Glunkschmuzzits, Sneetches, and Pancakes


Once upon a time, there lived a family of glunkschmuzzits [GLUNK-shmuh-zits] .

Meanwhile, a mother fribdishlima decided she could not possibly care for a baby fribdishlima [frib-DISH-lih-muh], so she set about to find a home for the as yet unhatched egg. She pushed and pulled and dragged it for miles.

(For, unlike skuzlouskian eggs, which are round like oranges, a fribdishlima egg is round like the moon and sun:  That is, flat as a pancake).

 

Orange Spider Stealing Skuzlouskian Eggs

Orange Spider Mistaking Orange-Shaped Skuzlouskian Eggs For Her Own

 

Solar Photo Like Flat Egg

Flat Fribdishlima Egg (Bearing a STRIKING Resemblance to the Actual Sun on March 12, 2014)

 

A Round Golden Pancake

Mmmmmmm… PANcake…


 

As fate would have it, the mother fribdishlima conveniently fell upon the nest of the family of glunkschmuzzits right before she left the story.

The next morning, Mother Glunkschmuzzit woke up and espied the egg in the nest.

Goodness”, she exclaimed, “an egg.”
An egg.” replied Father Glunkschmuzzit.
Yes.” she said.

I had no idea you were in the family way.” said sly old Grandmother Glunkschmuzzit.

 

Pregnant With Alien Eggs Book

Not the Typical Baby Announcement


 

Nor had I.  I will name it Mr. Jones.

When the egg hatched, the Glunkschmuzzits were overjoyed.

It’s a boy!” shouted happy Father Glunkschmuzzit, handing out out snaffles.

The Glunkschmuzzits raised the little fribdishlima as their very own, happily unaware of its origin. Mother Glunkschmuzzit prized Mr. Jones. He was by far the most helpful and considerate of all of her nipsnigs. The older he grew, the more she loved his every habit.

 

Sibling Egg Rivalry

His Fellow Nipsnigs Showed Their Love, Too.


 

Then, one day, he disappeared.

The Glunkschmuzzit family was frantic with worry—especially Mother Glunkschmuzzit. Her poor little son, all on his own in the world. They searched everywhere.

He’s lost,” said Mother Glunkschmuzzit, crying loudly.
He’s run away,” said Father Glunkschmuzzit, despairingly.
Soapsuds,” said sly old Grandmother Glunkschmuzzit.

Finally, Mr. Jones was found, sleeping peacefully under his bed. But, during the search, Father Glunkschmuzzit had fallen upon the note left on his son’s eggshell, and noticed the signature for the first time.

Mrs. Fribdishlima!” he cried. “Mr. Jones isn’t a glunkschmuzzit at all, he’s a fribdishlima!

Oh, no!” exclaimed Mother Glunkschmuzzit. “He’s not The Same. He’s Different. I have a decrumpit fribdishlima for a son!

 

Don't They Know All Eggs Look Like That

Gross! THAT One’s Got YELLOW Stuff Inside!!


 

Son!” said Father Glunkschmuzzit. “He’s not your son, he’s a fribdishlima, and we must get rid of him at once!

But we’ve loved him like a son for years! His being a fribdishlima never mattered when we didn’t know what he was!” said Mother Glunkschmuzzit.

Some of my best friends are fribdishlimas,” said sly old Grandmother Glunkschmuzzit.

Nonsense. His being a fribdishlima obviously makes him inferior. We must disown him immediately,” said Father Glunkschmuzzit.



Of course, you’re right,” said Mother Glunkschmuzzit.



And she kicked Mr. Jones out the door.

 

And She Kicked Mr Jones Out the Door

I Always DID Think Your Noggin Was an Odd Shape!





It is certainly disheartening to learn of Professor Fotheringale’s latest discoveries regarding the broader distribution of the so-called “Star-Bellied Sneetch” gene than was heretofore suspected.

(Note his juvenile and yet entirely unsurprising christening of the cluster of DNA that endows multiple species with an unsupported sense of superiority).
 

Star-Bellied Sneetch Boy

This Boy Seriously Gets The Whole Star-Bellied Concept. Way to Go, Little Dude!


 
Given old Fothie’s penchant for juvenile humor, the fact that he chose to reveal his latest discovery in the form of a childish tale is also no surprise, if still disappointing.
 
Professor Fotheringale

For Shame, Fotheringale. For Shame.


 



ADDENDUM

The first post based on a cache of old papers I’ve been scanning before discarding. This one is a story I wrote in 8th grade, unedited. (Professor Fotheringale was added later.) My nest-mate sister laughed and said “I’m not surprised at all that you would write a story like that, coming from our family. And it predicts nicely your Dinner For Seven.”
 

The Original Glunkschmuzzit Story

Who Remembers White-Out?


Advertisements

The Bigot Seed–Part I

But That's EXACTLY the Problem...


 

Role Models

The first time I learned that my parents were racially prejudiced:

Sixth grade.  We’re sitting at the dinner table.  I’m relating some innocent event from school that day.  As I list my friends who’d been there, and get to the name of a black friend, my dad and mom exchange a look. And then, my dad says something about Negros.

I don’t remember what he said.  What stunned me is that he said it about Negros, plural—that he ascribed any characteristic to an entire mass of people about whom I had been raised, by that very dad, to think of as individuals.

What a terrible shock to learn that my parents had only been paying lip service to equality.  I felt utterly betrayed.   And confused:  How could bigots comfortably spout anti-bigotry rhetoric as if they meant it?

Knee Slappers

In eighth grade, I had (yet) another excellent teacher, Miss Blue.  We all liked her so much.  She was pretty and interesting and smart, and she spoke with us kids like we were people.  I quickly grew to love her, the way we do with our wonderful teachers when we are young.

My mother could never hear my Miss Blue’s name without laughing.  Every single time she heard it.  She never got tired of the funny, funny joke:   “But Miss Blue is black!”

It made me feel ashamed for my mother, since she was too ignorant to be ashamed for herself.

My mother used to have another funny joke she loved to tell.  No matter how many times she told it, she thought it was funny, funny, funny.  I never did, because it had no punchline.  Years later, I figured out that it would be funny only if two things were true:  First, if you believed the main character was stupid solely because of her race, and second, if you took great joy in the feeling of superiority this evoked.  The “joke” is that a white male doctor points to a urine specimen cup on a nearby table and tells his black female patient to pee into it.  The black woman responds:  “From here?”

That’s the entire joke.  A rip-roarer.  Only, the joke-teller adds spice by saying the “punchline” while attempting an ignorant white person’s notion of an ignorant black person’s accent.  Like this:   “From hee-yah?”

 

I Be Laughin' All De Way From Hee-Yah


 

There.  That surely makes it funny now.

 

%d bloggers like this: