So I am with my kids on a snow day and my 10 year old comes up the hill with his little brother and says “Sliding is cool with Dylan, dad!” to which I say “Sliding is FUN!” to which some lady who I will call Lucy Fuzzy Winkle Fuss Budget says:
“Actually, it’s sledding.”
“You don’t want your kids to do poorly in grammar.”
A PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE MINNESOTA NICE SMILE.
And I could sense she wasn’t joking, cuz she then said, with all her white teeth shining at me, the following:
“I’m not joking.”
“Okay.” I say to her, to shake off her shitty vibe. (I got an online exorcism later. $15 bucks well spent, I’d say.)
“Can we slide some more dad? Jackson asks.
“Yay..sliding…sliding…sliding!” says three year old Dylan.
“Sure.” I say, then look at her.
She is busy watching her own grand-nieces (probably), who appear to be SLIDING…..although maybe she is actually focusing on how much salt she should add to that Christmas dish she promised to bring to her mothers nursing home and why she has to be the family martyr since her brother, a total slob mind you, never calls unless he needs money.
So anyway, 9 year old Jackson, 2 year old Dylan, mom and I are watching the opening ceremonies of the 2012 Olympics in London.
I take that back. Dylan is taking the chewed gum out of his mouth and throwing it at the television.
Anyway, London puts on a great show, and suddenly I realize from below the ground in the stadium rise a bunch of industrial sized smoke stacks – and as they rise, they billow smoke (dry ice, I guess) meant to represent coal, ash, and other industrial toxins the first world created and that were inhaled by Ebenezer Scrooge, Oliver Twist and the Artful Dodger, and some real people, too, back in the day of the dawn of the 20th century.
“What’s that?” Jack asks.
“Smoke stacks.” I say.
“Why do they have smoke stacks?”
“To celebrate human achievement” I say. “”Lung cancer, unsafe working conditions, child labor -”
“What’s child labor?” he asks.
“Black lung – child labor is what you do for your allowance.”
“Is that bad?”
“Not to me.” I say.
“What did they do in Beijing in two thousand and eight?”
“They showed defectors and dissidents. They had this guy standing in front of a tank holding a flower.”
So Reille Hunter is quoted as saying she wants her privacy back.
Which is why she wrote the Memoir entitled:
“What Really Happened: Jon Edwards, Our Daughter, and Me”
Sources who were inside the Hunter camp when she typed out the original manuscript on her iPhone have said the original title was:
“Confessions Of A Fame Whore: Mean Elizabeth Could’ve Lived And I’d Still Have My Hottie Jon-Jon Cuz She Made Him Feel Bad About Himself And I Played Into His Vanity – Did I Mention He Is A Hottie?”
but the publisher decided that would be too provocative. And too long for the attention span of the average American reader.
What was I talking about again?
So, anyway, she was being interviewed AGAINST HER WILL – OF COURSE on some show like Dateline or TMZ or something, and my 2 boys, ages 9 and 2, were in the livingroom with me while I was watching it.
I was laughing and my 9 year old, Jackson, asked why.
Me: Because she’s an idiot.
Me: I don’t know why. She was born that way maybe. But I think you mean why do I think she is an idiot, in that , you mean to ask what is it that she is doing that makes her an idiot, correct?
Jackson: Yeah. Something like that.
(bloggers note: My other son, 2 year old Dylan, is kicking a soccer ball all over the livingroom, knocking over a lamp and then pulling all the clean yet unfolded clothes out of the laundry basket that I haven’t put away and throwing them all over the house. He is rowdy, and I am too tired as a midwest older parent guy to do anything about it.)
Me: She says she doesn’t want any attention on her, but then writes a book and tells everyone about herself.
Me: It’s like ‘Hi….I don’t want you to pay attention to me, so I am gonna go on tv and tell you not to pay attention to me….I am gonna tell everyone not to pay attention to me…are you paying attention to me and what I am saying?’
So my nine year old son and I go to see the movie “Journey 2: The Mysterious Island”
Kind of weird, I don’t remember a “Journey 1” but I guess (thru imdb) that it refers to:
Journey to the Center of the Earth – a 2008 3D adventure film starring Brendan Fraser
Also, I thought it was “Journey To The Mysterious Island” which it is not.
Anyway, we get to the theatre for a matinee…still running at $6.50 even though we are – I look around – the only people there….
OK, so at the ticket counter the lady behind the thick bullet proof glass speaks thru her microphone…”Three or Two Dee?”
My nine year old son who is terminally shy and quiet pipes up with –
THREE DEE…THREE DEE….DAD…..THREE DEE…..
I hear –
….Because I am about to be gouged for the first time that day, excluding when I filled up my gas tank of my 2010 Chevrolet Impala with Sirius XM radio
Before I can say
She sells me 2 tickets to the 3D Matinee, $14 each.
I put out a contract on her in my imagination
Garroting, like what happened to Luca Brasi in The Godfather.
‘You will sleep with the fishes’ I think as I give her one last unapproving stare, the kind my dad used to give me when I asked him the difference between a slotted and a phillips screwdriver.
and my son and I move into the theatre lobby. We are conveniently roped toward the concessions, and of course my never-met-a-piece-of-candy-he-didn’t-like son runs up and orders.
Let’s see, how can I explain what happened next?
So it’s 1932, I am a teller at a small Midwestern Bank. I wear a white and black vertical striped shirt and wear a visor on my head.
The bank manager is puffing on his cigar in his office. His name is Mr. Peterpepper.
I am happy to have a job in this crummy small Midwestern town.
Suddenly, Ma Barker comes in. She points a Tommy Gun right in my face. She yells: STICK EM UP – FELLA!
