Yosemite Sammin’ over Fragal Ratzen Switsrigribin Science

I have attempted to give up swearing and sarcasm, two of my most favorite and go-to incongruent messaging techniques, for the season of Lent.  Over the years, I have developed an affinity for my favorite antagonist, Looney Tunes' famous, red-haired, rootin-tootinest, six-gun shootin'est, Hessian with Aggressionist Yosemite Sam and his amazing ability not to swear but get it all out anyway.  

I pay homage to Sam's dialect tonight . . . 


On January 12, Thing 2 was assigned (along with all his classmates) the frutstikriken science packet for tomorrow night’s (February 28) science and math expo at school.

He turned in his packet, which announced his project: “Effect of a Slope on an Object” the title of which I find utterly untenable. Being a writer, I absolutely resent the passive voice. Why can’t it be blistrikriken called “How a Slope Effects Objects” or “Things that Roll Down a Slope” or “Here’s What Happens to a Marble on Mini Playground Slide”?

Passive voice notwithstanding, the last yours truly heard about this kwazteriken project was January 13^th.

On the walk to school this morning in the mid-winter sunlight and beneath the barren Snow White-scary trees, I witnessed other children ambling along with their massive tri-fold cardboard science presentations.  Some couldn’t see around the edges of their projects, some presentations were perched atop younger siblings’ strollers and others still were shuttled by their devoted mothers.  

We didn’t verstigrobitz have one.

“Looks like everyone has something to bring in to school today; lots of kids in your grade, too and older kids too…” (I knew what it was, but I REFUSED, frammit, to utter the drastifregitz words “Science Project.”)

“Uh, yeah. I decided not to do one. I don’t have to; so I chose not to,” Thing 2 confidently declared.

Crickets.  Do not grind teeth. Do not grind teeth.

Then Thing 3 (who is 8) said, in his best Commissioner Gordon voice, “Hey, Dono, it looks like you don’t have a science project.  The Expo is tomorrow, where’s your work?” Nothing gets past Thing 3.  I mean, nothing.  The kid is sharp as a laser-guided, diamond-studded titanium tack.  He built the Lego set of Frank Lloyd Wright’s “Falling Water” for seven hours nonstop on Boxing Day, I thought we were going to have to hook him up to an IV for sustenance. 

Again, Thing 2 said, “It’s cool; I don’t need to bring one in.”

Crickets from me, who has taken on the name, "Mominator" today. 

The most recently I’ve heard about this project was about 45 seconds ago after I stomped my feet up the stairs in utter arghnitshaquin disgust about the entire grazifrakin situation.

Why? Because all of a sudden, Thing 2 grew a brastinagitz conscience.  “My teacher’s gonna be mad uh-uh-uh at me… I mean, *sniffle snarf* she is already. I … uh uh uh … I uh uh uh, she’s *gaspy sniffle* alreadddddydisAPPOINtedddddd.”

Well shatifrakin cry me a dritsagribin river.

He’s down there now, in the playroom doing his project.  The Spouse is helping him.  I refused.  What I couldn’t believe is that I caught just a little guff for helping Thing 1 when he needed assistance with a project a few years ago and I quickly growled, “I helped him because all he tristawrakin needed was fritzerbrickin assistance in coloring the pictures he drew that would go along with the quistanitzin content he created and assembled for his project.  He was almost fisterikrigen finished.  And he’d been strizerwrikin working on it for at least a week…”

I was left to myself.

It’s twikstribrikin quiet in here.

Thank you.