I never cease to amaze myself. I discovered the other day yet another superpower. I thought that the ability to compost was a gift enough. The other day I was sitting around in my office just doing some work. Flipping things around, pushing buttons, learning what the cat says etc. I believe that "the apple is red". It was a day in the office like any other day when I decided to poop myself. No big deal, happens all the time. This time it was different. Something was new.
It stunk.
I have the ability to expel noxious gas from my butt. Who new? I am not sure how best to use this power but I am sure that I can ask my dad to explain it. He has a similar power, I must have inherited this one from him.
I look forward to learning about my new powers and how to utilize them to fight evil.
Until the next time.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Theme Song
So this is a short post. I just wanted to share with everyone that one of the Agriculturalist's former students sent him a link to my theme song. My favorite line is "They call me Dr. Worm/I'm interested in things/I'm not a real doctor/But I am a real worm.
They Might Be Giant's is my favorite band and I recommend them to everyone. A real superhero needs a theme song and now I have one!
Thursday, October 7, 2010
The Angler
It is with a heavy heart that I write this latest update. After being attacked by the Early Bird with the 'teething ray' that has left me covered in spit and cranky I thought it couldn't get any worse. Apparently the forces of evil are in fact...well...evil. I am to assume that the nexus of evildoers must have some sort of facebook page in which they conspire against me. Dislike button.
Last weekend the Agriculturalist, La Vaca, and I went to Medfield to do some visiting. We saw Nanna D and then she and I walked over to Uncle Chico's house. Mom and Dad met us over there but Uncle Chico wasn't home. We stopped by Chad's instead and we did some visiting but the whole time I couldn't concentrate because I had a bad feeling.
Where was Chico? I found out that he was heading up to Maine and then to Canada to go fishing. That sounds fun. I don't know what it is but it sounds fun. It appears that he was going to sell my great grandmother's house and then continue up Down East.
So far so good. Then I asked some questions. What is fishing? What is Canada? I am not sure I liked the answer. To catch a fish, it seems, is not like catching a baseball or a cold. I have seen people catch baseballs and that seems fun. I have caught a cold and that wasn't fun. To catch a fish you put a metal hook in the water and the fish bites it. That sounds dumb. Why would a fish bite a hook? The answer was that you put something on the hook that the fish likes to eat so that it fools the fish. Like what I asked? La leche de madre? No, I was told. You put things like...wait for it...WORMS on hooks.
WORMS! That is barbaric. I am a worm! I don't want a fish to bite me and I don't want to be impaled on a hook. This is horrible. Then it occurred to me. I have been warned about The Angler before and I have read about his shady dealings. Could Uncle Chico be the Angler?
Is it possible that he absconded with my great-grandmother's money and fled to another country (I found out that Canada is another country that is like the U.S. only polite)? Could there be an enemy amongst us?
Can I trust ever again? Oh, readers, what a week. I think I need a three day weekend to recover from this potential disaster.
Wish me well.
Last weekend the Agriculturalist, La Vaca, and I went to Medfield to do some visiting. We saw Nanna D and then she and I walked over to Uncle Chico's house. Mom and Dad met us over there but Uncle Chico wasn't home. We stopped by Chad's instead and we did some visiting but the whole time I couldn't concentrate because I had a bad feeling.
Where was Chico? I found out that he was heading up to Maine and then to Canada to go fishing. That sounds fun. I don't know what it is but it sounds fun. It appears that he was going to sell my great grandmother's house and then continue up Down East.
So far so good. Then I asked some questions. What is fishing? What is Canada? I am not sure I liked the answer. To catch a fish, it seems, is not like catching a baseball or a cold. I have seen people catch baseballs and that seems fun. I have caught a cold and that wasn't fun. To catch a fish you put a metal hook in the water and the fish bites it. That sounds dumb. Why would a fish bite a hook? The answer was that you put something on the hook that the fish likes to eat so that it fools the fish. Like what I asked? La leche de madre? No, I was told. You put things like...wait for it...WORMS on hooks.
WORMS! That is barbaric. I am a worm! I don't want a fish to bite me and I don't want to be impaled on a hook. This is horrible. Then it occurred to me. I have been warned about The Angler before and I have read about his shady dealings. Could Uncle Chico be the Angler?