And I give her all the money without a fight.
Mr. Peterpepper has a wet spot in the front of his pants when he comes out from under his desk.
That’s kind of how I felt when my son got a bag of Skittles, a hot dog, and a small Sprite. I got a soft pretzel and a small Diet Coke.
Thirty bucks later we are in the movie.
Jack eats the Skittles and says he’s not hungry for the hotdog anymore. He doesn’t like how it tastes.
Surprise….the hotdog had been revolving on this meat turning machine I think since the night before and it was all shriveled up – looking like an Egyptian Mummy’s male part, if you know what I mean. Not that I’ve ever seen one.
Ninety eight fun filled minutes later we leave the theatre.
“It wasn’t that good” Jackson says.
I give him a look like my dad gives me now when he doesn’t wear his hearing aid…less shame…more ‘Huh?’
Make sure you get it right when describing your wife’s figure……….or you might get hit with a metallic sled ornament with sharp edges on it.
Tactical error on one of those half listening to things where I am watching television and she is on Frontierville or some VILLE BY ZYNGA…..and we nod and grunt at each other,
but this time she asks a question (must have read one of the blogs of the Real Housewives of MENOPAUSE MANOR) that mattered. I did not pay attention as usual for once and dodged a Christmas tree ornament (A little METAL SLED WITH SHARP EDGES) after I said what I said, and then after that I followed what I said with “We should take the tree down.”
Which also didn’t go over well.
And I said –
“What? It’s like mid January. We have to put up our Presidents Day ornaments!”
We have a JFK in a black convertible limo toy car we place on a coffee table in the livingroom..
its one where JFK is leaning forward after he has his head blown off and it has a little ‘Jackie O’ doll dressed in pink that is leaning over him –
– you used to push a button on the top of the limo and hear four shots –
…I know, but I think one came from the grassy knoll – but ever since two year old Dylan found it last year, it hasn’t worked. Which sucks.
Anyway, note to self….PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR WIVES PEOPLE!!!!
So my son asked me how old I was going to be when he turned 18 (60 years old, btw….67 for the other boy, my youngest) and I immediately thought of former living person Anna Nicole Smith.
Anna Nicole Smith – was, as you know, married (her second marriage btw-I guess the first guy was too young) to oil business mogul and non-mobile feeb J. Howard Marshall, 62 years her senior.
People speculated that she married him for his money, which she denied, because why would a silicone bimbo with no means of income want to be with a rich guy who has dirt on his one foot that is in the grave?
After he deep sixed, she sued his estate to get all of his cash, but then she died on February 8, 2007 in a Hollywood, Florida hotel room as a result of an overdose of prescription drugs.
James Howard Marshall II was an American businessman, university professor, attorney, federal government official, and feeb husband to Anna Nicole Smith during the last 14 months of his life. His estate became the subject of protracted litigation because Anna wanted her dead sugar daddy’s money to support her lavish lifestyle. His life spanned MORE than nine decades and almost the entire history of the oil industry. That’s a lot!
When he was born, the dinosaurs were still decomposing.
And he was born in Pennsylvania a long time ago (hint: The United States were still referred to as “The Colonies”), almost right after the first Thanksgiving, and he attended a private high school and then studied liberal arts at some old college, graduating in 1926…NINETEEN TWENTY SIX!!!!!
He graduated Magna Cum Laude from Yale Law School in 1931…
Then he was an Assistant Dean at Yale Law School and at the same time, he got a scholarship as a member of the …legal realist school of thought (huh?), and helped write an article entitled A Factual Study of Bankruptcy Administration and Some Suggestions (ie major dork)..then he became the Assistant Solicitor at the Department of Interior and authored the Connally Hot Oil Act of 1935……
BLAH BLAH BLAH ACHIEVEMENT ACCOMPLISHMENTS AND SUCCESS…..
He was married a few times and enjoyed lemonade with his petticoat dressed parasol carrying wives, strolling with them down Main Street hand in hand while listening to barbershop quartets singing “On Moonlight Bay” and “Sweet Adeline”. But in 1994, at the age of 89, he married 26-year-old model Anna Nicole Smith. Their marriage lasted fourteen months until his death.
Marshall died of natural causes (defined as: a naturally feathered down pillow found naturally stuffed down his throat, complete with nipple and breast marks obviously caused by some naturally hard silicone like substance pressing against it) in Houston, Texas on August 4, 1995.
Following Marshall’s death, Anna Nicole Smith (who died on February 8, 2007) became involved in a court battle with her former stepson, another older guy named E. Pierce Marshall (who died on June 20, 2006).
Everyone is dead now.
So what kind of a dad would he have been to his kids had he lived?
A SLOW MOVING ONE
….let me call you sweetheart **
**the above words sung under the light of the moon at the turn of the 1900’s, at a carnival with some guys and gals, eating popcorn and saying words like GOLLY!
So I am recovering from gallbladder surgery and went to my person who does massage therapy and biofeedback readings off my body.
I hadn’t told her about the gallbladder surgery yet. This point is important because –
– as soon as she hooked me up to the equipment she went:
and then asked me this question:
“Where have you been lately?”
and then I asked:
then she said:
“Cuz it looks like there is an angry entity that has entered your body…”
“I was at the hospital in the ER then I went to surgery for emergency gallbladder removal. I had stones and stuff.”
“That makes sense. Sometimes in the ER, when someone dies, especially in a trauma, they are lost and try to regain entrance into another persons body. This spirit is angry, that’s why he is RED.”
Then she showed me the above image….
IT LOOKS LIKE THERE IS A PERSON TRYING TO ENTER MY BODY THROUGH MY GALLBLADDER!!!!