As you enter the campground you notice the snow is beginning to pile up.  It’s been snowing on and off for several weeks now and although the grounds crew have done an excellent job of clearing the walkways and sidewalks, the snow is beginning to be piled up higher and higher at the edges.  There are several older members who are complaining of the cold and mentioning that, “in Florida, we don’t tolerate this kind of stuff!  That’s why I moved down there to get away from it all.”  Those in the know realize that the group is being egged on by Impish’s own father, Papa Dragon Most Senior, who seems to be taking extraordinary delight in getting the crowd engaged in suggesting the campground be moved to a warmer climate or at the very least, the magic should be turned to a warmer setting.  As you walk away you hear him saying something about the temperature falling below 70 degrees and him needing a sweater.

 

When you enter the building, you can see the stage has the curtain pulled closed and from behind the curtain you can hear dragonish moaning and groaning.  You’re not really sure if it’s pain, sexual contentment or something even more difficult to consider and bleach out of your brain.  You brace yourself for the worst as the curtain is drawn back and you can see the ass end of the blue dragon facing you, tale stretched out straight and wings unfurled to the sides.  You see someone pushing what looks like a lawn mower sized vibrating device with rollers up and down the dragon’s back and Impish let’s out with:

 

“Excellent.  Oh that’s perfect.  It feels just right!  Yeah, right there!”

 

There are what appear to be hot towels spread out across his unfurled wings and a little Asian woman seems to be walking up and down the muscles where his wings meet his neck.

 

The dragon now seems to speak to a very ugly man near his head, who’s sitting in an office type chair.  Dressed in a brown leathery looking over garment, he’s taking notes in what looks like a steno pad on his crossed knee.  He pushes his glasses back up on his bulbous nose and says something to Impish which we cannot hear, but we certainly can hear Impish’s side of the conversation as his deep booming voice echoes out across the room.  It seems he doesn’t realize the curtain is even open at this point.

 

Let’s see…how about, ‘Listen closely and you shall hear a dragon’s tale to make you quake in fear’…

 

You can hear groaning and gagging faintly coming from the man taking notes.

 

What?  Oh, so you’re not a Hawthorne fan?  Whadda you mean, ‘I’m no Hawthorne’?  Just you remember who signs your paycheck!  Well, yes, technically, that WOULD be Lethal Leprechaun…

Well, then you remember who it is that can EAT you.

No, I thought that whole thing about Trolls being toxic to dragons was a myth.  It’s not?
Okay, then, you remember who it is that has Santa’s ear and can mention how naughty and disrespectful you are to your elders?  Ah ha!  Thought so!

 

So, no Hawthorne…. How about, ‘It was a dark and stormy night’ … Raymond Chandler?  Charles Shultz and Snoopy?  Really? 

Snoopy will kick my ass!?!?  You mean, he’s real, too!!!

AND, he spars with the Ninja Kitties!???  Damn!

 

Okay, Okay…try this.  ‘It was the best of winter nights, it was the stormiest of winter nights’…Dickens?  Really?  A Tale of Two Cities?  Classic of literature?  What do you mean, I’m not in the same league with published authors?  I AM a published author!  Yes, I got paid, too! 

Yes, with real money!

Well, if you must know, it was an article.  Yes, an article.

Um… on cooking lasagna.

Wow, this is harder than I thought.  I wonder how Lethal makes it look so easy, just letting the words to his Purloined and Perverted songs just sort of trip off his tongue.

No, I wasn’t speaking to you and I KNOW that I’m not Lethal.  Thanks for that overwhelming insight Captain Obvious.

Yeah, I should just be myself.  Stick with what I know best.  I know, classic stand up comedy!

“I just flew in from the North Pole and boy are my wings tired.” Ba-da-dum!

 

No really, I’m serious.  I just got back from one of Lethal’s “simple little delivery errands” with Santa and the new sleigh, no less.  Boy, did that wind up being way harder than Lethal made it sound.

 

Impish wiggles his body, trying to get a more comfortable position, he moans out a few directions to the massagers and muscle walkers and resumes his tale to the only Troll you’ve ever seen who wears glasses.  Not that, I’m sure you’ve seen that many Trolls before, but you understand what I’m saying.  He still seems to be completely oblivious to the fact that there is a crowd of people sitting in the seats behind his uncomfortably sized posterior, who are listening intently while getting coffee and eating breakfast.

