'Tis the Season of the Whacker
That rascally Rebecca has given me an idea. Yes, I do hate to admit
that the crown-thief has done a good deed. She left a comment (I
know, how uncharacteristic of her!) that made me think more about
the whackers my kids run around with every Christmas.
The boys are all excited, from the moment I bring a new whacker
into the house. It doesn't matter that the whacker is covered with
wrapping paper. They know what lies underneath--the precious
whacker. Oh, they try to make do during the year with the lesser
paper towel whackers, or the lowly toilet paper whackers. But
that's not the same as a Christmas whacker.
My kids stand near the pool table, which is where I lay out the
non-kid gifts for wrapping. They are only in it for the whacker.
The older boy lays claim to the first whacker. Many a time, I've
been going at it with several whackers laid out on the pool table,
to hear my son whine, "Use that one. It's almost ready. Hurry up!
Just peel off a little more." The little one will ask, "Are you about
done with my whacker?"
The Christmas whacker is a special breed. It is longer than the
other varieties of whackers, and more fun to swing through the air.
It thumps louder when you hit your brother over the head with it.
It lets out a booming echo when you put your mouth to the hole
in the end and yell "WOOHOO" into it. Sometimes, they just
blow into it to hear air gushing from the other hole. Blowing the
whacker isn't nearly as fun as stabbing or smacking somebody
with it. Too much blowing causes the whacker's hole to get moist
and soggy, and nobody wants to touch a wet whacker.
The lifespan of the Christmas whacker is about two days in our
house. Oh, some have perished within and hour, and the odd one
might have been lost behind the couch and survived for a couple
weeks, but they are the exception to the rule.
The first sign of a declining whacker is the crack. It might be near
one end, but is generally in the middle. The crack causes the
whacker to wobble in a swordfight, and lessens the pain of the
victim in a good old-fashioned whacking.
As the crack is ripped open, the whacker is usually amputated
near the gaping hole. It then becomes a mini-whacker, which is
not effective against a full-size whacker. This causes the child
to whimper to Hillbilly Mom, "I get the next whacker. Mine is
no good anymore." He then stuffs the stumps of his whacker
into the trash can. Sometimes my Hillbilly Husband pulls
whackers out of the trash and places them in his burn pile. He
thinks it is wrong to waste space in the dumpster with a whacker
that is perfectly good for burning.
As the season draws to a close, we store the whackers still
covered with Christmas wrap in the rafters of the basement
workshop, until we need them again next year.
And in case you missed the comment, Rebecca says that in
Australia, a "whacker" is what they call someone who has lost
his mind.
that the crown-thief has done a good deed. She left a comment (I
know, how uncharacteristic of her!) that made me think more about
the whackers my kids run around with every Christmas.
The boys are all excited, from the moment I bring a new whacker
into the house. It doesn't matter that the whacker is covered with
wrapping paper. They know what lies underneath--the precious
whacker. Oh, they try to make do during the year with the lesser
paper towel whackers, or the lowly toilet paper whackers. But
that's not the same as a Christmas whacker.
My kids stand near the pool table, which is where I lay out the
non-kid gifts for wrapping. They are only in it for the whacker.
The older boy lays claim to the first whacker. Many a time, I've
been going at it with several whackers laid out on the pool table,
to hear my son whine, "Use that one. It's almost ready. Hurry up!
Just peel off a little more." The little one will ask, "Are you about
done with my whacker?"
The Christmas whacker is a special breed. It is longer than the
other varieties of whackers, and more fun to swing through the air.
It thumps louder when you hit your brother over the head with it.
It lets out a booming echo when you put your mouth to the hole
in the end and yell "WOOHOO" into it. Sometimes, they just
blow into it to hear air gushing from the other hole. Blowing the
whacker isn't nearly as fun as stabbing or smacking somebody
with it. Too much blowing causes the whacker's hole to get moist
and soggy, and nobody wants to touch a wet whacker.
The lifespan of the Christmas whacker is about two days in our
house. Oh, some have perished within and hour, and the odd one
might have been lost behind the couch and survived for a couple
weeks, but they are the exception to the rule.
The first sign of a declining whacker is the crack. It might be near
one end, but is generally in the middle. The crack causes the
whacker to wobble in a swordfight, and lessens the pain of the
victim in a good old-fashioned whacking.
As the crack is ripped open, the whacker is usually amputated
near the gaping hole. It then becomes a mini-whacker, which is
not effective against a full-size whacker. This causes the child
to whimper to Hillbilly Mom, "I get the next whacker. Mine is
no good anymore." He then stuffs the stumps of his whacker
into the trash can. Sometimes my Hillbilly Husband pulls
whackers out of the trash and places them in his burn pile. He
thinks it is wrong to waste space in the dumpster with a whacker
that is perfectly good for burning.
As the season draws to a close, we store the whackers still
covered with Christmas wrap in the rafters of the basement
workshop, until we need them again next year.
And in case you missed the comment, Rebecca says that in
Australia, a "whacker" is what they call someone who has lost
his mind.
posted by Hillbilly Mom at 2:42 PM
6 Comments:
Hi Hillbilly Mom,
I have to say, you are a whacker.
Why not show them who is boss, by using the ultimate whacker, the metal pipe.
HooRoo
Rebecca
Bec,
I am a master whacker, indeed. We made our mailbox out of metal pipe, because young hooligans kept whacking it with a metal baseball bat. HH thought they would be surprised the first time they hit the 1-inch-thick metal pipe with the aluminum bat.
Lessa,
Oh, the HORROR! I used 6 different rolls of wrapping paper tonight, and they ALL had that carboard piece. The world is going to hell in a handbasket. Next time I buy paper, I am going to check for a whacker. I just assumed that they all had them.
Ah, you may call them whackers at the Mansion, but over in KimsWorld they are light sabers.
And yes we do the sound effects. Stop laughing.
I've been wrapping presents in the 5th wheel so I have all the whackers to myself. I may wrap up 2 for the kids for Christmas if I feel festive. Till then I can swing my whacker and jump from the couch like Zorro by myself!
I didn't realize that Whacking needed instructions. Oh the shame of it all. I must share the rules with my boys, who have instinctively picked up the Christmas Whackers. If we still lived in the country you can bet that my husband would follow the same hillbilly rules by burning the destroyed Whackers. Back then he followed the scorched earth policy.
Kim,
Even the sound effects? Man, that is seriously nerdly.
Mrs.,
Have you been under a lot of pressure lately? The hoarding of whackers is frowned upon in this neck of the woods.
Babs,
Oh, the joys of living in the woods. HH burned plastic bags of trash a couple weeks ago, since he did not remember to remind the boy young 'un to take the dumpster up to the end of the driveway. He threw them on his burn pile and torched them. He was careful to set out the beer bottle, though. Probably to shoot at with the .22, not for any environmental concerns.
Post a Comment
<< Home