This post is the story of a blogger who goes undercover and masquerades as a smart teacher to get the inside scoop on a playboy toad and then gets tangled in some royal intrigue and ends up finding true luv or at least some warts, but how long can you keep up such a lie? “Where there’s a Tiara, there’s dirt. Trust me.”
At this point, you the reader might be asking yourself, shouldn’t this piece be about a Christmas frog? I mean in fairy-tales the princess kisses a frog not a toad and gets her charming prince. Well, not to get all Anura on you, but the whole prince-frog trope has been done so many times. Order! Order! I mean, it has gotten to be so tiresome. Let’s try to mix it up some. Shall we?
Back to the story. What we’ve got here is a legit Aldovian birther scandal. The prince, I mean toad, may have been born in Kenya, but why do all of his Aldovian relatives have British accents? If at this point, like at the beginning, you feel that you know everything that will happen in this story, don’t tell me.
This is a story of his royal hotness, at least on a summer’s day. Otherwise, even with darting tongue, he is just sort of ambient. Still, as the leading amphibian, you find romance in the darnedest places. Just don’t drain the swamp. We need more wetlands after all. That’s enough ecological soap-boxing for now.
It is so heartwarming to see that Aldovians with disabilities has become the law of the land. Not to get all political on you again, but the acorn act has got to go. It is hardly constitutional to govern through ornamental proclamations. Ah, but a king’s reach from beyond the grave should never exceed his grasp, or what’s a parliament for? Beside big set pieces that is…
Please don’t throw me to the wolves. I had to get them in here, but truly, I have not watched A Christmas Toad or whatever you want to call it. Humbug! That’s my big reveal. I just heard on NPR that its sequel drops today and thought that it was a subject rife for derision. I hope dear reader that you have enjoyed my snark and like I asked, please don’t throw me to the wolves. They’re protected.
It’s no mystery that this post is just a puff piece. That’s not rocket science. As satire, it is not even very good theater, but still, I hope that it garners like 3,000 likes. And I admire the fact that you read my blog online, instead of anywhere else. You know who you are. And to the people who have reread this post 18 times: Who hurt you? – Net-Flics
We are back in the Lou tonight, after a lovely visit with Anne’s family over the Christmas holiday. The drive home was mostly nice, except for the stretch on US-24, between Toledo and Fort Wayne. This bit of road is the latest innovation in our continual optimization of our commute to Michigan. It is a beautiful road, with brand new pavement and because it is still relatively undiscovered, low traffic. Compared with its predecessor, I-94, it is a dream or so it would seem. Maybe it is more of a nightmare? At least for us, this road has been a bit of a Jonah. We have only been using this route for a couple of years, but in that time, we’ve nearly run off the road on one occasion and been snarled in traffic for over an hour in another one. Today, US-24 offered us lake effect snow. The right lane was pretty clear and we saw multiple plows out working, but stretches of the passing lane had about an inch of snow on it. We saw one car that had spun-out and gotten turned around in the ditch. Anne called 911, but it had already been reported. She still felt good about reporting it. Once we got to Fort Wayne, the snow disappeared and it was clear sailing all the way home. It was 52 °F when we got back here. It will be good to sleep in our own bed tonight.
Who is the tallest now? Is it real or is it Photoshop? Anyway, Merry Christmas!
On Friday, Anne and I arrived in Ann Arbor. Today, the boys arrived, but yesterday, I made the mistake of texting the boys about our safe arrival, because I thought that they might have been worried. Look below at the transcript of our texting conversation to see how wrong I was:
Dad: Should have texted earlier. We made it here fine.
Dave: We were worried sick.
Dan: I’ll call the highway patrol, to call off the search. David, can you cancel the Amber alert?
Dave: Silver alert, cause they’re… you know…
Dad: Our will is written in pencil!
There is a new tradition this year at Chez Harry’s, Weihnachtsgurke or the Christmas pickle. A Christmas pickle is a decoration in the shape of a pickle which is hidden on a decorated Christmas tree. In our case it was on the garland hanging from the ceiling. It says that the finder of the pickle receives a reward or good fortune for the following year. There are a number of different origin stories attributed to this tradition; most stating it originated in Germany. Harry found a New York Times article today addressing this subject and was pleased to point out both the article and the pickle to everyone. They had previously won a pickle ornament at bridge. It is only our first year now with this new to us tradition, so that it only seems fair to have the rules explained and the pickle pointed out to everyone. The deer was photographed this morning in the backyard. There were three of them, but this one was the most picturesque.