Dear Nanabanana~Sex, Lies and Bad Ideas!

Things aren't going too well for our new shrink Dr. Goanz. She tried to make a few changes around here and met with, shall we say, a little resistance. She decided that all our activities should be scheduled and timed in compliance with her new Patient Programs. Maybe she thought it would benefit our mental health. So we super glued the lock to her office while she was in there watching Honey Boo Boo on her lap top. The chefs seemed to think it was pretty funny and found other things to do for a few hours while she pounded on the door. It's been pretty obvious that they don't like marching us through Craft Hour, Music Hour, Yoga Hour and etc. When she got out she tried to 'sanction' us by denying us access to TV and the web. That didn't work out either, because Bennie, (as Houdini, of course) made her car disappear from the parking lot. She still hasn't found it and it's been over a week now. Yesterday she tried to convince Monty that his baboon is imaginary, which is why he bit her. This morning she walked in on Phyllis and Roy while they were doing the wild thing in the craft room and they went all Jackson Pollock on her. She should sell that outfit at auction. It might be worth something.

That's all the news here and now. We're planning our annual Labor Day festivities. The ladies will all go into spontaneous labor while the guys groan with sympathetic labor pains. We have rubber baby dolls, ketchup and everything! Feeney wants to be the obstetrician, but everybody knows he just wants to get his hands between the ladies' thighs. That's OK. It's all for fun anyway.

Now, here's the latest Dear Nanabanana!
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Dear Nanabanana,

I don't know where to start, except maybe at the finish. It's all finished. My wife divorced me BEHIND MY BACK! Have you ever heard of THAT? She had the summons mailed and pulled it out of the mailbox before I could read it. Then she went to court and because I wasn't there she won by default! She told me she was going to go help her sick mother for a month. Then I got a subpoena for unpaid spousal support, which is when I found out I was divorced!
As you can imagine, I'm crushed. I thought we had a good marriage. I dug through her emails and found out she's got a lover named Raul. They're down in Belize. My brother is a lawyer and he says I can get the ruling thrown out. I've been staying at his place to prepare for court and keep from drinking myself to death. See, I can reverse the original ruling and get out of spousal support, but we'll still be divorced and she's STILL going to get half of everything!
I can't get my mind off this whole mess. I'm haunted, horrified and flippin' PISSED!
What can I do? I want revenge but the jointly owned properties are already on record so I can't just take off with the liquid assets. Why should that scheming SLUT get a G-damed DIME? Got any ideas? How do I show her how I feel without ripping her C-sucking head off?

Signed,
Royally Screwed
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Dear Royally,

Wow. I mean, WOW. This a totally new one for me! I never knew it was even possible to have a secret divorce or I would have done it to a few of my own husbands! Now, I've heard of people selling cars for a dollar to low ball a cash settlement, but I don't know how you can keep your sleazy spouse from collecting. And who gets the house? You'll have to sell it or one of you gets half the value and the other lives in it. I smell a battle of the legal beagles in the offing!
Since she's out of town you could do a few token gestures like burning her clothes or engaging in a bit of creative graffiti. Going a little nuts is almost traditional during the divorce process. I got to one of my husbands by slipping a couple of Quaaludes into his Mad Dog 20 20. Then I buried him in the back yard up to his neck. I can't really recommend that, though. By morning the raccoons had chewed off his ears and I had to split for another state.
You have all my sympathy and I hope you find a way to express your feelings. The kind of betrayal you've suffered demands action! Be sure to vent your emotions in a way that is unmistakable. She should be punished in SOME sort of way! Don't let her get away with it!

Your friend,
Nanabanana
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Yup. He got creative.


Divorced Man Enacts Revenge
August 29, 2013
Writer Dean Withers

In a bizarre act of revenge Mr. Hatch Fonderlass dropped a large tree on his own house to prevent his wife from living there after their divorce. "He was very methodical about it", stated Officer M. Glint. "He brought in the bulldozer to tear up the driveway, but we got there first." Neighbors alerted police to Mr. Fonderlass's activities when they heard the crash. "My Lord!" exclaimed Mrs. Fiona Pentwhistle, "I thought it was the Communists!" Police had Mr. Fonderlass under arrest for creating a public hazard when a voice was heard coming from the second story. A man was screaming incoherently. 

Fire and emergency workers pulled a bloodied man through the broken roof. He was revealed to be Mr. Raul Spinoza and workers discovered Mrs. Arlene Fonderlass pinned beneath the felled tree. She was pronounced dead at the scene. As police put Mr. Fonderlass in the squad car, he was heard laughing and shouting, "You should have stayed in Belize, you F'ing C**T! 

