And now for something completely different. A FEATURE.

You'll be surprised to hear that I am related to some excellent people. Fine people like myself. People who turn the weird things I say on facebook into songs. Well one person who does that, anyhow. My dear, talented cousin, Buzz. For the record, he doesn't turn every weird/dumb thing I say on facebook into a song, that would take infinity years and be pretty weird- Just two things: "Being Gross" & "Don't Scribble on my Blog". I really think this comment-song writing could be a formula for total internet success. I hope he gets rich. He deserves it, he's good people.

History Lesson:

Here is my cousin, Buzz and I as infants (as arranged by Uncle Bob who is my Dad's brother). This is my most favourite childhood snapshot of all time, obviously. That is me on the left. I'm pretty sure I've posted this here before, but since this is an entry featuring Buzz, I thought I'd better include it.

Besides: hilarious.

Back on Facebook, Buzz told me that reading my blog is like talking to me, but with less of him in it. Then he threatened to scribble on my blog (!) with a giant crayon, no less. Unbelievable. In fairness, I had taken a thread he'd started about getting a new job and accidentally twisted it into being about my blog. But really, I just wanted to emphasize that the words blog and job almost rhyme; not promote myself. I generally just happily assume that most of my relatives and their facebook friends don't want to know what happens here.

(blah blah blah... congrats on the job from other facebookers)

And he came up with this like, immediately:

Great, eh?

"Being Gross" however, is my personal favourite out of his songs about weird facebook comments from relatives. These songs, by the way, he wrote and recorded in under 10 minutes each. I can't exactly remember the entire conversation leading up to this song being written, but rest assured it was probably pretty dumb. I take no credit for the songs, by the way. Buzz is a geen-lius: tell him to start a youtube channel.

Anyhow, here it is. I hope it doesn't all wreck because of stupid blogger video uploader, which is shite. I didn't ask him if I could put it on the yootoob, so it had better work...

Being Gross:

Thanks, Buzz, for letting me post about this! I hope it becomes a regular occurrence. I also hope this plug satisfies your need to vandalize my web page with crayons.

End.

PS.. don't forget to read this other blog from today.

This is how Batman got his start...

(I find these photos of my soul mate, here, pretty much irresistible.)

...His mom sewed him a bat-hooded beach towel and it just kind of got out of control.

I made one for my soon-to-be 7 year old tonight, but he's in bed so he couldn't model it. Neil graciously modeled in his stead. If I can just get him to take it off, I'll give it to Ben.....

Now watch this while you think about those photos:

Chapter One of my Movie Idea for James Cameron.

I think it'll really tickle his fancy.

Once upon a time there was a tall guy who was a waiter but also he could fly. Sometimes on days when the restaurant was super devilishly busy, he would fly just a little bit- like an inch high or something- so that he could get the food to the people who wanted the food really fast but nobody saw him flying not even his parents. Then he got good tips.

Except once when a very ugly girl saw him hovering auspiciously and she said, "Hey waiter! You are flying! How are you doing that? Also, I want some deep fried pickles and hey, maybe a strawberry milkshake." Because after all, she was there for lunch. So he said, "Hey, I don't know what you're talking about, I'm not even able to fly because that would be impossible to the laws of physics and biotic sciences, but I will get you those pickles faster than a bolt of thunder from a storm of speed" but he was lying because he really was secretly flying before but then just landed when the girl said that she saw him (to throw her off his trail) and sometimes he had to lie to protect his hidden identity of someone who can also fly besides being a great waiter. Sometimes also, he flew in front of people a little bit, but then just said he was faking it like Kris Angel.

So then the girl told her best friend who was there too for a while, that that guy was flying food around before and her friend, Jan-eese, said that she didn't believe her wanton claim of flying waiters. The gril was very frustrated because she deeply believed in what she saw. It was truer to her than a million suns of roasting heat, burnishing in her soul.

Then she went up to the flying waiter and said secretly to him that she knew he could fly and that she wouldn't tell anyone else and besides, Jan-eese didn't even believe her and now they were not even best friends anymore because true friends belive there friends no matter what. His mind was shcoaked and awed by her compassionate words of astute tenderness. Nobody ever told him that they would keep it a secret before and he knew he could trust her because of the deep pools of applicable truth he saw deep deep deep in her feminine eyes.

