Little Spouse on the Prairie

 The advertisement read: 

GREAT OPPORTUNITIES IN IOWA!

TALL, BLONDE PEOPLE

A SURPRISING AMOUNT OF MEXICAN RESTAURANTS

A TACO PIZZA TOPPED WITH DORITOS

A ROOM AT YOUR IN-LAWS 

So we hitched up the '13 Honda Wagon, loaded her with a sufficient supply of cheddar popcorn and wafer bites, and said so long to our charmed life of foldable pizza slices and Woody Allen controversies. We were headed west. Where people with enough pluck could eek out an existence, hard yet satisfying, provided their in-laws stocked their shelves with enough deli meats and breakfast cereals. 

     Arriving on the prairie (now with carpeting!)

Life on the plains wasn't easy. You had people calling "soda" "pop" and "bags" "sacks." Thanks to that jerk Paul Bunyan, there was not a lot of shade on the hot days and you could find yourself parked in a sliver of shade on the side of the road across from someone's house desperately hoping they didn't see you completely cover yourself in the frozen custard that had missed your mouth. 

And though the stories of attacks by native Iowans are much exaggerated to reinforce East Coast Supremacy, they did happen on occasion and when they did, they were not pretty. You may, say, go to the grocery store, and while looking for some croutons, a native Iowan would sneak up and ask you whether you were making a salad and then bombard you with his salad preferences. While driving by a farm, you might have a farmer shoot you a two finger salute--a gesture so shockingly friendly, an unprepared eastern driver may veer off the road in surprise. 

Even a Native Iowan Can Find Life on the Prairie Difficult. Seen here having to read PRINT MEDIA (😮) when the power went out for half an hour! 

But worst of all were the prairie diseases. Like the recent outbreak of Firework Fever that swept over the people of Mason City. Morning, noon, night--whether you could actually see the fireworks or not or whether the town had a very expensive, high quality professional show you could appreciate instead--victims of Firework Fever could not stop firing from their seemingly inexhaustible stockpiles as if their hospital-visits-in-the-making were the last line of defense against Al Queda. This outbreak seems to have been spread by a certain 10 foot gorilla outside the Iowa Fireworks, Inc. tent. Then you had to look out for the local Male-aria, which can drive you to cut off the sleeves of your shirt, want to ride a motorcycle without a helmet and guzzle mountain dew by the barrel. In some extreme cases, this could even lead to getting a giant tattoo of Marshall "Eminem" Mathers, or "the real slim shady" flipping the bird--on your back. 

It's Going to Take More Than This Prairie Mountain to Bring Me Down! I'm from the Adirondacks! 

Entertainment was also limited on the prairie. Besides a 4,870,000 square foot mall containing 4 floors of stores, an amusement park and hotels in Minneapolis; museums, art galleries, lakes and botanical gardens, there was practically nothing to do. So people will gather around their fireplace TV screensaver and tell tales of prairie legends. Like the man who ate so many slices of taco pizza he could no longer fit in his '13 Honda Wagon. Or the woman who shopped at all of the Targets in the greater Minneapolis area before you could say you betcha I have a Red Card two times. (or the tale of Daniel Funyan, Substitute Teacher of the Great Plains, featured below). 

Shopping at the local General store...being inexplicably overrun by Monarch butterflies. 

                 Sometimes the efforts to entertain oneself on the prairie become truly desperate! 

Life on the prairie was extremely trying. We only did get a few hours in the Mall of America and I nearly died from exhaustion walking from the Lego Store to Minnesot-ah, the home of moose coasters and You Betcha! hoodies. We only tried one Mexican restaurant though we heard such good things about The Happy Donkey in Mason City. We nearly died again when we mistakenly tried to eat midwestern bagel and a small bout with local male-aria almost lead to an incident with a 2 liter of "Hillbilly Holler," a generic Mountain Dew from the local grocery store. Plus, who knew "prairie" had two "i's"--how is anyone supposed to spell that!  But we are back at last--resting easy now that saltwater taffy, New Yorker cartoons and pissed off drivers are well within reach. 

