If for some reason we failed to invite you properly, consider yourself invited to come join us for chilli-inspired hijinks right in the heart of beautiful KCK:

Dec 1, 2007 (This Saturday)
6 PM
Preutopia (Leave comment or email for directions)

TexMexMas 2007 promises to include:
Chilli cook-off (With fabulous prizes in several categories)
Nintendo Wii with 4-player setup (WOO!)
Tequila shots all around (Don’t give me that “I don’t do tequila bit”)

See you here.

Thanksgiving Day, Preutopia

The scene is one of pleasant chaos. Younger children run rampant, playing on the lower landing of our stairway, playing with puzzles (and throwing pieces everywhere), grabbing pant legs, and occassionally screaming for reasons known only to them. The older kids (and some adults) stick close by the television connected to the Wii. The kitchen is abuzz in a flurry of cooking madness. The adults not cooking mingle about between getting drinks from the back porch, visiting and snacking in the dining room, popping into the kitchen for more snacking, relaxing in the living room, or watching football in the basement. Truly a pleasant and welcome holiday scene. Let’s move to the breakfast nook.

(overheard): Roman needs a diaper change. Roman’s pooped.

jdoublep: I got it.

jdoublep finds the poopy perp and hauls him upstairs to the changing table. Inspection of the young boy’s netherlands, however, yield no traces of supposed dookies. He bundles Roman back up and plops him on the floor to walk him back downstairs. Leaving Roman’s room, the pair comes upon another young boy walking out of the restroom, waving in the air brown-obviously-dookie-covered-fingertips.

Young nephew: Jashun, diipers!

jdoublep: Oh, boy! We’ll get you some. Just stay right here.

jdoublep takes a peek inside the restroom. Doo-doo brown covers the twalet. Young nephew comes back into the restroom. jdoublep grabs a quick handful of twalet papier and hands it to the doo-doo bandit.

jdoublep: Wipe your fingers up real quick, bud. We’ll get you a new diaper.

Young nephew: Diiiipers! Diiiipers!

jdoublep: Hold tight!

jdoublep bounds downstairs, Roman in arms. He drops Roman off with some cousins and runs to find young nephew’s mom. He finds her in the kitchen.

jdoublep: Young nephew shit all over the upstairs bathroom.

YNM: You’re kidding?!

jdoublep: Nope, he’s up there now, crying for a diaper.

She runs upstairs. jdoublep follows.

YNM: Do you have some wet wipes?

jdoublep: Of course.

He bounces over to Roman’s room for a bag of wet wipes and delivers them accordingly. YNM begins to furiously wipe down the child and the furnishings.

YNM: Can you go find young nephew’s dad and have him bring in some diapers?

jdoublep: Sho’ ’nuff.

And so he does, and assumes the situation is handled.

15 minutes later, jdoublep sits at a couch, watching his niece and nephew box each other Wii-style. YNM approaches.

YNM: I’m so sorry.

jdoublep: Not a problem at all. At least he knew to go to the bathroom.

YNM: Well it gets worse.

jdoublep (intrigued): Oh yeah?

YNM: So I was up there cleaning him…and couldn’t find where his poop was…and he wouldn’t tell me whether he flushed it or not. So I put his pants back and came downstairs. 5 minutes later, I walk back into the foyer and all the kids are looking at something. I asked, “Is that poop?”

jdoublep: Oh, lord. What were they doing with it?

YNM: That’s what I asked. They said they’d just been staring at it. Anyway, I cleaned it up and cleaned the bathroom, too.

jdoublep: Thanks. It’s no biggie.

And so the two part ways, and jdoublep assumes the situation is resolved.

