Love, Kristen: Run for Your Lives!

Photo of wolf, blowing down the staw house of one of the Three Little Pig.

“Three Little Pigs” – 1904 Straw House by L. Leslie Brooke – Library of Congress

Happy New Year! I know it’s almost a month late in announcing, but with grading exams and tying up loose ends, I’ve been extremely busy and apologize for not having stopped in to guest-post.

I love the holidays, especially now that I’m a fifth-grade teacher at Beckley Elementary. Teaching is a tough job but it has its rewards: an entire summer off and plenty of days too throughout the year.

The kids never cease to amaze me. We’ve just started preparing for our winter play about the story of “The Three Little Pigs,” to be presented to the entire school. Yesterday, when we were going through the part of the story where the first pig was trying to acquire building materials for his home, I recited, “And so the pig went up to the man who was carting a wheelbarrow full of straw and said, ‘Pardon me, Sir, but might I have some of that straw to build my house?’ What do you think that man said?”

Frankie Hammerschultz cried out, “I know; I know! Holy shit, a talking pig.”

Thank God the bell rang. I choked back my tears and laughter before having to reprimand Frankie for using such crass language, threatening suspension if he ever spoke that way again. I hate being the heavy, but it’s comes with the job.

I’m thinking of trying to make some extra bucks by starting a Web site and selling bumper stickers that cater to the ladies. Here are some I’m thinking of offering for sale:

    I’m out of estrogen – I have a gun.
    Guys have feelings too, but like, who cares?
    I don’t believe in miracles. I rely on them.
    Next mood swing: in six minutes.
    And your point is?
    I used to be schizophrenic, but we’re OK now.
    I’m busy. You’re ugly. Have a nice day.
    Warning: I have an attitude and I know how to use it.
    Of course I don’t look busy. I did it right the first time.
    Why do people with closed minds always open their mouths wide?
    I’m multi-talented: I can talk and annoy you at the same time.
    Do NOT start with me. You will NOT win.
    You have the right to remain silent, so please shut up.
    All stressed out and no one to choke.
    I’m one of those bad things that happen to good people.
    How can I miss you if you won’t go away?
    Sorry if I looked interested. I’m not.
    Objects Under This Shirt Are Larger Than They Appear.

Last night I went to one of the local pubs. Wednesday nights are ladies’ nights and they have male strippers for entertainment. I like to heckle the dancers who are usually as bright as a two-watt light bulb in a sandstorm. The first guy dancing took his shirt off, and the woman beside me said to him, “What a great chest you have!”

The stripper replied, “That’s 1000 lbs. of dynamite.” He then took off his pants, and the bimbo commented about what massive calves he had, to which he repeated, “That’s 1000 lbs. of dynamite.”

Flustered, hot and bothered, the dame reached up and pulled down his bikini underwear while slipping a dollar bill inside. I roared, laughing uncontrollably, finally able to blurt out, “Ladies, run for your lives.”

The dancer pulled his Speedo back up and yelled, “What the hell are you shouting, ‘Run for your lives,’ for?”

“I’m afraid to be around all that dynamite after seeing what a short fuse you have.” The owner walked up, asked me quietly to leave and to never come back. That’s the first time I was ever 86’d.

Anyway, have a nice upcoming Superbowl Weekend. Here’s hoping that the groundhog doesn’t see his shadow next week. Until next time,


About Mike Slickster

As an early retiree with an honorary doctorate degree from the proverbial "School of Hard Knocks," this upcoming author with a lot of free time on his hands utilizes his expansive repertoire for humorous yet tragic, wildly creative writing that contains years of imaginative fantasy, pure nonsense, classic slapstick, extreme happiness and searing heartbreak; gathered by a wealth of personal experiences throughout his thrilling—sometimes mundane or unusually horrid—free-spirited, rock-'n'-roller-coaster ride around our beloved Planet Earth. Mike Slickster's illustrious quest continues, living now in Act Three of his present incarnation, quite a bit on the cutting edge of profundity and philosophical merriment as seen through his colorful characters, most notably evident in the amusing Thirty Days Across the Big Pond series, all of which can be found at
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