Cow Mama and her three girls!

What is more important than to laugh and be delightful as the earth is rolling up the curtain and welcoming the year of 2012. May Cotton Boy wish everyone to reach the realm of Cotton World in which we are allowed to dream, to float and to be free!

Last October, I wrote a humorous story about a Cow Mama and her three little girls. If you have read it, please laugh again. If this is your first time to experience Cotton Boy’s humor, please be nice and laugh. If you are numb and think you have many better ones, why don’t you send me one and I will disseminate it to my fans.

Here is the story …  

One sunny morning, a Cow Mama and her three baby cows were out grazing in the green pasture. The first baby cow asked Cow Mama, "Mama, why is my name “Daisy”?"

Cow Mama replied, "Well sweetie, when you were born, a daisy fell on your head."

The first baby cow was satisfied, bounced back and continued relishing the grass.

A moment later, the second baby cow came up to Cow Mama and questioned "Mama, why is my name "Pansy"?

Cow Mama happily chimed "Well, honey, when you were born; you were surrounded by many colorful pansies."

The baby cow reveled and was very invigorated, “Thank you, Cow Mama”. She continued gazing.

Then, there came the third baby cow. She was confused and inquired Cow Mama, “Mama, why didn’t you name me as some sorts of flowers? Why do I have the name, “Shitty”?”

Cow Mama gulped down an enormous air and said, “Sweet heart, I thought I was going to the bathroom, but you came out!”

What the heck is "Bake a Cake"? (Part II)

The story continues …

Cotton Boy: Willie, you didn’t bake a cake, did you? I mean a real cake! This jargon or idiom must mean something else.

Willie: (weeping…) God kill me please! I was so confused and so eager to be employed. Working for the financial industry is definitely a dream job for me. Now, everything has been ruined; everything was destroyed because of my stupidity.

Cotton Boy: Willie, we, Chinese, in general, don’t know how to bake cakes or cookies. We don’t grow up with this tradition. Who taught you? And what sort of cake did you make by the way?

Willie: I called friends to help, watched Youtube videos and searched for on-line recipes of how to make a blackforest cake with cherry icing on top. I spent hours to learn, to mix all the ingredients and to bake it. Though the bottom of the cake was burnt a bit, it is still delicious. Cotton Boy, I am eating the cake now.

Cotton Boy: Are you alright? Didn’t they take your cake? What is going on? What is the true meaning behind of “Bake a Cake”? Tell me the entire story, please stop eating your cake while talking to me and quit whimpering! Be a MAN!

Willie: Yes! Yes! Yes! In financial world, “Bake a Cake” means as follows:

“This term is mostly used on public companies which have a particular stock index in the market. Before any companies release a quarter or an annual financial report to the public whether it is a surplus or deficit, the companies will try to minimize any sudden fluctuation affecting the price of a stock. They will be seeping the news to the market bit by bit. This act is called “Bake a Cake”. For example, if a company's earnings are large for a particular quarter, the company or its financial consulting firm may leak the information so that investors bake it into the cake, reducing the pressure for an unsustainable jump in price when the earnings are actually announced. This allows the markets to gradually adjust before the announcement. It is more formally called discounting the news.”

Willie: The secretary, the manager and the VP were speechless when they saw the cake. I even carried a plastic knife and some paper plates to serve them. The VP said he was impressed and claimed that I was very nice and authentic. They laughed; I laughed. All became mocking. The VP hurriedly wrapped up the interview and walked me out to the meeting room with a statement, “We will contact you after the decision is made.” I was holding the half uncut cake disappointedly, entered the elevator and punched the “G” button. Fortunately enough, there was not an open window. If I had found one at that moment, I would have surely jumped out of it to kill myself.”

Cotton Boy: What the heck? I am so sorry to hear that, Willie. It is their loss not to hire you. Forget everything and be prepared for the next one. At least, you know how to bake a cake now.

Willie: COTTON BOY!!! (yelling, screaming and shouting … blah, blah, blah)

What the heck is “Bake a Cake”? (Part I)

My mobile phone rang at 3:30 p.m. as the snow began falling. A few of snowflakes were descending at first; then millions followed. From the size of sesame, snowflakes gradually enlarged their cubic feet to become multi-petal white roses hailing down to the ground. An instant later, naked trees, the sleeping lawn and the steeples of chimneys were shrouded by a thin layer of white scarf.