Mr. Fonderlass has been charged with first degree murder. 

   Photographed in the act by a neighbor, Mr. Fonderlass fells the tree before police arrive.

  

If Weiner Would Talk!

OK. I have a good excuse for being AWOL from the blogging empire this time. Dr. Idiot died! The chefs won't tell us how, but we think maybe he fell down the elevator shaft when Duds was playing with the buttons. So the elevator has a new lock on it, but Bennie's already figured it out. (Nobody's planning to visit the basement though. We think that's where they buried him.) The doctor's sad end was a great excuse to scream, giggle and generally act even crazier than usual, but we were all restricted to our rooms and the dining hall and they changed the computer sign-on password . (I felt pretty dumb when I figured out it was 'doctordeath'.) We held a charming New Orleans style funeral, crying, slowly marching down the halls and playing St. James Infirmary Blues on imaginary instruments. Then we all danced and played When the Saints Come Marching In on imaginary instruments. We waved paper napkins to keep the flies off the imaginary coffin.

It's not that we aren't sad to lose Dr. Idiot, after all, he was pretty nice as shrinks go. Now we have a lady shrink who looks a lot like Kathy Bates when she was in Misery, only scarier. (Rumor has it she wears a Nazi uniform when she's alone in her office.) Her name is Dr. Goanz, which makes for a few good jokes. "Where's she Goanz" or "She's Goanz crazy too". But we giggle quietly because she doesn't smile very much. So things have been pretty quiet. We've been getting a lot of comfort food, like mashed potatoes and jello. It's always comforting to fling that stuff around, PLUS somebody decided it would be a good idea to bring in visiting pets to make us feel better. The dogs were a little scared of us, but the cats didn't give a crap who was petting them. The only problem was when Rita started stuffing bunnies down her pants, although the bunnies didn't seem to mind. Bet the visiting pets won't be visiting again. Oh, and Feeney got sent to the mop closet because he was WAY too pissed off when he found out he wouldn't inherit Dr. Idiot's inflatable sex doll.  

So today I finally hit the web and got caught up on the news. I see Dr. Sanjay Gupta has decided that marijuana is pretty much a good thing, and he did a whole show about it. I always figured he was a pot head anyway, so, no big surprise. Then there's the story about Dr. Farid Fata, who made a ton of money treating people for diseases they didn't even have. Now he's in jail instead of that great big mansion of his. It's kind of ironic, because if he'd just put his patients on weed, he'd still be stinking rich and nobody would be mad at him. Medicinal weed is legal in Michigan and he could have gone on TV with Dr. Gupta.   

Of course, I was most intrigued by the latest news about Anthony Weiner. Here he is, running for mayor of New York, and it turns out he's been twittering around again. This raises more than a few questions. Like, why the name 'Carlos Danger'? Anybody who takes one look at him is going to figure out he's not Hispanic. (Not that I'm disrespecting Hispanic penises.) Second, why doesn't he just tweet his wife? That could be kind of kinky, especially if he isn't really sure it's her. (There's a wealth of porno she could use to fake him out.) But most importantly, does this latest excursion to the twittering nest of chicks with too much time on their tails hurt or benefit his run for mayor?

Ah, there's the rub, as Shakespeare would say. A lot of other people are saying that too. Last time, he was all contrite, promised not to do it anymore and fluttered away for a whole year. Now, journalists are asking, "are you done now?" and "was it good for you?" But here's the most interesting aspect of the story. Anthony is tired of talking about it. Now, we have to believe he's not actually bored with tweeting his wiener. All evidence indicates he isn't. So why is he deflecting questions about his flighty wiener?

Think! There's a dynamic at work here and it isn't that hard to figure out. We're talking about New York City, folks! Before Disney invaded Times Square, there were more perverts in plain view than are now winging their way through the Twitosphere. Anthony's rookery of fellow twits are chirping with delight and if they vote, he's going to be in the Mayor's office faster than he can clench his jaw and clutch his throbbing manhood. Ignore the polls! That 80% disapproval rating only reflects how many people won't admit they do the same thing! His coy refusal to discuss his photogenic wiener will only serve to keep him in the news as everyone waits, frantic for the next Weiner Twitterfest. It's the ultimate news bait! So Anthony rolls his eyes and says it's old news, not worth talking about, while the amorous news hounds feel their ratings shrink in frustration.

But no doubt, just before the campaign comes to a frothy climax, Anthony's wiener will once again, like the Phoenix, raise it's head in triumph. Because, let's face it, the world can never get enough wiener.