Category: Funny Business

For years, I’ve tried to figure out why I have such a crippling fear of snakes.

Now I think I know, and I blame it on George Pal, Tony Randall, and Arthur O’Connell.

Pal directed the 1964 movie “7 Faces of Dr. Lao,” Randall starred in the title role (and as several other characters, as well) and O’Connell – well, that bastard was the face of “The Serpent,” a stop-motion creation which scared the hell out of me then and scares the hell out of me now.

The snake was huge, it talked in Randall’s voice, and it gave me nightmares for years.

Check it out on YouTube. In the search box type in, “Dr. Lao snake,” and feel the terror.

Before I delve deeper into my phobia and why it has been triggered again, though, it should be noted that Randall showed a lot of range in this very clever motion picture.

And Pal, of course, gave us such cool films as “When Worlds Collide,”  “The War of the Worlds” and “The Time Machine.”

(And when I reference “War of the Worlds” I’m talking about the original starring the guy who played Bat Masterson, and not the remake with Mr. Scientology and that pale kid.)

And I feel bad calling O’ Connell a bastard. He was a two-time Oscar nominee, played in some good Westerns and seemed like a likeable fellow … right up to the point where his face appeared on a snake.

But considering the movie came out in 1964 and I saw it on TV as a kid – most likely in the late 60s – that’s probably why snakes scare me so much.

I bring this up now because last week I was cutting grass (which is something I usually enjoy) and as I was making the turn and heading back toward the house, I saw Mr. No Shoulders slithering across the yard and exiting through a gap in the wooden gate. He was anywhere from 12 inches to 32-feet long and black or brown or magenta. I didn’t get too close because, you know, it was a snake.

I basically just froze for a few seconds before I resumed mowing, and then the rest of the day I was jittery and fearful that some reptile of the suborder Serpentes with the face of a character actor would attack me.

I told Mary about it and she said it was probably just a rat snake. That didn’t make me feel any better because I’m not overly fond of rats and I don’t even want to think about a rodent/serpent hybrid. That would be absolutely horrible.

Silly?

Maybe.

That doesn’t make the fear any less real.

And don’t tell me the snake being more scared of me than I am of it.

That’s bullshit.

I’m quite sure that if looked down and saw a snake touching me, I’d simultaneously pee, crap and puke – which would serve as the undercard to my massive heart attack.

And if a snake saw me touching it … ah, that’s ridiculous. You can’t touch something when you’re running away from it – and why on earth would I want to touch a snake?

I truly hate that I feel this way.

No snake has ever harmed me in any way and I’ve really, really tried to accept the fact that they do more good than harm. They help keep our ecosystems working through their own version of pest control, which means you might occasionally find them spraying your basement with chemicals and/or checking wood for termite damage.

Still, I’m horribly creeped out by them and yesterday when I cut grass my head was on a swivel because I expected to see another snake.

I didn’t, but I will … maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow.

However, it’s bound to happen.

And I swear, if it has the face of Arthur O’Connell, you can bury me right there.

Just bring some clean shorts so I can go out with a little dignity.

 

Every once in a while, Mary and I crave cereal.

We don’t want it for breakfast and we don’t keep it in the cupboard – we just occasionally have the desire to pig out on it while watching the ID Channel.

Last week, she decided she wanted Life while I always choose Cap’n Crunch. She has several different cereals in her rotation but not me; as far as I’m concerned, Cap’n Crunch is the only cereal.

There has never been a better blend of corn flour, sugar, oat flour, brown sugar, palm and/or coconut oil, salt, reduced iron, yellow 5, niacinamide, zinc oxide, yellow 6, thiamin mononitrate, BHT, pyridoxine hydrochloride, riboflavin, and folic acid.

I started eating it as a kid to get a sugar-jolt start to my day, and immediately fell in love with its golden crunchiness. Plus, Captain Horatio Magellan Crunch always seemed quite friendly and accessible.

(Yes, that’s his full name and the ship under his command in the S.S. Guppy. Many people confuse it with the S.S. Minnow, but that was the ship carrying Gilligan, the skipper, the millionaire and his wife, the movie star, the professor and Mary Ann and which is a crown on the shore of an uncharted desert isle. To the best of my knowledge, the S.S. Guppy was always incident-free and is currently docked where the rich Quaker Oats people keep their yachts).

Anyway, I decided to hop in the car head to the local supermarket so we would have something to gnosh on while watching another life-affirming episode of “Evil Lives Here.”

Once I arrived at the store I went straight to the cereal aisle and had no trouble finding a box of Life.

What I had did have trouble finding, however, was Cap’n Crunch.

Let me clarify this.

What I had trouble finding was original Cap’n Crunch.

You know why?

Because apparently the Cap’n has expanded his fleet.

There is Cap’n Crunch’s Peanut Butter Crunch, Cap’n Crunch’s Crunch Berries, Cap’n Crunch’s Oops! All Berries, Cap’n Crunch’s Sprinkled Donut Crunch, and Cap’n Crunch’s Blueberry Pancake Crunch.

What the hell?

I looked and looked and looked and couldn’t find just plain ol’ Cap’n Crunch.