I picked up the phone; the caller ID displayed, “Willie” who has been a friend of mine, Cotton Boy, for more than two decades and coincidentally he has migrated and rooted in the soil of America in the era of Bill Clinton. Since the financial tsunami paralyzed the U.S. economy in 2008, Willie’s working hours had been slashed. He became a part-time worker and lived under the umbrella of unemployment benefits. He searches for jobs, and has been sending out hundreds of resumes to various companies. He was invited to attend some interviews, but the outcomes were mostly the same, “We are still in the process of interviewing candidates. We will contact you once the decision is made,” he was told. Willie is a smart, organized and diligent man; he never expected he would be spun and spiraled downward in the employment world. He patiently waited and waited, they never called back. Instead, emails stating his background of knowledge was extensive and impressive, but someone with better qualification had filled the position. One after the other came of these similar responses from prospective employers, Willie was upset, then pent-up with anger and resentment. I consoled him, “Just keep trying and be resilient. Tomorrow will be better!” He sounded grumpier each time on the phone.

The mobile phone continued ringing and vibrating. I hesitated to answer it as I was planning to have my late lunch and I know Willie too well that he wouldn’t call me during the day time unless very shitty things happened. A song, “That’s What Friends Are For,” by Dionne Warwick emerged. I blatantly chimed, “Cotton Boy is here always for friends no matter if it is a good time or bad time. That’s what friends are for.”

The following are the dialogues between Cotton Boy and Willie on December 27, 2011:

Cotton Boy: Hey Shot Gun Willie, what’s up? (That’s the nickname I address him since middle-school)

Willie: Cotton Boy, they tricked me. It is the third interview that I had with this financial consulting company within this month. I thought I would be hired. I was so close but the interviewer gave me a same reply, “Will contact you once the decision is made.” I am exhausted!

Cotton Boy: What had happened? Perhaps, they will call you shortly. Don’t be disappointed too soon! Think positively.

Willie: I totally screwed up. A few days ago, a secretary notified me the VP of the firm would like to schedule another interview with me right after Christmas. At the end of the phone call, she said I should prepare and “Bake a Cake”. I was exhilarated and overjoyed to receive this invitation and didn’t pay much attention to the true meaning of this idiom, “Bake a Cake”.

Cotton Boy: What is it? Bake a Cake? Not a “Piece of Cake”? What does it mean? Oh…..No! No! No! Willie, you didn’t bake a cake and bring it to the interviewer. Did you?”

***Did Willie bake a real cake and present it during the interview? What is the true meaning of “Bake a Cake” behind? How did the interview end up? Come back to http://cotton-boy.blogspot.com by December 30^th to reveal the rest of the story.***

I can't wait the year of 2012 to begin!

Cotton Boy is getting lazy and is slacking in his snowflake dream. Before the beginning of 2012 is knocking at our doors, I would love to take this wonderful holiday times to deliver my warmest regards to my dearest Cotton Boy's fans, "Happy New Year!"

**A new story of Cotton Boy will be released by the end of Dec. 28, 2011. Stay tuned!

“I care and Santa cares, Cinderella!”

Cotton Boy doesn’t live amid the clouds nor in a castle; Cotton Boy lives in one of the buildings clustering on the edge of Lake Erie, Ohio. Half of my apartment directly faces toward the sapphire lake. I usually love standing by the windows, sliding them open, laying my hands on the sills and leaning forward to catch the fresh crisp breeze in the morning to revitalize and reenergize every moving cell in my body. I, instantly, feel like I was buoying and floating in the air and awaiting my Merry-Go-Round castle to transfer me to a gigantic piece of cotton cloud. Angels hymn in the mid-air; humming birds hover in the sky, sun rays shine and glitter everything. I do nothing but am solely eating giant cherry cotton candies and polishing my crown. This is my favorable daydream of my last summer and autumn since I settled here in the U.S.

When the winter arrives, “Oh, no! Everything is becoming naked. Plants and caterpillars perish. Rodents are hibernating; sparrows submerge close to the bottom of the scrubs and cloak themselves underneath the fallen leaves. All the interactions of our universe seem to be gradually frozen,” I aspirated.

I intentionally pushed through the window, but heard the wind was howling outside. “It is a blustery cold day. I should find something else to do at home besides daydreaming,” I murmured. I pelted a quick glance to the laundry basket by the door. It was forming a little mountain; clothes were spewing out of the basket and carpeting the floor. I collected and pinched them back to the basket. I whistled “Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle All The Way …”; I gripped the handles, lifted it up and waddled down to the laundry room which was at the ground floor of the building.

“Hey, Cinderella! How are you? Merry Christmas!” She glanced at me and muttered, “Fine … No one care! No one care!” “Are you alright, Cinderella? Tell me who is being mean to you? I will kick their butts for you!”