Is it possible that he absconded with my great-grandmother's money and fled to another country (I found out that Canada is another country that is like the U.S. only polite)? Could there be an enemy amongst us?
Can I trust ever again? Oh, readers, what a week. I think I need a three day weekend to recover from this potential disaster.
Wish me well.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Early Bird Strikes Again
Readers, I've been birded! That wily octogenarian, Early Bird, has done something to me. I'm cranky, drooly, feverish, and worst of all sleepless! How can I be expected to combat injustice with no sleep? Crime-fighters need to be sharp and well rested. I must find a way to thwart Early Bird's plan. But how?
Let me back up and explain how it all started. About a week about, I awoke from a sound sleep, around 2 a.m., drenched in my own spit, and with an uncontrollable desire to compost things. This desire to chew was so great that I started gnawing on my own hand! I was so frightened by my inability to control this impulse that I began to cry. Yes, cry! The mighty Worm was reduced to tears. La Vaca, awoken by my distress, immediately whisked me away from my burrow. Thinking, understandably, that I was hungry she tried to give me my favorite food, la leche de la madre. But while I can never really say no to this heavenly ambrosia, my heart was just not into it. To make La Vaca happy, I nibbled a bit here and a bit there but the need to chew trumped even my need to eat. In my delirium, I even tried to compost La Vaca! (BTW don't ever try to compost La Vaca. . . she gets really upset). Finally, not knowing how to help me, La Vaca summoned The Agriculturalist.
The Agriculturalist and I spent the good chunk of the evening trying to figure out what was wrong with me. When suddenly, just as dawn was approaching, my need to chew subsided and I was able to drift off into a fitful slumber. Yet rest, that elusive minx, played coy. For shortly after I fell asleep, I woke up drenched not in my own spit but rather in sweat. La Vaca and the Agriculturalist huddled over me sizing up my affliction. The Agriculturalist wisely decided to check my temperature, 100.4! Readers, I'll admit that once I heard the news about my temperature, I may have lost my cool. Okay, I definitely lost my cool. Some might even have called me hysterical. It's just that I'd never been sick before and confronting my own mortality was just too much for this small worm to take.
It was during this existenial crisis that La Vaca called in the professionals Dr. Garofalo, aka The Pediatrician. The Pediatrician called me into the dark carverns of her office the next day where she stripped me naked, weighed me, and prodded me in various orifices. I don't know how any of this helps a fever; but she is The Pediatrician and you don't question The Pediatrician. After being handled like an animal sold at market, I braced myself for the good doctor's diagnosis. . . I was "pre-teething". I was getting teeth. Teeth, you say? Yes, TEETH! Bones that are going to push their way through my flesh. The horror! I shudder even now at the thought. Who has ever heard of a worm with teeth? Worms don't have teeth; it is a clear attempt to de-worm me and transform me into something else, something more . . . human, less . . . super.
This attempt to mutate me from my worm-like self can only be the work of a bitter rival, one so filled with vitrol that they seek vengenacne by changing my very being. It has to be the work of The Early Bird. Like Spiderman and the Fantastic Four before me, I can only assume that this devious plot has been done through invisible radiation shot at me during my patrols with The Agriculturalist. This is the only thing that I can think of that would cause such a mutation to appear so suddenly.
Strangly both the Agriculturalist and La Vaca seem excited by this and not enraged, as I hoped they would be. Perhaps this "teething" has advantages that I have yet to see. I will need to meditate on it further. Until then readers. . . pray for me.
Let me back up and explain how it all started. About a week about, I awoke from a sound sleep, around 2 a.m., drenched in my own spit, and with an uncontrollable desire to compost things. This desire to chew was so great that I started gnawing on my own hand! I was so frightened by my inability to control this impulse that I began to cry. Yes, cry! The mighty Worm was reduced to tears. La Vaca, awoken by my distress, immediately whisked me away from my burrow. Thinking, understandably, that I was hungry she tried to give me my favorite food, la leche de la madre. But while I can never really say no to this heavenly ambrosia, my heart was just not into it. To make La Vaca happy, I nibbled a bit here and a bit there but the need to chew trumped even my need to eat. In my delirium, I even tried to compost La Vaca! (BTW don't ever try to compost La Vaca. . . she gets really upset). Finally, not knowing how to help me, La Vaca summoned The Agriculturalist.
