Let's Get Ready to Rumble!

I hate Captain Underpants books! Dav Pilkey has written and illustrated some of my favorite picture books, so I know he is a wonderful author. Captain Underpants has no substance, unless, toilets, poopypants, and boogers are substance. I know, I know, I know kids love them because they are funny. But I don’t believe one can become a better reader by reading Captain Underpants. One doesn’t need to do any thinking when reading Captain Underpants. Readers of Captain Underpants can become bad spellers because many of the words are spelled incorrectly.

I am sure Dav Pilkey is laughing all the way to bank because Captain Underpants has made him a megamillionaire. He has even started a new series of books with even more misspelled words and poor plots, Ook and Gluk.

I don’t want anyone to have the only memory of books read in school to be Captain Underpants. I want the students at Tomahawk to experience some real books: Al Capone Does My Shirts, Mockingbird, Swear to Howdy, Hatchet, Moon Over Manifest, My Louisiana Sky, A Year Down Yonder, The Graduation of Jake Moon, and The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane.  (I would also like to give props to Dav Pilkey’s beautiful picture book, Paperboy.) I could list so many more great children’s books that could take Captain Underpants in a literary rumble any day! Captain Underpants will never make the reader sigh, cry, or wonder!

Here is an imagined wrestling match between Captain Underpants and Edward Tulane:

Announcer: Ladies and Gentlemennnnn, get ready for the epic literary battle of the century! In this corner, weighing in at less than five pounds soaking wet. We know he spent endless months at the bottom of the ocean. Reaching three feet tall is that literary great, Edward Tulane, recently back from his miraculous journey!

Audience: (wild applause) Edward! Edward! Edward!

Announcer: And in this corner, weighing in at twenty pounds and wearing only his Fruit of the Looms and a ridiculous cape is Captain Underpants, recently back from the Underwear Festival in Piqua, Ohio!

Audience: (applause) Poopy pants! Poopy Pants! Poopy pants!

Announcer: Captain Underpants needs to take caution because it looks like Edward Tulane has already become filled with ennui.

Captain Underpants: N-U-E? Nue? He doesn’t look nue to me! He looks like an old doll!

Announcer: Oh, that’s right, Captain Underpants wouldn’t know what ennui means. The books that he appears in have no vocabulary. The toughest word is toilet and most of the words are spelled wrong!

Captain Underpants: Let’s just get this thing over with. The nue kid is made of glass! I’ll break him in no time.

Announcer: Poor, Captain Underpants, again he has shown his stupidity! Edward isn’t made of glass. That is porcelain, my friend. I know porcelain has three syllables, which is too much for a guy in underwear. Gentlemen, please proceed to the center of the ring to parle with the ref.

Captain Underpants: Pro Seed? I am not wrestling a plant! Parsley? What does parsley have to do with wrestling?

Announcer: ( whispering) Hey, Buddy, just  go over to the guy in the striped shirt. (shouting) Ladies and gentlemennnnnnnn, let’s get ready toooooo rummmmmmmble!

Referee: Gentleman, good readers make connections, visualize, infer, question, synthesize, and use their schema. How can your books help readers become better readers?

Captain Underpants: Kids like toilets and poop.

(Edward pushes Captain Underpants to the ground.)

Audience: Ouch!

Announcer: Edward has thrown Captain Underpants to the ground. Edward’s readers not only connect with Abilene losing Edward but they can connect to the way Edward feels throughout his miraculous journey.

Captain Underpants: (panting) My readers don’t have to visualize everything is drawn for them. My books are like comic books drawn by ten year olds.

(Edward employs a chokeslam on Captain Underpants.)

Audience: Ooooooooooo.

Announcer: Edward has performed the crushing chokeslam on Captain Underpants. Visualizing is one of the most important comprehension skills that a reader needs. Readers can “see” Edward being kicked off the train as Lucy howls her discontent. Readers must use their visualizing skills throughout the Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane.

Captain Underpants: I, I, I don’t know what infer, synthesize, or schema means.

Announcer: Of course, Captain Underpants doesn’t know what these comprehension terms means. Unfortunately, neither does the reader of Captain Underpants books. Captain Underpants will never go down in literary history as having a plot that involves the reader actually having to think!

Audience: Good readers are thinkers! Good readers are thinkers! Good readers are thinkers! Good readers are thinkers! Good readers are thinkers!

