Moozie was the biggest partier in town. All the bartenders knew her by name and she was a hit with everyone she talked to. She was also 92 years old.
This didn't seem to phase Moozie, and in fact, Moozie didn't even seem to realize how old she was. The fact that she could name every pop artist from the 1930's up just made her think she was more knowledgeable, age had nothing to do with it. If someone was introduced to Moozie and commented on her white hair, she'd tell them that is what happens when you bleach your hair too much, and believed it. If anyone mentioned how Moozie was older than they thought she'd be, Moozie would laugh and say she always looked older than she actually was and that she could buy beer when she was only 10. The fact that it was the end of prohabition and it was from her grandfather's speakeasy somehow never made it into the conversation.
Perhaps Moozie would have realized her age if she hadn't stopped keeping track at around 40 or so. Or maybe if she suffered from any physical aliments that she couldn't write off as side effects from "partying so hard." Financially Moozie did alright because usually people bought her drinks and dinner because they thought she was such an awesome old woman, though they all knew better than to call Moozie old to her face.
Moozie even kept a part time job at a burger joint. If anything, Moozie seemed to think she was getting younger, not older. There was nothing wrong with her mentally. She knew what year it was and who the president was and "all that jazz," she just simply didn't keep track of her own age. You could never accuse Moozie of not keeping up with the times.
Then one day Moozie, preoccupied with a major party coming up that night, forgot to give some kid his fries. The kid was kind of a punk about it, and instead of asking nicely, demanded that "the old senile broad" pay better attention or "go back to your retirement home where you belong." Moozie laughed, "That's the worst insult I have ever heard. I'm not even old."
"Oh yeah," retorted the punk, "You're older than my grannie over there and she can't even walk straight." Sure enough the kid was there with his grannie who was walking sideways with her walker into the drink dispenser and demanding they "play some God Damn Disco Already!"
Moozie gave a disbelievable fart noise with her lips and laughed, "puh-lease." But then it happened. Moozie recognized the old crazy woman who had now, in a very feeble attempt, began accosting the drink dispenser as if was a jukebox, pointing her finger threateningly at the Fanta button and demanding Blondie.
Moozie's hands went up over her mouth. It was Carly Sue, her old friend she used to go to Discos with. She indeed was older than Carly Sue by almost 20 years, but Moozie didn't really know that. She saw them as equals. She tried to do the math in her head and figured she was in her 70's. That was impossible she decided, so she went home and dug out her birth certificate and nearly had a heart attack. "92! I can't be 92!"
Suddenly Moozie saw every little wrinkle on her face and her white hair didn't seem so cool any more. She took to her bed for the next three days.
In that time her pink bedazzled iphone had run out of message space, her facebook and twitter were littered with "where the hell are you"'s, and people had even tried leaving messages on her Myspace account, something they didn't even use anymore.
Moozie was oblivious. She was too busy being depressed that she was old.
Finally her almost hundreds of friends and aquaintances took to doing things the old fashioned way and started showing up on her doorstep, pounding it hard and demanding to be let in. This went on for a few hours, and eventually, Moozie found this not only difficult to ignore but annoying as hell, so she got out of bed, pulled on a random sparkly halter top and some skinny jeans, and went to the door.
Her yard was full of party-goers of all ages. Someone had the radio in their car jacked up to full volume, others had made a beer and pizza run, and there was a huge party going on. Jack, her favorite bartender met her at the door, "Oh thank heavens! I thought you'd died."
"Died!" Moozie exclaimed, "I'm not THAT old am I?" She was about to retreat back to her bed and forget all the fun only three feet away when Jack stopped her.
"Sugar, No. I don't care what year you popped outta your momma. You're only as old as you act. And Honey, you're a decade younger than me!"
Moozie looked Jack over. He had nice hair, clear skin, washboard abs. "I mean hell," he continued, "Is that what this is all about? You're only 3 days older than this past weekend when you out partied Petey the Party. I mean you know why they call that guy the Party right?"
Moozie laughed a little. That was quite a night. It would have been better if Petey hadn't passed out just as things were getting good, leaving her alone on the beach with a hummer limo full of passed out co-eds.
Moozie laughed, swung open the door and demanded Jack let everyone inside immediately. "This is my party now!" She was ecstatic and suddenly she was seeing things in a whole new light. She had years of experience on these people. She could out drink and out dance anyone there. She could stay awake longer and had no children or parents to go crawling home to.
Suddenly Moozie realized being "old" wasn't so bad because she had a solid 67 years of partying under her belt and unlike most party goers was able to keep a job, even if she sometimes forgot they wanted fries with that.
