Wednesday, June 1, 2011

WACKY WEDNESDAY...Where Anything Goes

Today's twisted topic:  Those little horror fables we call "nursery rhymes" - Brain teasers or easers?

I'm stretched out on a leather couch, my shoes kicked off so my toes can wiggle, hoping my feet don't stink or my stomach doesn't growl. Or worse…(refer to earlier posts). Across from me, a gentleman sits, pad resting on his crossed knee, and his pen tapping ever so slightly and annoying against the paper.

"So, what seems to be the problem?" he asks, as if scripted.

"Life sucks." Mature…to the point.

"And why is that?"

"If I knew the answer, I wouldn't be lying here, picturing you naked to ease my nervousness, and paying you $100 an hour. For that price, the least you could do is work out. Hell, you can afford a gym pass. And splurge on a tan, too, would ya? My fantasy isn't working with you flabby and pasty white. Would it kill you to get hair plugs and contacts? Honestly, the glare from your oversized wire rims is competing with your enormous forehead."

At this point, the counselor hands me the pad of paper and pen. He eases back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's my parents' fault," he starts. "I must have been dropped on my head."

That might explain the premature baldness on his frontal lobe.

It all boils down to the follies of parents.

I believe my parents were brain damaged from riding in the back window of the family car on long road trips. They "baked." My mother is the hyper type, so she probably only hit medium rare, but my dad's pension for "naps" leads me to believe he may have not been turned enough to heat evenly.

If there wasn't room in the back window, they were placed in a pile of blankets on the floorboards in the back seat and their siblings were threatened with corporal punishment if they touched the baby. I believe my uncle held his stinky bare feet over my dad's nose until he cried. He's had a feet fetish his whole life.

Personally, I think issues start in infancy, when the subconscious is damaged by dark twisted nursery rhymes, stories, and lullabies. Think about it. What's the most famous (and I might add, dark) lullaby a baby is cooed to sleep with?

Rock-a-bye baby, in the tree tops
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby, cradle and all.

Oh hel-lo. I picture a mother suffering from post-partum depression, having given birth to her twenty-eighth child, all under twelve. They're running, screaming, jumping on the furniture and teasing each other relentlessly. The baby can't sleep, probably suffering from colic, and mommy dearest is at her wits end. Of course she's nearing the end of her six-week reprieve and daddy's getting all hot and bothered again. She's rocking the baby to sleep for the hundredth time to avoid amorous dad, and this lovely tune pops in her head.

Bewitched by the melody, the unsuspecting child craves the song night after night, his brain soaking in the lyrics which are embedded in the core of his mind. He grows up thinking mommy fantasized about putting him in a tree, praying for a windstorm, or tornado, blowing him out the branches and crashing him to earth.

Dropping him on his head.

My kids thought "Green Eggs and Ham" would be a fantasy come true, and I'm sure a couple of babysitters re-enacted the book.

And the nursery rhymes? Our infamous ""Jack and Jill?"  Sending two small children to traverse a hill for pails of water? What the hell did they do to deserve that punishment? Talk about child slave labor!

I picture myself using this threat on my cocky teenager:

"Son, if you sluff school one more time to play WarCraft, you will be dragging your sorry ass up that mountain with a bucket to search for water. Got that?" 

Of course Junior has heard the nursery rhyme countless times, and scoffs. His horny teenage brain knows he won't go alone. He'll take "Jill." 

What about "Five Little Monkeys Jumping on a Bed?" Think about it. "One fell off and broke his head?" Apparently, the chimp suffered severe brain trauma as the result of a massive skull fracture. The doctor, who we all told our little ones could heal all "boo-boos" can't do anything to save a poor monkey? How can he fix a broken arm or leg? He just left the semi-ape to die! And what of the other monkeys? It's obvious we have bully no one dares to stop until all his minions are eliminated. Then, it's a suicidal jump to avoid prosecution. (Wait? Is this symbolic of our schools?)

