On the virtues of senility

Oh, heck! I thought I remembered something but now I can't remember what it was...

Hi Dad!

Glad to see that you got your keyboard fixed. How's Moms gout been? I hope she is taking her medicine!

Ummmm Dad I hate to ask this but...... about that 5000 bux I loaned you earlier this spring. You said that after your "crop" came in you would even up with me but I haven't seen a check in the mail yet!

Love ya Dad,

your little accident

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Dude! You little rascal! How in the world did you get out of that well! Picked the lock on those chains, did you? Had a paperclip under your tongue, did you? Obviously you can breathe underwater. Who do you think taught you THAT? ME! I'M the one who held you under in the bathtub. I'M the one who took you past the three mile limit and threw you overboard. I did those things because I love you, Son. Do you know any other father who would do things like that? I bet you don't. Men of my caliber are few and far between.

Regarding that silly "money" buisness...It's been so cool and wet this year that I'm afraid my crop has failed.

Mom is doing fine. She's getting used to her cage and she really doesn't miss wearing clothes. She's fine. Really. I checked on her last week and hosed her down. You would be proud of her. She has learned to squat when she deficates.

Your sister stopped by the other day with her two boyfriends. She's pregnant again. It amazes me that a 12 year old can become that distended. I guess you know that your sister is very precoicous. No sooner than she had gotten in the door, she bared herself and said "Look at my tits, Daddy! I'm not due for a month and I've got milk already!"...Kids these days...

You don't have a gun, do you? You don't know where I live, do you? No? Well good.

Remember that I love you, Son. That brain damage was NOT my fault. You really DID fall down those stairs. It may have LOOKED like I pushed you but I was just trying to stabilize you after you stumbled.

Love ya Son,

Dad

That's about as heart warming as powder burns.

You had better hush up talking like that Mikey or you'll get that treatment like our brother Timmy got that turned him into sister Tammy.

But then again Michelle is a good name........

Now, now, Dude. You must admit that sleeping with Tammy is more fun than sleeping with Timmy. Or IS it? You always were a strange one. Come to think of it, after you had wet your bed, you would snuggle with me rather than your mother. You were so cute! I remember how you used to say "Daddy? I wish Mommy would die so I could have you all to myself.".

Well...You are just going to have to be content with sleeping with Tammy. I guess you know that if she gets pregnant, I will spank both of you.

My invincible genitalia do not fear the likes of you, Dude. I, who have penetrated the misty depths of dark exotic forests, who have slogged through bushy valleys and thrust deep into the cavernous depths of Mount Veneris, do not tremble before your feeble threats though God alone knows of what mischief the Clown is capable.

I suspect that Michael is not fearless. Seems the notion of ending a sentence with a preposition rattles the shit out of him.

I simply prefer the bedsheets of well-raised maidens, Monsieur Clown, and have thus acquired the patterns of their speech. The semi-literate use of prepositions at the end of a phrase is something I am not at all afraid of.

I stand corrected, Michael. Actually I just wanted to use the word "shit" in a proper context. As for syntax...I don't give a fuck.

Pardon my language. I am upset. I have this fly who seems to be enamored of me and does not understand that I do not "date" outside of my species. Furthermore...I'm trying to quit smoking and I really need to kill something.

I had been led to believe elsewhere that you were smoking today.

I SAID I was TRYING to quit. Tobacco, anyway.

Dude? Son? I'm afraid I have some bad news. Your mother is starting to decompose. No, no, silly. I don't mean that she is unwriting songs. I mean she is ROTTING! Yes! Two Ts! I came to woke up and there was this horrible smell emanating from the dungeon her room and she was covered with maggots. I'm sorry, son but your mother is dead. That won't interfere with our sex life. She hasn't participated for the last 15 years and I am used to her just lying there. As a matter of fact, those unseeing eyes are somewhat of a turn-on. The maggots? Oh, I sprayed the place with Chlordane. No problem.
I love you, Son. Always use a clean needle.

Dad

This is very sad, and I am truly sorry for your loss.

However I am heartened to learn of Mr White's invincible genitalia, which I envision now as being clad in chain mail and a full suit of armour. Does this make things a bit clanky and liable to rust-up? I could offer a quick squirt of WD40, if it helps.

