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Humor June 2015

Ernie's World

Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go

By Ernie Witham

The other part of the ‘80s party is, of course, physical. We are going to have a dance off. As I understand it, we are supposed to dance like Michael Jackson and yell things like "It's Hammer Time." Not sure if I remember what that means. I'm more of a "It's Miller Time" kind of guy.

Warning: I'm writing this column as an airhead – or actually an airless-head.

We are having a combo birthday party tonight for my wife and stepson, so I just blew up some 50 or so balloons in less than ten minutes. Everything is a bit out of focus and dark around the edges, and every time I take a step forward I also take a step backwards and two to the side.

“Here, put these damp cloths on your feet willya?" my wife asked.

"Will that help with my dizziness?"

"No, but it will clean the floor."

I had actually volunteered to hang the crepe paper streamers from the rafters, but I tripped trying to get up the first rung of the ladder, so my wife took away my climbing privileges. I guess I should be happy she let me even do the balloons, after the time we rented a helium tank for one of the grandkid's party and she put me in charge of gassing. As it turns out, sucking down vast quantities of helium is not all that good for you.

"Hello? Emergency room? I'm feeling weird."

"Is this Mickey Mouse?"

"No this is Ernie."

"Oh, right, your regular bed is ready, Ernie."

All of our family birthday parties have themes and this one is "The ‘80s." We are supposed to dress like the ‘80s...

"I don't know what to wear," I said to my wife.

"No problem. Pretty much everything you own is from the ‘80s."
"Even this disco jacket?"

"Ah no, that's from the ‘70s."

"How about these bell bottoms?"

"Ah no, those are from the ‘60s."

"My Marlon Brando black leather flight jacket and white t-shirt?"

"Ah no, those are from the ‘50s... How the heck old are you anyway?"

I finally settled on my Don Johnson sports coat with the rolled up sleeves, dark sunglasses, and a pair of slip-on shoes with stretchy side panels that we used to call "winos."

"These were the bomb when I bought them in 1982."

"I'll bet," my wife said.

The other part of the ‘80s party is, of course, physical. We are going to have a dance off. As I understand it, we are supposed to dance like Michael Jackson and yell things like "It's Hammer Time." Not sure if I remember what that means. I'm more of a "It's Miller Time" kind of guy.

"I'm surprised with everything else you have collected over the years you don't have MC Hammer pants," my wife said.

"I think I have some carpenter pants. And they have a loop for holding a hammer. Will those do?"

There will be plenty of food and drink at the party. Those two things I excel at to the max. If we ever have a family food and drink off and it doesn't include any weird stuff like vegetables I have a wicked good chance at winning.

"Stop eating all the taco chips. Those are for the party."

"Just warming up. You know, like doing stretches before a run, or hitting golf balls before the round."

"Why don't you practice dancing instead?"

"Nah. I like my dances moves to be more spontaneous. My natural fluidity on the dance floor comes from closing my eyes and feeling the music. I remember at high school dances, everyone else would leave the floor when I had my stuff going. Guess they just wanted to admire perfection."

"Either that or they didn't have insurance."

Finally, we finished all the preparations, er, that is, my wife finished all the preparations while I went into my pre-party meditation to center my awesomeness.

"You were snoring."

"All part of prep."

The rest of the family arrived. There were two other Don Johnsons, a Michael Jackson, Slash from hard rock group Guns and Roses, couple of Cyndi Laupers, a Donna Summer and a Pat Benatar. There was much photo taking and autograph seeking followed by dinner, cake, presents, and then, the big moment. The lights dimmed and George Michael of Wham! started singing. I closed my eyes and let loose. My wife tapped me on the shoulder.

"Here." She handed me a bag of balloons. "You were more tubular when you were nearly unconscious.”   

Wow! Rad! Excuse me, while I prepare my bodacious self for round two.

 

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