The Agriculturalist and I spent the good chunk of the evening trying to figure out what was wrong with me. When suddenly, just as dawn was approaching, my need to chew subsided and I was able to drift off into a fitful slumber. Yet rest, that elusive minx, played coy. For shortly after I fell asleep, I woke up drenched not in my own spit but rather in sweat. La Vaca and the Agriculturalist huddled over me sizing up my affliction. The Agriculturalist wisely decided to check my temperature, 100.4! Readers, I'll admit that once I heard the news about my temperature, I may have lost my cool. Okay, I definitely lost my cool. Some might even have called me hysterical. It's just that I'd never been sick before and confronting my own mortality was just too much for this small worm to take.
It was during this existenial crisis that La Vaca called in the professionals Dr. Garofalo, aka The Pediatrician. The Pediatrician called me into the dark carverns of her office the next day where she stripped me naked, weighed me, and prodded me in various orifices. I don't know how any of this helps a fever; but she is The Pediatrician and you don't question The Pediatrician. After being handled like an animal sold at market, I braced myself for the good doctor's diagnosis. . . I was "pre-teething". I was getting teeth. Teeth, you say? Yes, TEETH! Bones that are going to push their way through my flesh. The horror! I shudder even now at the thought. Who has ever heard of a worm with teeth? Worms don't have teeth; it is a clear attempt to de-worm me and transform me into something else, something more . . . human, less . . . super.
This attempt to mutate me from my worm-like self can only be the work of a bitter rival, one so filled with vitrol that they seek vengenacne by changing my very being. It has to be the work of The Early Bird. Like Spiderman and the Fantastic Four before me, I can only assume that this devious plot has been done through invisible radiation shot at me during my patrols with The Agriculturalist. This is the only thing that I can think of that would cause such a mutation to appear so suddenly.
Strangly both the Agriculturalist and La Vaca seem excited by this and not enraged, as I hoped they would be. Perhaps this "teething" has advantages that I have yet to see. I will need to meditate on it further. Until then readers. . . pray for me.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Worm in Love
Readers, I'm in love. Real, tingly, earth shaking love! Her name is Dora and the very thought of her makes me smile. Oh how I wish you could see her! She's long and elegant with breathtaking angular features. Her porcelain skin shines in the soft morning light.
We met while my mother and I were having lunch at our favorite spot, The Rocking Chair. I had just ordered the special, la leche de la madre, when I saw her! Although we never made eye contact, I knew that very moment that this was the woman for me. For weeks Dora resisted my advances. Nothing I did or said seemed to make any impression upon her. I thought all was for not. That I'd be doomed to spend my days pining for one who would never love me in return. I was sleepless, cranky, desperate for a kind word or gentle smile but nothing.
Then one day something changed. I had returned to The Rocking Chair, my mother in tow, hoping to try once again to catch my lady's eye when a surprising thing happened. Dora winked at me! After weeks of rejection finally a sign of hope! I couldn't wait to get back to the restaurant to see her again. My mother began to suspect something was up because all throughout our meal I had a hard time looking at anything but my lovely. Finally, seething with jealousy, my mother turned around to see what had captured my eye. And do you know what she had the audacity to say? Do you know?! She looked straight at my love and said "Malcolm what are you looking at? That's just a door." A door? A door?!! How could my mother slander Dora like that? How could she not appreciate her linear design, her sparkly faux crystal door knob. . . oh I could go one for ages. How could she not see how Dora had enchanted me?
It took me a while to forgive her but eventually I got hungry again and decided a truce between mom and me was in our mutual best interest. Dora and I continue to take things slowly but I know, I just know, we are going to be together forever! For readers although she projects a tough, some would say wooden, exterior, inside there's a fragile flower just waiting for a worm to come and fertilize her heart.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Worm in Training
Greetings Citizens and Fellow Crime Fighters,
These past few weeks have been super busy. Evil does not sleep but recently I've begun sleeping more and more. This has posed quite the problem. For how can I both fight the sleepless evil in our midst and remain rested enough to keep my wits about me? Already in my absence, Early Bird and the Angler have attempted to seed the 'Boro with their malice. Thus, I've started a new training regiment in hopes of strengthening my composting skills so much that the very thought of my retaliation will send these punks screaming.