She took off her glasses and shook her head until her golden summery hair fell out of its updo and unbuttoned her shirt two buttons and hiked up her skirt a little, slipping into high heels instead of boring sneakers and then he finally saw that she was suddenly more attractive because he hadn't seen it before because of all the glasses and things disguising her beauty like a hidden leprechaun of winsomeness.


He held her in his brawny, tanned, shirtless arms and said, "It's just us now."
"We're in this together", she said back.
"Forever.", he said after she said her line.
"Always.", she said breathlessly and luridly. And then she gave him an orange that she had.
"Until all the eternal forests fall from the firey death of silver sorrow" He said right into her face.
"Until all deserts fade from the views of winged eagles", she said

Then Meatloaf burst through the wall on his gallant motorcyle and sang, "I would do anything for love" and they slowdanced, ignoring the whole world and all the customers except for Meatloaf. Then he stayed and actually ate some real meatloaf because it was the special of the day.

The mysterious and tall waiter grabbed her face tenderly like a horse-master lovingly stirs toward the face of his prized horse and told her....

"Come with me, I want to show you something." And then they went to the closet at the restaurant and she said, "Wait, are you going to show me your crotch?" and he said no so she said ok. Then he lifted a mysterious bottle of ketchup and the roof in the closet opened and they could fly away in protected secrecy. He gripped her arm and they flew up to the clouds of wondrous strangement and she wasn't even heavy.

"How are you doing this?", she yelled because it was windy and loud and she had to speak up.
"WHAT?" he said because she still couldn't hear her.
"WHY CAN YOU FLY?", she yelled right into his ear so that he could hear her this time. Then he said he didn't know but that her hair was so jaw droppingly windblown and he always wanted to make out with someone with windblown tendrils of blonden locks.

Then he was only wearing skintight jeans, so then she was like, "O.K." and then when they were over the pearly waves of the ocean, they made out passionately and then they saw dolphins jump into heart formations with the spray from their dolphin blowholes spraying into their faces and their wind blown and tangled hair tangling together in tangles of fervish ferver and then she said that she never made out with anyone like that before and he said he knew that. He didn't really know it for sure but it seemed true, he didn't want to hurt his new girlfriend's feelings so he agreed to himself to just let it go. Also his name was Justyn. Then they fed the dolphins some fish that they remembered to bring from the restaurant.

Then they combed out their tangles while they sat on a rock on an island in the ocean that nobody could get to unless they could fly or had access to a helicopter or were really good at parachute landing and decided that they should have a picnic on top of the Eiffle tower the next night. So then he said to meet him in this very spot at 5 pm and they would go so she said ok after they argued about who had to make the picnic. And then they had to go back to their fake lives for the rest of the day.

Then at five o clock, he waited on the rock. He waited and waited but she never showed up. He thought that she must have changed her mind about their love and his heart broke and he said, "Cruel fate! You've taken my love from me. You're forced me into the dark crevice of headlong despair! WHY? WHY was I so selfish about her making the picnic??!? I must throw my body against the rocks of time!" and then he threw himself into the ocean where an octopus ate his legs off, which it turns out he needed for balance when he was flying after all. But really she didn't show up because they forgot that she needed to be able to fly to even get there.

Poor Arlene (That's the girl's name. Arlene.) watched helplessly from the shore, unable to get his attention because she caught tonsillitis that afternoon and couldn't yell loud enough. She ran home as fast as she could and got her seadoo and jumped into the ocean and saved Justyn's life. "I'm sure you'll be able to fly again! They can make a prosthetic jetpack... we'll invent a hover wheelchair" she said. But he just flopped around cermonically unable to find his center. Finally he looked deeply into her eyes and stroked her cheek with his looooooong fingers and said, "Arlene, you are the apple of my life. I will... never.... forget..." and he slipped into a mysterious and dark coma. Then the octopus that ate Justyn's legs tried to jump on her and eat her legs too because he'd been introduced to the fleshy taste of human legs and he LIKED it. So she punched him and all of the sudden she had super strength from being traumatized. That's how it worked, the shock of seeing her flightman crash against the waves released the secret brain chemical into her blood system that gave her super strength and the octopus flew a hundred miles, landing on the deck of the cantankerous Captain Conjuction (to be played by James Woods).....

To be ctd. in Chapter Two where they escape to the Alaskan wilderness and she decides to give Justyn her very own legs.

Yeah. I don't know why you read this , either.

Ultimate Fitness.