Welcome back,CJ. I, for one, have missed you.

I heard that WD40 has to be rubbed vigorously into chain mail to completely penetrate.

Welcome Back to the fold CJ m'lady (bows deeply to impress cj as to how well manered I am, while keeping one eye on zen to be sure he doesn't try anything funny)

From what I gather, CJ has little to fear from our good Mr. Clown... but that little is fearsome enough to have prompted several restraining orders issued at the behest of the Missouri chapter of the A.S.P.C.A. It is with a proper sense of relief that we should view the fact that the court records have been sealed. I hear they included photographs.

As for his "trying something funny", that is a hit-or-miss affair, as with so many of us drunks. Our standards of amusement are abysmally low. Our trials far exceed our successes, I fear.

CJ?

Pay no attention to these people. They are jealous because I am so, so increadibly handsome.

Also, they are jealous of my prehensile tail.

A prehensile tail, opposable thumbs AND a beard. That's quite the combo.

I am delighted to be back. I missed you all madly, you crazy little munchkins.

I'm glad you're back, CJ.

In fact I'd like to rub your back. I'd like to kiss it and rub oil on it and...

What? What's wrong with a back rub?

Why must you always ruin my fantasies?

Jeez. The crosses we must bear...

Boy! I screwed THAT one up! I'm going to try again.

I'm glad you're back, CJ.

In fact I'd like to rub your back. I'd like to kiss it and rub oil on it and...

(Stop it Zen.)

What? What's wrong with a back rub?

(You were imagining her naked and you weren't going to stop with her back,)

Why must you always ruin my fantasies?

(I am your conscience. That's my job.)

Jeez. The crosses we must bear...

Now, see, it's stuff like this which makes me feel uncomfortable, and a bit, you know, grubby.

well, all that oil would

Swarfega is probably the thing to get it off

on mature reflection, some of the phrasing might be not exactly what I was looking for, if I were to avoid accidental innuendo

"Grubby"? CJ? Perhaps a bath then. Yes...A nice warm soapy bath. I could wash...

(Stop it!)

Ok. Sorry CJ. The fact that I am an ass was established long ago. I beg your forgiveness.

*hangs head in shame*

All hail our resident beauty back from her Spanish sojourn! Though I find it a trifle odd, CJ, I am glad to hear you are heartened to learn of my invincible genitalia. No chain mail needed at all, hence none of that infelicitous WD-40 smell.

When presented with her newborn babe, my mother, rather understandably, quitely opted for retro-active abortion. My father, who suspected this infamous course of action, took the precaution of coming to my crib and fitting me out with an infant's wetsuit and scuba apparatus each night and coming in early to remove it. One night after dressing me in my amphibious gear, my father attended a rather bacchanalian soiree and sensing the moment opportune, my mother wrapped me up in a blamket and took me to the river bank of the Styx. She held me underwater for what seemed an eternity but tiring and distracted by her fear of being caught she lost me to the current (insert sultana joke here)and I meandered down the river until I bumped into the same docks where my father and his friends were disporting themselves. They espied my white blanket in the darkness and fished me out. Later that morning, my father brought me home still swathed in the blanket but minus the wetsuit. My mother, now believing her son had been extensively dipped in the river Styx, ceased trying to commit infanticide and gave herself up entirely to the pleasures of toping. It seems, however, that before she plucked me from my cradle I had managed to wrestle my wee tackle out through the y-front of my wetsuit for a good night's fondle and so, while the dip in the Styx was not all it could have been (death or invulnerability) I did come out of the experience with invincible genitalia.

Now lights out, sleep well, and I'll tell you another bedtime story tomorrow.

"pleasures of toping." ???

It's things like this that make me wish I had paid closer attention in skool.

If they taught toping in your school there's a very good possibility that you'd've forgotten some of the classes, Zen.

My goodness. I've forgotten most everything, including how to masturbate and I really miss that. I DID clean my window glass and I can watch the squirrels propagate and that is a thrill. I envy them. Frolicing around, not a care in the world. I'm getting there. I don't wear pants anymore. One of the advantages of a failing mind is imagianing having claws and being able to climb trees. I...

What? This is AAD? SHIT! I thought I was on Matt's blog.

Nevermind.