My day begins at 5 a.m. with a quick breakfast. The good thing about getting up so early is the quiet. So after eating, I try to take advantage of this serene time of day by visualizing my opponents and plotting ways to foil them. If anyone saw me in the midst of this mediation they would assume I had gone back to sleep but really I am hyper-aware. Around 6:15 a.m., La Vaca rouses me from my meditative state and helps me don my uniform. Then she and I head to the dojo (which is disguised as a day care so as to thwart enemy infiltration) run by the indomitable Kyoshi (master) Patti. There I have two sensei--Susan and Mary. I spend most of the morning working with them on various skills sets--hand-eye coordination, bowel control and verbalization. I have mastered kiai jutsu (see here: http://fightingarts.com/reading/article.php?id=158) and the ancient but little known art of spit bubbles. Around 11 a.m. La Vaca and The Agriculturalist come check on my progress and provide much needed sustenance. After which, I reengerize by meditating in the dark. . . in my crib. . . for several hours. It takes a lot of concentration. Then at 2:30 p.m. La Vaca and The Agriculturalist come to take me back to the homestead where we prepare for our evening of hunting down and composting injustice on the streets of Attleboro.
In the morning, we begin again. . .
These past few weeks have been super busy. Evil does not sleep but recently I've begun sleeping more and more. This has posed quite the problem. For how can I both fight the sleepless evil in our midst and remain rested enough to keep my wits about me? Already in my absence, Early Bird and the Angler have attempted to seed the 'Boro with their malice. Thus, I've started a new training regiment in hopes of strengthening my composting skills so much that the very thought of my retaliation will send these punks screaming.
My day begins at 5 a.m. with a quick breakfast. The good thing about getting up so early is the quiet. So after eating, I try to take advantage of this serene time of day by visualizing my opponents and plotting ways to foil them. If anyone saw me in the midst of this mediation they would assume I had gone back to sleep but really I am hyper-aware. Around 6:15 a.m., La Vaca rouses me from my meditative state and helps me don my uniform. Then she and I head to the dojo (which is disguised as a day care so as to thwart enemy infiltration) run by the indomitable Kyoshi (master) Patti. There I have two sensei--Susan and Mary. I spend most of the morning working with them on various skills sets--hand-eye coordination, bowel control and verbalization. I have mastered kiai jutsu (see here: http://fightingarts.com/reading/article.php?id=158) and the ancient but little known art of spit bubbles. Around 11 a.m. La Vaca and The Agriculturalist come check on my progress and provide much needed sustenance. After which, I reengerize by meditating in the dark. . . in my crib. . . for several hours. It takes a lot of concentration. Then at 2:30 p.m. La Vaca and The Agriculturalist come to take me back to the homestead where we prepare for our evening of hunting down and composting injustice on the streets of Attleboro.
In the morning, we begin again. . .
Sunday, September 5, 2010
school's in
Welcome all. Mom and dad started school this week. So did I. It has only been two days but so far I like my teachers a lot and so far it is pretty nice. There is lots to look at. They have already figured out that I like floating bears. I have spent the last few days looking at stuff (there is a lot to look at) and sleeping. The best part of my day is when mom and dad come and pick me up. I have also spent a lot of time with my various grandmothers. Nanny D and I spent all day together on Wednesday before school started. We went for a walk and we listened to the vacuum. It was a nice relaxing way to spend the day before school started. Then on Thursday Grandma Jean surprised me and came up. I love surprises. We spent a few hours with her.
Oh, by the way I am on my way to become a millionaire. Mom and Dad started up my bank account. I have a five year CD and a savings account. I assume that with interest I should have a few million in the bank by the time I am 18.
It has been a busy few weeks but I am sure that more will come.
Thanks,
Worm
Oh, by the way I am on my way to become a millionaire. Mom and Dad started up my bank account. I have a five year CD and a savings account. I assume that with interest I should have a few million in the bank by the time I am 18.
It has been a busy few weeks but I am sure that more will come.
Thanks,
Worm
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