You see, families think it is a great idea to drag their kids to Wall Drug. It’s a “historical” tourist trap known for cheap coffee, ice water, old fashioned donuts, and a booming bumper sticker industry. However, the real attractions are the animatronic atrocities out back in Wall Drug’s “alley.” They eat quarters, do dances, and sing songs. And in the back alley is where I met Singing Sam.

The Gorilla Man was less a gorilla and more a shag rug wearing a cheap suit. He was a pinhead with a lower jaw made up of, what seemed to be, a paper plate covered in hair from the local barber. This monstrosity would move his broomstick arms up and down on a fake piano while a sun warped record playing “Pop Goes the Weasel” spun its nightmarish tune.

Be warned, the video embedded below may cause the wetting of your trousers.

The video provided above shows Sam at his worst and most terrifying. It appears that he may have caught on fire several times and was simply left to burn. Roadside America shows Sam in happier, yet still horrifying, times.

Unless you can go back in time, you will not get to experience Singing Sam in person. He has been replaced by a less terrifying version. I do not have the heart to link to the new Gorilla. It makes me sad when the history of America is destroyed.

But the memory of that hot summer day in the South Dakota badlands will stay with me. I may not remember names, faces, or your occupation, but I will remember the original Singing Sam: The Best Horrifying Gorilla Man of Terror.

No, I didn’t spell IKEA wrong. I mean the International House of Pancakes. Both IKEA and IHOP are located in the same vicinity, and a hearty breakfast was needed to make it through the one long hallway that was IKEA. After making several attempts were made to park our borrowed truck, my wife and I arrived at IHOP with breakfast delights in mind.

Everything started off simply enough. The IHOP, located near both the Mall of America and the airport, was packed. A 15 minute wait didn’t seem long at all for such a busy establishment. We took a seat in the lobby and waited as the manager called parties in a quirky and assuming fashion. “Robert party, welcome to paradise,” he would blast from the overhead system. “Dan party, what took you guys so long?” It was a chipper and quirky birthday treat.

Eventually my party of two was seated at a six person table with two other people. If this were New York, we would have had another party of two taking up the extra space. But being in Minnesota, we were given a buffer between the other couple. We ordered our food and received it without incident. This 10 AM breakfast had gone off perfectly.

And then came the incident. If it were up to me, I would never tell anyone it was my birthday. But my wife took over. “Do you do anything for birthdays,” she asked the waiter. “Oh yes,” said the waiter, in an oddly enthusiastic fashion. “We have ice cream,” he finished. Then he quickly walked off before he could be stopped. If there was ever a time to enjoy ice cream for breakfast, it was your birthday.

And then, suddenly, there was clapping. Rhythmic clapping, and it was headed my way. It seems our waiter had wrangled six other members of the IHOP wait staff, and they were beginning to open their mouths. Yep, singing came out. Who knows or cares what their made up “don’t sue us” birthday song was. All I could think was that this wasn’t a TGIF or Applebee’s. This shouldn’t have been happening! And now the whole restaurant was clapping along.

I had turned into a character from a Fantagraphics graphic novel. I wanted to let all the restaurant patrons know that this isn’t what I had wanted. They didn’t need to pay any attention to me. They should go about their business.

Still, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling and blushing. It was caught completely off guard and I was delighted. I really didn’t care if my birthday was acknowledged, but it felt pretty grand when it was.

We all have birthdays and they are never a surprise. We know they’re coming. Everyone has them. So what is so special? Maybe it is just a day to let down our barriers. To stop worrying about what others think of us and just celebrate ourselves for once. We don’t have to be an ass about it. It’s just our birthday is all. And we’re still alive, after all these years. And that’s pretty swell.

Also, go to IHOP for breakfast. The waiters don’t get to sing very often, and they’re happy to do it.

[Photo by philcampbell]

Yesterday, I used Twitter to make a terrible pun that is now my favorite thing in the world. In short, I claimed to be playing Gra Bass. Which, for dirty minds the world around, breaks down to grabass. From what I understand, grabass is like horseplay but more homoerotic. Yet, I qualified this “Gra Bass” declaration, claiming it was a Portuguese game. In Portuguese, “Gra” means “supreme.” So I wasn’t grasping a buttock with my hands at all! I was simply playing the exciting board game (or card game, perhaps) of Supreme Bass!

Puns are even lamer when you explain them. Guess I should have kept it simple and asked for when a door is not a door.

Are you trying to be useless? You seem to be missing a step. How about I “see a trained professional who graduated from medical school” first? That’s what you should suggest, if you cared about my well being.

Chiropractor’s should be filed in the same category of prescription drugs. If your doctor refers you to one, great. They do server a purpose in specific cases. So, really, if you tell me to “see a chiropractor”, you might as well be telling me to “take some penicillin.” Take some penicillin? Are you serious? Stop being stupid. Penicillin? For my back?

So I’m going to a real doctor who understands things today. Not someone who thinks they can fix my liver by adjusting my spine. And, no, that isn’t a straw man argument. That’s what a lot of chiropractors believe that can do. It’s called vertebral subluxation.

Now let me get this straight. You’re not even telling me to take penicillin. You’re telling me to take a useless Fish Oil supplement to fix my back. Do you like seeing me in pain? Stop trying to be helpful.

• For a minimum of four hours yesterday, there was a small puddle of chocolate milk slowly making its way into the fibers of our office carpet. It was not my chocolate milk, and I don’t believe it belonged to anybody. If it did, that anybody would have had four hours to come by and retrieve it with a paper towel. Nobody could be lazy for four hours unless they were asleep. And this is a place of business.
• I saw two Fringe Festival shows this year. I meant to see zero.
• It is time for new gutters on my home. The previous owner decided they didn’t need all those brackets to hold up their gutters. And I guess they were right, because that dude is gone and now I am dealing with gutters that bow in the middle and spill water right over the doorway. Jackass.
• After seeing more than one Fringe show, I decided that I missed doing theater. In fact, I might even miss it enough to do something about it. I know! A catalyst! Those are great!
• There was a rare red squirrel in my backyard this morning. It was playing with a rabbit. I think these are the end times.

That’s enough.