tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72748793426525324782024-03-05T10:32:12.290-08:00Wacky In the Cracker BoxNancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-22556989053762490722015-07-15T17:35:00.000-07:002015-07-15T17:35:12.174-07:00Stop and Think<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Stop and Think.</span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I know, I know. Last seen way last year. My only defense is that they have me so well medicated that I've lost a lot of my old Zing. They've got me in a "unit" with nearly normal patients. Very boring. On the good side, I've got a room I can lock from the inside and I can go outside (as far as the fence allows) and frolic in the garden. I like to frolic. It's still very hard to refrain from doing the things I like most. These nearly normal patients aren't interested in flinging food or tormenting the staff. Sucks. Any time I catch myself longing to get naked and hang from a ceiling fan I just stop, and think.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As you all know, this was, and still is, completely alien to my nature. There just isn't enough chaos to entertain me and so little I can do about it. So I've decided to make a passive political statement. I'm going to stop and think. Regularly and to excess. If somebody asks me why I'm just sitting silently, I'll tell them I decided to stop and think. Simple. If they want to know what I'm thinking about I'll tell them how much I fucking HATE the normalcy of my existence and I blame it on all the greasy, blood sucking leaches living on the taxpayers money while achieving NOTHING in WASHINGTON D.C.!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It may not be much, but at least somebody might notice that I'm actually, legitimately annoyed, while still passing as marginally normal. (Tee hee!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now, YOU, my faithful readers, have much more freedom to stop and think in a way that might actually produce something resembling a positive impact. You have MONEY.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If you're mad about something, and who isn't, now's your chance to strike back at those who are pissing you off. Get on your chosen social media sites and make a declaration. You could say, for instance, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"I've decided to stop and think. While I stop and think I will withdraw from the commercial marketplace. I will take my house off the grid and make no purchases to benefit a corporation that STOLE MY GOVERNMENT!" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Why tilt at windmills? Because if about 75 million people take the same action, it will be noticed. Social media impacts the mainstream and more people may follow suit. Organize silent sit-ins; wear (home made) T-shirts marked "Stop and Think". It doesn't even matter why you're pissed off. If enough people deprive corporate America, however you can, whenever you choose, those little pennies from heaven will a) stay in your pocket and b) not go into THEIRS. Reduce your gasoline usage <i>ruthlessly</i>. If you can, ride your bike. Delayed sales = delayed profits. Purchase only from local business that sell local products. And make sure everybody you can reach knows that you're making a statement.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Go ahead and laugh at silly old Nanabanana. You probably already do all those things anyway, right? And it's all been done before, right? It's the DECLARATION that counts. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sociological events are crack for pollsters. While exploring all the opposing reasons that people stop and think for, they'll be running in circles. It will inspire a little "uh-oh" if nothing else. Maybe some BIG "uh-ohs", especially if the "cause" goes international. If you decide to stop and think, somebody might ask you why, and how to get your vote. That's when you get to tell them. Nicely, politely, like normal people, of course. Make them squirm.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have to go now. I'm going to paint my Stop and Think T-shirt, and then I'll just stop and think. If enough of us stop and think it will be, if nothing else, a WONDERFUL stunt. This is one of those rare times that I'm actually serious. It's not just the medications. Give Stop and Think a little thought. Let the good times roll.</span></div>
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Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-80832315602576170532014-04-25T14:46:00.000-07:002014-04-26T21:25:24.148-07:00Cliven Bundy and Nanabanana!<b><span style="font-size: small;">I'm baaaack! Bet you all thought I'd died and gone to heaven, or someplace. Well, I DID go someplace! </span>Those smarty pants state social agency folks decided to do a pilot program. Me and a special selection of us nut bags were chosen to participate! I'm not sure why I got picked. Maybe because I haven't been sent to the mop closet for a long time. But we haven't had a regular shrink for a long time and the part time shrinks don't really watch what we're up to. Phyllis and Rita got picked and I think a few of the guys too, but since we didn't all go to the same place I don't know where they were sent. Hope it wasn't Afghanistan. </b><br />