Come Saturday afternoon and the famous Preutopian eyesore, Mt. Dirty Laundry, has become so terribly overgrown that the leaders decide it’s nigh time to take action. So they initiate a cleanup project. Phase One of the project gets underway. jdoublep stays with Mt. Dirty Laundry while playing Bioshock on the computer. As Phase One wraps up, he ventures back to Mt. Dirty Laundry to kick off Phase Two. His plans are severely interrputed by a new formation at the foot of Mt. Dirty Laundry: The Bog of Backed-up Basement Drain!

jdoublep: Sunnuvabeyatch.

jdoublep runs to grab his mini-auger and plunger in an effort to drain the bog. His efforts are unsuccessful, at best. Water-Usage Martial Law is declared throughout Preutopia! Cries of “No flush! No wash! No hope!” ring out from the populace. But the law stands firm. Sa Rah already has a sinking feeling as to the Bog’s origin.

sa rah: YNM flushed all those wet wipes.

jdoublep: No way. Who does that?

sa rah: Her husband just had to call out a plumber because she tried to flush a diaper.

jdoublep: No way! Who does that?

The next day, with the Bog of Backed-up Basement Drain showing only small signs of dissapation, jdoublep and sa rah decide to call upon the services of Sir Roto-Rooter.

And Sir Roto-Rooter arrives, hauls his magic auger down to the basement, works at a cleanout for 10-15 minutes and brings the cable back out for a closer look.

Sir Roto-Rooter: Roots.

jdoublep: Damn, I thought that was a clump of hair.

Sir Roto-Rooter: Can you grab me a trash bag?

jdoublep: You betcha.

Upstairs, then back down, plastic satchel in tow.

Sir Roto-Rooter: Thanks. Actually, looks like the roots were only a small part of the problem. You guys flush wet wipes?

jdoublep: Uh, no…but I think I have a sister-in-law who might.

Sir Roto-Rooter: Those things get caught in piping and act like coffee filters. Water can get through, but only water, and it takes forever. I’m going to go back in and clean up a bit more.

So he does and jdoublep wanders upstairs to share the good news with his wife, who is watching ice skating on the telly.

jdoublep: Guess what he found?

sa rah (knowingly waiting): …

jdoublep: Wet wipes.

sa rah: goddammit.

jdoublep heads back down to the Bog to see how things are progressing.

Sir Roto-Rooter: Not to be critical, but did she flush the whole bag?

jdoublep: goddammit.

Sir Roto-Rooter performs his job with skill and affection and packs up his magic tools in preparation of helping another citizen in need.

Sir Roto-Rooter: That’ll be $192.

jdoublep: goddammit.

And so the Bog recedes, leaving behind a crusty mess in its wake. Cleanup efforts begin anew on Mt. Dirty Laundry and Preutopia once agains return to life as usual.

At this point, you may be asking yourself why this is a story of giving thanks. It’s not, really. I just lied so you’d read the whole thing looking for a sweet, happy ending to this shitty story about how we got 200 bones mo’ broker over the holiday. Have a nice day.

Preutopia has been sacked by the likes of dastardly Influenzigoths who have since rechristened our once precious land: Flutopia!
On behalf of all that is holy, healthy, and non-spewing/aching/fevering/chilling/can’t-stay-awaking…make haste to send reserve fighters to our shores.
The tides seemed to have turned in our favor as of the middle of Wednesday last, as our mavenly matriarch and pint-sized Prince of Preutopia both won hardy, well-fought bouts against the first wave of oncoming Influenzigoths…but come this Sunday past, our veritable veteran, paterfamilias himself, succumbed to a poison-laden bearclaw delivered by an Influenzigoth assassin!
Woo and Misery!
Our matriarch had by then expired all defenses and she too soon succumbed to this second wave of befouled, bedrooled, bedamned, beboymakingwiththefreakfreaked, Influenzigoth treachery.
Our soul remaining hope stands with the Prince, who is now holed up with his forces in the Nurserium Mountains. The Prince of Preutopia fights day and night against fodder from the Influenzigoth diarrheapults and has not yet been broken by this nefarious attack. Nay, but the Prince is young and inexperienced…we know not what shall happen should such youthful luster be oversodden by Influenzigoth troops. Shall Preutopia fall completely and forevermore?
Future distrans doubtful…