Cinderella is employed as a cleaner of the property. She told me her name one time, yet I did not catch it exactly. I only remember the first letter of her name is, “C”. Since then, I called her “Cinderella. She never opposes how I address her; perhaps she likes this fairy tale name. Cinderella is Romanian and is in her mid 50’s, short and plump, but she moves agilely and works diligently. She informed me that she doesn’t have any relatives here. She got married with an American 20 years ago; then divorced and now she is by herself. I questioned if she ever wanted to move back and be close to her family. She screeched and shouted out words heavily accented from the region of Eastern Europe in hopes of explaining me in details. I was attentive, but honestly, I didn’t understand. Her face turned red and became impatient. She kept blowing words out of which I couldn’t recognize. I hurriedly said, “Slow down. You can tell me next time.” After that, I never ask her again. That’s what we call, “language barrier”. I admire her and find she is so brave to live alone in a foreign land with limited language skill. She is fighting against all the uncertainties to accomplish her American dream(s).

Back to the “Scene”:

“See, see, see! Very dirty. I clean every~day and every~day dirty,” she protested and showed me the rag a few inches away from my nose of which she just finished wiping the top of all the washing machines. I fell back a bit and I proclaimed, “It is not me! I am a good tenant.” She mocked and said, “Whatever! No one care! No one care!”

I spoke with a heroic voice, “I care and Santa cares, Cinderella. Merry Christmas!”

“Where am I? India or Philippines?”

The sound “Dou, Dou, Dou” from the price scanner; the greeting “Hey, Hi and Ho” from the customers and the “Ring, Rang and Rung” sounds from the telephone drive me nuts! The noise, the scuffle and the skirmishes of price annoy me while I am performing my job as a cashier at the drugstore. Scanning the merchandises is fine; making sure I collect and discharge the correct amount of money are understandable; welcoming and assisting customers are bearable; however, I just can’t answer phones and conduct all the aforementioned tasks at the same precise moment. I cry; I collapse and I have no shame to speak to the receiver, “I surrender! Cotton Boy is defeated. Please let me go. Be kind and merciful, Merry Christmas!” I clicked; I clunked and I hung up the call.

The below is part of the extract that I remember during the phone conversation.

Scene: It happened on a dark cloudy early evening yesterday. I was a cashier at the drugstore and was assisting customers to check out their products. There were three customers waiting in line; the paper in the cash register machine was jammed. While I was opening it to re-feed the paper, the phone rang. I was told to answer it within the first three rings. I picked it up and said professionally:

Cotton Boy: Thank you for calling XXX drugstore. This is Cotton Boy. How can I help you?

Caller: Yeah. Whatz up, bro? Do you still hafs the 12-inch Minkie Mouse doll on sale?

Cotton Boy: Excuse me? Did you say Mickey Mouse?

Caller: Nope, I said, “Minnie Mouse”.

Cotton Boy: Do you mind if I put you on-hold? Someone will assist your call, Sir.

Caller: Wait, wait, wait … Where am I now?

Cotton Boy: I am sorry, what you do mean?

Caller: I’m saying you are in India or Philippines? Jesus Christ, this country even outsourcing this job to overseas. No wonder we don’t have no job here.

Cotton Boy: Sir, I am in Ohio, USA. Your call didn’t route to India or the Philippines.

Caller: You have accent!

Cotton Boy: Sir, I have “AN” accent. It doesn’t mean I am not in the U.S. Could you please hold?”

I, then, immediately page someone to help him find “Minnie Mouse”. I frowned and was distraught. It is stressful and even dreadful to answer calls similar to this every day. I need some oxygen, “Let me breathe!”

Cotton Christmas "Ho-Ho-Ho"

To all Cotton Boy's Fans,

Cotton Boy is Chinese and was raised in a traditional Chinese family which doesn't celebrate Christmas at all. Christmas is only a day of no work, no school and lots of food to eat. My friends call me Cotton Grinch as I don't know anything about Jesus and the Christianity. I said, "Whatever!" They sang the Grinch song on and on ...

"You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch.
You really are a heel.
You're as cuddly as a cactus,
You're as charming as an eel.
Mr. Grinch. "

I protested and decided to make a Christmas card for everyone who celebrates Christmas becasue of fun, food and a day of no work, not because of Jesus or any religons upholdinging the Christmas spirit.  

I declare, hereby, that anyone who has no religious background deserves a Merrrrrrrrrrrry Christmas, too!

Have a Cotton Christmas!!!!!!