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<b>So off we went to the pilot program. I was disappointed when they said we weren't going to be pilots. We went to a 'half way house'. They let us go all the way in though. What a relief! I was trying to figure out how to go half way in! There were two nice normal ladies to watch four of us crazies. There was Rita, Phyllis, me and another lady who was catatonic. Sometimes we'd poke her in the face, but she never complained. We were there all the long, cold winter and it got pretty boring. We had <i>some </i>TV and movies but no internet or even newspapers. The nice normal ladies had us painting pictures, working puzzles and knitting, stuff like that. I knitted a straight jacket. Rita and Phyllis loved it, but the nice normal ladies said it was inappropriate. Guess they really didn't know who they were dealing with!</b><br />
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<b>The good things: We got to wear real clothes instead of PJs. We went on field trips to the grocery store, the library and the natural history museum! Nobody misbehaved because we had these bulky anklets on so we couldn't run too far. We did some supervised cooking. No knives, of course. And no food throwing allowed, darn it. We had a little fenced yard too. The nice normal ladies said we could have a garden in the spring. But the winter was soooooo long! You can only build so many snowmen before you start wondering how long it takes to die from hypothermia. Last week I finally felt so cooped up that I had to do <i>something. </i>So I hooked up a lamp cord to a door knob. All of a sudden the nice normal ladies got REAL CRANKY. Back I went to the maximum security psychiatric facility and I'm not sorry. I missed everybody and our fun times together. We were so happy to see each other that we all twirled around and screamed! Then we celebrated at dinner time with a good old fashioned food fight. It was Crazy Chilli Thursday so all the beans and rice made for a real splatter fiesta!</b><br />
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<b>I've been busy catching up with my Nanabanana mail and all the news I missed. And WOW! I missed a LOT! Nobody's talking about homeless people or wars right now because that's boring compared to that cowboy Cliven Bundy. Now there's a real man who wears a real hat! He's just like John Wayne, only he's not dead. The Republicans just love him and the Democrats hate him so he's got to be one tough hombre! Of course, once he gave his views about "the Negro" some of the Republicans started acting like Democrats. There's a go figure! But really, you gotta love a guy with a white hat who loves cows. Some guys even have cows for girlfriends, they're so friendly. </b><br />
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<b>Now, I'm not sure why people are so fussy about where those cows go. You can herd them here and you can drive them there, but sooner or later they'll go wherever they damn well please. And they outweigh people, so you're going to get really tired trying to push them around. So the Feds want the cows on one side of a line in the dirt and Bundy want's them on the other side. There's a lot of folks who showed up for Bundy's cow transfer rodeo, but they didn't seem to have much fun. I'm betting if this keeps up those cows are going to just sit right down in the dirt and say, "Fuck off you cow crazy assholes!" That's what <i>I'd </i>do if I was a cow! Matter of fact, I'll probably do it anyway!</b><br />
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<b>Enough of that. Here's my latest selection for Dear Nanabanana!</b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Dayr Nanabanana,</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I got me a ranch down South hare, but I'm not sayin' whar 'cuz ain't nobudy's biznus. Thar's a passul o' cow hatin' idjuts cum hare wut wanna tay'ul me wut ta do wid my caddul an' thay ain't even russlars! Thay'r sayin' thay'yall cum frum thu Fedrul Gubmant bud I no id's a big fay'at chicken she'yat LIE! No how I no? Thar AIN'T NOTHIN' CALLED FEDRUL GUBMANT! I hare thar's a bunch o' butt fokkers up squattin' on thu lay'nd o' Northren Aggresshun. Thay CALLS thay'r selfs Fedrul Gubmant, but I ain't by'an 'cuz I ain't nevar seen wun 'roun hare b'for. I stic ride down hare on my ranch e'n tha good ol' Cunfe'drat Terrytory ware folks ain't crazy. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Now, thar's sum folks tol' me thar's cow hatin' idjuts sum plaze thay'r callin' DC. Whut e'n dang HAIL iz DC?! Folks sez thay'ats ware idjuts git big muny so thay'yall siddown an' shut tha hail UP. So y thu hail e'n Gods guud NAME shud I lissen ta thay'm idjuts? I no wun thang. I got me a Consteetooshun. It's MINE an' ain't no idjut gonna git it 'way frum me! It gibs me freedum ta do wad I wanna do! Me an' thu gang run'm off'en thu lay'nd wun'st awlreddy. Sho'd wut cums frum messin' wid a caddul man <strike>e'n Nev</strike> 'roun hare! I figger iffen I set tite an' my posse an' me kayps thu guns reddy we ken fill'em up wid LED iffn' thay shos thay'r butt fokken' haids roun' hare agin! Mebby I shud jus' say'nd my cows a'stampin all ova thay'r idjut haids! I bet my why'at hat thay'r a bunch o' Negros ennyhoo 'cuz ya no 'bout THAY'M.