To hell with bootcamp and 'actual', 'balanced' workouts, try doing 300 rockette style can-can kicks in your living room. I thought this would a pretty easy challenge (Yes. I thought of the challenge myself. How could you tell that I didn't get it out of some kind of thick, fancy fitness book?). Well, it turns out that I can do 50 pretty seamlessly, then I have to go get a popsicle and drop onto the floor, heaving with drooly foam lathering and bubbling in the corners of my mouth and down my neck (What I mean by "I can do 50 pretty seamlessly" is that by kick number 30, my leg starts going perceptibly lower and I have to stop myself from bending forward to do full body, toddler-style soccer kicks). That's not good, right? I'm pretty sure that the key to ultimate fitness is to be able to do 300 of them without stopping.

Everyone needs to have goals. I like to do this with my living room curtains wide open in my fleecey Walmart lip-print pajamas so that I can really impress my neighbors. "This is a great neighborhood", they'll say to one another.

You know and I know that you're going to try it. I foresee a new olympic eveeeEeent!

AllllLLlright. I'm still here.

Nag naggy nag.

So it was Christmas. Honestly, I have been holding out because I want you all to savour the horrible, horrible, horrible, horrid, unspeakable, vile, horrible, offensive, wonderful new 4th installment of the annual Traditional Ugly Christmas pants that I got for Neil (Click here to see the past three pairs). Truly, there have never been worse pants ever made. Whoever is responsible needs to be found out and crowned the Evil Pants-Master of Christmas. They are the sum of our nightmares, in fact I'm pretty sure they are responsible for world hunger AND Nancy Grace's personality. The worst thing is that they were the last ones. This means that several other people also bought the same ones.. possibly as serious gifts for people... or maybe someone saw them and thought, "OoOoooH... This print is going to work perfectly for hiding that extra holiday weight I've put on!" Or perhaps someone bought them all as a Holiday kindness and burned them. WELL. They missed a pair. HehehEHHEheheheh!

This is the fourth year running that I have searched far and wide to find the most offensive roadie pants on the planet. Every year, I feel that I've outdone myself and then every year- Eureka!! I find worse. This year, it was like Rudolph shone his glorious spot-bat-light on them in the ugly pants paradise store. I left the place clutching my plastic bag to my heart while giggling like a maniac. Oh I am a HORRIBLE GENIUS!!!!!

The thing is... he hasn't gotten them yet. Our family is having our late Christmas tomorrow morning and I decided to have him wait until then. I just know he's bubbling over inside with foreboding willies anticipation.

But the very best thing about this wonderful Christmas tradition is later in the year when I see a stranger at a gas station, mustache wafting in the breeze, scenting the air all around with beef jerky and red bull, wearing the very same pants that I got for Neil. It just makes my whole year. I suppose I'll never know if anyone else has last year's identical lime green and red Portugal underpants that I bought him to match his generic beerpants... But one must always hold out hope.

Just look at the love for me in his eyes last Christmas! Everyone loves Portugal Underpants! Especially Scottish Men like my Neily. I thought they would be so dashing under his kilt! He's so lucky to get to live with me and all of my magical holiday ideas.

I'll post a picture of the wonderful moment tomorrow, so you'll have to wait until then to see them. I just know that you will probably not even leave your computers. You are just dying for your eyes to take them in and imprint onto your brain they way that they have imprinted onto mine.

The Walmartian Abduction Risk (and pet alligators)

I basically live in crippling fear of being featured on the People of Walmart blog. I loathe Walmart as it is, but sometimes I have no choice. Like if twilight posters or glue on googly eyes are on sale or something, and I'm making googly eyed twilight crafts that day- I have to go. I'm chained by price rollbacks like a pet alligator on a leash. "Sure I'm here. I'm going to bite your knees off in a minute th....OOoOoh! Are those Mr Clean Magic Erasers really only 99 cents??? Oh, I'd better get loads!". Then live in self loathing for the rest of the day, with the magic erasers spread around me like ill begotten blood money. "WHAT HAVE I DOOOOOOOONE???? I said I'd never do this again! I'm sorry family and loved ones. I am sorry", as I scrub and scrub and scrub away the dirty feeling.

