A Very Funny Story

I have a very rare opportunity today. I've been asked to be a Guest Blogger at The Traveling Spotlight. I'm a huge Patrick Doyle fan. No, seriously, I get really huge when I think about Patrick. I'm honored that he asked me to blog for him.

I've decided to attempt a little experiment: Can I tell the same story in two very different ways?

Patrick, who is loved by so many of us, most of all by me, is a comic and a great storyteller. In honor of his beautiful smile and infectious laugh, I hope you'll find humor in what I'm about to tell you.

If you prefer to read the sad version of this story, go visit Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven, and let me know which story you like better!

I was The King of Glendale Elementary in Independence, Missouri. No, really, I was. Children bowed down before my superior height and superior wit. Everything I said was funny and brilliant. The teachers even laughed at my jokes. Everybody wanted to come to my parties because I had actual themes like Luau Parties or Western Parties. (Gee, I wonder if my parents ever suspected I might be gay?) Swearing was forbidden on the kickball field because of me. I didn't cuss, and the kids made a rule that nobody else could either if I played kickball with them.

At the end of my sixth grade year, I moved to Florida with my family. Although I left a few days before school ended, my best friend Tony called to tell me the class had voted me Most Likely to Succeed on the last day of school.

I missed my loyal subjects, but I was eager to live next door to Disney World. I loved Disney World. And that's before I even knew about Gay Day (super gay). My parents neglected to tell me that Fort Lauderdale, Florida is not even close to Disney World. They also neglected to tell me about alligators that wanted to eat my dog, Buffy (gay dog name, especially for a boy dog). We couldn't let Buffy out without watching him every second because an alligator lived in the canal behind our house in Florida. Oh, and we also had Palmetto bugs. My parents never warned me about Palmetto bugs. In case you've never had the pleasure of seeing one, Palmetto bugs are football-sized roaches. And they are everywhere. And if you accidentally step on one when you're not wearing shoes...it's just gross.

So, like Dorothy (really gay) I was whisked away from my farm to a dangerous land filled with flying monkeys (bullies) and witches (bullyettes). No longer was I the king. Instead, I was Shirley Temple in The Little Princess (wow. it's getting gay in here). Forced to live as a galley slave in a cold dark garret (my bedroom with the Chocolate Brown rug), I was poor and friendless.

I was tormented by a flying monkey named Carlos every day because his parents discovered he smoked cigarettes at the bus stop. True, it was because of me that they found out. In a rare lapse of judgment, I nonchalantly told my sister that Carlos smoked. My sister's best friend was Carlos' sister Martha. Martha then opened her big fat eight-year-old mouth to her parents. Because of this mistake, I had to spend every morning begging Carlos not to beat me.

Carlos, if you are reading this, I harbor no ill feelings towards you. The fact that you are now on your third marriage to an emotionally, or, better yet, physically abusive woman named Leona, who makes your life miserable, should be punishment enough. Your children hate you, and you have been unemployed since they fired you from the deli for forgetting to wash your hands after your cigarette break. But I wish you all the best.

I had no friends at school. As a fat Midwestern Gentile boy in a school of Jewish New York/New Jersey transplants, I stuck out like RuPaul at a Garth Brooks concert. One day Gayle Schiller (bitch) was teasing me in class, and I angrily yelled, "I hate you stupid mean New Yorkers." Oops. Remember when all the zombies swarmed their victims in Dawn of the Dead before they ate them? Yeah, that's a lot less scary than what happened to me that day.

Gayle Schiller, I am so sorry I accidentally used your real name in this post. I will try hard to remember to come back and edit this post. I would hate for anybody who knows you to read this and find out what an evil girl you were in middle school. Also, I hope you were married to Carlos at some point. You deserve each other.

Anyway, back to my story. One day everything changed. My salvation appeared. A cake decorating Contest (mega gay) was announced at school, and I decided to enter (flaming Cher-like gayness). See, in my synagogue school, Christmas was not allowed. The hills were alive (gay, gay, gay) with the sound of Hanukkah, and Santa Claus was considered The Devil.

So I attempted to score one for Baby Jesus by decorating a Christmas Wreath Cake. My Cake would look good enough to hang on any front door. People would be afraid to eat it, because it would look so realistic. I knew my creativity was my secret superpower, so I was sure to win the cake decorating contest. After all, back in Missouri, hadn't I won the Valentine's Day mailbox contest in fifth grade by building a cardboard robot mailbox that talked? Inside my robot, I placed a tape recorder that played my "robot voice" recording (Madonna Esther-like gayness). "My name is Robby the Robot. Happy Valentine's Day" played for 30 minutes at a time before I had to turn the tape over. Or, actually, the robot voice tape played for 30 minutes before my frenzied teacher made me turn it off.

Back to The Cake. My secret ingredient was food coloring. By mixing lots and lots of food coloring with white frosting, I created a lovely Kermit green icing for My Wreath Cake. Then my sister (Mom forced me to let her help) and I covered The Cake with mushy maraschino cherries and tied red string licorice into bows. The whole mess was placed lovingly onto a piece of cardboard covered in Christmas wrapping paper. My mom snapped photos of me and my sister with The Cake.

The King was about to return. There was no doubt The Cake would restore me to my throne. I would suddenly and rightfully be the envy of all the other students. They would gather around in awe as I raised The Cake triumphantly to the sky. Then they would lift me onto their shoulders while chanting "Christmas Cake! Christmas Cake! Long Live The Fat Gentile King!"

The next morning, the Queen Mum drove me to school. I emerged from my Royal Car as the other students respectfully bowed low before The Brightest Green Cake you ever saw. I beamed as I walked to the front doors of Abu Ghraib Seminole Middle School. It was at that moment, The Cake fell to the ground harder than Britney Spears crumpling in pain from a knee injury (too gay for words).

The Queen Mum honked the car horn vigorously (thanks, Mom...just in case anybody wasn't looking yet!) and I dejectedly walked to the car. "Do you want to go home?" she asked.

I was faced with a choice. I could stay at school and hold my head up high. I could prove to those flying monkeys and witches that I was a true king. I could prove that I am beautiful, no matter what they say..Words won't bring my down (uber gay)

Or I could go home and spend the entire day alone while my parents were at work. I could experiment some more with my new discovery, which was that "magic things" happened to my body if I touched myself while watching professional wrestling and/or soap opera hunks. I went home and fell in love with Wally McFadden on All My Children that day.

The next day at school an announcement came over the PA system while I was in science class. "WILL THE BOY WHO DROPPED HIS CAKE YESTERDAY PLEASE COME TO THE OFFICE," shrieked the shrill voice coming from the intercom. "BOY WHO DROPPED HIS CAKE, PLEASE COME TO THE OFFICE!"

To spare myself unnecessary humiliation, I waited about a minute before raising my hand to ask permission to go to the bathroom. And when I got to the office, they handed me a $25 gift certificate to El Chico's. They informed me that this was the same amount the first prize winner of the cake decorating contest would receive.

My mom and I went to El Chico's that night. I was so proud to take my mom out to dinner. My mom is the most beautiful wonderful woman in the world, and I would do anything for her. (Gay, Party of One...)

Thanks for reading. Patrick (gay, gay, gay) will be back Thursday.

Come visit me anytime!