Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Sniffing Phlogiston Again
SURE sign I need to get out and be around people: I start singing "Who's My Little Whosit?" to my dog to piss him off and send him into a barking frenzy.
I'm getting at least a call a day for my ex-wife. All of them are companies wanting to give her a student loan. She's been gone a LOT of years now. I've been demanding to be taken off various phone lists, but I'm thinking it's time to have some fun.
"I'm sorry, she's waxing her pubes right now, and I don't dare interrupt her."
"She was a very bad girl and is tied up right now."
"You think I'm gonna interrupt a blowjob for YOU? Forget it."
"Got a camera phone? Since the skydiving accident, she blinks once for yes, twice for no."
"She's mopping the floors like a proper little wifey."
"She's getting all the skills she'll ever need at the Stepford Academy."
"She got an infection from her tongue piercing and they had to amputate."
The rest are a tad crude for public blogging.
I couldn't help but notice these new feminine pad commercials: "Have you ever had your pad get wet and sticky?"
"O0h, yes."
Darn. The secret's out. I was thinking of marketing those as Girl Flavored Gummy Chews. Yet another brilliant idea, shot to hell.
Dad was better today, there in the Rehab center. Maybe that's why I'm in a good mood and my twisted sense of humor has come crawling out. He was doing a creditable job of feeding himself, so I helped him a bit. He was nicely awake, managed to ask a few complete questions I understood, I filled him in on the latest family news, said hi from a couple of his friends. I don't think he was clear on everything and everybody, but he got part of it, at least. I didn't have to remind him that Mom is dead, either. That upsets hell out of both of us.
I was letting the dog do his doggie thing outside while talking to my across-the-street neighbor. I yelled at the dog not to dump in their yard, so he started pouting his way back. The neighbor mentioned that he wouldn't mind if the dog went on "the trail". See, there's this yard in the next neighborhood that some middle-school kids traverse. It leads into MY neighbor's yard. He doesn't mind the kids much, but Vince The Drug Dealer, who lives further down the street, has a flock of "regulars" who also walk the trail, often in the wee early hours when nobody's awake but me. Over time, various tools have vanished from the neighbor's place. Actually, some of my stuff did, too, before Basher the dog came into my life. Basher, on his own, walked over to the trail entrance and dropped his load. "Good boy", said the neighbor. Basher wagged his tail and came over for a pat on the head. I've got a feeling the local druggies are going to exhibit a common aroma from now on. Knowing my dog, there's LOTS more where that came from.
And, on that fecally happy note, I must be movin' on.
Have a good one, people.