But what if one day, I realize that I have to go there at like 11 pm and I'm already in my purple velvet mini skirt and "Git r Done, America" sleeveless denim print work shirt tied at the midriff and the only shoes I can find are my white, thigh high, vinyl, six inch, high heeled boots with extra zippers and my pink feathered shabby cowgirl hat that I bought out of a trans-am on the side of the highway one day when I was driving to the country fever beaver festival with my internet cousin, Starla_Dawn58 and what if our beat up old truck broke down with nary another traveller in sight? Then what if we spotted the man with the black t-top trans am selling his wares, thinning & worn out sandy mullet blowing in the wind, wrangler jeans, the crater in his shirtless pigeon chest collecting morning dew as he lay on the hood of his spectacular hot rod?.... Then the punishing decision... should I buy the rose/kitten print, beadazzled, artfully shredded and beaded t shirt.. or feathered cowboy sunhat...? Or should I just cut the legs off of my white nylons and wear the gusset on my head? What if that happened?



And then what if I have to hurry because Walmart is closing and I'm never going to make it on time so I just throw on a Lucky Charms Members only jacket and head on over. And then what if someone takes a photo of me and decides that it should go on the Walmartian website? I will be soooo mortified, you guys. I wouldn't even have time to mace them.


But for real. What if I pass out from Sprawlmart/McDonalds fumes one day and fall into one of their clothes racks, get tangled up, come to and stand up only to realize that a pimp did my make up while I was passed out and I'm all surrounded by fizzy mouthed Walmart paparazzi and BINGODAMMIT- a picture of me tangled up in tube tops and green checkered jeans ends up the internetz.

I hope that doesn't ever happen.

Silence of the Yams

*LOUD OMINOUS THUMP*

6 year old: Um... I need some paper towel.

Me: Hurgh?

6 year old: The watermelon broke and it's leaking.

Me: The watermelon BROKE? How did the watermelon break?

6yo: I was going to wake you up with it.

Me: With a GIANT WATERMELON? How was that going to go down?

6yo: I was going to surprise you.

*silence*

And there it is. A watermelon laying on the floor, cracked open like a giant, delicious skull. That could have been me....

So my son plots against me with produce. I guess it IS a bad idea to buy him a potato cannon after all... or is it? Maybe I should nurture his interests. Good moms do that, right? Maybe I should be encouraging him to be a produce villain, maybe we should put in a garden for the young Lord Vitamin C so that he can pursue his ultimate goal of ruling the world through fruit violence. Lord knows if I don't support him, I may wake up one morning, impaled by some celery & cheeze whiz. Messy messy business.

That freakshow, Captain Vegetable had better be looking over his freakin' shoulder from now on, that's all I know.

The Bureau of Termination (B.O.T.) and awesome photoshops.

Last night I watched The Terminator for the first time. Yes that's right. The first time. Yes I know you're disappointed in me. I know. I should have watched it YEARS AGO. It haunted me for years like a little collection agency, sending me letters through my alphabit cereal.

"Dear Michelle, we can see no reason why you have not watched the Terminator, we have had it playing on the Space channel at very least, monthly since our maiden broadcast on Canadian cable. You have had every opportunity. You have one week to watch it before we begin to take evasive action. Every attempt to contact you has been fruitless. Stop avoiding us. We have even put Arnold in office in California in an effort to have him give you accusing looks through your television. Yes we realize that we should have made him the Prime Minister of Canada or at LEAST given him the order of Canada or put him in the house of commons, because mainly it would be funny to watch the Terminator arguing with Mike Duffy (AKA the Penguin) on the "What's going down on Parliament Hell channel" or made him lead the New Democrat Party into victorious coalition or something...

Anyhow, if you could at least watch 1/8th of it, we'd be willing to forego having you watch the opening credits. This is a great opportunity. We already know that your television is sitting on Ed Broadbent's old teak armoire, which plays into the whole New Democrat thing. What we don't know is why.... But our sources indicate that you have been intending to watch Terminator Salvation and the problem we have with this is that you will not fully grasp why robotanks are driving over perfectly dried skulls if you have not previously viewed the first three."

Kind Regards,
Dale at The Bureau of Terminations I, II , III and IV, Credit Dept." (which was signed in swirly alphabets with little heart marshmallows dotting the I's. I eat a lot of cereal, okay?)

So I submitted the following response via my son's alphagetti:

"ATTN: B.O.T.: I have in fact now watched the first terminator and my fears have been realized. I kind of want a fuzzy, sandy blonde fem-mullet, an aqua jacket with shoulder pads and a vespa that looks like a golden toaster now. I hope you're happy. You have ruined my fashion soul.

