How to Milk a Laden Coconut – The Holy Quest


Coconuts do not migrate

Since my post on Monty Python yesterday received at least one comment, I think I’m on to something and I want to keep that trend going.  I think coconuts was the key meta tag that lead my reader to me, your humble master of absurdity. For ages I’ve seen pictures of men pretending to be women wearing coconut bras.  I never a knew that there were trans coconuts, but I am tolerant and accepting for those that choose such a path.  I also had no idea on how to milk a coconut so I set out on a quest of discovery.

First, I tried the DIY way – the hands on approach.  I held a laden coconut firmly in my hand and suckled at the pointed end.  Much to my surprise it yielded no milk and I truly do suck… hard.  I thought for certain this was the origin of the term – Blue Hawaiian.  I tried suckling on various sizes of the nuts and still no milk.

Second, I have very dry skin and eczema so I have to use lotion to sooth said skin, including my scalp.  My lovely wife buys two new products, both clearly labeled as having coconut milk, one a shampoo and the other a conditioner. They are also packaged in nice little bottles easy for nursing and milk consumption. Let me say that the shampoo smelled lovely!  At first you don’t notice the burning lice killing chemicals, but then you start frothing at the mouth and your cursing loses all its impact.  After ten minutes of running cool cleansing water through my mouth, I decide the conditioner must be smoother and enjoyable, like one of my wife’s smoothies.  All I can say is that the hairs on my tongue are now under control.  My bowels however… well, let’s not go there, yet.

Finally, I decided to ask a few true native Hawaiians and they seemed so cooperative that they began to smile and even laugh.  Now that’s what I call collaboration!  They hand me two medium sized nuts and told me that the milk won’t be ready until you place them under your shirt and stand on the roadside for 30 minutes in the Hawaiian heat and humidity. Look up into the sky, sway your hips, and sing to the Gods over and over, “Haole, Haole, Hulu, please bring me some coconut mulu.” Well, I was mistaken, from a long distance, of being a rather well endowed member of Castle Anthrax, and was cat-called, whistled and harassed by tourist and visiting sailors.  Still, no milk, but a lot of propositions.  If you visit Hawaii, be wary of eager Hawaiian’s advice, they are pranksters.

Now my loving wife takes me to a juice bar, where a coconut barista whacks off the pointed end, inserts a straw and voila!  Coconut milk.  I then realize – I hate coconut milk!  It’s vile.  Please someone pass me the pineapple shampoo.  Who in their right mind would eat or drink a coconut?  You have to drown it out with heavy doses of Rum and stick a little umbrella in it. They call this a Pina Colada, a French word that loosely translates to “fart in a glass.”  According to the Internet, which never lies, coconut milk has the following medicinal values:

  • Aids in digestion.  Well yeah!  If you can’t swallow it or keep it down, it never digests.
  • Reduces Sweet Craving.  True!  Just makes you down 151 Rum or Kerosene.
  • Improves Heart Health. Well that’s true too.  The heaving and hurling does raise the heart rate.
  • Gluten Free.  Wait, what?  Gluten is from wheat, barley and rye.  Are you suggesting that these crops migrated to Hawaii to a have a fling with a unladen coconut but the coconut rejected the seeding of their gluten?  I’m starting not to believe the Internet and all the Gluten Gurus.

Well, that ends another episode into the sex lives of migratory coconuts and this writers’ quest to understand the mammary glands of tropical fruit.  I am told they are rebuilding the famous Coco Palms resort.  Huh!  I thought coconuts vacationed in Colorado. We have been invited over to many pupu parties and the thought of that prank alone clears my bowels.

Stay tuned, for my next quest is to learn how to milk a Lychee.  Absurd?  You betcha.


Monty Python and the Holy Grail – 40th Anniversary Shrubbery Sale

The thing I love about Facebook is connecting with people who have the same intellectual craving for fine movies, with a deep meaning of the origin of man and the universe.  Well, this is not one of those moments.  Let us take a perilously peril trip back (yes you must, none shall pass) forty years and relive silly places like Camelot, and conversations about coconut laden swallows and Knights of the round table.  Now that I’m living in Hawaii and know how heavy a migrating coconut can be, I don’t care about the air-speed velocity of any Sparrow, European or African, it is against the law of physics.

I’m not quite dead yet, but boy has 40 years flown, faster than a biting moose with a lead role in, “The Huge Molars of Horst Nordfink.”  When I married my wife with huge tracts of land and made her watch this glorious film, she looked at me as though I had visited the Castle Anthrax and been spanked way too many times by evil bad, bad, Zoot – Dingo’s identical twin sister.  My wife wouldn’t let me have just a little peril.

It took years, but she finally understood that life sometimes has to have its silly moments.  I grew up as a newt watching Monty Python on PBS using rabbit ears and tin foil to increase reception.  Once I took it off my head and placed it on the TV I saw episodes like the silly Olympics, silly job interview for chartered accountants wanting to be lion tamers and other classical moments. That rabbit is dynamite! As was the vicious Chicken of Bristol.

As I grew older I sat around drinking Chateau de Chassilier, eating ham and jam and spam a lot, and contemplating politics of autonomous collectives and anarchosyndicalist communes, and that power is not vested by some silly woman appearing from a lake, and that if you don’t vote for your king, it was a sham election.  But, you can always spot a King, because he doesn’t have shite all over him.  But if you hang around long enough you can witness the oppression inherent in the system.

