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October 14, 2002

Pinhead's Progress "Here comes the

Pinhead's Progress

"Here comes the man.......with the auger in his hand....he's going to bore a hole-a.......bore a hole-a.......bore a hole-a....bore a hole-a!"

Oh, how I feared that sound as a child. Dad would intone it in a dead monotone that sounded like a zombie Voice of Doom, his finger spiraling in slowly towards his target, then faster and faster, the pitch in his voice rising the faster his finger went, until it inevitably attempted to drill a hole into some ticklish portion of the anatomy. Eventually all he had to do to drive his children from a room was to intone "Here comes the Man" in a suitably suspenseful voice; convenient when he desired a nice peaceful little lie-down on the couch.

I don't ever remember liking it, not that the memory has stopped me from inflicting it on Ngnat, who absolutely adores it....for the moment. I suspect that in a couple of years she'll come to hate it as much as I did as a child, as I follow my dad down the same path of futility, resorting to ever more frenzied measures in order to produce the same innocent toddler delight I receive now--from a jaded and cynical kindergartner.

But that's in the future. For now it's the latest and greatest in the Daddy bag of tricks, so effective that I got her to shriek in faux terror and collapse onto the floor tonight just by turning my head ever so slightly and extending my index finger. She gets some of her own back occasionally, turning her finger in little circles, then jabbing at me.

"Heah comma man, nana ina han.......bora hola!," chuckling as I mime an extreme ticklish reaction. "Do again?"

So we do again, or we do momma, or the cats, who ignore the first part of the ritual, then stare at us in astonishment and stalk stiffly away after a bora hola! interrupts their nap on the couch, and a tiny finger or two bumps along their rib cage.

These are new times, though, and modern times call for new techniques to supplement the old in the area of tickle technologies. She'll be lying on the floor, kicking at me with a kind of joyful viciousness, and I'll switch from the slow torture of the auger chant to something several warps speeds beyond it, from longish period of horrifying anticipation.....poke to pokepokepokepokepokepokepokeppoke. Unlike the auger...poem?, for which I have been unable to find an origin, I know exactly where this tickle chant comes from. I don't know why this particular bit of life's detritus popped out of my head when it came time to tickle the toddler, but it seems to fit.

Gabba gabba we accept you we accept you one of us! Gabba gabba we accept you we accept you one of us!

Thanks Joey.

Posted by Bigwig at October 14, 2002 11:20 PM | TrackBack
Postscript:
First time visitor to House Hraka? Wondering if everything we produce could possibly be as brilliant/stupid/evil/pedantic/insipid/inspired as the post you just read? Check out the Hraka Essentials, the (mostly) reader-selected guide to Hraka's best posts, and decide for yourself.
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