(Edward lifts Captain Underpants above his head for an airplane spin, and pile drives him into the mat with a back body slam. He then pins Captain Underpants for the count.)

Announcer: And the crowd goes wild!

Audience: Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Referee: (while pounding the ground) One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. (The referee grabs Edward’s hand and raises it in the air. Captain Underpants crawls back to his corner where Ook and Gluk are playing with his water bucket and picking their noses.)

Audience: Edward! Edward! Edward!

Announcer: Ladies and Gentlemennnnnnn, The new, (looking at Captain Underpants) that would be new, n-e-w, Champion of Literature, EEEEEEEED-WARRRRRRD TUUUUUUUUU-LAAAAAAAAAAANE! And he did it without wrinkling his jaunty outfit or dropping his watch. (Edward takes the championship belt, shaped like a book, to his corner and gives it to Abilene because he knows he would never have won without her love.)

Captain Underpants: I can't believe I was smacked-down by a bunny made of glass wearing a suit! He didn't even say a word.!

Abilene: Edward Tulane has learned to be a good listener. He does need to speak to show his merit.


Announcer: It's time to face the music, Captain Underpants, you are a LOOOOOOOSERRRRR!

Paco's Perspective

Flip has a Captain Underpants book hidden under his bed. He is so uncouth!

Has anyone seen my copy of To Kill a Mockingbird?

The Flip Side

Poop? I like poop! Dav Pilkey writes books about a big, giant lizard. I love lizards!

I think I am in love with Dav Pilkey!

Roller Coaster

Roller Coaster is a picture book written and illustrated by Marla Frazee. It's about riding a roller coaster. When I first read this book I hated it. I thought it was lame, and then my students led me to an epiphany.

When I first read this book to my class it was obvious that I wasn't impressed with it, as one of my students observed,"Miss C, I am thinking you might not like this book."

"You're right. I'm sorry, I should not have read this to you, but I feel like there is a great read aloud experience somewhere in this book."

"Have you ever ridden a roller coaster?"

"No, I have not."

"Well, duh, Miss C. You don't like this book because you can't make a connection to it. Think about what you taught us." 

A few days later, I read the book again. I had the students sit in a line in pairs, and we rode the roller coaster together. We locked ourselves in and when the roller coaster jerked forward to begin its ascent, we jerked forward and leaned back as we climbed to the highest peak before the drop. "Clickity-clackity, clickity-clackity, up, up, up, and then . . . . " At this point my teaching partner, Colleen, would scream at the top of her lungs, "AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" Roller Coaster is  now one of my favorite picture books. I use it to teach text-to-self connections. 

The reader may be thinking what kind of a lousy lead in is this? I want to ride a roller coaster. I want my heart to pound with excitement when I begin the ascent. I want the centrifugal force to push my dumbo ears to the back of my head. (Maybe if I rode more roller coasters, my ears wouldn't stick out.) I want to throw my hands in the air and scream with semi-delight and semi-fear. And when the ride is over, I want to look at my friend and shout, "Let's do that again," as we run on our wobbly legs to the end of the line. And again, my heart pounds with excitement . . . . . . .

But, I do ride a roller coaster everyday. Here comes the tacky cliche, I ride the roller coaster of life. I teach. Everyday my heart pounds with excitement when I step on campus to begin our students' ascent to excellence. As I zoom from one classroom to another, the wind whips through my spiky, short hair and causes my ears to flap. When I finish teaching a lesson that I know was spot-on I scream with delight. When I teach a lesson that bombed, I throw my hands in the air, scream and then I start thinking about how I will make it better. When the day is done and my dear friend, Janet, and I are making  our way home at dusk, (I know the reader think teachers only work 8 to 3, but that is wrong. Most teachers work 12 hour shifts and carry a bucket-load of work home every night.) we look at each other and shout, "Let's do that again!" And the next day, my heart pounds with excitement . . . . . . . 

Paco's Perspective

I ride the roller coaster of life. I share air with Flip. 

The Flip Side

I ride the roller coaster of life. I . . . I . . . I don't understand tacky metaphors.

Flipped

Wendelin Van Draanen is one of my favorite authors of children's books.  She writes the popular Shredderman and Sammy Keyes series. She understands teenage angst and writes in a way that helps her readers understand it also. When reading some of her books, the reader will laugh until he cries and then just cry. She has written some of my all time favorite books for children: Swear to Howdy, Runaway and Flipped.