There were what seemed like 500 boxes of Cap’n Crunch’s Peanut Butter Crunch, but that’s not what I wanted. I like peanut butter, but I don’t want it to crunch under any circumstances.

Something with “butter” in its name should never crunch.

Cap’n Crunch’s Crunch Berries looks like some Fruit Loops escaped and joined the Federal Breakfast Food Protection Program in hopes of blending in with regular Cap’n Crunch.

It didn’t work.

Cap’n Crunch’s Oops! All Berries? Nope.

It’s just all berries with no Cap’n Crunch in sight. It’s kinda like when you see a famous band playing at a state fair but the band doesn’t have any of the original members anymore.

Cap’n Crunch’s Sprinkled Donut Crunch, frankly, just seems ridiculous.

If I want a doughnut, I’m going to Krispy Kreme.

And finally, there’s Cap’n Crunch’s Blueberry Pancake Crunch.

Again, pancakes are sacred and should be treated as such.

As for original Cap’n Crunch, why on earth would you mess with perfection?

All it needs is milk (in my case, soy milk). Actually, it doesn’t even need that. You can rip open the box and eat it like a savage and I won’t judge you. I’ve done it before and I might do it again.

As far as you know, I’m doing it right now.

But being the flagship franchise, it should always be front and center. Instead, I had to root around all the other “specialty” Cap’n Crunch cereals before I finally found a box of the good stuff, where the man himself is saluting in one hand and holding out a cereal-filled spoon in the other – a spoon full of sugary joy.

In summation, I have nothing against those of you who buy and consume Cap’n Crunch’s Peanut Butter Crunch, Cap’n Crunch’s Crunch Berries, Cap’n Crunch’s Oops! All Berries, Cap’n Crunch’s Sprinkled Donut Crunch, and Cap’n Crunch’s Blueberry Pancake Crunch.

That is your right.

However, you’re wrong.

There is no substitute for Cap’n Crunch which – to me – is the one and only.

If you’ve happened to peek at this space, you know I’m an animal lover and are probably quite familiar with the newest four-legged addition to our family – Steve Rogers, Captain America.

He’s a rescue and a Chihuahua, so his arrival in my world accomplishes two things.

One, an animal who needed a home gets one that he can live happily in forever.

Two, he has helped fill a void for my wife and I, who lost our 17-year old Chi a year and a half ago.

Now at this point you’ve probably had your heartstrings tugged and are saying things like, “Awww,” and “How sweet.”

And I am a lovable little fellow, and therefore appreciate that reaction.

But in the interest of full disclosure, I need to share something with you:

I’m pretty sure Steve is possessed by demons.

There really is no other explanation for his frequent and horrific outbursts.

Remember the movie “The Omen?”

Remember the movie “The Exorcist?”

Now imagine Damien Thorn and Regan MacNeil getting married and then having a dog-child.

You know what you’d get?

Beelzepup, aka Steve Rogers. Captain America.

As is the wont of his breed, he yaps and he yaps a lot.

We knew this before we got him, and I’m fine with that. Sure, it’s startling when you hear a shrill, blood-curdling bark for no apparent reason – sorta like canine Tourette Syndrome. But hey – I unleash a similar scream when I get a call from a number I don’t recognize.

Then, though, he gets this evil look in his bulbous eyes and decides to attack.

Bane, our big, beautiful Maine Coon-size cat, will be minding his own business when suddenly Steve will leap from the couch, jump directly on top of Bane and take a huge bite of hair while making this unnerving hellhound-like noise.

Bane is so sweet and gentle he lets Steve get away with it, although occasionally he’ll throw a roundhouse when the tiny terror goes after his ears.

Thor, our other cat, was smart enough to rough Steve up early on, so he is rarely on the receiving end of Steve’s evil actions. Steve has learned to try a take a quick bite out of Thor’s butt, and then run away.

However, our 10-year-old dog, Charlie, can’t escape Steve’s wrath.

Any time Chuck so much as moves, Steve charges him and starts biting his legs.

Even when Charlie takes a break in the backyard and lies in the sun. Steve will run at him at full speed and dive into his chest, teeth-first.

Charlie has the sweetest nature of any dog I’ve ever known, but even he gets agitated by Steve.

The other day, I’m pretty sure I heard him call the little one an asshole.

And then there’s me.

Steve will be laying on my lap, sleeping the sleep of angels, and then suddenly jump into action and start gnoshing on me.

He went hard after the bird finger on my right hand just last week, and yesterday while I was working on this very column he chomped down on some love handle spillage on my left side.

It hurt like a mother.

My wife and I are peaceful people, so we don’t strong-arm our critters. And when it comes to Steve we try to correct him by sternly chastising him or, sometimes, sending him a terse text message.

He tends to mind his human mama much better than me, although he has tried her patience as well.

To date, however, he refuses to follow any of my orders. Yet just when I’m about to lose my temper, he’ll start wagging his tail and licking my face and being a precious little creature.

And he’ll stay that way for about five minutes … and then try to bite me.

Hopefully, we won’t have to resort to an exorcism; perhaps as he loses his puppy energy, he’ll give up the dark arts.

Meanwhile, I’ll just deal with his craziness as best I can.

After all, I do love the little devil.