Friday, August 10, 2012
Screaming Beaver Friday
In searching for our angry beaver here one will find an unusual number of rock groups, microbrews, and clubs by the same name so it was no easy task.
While perusing the news looking for my next inspirational post it all started to looking quite the same - wash rinse repeat. Then it struck me. As August drags on and the fireworks of July are a long memory. Who can remember Father's or Mother's or whatever inlaw or outlaw holiday has passed? This would be the perfect opportunity to institute another national day to tack onto the calendar. Because after all who can afford to take a two week vacation in this economy? You might find yourself replaced after getting a nice restful tan at the beach. So this is the perfect time of year to institute a new holiday. I know what you're thinking. Great! Now we have to fill our closets with yet another box of kitsch decorations to collect dust. Nope. This celebration should appeal to all ages, races, sexes, religions and national origins. It requires no decorations, party dress or strange eating habits.
Screaming Beaver Friday. Hadn't really thought of a name yet but Friday seems to be fitting and a screaming beaver has enough of a mystique that all sorts of rumors and misconceptions as to it's origins are sure to make for an interesting web search as years pass. After all who the hell knows any real facts about the Mummers.
But the idea is quit simple. At say noon or one o'clock on the chosen day everyone goes to the front door, steps out and yells at the top of their lungs their most seething low down underlying subconscious hatred. No holds barred. Doesn't matter if it's a boss or spouse or neighbor. Whatever hate may be on your mind at the time let her rip. Bang a pan if you like. Clench a fist. Gnash your teeth. Scream as loud as you like. Use as much profanity as you wish. Jump up and down. Shake your fists. And after about a minute but no more than five all are to remain silent for a minute.
Now don't your feel so much better? And it didn't cost a thing. Well maybe a brain aneurism.
Bank fails later.
Parking lot index 11