Flipped has two main characters: Juli Baker and Bryce Loski. Juli Baker is an odd girl and she is madly in love with Bryce, and has been since she moved across the street from him in the second grade. Actually, Juli has stalked Bryce since the second grade and Bryce wants nothing to do with her. Bryce thinks Juli is weird. This book is great for teaching point of view because the book's chapters alternate between Juli and Bryce telling their individual sides of events in their lives. Near the end of the book, Flipped flips, the relationship between Juli and Bryce flips, their personalities flip, also.

The book Flipped reminds me of my dog, Flip. Flip has flipped not like in gone crazy, but his personality has flipped. Janet's husband, Dave, rescued Flip. On his way to work almost two years ago Dave spotted a matted ball of fluff dodging traffic on Lower Buckeye Road. After watching the fluff ball almost get hit three times, he stopped his truck, got out and shouted, "Get over here!" Flip ran directly toward him and jumped into his arms. Dave brought him home, put him in my bedroom with Paco and they have been rival companions ever since.

I named him Flipflop because he had one ear that flipped up and the other flopped down. Now both his ears have flopped. It was obvious that Flip had not been cared for, and it seemed that he might have been on the road for some time. Everyone fell in love with Flip, even Paco, but he won't ever admit it. We made a slight valiant effort to find his owner with the emphasis on slight. He was taken to the vet to be scanned for a chip. Dave and Alyssa put up signs to try and find his previous owners. (Okay, there were only two signs and they were put up only on our block.) We all secretly prayed that no one would call for Flip.

I became Flip's "owner" because I offered to pay for all the vet and grooming bills. Also, Flip and Paco were meant to be best buddies, I mean rivals. I never really wanted one dog let alone two, but now I am so glad I have both. Janet was right, again, I needed a buddy to love, and every animal and human needs and deserves a companion. Flip has never been afraid of my chair and jumped in my lap the first time he saw me. He would lay in my arms for hours when we first found him. Actually, Flip is not "owned" by anyone. Flip is his own man, I mean dog.

Flip makes me laugh. He is obsessed with chasing things, especially, lizards. He talks to everyone. He talks to his reflection in the mirror. He still hasn't realized that his reflection is him. Flip is a bit of a knucklehead. But everybody loves Flip and that really makes Paco pissed. 

Flip has flipped! He no longer talks; he sasses back. He is no longer a knucklehead; Flip is a noodlehead. (A noodlehead is someone that pretends they are dumb, but happens to be very smart.) Flip knows everyone loves him; he has become conceited. Flip no longer wants to hang out with me for hours; he rather be outside just in case something runs by. Flip's sweet, kind demeanor is no longer. As a matter of fact, the other day I swear to howdy that Flip flipped me off.

After moving into this house, the realization was made that something need to be done to keep Flip contained. There is way too much land to explore and Flip will travel far and wide in search of bunnies, prairie dogs, and lizards. Janet, Dave, Breann and Ben spent many weekends putting up a chain link fence and planting a lush yard to keep Flip in and happy. Caren even helped dig ditches for the sprinkler system. After spending over two thousands dollars on fencing, sprinkler parts, grass and plants just to keep Flip contained, Flip found many ways to get out of the fenced area. So Janet dug down around the entire length of the fencing and placed bricks underground, so he couldn't dig out. Yahoo, flip was contained. WRONG! He climbs under the gate right by my door. There is no digging to place bricks because the gate is over cement. Whenever I see Flip out chasing lizards, I go out and call him and he comes back and crawls back under the gate with his head lowered in shame. But not anymore, when I call him he comes to the gate and lays on the sidewalk just outside the gate and glares at me. No more head hung in shame, just that "Ha! What are you going to do about it?" look. (That look that teenagers give their parents.) Recently, I caught him scooting through his escape hatch and shouted, "Whoa, Buddy, get back here, NOW!" Flip backed out of his escape hatch, turned and gave me that "look", walked directly to the escape hatch, lifted his leg and peed and peed and peed all over the gate. The ultimate flip-off.

Flip has Flipped! But I still love him, and he is a perfect fit in my amazing eclectic family.

Paco's Perspective

I hate to be an I Told You So, but I told you so!

