We Received something in the mail last week for my sister Paige… randallbass1958 sent a letter with a gift inside 🙂 My mother read it to her and as she did, Paige had tears streaming down her face, she is so grateful and wanted him to know 🙂 Thank you Randy from Paige and our entire family 🙂 And thank you all of my friends on Xanga for being there..You always know who your true friends are when you are in need 🙂 As you all know Paige was in the hospital but now she is home and resting comfortably, thank God…They have upped her morphine to 30 and she is not in any pain..
The Bible says that laughter is like medicine, and I believe this to be true…So I have printed off some stories created by David Curr of a funny character named LOBO for Paige 🙂 She enjoyed this one in paticular and I would like to share it with all of you…
Die with a Tee
After a few months, I could get around pretty well without the wheelchair or crutches. This was good news because my new trailer park digs weren’t handicap accessible. Still, I needed help to move, and LOBO was the only one to volunteer.
So we got every last stick of my solid carved wood Victorian furniture in place, and miraculously without scratching or breaking anything. And LOBO worked really hard surprisingly; he didn’t even complain while we hauled my Grand piano up the circular stairway.
“I don’t know why you didn’t just have me move in with you at your old place,” he says, sulky.
“Less talkee. More workee.” I reply.
Finally finished, I announce that I’m going to spend the rest of the day watching the White Sox game. LOBO hates sports, and I was hoping this would encourage him to leave on his own volition.
No such luck.
So I hop in my soon-to-be-repossessed Mercedes to go get some groceries –and get away from him for a little while.
LOBO liked the rusty yellow El Camino on cinderblocks I got with the place a lot. So much, in fact, he decided to get some more cinderblocks while I was gone as a surprise housewarming gift; unaware that my 300SL Gullwing Coupe was facing imminent repossession, he decided that I might like to proudly display my vehicle in such a manner.
But after hunting for hours, the only cinderblocks he could find were filthy … completely unsuitable for such a beautiful vehicle. Faced with no other option, he decided he would have to settle for some blocks that were in decent condition and wash them.
As he struggled carrying the sixteenth cinderblock to the growing pile in my shower stall, he
happened to step on the bathroom scale. Reading his weight combined with the cinderblock, he freaked.
“Oh my God, I’m a fat fuck!” he screamed.
The tow truck was already there waiting for me when I returned, and it was hooked up even as I fished out my frozen pizza and the half bottle of Early Times. And in the oppressive 102 degree August heat, I watched them haul away my baby.
Turning toward the house, I notice a half a dozen neighborhood dogs circling the place. That’s strange, I thought.
I entered my new pressboard palace, and it was quiet.
No smell of smoke, no screams.
“LOBO,” I called, heading for the kitchen.
I began to preheat the oven, and in fifteen minutes or so, I’ve got a sausage pizza cooked. I look around for my pizza cutter. The drawers, only hours ago filled with the Tiffany silverwear set and cutlery, are inexplicably empty.
Something rumbled again. A picture fell off of the wall.
I headed for the living room again. “LOBO?” I called again.
“Avert your eyes from cellulite horror!” he cried.
A massive yellow foot emerged from around the doorway.
LOBO staggered into full view in one of those giant yellow biological suits you see in the movies. There were strange, awkward corners, random bulges, and odd tears all over it. “I’m sorry,” he says. “For
me to fully enter the living room, you will have to go back into the kitchen.”
“What the fuck happened while I was gone?” I demanded.
“I don’t know!” he sobbed. “But I’m a lardass now!”
I never should have left him alone, I’m thinking. Whatever this is, this my own fault, really …
“I have been eating the same thing everyday for years,” he cried. “A box of Ho-hos, and two liters of Mountain Dew. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s a strict discipline. And now look at me! I’m mordredly obese!” LOBO wobbled slightly in the stuffed plastic, and came to rest leaning on the wall. “I broke your Nordic Track!” he wailed.
“What’s with the getup?”
“I figure this has to be some kind of airborne biological counterattack from Hezbollah,” he says.
“Isn’t it kinda hot in all that?” I ask, noting the clear plastic face shield completely fogged over.
“No,” he replies sniffling, still leaning awkwardly against the wall. “It’s actually pretty comfortable.”
“What happened to all my silverwear?”
“I disposed of it. And the food. So’s we wouldn’t be tempted and die of helplessly-clogged arteries and heart attacks.”
I sigh. “So how am I supposed to cut my pizza?”
“You’re not,” he says. “Aren’t you listening?”
“Where are the scissors?”
“You can’t use scissors to cut pizza,” he insists. “That’s disgusting.”
I open a drawer in a desk and there the scissors are. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you get hungry.”
So I cut the pizza up into four, and come back chewing on a slice. LOBO is still standing against the wall, breathing heavily. He sees me and says “That is so unsanitary.”
“Look,” I says chewing. “This pizza is soooooo good,” I says taunting him as I chew with my mouth open. “Mmmmmmm–“
LOBO gags. “I can’t believe you cut it with something I use to trim my pubes.”
I freeze in mid-chew.
After what seems like minutes, the half-chewed pizza falls out of my open mouth onto the rug.
“YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!” I scream. Holding the scissors in the air, I rush the bloated, immobile asshole.
LOBO screams, flailing his stiff arms helplessly.
“You’ve ruined my life!” I snarl, swinging wildly. My first stab tears off the yellow plastic mask, and underneath, LOBO is wearing a gas mask and a novelty drinking hat. Both barrels loaded with Diet Pepsi, and little tubes run down and underneath the black rubber. “Look everyone!” I laugh madly, pulling the mask and letting it smack back hard against his face. “It’s the Megiddo Misquito!” Another slash, and the secrets of LOBO’s cool comfort come pouring out; my frozen chicken, my frozen waffles. My ice cream. He was wearing crisscrossed makeshift bandoliers of frozen Snickers, Mars bars, and Three Musketeers.
Stabbing someone to death isn’t going to look good on my resume, either. So I switched to my golf clubs. My titanium Callaway driver sunk into my pot pie with a sickening thud, cracked into my bag of mixed vegetables. It was all I could do to cling to some thread of sanity; in a final burst of inspired mercy, I wheeled LOBO’s lumpy, wobbly ass out the door, and slammed and locked it. LOBO shrieked as one of the dogs gnawed into the two pounds of ground beef he had stashed in his underwear …
The Odd and Quirky News
Nuns grab bikes to pursue thief on run
TWO Dutch nuns, wearing their habits and riding bikes, have chased a suspected thief through Amsterdam.
One of the sisters believed she recognized a man walking past their chapel in southern Amsterdam on Saturday evening as a thief who snatched hundreds of euros in cash from the building two weeks earlier. She invited him inside for a drink and asked a fellow nun to alert police.
The man became suspicious, fled the building and snatched a bicycle from a passer-by. “The nuns then grabbed their bikes and gave chase. They tried to grab him, but he managed to escape into a residential neighbourhood and they lost him,” a police spokesman said.
Police later searched for the man but could not find him.
Ok she invited him in for a drink? yeahhhhh the good ole come in for a night cap lets grab him routine I see said the blind man to his deaf horse oh yeah 🙂 Until the next time bye 🙂