Snubby
Please resend me your "night before christmas" poem. I think I may have accidentally deleted it. Thanks. Just mail it to rubberdeeduckie@yahoo.com

Holiday Cheer Cont....
The Grand Prize Winner of our Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest is.....

#5) I sat all alone on the verge of the threshold of the fringe of the edge of the cliff contemplating the thought of musing over whether to consider if I should ponder the idea of deliberating the logic behind the rationale of my conviction to envision the image of myself aspiring to hurl myself gleefully over the edge.

By The VW.

According to our rules "The VW" is hereby dubbed a "guest blogger". Send in your piece by Monday, December 27th. I want to thank all of the participants. I got a kick out of every entry!

Today's poem is by Trillian....

Twas the night before X'mas, and all thru Toy's R Us,

Parents were scrambling, fighting, and ready to cuss

The parking lot overflowed with cars and suvs,

As each parent hoped that here the perfect toy would be.

Those in the checkout line were ob'viously weary,

As visions they had of children teary.

"That's not what I asked for! That's not what I wanted!"

Nothing would suit but the "N-ray 3000 Comet".

Not Barbie, no red wagon, no GI Joe,

Nothing else would work, not even Elmo.

These parents who began their shopping too late,

Found themselves victims of a horrible fate.

Everywhere from FAO Schwarz to the local Wal-mart,

Hung signs that read "Sorry,please try back in March."

They'd scooters, and bikes, and roller skates galore,

Aisles of baby dolls, those that cried, walked, talked and more.

But no new technology, or hallowed classic,

No toy complicated, or ever so basic,

Could compete with the appeal of the vaunted,

(And heavily advertised) "N-ray 3000 comet"

Suddenly every parent froze in fear,

Over the intercom came "Please make your final decisions, closing time's near"

As parents moaned, weary workers inwardly cheer,

Soon the night would be over, then home for a beer.

The parents hastily grabbed every shiney thing in sight,

Hoping against hope that it would be alright.

Maybe Timmy and Suzy would be so caught up in the joy,

Of so many packages, they wouldn't miss one little toy...

Next morning as weary parents tumbled down stairs,

To the sight of ribbon flying, and the sound of paper as it tears,

They all held their breath, and hoped against hope,

That with such disappointment, their children could cope.

Would they cry? Would they scream, would they bite?

Cry "Mom and Dad never buy me anything, now even Santa can't get it right!"?

But, wait.. was that laughter that met their ears?

Was it possible after all of their fears?

The toys piled in the corner, as though they were things noxious,

While the wee ones merrily played with the boxes.

And Mom and Dad realized, there really is no need,

To encourage the children towards selfish greed.

Nor to lie to them, with stories of things fairy,

All such trappings are unneccesary.

Instead, teach them to find true joy in living,

Love others, speak truth, and be forgiving.

For if you search with an open heart you will see

"You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free."

John 8:32



"Trillian"

TWAS RIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS...
`TWAS RIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
(or A TRUE STORY)
By John Dough
www.inhaler70.blogspot.com

`Twas right before Christmas, and down by the mall,
Not a creature was stirring, except for them all.
The traffic was bad, we were told to prepare,
But the shopping wasn't finished, so we didn't care.

The cars were all nestled on road up ahead,
While visions of Sig-Alerts* danced in my head.
The Mrs. was my passenger, so I gave her a smile,
Who knew it would take two hours to go half a mile?

When out on the road there arose such a clatter,
I looked over the dash to see what was the matter.
Down came the window, just like a flash,
I saw a taxi driver who just got whiplash.

The sun on his taxi made his blood boil red,
So he gave a long honk to the car just ahead.
When what to my wondering eyes would I see?
An old run-down mini van with a brand new Christmas tree.

With a little old driver, so lively and mad,
I knew in a moment, this was going to get bad.
More rapid than eagles, to the taxi he came,
And he whistled and shouted and called out these names:

You prick! You asshole!
You big piece of shit!
You cunt! You fucker!
You old saggy tit!
From the top of your head!
To the tips of your toes!
I'll kick your ass! I'll kick your ass!
I'll punch you in your nose!

The cabbie yelled back; he couldn't be shy.
And from under her breath, my wife said, "Oh my!"
So right in front of us, the obscenities flew,
in the presence of everyone, and a Christmas tree too.