The Flip Side

So . . . . . .I Was Just Thinking

WARNING-This communication may be offensive to some, many or all.-WARNING

While traveling the Interstate-10 in Phoenix I spied an electronic billboard. An ad for Abel's Funeral Services appeared and it was advertising a complete cremation for $586.25. So . . . .I was just thinking how much does a partial cremation cost and what part?

As I was sharing my thoughts with the "family" about the difference between a complete cremation and a partial cremation, I also explained  my dilemma about my funeral plans. I want my "sistahs" to scatter my ashes,  and I want an extremely long funeral procession. I want to mess up traffic. I want to mess up traffic so much that  my number one rule for my funeral is: There Shall Be NO Carpooling! I concluded that when the casket is open only the top half is open. So . . . . I was just thinking I could kill two birds with one stone. ( I know this is a bad cliche for this blog, but I figured I have already offended so many readers what the . h . . .oops, there goes another one.)

Then Ben, Janet's son, suggested that since I am such a fan of The Wizard of Oz, maybe I should switch things up, if you know what I mean. I wonder if one has a choice with a partial cremation. I wouldn't have to worry about an outfit for the funeral. So . . . . I was just thinking, striped socks and sparkly red shoes. 

I know that many readers think I am disgusting and morbid, but I tried to warn everyone. First, Abel's Funeral Service should not have advertised a complete cremation. Second, I am fifty-five and my parents were told that I wouldn't live past the age of sixteen, so . . . . . . it is time I start thinking.

I want to put the f-u-n into funeral, so . . . . I was just thinking!

Paco's Perspective

Doesn't Dorothy have a little dog that she takes "home" with her?

What if I am not ready to go "home"?

So . . . . I was just thinking, Flip?

The Flip Side

So . . . . I was just thinking. . . . .

No I wasn't!

Just kidding!

The Way of a Hermit

I have always teased my friend, Colleen, about being a recluse. When she lived in Arizona we taught together, and I would always ask her to go places and do things with me and her answer was always, no. We got to the place that I wouldn't even ask. It was easier that way. Colleen was and still is a hermit. Now, she is a hermit in Arkansas.

The other day, I came to the realization that I have become a hermit. You know you're a hermit when you come out of your bedroom just to chat and everyone looks at you with raised eyebrows and says, "What do you want?" You know you're a hermit when you can't remember the last movie you saw except those played on Lifetime. You know you're a hermit when you shout out the answers while watching the Game Show Network in hopes that the contestants will hear you. You know you're a hermit when you have a complete conversation with the dog.

As Colleen has always said, "The way of a hermit is not a bad thing." A hermit doesn't get a broken heart. A hermit doesn't have to dress to impress. A hermit doesn't have to primp. A hermit doesn't have to deal with the shtupid. A hermit doesn't have to worry about saying the right thing. A hermit doesn't have to worry about others. A hermit doesn't have to worry.

As I have mentioned, I am a worrier. The other day, Janet and I were driving to work and there was a dog walking in the road. When we saw the poor dog we both sighed and said, "Ahhhh, poor thing," at the exact same time. When we stopped at the stop sign the dog came trotting toward us like he knew us. Knowing that we do not need one more rescued animal at our house, we continued on and left him behind  and all day long I worried about that dog. A few days later when Janet and I were running errands, I mentioned how much I worried about that dog. She looked at me and said, "Me, too! We should have picked him up and brought him to work. The least we could have done was call the pound."

As we continued to talk about the poor dog, we both happened to spy an old man barely able to walk. He was ambling on the side of the oad in the worst looking tennis shoes we had ever seen. He was carrying an empty water bottle. And I said, "And now I am going to spend days worrying about that man. If he is going to spend his life walking the streets, he needs some good walking shoes, but I don't have any on me."

Janet replied, "We could go back and give him some money."

"Yea, but would he spend it on shoes? And when I want to help someone I always have in mind that memorable random act of kindness. Besides, we don't have any money. We've spent every dime we have fixing up the house," I said.

"You're definitely right about that. But wouldn't it be nice, if we could save the world?"she said.

"This is why I have decided to become a hermit. A hermit doesn't want to save the world. A hermit doesn't want to see the world. A hermit just wants to be a hermit. Home, James, take me back to my hermitage, please," I requested.

"Hermitage?" she queried.

"A place where hermits live," I answered.

"But if there were a bunch of hermitsssss, then they wouldn't be hermits. They would be just a bunch of old, smelly, dusty guys living in the same place," she explained.

