in a hippie classroom for a few years. Righteous! Solid! Dance with me, Star Flower! Or, better yet, let's just hide in the corner here and read Tin Tin, Peanuts, and Asterix and Obelix until the tribal drumming stops!

Aw, really. I pretty much liked my hippie classroom; I would have been shy no matter where I was. Sure, I hated the twice daily "sharing circles" (according to my old report cards, which are written in purple ink in very loopy calligraphy and are all about 10 pages long, I tended to read during sharing circles--which was not seen as very social, but which I made up for by volunteering with the elderly). But, we spent some cool time "having groovy math and science experiences." We played Capture the Flag a lot and did Art Adventures. We roamed freely outside like packs of wild dogs. We sang--usually stuff by the Guthrie family (Arlo, Woody, and the little-know techno Guthrie, DJ Luther Luther). And, we were asked to write in our little journals constantly.

After a quick glance at a representative sample of my journals from those days, I can tell you that I used to make my exclamation points with little triangles over the dots. I can also tell you that my teachers were not paid enough to read my journals. They are extremely boring. Even I was bored, I fear, because I began each entry by calling myself something different: Dear Sparkle, Dear Miss Plenty, Dear Sparkle Plenty, Dear Journal Writer, Dear You Know Who, Dear Me. Exactly: Dear Me! Look: It's possible to run out of self-reflective commentary when you're 10, okay?

Here, for the benefit of all, I present a little anti-Santa essay that I wrote back in the day. When I wrote this essay, I didn't believe a word of it--perhaps you will note this in the opening disclaimer and my attempts at sarcasm. I believe that you might also detect a certain Marxist vein in this essay--I link this to my social studies teacher, we'll call him "Dude," who spent a couple of years working in factories. I know far too much about food impurity thanks to "Dude" and, to this day, I avoid certain canned goods.

Let the fun begin! Here, for your shock and awe, is my Oppressive Device Essay.

[On this first page, I am struck by the gigantic paragraph indentations. Whassup, young Sparkle? Also, looks like somebody likes to underline words!]
[You can't wait, can you? You're on the edge of your seat, aren't you? "Speaking of smell, that piney..." Look out, 'though, that sentence will break your heart. It's a fragment.]
[Good ol' Saint Hick? I don't smell sweet and sticky Christmas trees--I smell Mad magazine! Bonus Question: Is it wrong for me to still still be attracted to the term "still still"? I remember liking it back in the day--one "still" was never enough for me--but it's still still so wrong it can't be right. Sigh.]
[Uh, no. I never DID get tired of those "saccharin Christmas specials" and "stupid carols." And, as long as we've got a sharing circle going here, I need to confess something else. If I were to draw a Christmas tree and an elf, they would still still come out looking like the ones above. Sigh.]
Okay. I'm off to have a sharing circle with myself and try to plot my next blog move.

What Crackers Did You Eat When You Were A Kid?

Vermont Common Crackers
What to Know:
1) These are the world's plainest crackers. If you have to snack on them, you can pretend you're a sailor and you're marooned on a desert island eating sweet, life-sustaining hardtack. "Thank goodness I have this floury, pasty, bland goodness to keep up my strength!" you cry. This little fantasy helps add flavor to the cracker.
2) Vermont Common Crackers are made in Vermont.
3) I do not believe that there are any other crackers named for states.
4) Vermont Common Crackers are fun to smash with a hammer.
5) I ate these because my grandmother was from Vermont. She called them "cross crackers"; they're also known as Montpelier crackers.
6) She liked to eat the crackers straight from the bag, but she also toasted them in the oven with butter or cheese--never both.
Ritz Crackers
What to Know:
1) According to Wikipedia, "Ritz crackers are a type of cracker designed to be eaten on their own, or with a topping." Wikipedia entries are a little obvious sometimes.
2) Ritz crackers were my sister's favorite as a kid, while I favored Saltines. I chose Saltines on my own. However, my sister occasionally assigned me stuff to like. For example, she selected John Lennon and George Harrison as her favorite Beatles and strongly suggested that I choose Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr. Eventually, she assigned my mother to like George and my grandmother to like Ringo. In fact, my grandmother genuinely began to like Ringo Starr and to request that we buy her his music for birthdays and such. The "No-No Song" worried her: "I hope he's all right," she'd say, peering at his most recent photograph through her bifocals.
3) My grandmother sliced marshmallows in half, put the marshmallow half on a Ritz cracker, pressed a walnut half on top of that, and broiled it. We ate these when we played Whist.
4) Whist is a card game.
5) My sister once dared me to eat an earwig on a Ritz cracker. I don't think I did. My memory is dim.
Graham Crackers
What to Know:

1) Sure, s'mores. But, I always think of graham cracker "sandwiches" filled with Skippy chunky peanut butter, next to a small dish of applesauce, and accompanied by a cup of cold milk.
2) While babysitting, I probably saw more graham cracker mud smeared on children's faces than any other food.
3) I believe that graham cracker crusts are the single-most popular foundation for Quick and Easy desserts involving pudding, cool whip, cream cheese, ice cream, jello, or any combination of the above.
4) Would it be revolting to eat cream cheese and olive spread on a graham cracker? Someone once recommended I eat cream cheese and olive spread on a cinnamon/raisin bagel. It didn't suck.
5) Graham Chapman invented the graham cracker.
6) So did Martha Graham.
Melba Toast
What to Know:

1) A box of this could last in the cupboard for five years.
2) It is neither melba nor the kind of toast you want to invite to breakfast.
3) This was the core ingredient of diets back in the day. Some of my cookbooks from the 1950s have sample diets. They go like this: Breakfast: 1/2 cup cereal, 1/2 cup milk, black coffee. Lunch: Two slices melba toast, 1 wedge iceberg lettuce, 1 hard-boiled egg, black coffee. Dinner: 1 lean veal chop, 1 tomato with mineral oil dressing, black coffee.
4) I think that "Melba Toast" is the name of a country western singer, a band, and at least one drag queen.
5) I ate one once when we were out of all the good crackers.
Chicken in a Biskit
What to Know:

1) I think I only ate these once, on a road trip to visit our crud-boy cousins. I'd never seen them before, and they were very exotic to me. I was fascinated by the dark magic of a chicken being inside a box of crackers. I didn't like the taste of the crackers that much--although there was a bit of an addictive kick probably from MSG. I really liked the color of the box. Plus, the chicken looked so shocked about being crammed into a biskit. It wasn't all smiley like most creatures on food packages. Clearly, it was crying out, "Dang! I'm in these biskits!"
2) After the road trip, I often requested that we buy Chicken in a Biskit crackers. Unfortunately, I didn't have a really good answer to the question, "Why? You don't really like those, do you?" I think that instead of eating a Chicken in a Biskit "flavored cracker," I really wanted us to go on a road trip.
3) From my brief Web search, it appears that Chicken in a Biskit is now wildly popular for young people who have "the munchies." I would have thought the chicken would be scary under these circumstances?
4) Is that CAVIAR on one of the crackers on the cover of the box or is it potting soil?
5) Wonder why they never tried Brisket in a Biskit. Seems like a natural to me.

Friday, November 20, 2015

Dear Ms. Sims: Please Write About Sea Monkeys Instead

Dear Ms. Sims,

DUDE. What is WRONG with you? It takes a lot to get me riled up. You, madam, and I use that word advisedly, have done so.

WTF?! This is my Cousin Ralph, and Ralph does not look right in this picture. Nothing looks right about Ralph. Even his poor little feet look all weird.

I don't want to sound overly harsh, because I appreciate creative endeavors of all sorts, so let me try to approach this with great delicacy. How dare you pimp out Ralph, you vile infidel? Ralph is not very bright, but before this all he liked to do was collect bookmarks. Plus, he liked cheese curls. Those two things--nothing sketchy.