Seen shopping at Minnesot-ah! at Mall of America. 

A Classic Prairie Tall Tale 

Daniel Funyan, Substitute Teacher of the Great Plains

A long time ago there lived a man named Daniel Funyan who was known throughout the land for his miraculous substitute teaching. Whenever a teacher got sick, Daniel mosied on over to the one-room school house, and before he was done, his students were exponentially smarter, fearing God like no one feared him before- and the welts on their hands were bigger than anyone had ever seen. One day, Ms. Candy Navian suddenly caught the gopher fever that had been plaguing the Dakota Territory. This spelled trouble, as Navian's students were the meanest, mangiest and most grasshopper-lovin' students on the plains. The last sub, Mr. Finn Lander ran home screaming after the students cut the straps on his overalls, then took his government land deed, whited out his name, and wrote in Sitting Bull.

But Daniel Funyan was not one to be bested by the youngins!

When he entered the room, there was chaos. One boy was sitting on another boy's head and farting to the tune of "Oh, Susanna." Two girls were flinging the bible across the room like a frisbee. The class prairie dog was eating a crying girl's Swedish meatballs. But when students noticed Daniel, standing 10 feet tall and another 10 feet wide, with ears like pumpkins and a ruler several meters long ready for inflicting punishment, they hushed up. "Get in your seats," his voiced boomed, causing the apple on the teacher's desk to explode all over the students. And all of the students and even the prairie dog did as were asked

By the end of the day, the students could read and write in not only English, but Greek, Latin, Portuguese and Swahili. They could name all 50 territories and knew several dozen derogatory terms for Native Americans. Before leaving, the children insisted that they wanted even more book learnin' and to go out and till the mother flippin' heck out of the land till their hands cramped shut and had to be sawed off. Their trousers were soaked from fearing God so much.

The next day, knowing Ms. Navian was still sick, Daniel headed in to school. But when he got there, there was a man setting up some kind of new-fangled contraption in front of the class.

"What is that?" He shouted, causing several students to fall out of their seats.

"This here. This is a Smartboard," the man said. "It's a new device that will teach students when teachers are out. Runs on steam."

"What? Steam can't teach students; I challenge this "Smartboard" to a teach-off."

All of the pioneers came to watch the great face-off between Daniel Funyan and the magical board. On one side the SmartBoard was teaching bible stories using audio, clip art and text. On the other Daniel was dressed up like Abraham and, in a dramatic rendition of the bible story, was threatening to kill Isaac (the boy who previously had been threatened with another boy's farts) with his infamous ruler. The students eyes darted back and forth between the two spectacles, but in the end, the kids watched and learned from Daniel. Everyone cheered for Daniel Funyan, the greatest education temp in all of the territory.

However, the next day, the Smartboard technician showed students Minesweeper, and the day of the Great Plains Substitute was done. Daniel disappeared after that, but every now and then someone would spot him trying to rapidly increase the pressure inside the Steam Smartboard.

The End

The Origin of Daniel Sennis

In my last entry, I discussed the new movie, Social Suicide which explains part of this blog's beginnings. But there is another tale that needs to be told about this blog. One filled with Media Moguls, amazing super powers, pizza sauce and a girl by the name of Ivana Betterman.

It started with a book. The Huffington Post Complete Guide to Blogging,which I found in the bargain bin at my local bookstore and thought, though I had absolutely no interest in blogging...$3...what a steal!

That night, I was so excited--I read most of the three page introduction before carelessly throwing the book in the trash. I knew I had to find out more about blogging, and how I could use it to distract myself from the important things in life.

First, I tried sending Ms. Huffington an e-vite to my upcoming Charlie's Angels themed Birthday party, but no such luck.

Then fortune intervened. I heard that Ms. Huffington was going to be attending one of those mean-spirited rich people bring-an-idiot parties at the end of the week. I knew that if I could get close enough to one of the party guests, I would surely get an invite.