And then in a twinkling, I watched as he stood,
the prancing and pawing of his fist on the hood.
As for why this was happening, I was at a loss.
Then he reached through the window with a forceful right cross.

The cabdriver ducked and he bobbed and he weaved,
And the man with the Christmas tree just got more peeved.
He flung open the door and jumped into the cab.
Let the fighting begin; who threw that right jab?

The taxi--how it trembled! The suspension, how scary!
They fought with ferocity, and their forearms were hairy.
Their droll little fight was drawing up like a bow,
but then they continued, like wrestlers gone pro.
I got out of my car, and another man, too.
We just looked at each other... Well, what should we do?
You might think me a coward, or a real yellow-belly,
but the car shook and it shook, like bowl full of jelly.

As quick as it started, it ended, this brawl.
The cabbie was okay, in spite of it all.
The man with the Christmas tree climbed out of the cab,
But then remembered something else that he wanted to grab.

He spoke not a word, but went back to his work,
And reached through the window with a smug little smirk.
Straight from the ignition, he snatched up the keys,
And then threw them away, right into the trees.

He sprang to his mini van with his fresh Christmas tree,
And full of holiday cheer, it was easy to see.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,

"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good fight!"



*Any traffic incident in Souther California that will tie up two or
more
lanes of a freeway for two or more hours.

Of note: The voting on the Bulwer-Lytton contest will continue thru this evening and will be closed at 12:00 a.m. CST. Up tomorrow will be the announcement of the winner and another Christmas Poem submission. Please take the time and visit John Dough's blog. The link is provided above.

The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest continued...
I found it too difficult to choose a winner so I have decided to let the readers choose. The winner will be awarded a guest blog spot right here on our very own "Rance Wuz Here".

I've tried to insert a poll here, but alas it is not to be. You will have to post your votes. BUT, to keep it from becoming personal I am not including the blogger's name with their entry. I will put up the sentence with a # beside it. When you vote you merely put down the number that corresponds with the sentence you most liked. An HONORABLE MENTION goes out to all the bloggers who participated in the contest. Thank you all...

P.S. You may vote anonymously if you wish, but play fair.

THE FINALISTS(in no particular order):

#1) Dawn was breaking when Miranda first realized the enormity of what she had done, and as the pale amber shards of light crept their way slowly, quietly, up the faux-finished wall of the dimly-lit study...not the "good" kind of faux finish, mind you, but rather a faux finish that can be achieved by anyone who has watched one episode of TLC's "Trading Spaces" and can operate a wet rag...the dread that was causing a dull ache in her mid-section was ever-so-slightly replaced by the first pangs of hunger and thirst after a long night spent hunched over the humming, glowing laptop, and while she rose to reheat a stale cup of coffee and find a muffin to ease the rumbling in her stomach, she knew she needed to focus...FOCUS, Miranda...on what could be done to minimize the effects of the inevitable and vicious viral assault that would result from her careless and inadvertent click on that f****** e-mail attachment.

#2) She knew that he knew that she knew what was going on, and they both knew that he knew that she was pretending to be oblivious to his ghastly, guilty secret which was slowly changing their relationship, one that all her friends had been terribly and obviously jealous of, from one of trust and warmth to a laughable mockery of the same.

#3) As the phone rang, she reached for it automatically even though her mind was a million miles away, caught up in so very many important thoughts... when did I water the plants last, did the kids walk the dog before they left the house, what am i going to make for dinner, how do i get him interested in me again... all this whirling through her brain as she lifted the receiver and said "nine-one-one, is this an emergency?"

#4)As he slipped the huge brilliant sparkling rock onto her finger, she looked at her handsome suitor, his impossibly white capped teeth smiling at her, his impeccable hair in which the implants were finally starting to blend, his aristocratic aquiline surgically corrected nose, his soulful eyes ably highlighted by colored contacts and thought to herself "It's probably cubic zirconia".

#5) I sat all alone on the verge of the threshold of the fringe of the edge of the cliff contemplating the thought of musing over whether to consider if I should ponder the idea of deliberating the logic behind the rationale of my conviction to envision the image of myself aspiring to hurl myself gleefully over the edge.

