Someone’s Loss Is My Gain

Whitesnake—Good To Be Bad

MoTW—Big Nothing

A few days ago, as I was putting the finishing touches on my
eco-friendly prez-mobile, I heard the doorbell ring.

Thinking it was someone looking for answers on who would be the right
person to be our next prez (me, of course), I hurried to answer the door
but not before making sure my hairs were in place and my tie straight.

I flung that door open with a huge smile on my face which soon turned to
a slight frown and a look of befuddlement when I found myself looking
down at a dark-haired, bow-legged tiny person in a dirty diaper who
looked slightly familiar.

I quickly picked him up and shook him to make sure it wasn't one of
those smart bombs they talk about on the news and sitcoms. It obviously
wasn't when the bottle he was holding dropped and he started crying.

I quickly picked up the bottle and put it into his tiny hand but not
before I noticed that it smelled like beer.

As he put the bottle to his lips and greedily sucked away, I noticed
that his face was a multitude of colors. Blue, red, yellow, brown,
green…….the color of M&Ms.

Then I noticed another smell and I sat there thinking about what it
could be as the wee guy started to slowly slide from my grasp. I quickly
grabbed him by the scruff of his neck with my other hand before he
crashed to the floor and resumed my thinking and then, presto, it came
to me: he smelled like melted butter and cigarettes.

I did what any clear thinking adult would do and went to the back porch
and chained him near the bird feeder so he would have animals to play
with and a supply of food in case he got hungry. I then went to bed.

At 2 am, I was awakened by the phone. I picked it up and was greeted by
a very excited Bob.

Well, it seems that his wife had come home and found the front door wide
open and she got scared and rounded up all the chilluns in the house and
after a headcount found that there were 18, but one was missing because
that morning they had 17.

Figuring Bob was drunk I patiently and tiredly explained that 18 was
more than 17 so that meant that one wasn't missing.

Then I looked at the time again and adjusted it to Bob's time zone which
would be one hour behind which would mean that it was 1 am his time
which meant that he wasn't drunk because he never was at that specific
time of the morning. Something to do with his genes I think.

So I started talking about the weather and other assorted stuff to get
his mind off his problem because losing a kid is a really, really bad
thing and I needed to come up with a plan because I couldn't have that
hanging over his head if he was to be a fully functional first lady.

Then I remembered about my visitor from earlier but couldn't figure out
how a kid could walk through five states in less than a day, much less
one that was bow-legged. Just one of those weird coincidences I decided.

But then when I asked Bob what he had been doing the previous day and he
went on and on about working on the computer and eating candy and
drinking beer and making popcorn and smoking healthy cigarettes, it hit
me. Like a ton of really heavy stone things.

Then when I was about to mention my visiter I was hit again, this time
by a ton of feathers. I wished Bob good luck and quickly hung up the
phone so he could get to work finding his missing child.

I went back to sleep, content because I now had the one thing that would
get me that much desired woman vote: a baby in a diaper. Chicks dig
babies. Chicks dig guys with babies. Maybe not bow-legged babies as
much, but I can fix that.

(For those people whose sphincters have tightened because I left that
poor little guy out there on the porch these past few days, don't worry.
I gave him an umbrella to shield him from the sun and it will also
protect him from the heavy rain that's been forecasted for the next
couple of days. I've also made sure the bird feeder has been filled.
That's thinking like a president!)


COMING NEXT: Is that pen on the table leaking?

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!!!

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