More Mention Of My Finger, Deborah Foreman and Finally……

Porcupine Tree—The Incident

MoTW—Black Dynamite

Have you ever gotten to the point where you sit down to write something
that needs to be written, yet can't figure out exactly what to write

Well, that's where I am right now.

I could go one some more about my wounded finger (which is almost
healed, thank you very much), or I could write about how I act everytime
I go to Costco, but those are things I'm really not interested in
writing about right now.

Maybe I can restart my neverending fanboy worship of Deborah Foreman
(hell, I had a mini Deborah Foreman movie-rama a couple weeks ago),
which has been dormant the last few years (writing about it, not the
worshipping part), but since I made such an ass of myself with the reply
I sent back to her email, I'm still kicking myself each and every day
for being such a complete fuckstick. So until I find the balls to write
a whole column dedicated to her, do yourself a favor and hunt down one
of her movies. You won't be disappointed.

One thing I promised a while back was to tell you about my second trip
to New Jersey last year. This could be the right time for that since it
would take up some space here and I'm sure someone somewhere has been
waiting all this time to find out exactly what happened.

While typing that last sentence that's what I decided to do. Lucky me,
lucky you.

So I fly out to NJ the day after Thanksgiving and allowed, quite
graciously, to stay at my sister's house. We basically farted around the
first couple days I was there and then went out to some hole-in-the-wall
bar with a few of her friends that Saturday night to play pool and

The following Monday Monday morning we're watching a movie and pause it
about halfway through to grab a cool, refreshing smoke. I'm on the back
porch when the found rings and the next thing I hear is my sister

Turns out that one of her friends that was with us at the bar had died
in his sleep Sunday night.Monday morning. So the movie was blown off as
she ran over to their house to help out the wife. That's right, she
abandoned me, left me all alone in a strange place. What a fucker.

The next few days were arranging the funeral, etc. Making sure
everything was covered. Finding the dead guys paperwork to find out what
coverage he had and so on and so forth. All this they do while I'm
forced to sit around i a strange place all day long. I agree with
you–total bullshit!

But on Tuesday, I get a call from my sister and she says she needs to
tell me something that I cannot tell anyone else. Not her husband, not
her kids, not ANYONE. I'm cool with that and agree.

Well, it seems that for the last 15 years or so, the dead guy has been
having an affair. This was discovered when my sister and the wife found
something or heard about the dead guy having a garage that nobody in his
family knew about. Inside the garage was a Mercedes, with the
registration in another woman's name.

Soon after this discovery, the Mercedes disappeared from the garage.
Some stealth operation at night from what I understood.

My sister then gave me three options for the next day: First, I could
stay at home all alone while everyone went to the wake. Second, she
could drop me off at the funeral home while she went on a "covert
operation", as she put it. Or, third I could join her on that operation.

Of course, being the man that I am, I picked option three. This entailed
us going to a house where the garage was located and ask the lady who
lived there if she saw who removed the car from the garage and, if so,
would she be willing to go to the wake and point out who it was. All for
a hundred bucks.

So Wednesday we headed out to the house and I made the grand mistake of
drinking a bottle of Pepsi Max. By the time we got to our destination, I
had to pee very badly. Good ole sister said I should just pee at the
house, which I wasn't comfortable with, or pee outside, which I was also
uncomfortable with.

She tells me to hold it, then goes up to the house after promising it
would only take a couple minutes. She and the lady talked on the porch
for about 15 minutes and my sister came back to the car and said she
would be right out.

20 minutes later nobody had come out from the house and the pee really
wants to shoot out. Then it dawned on me that we were being set up and
soon some really bad folks were going to show up and blow us away. Then
the pee would really come out, annoying whatever luckless EMT had to
scoop up the remains of out bodies.

My sister told me I was a chickenshit and after another 10 minutes
passed, she went back up to the house. Luckily the woman was just
leaving the house with her little daughter so we were almost on our way.

Then I saw a Rasta guy walking around the side of the house and when he
comes up to the car, he pulls open my door and I started crying saying I
really didn't want to be there, it was all my sister's fault and then he
stuck out his hand and told me his name, I told him mine while shaking
his hand, we told each other it was a pleasure to meet us and he climbed
into the back of the car with his mother and little sister.

And off to the funeral home we went.

COMING NEXT: I finally started it, now will have to finish it

Stephen Johnson

The idea of building a website with Bob came from Stephen in the days of message boards and chat rooms. We settled on the name and the rest is history. Retired since he hit the ripe age of 25, he spends most his time doing odd-jobs around the house and digging thru trash bins for "stuff that's still good." Stephen has contributed several short stories and hosted the "Lunatic Ravings" column since the beginning (1999). The idea of writing weekly columns came from Stephen before blogs or blog sites ever existed. So, I guess that makes him THE FIRST BLOGGER IN THE WORLD!!!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.


Enjoyed this? Please spread the word :)