Sincerely, Michelle"

See? I can totally pull off the fuzzmullet & shoulder pads. It looks good.

So that's done. Now I have to track down Terminator II or a similar movie featuring Edward Furlong as a greasy Founding-Father-of-Emo teenager.

And this one because, well because who wouldn't want their face to be photomorphed with Arnold's roboskeleton? Also because it will give my ex husband nightmares when he's stalking my blog later... *snicker*

Cyborg Tiger-Unicorns.

So I've been a little MIA and all distracted lately. Distracted from the internet. By things like chores. What gives? Boring eh? In any case, I've just finished a triple espresso latte of secret knowledge & power and I have some important things to share with you in point form now.

• I bought steak today. $40 worth of it. That's 4 steaks at $10 each. I didn't actually mean to do this. I got through the checkout with my squirming, mangled hoard of children and failed to notice how much the steaks were going to be. So we're having steak. I like steak, but the kids don't. Tonight they will see the light, though, because dammit- THAT steak was expensive and there are starving kids in Disneyland to consider. Well, it wasn't THAT expensive as far as steak goes, but when considering that they would much rather eat hot dogs or hamburger prepared in ANY way imaginable (I'm pretty sure they'd eat it boiled in yak milk as long as it is HAMBURGER), it's kind of nerve wracking to buy them $20 worth of steak by accident. Freeze half of it for later, you say? Meh.

• Last night, Neil learned a lesson in giving a litre of orange pop to an 8 year old juuuUUuuust before taking her into a movie theatre. I opted not to go to the movies last night thank GAWD. Eleanore has stopped being fun there, so I got to stay home and watch reruns of True Blood. Anyway, I am trying to stop laughing at the predicament he put himself into, bless his pea pickin' little heart. Orange Pop is to Libby as cocaine speedballs are to a colony of paranoid, manic, manipulative spider monkeys.

• I just realized that I forgot about my bread dough raising and now it's deflated all over the place like a brand new mother's deflated pile of skin for a belly (Show a picture of THAT mess to teenage girls and see if they ever want to have sex). It's going to gross me out now. I should go deal with it. Aaaaaanytime, I'll go check on it. Here I go... Off to clean up the deflated bread dough on my cupboard.... Riiiight now. Hey! Lookie! Sparkles! I'd better keep nice and still here in my chair until they go away. Pretty!

• The new G.I. Joe movie coming out has the following elements featured in it from what I can tell by the preview: Ninjas, submarines, aliens, giant robots, bombs, suspenseful music and a poor plotline just bursting with half-baked conspiracies. If I find out that it has Disco Criminal Samurai Vampire Nuns in it too, I might have to camp outside the theatre until it arrives.

• At bootcamp today, they were painting with epoxy based paint while we worked out. Nothing like huffing paint while over-exerting yourself. It was kind of like high school. I felt extra hilarious and entertaining today. I told Sue to go stick her finger in Instructor-Dale's smoothie. It was solid gold material. Solid. Gold. Oh how we laughed.
  

The End.

Because I can put whatever I want on the internet.

May 07, 2009

Dear Internet,

Tonight a very scary raccoon crept out of the shadows at me. Wanda & I sat on the deck having a leisurely session of making fun of all the people we know who deserved it when we saw it out of the corner of our eyes, creeping along the fence. We froze upon realizing that it was neither a serial killer, Christopher Lloyd, nor a cat, but a very brave and/or undead raccoon. Well- nobody in all of time has moved faster from a porch swing to a house before. We pretty much flew, then pressed our faces against the glass to see the evil thing. It's a good thing the patio door was left open when we launched, though, because I was mentally prepared to throw Wanda in front of me just in case it was in rabid attack mode and I needed to protect myself. Luckily, it wasn't necessary and we can go on being buddies. I'm pretty sure she'd give her life for me, anyway so it's all fine.

Anyhow, I locked the patio just in case raccoons can open doors. If they can creepy stalk me, then I bet they can open patios. They seem way less cute now.

From

Chelle

Oh Glorious Earth. (Plants are not sexual objects for people.)

Lookie look what is going on in my killing field flower bed. You might be asking yourself at this moment, "Does that shrubbery have a cauliflower-esque sexually transmitted rash like the ones we had to look at in high school health class when they showed us the Captain Condom VenErIaL DiSeASe educational cartoons?" I hope not. I mean no. It's LEEEEeEEEAVES!!

