Funkadelic—Uncle Jam Wants You!
MoTW—The Haunted World Of El Superbeasto
Well, I guess I'm back. And I guess some of you are wondering what
happened on my latest trip to NJ.
For those that wonder, here it is in a nutshell:
Went drinking Saturday night after I was bitten by a vicious, tiny dog,
noticed a spider on the ceiling of a house, a woman who cleaned her
whole kitchen while holding a tiny dog (a non-biting one), taking a
break from a movie when a call came in, thought my real sister had won
the lottery but no, someone had died, movie cut short which was a
bummer, a couple days later found that I had three options (1. stay at
home, 2. go to the wake, 3. go pay a woman money to get information), at
the wake the widow pulled someone outside and spoke with them in a stern
tone of voice, I complained that I didn't bring proper wake/funeral wear
but nobody seemed to care, dashboard lights and gauges in sister's car
began acting whacky, discovered that the flowers should not be brought
into the church, as I kept a safe distance the shit hit the fan outside
the church after the funeral mass (or whatever they call it) found that
being in a funeral procession is really cool since you can break so many
laws, the shit REALLY hit the fan at the cemetery, the word "Fuck" was
heard quite clearly while someone was reading a eulogy, the cops were
called to the cemetery, my real mother was almost pushed onto the casket
due to a scuffle that broke out, spent around 8 hours trying to dig up
info, smoked a lot, told someone about the advantages of having gas in
the vehicle so it can run, finished the movie 5 days later and that was
Yep, that's the nutshell version and I should go into greater detail at
a later time. And it's all 100% true. It's something on a reality show.
It's sad. It's funny. It'll make you laugh, cry and possibly come down
with a bout of explosive diarrhea.
Sadly, I'm not going to write about it now because I surprised the woman
with an early Xmas present that I'm sure you're dying to read about.
See, she's one of those people that believe that we need Xmas light like
all the neighbors. If you come into our neighborhood, you'll be able to
spot our house since it's the only one without multi-colored light
strung all around, here there and everywhere.
So when she went to pay her homage to the nearby Big Lots (it's closing
which has devastated her so she's devised a plan to buy all the shit
they have so she can sell that shit to others that think they need shit
that they really don't need), I dragged the lights out of their storage
space in the backroom of the basement and then spent the next four hours
finding which lights worked and stringing them up all over the outside
of the house all crazy like, with my favorite friend, duct tape. Fuck
hanging them in straight lines, I say.
She came home and I'm so giddy, full of holiday cheer and assorted other
shit and she's thinking that I'm on something (which was possible) and
then the moment arrived.
The sun was down and I drug her away from the computer and her addiction
to Bejeweled. I positioned her on the front lawn and ran to the porch
and plugged in the cord.
I ran back to her expecting sounds of awe and bewilderment but got
nothing. She stood there for a minute or so and then called me an
asshole and headed back to the game.
I forbade her to do so and grabbed her by the arm and repositioned her
in the front yard and then, as if a bolt of lightning hit her in the
face and fried off her eyebrows she saw what it was she was supposed to
For there, on the tippy top of the pointed roof, shining as bright as a
Bic lighter at an REO Speedwagon concert, was a tiny red light blinking
on and off.
The holiday spirit hit her and must have hit her hard because she
started crying. Hysterically sobbing actually. I expected a hug or
something but she just stood there and cried.
I stood there a few more minutes admiring my work and then went back
inside since it was a bit cold. And still she stood on the front lawn
I'm thinking this is her best Xmas ever. Her silence the last couple of
days is kind of proving that.
COMING NEXT: Maybe I will, maybe I won't