Tag Archives: Humor

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The Corn Flake Camouflage Caper

English: Oatmeal and cornflakes Christmas cook...The Corn Flake Camouflage Caper

James R. Aist

When I was growing up in rural Arkansas, there were five or six of us kids in the household at any one time, and two parents. We were relatively poor, but never destitute. Poor meant that where food was concerned, nothing was wasted, not even stale, soggy corn flakes. Now, corn flakes was just about the cheapest dry cereal available at the time, so Mama would buy several of the over-sized boxes of them at a time, especially if they were on sale. This was a successful strategy to stretch our precious few dollars, but it contained the seeds of its own destruction. The breaking point came after we had been offered nothing but corn flakes for breakfast for about three or four weeks running, and it was made clear that it was going to be only corn flakes until our stock of the golden morsels was depleted. Mama was trying to use up her stockpile of corn flakes before they got too stale and soggy. We kids were sympathetic to her cause, but the thought of corn flakes again was more than we could stomach…literally. And it was already too late; the corn flakes were now officially stale and soggy. It was time to take a stand.

So, we kids talked it over and, with great trepidation, we “announced” to Mama at the next breakfast that we were not going to eat any more corn flakes for the foreseeable future, and especially not stale and soggy ones. I think that Mama was a bit amused that we would conspire to rebel over such a seemingly trivial issue, and so she purposed in her heart to feign compliance while all the time plotting to turn the tables on our little rebellion. The challenge had been issued and Mama was more than happy to take us on. This trivial dispute was to become a friendly competition thoroughly enjoyed by both sides as the drama unfolded over the ensuing weeks.

Suddenly we were enjoying other choices for breakfast and were becoming convinced that our solidarity against the powers that be had been wonderfully rewarded. Then we began to notice something a little strange about some of the side dishes at our family meals. Could it be that there were now corn flakes, of all things, in the meatloaf? We compared notes with each other, and sure enough…corn flakes in the meatloaf! We laughed out loud. That really was clever of her, albeit thoroughly sneaky. Now we were engaged in a game of subterfuge and camouflage with Mama, and it was delightful. So, in a spirit of levity, we declared “OK, we’re on to you; there’s corn flakes in the meatloaf, and we’re not eating any more cornflakes!” With a sly, coy smile, Mama replied, “We’ll see about that.”

And that seemed to be the end of it. That is, until the cornbread looked a little funny one day…but what is that? What are those strange, yellowish, orange things in the cornbread? Aha! Corn flakes in the cornbread; don’t anybody eat the cornbread! And on and on it went: first, corn flakes in the meatloaf; then, corn flakes in the cornbread; then, corn flakes in the oatmeal; then, corn flakes in the cookies; and so on. It was a fight to the finish. Mama was determined to make us eat the stale, soggy cornflakes, one way or another, until they were all gone, and we were equally determined to sniff them out and refuse to be outsmarted, until dear old Mama ran out of clever and creative ideas to disguise them. Finally, Mama called for a truce, and we all shared a hearty laugh or two over the corn flake camouflage caper. Truth be told, I kind of hated to see it come to an end; it was fun while it lasted.

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Are you done yet, Jimmy?

English: I photographed this picture from a pu...Are you done yet, Jimmy?

James R. Aist

When I was a young boy growing up in Arkansas, my family and friends were accustomed to calling me by the nickname “Jimmy.” This true story happened about 12-15 years ago, after my wife, Janet, and I had been married for several years. Sometimes Janet, too, would call me “Jimmy”, as an endearing form of “Jim”.

Well, one Saturday afternoon we were shopping in a mall in upstate New York when I sensed the urge to answer Mother Nature’s call, which she placed by dialing  2, if you get my drift. So, off we went to the little hallway tucked inconspicuously out of sight, where one could find the “Restrooms”. There I entered the Men’s Room and chose a stall on the left, just past the second stall where a little boy had encamped before me. We were the only two people in the restroom at the time. I moved into the third stall and began to take care of business, while Janet waited patiently in the hallway for me to re-appear.

About the time I was going to put the finishing touches on the process, a woman, sounding just like Janet, poked her head into the Men’s Room and called out “Are you done yet, Jimmy?” At this, I was both startled and dumbfounded. In an instant, thoughts began to race through my mind in rapid-fire succession: “Was that Janet? It sounded just like her. But why would she do such a thing? Should I say something? But what if it wasn’t her? Then I would be embarrassed. What would the little boy next to me think? Can I think of something clever and witty to answer back with?” Then, just as I was about to say something in reply, the little boy next to me called out “I’m almost finished, Mommy.”

