When Ethel Merman Attacks!

It was a hot and muggy night, so Sniffs_Markers and I were enjoying some comfortable sleep in my air conditioned room. Oh, bliss! It was raining outside, and there was a little bit of lightening (strangely the thunder was quite soft.) It was a good sleep. A deep sleep. A sleep that you savour when you’ve finally escaped the humidity (oh, I love my air coniditoner.) But it would not last!

I was awoken by the Voice!

“Youuuu… YoOoOoOuUuUuUuuUuuu…”

I sat bolt upright! My heart pounding in my chest. What was this? Aural night terror??

Again the warbling Voice! – Ethel Merman’s voice!!!

“YoOoOoooOuUuUuUuuUuuu…” (Me?)

I desperately pawed at Markers in mortal fear.

“Ethel Merman! Ethel Merman! Ethel Merman’s in the house!!”


No. Wait!

Ethel Merman is under the bed!!!.

The thunder flickered and ominous shadows sprang to life and then receded into the darkness. The raindrops on the air conditioner making a dull “tickety-tickety… tickety-tickety” noise like fingers drumming absent-mindedly on a desk. Silence… then –

**“YOUuUuUuuUuUuUuuuuuuu…” **

With frightened resolve, I crawled to Marker’s side of the bed and peered over the edge – certain that Ethel’s crooked, long-dead zombie hand would snatch my arm and drag me into the shadows of the under-the-bed maw to Hell where the Spiders live… In the darkness I saw nothing… until lightening flickered across the sky! Black, beady eyes like piercing, iron bullets, and puffy, white cheeks "YOUUUUUUUUUUU! with whiskers – **“YOUUUUUUUUUUU!” **


…wait!.. whiskers?

Aw, hell! I just about shit my pants and it’s freakin’ FatCat, uncharacterisically caterwauling like a nasty old alley cat! Just sitting by the bed with a smug, self-congratulatory expression that makes him look like Michigan J. Frog singing “Hello, my baby! Hello, my honey!..”

Incredulous, I blurted out: “What the hell are you doing???” and he sauntered off to the living room (I swear he was on the verge of kicking his legs like the aforementioned frog.)

That was at 5 a.m. My alarm when off at 7:30. And I got NOT A WINK of sleep in between. I was way too creeped out!

Ethel Merman had possessed my cat! She can reach you from beyond the grave! Such is the power of her fury.

Oh, no ya got Ethel Mermans? That’s bad. They can get into the floorboards, and then they lay eggs.

Ya gotta call Merman-X. Ya know, dey got dem trucks with the big plastic dead Ethel Merman on top.

But will they get “there’s no business like show business…” outta my head??? Dammit, it won’t stop! It won’t stop!


Actually, I find it much more disturbing to think of Michigan J. Frog under my bed than Ethel Merman. Or a cat, for that matter…

I just want to say that I love your cat!
And I love the stories you tell about said cat!
I know, that you are not feeling the love right now, but I am.
Maybe it’s the pain meds, maybe it’s the lack of sleep, but that was funny stuff.
And Eve whom I have always admired from a far and to shy to speak to made me laugh like I haven’t laughed in ages!

I never had Ethel Merman under my bed, but I had Tony Bennett hiding in my laundry hamper. I tempted him out with some Rice-A-Roni.

I feel your windowpane.

If Dylan would please stop “knock—knock—knockin’ on heaven’s door”,
sleep would become a new word (world?)

But Ethel? Tony?
give me Custer’s next to last stand and popeye’s -
"Ive had all I can standz, and I can’t standz no more!"

I think they named a gasoline after Ethel, though…

Sweety Dreamies, anyway…FWIW!

I lean toward Eve’s thoughts…

I found Jane Harlow in my broom closet.

I still haven’t let her out.

Jean Harlow. I meant Jean Harlow. But I have a brain disorder, or something. AARGH!!

I figured it out now, I got Jane Russell and Jean Harlow mixed up together or something.

I’ll have to remember that mental image later. :smiley:

Oh, I couldn’t have any dead celebrities in my broom closet – that’s where we keep the litter box and I would be a bad host/hauntee if the zombies had to hang out in there.

I don’t actually mind the occasional dead celebrity hanging out at my place, but showtunes scaring the crap outta me at 5 a.m. is just plain wrong!

That’s the last time I let FatCat play with a ouija board.

At least Joan Crawford hasn’t risen from the grave yet.

Was Ernest Borgnine under there with her? They were married, you know (and isn’t that a beautiful mental image - Ernest Borgnine and Ethel Merman locked in a sweaty, lustful, hot-monkey-sex embrace?).


I’ve been known to channel Ethel Merman from time to time. Ya know ya can’t sing “Ethel” quietly. Hubby hates it and the cats scurry away in fear. What Fun!

Glad to know that Ethel is finding other vessels through which to spew her love to the world.

::Begins to belt out “Thair’sNOOOObiznezlykSHOOOObiznez” as her office quakes in fear::

I think I’ll wait till I get home. :stuck_out_tongue:

I hadn’t thought about Ernest… Although SkinnyCat spent the morning approaching the bed very cautiously and peering underneath with her tail in a nervous semi-poof. Maybe it’s Ernest.

I’ve never been visited by The Ghost of Ethel Merman ™, but I’m pretty sure that Rosemary Clooney possessed my wife’s Dustbuster last week.

I found Jimi Hendrix hiding under the sink, singing “1983…A Merman I Should Turn to Be”…

Jack Lemmon was in my cupboard. He made a mess and just left it there.


The dead are always expecting other people to clean up after them.

At least he was quiet.