Aug 18, 2005

We Need A Few Good Men.

Has anyone else ever noticed that the Marine Corps slogan is composed of nothing but monosyllabic words, none longer than four letters?

The Marine Corps: We Need A Few Good Men (Head and Neck Optional)

I guess it's a good thing they didn't have to add something like "Inquire Within" because their recruitment would have dropped off 85% right there. The streets would have been filled with neckless goons stumbling around, vainly searching for some direction, in need of a good round of verbal abuse from a guy in a silly-looking hat and starched boxers.

The Marine Corps: Adapt, Improvise, and Overcome

That's one of theirs too, isn't it? It's what I'm going to have to do as of today, and for the next nine months or so. School starts today, you see, and my duty list has suddenly changed from

  • Wake up
  • Perform The Three S's (s**t, shower, and shave)
  • Dress
  • Blog
  • Eat (optional)
  • Leave For Work

to something more like:

  • Wake up
  • Three S's (s**t, shower, and shave)
  • Dress
  • Blog A Very Little Bit
  • Eat (Hah!)
  • Make Sure Daughter Is Up
  • Feed Daughter
  • Make Sure She's Got Everything Straight For The Day
  • Tell Her To Take Off The Makeup
  • Be Sure She's Out And Waiting For The Bus
  • Leave For Work

The Marine Corps: Blood Makes The Grass Grow

No, that's not going to help, even though it's an age-old Corps anthem. Unless perhaps I set up a claymore mine in the street, angled so that it takes out the radiator of the bus as it drives up, thereby scoring me some time to blog. But then again, I can't set claymore mines every single morning. For one thing, the Roads and Bridges Commission will want to hire me for bridge construction in the state. For that matter, my claymore mines supplier ("This Side Toward Enemy Gun Shop & ATV Repair: Arming The General Population Since Gettysburg") isn't going to be able to keep me in surplus explosives all year long.

The Marine Corps: Know Your Court And It's Facilities

Wrong approach again. That was my college badminton coach. He wasn't only my badminton coach, he was also the Men's Basketball coach, and they won a lot of basketball games, probably because I was too busy playing badminton to be doing real work like basketball. He just taught PE on the side, and since I went to a small Southern Baptist college we didn't have cool things for PE like lacrosse, fencing, or co-ed nude volleyball. What we did have was bowling, jogging, mouth breathing or badminton. I'm a lousy bowler, and had way too many brain cells for mouth breathing (I could find the H&PE building every time) so guess where I ended up? Yep, I was one hell of a badminton player, but Coach Rushing could still plant a high-speed birdie square in my face every time. (Don't EVEN think you're going to get me to use the word "shuttlecock" in the same sentence as "my face.")

So that doesn't help me with the morning timing issues. I know this court pretty damned well, AND it's facilities, unless you're referring to MY facilities, which are getting less and less trustworthy every day. Maybe I could hobble up to school and stage some sort of demonstration as to why school should open an hour or so later, but get out at the same time. I'd certainly have the backing of the kids.

The Marine Corps: Semper Fidelis

Hmmm. Not too much hope there. Nothing I can use to help delay the progress of events. No matter how I look at it, I'm out a quantity of time to sit and write. Being faithful to school? Not a fart's chance in a tornado, Sparky m'boy. I HATED school with a purple passion. When I get letters from my college alumni association I usually wrap fish in them, or wipe my arse with it if they've sent a single page letter. Those cardstock tri-fold brochures are hell on flesh.

The daughter, however, seems to be keeping with her tradition of not being like me at all. She has enjoyed every single year of school, has shown a marked tendency to fit it, a quality of not being picked on (I guess any more than usual for a kid) and a fair aptitude for doing well with only the usual amounts of threatening and cajoling. She smiles a lot, and even gets up in the mornings with a minimum of fuss and grief. All this leads me to believe that my own daughter was somehow swapped in the hospital for someone else's child, and that I need to keep it awfully quiet before someone finds out that the ADD troll they're trying to raise is not a trial from Gawd or one of the Fairie Folk's children but is in fact MY child, and I have theirs.

The Marine Corps: Just Blog At Night Or Something, You Big Mook

Yeah, that's going to have to be it, I think. Nothing else is going to work, unless I really work like a dog to get my words out in half an hour or so, and THAT'S not going to happen, let me guarantee that. Along with "no new taxes."

I hear an alarm clock going off. Time to take off the Blogger Hat and put on the School Age Child's Parent Hat.

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