In an instant, another flood of rapid-fire thoughts began rushing through my mind: “Man, that was a close call! Dodged a bullet that time. That was hilarious! Can’t wait to get out of here and tell Janet what just happened. Hope I can quit laughing uncontrollably long enough to tell her.” As I recall, she laughed harder that I did.

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The Cat and the Collar

The Cat and the Collar

by James R. Aist

We have been cat people for many years now. Cats are a most entertaining animal form, if you just pay attention to them. Quite some time ago we had two cats, Bonnie and Clyde; Clyde because he had large feet and looked like a Clydesdale (horse) when he walked toward you, and Bonnie because, well, it goes with Clyde.

Now Bonnie had, somehow, learned to play “fetch.” One evening I was sitting in the dining room trying to write a letter, and I had a hard time getting the letter off on the right foot, so to speak. I had just tossed my third paper wad to the floor on my way to yet another fresh start, when I noticed that Bonnie had walked up to me with the last paper wad in her mouth. She looked up at me with that excited “Let’s play fetch!” look in her eyes. Now, how could I resist that?! So I retrieved the paper wad from her mouth, showed it to her and gave it a good fling through the doorway and across the kitchen floor. Now the kitchen floor was linoleum and very slick, whereas the dining room floor was carpeted and had really good traction. So Bonnie got off to a rapid sprint in a split second as she raced through the doorway in pursuit of the paper wad. Just then my daughter, Liesel, opened the refrigerator door to get a snack, not seeing Bonnie racing toward her. Bonnie, intent on retrieving the paper wad in record time, failed to notice Liesel opening the refrigerator door, which was square in her path. Seeing all of this unfold before my eyes, I was already getting ready for a really big laugh (don’t ask me why; maybe it’s a guy thing) upon her inevitable collision with the refrigerator door. Well, into the bottom of the refrigerator door she slammed at full bore — BAM — and then bounced back violently, from the impact. At first, this seemed hilariously funny to me, but then I noticed that Bonnie was flailing around on the kitchen floor “like a chicken with its head cut off.” That threw me into a panic, as I thought “Oh no, she must have broken her neck… I killed the cat!” So I sprang from my chair and rushed into the kitchen to see if there was anything I could possibly do to save her. She was still retching and flailing when I finally managed to get her into my grasp to see how badly she was hurt. Then I saw it. Her neck wasn’t broken at all. Instead, her lower jaw had gotten caught in her flea collar when the impact with the refrigerator door forced her head suddenly downward, and she was just struggling violently, in sheer panic, to free her jaw from the flea collar!

Whew, I didn’t kill the cat after all. Then the hilarity of the whole scenario struck me, and I began laughing so hard it took me a while to free her from that demon flea collar and send her on her way, relatively unscathed. Needless to say, that was the first, and the last, “fetch” of that evening!

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The Gas Bubble Boomerang

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The Gas Bubble Boomerang

by James R. Aist

This true story took place when my family was living in north-central Arkansas, near Batesville. I was in junior high school and had just sat down at the kitchen table one evening to finish my homework. The house was quiet, except for the sound of the TV in the next room, and I was alone in the kitchen.

Once I had become deeply focused on the lesson before me, I realized that I needed to pass a bit of gas, so I made sure the coast was clear and let go a rather small, silent bubble, nothing to brag about. I felt the bubble slip slowly up my lower back toward my waist and thought that to be a little strange. Well, what happened next was entirely unexpected. Just as I had felt the gas bubble move upward, it paused briefly and slipped right back down to where it had come from. I just shook it off as, perhaps, my imagination. After all, it was late and I was feeling pretty sleepy. A few minutes went by, and I felt the need to pass some more gas. But this time, I had thought about it some more and was going to pay more attention. Would the gas bubble turn around again and go back to where it came from? Out came the gas bubble, up it went, paused, and then, right back down again. Beginning to get alarmed, I said to myself, “Self, that just ain’t right, and you better look into this pronto, ’cause there may just be somethin’ going on down there that you need to know about!”

So, in a panic, I jumped up from my chair, checked to see if the coast was clear, quickly dropped my pants and saw one of those little black, fuzzy spiders fall into my whitie tidies and crawl away! When I had pulled up my pants and regained my composure, I allowed that if I had been the spider, I would have bailed out too!

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