THE JACKPACK

Today, I helped Mom make some cookies for Santa Claus. I like helping with the mixer, and as soon as Mom says "mixer," I run and push the dining room chair by the counter.  I know exactly where that sucker operates, on the counter near the garbage can.  Before she can pull that baby out, I'm ready for the project.  I have my own scraper too.  It's just my size.  I especially like when we make cookies because Mom let's me be the taste taster afterwards.  Well, shoot, I get to taste-test the dough too.  I don't let anything go to waste. 

Imagine a cafe downtown just for little kids like me.  Adults, mainly women and effeminate northeastern men, go to Starbucks or some other cafe, order lattes, sit down at a table, and pop open their laptops.  They chit-chat with other folks about the latest and greatest fashions.  Or, they pretend to be intellectual and read newspapers like the New York Times. (next stop....my outhouse) Anyway, finally, the Koreans got something right, besides kimchi and....well, kimchi....a kids' cafe.  Yesterday, I got to bo to Little Bear Cafe with several of my friends.  It was on the second floor of downtown building.  We entered and immediately took off our shoes.  The attendants gave Mom slippers to wear.  As soon as I had my shoes off, I realized we were somewhere fun.  There was an entire room split up into sections of toys.  There were Little Tikes Cozy Coupes/Cozy Trucks and other ride-on vehicles everywhere.  There was a Thomas ...

...the mucilaginous or viscous substance that percolates uncontrollably from the nasal passages or in layman's terms: oozing snot! Yes, that's the experiment that Ludendorff is currently conducting.  He seems to think that he has the perfect specimen: a teething toddler frequently exposed to other toddlers who also happens to live in a subarctic climate. Some of you might say, "Oh, come on, Jack.  It ain't subarctic."  Yeah, well, when it's only nine degrees outside in the morning, I'd say that's pretty darn arctic, especially for someone whose blood runs thick with Texan/southern California genes.  Mind you, those are Bakersfield genes, not coastal, hippy, temperate, tubular genes. You're probably also thinking, "Wow, that's pretty disgusting for Ludendorff to do an experiment with mucus."  And, I have to admit that I told Ludendorff the same thing.  He replied, "Jack, mein Freund, I'm trying to change snot's ne...

I went to  my Christmas party at the beginning of December.  Apparently, to certain countries, Santa takes extra precautions and shows up in a fighter jet.  Apparently, I live in one of those countries.  That's my kind of Santa, the kind of guy nobody messes with -- armed to the teeth.  But, let's just get one thing clear: the dude creeps me out!  In fact, I'd rather not discuss that party.

So, in case you didn't read the comments section of my previous blog entry, I got a reply from Santa Claus.  Well, I got a reply from the half-brained elves working there.  Sheez.  I don't remember the Easter Bunny having been "corporate."  What a load!  P&G must have offered Santa a deal.  Anyway, here's my reply from "Santa Claus." Dear Valued Customer, Due to the heavy volume of mail we receive at this time of year, Santa Claus is unable to respond personally to your letter. Rest assured, however, that your letter will be read in the order received. If you are writing to provide a list of Christmas wishes, consider our online request service at www.santaclause.com/gimmethatgift. If you are writing to request warranty information, please contact the indicated mfg directly. If you are writing to determine what we would prefer you leave on the hearth Christmas Eve, please check with either of your grandmothers, as they handle logistica...

Dear Santa Claus; [If you're an elf pre-reading letters, please pass this one along to your boss upstairs.  I didn't spend hours pouring over the dictionary or doing lessons on "Ten Thumbs Typing" just to get a bulk, impersonal, "Dear Valued Customer" letter.  I would prefer this go directly to Mr. Claus, the real Mcoyster, the fella with the drivers license and passport that make people take a second look, the guy who has the supremo hook-ups with the FAA, the guy who wouldn't fit in a TSA nuclear scanner and who doesn't need to.] It was brought to my attention by someone who will remain anonymous that kids who aren't good throughout the year receive coal, black Play-Doh, leeks, dog poo, and cat hairballs in their stockings.  I'm only slightly concerned that this might be true but concerned enough to write.  If it is true, I'd like to get an official copy of your toddler policy.  You see, I'm nearly seventeen months old, and ac...

So, you will NOT be seeing any photographs of me for a few weeks, at least until my hair can recover from the weed-wacking it got on Friday.  I'm kind of wondering if the barberess at the base barber shop had had a few too many, if you know what I mean.  I'm also wondering where she learned to cut hair.  Maybe she previously worked for a tree trimming/removal company. Mom and Dad agree that I look like this dude, and yeah, I wish I could disagree. Mom tried to save my reputation, and trimmed my hair in the bath, but unfortunately, it barely improved the "do" at all.  So, luckily, it's wintertime, and I can wear a hat.  From now on, I think I'll take my chances with Mom's hair-cutting skills or lack thereof.    

...and agony on me.  Deep dark depression, obsessive misery.  If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all.  Gloom, despair and agony on me." These are not some of my more flattering faces, but it's just proof that Mom and Dad don't always give me what I want.  Apparently, throwing myself on the ground isn't very effective.  Sheesh. Where are my grandparents? 