Moozie never worried about feeling old again, and 30 years later, on the day of her funeral, the whole town threw a party in her honor that lasted 8 days. Of course, they all knew that had Moozie still been around she was would have scolded them for stopping then because now Moozie was laughing up in Heaven where she didn't need to sleep and couldn't get drunk and could party foever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever.
The End
Don't let some punk kid ruin your party. He doesn't deserve fries anyway.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
The Life of Molly the Mango
Molly the Mango lived in Africa in a tree with all of her mango family. Molly didn’t know a lot about the world, but what she did know was this: Mangos were the best fruit ever. After all, all the other mangos said so.
In fact, that is all the mangos ever did; they basked in the sun talking about how wonderful they were. They may have occasionally stopped to fuss at a nearby bird for shaking their branches, but some even felt the birds were not worth their time.
It never occurred to Molly to ask why mangos were the best fruit ever. It pretty much just seemed to be a fact. If anything, the humans seemed to think so. Every morning they came in droves to care for the trees (the mangos homes) and the mangos themselves. They chased away bugs, made sure the mangos had plenty to drink, and that they grew into big, beautiful mangos.
In fact, Molly longed for the day when she would be big enough and plump enough to be carried off by one of the humans, but day after day they passed her by, finding her unworthy. Molly didn’t talk about her disappointment, though it occupied her mind all day long. She dreaded being one of those mangos that went over looked, grew fat with depression, and dropped from the tree on their own accord, left to rot in the grass. How awful!
Then one glorious day, a human climbed a ladder, gave her a gentle squeeze and pulled her from her branch. She was ecstatic! Being disconnected from her branch had stung a little, but quickly it numbed, and she rode happily with the other basket of mangos.
She waited in anticipation after their basket was placed in the truck. All the mangos gloating and boasting -- We were picked! We were picked!
They soon went to what Molly could only assume was an industrious beauty parlor where everyone was inspected once again and washed all over. There was a moment of fear when a worker reached down and grabbed Molly. She had seen others being tossed out of the conveyor belt and she dreaded this fate, but the worker placed her back down just as quickly.
Then all the mangos were stored in boxes. Molly was sad she did not get a window seat (a spot near a round little porthole in the cardboard) but the mangos who had them anxiously shared what they saw and when it got dark all the mangos talked about the great things that awaited them.
Then one day Molly woke (she’d been dozing off a lot lately) to find that she was in a bright, cold room surrounded not only by other mangos but fruits and vegetables of all kinds! Clearly, Molly thought, this was a contest, what she had been born for. The mangos were in a pyramid in the center and at the tip top, Molly had a good view of all the whole area. Humans came in and poked and pinched and rubbed and sniffed all the fruits and vegetables. Clearly, they were the judges.
She figured the contest would be won by who was picked the most. Well! The mangos would surly win and all the other mangos agreed with her.
But to their ever growing dismay, other fruits and vegetables were being picked much faster than the mangos were. The apples laughed mockingly as they passed in the their plastic swinging bags, and the bananas chuckled heartedly. Even the ugly, rough potatoes were going more than the mangos. Molly just didn’t understand.
People seemed hesitant to even touch them let alone buy them. Then, two young boys came over and started poking them.
“What are these?” asked one.
“Monkos,” said the other incorrectly, “They’re monkey hearts!”
“Ew!” screamed the first little boy, running to his mom in terror.
“Lies!” cried Molly, “Lies!” But only the other mangos heard her.
Just as Molly was about to lose all hope, along came a young woman who stopped curiously and, reaching randomly, grabbed Molly. She hefted her in her hand. “Hm,” she said and dropped Molly gently in her cart. The other mangos cheered widely and Molly gave the other fruits a smug look as she rolled out.
Molly was full of suspense-- now what!
When the woman took her out of the bag at home though, she hmmed over her again and then took her to a computer where they watched the most dreadful video together! A man in a white jacket showed, to Molly’s terror, how to sliced up a mango!! And he seemed happy about it and the woman tossed Molly in her hands, nodding the whole time. Then, at the end of the video, the man actually took a bite!!!!!
Then the woman took Molly to kitchen and got out a big knife. “This can’t be it!” Molly thought. “What is so great about this?” But just before the knife hit her skin, a loud ring echoed through the house and the women went off to retrieve the phone.
Molly sighed and using the last of her mangoy strength rolled across the counter and out the window. She plummeted to the soft grass below and hidden in the long leaves decided that was the life for her, lying outside in the sunshine. All that other beauty pageant glitz was the pits. She decided right then and there that she would stay there and start her own family tree and she, she would tell all the other mangos the truth about humans. And that’s exactly what she did.