The first time I got a chance to talk to Arianna was when she was handing me out first prize at the end of the night. I took the opportunity to tell Ms. Huffington how much I desired to be a blogger just like her. She laughed for a while.

“Oh, you’re serious.”

She then looked at me pityingly. Then she bit me. She took my hand and bit it as hard as she could.

“Ow!” I screamed. “What was that for?”

“You’ll see, Daniel Sennis.”

“My name isn’t Daniel Sennis!" I shouted as I ran crying out the door, trophy in hand.

That night, I wasn’t feeling very well.

“What’s the matter?” asked my girlfriend.

"Ever since Arianna Huffington bit me as hard as she could at the Idiot Party, I haven't been feeling very good. I'm going to lie down.”

Lying on the couch, I was bombarded with images of blogger dashboards, Google image searches, templates, RSS feeds, Arianna Huffington going in for the bite.

"What's happening to me?" I screamed.

Then my Huffington bite glowed red and I heard Arianna’s accented voice:

"It's time, Daniel Sennis. Blog your huge blogger butt off. Huffington out."

The blog came naturally due to new-found powers: enhanced word play ability (needed for the obligatory play-on-words blog title); super touch typing speed (over 35 wpm); and most importantly, Super Human self-importance.

The next day, my girlfriend, Ivana Betterman, asked me why I wasn't at work. My hair was disheveled and I had pizza sauce all over my face.

"I'm a blogger now. This is my work."

"Yeah, well, tell me how that works out for you. 

"You're leaving me?"

"Yes, you have shown me that I really need to figure out who Betterman is."

The next day Buster, the disabled Orangutan moved in, and the rest is movie history.

The Curse of Ken Rizzo

The wallet lay atop a shelf in the bedroom closet. Wyler and his wife Lola were nearly done cleaning out their apartment; Wyler was making sure the couple hadn’t missed anything from the bedroom when he found the chestnut bifold. What the? He opened it, and facing him was a photo ID of Ken Rizzo, the former tenant of their soon-to-be former apartment.

 "Check this out,” Wyler shouted to Lola.
  Weird,” Lola said, upon seeing the mysterious object.
“Think we should try to get it back to him.”
 “It’s been a year and a half, I don’t think he needs it.”
“Hey, I need a new wallet!”
 "Take it!”

Wyler tossed the licence, credit cards, and Auto Zone reward card into the garbage. The garbage started ablaze, but Wyler was too busy rejoicing in his luck to notice. He sashayed around the living room, wallet raised like a flag in his right hand. "Look at me, with my new wallet! See how fancy!" .

"Wow, you're really fancy," his wife said. "Why don't you get your fancy ass back to work, seeing as how we're trying to move."

"Right."

Behind Wyler, back in the unnoticed roaring garbage can flame, an image of a young man bearing a devilish smile appeared just for a moment and then disappeared.

Wyler and his wife hadn’t known anything about Ken Rizzo, really, besides that he didn’t tell the former landlords when things were broken and was reputed to be heavily into dark magic.

The day after their move to the new apartment, Wyler and his wife pulled up to a Dunkin Donuts drive through window.

"That will be 12. 66," the cashier announced. Wyler handed over his debit card, more than ready to shove a double chocolate doughnut down his gullet.
"This card only has six dollars left on it," said the cashier.
 "What?  There must be some mistake."
"Maybe you’re cursed,"the cashier offered.
"Maybe you are!" Wyler screamed before squealing out of the parking lot, dismayed and donutless. As he drove, he heard a mysterious cackle.

"Did you hear that? Wyler asked his wife.
"Hear what?"
"The mysterious cackle"
"I thought that was you."
"Why would I cackle mysteriously?"
"I don't know why you do the things you do. It was probably just the wind. You're hearing things because you're in double chocolate doughnut withdrawal."

The day after the doughnut incident, Wyler, his wife, and their 15-month-old  became sick.
"Ugg," said Wyler
"Ugg." exclaimed Wyler's wife.
"Da da?" exclaimed the baby, sickly.
 I feel awful
 Me too.
 Bah!