We are not afraid to work blue on Dinosaur Casserole, but DUDE...this is not right. What did you do to Ralph? What did you do to Ralph's poor little shriveled feet?

The chick looks okay--but please explain something. According to your book's description on, "Dianne is a shepherd watching over flock of sheep." How many shepherds do you know who wear bikinis? (I know zero shepherds who wear bikinis.) All of the shepherds that I know (and I know a lot) wear thick sweaters (made of wool).

When you say "watching over flock of sheep," did you get all excited by the plot and leave out a key pronoun? Is this Dianne's flock of sheep? If it is not Dianne's flock of sheep, maybe that's why she's wearing the bikini? She's a stewardess, maybe, and not a shepherd?  I could accept that.

"But when a flock of pterodactyls attack, Dianne has no choice but to use herself as bait to draw their attention away from her precious flock." Okay...okay...We have two flocks here--we're working with two flocks of different species and it's very, very confusing. Can you please rewrite this? And, so..okay...this IS Dianne's flock of sheep? Instead of confusing poor Ralph and prancing around in her yellow bikini (that no shepherd has ever owned or worn) why doesn't she simply direct the poor, starving pterodactyls to the nearest Burger King? They love Burger King. Taco Bell will do in a pinch. Really: No need to strip down and confuse Ralph.

Furthermore, in your description of "T-Rex Troubles," did you HAVE to say "Warning: This is a tale of monster sex." T-Rex does NOT consider himself to be a monster, so unless you are referring to "Layla" who "hunts for her tribe" as a monster, you've got a lawsuit on your hands, missy.

Look. I'm begging you. Stop writing about us. Stop this reign of dino porn terror. Stop it right now. Sea Monkeys. Go write about Sea Monkeys, okay? Go ahead and call them monsters--they won't care, they're defiant types.


Thursday, November 19, 2015

Dinosaurs: Extinct! Or ARE They...

Well, hello there! I am Leopold (green guy) and these are my pals Cappy, Penrose, and Einstein. Okay, enough with the nicety-nice. I have something important I want you to think about.
1)  Do you believe dinosaurs are extinct? I do not believe that dinosaurs are extinct. I am a dinosaur. Shouldn't that prove something?

2)  Do you believe dinosaurs are extinct because you've never seen one? Okay. Have you really LOOKED for us? Have you, personally, checked the Carpathian Mountains? Yeah. I didn't think so. You can't even keep track of your car keys, why would you be able to find us in the Carpathian Mountains?

3) Over the years, paleontologists have done us a good deal of damage with their wild-eyed talk of extinction. I'm trying to get a grant to do some re-branding work for dinosaurs. Do you have any recommendations for slogans? I'm playing with, "Dinosaurs...if you can't find your keys you won't be able to find us!" That's not so catchy, but I'm working on it. 

Monday, November 16, 2015

The Incredible Spam Poem

Today, I received yet another spam-mail penis poem. I never thought I'd find myself typing those words, but clearly my imagination has limitations. This is the most finely-crafted piece of spam I've every received.

Prepare Your Magic Love Wand for the Next Battle by Anonymous (date unknown) [WITH MY ANNOTATIONS]

At last you've got a girl that's hot [STRONG START! A HAPPY BEGINNING]
You wanna screw her moistened [OCEAN STATE JOB LOT]
She's so attractive, she's so nice! [BUT NOT TOO NICE HOPEFULLY]
But would your penile size suffice? [SUFFICE! I LOVE IT! SUFFICE!]
Not sure she will wish for more? [STORM CLOUDS GATHER]
You need a thing she would adore! [OTHER THAN YOUR ACTION FIGURES?]
But how to grow it long and thick? [MIRACLE-GRO?]
Your only hope is MegaDik! [HUH? WHO'S HE?!]
You'll get so wanted super-size [AWKWARD. SUGGEST YOU TWEAK.]
And see great pleasure in her eyes! [OR SHE MIGHT NOT HAVE HER CONTACTS IN.]
Your shaft will stuff her [TURKEY] so deep,
Tonight you'll hardly fall asleep! [LIKE CHRISTMAS EVE!]
So try today this magic p'ill [P'ILL? Is that S'POSED TO BE OLDE ENGLISH?]
And change your life at your own will! [NOW THAT'S A HAPPY ENDING.]

