So my sister tells me about her kids having to research crawfish on the internet and she directed them towards Elvis singing about crawfish in Kid Creole. Brilliant, as Elvis movies are fab, and she is controlling the Google factor.
Unlike me, when V (my oldest daughter) had a presentation on sloths (she chose the animal, she is a cool, quirky kid) we imaged sloths, and... I scanned for porn or the dude from The Goonies, and we chose Sloth on the Road. WRONG. The HORROR.
Imagine wicked face, demon+abominable snowman+weird monkey+raccoon+Grinch, coming at you to eat your brain.
So this image pops up, and we run screaming. And then peek and run screaming. Rinse, repeat.It became a family joke to see the sloth on the road. We hadn't seen our tormentor in a while, and because I am Twisted Mommy, I left this remembered image up on the screen for them for the next morning.
Every day they check the weather to begin the tense negotiations of wardrobe. They know I think the weather forecast is voodoo and when I did the news for our college radio station, I would always just make up the weather. Mean, if anyone ever listened, which they did not. I shall save for therapy for them for having to deal with me, but I could not wait for the screeches and the SLOTH ON THE ROAD in the morning, and success!
Sloth on The Road went over like gangbusters, much screeching and running and then looking at it again and then screeching and running. And then a discussion of how I am "bizarre" (V, and that is true), "weird" (E, also true), and then M, in her sweet, darling, suck-up glory, says that I am pretty, and she wins and now gets all of my jewelry when I die. Which will be a result of having my brain eaten out by the Sloth on the Road.