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Ya got sumpin' ta say 'bout thay'at?</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Reel 'Mericayn Ranch'ayr.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">______________________________ </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dear Reel,</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm so sorry you're being pestered. It's a dirty shame when you can't even keep a few happy cows without somebody disturbing your peace and threatening your freedom. It's just plain RUDE! However, as much as you love your cows it seems to me that shooting those idiots isn't a good idea. It could get you in a bit of trouble. Shooting at idiots is frowned upon. I learned that the hard way! Getting your cows to stamp on them might get your cows in trouble too. You wouldn't want THAT! </span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No, I think the best solution is to bite the bullet and head for Mexico. I know it's a big pain in the butt, BUT there's a few good things about that idea. First, you could sell some cows, IF you want to, at a big profit! There aren't any nice American cows in Mexico so I bet Mexicans would be thrilled to get some! AND, you don't have to worry about crossing the border. Nobody pays any attention to THAT little line in the dirt. Take your Consteetooshun with you, of course. Mexico doesn't have one and I'm sure they'd like to see yours.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Best wishes to you and your cows,</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nanabanana </span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span> </b>Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-45288935724373240932014-01-09T17:50:00.001-08:002014-01-10T07:40:08.648-08:00The Cruz Effect PLUS Nanabanana! Well here I am! Finally. Things have been <i>especially</i> crazy around here. That's why I haven't been online for so long. You know that government shut down thingy? Well, we sure felt the effects of that here at the maximum security psychiatric facility! We got to see some of the Ted Cruz show. Isn't he a smarty though? He did a nice job reading Green Eggs and Ham. Everybody loved that! But then things went kinda kerflooey. Guess Governor Snyder decided the government shutdown that Ted Cruz got rolling was a good reason to shutdown things around here. Security was so loosey goosey that we had a GREAT Halloween, full of tricks, like slipping out on the lawn to yell "Trick or treat!" at the trees. A bunch of the guys found a mud hole to roll around in so they said they were Navy Seals Commandos in training. (Monty said he was Biggie Big's love child.) But Thanksgiving and Christmas kinda disappeared. It's hard to blame Ted though. He's just doing his part to keep America great. God bless him!<br />
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First, the chef population thinned out. Then it thinned out some more. Then we started getting extra shut up pills because the left over chefs were all worn out. I heard one of them say he was going to get a border patrol job so he could shoot people. Dr. Goanz got worn out too. She started giggling and singing a lot, softly, usually the Barney theme song. You know, 'I love you, you love me...' That got pretty annoying and no matter how much we screamed she wouldn't stop. So now she's on the second floor taking a rest. That left just the 3 chefs on our floor, but they were gone a lot so I think they were working on another floor too. Or down at the loading dock, getting drunk. (Wouldn't blame them.) We all got sent to our rooms for a week or so because Duds started a rumor that it was the zombie apocalypse and showed everybody what a zombie is. But Phyllis thought he was being Klatoo from 'The Day the Earth Stood Still'. (The original, not that other one.) So she yelled "Klatoo! Baradda! Nicto!" Duds kinda liked that and decided being Klatoo was better than being a zombie, so he just kept being Klatoo. That started up the Brain Chips rumor again. *sigh*<br />
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By and large, nobody really minded the lack of chefs or all the macaroni and cheese we were getting so often. It sticks to the walls real good! But it got kinda boring when the cable was cut off and all we could watch on TV was PBS and the Word channel. Not everybody is into religion, but the Peter Popoff show was pretty popular. Who can resist the suspense of waiting for the preaching to stop when the preacher's peter pops off? Everybody cheered whether it popped off or not. Of course, the internet was shut down. The last working nurse, who was pretty nervous since Dr. Goanz went all dippy, stayed locked in the nurses station. She cried a lot.<br />