I'm a tough guy.  The other day, Albert, Locke, Ludendorff, the Sand Crane, Horatio and Mountbatten decided to have a wrestling match to see who gets the title, "Tough Dude."  Now, you'd think they would have organized the event into separate matches, but they didn't.  Plus, they invited me to compete too.  Now, normally I have enough sense to know not to wrestle with a bear, tiger, hippo, crane, shark, and elephant.  But, that day, I had just eaten green beans, and I felt as big as the Green Giant on the can mom showed me.  So, I decided to join.  Locke shouted, "Commence!"  And, everyone just piled.  It was ridiculous.  There were fists.  Horatio wasn't allowed to use his teeth.  Mountbatten got Albert in his trunk and kept him dangling there like a Christmas ornament.  It was "sick," as in way cool.   Locke took a few feathers from the Sand Crane.  The Sand Crane pecked Luden...

Lately, I've become quite an asset to the daily operations taking place in the Miller household.  I am indispensable, essential, critical, key, or "the man."  I help with everything, and the proof is in the pictures. For example, I like to help Dad. I also like to help Mom. 

Greetings Homo Sapiens! Yep, we did it again.  We hacked into Jack's blog.  That's "we" as in Ludendorff, the brilliant hippopotamus.  [Locke, Albert, and Mountbatten just sat around smoking pipes and drinking Orange Juliuses.  (Jack's mom doesn't know about the pipes.  It's not like they were smoking them inside.  We were out on the "veranda.")  Horatio was taking a bath.  The Pink Flamingo was on a mission to find his pheasant friends.]  We all thought it a good idea to post some party pics from last week.  Jack didn't want them posted, but ha, he got out out-voted.  So, here they are.    

Frogs and snails And puppy-dogs' tails And mud and dead-mashed lizards.... So, every month, the Air Force hangs up another propaganda banner over "main street."  Yep, your tax dollars buy these big ol' banners that say stuff like, "Native American Heritage Month," "Black History Month," "Hispanic Heritage Month," "Women's History Month," "Eskimo Month," "Save a Penguin Month".... Ok, I'm kidding about the last two, but I have yet to see a banner that reads, "Jack's Month."  Maybe that's too ambitious -- too specific.  Perhaps, I should more realistically anticipate "Blonde, Blue-Eyed, Handsome, Babe-Magnet Heritage Month."  Or, just "White Dudes' Heritage Month."  Ok, heck, I'll just go with "Dudes' Month." Well, today, I declared it "Guy Day," and I took full advantage of my declaration.  I wore my lumberjack overalls and hi...

[Disclaimer: The following few sentences lack proper sentence structure and punctuation.  Deal with it.] Have you ever been going about your merry life, thinking, "this can't get any better," when something comes out of nowhere to improve it, and you're thinking "You, thing, existed in the same universe and it's only now that we have crossed paths???  I can't believe I lived without you!  Do you realize how deprived I was before you came into my life?" It's like your first bite of chocolate. It's like riding facing forward in your carseat for the first few weeks.  Wow, the world does exist! It's like learning to crawl. It's like taking your first bite of a chocolate chip cookie. It's like figuring out the right way to go down stairs. It's like finally getting the guts to sit down in the bathtub. It's like losing my Corvette outside somewhere only to discover my long-lost Porsche underneath the stove. And...drum...

You're probably wondering what kept me away for so long.  Well, Locke, Albert, Horatio, Ludendorff, the Sand Crane, Flamboyant Flamingo, and Mountbatten have been hogging the computer.  For the past month, every time I want to use it, they grab it from me and insist on reading election news.  Pete, the computer nerd, devised a computer program that basically computes a bunch of statistics regarding the various political races.  So, the zoo was busy running probabilities and percentages.  Sheesh.  They're addicts!  They had money on the races too!  Gamblers!  Horatio and Ludendorff have been lugging around money bags.  Apparently, they really cashed in.  Well, that's that for politics.  THe election is over, and they decided that they need a new project, one appropriate for the upcoming holiday season.  They decided that I'm their new project.  Apparently, it takes "skill "to write a quality letter to Santa Claus....

The other evening, I was just minding my own business, driving my Ferraris, Corvettes, and Toyota Land Cruiser along the scenic highway (the couch, but don't burst my bubble).  That's when I heard Locke and all of the other furball doofuses in the hallway whispering.  Locke, "Shhhhhh!  Wait for it, w-a-i-t   f-o-r  i-t........." Then, they could hear a key inserted in the front door lock.  Within seconds, the door opened and in walked dad. Albert loudly whispered, "NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Once I heard the door open, I completely disregarded the crazies in the hallway and ran to see dad.  My latest trick is stealing the hat out of his flight suit pocket.  He keeps it in the pocket on his lower leg, and man, it's easy pickins'.  I love that hat!  When I have that hat on, I command so much more respect. As I was grabbing Dad's hat, I heard Ludendorff whisper, "Ja, you are correct.  Zee kiddo lights up zlike ...