Families and the Oil of Monkeys

Feb 4, 2011 | 6 minutes read

Pardon the indulgence, but this post is not related to Windows Azure, cloud computing, or technology whatsoever. Instead, it’s a celebration of my wonderful family, and the fun we have.

It all started one morning with a simple email from my sister. It degraded into a war of “poetry” that, to this day, is still unresolved. It’s become one of those things that we never talk about in person, but is resurrected over email by my mother.

On 3/09/06, Tami Wegner wrote:

Roses are red,        
Violets are blue,         
I feel very special,         
to have a family like you....guys.

When I read this, I knew my sister was baiting me … I couldn’t resist!

On 3/09/06, Wade Wegner wrote:

Families Are ...       
the nectar of cashews,        
the sweet syrup of bananas,        
the oil of monkeys.

Families Are ...       
the sigh of a squeezed lemon,        
the burp of an old dog,        
the fart of a pregnant lady.

Families Are ...       
the bonds of impropriety,        
the shackles of slavery,        
the engagement of civil war.

Families Are ...       
the violet of bruises,        
the puke-green of expectant hopes,         
the beet-red of high blood pressure.

Families Are ...       
a group you cannot choose,        
a group you oft' bemoan,        
a group you cannot live without!

It took awhile, but my sister finally responded with a slightly weak …

On 3/17/06, Tami Wegner wrote:

I think I'm the "oil of monkeys" today.

I immediately knew that something needed to be done to pull this back into the realm of nonsense, so without missing a beat, I took action! What happened throughout the rest of the day will live forever in legend!

On 3/17/06, Wade Wegner wrote:

The oil of monkeys,       
is a curious thing.        
It'll make you laugh,        
it'll make you sing.

it is misconstrued,        
As something that is        
horribly crude.

But don't you think       
to bemoan this genus.        
For this concept,        
is purely genius.

Now put on a smile,       
and unfurl your brow.        
Do what Bart says,        
and don't have a cow.

Cup your hands together,       
and squeeze them tight,        
and watch the monkey oil,        
drip to your gleeful delight.

This seemed to get them going (or else my dad finally got out of bed) because I got my first good rebuttal.

On 3/17/06, James Wegner wrote:

Though the oil of monkeys       
Might make you sing,        
When I heard the song        
It made my asshole sting.

Alright. Bring it, old man.

On 3/17/06, Wade Wegner wrote:

A stinging asshole,       
is an unfortunate gripe.        
But blame the monkeys less,        
and learn to better wipe.

Nailed it. I was pretty sure he was weeping with shame at this point. Alas, he struck back!

On 3/17/06, James Wegner wrote:

I was half drunk       
When I wiped last,        
And must've done it way too fast...        
For when I woke I couldn't hear        
Found toilet paper in my ear!

Wait, what? Man did he give me some material to play with!

On 3/17/06, Wade Wegner wrote:

"Clean out your ears,"       
you've always said.        
Turns out the problem,        
is in your head.

The oil of monkeys,       
is in your brain.        
I think you've gone        
a bit insane.

There's not much hope,       
that this ill will pass,        
If you cannot tell        
your ear from your ass.

Utter brilliance, if you ask me.

On 3/17/06, James Wegner wrote:

Insane? Insane?       
How do you dare        
Accuse dear Dad without a care?

Well, I forgive you       
And here's why -        
The monkeys from your butt do fly!


I see the rhyming's become a duel,       
To continue - just would not be cool.        
To shirk my work would be a sin!        
Besides - you know that I would WIN!

Yes, a duel it is. En Garde!

On 3/17/06, Wade Wegner wrote:

I'll give you your props       
and say I agree,        
that at rhyming and timing,        
you're better than me.

But don't let that go,       
to far to your head,        
for we all know that fathers        
ego must be fed.

Yet work does call,       
and there's much to be done,        
so a truce I do offer,        
between father and son.

Perhaps later we may       
return to this game,        
and attempt to win points,        
power, glory, and fame.

Let me end with this thought,       
and it might seem quite funky,        
but we all boil down,        
to the oil of monkeys.

I thought a truce was pretty kind of me, considering I clearly won. After all, he is my dad.

On 3/17/06, James Wegner wrote:

Earlier I thought       
that your lack of a post        
Meant that you had conceded        
So I started to toast...

I was premature       
and sheer size of your writing        
made a proper response seem        
so much more inviting.

So a truce is agreed       
but that having been said,        
There is still one last thought        
to get out of my head.

There's no "oil of monkey"       
For whenever you do        
try to catch one and squeeze one        
the result is just pooh.

Not too bad. The old man has some spirit.

On 3/17/06, Tami Wegner wrote:

Come on Wade. Don't let the old man win!!!

Another “helpful” message from my sister. However, it had the desired effect, and I finished strong.

On 3/17/06, Wade Wegner wrote:

Fear not, my dear sister,       
let's not stir up a twister,        
For we know that our chatter,        
lacks substance, depth, and matter.

And lest I strike you all as aloof,       
and disappear in a cloud and a <poof!>,        
Let me just take a moment to say,        
I'd really not have it any other way.

Oh dear dad, papa, my beloved father,       
I realize that I should not even bother        
Yet you insulted, degraded, and I stand agape,        
at the way you attacked my little cute ape.

Be wary the way       
you characterize and splay        
your ridiculous cliché        
or, I daresay,        
you'll rue the day,        
and runaway ...        
For you cannot delay,        
the coming hooray,        
and splendid buffet,        
that precedes the sashay,        
Of our "oil of Olay."

So bend over, pray, and prepare to thank,       
lest the monkey bite, pinch, or spank.        
And if he detects any wit, guff, or sass,        
he'll give you it proper, straight up the ass!

As I said, these duels occasionally continue today. It’s a good time.

I wanted to find a way to more “permanently” record these fun messages, so again, pardon the personal indulgence. I hope you’ve found some humor in it.

Do you and your families have similar crazy riffs like this?

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