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After Senator Cruz let the government open up again, things started returning to normal craziness. Guess it'll still take a while to find a new psychiatrist. Somebody said they're all in Washington D.C. pushing antidepressants on the Democrats. Still took a few weeks to get online because that was the last thing we got back. I hurried to pick a new letter for my Nanabanana forum, and here it is!<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Dear Nanabanana-</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Sure hope you got a good idea for me! See, I got a 20 acre farm here in Essex County, New Jersey. I don't do much farming anymore. I just sell stuff from my Ebay store and work 32 hours a week down at the pesticide plant. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Well, here's the problem. In the last few years there's been a lot of homeless animals showing up here. Not a lot, at first. So I found homes for some and just kept the rest fed. But the other day I took a head count. I've got 13 dogs, 34 cats (I think), 6 chickens, 2 goats and a donkey. The chickens, goats and donkey pretty much feed themselves, but I'm getting cash strapped and, well, there used to be a lot more chickens. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I don't like to place blame on other folks for my problems, but there's a pretty big tent city near by and I have to wonder if all these animals wandered over from there. I mean, when you have to live in a tent it stands to reason that your pets aren't going to be a big priority. I can't just drop them back at the tent city and I've called animal shelters. They have too many animals to take mine. So now what do I do?</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Signed,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Critter Cluttered</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Dear Critter,</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Well heck! This is a job for your Governor! You know, Chris Christie? He makes good money and he's got that big old governor's mansion with lots of room for your critters! The place has a nice big fence too, so they won't be coming back to your place. Bet he'll just love looking out his window to see those dogs romping, cats climbing up trees and the goats and donkey trimming his lawn! You might want to keep the chickens though. They might look pretty tasty to him, and he looks like a guy with a big appetite! Just rent a big U-Haul truck, pack them all in there and make a delivery! </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">OH! I just got an inspiration! Maybe all those folks at the tent city would like to live on the Governor's lawn too! Get them all on buses and call the news people so they can be there to catch the look on the Governor's face when he sees what you've brought him! He could use a nice, warmhearted story to distract people from that bridge blocking scandal he's been caught up in. This should just about do it! I'll be watching the news with anticipation! </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Your friend,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Nanabanana</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">________________________________________</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Christie's Latest Problem?</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Bert Bender, for The Star-Ledger</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">01/09/14 </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Word from an inside source reports that a group of nearly 150 homeless people accompanied by numerous animals made it through the gates of the New Jersey Governor's Mansion late last night. According to our source, Governor Chris Christie took fast action to have the ragged group of people dispersed. The animals, however, have apparently proven harder to remove. While the dogs were tame enough to capture, the cats were not, and remain in hiding on the mansion grounds. Also at large are two goats and an ill tempered donkey.</span></span></span><br />
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<br />Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-26600355481822865392013-08-29T23:14:00.000-07:002013-08-31T06:59:47.320-07:00Dear 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Now, here's the latest Dear Nanabanana!<br />
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Dear Nanabanana,<br />
<br />
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!<br />
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!<br />
I can't get my mind off this whole mess. I'm haunted, horrified and flippin' PISSED!<br />
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?<br />
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Signed,<br />
Royally Screwed<br />
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Dear Royally,<br />
<br />
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!<br />
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.<br />
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!<br />
<br />
Your friend,<br />
Nanabanana<br />
______________________________________________<br />
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Yup. He got creative.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">Divorced Man Enacts Revenge</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">August 29, 2013</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">Writer Dean Withers</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">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! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Mr. Fonderlass has been charged with first degree murder. </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Photographed in the act by a neighbor, Mr. Fonderlass fells the tree before police arrive.</span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-39014277352086258142013-08-13T14:00:00.002-07:002013-08-13T14:00:35.622-07:00If 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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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 <i>they didn't even have. </i>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. <br />
