I’ve occasionally talked about wanting to write a story about a High School librarian who wants to be a superhero. Well, here’s the germ from which that particular sickness came….
My Own Private Ida-Know
Originally posted: July 16, 2003
My husband and I seem to have our own long-running comedy film from which we constantly quote. This confuses our friends no end because, while they are sure that the lines are familiar, they can’t place them.
Of course, we are not above plagiarizing from real movies, like Blazing Saddles with its “These are simple farmers, Bart. The salt of the Earth. The common clay of the New West. You know…, morons.” A Fish Called Wanda supplied “I’ve worn dresses with higher IQs!” Finding Nemo has recently been added to the repertory. Cries of “Mount Wannahockaloogie!” cause pandemonium when accompanied by a human face doing its best to imitate a puffer fish at full blow.
We wilfully steal from our acquaintances, too. Such as the adventure of the friend of a friend who slunk into a convenience store in Southern California late one night wearing only swim goggles and a very tight Speedo swim brief. With his hair slicked back and his face thrust forward, he approached the counter and, flickering his tongue nervously and looking about, he asked for “Uhh… that copy of Hustler, a Big Gulp Coke, the largest jar of Vaseline you’ve got… and a fork.” Another of our friends supplied “Well she said she was eight!” in complete innocence, but we’ve since ruined his reputation with it. And the memory of one of our dock neighbors pursuing her squeamish child away from a bloated fish face and calling out from between ridiculously puckered lips “It only wants to kiss you, Ollie!” will forever bring us to tears of laughter.
Lately, we have been derailed into a new private epic: “Darth Noodle: Dark Nerd of the Sith”. I mean, really; there must be Jedi nerds and what would make more sense but that they would grow up to become bitter, angry Sith lords, wrecking their revenge for years of slights with bared light saber and psychic kung-fu? Imagine, if you will, the pimply-faced young Jedi in black cloak and robes, striding about and asking–with the inevitable lateral lisp stolen from the hapless schmoe, Milton, in Office Space–“My light shabre? Umm…? I believe you have my light shabre? I shushpect that you make fun of me…. You shall rue the day that you mocked Darth Noodle!”
“‘Darth Noodle’? Isn’t that a bit of a goofy name for a Sith lord?”
“It hash a proud and honorable hishtory! …Beshidesh, my first choishe was taken.”
“Oh? What was that?
“Darth Tinky-Winky. I could have gotten it, but I’d have had to fight the other guy and, well, that purple shuit intimidated me. And, he had that thing on hish head….”
“No, you don’t! You only pretend to undershtand me! You’re just mocking me like all the resht–!”
“If you can’t behave, I’ll have to ask you to leave. And I’m definately not giving back the flashlight.”
“Flashlight?! How dare you?! It’sh my lightshabre! The shymbol and emblem of my Shith-nessh! Now you dare to take it from me and drive me from my haven?! You tempt the wrath of Darth Noodle! Oh, how the times have changed! Once you were my mentor, now you are my tormentor!”
“No, Kyle, still just the Librarian….”