*When I receive a good spam-mail lady part poem, I will give it equal time here. That is my pledge.

If My Diary Wrote Back to Me

Dear Diary,
I think I might be a magician! Today, I made my contact lens disappear. I was slowwwwly bringing it up to my eye and then poof! It was gone. I wonder if I can take this to Vegas and pull in the big bucks. Naturally, I had to wear my glasses when I took my walk this morning. During the walk, I noticed that the swamp is beginning to turn a full spectrum of rich, earthy hues--burnt umber, raw sienna, terracotta...Nature walked with me today. Sparkle

Dear Sparkle: Check your sweater sleeve, fool. Don't waste my time like this. Of course you wore your glasses. If you hadn't you would have been Mr. Magooin' it around the landscape and ended up as a hood ornament. And, while we're at it, spare me your thoughts about Nature. Burnt umber? Raw sienna? Terracotta? Stop plagiarizing the Crayola box, and "Nature walking with you" is just creepy. Also: Please don't use the words "naturally" and "Nature" so close together. It's sloppy.

P.S. You don't need to sign your diary entries. I know it's you. And, that little heart you make when you do the "e" is just disgraceful.
Dear Diary,
I thought I would take a moment to capture my thoughts and feelings, and--

Dear Sparkle: Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. Please don't. The last time you "took a moment to capture your thoughts and feelings" you soiled 18 of my pages with ramblings about Nature, fate, and...peanut M&Ms, for crying out loud. Please. Do me a favor. Do us both a favor. Don't "take a moment." And, leave Nature alone. What did it ever do to you?
Dear Diary,
Life is funny...

Dear Sparkle: Let me break in here. Yes. Life is very funny. It is "Ha ha" funny, and it is "Ah HA" funny. Don't you think you covered this topic pretty thoroughly in your high school diaries? Look: I don't want to end up like your high school diaries--all broken down and bummed-out--I'd like to stay fresh and crisp-looking. Can you please not write in me anymore? Really. Go outside and get some exercise. Okay. I hate to do this. But, why don't you go bug Nature some more? If I'm lucky, when you get back maybe you'll forget where you put me.

Dear Diary,
The World Wide Web is a marvelous invention...

[Diary: Oh, no, she's "reflecting" and making sweeping generalizations again. This one will be bad.] provides such wonderful opportunities to stretch creative muscles...

[Diary: Blecch! Blecch! I hate it when you say stuff like "stretch creative muscles"--it's like fingernails on the blackboard! It's icky! What's next? Are you going to start with the "I'm learning more and growing every day stuff" again?], I think I'll start a blog about some small, plastic dinosaurs and see where that takes me...

[Diary: Free at last! Free at last! Ahhhh...sweet, sweet blank pages.]

Sunday, November 15, 2015

The Myths and Realities of World War II

Have you heard about the key role that dinosaurs played during World War II? The little known reality was shown in this fine Nova program recently:
Throughout World War II, an elite unit of flying dinosaurs closely followed Hitler wherever he went and crapped all over him. It was an incredible nuisance, frayed his nerves considerably, and served as a powerful propaganda (or "poopaganda," as they laughingly called it) tool for the British. "For poo and queen!" was the dinos' rallying cry, and they received a hero's welcome whenever they flew back into London for some badly needed R&R (they liked to float around in the Thames, drinking lager and cooling their ragged wings).

Doesn't this explain a lot? For example, now you know why Hitler's hair always looks so limp and plastered down in every photo you've seen of him. Lack of advanced mousse product? Dippity-Doo and Vitalis overdose? Oh, no no no. It was the grim duty of a squad of young SS operatives to hose the dino poop off him every 20 minutes or so, and his hair was always sopping wet.

