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Welcome Back!

19 Dec

Hello again,

Welcome to Week #2 of The Humble Rumble. If you missed Week #1–or loved it so much that you’re just dying to revisit it–you can find it in the Archives section (on the right). There you’ll find the answers to big questions like: What is The Humble Rumble? Why are we doing it? And who is Keyser Söze?

But enough about that. Let’s see what our contestants had to say in response to this week’s prompt.


Week #2: Holidays


The Cats Were Walking Like Seals

19 Dec

The cats were walking like seals.

Rear legs limp, dragging behind the staggered pull of the front ones.

Seal cats.

I came home for Thanksgiving to find my kitchen floor crawling with seal cats–two, to be exact. The orange one, Oscar, was also seizing, and Misty’s pupils seemed abnormally dilated.

“Mom, what the hell is wrong with our cats?”

“Oh, honey. I know, it’s horrible. They have fleas.”

“Mom, that’s not fleas. They have something much, much worse than fleas.” (If I were to make a diagnosis, I’d say they had the same ailment that inflicted the girl from The Grudge.)

“Right. Yes. Well… they had fleas. So I went out and bought some flea medication…”

There was an elusive look of guilt in her eye–like the time she discovered, after a month of serving her three children a noxious combination of honey and vinegar under the pretense of “increased immunity,” that she had severely misunderstood the suggested ratio of those ingredients, that the recipe calls for apple cider vinegar (not the other kind), and that water is a crucial component in the concoction.

“Ok. You bought flea medication. And?”

“I didn’t realize it in the grocery store,” she said, “but after Oscar started twitching and fell off the counter, I looked again at the box. And, uh… well… I accidentally bought the medication for large canines.”


Ok. Before you call PETA, let me just say that Oscar and Misty have made a full recovery. All limbs are fully functional; pupils have returned to normal diameter. It took a few days and several baths (which were not well received) to counteract the poisonous effects of the topical ointment, but the cats are now, for better or worse, alive and well.

Still, I wouldn’t have been completely devastated if things had turned out differently.

I’ve never been an avid fan of cats, let alone my own. And, to be honest, I tend to judge negatively anyone who is a strong proponent of the species as a domestic pet. If I wanted to clean up after another animal’s piss and shit and deal with bratty caterwauls for food at 5 am, I’d adopt a baby. At least an infant doesn’t claw the leather couches or freak you out with glow-in-the-dark eyeballs or brush up against your leg, threatening to trip you as it covers your nice black slacks with hair, which also found its way into your otherwise delicious banana French toast.

But I’m not going to turn this is not an argument of Babies vs. Cats, or even Cats vs. Dogs (although we all know who would win those contests, both in evaluation and in hand-to-hand combat). No, the point of this entry, if it has one at all, is simply to say… “There’s no place like home.”

I know, it’s a cliché sentiment, especially this time of year. But I stand by it.

Sure, my home has that poetic stuff: the creaky stairs and homemade cookies, the childhood keepsakes and sun-faded photographs, the familiar smells and familiar rooms and the pervasive sense that in every floorboard and tile there’s a part of my former self–conditions which collectively conspire to stir up near-forgotten memories, to retrieve them from my mind’s attic, brush off the dust, and let me play with them again.

Sure, my home can work that nostalgia magic. But, on top of all that, it also has a duo of crippled seizing seal cats. It has its own set of idiosyncrasies and peculiarities and crazy-ass shit that simply does not, should not, and could not exist anywhere else other than in the Cakes household.

And that’s how I know: there’s truly no place like it.

The Nog Test

19 Dec

God, I love Egg Nog.  I’m addicted to the shit.  Granted, I’m addicted to anything dairy and creamy, thanks to my mom’s decision to feed me bottles of half and half as a baby instead of breastfeeding.  Irregardless, nothing—absolutely nothing—gets me like the Nog does.

But I’m not happy sipping this sweet holiday nectar all by my lonesome. I’m seeking a nice peasantress to aggressively chug Nog with me by the fire.

Mistletoe is for simple folk.  If you’re looking for true love this winter, you gotta put it to the test…

The Nog Test.

Here’s how it works.  While at a holiday party, ask the first cutie you see:

“What are your thoughts on egg nog?”

Their response can tell you a lot…

Response #1: “Ew, it’s nasty!  I would NEVER try that.”

Analysis: This person is closed-minded, difficult, and doesn’t even care to taste cupid’s titty milk.  Ding.

Response #2: “I tried it once and don’t get the appeal.  Gross.”

Analysis: Even worse.   At least there was hope of converting #1 by persuasion or open-gullet force.  This (ho ho) ho’s a lost cause.

Responses #3/4:  “I’m lactose intolerant.”    OR    “I’m allergic to eggs.”

Analysis:  Juvenile.  Maybe Santa will help them grow a pair for Christmas.  Avoid.