From Holy Grail, it has been proven here in Hawaii that you can bypass fall and go directly to summer.  I have also proven that I’m getting better now and that my flesh wounds heal quickly.  I just recently learned what a “Pram” is and why anyone would push it alot. Yes, now that I am older I do fart in peoples general direction like a holy hand grenade of Antioch with a stench from the gorge of eternal peril. It is very perilous. Sometimes I get down on my Ni and saw lumber with a herring.  In the howls of the night I become a brave Sir Robin and run away, run away.

I do know that my name is Eddie, no wait, Edward and that my favorite color is red, I mean green.   If I hear an outrageous accent, then I must be near a person from France who might taunt me a second time with insults that my mother was a hamster and my father an elderberry, and they already have a grail sitting on the mantel looking pretty.  Oh those silly French!

There is much, much more to share, but it would be too perilous. Turns out they may play the movie on the big screen again and you are invited to bring coconuts if you like.  I may not be able to attend unless I find a nice, but not too expensive shrubbery, as a sacrifice.  So if you hear someone shouting in the middle of the night, “bring out your dead, bring out your dead” you will know I have found a shrubbery for a date.  I’ve learned a lot about life from this one very simply complex masterpiece of wit and slapstick. It is one movie you must pay close attention to or you will miss out completely in the revelry we cult-like followers share. If you see Roger the Shrubber, say hello to him for me, he’s quite a scruffy ruffian.

Perilously absurd?  You betcha! Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time-uh, you silly kaneggit pig-dog! Enjoy the opening credits and learn about Ralph the Wonder Llama! Can you say, “Ecky-ecky-ecky-ecky-pikang-zoom-boing?”


Pruneface Parkinglot Pruitt

Rev up your engines, the GCX3 model is due this October. This means my daughter is giving birth to my third grandchild this October.  I have two strapping grandsons named Brogan and Beckett (born this August), soon to be All-American linebacker duo at the University of Oklahoma (if I have a say in it).  But my daughter is having a girl, which means I have to polish the shotgun and oil the rusty shovel and get my papa language and evil eye back into practice with the old alert,

You see that girl there young man?  That’s my granddaughter.  You make her cry, I make you cry – capiche?  She wants you gone, you are gone.  See this gun and shovel?  I’m an expert with them.  I’m a grandfather!

My daughter will never admit it, but I scared every single young man who came near me.  They’d run to the door, ring the bell and then run like a banshee back to their car waiting for her to run equally like a banshee to escape.  Luckily my son-in-law is in the military, so he understands rank and respect, well, okay, rank then.

But it dawned on me.  Crap.  I’m old!  Gone are the days when girls whistled at me on the beach, nowadays when I hear whistling I suck in that gut as hard as I can, turning blue like William Wallace going into battle, with the expectation it was all about me, when in fact it was about some dog, marking his spot on my leg.

“Bad spot, bad spot..  you peed on the Uncle!”

EddieAuthorMy lawn guy tells me you know you are old when all the young girls call you “Uncle.”  That’s Hawaiian for “Old Fart.”  In English it means to surrender, capitulate, give in to the pain of a wrestling match you have no chance in hell winning.  So call me Uncle Hamish.  But… I won’t capitulate entirely, because I live in Hawaii and that makes me cool papa #1!  I will now go by the Rap stage name of 1CoolPapa.

Who’s yo daddy, who’s ya papa?
Who can take out the trash and sling the mopa?
I ain’t yo uncle and I ain’t ya momma
Cuz I be beachin, Ima 1CoolPapa.

But, I digress. (If that rendition does not cure you of Rap, nothing will.)

So now as the hot Hawaiian days pass into college football season, I can sit back and plan all the trips we need to take to visit these miracles of life, so that I can spoil the daylights out of them.  It’s wonderful being a grandparent. I cherish every stinking Karma filled moment.  So if my kids get upset with me I’ll go back into my Gangsta Rap mode.

I was yo daddy, but now Ima papa
This gives me perks and for yo momma
You can throw me out and I still be smilin
Cuz during naptime I’ll be dialin and callin

You say the kids are now stinking rotten,
well that’s Karma or have ya forgotten!
I ain’t yo uncle and I ain’t ya momma
Cuz I be beachin, Ima 1CoolPapa.

Guess who doesn’t get invited for Christmas to deliver the drum, microphone, and amplifier sets?

Absurd?  You betcha!

Disclaimer – this rap material is a work of art and 1CoolPapa will sue the #@$%## out of ya if you so much as #*$&^ try to match if with a Barry Manilow tune !

Well That’s Just Swell!


Yesterday we took a little trip to photograph the swells and waves breaking near Kealia Beach outside of Kapaa, Kauai, Hawaii.  The photos of me are absolutely fabulous, but the waves in the background do not do it justice.  These waves were HUGE!!!  Well, to me at least, a middle-aged chubby guy from west Texas who jumped on the curb to avoid being swept away from a rain (a word as unfamiliar to Hawaiians as snow) induced swell of six inches.  So not one of my faithful readers (well, one that I know of) will ever believe they actually were HUGE until I found this video.

See, I told you they were HUGE!  The majesty and power of these swells is generated from the winds of hurricane Ignacio which spared us his wrath.  He might cross over the international dateline and become a trans tropical typhoon and be renamed “Wanton.”  We are supposed to get more swells from hurricane Jemina later this weekend.

Maybe soon I’ll challenge myself and venture into these waters and hang ten, or as many parts as I can, on a tree, in the mountains.  The lovely Mrs. Greenlee will look at me and reply,

“Well that’s just swell.”

I know, I know, extra lame and greasy humor.  What do you expect from a Haole?