#6) I shoulda been able to tell that Willy Simpson Shanks was trouble when I first met him at the Renaissance Faire, for immediately after his first "Huzzah" he tackled me and spilled mead down my corset and asked me if I shaved my golden tri-force; I got the Zelda reference immediately and, boy, if only I didn't, 'cause now I, a 9 to 5 business women, have committed a murder all in the name of love for a man whose livelihood depends on selling velvet doublets and giant turkey legs.

#7) With one eye on the door and one on the stranger sleeping next to her, she surreptitiously scanned the room for some sign of the slinky black dress and sparkly stiletto heels she remembered putting on last night before leaving for the office holiday party, but the only familiar thing she located was a lacy bra and panty set that coquettishly adorned the bedside table lamp---and she was by no means certain that these items belonged to her, or that she wanted to touch them, even if she could reach them without waking the snoring lump slumbering beside her.

#8) Preacher Melmack had been at the lopsided graffiti carved (ex:"nuns do it better") half brown and black podium for half an hour talking about the evils of dramatically ornate oriental weaponry such as gold plated nunchaku's and gem studded ninja short swords when Melanie, poor sad lonely abandoned at the altar of life Melanie, burst into giant hurricane sized teardrops that crawled down her cheeks and into her lap, much like her ex fiance once did, all this at the mention of decapitation which reminded her of her step half sister Cordelia who had died three weeks prior in a tragic Pilate's accident.

The Defamer
A while back I asked Mr. Defamer, a.k.a. Mark Lisanti, if he would grant us an interview. He agreed to do so and has graciously supplied us with the answers to our burning questions. I hope you enjoy this piece and as a thank you to Mr. Lisanti please visit his website at www.defamer.com.

THE INTERVIEW

1. Annie would like to know how many potential legal lawsuits the Defamer has been threatened with and if you took any of those threats seriously.

We've been threatened with exactly zero lawsuits. What we have gotten are a couple of misguided, yet nicely written, letters from lawyers who were upset that we were linking to things that were unflattering to their clients. As a good Catholic boy with an unhealthy respect for anything official-looking, I took them seriously, curled into the fetal position, and cried that men in gray pinstripe suits were going to freeze the ten dollars in my checking account. But when I was told that the letters really didn't have any merit, I stopped sucking my thumb, put on some clean drawers, and got back to the busy work of mocking them publicly on Defamer.

2. Sass would love to know where Deflamer gets the scoop, besides other news/gossip sites. Are there any real deep throats out there?

"Deflamer" (not sure how I'm supposed to take that) gets its "scoops" from readers who work in the entertainment business and who hate their bosses and/or business associates.

3. Rancette would like to know about your love life. Would you ever date anyone you've gossiped about?

No, and not even if Lindsay Lohan starts e-mailing me pictures of herself covered in marshmallow Fluff. I dare her to try.

4. Rancelot would like to know all the down and dirty about the Defamer/Gawker syndicate (names optional), and what plans Defamer has for toppling Gawker management and seizing control of their assets.

If I ever did so much as entertain the idea of rising up against my blog masters, my monthly "salary" (a case of macaroni and cheese and a peach jar full of tarnished pennies) would immediately cease, and I'd be back to writing Apprentice recaps on my personal blog.

5. WendyJo wants to know your prediction as to who will be the next to expose their nipple?

The best part about nipple slips is their utter unpredictability.


Rubber Duckie would like to know:

6. If you discovered Rance's true identity would you expose him?

Blackmail is so much more lucrative.

7. Do you ever worry that Defamer will ruin any future you may have in Hollywood as a screenwriter? i.e. No actors will work in a movie you've scripted as you've peeved them all off...

The best thing about Hollywood is that by pissing off half the people in town, you've made the other half pretty happy. The best I can do is aim for that kind of 50-percent-pissed-off equilibrium.

8. Would you consider yourself a cynic or a critic?

Both? A realist? An asshole who doesn't add anything constructive to the world? Let's go with that last one.

9. Do you feel inhibited now that you've been exposed?

Nope.

10. If sentenced to death for star cruelty in a Hollywood Prison ran by celebrutantes who narcissisticly implemented a "last reel" instead of a "last meal", what movie would you choose to watch and why?

The Big Lebowski. It's genius from beginning to end. But thank God that Hollywood types don't really have power over life and death, they just think they do.

11. If granted a hearing on appeal of your conviction that if won would save your life, which actor/ress would you want to represent you in a court of law? You can only choose from those thespians who have played the role of an attorney and who carry a SAG card...

Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer. If I remember correctly, he finished his legal career undefeated.

12. If institutionalized in a Sanitarium soley owned, operated and inhabited by celebrities, outside of yourself, who would you want to:

a: Be your roommate
b: Be your Doctor
c: Be your orderly
and WHY?

Given those parameters, the only rational choice is suicide.


---------
Mark Lisanti
Editor, Defamer.com
AIM: TheDefamer

Do you ever wake up and your heart just hurts...
Not physically, mind you, but spiritually? Just curious.

The judging for our Bulwer Lytton Fiction Contest has begun. It's going to be most difficult to pick a winner, but not insurmountable. The winning entrant will be announced on Monday along with their invitation to guest blog. Feel free to sway/influence/suggest or bribe your way into the spot...

Recommended song for the day:

100 Years artist :Five for Fighting

I have been mulling over the thought of beginning a book club. Our group seems to be well read and includes a broad range of perspectives. I think it would be entertaining, enlightening and enriching to read and discuss a book with this amazing group of people. What do you say? A Rubber Duckie Book Club? Post all feedback here.

For our Christmas viewing pleasure I would ask that those who wish would write and send in their "unique" version of "Twas the Night Before Christmas". It does not have to be "Christmasy", just funny. Email them to me at rubberdeeduckie@yahoo.com and I will put them up during the week of Christmas.

Sincerely,

Rubber Duckie

Bullsh*cough*t...

There's a wonderful contest every year entitled The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest. The object of the contest is to write one singular, solitary, ridiculously horrible opening sentence to an imaginary novel. The best of the worst...or the worst of the best, however you choose to see it, wins.

An example of such would be, in my own words, as follows:

As Emily crept up the shadowy dark repulsive stairway and peered around the sharp corner into the narrow, dingy hallway she had the eerie sensation that some horrible physical spiritual presence was hovering over her waifish shivering face that was silhouetted by her flaxen golden hair and illuminated by her electric blue eyes which were brimming with tears from the sheer fear she felt from the knowledge of knowing what lay in store for her, although technically she really didn't "know" per se, she merely "thought" she "knew", which in and of itself is knowing, or at least that's what she thought, but little did she know she had absolutely no idea of what actually lay in wait down the long dark hall.

It is my wish that we have our own little contest amongst ourselves. Post all entries here, but please visit the site and read examples of the 2004 winners so you get the full gist of it all. It is also my wish that the clever posters of this board will be inspired to create their own entry to submit to the 2005 Bulwer-Lytton Contest. I have provided a link above to the official contest website which contains the rules and submission instructions.

Let's have fun!

That's Incredible...
So, I watched The Incredibles recently and it got me to thinking...If I could have a super power, what would it be and why? The immediate ones that came to mind were the obvious...flying, strength, x-ray vision. While the x-ray vision was tempting (call me crazy, but I have this freakish obsession with wanting to know what the inside of other people's houses look like), flying is much more up my alley.

But, being that I have no alley I thought "Why constrain my choices to the obvious?" I'll contrive my own super power, something beneficial only to myself being the selfish person that I am...Dolby Digital 5.1 Super Sonic Hearing.

Now I realize that keen hearing is not a new concept, but you have to undertand...I don't want to simply hear, I want the ability to adjust the volume, mute and record. Turn it up and I can hear that my supposed friend Vicki just told Kelly that "Duckie's husband is hottttt." Turn it down and I can block out the loud mouthed bitty sitting behind me at the game who just called my son a "ball hog", never mind that when my son throws her kid the ball he catches it like a seal and throws it like a seal...off his nose and out of bounds. Put it on mute and I can save myself from the inevitable fight that ensues between my children whenever we ride in a car (Amazingly, my husband has already mastered this. It's like they aren't even there.) Set it to record and I have instant playback for those people who tell you one thing and then do another, always with the excuse "but that's not what I said". Yeah right...

Feel free to use this space to create/choose your own super power and tell us what you would use it for...

Public Humiliation...
Rance once wrote:

Lezlee, I worked on a project a while back that was critically acclaimed and successful by all measures. Nevertheless, several dozen critics still trashed it. Plus, I received a hundred letters telling me it sucked/I was stupid/should lie on train tracks, etc. Each one hurt, the letters even more than the critics. This went on for years, over several projects. Until someone pointed out to me that the criticism that is constructive doesn't hurt as much because it isn't a direct personal attack. The "you suck" comments are useless. As it happens, you can learn from constructive criticism. The point is, there will always be wanton nay-sayers and you-suck-sayers, but it doesn't bother me (at least not as much).