So! Now you know! What? You're not going to take my word for it? Okay. No problem. Here is sound photographic documentation (if you insist): That's Flyboy Bletchley up there, known for singing the musical hits of the day as he let loose over Hitler. Of course, dinosaurs were also hard at work elsewhere in the service--while they did not make good spies, due to their large size and inability to effectively infiltrate enemy strongholds, many were hard at work in poopaganda mills. They came up with this one: (You can tell they were a little poo-obsessed.)

As well as this one:
The dinosaurs were VERY insistent about car-sharing clubs. In an interview with the BBC, Alf Weatherall, a World War II vet and retired salesman from Quidnamhampnamshire, noted "The dinosaur chappies were awfully particular about that car-sharing club campaign. Pushed it through, they did. They just kept muttering stuff about 'wasting fossil fuels.' Dead sensitive about it, they were."

History! Delicious served alone or with a side of fried potatoes! Get some today!

Friday, November 13, 2015

Ad Nauseum..."Golden Throat"

Heigh-ho, Eli Ringtail-Tooter here...I fight for justice every day, with the exception of every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon when I dedicate myself to the gentle art of decoupage. It's a good thing it's Monday because I SMELL INJUSTICE in this ad.
1) Isn't "Golden Throat" a Batman villain? 'cause this chick sure looks like a Batman villain to me. She's all shiny and kooky-looking, plus she apparently has a microphone growing out of her gazoose pipe. I find that troubling. I mean, nice Crown of Braids, but she's definitely shady.
2) If you lay down sweet coin for this state-of-the-art music-making machine, does that pretty lady in the purple hat and dress come with the radio? If not, I see precious little justice here.

Tuesday, November 10, 2015

The Crisis of Many Plys

Until recently, I had everything all worked out toilet paper-wise. The only logical choice is, of course, your basic, garden-variety Scott tissue. It's unscented, it has 1,000 sheets per roll, and it promises septic safeness--meaning that it protects our poop systems from giant alligators.Furthermore, scientists have proven that Scott tissue eliminates Bolsheviks from your bathroom. I don't object to Bolsheviks, but their scowling, smoldering demeanor and disturbing moustaches tend to disrupt my morning routine. So: Preventing giant alligators + eliminating Bolsheviks = a big, ol' selling point.
There is one drawback to using Scott tissue. It can be disarming when "Mr. Thirsty Fibre" decides to pay a morning visit. This may be my bad--not his. We have been on distant terms since I called attention to the fact that he looks like he has been shopping in Mr. Peanut's closet. He has a short fuse on the best of days, and he did not appreciate my casual observation on his attire.
Yet, my problems with Mr. Thirsty Fibre pale in comparison to the many plied crisis at hand. What do I do about these new options? Which is best? Do I go with the kind that speaks Spanish? "Suave, Fuerte...Duradero" sounds much better than "Soft, Strong...Lasts Long"--even 'though it does not rhyme quite as well.Or, do I go with Scott Naturals? Its constant showboating about its "2-ply softness that gets the job done" (see bottom left corner of picture below) makes me wonder about the kind I use now--which does NOT claim to "get the job done." Does Scott original tissue leave the job undone? Is that what they're implying? If so, it is a haunting thought.And, what about this new tube-less kind? How will I feel when I get to the center of the roll and there's nothing there? Will it be sort of magical (ta-DAH!)? Will it be annoying when the roll dissolves to nothingness at halftime? Will it make me feel sentimental about the old, tubed rolls of my youth? Will it make me try to count up how many toilet paper tubes I've thrown away over my lifetime? And, most importantly, could this writer possibly have gotten an easier headline to write?
Okay--later. I've got some decision-making to do.

