The Griswolds are my bitch part 1
A comedy article
by redcardhooligan  28  4
09/05/2009 12:28 PM 616 views
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Like many Americans that grew up in the 70s and 80s, I spent several weeks of every year in the ,"way back, of the family station wagon trekking through the United States.
The ,"way back, was the place where my parents put luggage and prepubescent children who had irritated dad too many times.
I can remember sitting behind him and staring at the back of his head as he crunched his way through his eternal ice cube. The man could take a piece of hard candy or an ice cube and crunch it for 100 miles. If my dad was a mutant, that was his power.
After hearing it enough times, I started to identify with the Mendez brothers. I just couldn,,,t take the noise anymore. I decided it would be a good idea to box his ears. I almost killed us all when he swerved the car across three lanes.
That was the last time I got to sit in the back seat.
If we were a pioneer family I would,,,ve been sitting on top of the wagon with granny and her shotgun.
Around the time I was 12, my family decided it was time to take our show international. We had friends who lived in England, France, and Belgium and airline tickets were fairly inexpensive at the time. Here are a few observations.
England
We left Dulles on a Sunday and arrived at Heathrow the following Saturday (I think- I know it took a long time but I was all hyped up on Orangina so it may have taken longer).
We were picked up by a friend of the family who also doubled as the worst cook in the UK. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to attain that honor? As a baby my mother told me that she drove around all day with an entre lamb in the truck of the car (in August) rotting and decomposing. I guess that,,,s what gave it its lamby goodness. It also gave my sister food poisoning.
We made a stopover in London so my Mom could pick up a bottle of some expensive brandy for one of our Belgian friends.
While we were getting on the subway, I mean tube; Mom dropped the brandy bottle on the ground.
Did you know that the tube has Morlocks and Chuds? They do. I swear to God this pack of feral tunnel people swooped out of nowhere and started lapping the brandy off the ground.
One of the Chuds looked up, with broken glass hanging off his tongue and said something to the effect of, ,"terribly sorry ma,,,am. But you don,,,t want this to go to waste. Evidently the Morlocks are just as polite at the rest of the people in London.
France
You know that stereotype about French people smelling bad? It,,,s so true I,,,m surprised we can,,,t smell them across the Atlantic.
Mom decided that we really needed to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower. What she didn,,,t realize is that at the age of 12, my nose was armpit high to a Frenchman. To this day every hair in my nose is burnt and crispy. Do French people even have nose hairs?
Since the day they were married my mother has kept a supply of Nabs (those little peanut butter crackers) in her purse. It,,,s an ancient Hooligan family secret passed down to all the women folk on their wedding day.
It seems that the men in my family have horrible blood sugar issues and are not allowed to eat pancakes. Pancakes are kryptonite to us. They make us mean and violent and are strictly forbidden at the Hooligan family table. You would do better giving us PCP. Seriously.
So the Nabs are used to counteract the pancake effect on our blood sugar. I wouldn,,,t be surprised if my mom gave my wife a pack on my wedding day.
Well my Dad got a hold of some pancakes. I like to think he scored them in a back alley somewhere in Paris. Maybe in the red-light district. Do you think they have a pancake district?
Around lunch time my Dad was starting to turn green and that vein in his forehead was starting to pulse.
We saw a little sandwich stand in the middle of the street and my sister happily translated that it said, ,"Self serve.,
What it meant was you point at what you want and the haughty French guy puts the sandwich together for you.
Well my Dad went over and started making himself a sandwich.
When the haughty French guy saw him doing that he ran over to stop them. My Dad being all hopped up on vitamin pancake flipped out. Unfortunately Dad also had a knife in his hand. In retrospect it was probably a butter knife. But I remember it as one of those Crocodile Dundee ,"that,,,s not a knife, Bowie knives.
Dad flipped out and grabbed the haughty French guy and put the knife to his throat.
Luckily my sister knew about three words in French (two of which are not self-serve) and managed to convince the haughty French guy that we were retarded American tourists (like he couldn,,,t tell by the camera strapped across my Dad,,,s gut) and he left us alone.
Part 2 will follow,
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Like This? Rate It!
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Funny
8 votes
3.6
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Funny
3 votes
3.3
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Shell Belle 77,143  25
09/05/2009 01:08 PM
A good first article.
You might want to add some pictures for part 2.
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Funny
3 votes
3.3
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Bill the Squirrel 53,270 54
09/05/2009 02:59 PM
Great first article.
You might want to add some Shell to the next one though.
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Funny
2 votes
3.5
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peoriagrace 6,166 11
09/05/2009 03:23 PM
You boxed your Dad's ears and lived to tell the tale. You sir are very lucky.
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Hilarious
2 votes
4.0
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Shell Belle 77,143 25
09/05/2009 05:06 PM
You might want to add some Shell to the next one though.
There's always room for Shell. No, wait. That's Jell-O.
Or I guess it could apply to me as well, since I wiggle and jiggle too.
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0 votes
0.0
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Brubert 763 11
09/05/2009 06:30 PM
I eat a pack of Nabs every day.
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Hilarious
2 votes
4.0
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Whistler P. McManus 186,130 44
09/05/2009 07:15 PM
Or I guess it could apply to me as well, since I wiggle and jiggle too.
Oh my god, I'm so aroungry right now.
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Funny
1 votes
3.0
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John Hargrave 128,751 73
09/07/2009 05:35 AM
The thought of a "pancake district" was amusing to me.
"Hey baby, want some syrup? Grade A."
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Funny
4 votes
3.0
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The Cult in Difficulty 1,071 8
09/07/2009 07:36 PM
They do, or at least they used to. Near the Place de la Concorde was an area crammed full of creperies, restaurants devoted to making crepes.
Crepes are the French version of pancakes, inasmuch as they are lighter, less satisfying, and fall to pieces when a bratwurst gets anywhere near them.
Pancakes get a lot more Shakespeare than crepes do. In France, the making of crepes is considered an art form, whereas the making of pancakes is considered reading off the side of the box. Gourmet crepes are filled with fruits and preserves and whipped creams. When you put sweet stuff on a pancake, it's not called "Gourmet" but "Nutritionally Inadequate" or "Dangerous to Diabetics and Pets."
But pancakes are better. Put maple syrup on a crepe and it asphyxiates. Put chocolate chips in crepe batter and it falls apart. Put some sausage next to it, and the sausage will kick the crepe's ass up and down the plate. A pancake, however, will ride a sausage bareback for the full eight seconds, leap down your gullet and leave you wanting more.
Whenever I hear pancakes being slammed and crepes praised, it makes me cry a little inside.
Because I cheer for the underdog.
Because I trust in the workhorse of breakfast foods.
Because I bathe.
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Funny
1 votes
3.0
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Pants 14,252 17
09/08/2009 07:33 PM
Uhhhggg. That Jimmy Dean product looks like a the end result of a cattail being shoved up a lumberjack's ass.
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0 votes
0.0
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The Cult in Difficulty 1,071 8
09/08/2009 08:16 PM
Take your fries and your toast and your dressing and GET OUT!
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