Now, whether this statement is true or not is dependent upon whether Rance is actually a celebrity or not. For the purpose of today's discussion we will assume that he is.

I'm sure each one of us has received criticism in some form or fashion, but how many publicly so? And for how many of us is this a fundamental requirement of our job?

My closest experience with this type of sordid humiliation was at the age of 17. I grew up in a small town, population less than 20,000. Within the town there were two school districts. One consisting of "city" students and one consisting of "country" students.

The city kids dubbed the country kids goat ropers while the country kids considered the city kids to be high-hats. This made for a burgeoning rivalry...especially when the two met for athletic competitions.

I was born and bred a city kid and went to school there from K thru 11th. I excelled in sports, especially basketball. During my sophomore year a rift began to develop between the coach and myself. By my junior year this rift had grown to a chasm, making it virtually impossible for me to enjoy the game I loved.

I was left with two choices:

a: Remain at the only school and with the only friends I had ever known, yet quit varsity, never to play the game I loved again.

or

b: Transfer and play ball with the goat ropers...

The last nine weeks of my junior year I made my decision. I went to play ball for my arch-nemesis. My last year of high school would be spent in a foreign environment, attempting to fit in to existing friendships that had been forged since 1st grade. It was difficult, but I survived.

The worst part of it all was the first time I faced my old team in competition in their gym. The entire town would show up for these games filling the gym to capacity. Literally, there was standing room only. As part of tradition, the loudspeaker would announce the names of the players prior to the game. When your name was called you were to run out to center court.

When my name was called I ran out to line-up with my team only to be met with boos. I was booed by my "city" friends, out of their own amusement. During the entire game, whenever I had possession of the ball the booing would ensue and immediately stop the second it left my hands. Did they mean harm? No. Did it hurt? Yes. The worst part was that it was done in front of hundreds of people, all people I knew.

I can only imagine what it feels like to be publicly "booed" in a national newspaper for all your friends and family to see when, after all, you were only doing your job.

Feel free to share any public humiliation you've ever experienced at the hands of someone else...

Santa Claus Arrested on Charges of Grand Larceny...
So, I'm watching my non-local local news (for some reason I receive news from the greater quint-state area) and there's a teaser for "A Great Christmas Story".

I love feel good stories. I mean, who doesn't like to feel good? So I hang around in front of the telly waiting for the piece to come on. Big mistake. I should have ran and stuck my head in the dryer, thus ensuring a sound proof booth so none of the insanity could reach my chaste ears and infiltrate my fragile mind.

It began with a tale of the Shriner Children's School getting to take a trip to the mall to see Santa. The joy on their faces as they watched the elves frolic in the winter wonderland while the Christmas Express chugged around the track and hundreds of wide-eyed children stood in an impatient line waiting for their turn to sit in the Big Man's awesome lap, praying for the courage to be able to speak their Christmas wish.

The reporter then went on to explain that the Shriner Children's trip would not include a picture with Santa as the school didn't have the funds to afford such. As the group was observing the fabulous decorations the teachers were overheard talking about the lack of funds and how bad they felt that the children couldn't get their picture taken with Santa. A Good Samaritan promptly walked up and forked over some cash, refusing to give her name, simply wishing them a Merry Christmas. When they looked to see how much she had given they realized it was $190.00.

Now at this point I would have been thinking "Wow! What a nice lady, but we owe her some change. $190.00? That's way more than our small group will need." Think again.

Christmas with Santa cost $20.00 freakin dollars. For $20.00 freakin dollars I'd expect a reenactment of the virgin birth or Santa's spontaneous combustion at the least. It's highway robbery.

So, for $20.00 bucks a pop, each kid got their lovely Polaroid with Santa. Woo hoo! Send in the clowns somebody 'cause I need a good laugh. By the way, even the $190.00 given by the more than generous woman wasn't enough to foot the bill. And did Santa contribute to the donation? Hell no.

Let's just say that Santa will be getting a little something extra in our cookies this year...


P.S. Please use this post to tell Santa what you want for Christmas...It's free!