Well, it started out with Lethal assembling the attorney equivalent of 5 kiloton warhead.  These folks built this document, I think he called it an Amicus Brief (only an Assassin Level Attorney would call something that is 136 single-spaced pages a “brief”)

 

The troll interrupts.

It’s not that kind of brief?  Well, having seen and delivered them, I can tell you that it wasn’t the underwear kind either, so what other kind is there?

Okay, so let me get this straight… it’s an informational briefing packet discussing the finer points of one or more laws and or past cases of precedence as they relate to a case before the court filed by interested but unnamed to the case parties meant to assist the court in arriving at the correct judgment?  Damn, even the explanation of what it is, isn’t brief!

 

Well, anyway…I guess Lethal got Santa to print it up all nice, bind them in a fancy cover and them wrap them up in gold foil wrapping.  Lethal said the gold foil would make the guys who X-ray the government’s mail pitch two fits minimum.  They even included gift cards containing notes from Lethal and Santa.  From what I heard them say, if those Amicus things were the explosive part, then the comments on the gift cards were the binary component of the detonator for this global bombshell of theirs. 

 

There were probably fifty copies, all told, for the ranking member minions of A.S.S. and the A.S.S.H.A.T. twins, the key members of Congress, the State Department,  Secretary of the Navy and the Joint Chiefs.  There was even a special issue for Biden that looked like a six-year-Old’s picture book.  It was about twice the size of the others because it had to be written using no more than two-syllable words and it literally had a lot of drawings and pictures in it.

 

It was given over to Santa and I to deliver them, since Santa needed to test his upgraded sleigh, which he got as a result of rescuing me in my daring escape.  I guess my first clue that it was going to be a very interesting evening should have been from Santa’s arrival.

 

It was like, all of a sudden the sleigh was there.  I saw a reddish streak, but never even saw the sleigh land.  Dancer and Prancer were puking their guts out and Prancer almost nailed Lethal.  That’s really surprising since Prancer really has a thing for our little green leprechaun.  That’s not surprising since Lethal enables Prancer’s carrot cake muffin obsession.  I got my tongue on one of those muffins once, but only because it was an old stale one.  I’ve got to admit, that even stale, that thing was freaking awesome!  They’ve got cream cheese and pineapple filling in the center and will flat out rock your world!  I know he gets them flown in from somewhere in Connecticut, out near the airport.  Oh, are you writing that down?  I’m not sure which airport.  As small as Connecticut is, how many damn airports can there be?   Anyway, he refuses to hook me up.  Something about me being greedy and a glutton…Hello?  Dragon! … Yeah, he says it like those are bad traits for a dragon.  I don’t even think he’s let Ginny have any…nope.  I don’t think he wants to be responsible for the medical fallout that might come from it.

 

Anyhow, then there was my pal Rudolph, he certainly wasn’t his normal, joking around, wise-ass self.  He looked a little worried, actually.  He whispered he was glad the reindeer were not going tonight because “the man is black and is a scary dude.  We don’t like him very much.”  Yup, those are the exact words he used.  I asked him what he meant and he jerked his rack back towards the sleigh and said, “Kringle”.  I asked if he meant Santa?  He said, “He’s not Santa tonight, he’s Kringle.  He had us doing all kinds of aerial acrobatics the whole way here.  Made us take the long way, too.  Said if anybody bucketed while we were flying and any got on him, he’d have venison stew when he got home.”

 

I thought maybe old Rudy was trying to play one of them silly reindeer games on me, so I went to see Lethal and talk to Santa myself.  The first thing I noticed right off was Santa smelled wrong.  Gone was the scent of fresh pine, snow and peppermint I usually associated with the jolly old elf.  He smelled of leather, poorly tanned Polar-Bear hide and something else I couldn’t place, but didn’t think I liked.  He had braids in his beard, wore leather pants and polar bear fur vest that was dyed black, showing his arms and bare chest beneath it.  He was considerably buffer than a scant few days ago when he dumped me in that missile silo hide out.  Lethal seemed nervous around him, too.  Like he was with the dude with antlers on his head (and that pack of vicious dogs) down on level 6.   Then it hit me…Santa smelled of hunting…he smelled like the antlered guy on level 6!  When I called him Santa and asked him what was happening to him, he was all growly and gruff with me and told me, “the name’s Kringle.  Why does everyone think I’m that pansy, Santa?  Call me Santa again Dragon and I’ll use your hide to upholster the inside of my sleigh instead of this prissy red velvet.  Now shut yer gob and hook up!  We got trouble to stir up this night!”

