In an age when Kevin Federline sets the standard as a guy to admire, I’m feelin’ the need to go all revolutionary like Mr. Muscle Oven Cleaner did back in the ’70s and take a moment to set the bar just a tidge higher.

I can up your K-Fed, culturepeople, and his name is My Cousin Kurt.

The adventures of my road-kill-hound cousin have hit this space before, but, with his latest, I’m afraid he may have garnered Reccuring Supporting Character status on this blog.

Sure, he scrapes moose off the highway; he’s a dragonfly expert (yea, he’s written a book proving his odonatic knowledge); he builds rustic furniture; he has his teen-aged daughter amusing herself with throwing an atlatl out back of the log house he built…

( This is not My Cousin Kurt, nor is it his teen-aged daughter. But it is an atlatl. If you needed this explanation, is it possible you’re kind of dim?)

…but that stuff is so My Cousin Kurt that it hardly bears mentioning in a tribute about why I rank him above Britney’s ex.

Here’s the source of my abiding admiration:

Last year, one of his daughters was given an audio card–you know, one of those really annoying cards that blares a song every time you open it.

First opening of the card, and the song blares out? How cute! Ain’t that just.

Second opening of the card, same song? A little drumbeat on the table.

Third opening–what, again? A sense that it’s time to move on and open the next present.

Fourth opening, fer chrissakes? An actual request to stop. opening. the. card.

Fifth freaking opening in two minutes? An exasperated exhale and mounting blood pressure.

Sixth #$%^&&(* opening? A sense of slipping sanity and dialing up one’s inner sociopath.

Oh, did I forget to mention that the song being played with every opening of the card, in the case of My Cousin Kurt’s kid, was “The Chickendance”?

To give him credit, he made it longer than Dick Cheney would have.

But then, My Cousin, my pal, my boy

finally took “The Chickendance” card out front of the house

and shot it.

My hero.



By Jocelyn

There's this game put out by the American Girl company called "300 Wishes"--I really like playing it because then I get to marvel, "Wow, it's like I'm a real live American girl who has 300 wishes, and that doesn't suck, especially compared to being a dead one with none."


  1. I can see that my Throwing-the-gingle-bells-card-out-of-the-window-act was nothing compared to your Kurt’s problem solving method!

  2. Bwahahahahahhahaha. That’s AWESOME, I’ve got some of those cards laying around here, does he need some more for target practice? 😉 And a dragonfly expert??? I love him.

  3. “hey, guess what?(wait for it) Chicken butt!”

    Thats the card my 5 yr old nephew got that his 3 yr old sister sang for half an hour. I looked at my brother and laughed really hard. Why? Cause I got to go home. He got to live with Chicken Butt. hahahaha.

    Now, where can i get me one of them dealybopper-throwy-thingys?

  4. LMAO. i have to say i’d have been of the open it repeatedly ilk. in fact i’d have begun dancing to it. then i’d have demanded others dance with me.

    ok, ok, i promise nto to ever send you a macarena card.

  5. hahahahahahaa- i have several toddler noise making, insanity inducing toys he can use next time as target practice.

  6. Once again, we dovetail. Sort of. Close enough:

    For Muddah’s Day, the small girl gave me a pretty-pretty pony (?My Pretty Pony?) pink and purple (natch) audiocard that, when ever you open it shouts at you to have a Happy! Mother’s! Day! and goes on for what seems like hours in this shouty, high-pitched vein (in reality about 15 seconds). I smiled and thanked her and hid it in the fright that is the top of my dresser, guaranteeing that it shall never be seen or opened again.

    Had I a gun or an arrow-throwie-thingie, I’d have used it with glee, after dark so as not to hurt her feelings for that would have not been very motherish. I now know what to ask for for next year.

    Your cousin is a good man. There is a time for violence in the interest of society.

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