"Okay! Home, James, please. Home to the seclusion of my bedroom where I only come out when I want something. Home, where I don't have to see people or animals on the side of the road that I worry about," I ordered. "Hey, speaking of old, dusty guys on the side of the road, do you ever wonder where the Whirlygig Man is?" I asked.

"Shhhhhh, now I am going to wonder about him all day," she whined.

I haven't been out of my room since then. My fellow hermit, Colleen, is coming to visit next week. And when I asked her if there was anything she wanted to do or any place she wanted to go, guess what her answer was? Yep, it was no. I wonder, if she will even come out of her room while she is here. I hope she doesn't expect me to come out of mine.

Paco's Perspective

Is a female hermit called a hermitess?

The Flip Side

A female hermit is called a hermitch. Get it? A female dog is a bitch, so a female hermit is a hermitch!

Get it? Get it? Ha, I crack myself up!

Picking Perfectly in Heels

American Pickers is another reality show that I happen to watch. It is about two guys that have an antique resell shop, and they travel the northeast climbing through old garages and barns "picking" through piles of junk to find just the right piece of junk that will make a huge profit. Recently, the "leetle sistah", Caren, texted me about the show:

Leetle Sistah: Have you seen the show American Pickers?

Me: Yes, it is one of Janet's favorites.

Leetle Sistah: I decided when Darrell retires that is what we are going to do.

(Yes, we text all the punctuation and spell everything correctly. We are teachers!)

At that point I rolled my eyes and giggled. Let me expound on my thoughts, Caren is beautiful and at all times perfect. Her hair is perfect. Her nails are perfect. Her shoes are perfect. And her clothes are perfect. I think that the CEO of the White House/Black Market shop (all the clothes in this shop are black and white) personally calls Caren and prewarns her about the sales. It is a little inside joke when Caren asks me, "What should I wear?" I usually answer, "How but something black or white?" Caren is ALWAYS dressed ...PERFECTLY! She even looked cute when she was recently here helping to dig ditches. I swear she had a cute ditch digging outfit. Also, Caren's perfect black and white clothes never get dirty. I think they are magic. Caren can wear white to a mud wrestling competition and sit in the front row and never get a spot on her . . . . . .magic!

Not only does Caren look perfect but she does everything perfectly. She runs. She hikes. She golfs. She cooks. She cleans. She mows. She chops wood. She bucks hay. All the while she is participating in the afore mentioned activities, she will look perfect in some cute little (emphasis on little) black and white outfit.

Now Caren's perfections could make one want to hate her, but it is impossible because not only is she perfect on the outside but she is perfect on the inside. Caren has a perfect heart! Caren is kind. Caren is friendly. Caren is helpful. Caren is giving. She will give one the black and white shirt right off her back. Caren loves EVERYBODY and EVERYBODY loves Caren. When we stop at the store, and she says she is just going to run inside and get something and she will be back in a minute I know to get out my phone and start playing Scrabble to kill time because it will be longer than a minute. Caren has to talk to everybody in the store and she does not surface chat. She will become every single person's best friend from the little old lady squeezing melons in the produce section to the bum outside begging for change. Not only will she have made friends with everyone, but she will have all their phone numbers and they hers. And they will call. And she will listen. And they will become BFFs.

So I digress, back to the "picking" thing. When "Leetle Sistah", Caren, texted with her decision to become a picker I giggle because I visualized Caren "picking" in heels. A pair of perfect black and white strappy, very fashionable, very seasonable heels would be on her feet. When I told Janet about Caren's idea to become a picker, she laughed and said, "Tell her black clothing and dust don't mix."

Me: Janet says a picker gets very dusty. Black, white and dust don't mix.

Leetle Sistah: I don't get that. Are you referring to my clothes? I would have picking clothes like Mike and Frank on the show.

Me: What does the fashionable picker wear? No open-toed shoes or heels.

Leetle Sistah: Overalls and boots.

Me: Mid-calf or thigh high?

Leetle Sistah: Thigh high, of course, that is what is in fashion, and not just your ordinary overalls.

If you happen to be driving the back roads of Montana out near Moesha and you see a cute little thang in clean white overalls with black accents and thigh high boots come crawling out a pile of junk, do two things for me: one, notice that their is not a speck of dust or dirt on her magical white overalls and her hair and make-up . . . PERFECT, and, two, give Leetle Sistah a shout out from C. Store. Oh, also, grab your mobile you're going to want to get your new best friend's number.