 

Lethal tried explaining as he helped me into the harness.  I didn’t understand it all, but apparently, it has something to do with Santa being an elder fae and there having been multiple incarnations of the entity we know as Santa currently and they all didn’t necessarily act like OUR Santa.  Apparently Kringle was a way earlier incarnation during a much more primitive and harsher time.  Lethal cautioned me that Kringle wasn’t kidding around about using my hide to reupholster the inside of the sleigh if I ticked him off.

 

So much for a flight full of shits and giggles.  Now, not only did I have people on the ground that wanted my hide, I was tethered to someone who also might wind up wanting it as well.

 

Anyway, the first 35 deliveries or so went fairly easily…Santa/Kringle programs his navigation thingie and the sleigh’s reins kept tugging on me until we were pointed in the right direction.  He uses the Roddenberry thing to deliver the presents on the fly, I barely even have to slow down for it to happen.

 

The Roddenberry, that’s Santa/Kringle’s name for it, is something like the Short Range Targetable Molecular Present Relocation Projector Mk4.  He says he got the idea from watching Roddenberry’s Original Star Trek and its transporter.  I don’t know how it works, but it’s really cool.  There is a screen and he can see where the present(s) are going to wind up when he aims it.  They used the Roddenberry Mk3 with something on the ground to help relocate larger presents to get me out of my cell in Gitmo.

 

Impish turns and glances back at the workers and complains about the towels getting cold.  But, doesn’t pay enough attention to even notice any of you.

So, like I was saying, everything was copacetic until we made it to the last 10 or 15 stops in Washington proper.  Then it was like someone had told them we were coming.  It might have been that plane going into Regan that spotted us.  We never knew for sure.  Every place we went after that there was some sort of security looking to bag a piece of us..

 

So there I was, flying an aerial obstacle course of bullets in the dark, and the rotten bastards weren’t even using tracers either so you couldn’t see them until the last possible second.  Suddenly my harness and the reins start to feel all funny.  All restrictive like and like what I’m towing isn’t responding to me as I’m flying.  About all I can do is to fly straight and level, but I can feel the sleigh is shearing side to side behind me.  When I look back to ask Santa/Kringle what’s goin on, suddenly the sleigh’s runners have become freaking stubby wings!  Santa’s got this helmet on his head and it’s got what looks like half a set of Google glasses hanging off his the right side in front of his eye.  I can see all sorts of colored lines and symbols reflected off his face from the glasses… or is it glass since there was only the one?…  Nervously I ask, “Yo Kringle!  What the hell?!  I’m taking fire here and the sleigh won’t let me evade!”  A round strikes my side, “Ouch!  See what I mean?!”

 

He looked up at me for a split-second with a crazy grin on his face and yelled, “Bombing run!  Just suck it up, pansy.  Now turn around, keep flying straight and level until I tell you.”  Suddenly he yells, “Bombs away!” followed by the crash of glass breaking, an alarm going off and Kringle shouting, “Special Delivery, Asshole!  Try to steal my technology for your unsanctioned uses will ya!  We’ll see about that load of reindeer crap!”

 

Pretty much most of the rest went like that.  At least I started getting notice from him about when those bombing runs were to commence.  It wasn’t as bad as the first run once I knew what was going on and got Kringle to work with me a little on the approaches to the target.  He understood that I knew just a LITTLE about how to do this.

 

Well, that is, until we hit the Vice-President’s Residence at Number One Observatory Circle.  Seems the Secret Service is still miffed over that whole taking a dump on Air Force One over the Pacific thing that I did a while back.  They brought heavy ordnance to the party.  Instead of dropping it in Biden’s bed with him, we had to settle for dropping the brief thing on the glass shelves behind his bar and wiping out his liquor supply.

 

Then we headed to the Potomac River, so we could follow it and line up on the State Department and then on to the Capitol.  Damn it all, if that ugly ass State Department Witch, Hillary, wasn’t out on her broom, doing barrel rolls and scaring the local children.  She was on a supped up Mk-17 broom that would give Harry Potter a severe case of broom envy.  When she spotted us she started hurling razor sharp ACLU Cards at us with both hands like they were ninja stars or something.  I shudder to think what she was using to hang on to the broom with and I suddenly see Bill’s dalliance with Monica in a whole new light.  I think Kringle finally took her out with a well-thrown spare copy of Lethal’s Abacus thing after one of those cards trimmed his beard for him.