It happened so fast, too! I haven't even had to time to kill them with well intended plant love yet (I said it's NOT an STD, move on). I'm just trying to tell you how much I kill plants. Even the spicy little rosemary plant that I had for my window sill hung itself in my closet last week.

K. I'm off to do something about Christopher Lloyd sneaking into my bedroom and doing my hair juuust like his in the dead of night. That bastard. Wait a minute... Maybe he did something sinister to my shrubberies, too. Maybe it's not leaves. Christopher Lloyd will you just leave us alone???!!?

I think everyone here pretty much gets the point, which is to use protection when you're in a foreign shrubbery. Also- Hurray, winter is over. As you can see, the two issues are closely related. (Also, Christopher Lloyd, if you're reading this... I know what you did.)

*Snicker- I totally stole the Captain Condom header from their website. Just spreading the good news.

Teenage. Space. Vampires.

Nothing like being lulled to sleep by the soothing plot of TEENAGE SPACE VAMPIRES. It was really fantastic enough to warrant photos.


Thank you, cable, for being so awesome.


The opening sequence features weapon yielding oversized yard gnomes. Just like the yard gnomes I like to display here in Suburbia.


Oh 30 year old women Teenage girls with skanky roots... what will hApPeN to you???????? Surely nothing.


These are the shots that I like to go back and forth over superfast with my eyes. Not evil.. EVIL... NOT evil... EVIL........NOT eviiiiiiiiilllllll...... EVIL. They should have known their history teacher was a Space Vampire. Just look at those cheekbones. Stupid regular 30 year olds teenagers.


Cool pants, Mr Space Vampire. He could totally star in Xanadu. Take that Olivia Newton John.


A SMOKING SPACE OWL OUTSIDE MY BEDROOM?!?! SWEET. MERCIFUL. CRAP. Something is definitely amiss!


Gee, Mr UFO investigator I'm just here to check your shiz/DRINK YOUR BLOOD AND GIVE YOU SPACE TEETH. MWahahahahahaahahahahahahahahaha!!!! Give me the diamond!


This is the part where the wine kicked in and I drifted off to blissful sleep, drooling into my armpit until SpaceVampireNeil woke me up.

So concludes my television photojournalism.

You're welcome, World.

Wikipedia is the opiate of the masses

I don't have to be smart anymore as long as I carry some kind of handheld device that will take me to wikipedia. My brain now has all kinds of room for other things that nonspecific knowledge used to take the place of. It's like an external hard drive for my mind.

What a load off. Now I can access the inner sanctum of my brain without all that clutter in the way and start being able to levitate objects just like that creepy blonde kid in "Escape to Witch Mountain".

But what will we do when the internet crashes and the it's the end of the world? How will we know how to rub sticks together without access to instant communal knowledge banks? Will we even know where to find sticks? How will we go off subject and find out all about the mating habits of owls and the Tudors.. then see how similar they might be? How will we follow directions without some weirdo on youtube showing us the gradual steps?

Huh? How? HOW?

Just a second... I'll check.

MyStERiOuSnESs....>>..>>S>>.

Guess what, Power Pals!

Someone snuck & shoveled my driveway while I sat on my duff at Boston Pizza this afternoon. I left home, ignoring the foot of snow that fell yesterday, fully expecting to have to come home and drive over it again and again until it was packed flat (and thusly, no longer a problem)- but when I got home, it was all gone, Readers! Magically! It might have been magic... Or perhaps there is something about going to Boston Pizza that causes people to feel charity toward me- since the last time Libby and I were there, a stranger bought us our Shirley Temples while we waited for take-out. I tell you, I thought of several other viable explanations until I spotted THIS on my driveway:

!1!!!!

Yep. See that? I know what you're thinking and you are on the right track. It was Scooby Doo. (Or a guy in a tiny bear costume...)

Mystery. Solved.

Guess what.

Whenever I get the hiccups, all Neil has to do is basically mutter the word, "boo" under his breath and they disappear instantly. INSTANTLY, NERDHERD- *spooOoooky*. I KNOW this is psychological, but it has never not worked. This both amuses and infuriates me. Am I so easily controlled? Like a hiccuping puppet on a little jerking string? Of course HE thinks this is hysterically funny. Psh.

Ooooh... you win this time, NEIL.