Paco's Perspective

Auntie Caren is the best. She shares her wine with me and she give me licks from her ice cream cone.

The Flip Side

Auntie Caren belongs to Osa and I love Osa. Auntie Caren takes us on long hikes and we chase those itty bitty cats with the big bushy tails.

Who Do You Want to Be?

My friend, Peggy, that I taught with for many years at the beginning of my career has the ability to make anything fun. With Peggy boring meetings, classes with dry presenters, and especially long car trips are a blast. I doth crown Peggy the Queen of the Road Trip. She can make driving through the never ending corn fields of the midwest a party. When she moved from Arizona I was so sad because, even though, I knew that we would always be friends I also knew that we would not be able to see each other as much as I would want. Now, not only do I not get to see her but we also very seldom speak.

The other day when I was in another district training where I was being trained in something that I already was trained in many times I decided to play one of Peggy's games called Who Do You Want to Be Today? I have been going to the meetings alone lately because my little buddy, Ericka, the Language Support Specialist has been on maternity leave. But she is back and we were actually sitting at the same table. Now, teachers are the worst group for sitting in a learning setting. They do everything they would never allow their students to do while teaching: pass notes, text, roll eyes, think about lunch and talk! Many think I am a snob because I refuse to participate in these for a couple of reasons: one, I have been a presenter many times and I can feel the presenter's pain and two, once I start it is hard for me to stop. Okay, most of the time I pay attention!

So, here we were . . . . . going through the second day of Cognitive Coaching for the Poor, one more time. Cognitive Coaching is a very expensive program which the district can't afford so we were participating in a less expensive version. I have had the original, intensive week long program - twice! And I was getting a little antsy.  We had to do name plates and I hate name tags which I really need because I can barely remember my own name let alone someone else. So I thought what would Peggy do? 

I looked at Ericka and wiggled my eyebrows, "If you could be anyone in the world, who would you want to be?"

Ericka replied, "What do mean, like Malibu Barbie?" Could I expect anything else to come out of a young, skinny blonde's mouth?

"Yep, that is who you are today. Write that on your name plate," I demanded.

"Cathy, I can't. I just interviewed for an assistant principal position within the district," she whined.

"And writing Malibu Barbie on a name plate would keep you from getting that job? Malibu Barbie, is there anyone here in this room that was on the interview committee?" I asked.

"Well, no, but . . . "

"Just write it on the name plate, do you need help spelling, Malibu, Barbie?. Get it? That's a joke? Besides no one is going to see the name plate but us. It is going to stay on the table. You don't have to wear it on your forehead!"

"First, normal funny people don't have tell someone when one is being funny and second, you know, you're kind of a Diva when you don't get your way. Are you going to be Whitney, today?" 

"No, Malibu Barbie, I am not" I replied as I wrote my "name" on my name plate and showed it to her.

"Heather Thinthighs," she giggled, "you want me to call you Heather Thinthighs all day long?"

"Yes, Malibu Barbie, I do! And I also want you to call me Heather Thinthighs in public, if we go to lunch."

"Okay, Heather, whatever you say," she conceded, "but, I still think your name should be Whitney."

"Excuse me, Malibu Barbie, what did you call me?" I growled.

"Okay, okay, HEATHER THINTHIGHS!" She replied with a raised voice which caught the attention of a friend, Juli, that works at the district. 

She sauntered over to our table and asked, "Hey, can I sit with you two? What are doing?"

"We are doing what we were told to do, filling out our name plates," I answered with my eyes lowered as if I just got caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

She read our name plates, "Malibu Barbie? Heather Thinthighs?" She hesitated, clapped her hands together and said, "Oooooo, can I be Duchess for the day?"

I replied as I gave Malibu Barbie the I Told You So look, "Yes, Duchess, you certainly may!"

"Oh, goooodie," she replied with her teeth clenched and her back straight sitting and sounding like a proper Duchess.

Malibu Barbie didn't go to lunch with Heather Thinthighs that day. During lunch, Heather Thinthighs called Peggy a.k.a. Penelope Perfectshapedass.

Paco's Perspective

Just call me In. As in, In Cognito, a.k.a. Poquito Paco Bell. Get it? In Cognito? Incognito?

The Flip Side

Poquito Paco Bell? Three names? No wonder you're a wuss! Just call me  Lizard Master!