Fat Charlie

One night, a few months ago, ManFriend and I were laying in bed, getting ready for sleepy-time.  A lot of mornings I have to get up at sparrow's fart for work (farts are currently scheduled for approximately 5 am), but I can't fall asleep before midnight.  I'd just put on a smelly scenty hippie stinky thing which had valerian in it.  ManFriend hates the smell, which is fair, since it does smell like poop with a B.O. problem (they used to use it as a perfume in the 16th century, which says oh-so-much about hygiene in the 16th century). 

ManFriend:  If you layed down in a field of valerian would you fall asleep?

me:  That's probably what happened to the guy who slept for 100 years.

ManFriend:  Oh yeah, that guy...

me:  The one from the fable!  You know that fable?

ManFriend:  You mean Fat Charlie and the Valerian Field?

Me:  Yeah, that's the one.  Do remember the song that goes with it?

ManFriend:  (singing) Fat Charlie, that fatty Charlie.  Fat Charlie in the Valerian field.  Fat Charlie, hungh, Fatty Charlie.  Fat Charlie in the Valerian Fieeeeeeeeeelllld.

  

He was accompaning himself with handclaps which 

evolved into a complicated patty-cake solo. 

The crowd of girl scouts who'd broke into the 

house to sell us chocolate cardiac arrest wafers 

stared in dumbfound awe of the speed 

and agility of his hands. 

Me:  I think I mean Rip van Winkle.

ManFriend:  Probably.

I had the Fat Charlie and the Valerian Field stuck in my head until I fell asleep.  For the record, it sounds a cross between Brass Monkey, by the Beasty Boys, and Lovely Day, by Bill Withers.  Please don't try to sing it: you might get hurt.

T