It’s been a few weeks since I last wrote a column, I don’t know why. It seems after writing a weekly column for 9 years, I just seem to run out of gas sometimes. That’s the only excuse I have right now. For those wondering about the new interactive version of AlarminglyStrangeStories.com, it’s on the way…really.
I’ve been spending this last few weeks trying to get back into shape, with exercise. It’s taken a bit of time, because I’m not naturally a big person. You see I was the runt of the litter, and I’m still a little on the small side, so a 60 year old runt, trying to build muscle mass is a bit time consuming.
You see when I was born the last of eight children, basically because of my small size at birth, my mom had a hic-up and “poop” there I was. There was no time or money for a hospital, I came too fast.
Being born of a poor family on a farm in Nebraska, my folks cleaned me up and put me in a shoebox and kept me in an incubator that they used to hatch chicken eggs. I grew fast and soon I had moved up too a wooden crate and kept in the basement. I was always a bit on the wild side, so to protect the other child’ren, they kept the basement door locked.
As I grew older and more wild, they got bigger locks for the basement door and dropped my dinner down to me from the laundry shoot and I was taught how to talk with shouts from above like, “It puts the dirty dishes in the basket.” And, “It washes itself in the sink.”
Soon I was able to talk in full sentences and able to socialize and play with the other child’ren. But I stayed in the basement because I liked it there.
In fact when I finally moved out of our home at the ripe age of 32, my first apartment was a basement…it just felt like home. Years later, I found a woman foolish enough to clean me up and take me as her husband. Now, ten years later, we both seem to have good jobs unaffected by the current economy and we have two beautiful daughters.
Everything seemed to be going pretty nice, until last month we got a visit from Stephen Johnson, soon to be President Johnson. We were having a nice birthday party for our two-year-old daughter when Stephen showed drunk with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, riding a lawnmower that he stole, shouting obscenities and tossing beer cans on our lawn.
Anyways that drunken madman came rolling in…and stopped on a dime.
Unfortunately the dime was in my neighbor’s pocket.
The police showed up, but we explained Stephen was a Presidential candidate and they let him go with a warning and a get out of jail free card in case he shoots someone while hunting.
As for our neighbor, he’s doing just fine. I’m just glad Stephen took the blade off before he went joy riding.
COMING NEXT…I battle the devil!