 

We managed to drop all six copies at the State Department and headed for our final target, the presidential bedroom.  Kringle told me he wanted me to suck up whatever came my way and give him a stable platform for his drop.  Apparently, his intent was to slave the bombing sight to the Roddenberry and place Obama’s copy right atop his sleeping chest for maximum impact of statement.

 

It all went to hell about 30 feet from the release point when a Secret Service agent came out of this phone booth looking thing on top of the roof and swung a shoulder fired surface to air missile up and pointing right at me.  Yelling for Kringle to watch out and that I was taking evasive action, I pulled up hard, fighting against the protest of the sleigh.  I also might have pooped just a little, which ended up being a good thing, since it caught the agent squarely and clogging the missile tube.  That probably saved our asses.

 

Kringle was back there roaring loudly and I told him that we’d go around and line up again, but in between roars, which I figured out was Kringle laughing, he managed to inform me that my jerk pretty much coincided with his release and caused him to miss laying it on Obama’s chest, but instead it materialized just below the ceiling and it fell several feet directly unto sleeping Obama’s junk…and Kringle was alright with that result.

 

Kringle then produced a huge stein and started celebrating.  He got shit-faced pretty fast and hadn’t set any post-attack delivery run navigation instructions into the sleigh, so I was left to my own devices.  I took him back to the North Pole where I met Mrs. Claus, the elves, and Rudolph.  Apparently Mrs. Claus is pretty well versed in the way of the Elder Fae and past aspects resurfacing at odd times, and when Kringle had demanded Gloog and not hot chocolate in the stein, she knew what was going on and slipped a roofie in his drink.  Unbeknownst to either of them, Lethal had done the same thing when he realized it was Kringle and not Santa and that this wasn’t according to plan.

 

The elves and Mrs. Claus took Kringle inside.  Apparently, her pill was supposed to put Kringle back to Santa and Lethal’s was supposed to put him into sleepy town for several hours/days.  This meant that the transformation back to Santa was delayed.

 

I took the sleigh back to Santa’s workshop, along with Rudolph, who was now back to himself again, where I promptly fell for the old “snow sliding off the rook onto my head” gag.  He knew the location of my next hide out and suggested that I beat wing before the next spy drone overflight caught me, urging me to follow the route carefully.  I told him that it was going to be hard to follow a map while flying and he got me for the second time that night.  Out of a dark corner of the workshop a shadow detached itself and I was greeted by Ninja Kitty SC, all bundled up in what looked like a mouse fur flying suit, replete with cap and goggles.  Rudolph told me that Lethal had sent her back with him with a message that I was to fly and she was going to do the driving to make sure I didn’t take any detours.

 

And that’s how I got all these scratches, aches, pains and harness bruises.

 

Towels are removed as the massagers don gas masks and white wash brushes are dipped into buckets of ‘Icy Hot’ to begin applying it to Impish’s back and wing roots.

Oh that’s good.  He says as he turns around to look at his back.  That feels really … hey!  What are all you guys doing here?  Is it Saturday Morning all ready?  He notices you for the first time.  Did you guys…um…just get here?  Or have you been here all along?  How long have you….how much did you ….

 

The whole time?

He turns back to the troll.  You knew they were there the whole time?  I was adding to my autobiography, thinking it was just the two of us….. NO!  It’s NOT a work of fiction!  Haven’t you ever heard of poetic license?  Oh you are one dead troll walking!

 

Lethal, old buddy, pal, my friend, I can explain all of this…Really!  Please?

He hurries off the stage, massagers and brushes flying everywhere.  He pokes his head back around the curtain just once and says:  You guys go ahead and get started on the issue.  I’ll get back with you later.

 

Well, it’s happening again this year.  The snow of Feb 2015:

 

 

 

And in the category of “overstating the obvious” is this entry.  Did you really need to hire an engineering firm to determine that Rain is the biggest factor in flooding?  Whatever they charged you, I’ll cut it in half.  Hire the Impish Dragon Engineering and Flooding Experts.