 Wyler called  Dr. Ben Mahlprekteson.

“Doc, I’m real sick like Yeah. Yeah. No, I don’t think I’m cursed. Yeah, I know the dark arts are nothing to  mess with, but, OK, OK. I will. Bye.”

“Says it’s a cold.”

That evening the broke, sickly couple attempted to do a load of laundry in their new washing machine.

"I can't wait to use this new machine!" Lola exclaimed.

 Wyler and Lola were reading in the bedroom (Wyler,"The Monkey's Paw"; Lola, So Your Husband is an Idiot) when they heard gushing in the kitchen.Gush gush gush. 

"That can’t be good," Wyler said.

Wyler rushed to the kitchen and almost slipped on the wet floor; "Shut off the washer," came the cry of a distressed Lola from the bedroom. Within minutes, the entire kitchen floor was flooded.

The next day the plumber came to check out the situation.

"Nothing wrong here. Seems to me like this is just an old-fashioned wallet-based curse"

"Ken Rizzo! Wyler and his wife shouted at once!"

"Yup. Sounds like Rizzo Alright."

"Wait, you know Ken Rizzo?"

"Sure I do. He was my apprentice, before he became You Know Whose apprentice.

"The Baker's?" Wyler inquired. The plumber took a hard look at Wyler.

"Let me tell you, you better deal with this, or it's going to get worse."

"Worse than not getting to eat my doughnut?" Wyler asked.

"Well, how would you like your Netflix service interrupted."

"For how long?"

"A week."

  Wyler gasped; his wife fainted. The baby cried.

"The curse could do that?" Wyler said when he regained his composure.

"The curse will do that if you don't find a counter spell, and soon."

"How the hell are we going to do that?"

"Not my problem. Hey, do you think it's alright that I parked in front of that Wiccan shop next door?

The plumber left, and Wyler was left to ponder what to do.

"Oh, what are we gonna do?" Wyler moaned, crashing down on the couch. He heard the apartment door shut.

"Lola?"

Ten minutes later, the apartment door opened and Lola came into he living room.

"Ook," said the baby, pointing to a book in Lola's hand.

"Here you go, stupid." Lola handed Wyler a book.

"What is that?"

"Book of spells."

"Where did you find this?

"Spells R Us. Next door. Got a good price for it too: half off with the purchase of any Voodoo doll."

:"Huh." Wyler flipped through the book. "Trances, Vampire bites. Volkswagen engine trouble--here, Wallets, spell removal from, 33.

"To get rid of a wallet curse, gather the following ingredients: hot sauce, a ski vest, a dirty sock, a clean sock,  a sock that is mostly clean but just a little bit dirty; a mystery novel (but nothing by Agatha Christie), your most recent bank statement, and two forms of ID." Wyler gathered the items. "Now, stir these items together and chant the following words out loud three times. Ok, here I go." Wyler stirred the ingredients and began chanting.

Spiders, Snakes, Toads and Trump,
Lift this curse from off my hump.
Screw your curse, Ken Rizzo, you dog
I banish your lousy curse to a nearby bog!

A howl came from Ken Rizzo's wallet. "Leave the wallet be, or else!" came the previously cackling disembodied voice."

"Or else what?.

"'Or else' obviously implies something bad, so...something bad!" the wallet responded, testily.

"Oh," said Wyler.

"Keep going, you schmuck." Lola shouted.

Wyler repeated the chant.

"You stop that right now," the wallet chided.

Wyler was not deterred. He said the chant one last time. "--To a bog!"

"Oy Vey!" screamed the wallet Yidishly.

"Quick, check Netflix." Wyler yelled. Lola clicked the Netflix button on their Roku.

"Still works!"

"Thank God!

Two hours later,Wyler was searching for a missing piece of double chocolate doughnut under the couch cushion of the couch the couple had inherited from the previous apartment renters

"Hey, check this out. He held up a pair of worn, ragged boxers for Lola to inspect. "I could use a new pair!"


The End