Monday, November 2, 2015

Survival Scenario Sunday (brought to you by Dinosaur Casserole, the Survive Anything! People)

It's Sunday. You're slumped on the couch in your PajamaJeansTM, drinking coffee and doing vital work. Perhaps it is vital work for the United States government. Perhaps it is vital work that focuses on staring at your toes and deciding which one does not look like a sad hobo. Really, does it matter what you're doing? It's key, life-saving work and you're doing it slumped on your couch as you drink coffee and cram a couple of leftover brownie fragments in your piehole. Brain food for vital job-doing worker people.

You happen to glance up. You freeze like a dik dik being stalked by a lion. Two well-dressed women have exited a late model sedan and are slowwwwwly walking down your driveway toward the doorstep, arms loaded with what you can tell are bibles, bible accessories, bible study sign-up forms on clipboards, and...

YES! Many, many copies of the Jehovah's Witness publication The Watchtower.

SURVIVAL SCENARIO QUIZ: FAST! What do you do? You are crouched down in frozen dik dik mode, the well-dressed ladies are getting closer, closer, closer...What DO you do?

1) You greet them at the door and say in a calm, pleasant, adult manner: "Good morning, ladies! What a beautiful day. I'm sorry, I do not share your religious beliefs. However, I like to keep an open mind and I will be glad to take a look at any materials you would like to leave with me. If you'll excuse me now, I have to go milk a pretend goat." (25 points: This is pretty good. Wait. Are you still wearing your pyjamas? 'cause that's a little weird. 15.5 points if you're still in the jammies. Either way: Solid survival strategy. Classy.)
2) Flee out the back door and down into the woods, making the characteristic "Dik dik! Dik dik!" noise of your kind. (10 points: Dinosaur Casserole rewards cowardice. This is an okay survival choice, but how long can you stay in the woods? At best, this is a survival stop-gap.)
3) Greet them at the door naked, wearing only a big smile. Invite them in for coffee. (0 points: They will probably come in and THEN where will you be...cold, naked, and far from relaxing. Poor survival choice.)
4) Greet them at the door in a long black velveteen robe, arms filled with pagan literature. Invite them to a free pagan study group. (0-75 points: Dinosaur Casserole cannot imagine having the cojones to do this, but if someone did...possibly 75 points.)
5) Run to the bedroom, pull on your jeans, and greet them on the front doorstep in your jammy top and jeans. (.675 points: This is not an effective survival strategy. Yet, you are awarded points because you are doomed to choose #5. Your grandmother regularly welcomed visits from Jehovah's Witnesses because she saw it as a great opportunity to try to convert them to Methodism and always said "Those Jehovah ladies seem so lonely, bless their hearts..." after a visit.)

They're nice. They always are. You're polite. You always are. On tiptoe, after you've exchanged all pleasantries and are ready to grab The Watchtower and head on back to complete your vital couch-based work, you lean towards the door beaming your goodbye. But, they ask you a question.
JWs: "We're asking everybody today, how do you deal with family problems? What is YOUR secret of family success?"
Dik Dik: "Well, I guess my secret of success is that I don't have any family problems."
JWs' faces fall.
Dik Dik: "Well, humor. I guess if I had any family problems I would deal with them...with humor."
JW1: "That's a GREAT answer! It SHOULD be one of the secrets of family success in this publication."
Dik Dik The Editor (well, why isn't it? Weave together Secret 1: The Right Priorities with Secret 7: A Firm Foundation--there are bound to be redundancies in those two--and make Humor the new Secret 7): "Okey-dokey!"
JW2: "Let me show you a scripture that is all about humor."
Dik Dik: "All righty!"

Survival Scenario Sunday Lesson Learned: That scripture was NOT about humor.
Survival Scenario Sunday Discussion Questions:
1) Which of my toes does not look like a sad hobo?
2) If  I owned a goat, what would its Secrets of Family Success be?
3) Have any Jehovah's Witnesses ever been converted by elderly ladies of another faith?

Have a great Sunday, and here at Dinosaur Casserole we want you to go out there and Survive Anything! today.