August 29th 2011 1:58 pm
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A couple of diary entries ago, I told you about my Finknottle women ancestors. My dad's lineage was no less impressive.
One of the earliest records of the Finknottle men was from the early part of the 20th Century, when one of my forefathers became a big-game hunting partner with Theodore Roosevelt. While they were stalking the fabled jaguar of South America, Teddy dropped his glasses in the jungle, and they were immediately swallowed by an anaconda the size of Massachusetts. But that snake made a BIG mistake!
My dad dove down the snake's gullet to retrieve Teddy's specs. Dear readers, did you ever wonder where I got my magnificently muscled thunder thighs? From my pop. And speaking of "pop," all he had to do to escape the belly of the mighty beast was to kick both of his legs with all of his might, and snake busted apart! Fadder stood on his two legs amongst the slime and muck that was the remains of the burst reptile, stretched his paws toward the sky and let out a primal bark/scream to the heavens. (You know that's a really, really dramatic gesture -- falling on his knees (well, his haunches, since dog knees don't work that way) like Willem Dafoe in "Platoon" or Tim Robbins in "The Shawshank Redemption." Only it was way, way, way more dramatic when my fadder did it).
For he knew he was the apex predator of the universe. Yep! It's true!
So a few years later, World War I began, and my fadder decided to enlist and became a war dog. He discovered right away that war is heck. But he saved an entire batalion. Or, I should say, his thighs did. Because when the hithertofore untested modern weapons began firing, his comrades were in trouble. Where could they hide? Well, dear old dad knew what to do. He immediately began digging trenches for the GIs to hide in, and he dug so hard and so fast that dirt flew miles into the sky and hit the Red Baron in the head while he was flying overhead and caused him to crash his plane. So the flying ace was defeated, and the soldiers had trenches to duck into.
Sopwith Camel. (That kind of WWI plane isn't part of this story, but I never miss an opportunity to say "Sopwith Camel" because it's cool. Sopwith Camel!)
Yes, my fadder's bloodline provided a worthy match for my arse-biting ancestresses.
So, back in 2002, they lived on the same street. Their eyes met, sparks flew, planets exploded, pigs flew and camels sopwithed.
And then, bim, bam boom, I was born a few weeks later.
Yes, theirs was a true romance, which was tragically cut short when my fadder's nads were tragically cut off by the tragically evil vet. Such a tragic tragedy! But, then again, maybe the world couldn't deal with more than one Finknottle. The combination of my superb arse-biting skills and the muscular magnificence of my thunder thighs shan't be duplicated!
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a Sopwith Camel to fly!
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Chester's literary note for his Mom: no actual snakes were harmed by this story. (My Mom likes snakes.)
Finknottle, you feeling OK? That's quite the family history.
Finknottle sez: It's the circle of life, buddy. The circle of life.
Finkmom sez: Don't worry, Chestermom. I'm preeeetty sure Gussie is making all of this up.
Finknottle sez: I AM TELLING THE ABSOLUTE TRUTH! I SHALL BITE YOUR ARSE FORTHWITH!!!
It's soo amazing that it only can be true, nobody sane could come up with a story like this... I ask you, who could ? Nobody...
Gussie, why would you bite your Mom's arse when she can rub your belly so well?
Prof. Sopwith Anaconda Lover
Wow, Finkie you do have quite the furmily history!
WOW!!! An' here I fot yu wuz jus' anuber pwetty face, Gussie! Dis r compwetewy fascinatin'. Yu need wite a book or how 'bout a mini sewies on da histwy channel??
Are you sure your family wants to claim Trench Warfare? I can just visualize Privates being commanded to "Go Over the Top," and cowering down in the muck and trench mire, but the choice being "Going over the top" or being bitten in the arse by your Dad.