"Three Blind Mice?" Why isn't PETA all over this one? Cruelty to animals rates pretty high here. The wee ones singing this little rhyme have yet to process the words that account for a violent, premeditated murder. Carving knife? What frame of mind was this author in? A broom must have seemed weak and metal traps springing over nibbling rodents didn't seem cruel enough?

Is this where creative mastermind Stephen King goes when he needs to picture a gruesome scene to write? He just closes his eyes and starts singing an old childhood nursery rhyme. (Note: these "horror fables" were defined as "nursery" rhymes).

Next time you cradle a frightened or upset little one in your arms, think about the words you're going to use to soothe him or her. Little minds paint big pictures.

Be careful crossing London Bridge….

Thanks for letting me twist your brain a bit. Now you know why I think with a "limp!"   Joelene


Calisa Rhose said...

You'll be the death of me yet, Joelene! I never thought of nursery rhymes quite like you obviously co! Thanks for the laugh...and the thoughts.

Ruth A Casie said...

I agree with Lisa, you make me laugh but, my dear, you also make me think. You are so right about nursery rhymes and don't forget fairy tales, although some of our more erotic friends in romance writing have given those an entire new slant.

I love the new design! or said...

Jolene, thank you. What a wonderful way to put the bull shit into prospective. I knew I'd been telling tells without a clue, now I know the truth. I secretly want my child to fear me and use cute rhymes to do. How brilliant. Thanks

Anonymous said...

Very cool post. I think I remember reading somewhere that "ring around the rosie" had a pretty gruesome meaning, too.

I think you should make your cocky teenager haul water, clean the house, and wash your car. Tell him it's his price for having such an awesome, creative mom. :D

Anonymous said...

I forgot about "ashes to ashes." Yikes! No wonder we're the Xanax generation.
Do we secretly want to terrorize our youngsters? I like to think of it as laying the ground work for the teenage years. Remind them of all things that go "bump in the night" then hide under their bed when they've snuck out. When they climb back in the window and snuggle into bed thinking you're not awake yet, just bide your time (you've been waiting hours as is) and when they're settled...jiggle their mattress. Scares the hell out of them and they'll think twice before trying their antics again. Trust me. We did this to my daughter. Worked like a charm...that and drilling her screen to the window frame from the outside. Alas, another blog topic for later! Thanks for stopping by. Joelene (for some reason Blogger is calling me “Anonymous.” Do they know something I don’t?)

Patricia said...

Great post about what we "tell" our children. I want to advance a bit in age here and add that as teenagers, one of the highest rated and well-loved video games they play are all shooting each other in different venues like Afghanistan or Iraq or wherever. The teens don't care. They just love killing people for hours with different guns and automatic weapons. And the teens I know were not read nursery rhymes like "Ring Around the Rosey".

Anonymous said...

I know all about that game. It not only possesses teenagers, but adults as well. My husband can't go to bed until he's killed his "quota." Hmm. What does that say about me? Maybe I should show up naked with a bullet belt draped across my chest? It would have to be a real low slung belt...Oh, uncover your eyes!

Anonymous said...

Remember, I'm "Anonymous" and the only one who'd dare say such a thing (or admit to it anyway). Thanks for stopping by. Joelene

Piper said...

You've done it again. I'm sitting here, when I'm supposed to be working, reading your blog and laughing so hard I'm near tears or at the most wetting myself. You are hilarious. Awesome blog I too have pondered this same thing about these so call nursery rhymes. Great work.

Angelique Armae said...

What a great post! This reminds me of when I was a kid and my younger brother used to ask our mom not to read him those scary stories at night. What were those stories - tales from a Bible book for children LOL! I suppose the same could be said about Nursery Rhymes. :)

Sandy said...

Fairy tales and nursery rhymes are rife with blood and mayhem, ogres and trolls, vile witches, evil spells -- gets our kids ready for the real world.

Grandma's scrapbook said...

THANK YOU FOR THIS WONDERFUL POST, I personally am writing fairy tales, and life seems to me, fairy tales written to others, HAVE NICE DAY!