Five Years and Rice Dressing (832 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 0.71 on 9 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Derek Blanchard <blanchfor.at.kitty-hawk.navy.mil> (View user info) at 2003-03-27 22:19:24 EST
Five years. That is definitely not a long time to be on this little-big planet we call earth. Ha. Little-big. Big to the human but little to the blazing sun. At five-years old, the world is run by a force far beyond our own power. We cannot even begin to understand what is going on, why the strings bound to our bodies are pulling us in every direction but the one we choose. Of course, we don't care.
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is about to start and our turtle blanket and Hotwheels cars are the only forces or objects outside of ourselves that we care to focus on.
That's where I come in. My name is Derek. How did I get the name Derek? Did my parents look up the name in one of those "best names for newborns" book? Did they just pull it out at random? Nope, my name was given to me by my grandmother. When asked what my name should be, my grandma opened up the storage chest in her mind and pulled out a name she had been saving for quite some time. Now stamped with the name "Derek" I was ready to be harnessed as another robot to toil away during my adult years for some purpose I would not be able to understand or comprehend. Strange... I could have sworn this was my life. But wait. It is mine but what is "mine" exists only in the rhyming word "mind". In other words, the only place I am allowed to be "me" is in my mind. Everywhere else I shall now and forever spray fountains of bullshit like the largest of firehoses spray water.
However, at a the young age of five I was quite a different person.
The Story:
Equipped with a toy machine gun I set forth to ravage my cousin's home base. He was stationed in the playhouse on the far side of his backyard, and I was determined to make sure that this would be the last time he'd hide out in that little area. I tightened up my waterballon-gernade belt and pressed forward with my gun held above my head. I felt a thirst for battle so deep I wanted to swallow up all the human made weapons in the world so I could ravage... everything. It was then that my grandmother called me over from the patio. Surprised and slightly disapointed for my rampage had been postponed I ran over to the patio to see what she wanted.
"Now boy don't be eating nothing around here but rice dressing! That's the only thing you can eat today, ok?"
"Yes, Maw Maw", I replied, not knowing or caring why she only wanted me to eat rice dressing. I was only worried about that damnned playhouse.
I returned to my base and began to regroup for my attack. ALAS! The bastard made a decisive move and chucked a waterballon-gernade at me. Luckly my reflexes were quick and I hit the ground fast enough to let the gernade sail past me. It landed on the ground with a satisfying sploosh, giving the grass below it some very much desired hydration. I was furious. That bastard would have to pay now. I jumped out from behind the base and ran forward with the likeness of a mini-rambo when...
Ronald McDonald came out from the patio doing cartwheels and such. The spineless McDonald was obviously the keeper of peace. The entire war was called off as soon as he did a backflip and landed on his ass.
My Aunt came out to tell my cousin that he was going to have a birthday party at Mcdonald's instead of at his house. He was escastic. I was surprised too, I had no idea this was going to happen myself. As we arrived at McDonald's, I learned why all of my cousin's friends hadn't shown up at his house for his birthday party - they were already at McDonald's. We walked inside of the fast food place to meet a flurry of activity. Kids screaming, adults talking and laughing over adult matters, all that added to kiddy games. They put a dammed cone hat on my head and shoved me into a line of zombie children. At the end of the line each kid would meet the fate of a mock horseshoe game controlled by two female McDonald's employees - probably cashiers. I approached the end of the line nervously, interaction with unknown people - strangers, always made me feel uneasy. It was my turn and they handed me three horseshoes. I didn't care about this pathetic little game, I just threw the horseshoes around and stood there timidly. "Good... Job." One of them said sarcastically. The other one looked at me slyly and asked me what kind of topping I wanted on my ice cream. Ice cream? My grandmother's words of wisdom cried out like the good conscience.
"Now boy don't be eating nothing around here but rice dressing! That's the only thing you can eat today, ok?"
"Rice dressing!", I said proudly. Both employees looked at each other and after two minutes of debate decided there was no rice dressing topping for ice cream.
"Chocolate or Strawberry?", one of them asked. "Chocolate", I answered. The only problem is that I didn't understand the question. What were they trying to do with this chocolate covered ice cream? Why were they making me eat it? The answer to these questions would not be pretty.
As I was eating my ice cream a figure came from around the corner and looked at me with a stare of shame. It was my grandmother. Needless to say, I got my ass whipped right there in McDonalds.
This is why I demand rice dressing topping for ice cream you ingrates. Stop the needless child-rearing and give a gift to delight grandmothers everywhere. The R.D.I.C.K. (Rice Dressing Ice Cream Krew) is the organization I am forming up at this time to stop the abuse. At that, we should make more McDonald's with ball pens for the kids to play in. No one likes imitation horseshoes anyway. Also, Beat It Up Lotion. A name brand lotion true to it's cause.
User Reviews
Submitted by Luckystar (user info) at 2004-03-10 18:33:08 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
i don't get it, why wouldn't your grandma let you have ice cream at a birthday party? They don't even have rice dressing shit at mickey d's....?
Submitted by blanchfor (user info) at 2003-03-28 12:16:07 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
What is rice dressing... what kind of a question is that? It's a rice & meat meal similar to jambalaya.
And mine does rhyme with mind if you use the S.G. (Sailor Gangsta) accent. You wouldn't know anything about that though.
Submitted by loki (user info) at 2003-03-28 11:34:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
This is disturbing and now I'm afraid of grandmothers.
Submitted by Loren1 (user info) at 2003-03-28 11:19:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Yes, please enlighten me. WTF is rice dressing?
Oh - and "mine doesn't rhyme with "mind."
Stay sane, Derek.
Loren
Submitted by streetpunk (user info) at 2003-03-28 11:06:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Why wouldn't she let you eat ice cream? I am kind of freaked out, I think your Grannie is as crazy as you. That goes to show it's in the genes.
Peace,
STREETPUNK
Submitted by Beer_bong (user info) at 2003-03-28 00:16:28 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
I think the military is making Derek crazy.
Submitted by K.M (user info) at 2003-03-27 23:08:28 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Derek, I think you should be a writer.
Submitted by Hairsphincter (user info) at 2003-03-27 22:48:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
What's rice dressing?
Submitted by blanchfor (user info) at 2003-03-27 22:38:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Didn't think I wrote that much shit... oh well.