I told them to Fuck off!!

Anybody who fits into my clothes isn’t starving!!

 

 

 

Air Canada plane leaves  Pearson Airport under the control of a Jewish captain; his co-pilot is Chinese.

It’s the first time they’ve flown together and an awkward silence between the two seems to indicate a mutual dislike.

Once they reach cruising altitude, the Jewish captain activates the auto-pilot, leans back in his seat, and mutters, ‘I don’t like Chinese.’

‘No rike Chinese?’ asks the co-pilot, ‘why not?’

‘You people bombed Pearl Harbor, that’s why!’

‘No, no’, the co-pilot protests, ‘Chinese not bomb Peahl Hahbah! That Japanese, not Chinese.’

‘Japanese, Chinese, Vietnamese … doesn’t matter, you’re all alike!’

There’s a few minutes of silence. ‘I no rike Jews!’ the co-pilot suddenly announces.

‘Oh yeah, why not?’ asks the captain.

‘Jews sink Titanic!’ says the co-pilot.

‘What? You’re insane! Jews didn’t sink the Titanic!’ exclaims the captain, ‘It was an iceberg!’

Iceberg, Goldberg, Greenberg, Rosenberg, … all fukin same.

 

One of my favorite Gifs/Animations of all time!

 

 

 

My try at taking an “artsy” selfie.  I think it turned out pretty good.

 

 

Millions of years ago, there was no such thing as the wheel. The only way to move things was by carrying or dragging.

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is Miss Betty, our mythical monster care and feeding teacher.  Think of Hagrid from Harry Potter.  Ours is much more appealing to the eye, but no less dangerous in her strength.  The kids almost always underestimate her. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And of course we need a new blonde joke every now and then….

 

 

 

An oldie, but a goodie, with a nice new twist…

 

“I don’t know what to do here,” says the devil. “You are on my list, but I have no room for you. You definitely have to stay here, so I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’ve got a couple of folks here who were bad but more like stupid. I’ll let one of them go, but you have to take their place. I’ll even let YOU decide who leaves.”

“No,” Obama said. “I don’t think so. I’m not a good swimmer, and I don’t think I could do that all day long.”

The devil led him to the door of the next room.

In it was George Bush with a sledge-hammer and a room full of rocks. All he did was swing that hammer, time after time after time.

“No, this is no good; I’ve got this problem with my shoulder. I would be in constant agony if all I could do was break rocks all day,” commented Obama.

The devil opened a third door. Through it, Obama saw Bill Clinton, lying on the bed, his arms tied over his head, and his legs restrained in a spread-eagle pose. Bent over him was Monica Lewinsky, doing what she does best.

Obama looked at this in shocked disbelief, and finally said, “Yeah man, I can handle this.”

The devil smiled and said………..

“OK, Monica, you’re free to go.”

 

I know a lot of people like this…..

 

 

Government work in action…..

 

Thanks to Papa Dragon Most Senior for this really funny one…

 

And it’s such a shame.  And I read an article that said that the CBC (Congressional Black Caucus) said that there is a huge problem with the way blacks are treated by police and the disparity in their treatment and charges, etc.  Well, the two guys on the right are a huge part of the problem!

 

What do you say we do another blonde joke….with a twist.

An old, blind cowboy wanders into an all girl biker bar by mistake.

He finds his way to a bar stool and orders a coffee.

After sitting there for a while, he yells to the bartender, “Hey, you wanna hear a blonde joke?”

The bar immediately falls absolutely silent.  In a very deep, husky voice, the woman next to him says, “Before you tell that joke, cowboy, I think it only fair, given that you are blind, that you should know five things:

#1.  The bartender is a blonde girl with a baseball bat.

#2.  The bouncer is a blonde girl.

#3.  I’m a six-foot tall, 175-pound blonde woman with a black belt in karate.

#4.  The woman sitting next to me is blonde and a professional weightlifter.

#5.  The lady to your right is blonde and a professional wrestler.

Now, think about it seriously, mister.  Do you still wanna tell that joke?”

The blind cowboy thinks for a second, shakes his head and mutters, “No…not if I’m gonna have to explain it five times.”

 

There were some really good Super Bowl commercials this year, but by far, the most popular was the Brady Bunch/Snickers commercial.  Well, you would be amazed at what it took to create that 30-second spot.  Here’s a behind-the-scenes look …