The woman in the house however was not pleased about this, but there wasn’t much she could about it besides punish the family dog, who obviously must of stole her mango thinking it a new play toy.
The end.
Moral: Don’t be a silly mango. Investigate facts for yourself.
In fact, that is all the mangos ever did; they basked in the sun talking about how wonderful they were. They may have occasionally stopped to fuss at a nearby bird for shaking their branches, but some even felt the birds were not worth their time.
It never occurred to Molly to ask why mangos were the best fruit ever. It pretty much just seemed to be a fact. If anything, the humans seemed to think so. Every morning they came in droves to care for the trees (the mangos homes) and the mangos themselves. They chased away bugs, made sure the mangos had plenty to drink, and that they grew into big, beautiful mangos.
In fact, Molly longed for the day when she would be big enough and plump enough to be carried off by one of the humans, but day after day they passed her by, finding her unworthy. Molly didn’t talk about her disappointment, though it occupied her mind all day long. She dreaded being one of those mangos that went over looked, grew fat with depression, and dropped from the tree on their own accord, left to rot in the grass. How awful!
Then one glorious day, a human climbed a ladder, gave her a gentle squeeze and pulled her from her branch. She was ecstatic! Being disconnected from her branch had stung a little, but quickly it numbed, and she rode happily with the other basket of mangos.
She waited in anticipation after their basket was placed in the truck. All the mangos gloating and boasting -- We were picked! We were picked!
They soon went to what Molly could only assume was an industrious beauty parlor where everyone was inspected once again and washed all over. There was a moment of fear when a worker reached down and grabbed Molly. She had seen others being tossed out of the conveyor belt and she dreaded this fate, but the worker placed her back down just as quickly.
Then all the mangos were stored in boxes. Molly was sad she did not get a window seat (a spot near a round little porthole in the cardboard) but the mangos who had them anxiously shared what they saw and when it got dark all the mangos talked about the great things that awaited them.
Then one day Molly woke (she’d been dozing off a lot lately) to find that she was in a bright, cold room surrounded not only by other mangos but fruits and vegetables of all kinds! Clearly, Molly thought, this was a contest, what she had been born for. The mangos were in a pyramid in the center and at the tip top, Molly had a good view of all the whole area. Humans came in and poked and pinched and rubbed and sniffed all the fruits and vegetables. Clearly, they were the judges.
She figured the contest would be won by who was picked the most. Well! The mangos would surly win and all the other mangos agreed with her.
But to their ever growing dismay, other fruits and vegetables were being picked much faster than the mangos were. The apples laughed mockingly as they passed in the their plastic swinging bags, and the bananas chuckled heartedly. Even the ugly, rough potatoes were going more than the mangos. Molly just didn’t understand.
People seemed hesitant to even touch them let alone buy them. Then, two young boys came over and started poking them.
“What are these?” asked one.
“Monkos,” said the other incorrectly, “They’re monkey hearts!”
“Ew!” screamed the first little boy, running to his mom in terror.
“Lies!” cried Molly, “Lies!” But only the other mangos heard her.
Just as Molly was about to lose all hope, along came a young woman who stopped curiously and, reaching randomly, grabbed Molly. She hefted her in her hand. “Hm,” she said and dropped Molly gently in her cart. The other mangos cheered widely and Molly gave the other fruits a smug look as she rolled out.
Molly was full of suspense-- now what!
When the woman took her out of the bag at home though, she hmmed over her again and then took her to a computer where they watched the most dreadful video together! A man in a white jacket showed, to Molly’s terror, how to sliced up a mango!! And he seemed happy about it and the woman tossed Molly in her hands, nodding the whole time. Then, at the end of the video, the man actually took a bite!!!!!
Then the woman took Molly to kitchen and got out a big knife. “This can’t be it!” Molly thought. “What is so great about this?” But just before the knife hit her skin, a loud ring echoed through the house and the women went off to retrieve the phone.
Molly sighed and using the last of her mangoy strength rolled across the counter and out the window. She plummeted to the soft grass below and hidden in the long leaves decided that was the life for her, lying outside in the sunshine. All that other beauty pageant glitz was the pits. She decided right then and there that she would stay there and start her own family tree and she, she would tell all the other mangos the truth about humans. And that’s exactly what she did.
The woman in the house however was not pleased about this, but there wasn’t much she could about it besides punish the family dog, who obviously must of stole her mango thinking it a new play toy.
The end.
Moral: Don’t be a silly mango. Investigate facts for yourself.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)