Response #5:  “Yeah, it’s good.  Not my favorite, but I mean, I’ll drink it if it’s around.”

Analysis: Ehhh, what the hell.  I’d throw in.

Response #6: “Yeah, especially if there’s rum!!!”

Analysis: Fair enough.  Likes to party.

Response #7: “Yeah, but only if there’s rum”

Analysis: Doesn’t actually love the Nog, merely uses it to get drunk.  In a relationship, they won’t love you, they’ll only love the way you make them feel.  Additionally, I have no clue what the preceding sentence means.

Response #8: “Yeah but only if it’s warm and served with nutmeg.

Analysis: A high maintenance nogger.  Proceed with caution.

Response #9: “Yeah, but only with that purple!”

Analysis: See below.

Ho Ho Heezy!

Response # 10: “What’s egg nog?”

Analysis: Tough one, here.  But I see a golden Nog opportunity.  Take a risk and then take that N-Card.

Response #11: “I love it because it’s seasonal.  All year, I have to wait.  And wait. And WAIT.  But then when it gets here IT IS SOO GOOOOOOD.”

Analysis: This person’s a nog damn masochist.  But hey, Cakes, you do your thing.

Response #12: “Shit, I’d bathe in the Nog.  My children will be baptized in it.  In fact, my balls are floating in a bowl of the stuff right now.”

Analysis: Congrats, you’re talking to me.  Nogcuzzi?

Response #13: “I love egg nog!  It’s definitely the best part about the holidays.  I wish they made it year round!”

Analysis: Put a ring on that shit.  You’ve found your match.  <333

I hope that this has been helpful to at least one of you.  Now get out there, and go Nog Wild, ya nasties.

Happy holidays,

Pete the Peasant

Santa’s Mailsack

19 Dec

In honor of the Season of Giving – and due to the influx of fan mail I’ve received in the past week – I’ve decided to give the gift of advice to our readership. God knows they need it. Without further ado, the Holiday Mailbag.


Dear Adonal,

I’m dating someone and want to get her a Christmas gift that says, “I like you… but I find you less valuable than a $25 Sam Goody gift card.” What should I get her?


Cheap Rick


Dear Rick,

The answer to your question – and most questions for that matter – is cured meat. Women go bananas for it. Cured meat nails every item a good gift should have. Holiday themed? Check. Savoriness? Check. Aphrodisiac? Check. The word “meat” as a double entendre? Check. Plus, on the off-hand chance she doesn’t like your gift, guess what? You, sir, have won yourself some free cured meat.

Happy Shopping!


P.S. If I didn’t get the chance to answer your question in the mailbag, just assume the answer was cured meat. This is the correct solution to your problem 95 percent of the time.

Nothing says panty dropper like a big ole sausage, if you know what I mean. If you don’t know what I mean, I am referring to both the meat and a penis.


Dear Adonal,

I’m thinking of inventing a holiday. Any suggestions?




Dear Festivus,

You do not want to invent a holiday. That is so 1970 (I’m looking at you, Earth Day). But if you decide to blatantly ignore this advice, here are some helpful suggestions:

  • Think it out. Some holidays seem awesome in theory. Take Reverse Halloween, for instance. But for some reason, dressing up like a zombie, breaking into houses, and stealing candy/Dora the Explorer backpacks from children rubs people the wrong way. Go figure. You’d be surprised how many people don’t enjoy getting hit with an egg in the middle of the day.
  • Be a martyr. That has a good track record of working for people. It’ll really make your holiday “stick.”

That’s all I’ve got. Like I said, the quest on which you are embarking is a poor, poor decision.

Good luck and God have mercy on your soul!



Dear Adonal,

I’m in charge of planning my company’s holiday party. Any tips on how to throw a balling bash?


Rage Against the Machine


Dear Rage,

Two words: open bar. Two more words: grizzly bears. I think you know where I’m heading with this, but just to clarify: grizzly bear bartenders. They’re courteous, make a terrific Long Island Iced Tea, and don’t ask for tips (although they do demand the sacrifice of one chubby office employee).

Happy Partying!


Pete had a little too much fun at our office holiday party last year. Pete the Peasant, more like Pete the Indentured Servant, if you know what I mean. Also, I just learned the phrase, “If you know what I mean,” if you know what I mean.


Looks like we’re running out of time here, but just to give answers to questions readers often ask me:

Scariest Holiday Memory: The first time I read Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins

How I learned I couldn’t take all of the pickles out of a jar at once: Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins

Thing I’m SO not having a nightmare about later tonight: Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins

From our rumble to your house, happy holidays!

Adonal Mohel

Vote On Your Favorite Entry

19 Dec


Thanks for reading (and voting).

Next week’s theme: Pet Peeves.

From all of us here at The Humble Rumble, we hope you have a happy holiday, replete with eggnog, cured meats, and family members that don’t in any way resemble seals.