<br />
Of course, I was <i>most</i> 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 <i>not</i> 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 <i>hurt or benefit his run for mayor?</i><br />
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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. <i>Anthony is tired of talking about it.</i> 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?<br />
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Think! There's a dynamic at work here and it isn't that hard to figure out. We're talking about <i>New York City, </i>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. <br />
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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.<br />
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<br />Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-11129034245031280722013-07-02T16:18:00.000-07:002013-07-02T16:18:45.693-07:00Rick Perry Knows the Why and How! Hi 'ya all! Did the ol' in and out the mop closet again! I admit, it really was my fault this time. Angus and I wanted to get out for some fresh air and we went a bit far. All the way to Bob Evans, in fact. Why is that such a big deal anyway? We just wanted some biscuits and gravy and you can't get it any better than at Bob Evans. So we picked the lock on the elevator, slipped out the service bay and climbed the fence.<br />
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Once we got to Bob Evans and put in our orders we figured we were doing OK. The waitress was a bit snotty though. You'd think she'd have learned to be polite by the time she hit her seventies! Other than that, we were having a great time. Angus can stick a spoon on his nose and it doesn't fall off! I tried and it fell down the front of my jammies, which was pretty funny. While we were giggling and playing Napkin Parachute the nice old couple sitting next to us started up a conversation. They wanted to know how we felt about the abortion bill in Texas. We told them we really didn't give a crap, but I don't think they heard us. Really now, why should a couple of nuts in Michigan give a crap about anything down in Texas? Except maybe the biscuits and gravy?<br />
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So the old couple kept nattering about some Texas bill that was going to make women have babies whether they wanted to or not. I got pretty confused. I mean, how do you <i>make</i> a woman have a baby? Isn't that kind of impossible? Then they gave me the name of a website where I could read all about the Holy Mission to make women have babies. That's when Dr. Idiot and the chefs showed up with the syringes. Guess that rude waitress dropped a dime on us. Oh well. We were going to dine and dash anyway. When I got out of the mop closet I drank about a gallon of coffee. Then I told Dr. Idiot that I'd tell everybody about his inflatable sex doll if he didn't let me use the computer. So here I am. I looked up that website and sure enough, there was a dandy article on the aforementioned subject. Here it is.<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Texas Gov. Rick Perry Has All the Answers</b></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Texas Gov. Rick Perry shows the gals how ta start the baby makin' process. Too bad none of the guys would help him show how ta finish it!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sometime in June, 2014 </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">by Mary T. Virginia @moonbattery.com</span><b> </b></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> So we got hold of Gov. Rick Perry an' he had lots ta say! Like how those Godless feminist sluts in his beautiful state of Texas were tryin' ta tell him what ta do! That's pure stupid! Gov. Perry is a lot smarter than they are an' he's runnin' the state so they should just shut up! So we said, whadda ya got ta say, Gov.?</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Me: So, whadda ya got ta say, Gov.?</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Him: I got alot ta say about that stupid slut Wendy what's her MAIDEN name with the kid born oudda wedlock! Bitch took up a buncha time runnin' her mouth right there in the Texas buildin' where they do laws when I TOLD 'em ta pass that bill thing! An' she brought a buncha SLUTS with her!</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Me: That's pretty darn stupid!</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Him: Yup. But I'll make 'em go home an' we'll be stoppin' those baby killin' whore clinics! You'll see! I'm gonna make 'em have those babies!</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Me: Darn tootin'! How ya gonna do that?</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Him: Don't matter. We're runnin' shorta soldiers ta fight for the Lord an' the United States! How we gonna keep spreadin' democracy? We gotta grow us some new soldiers! How we gonna do that without fresh babies? How we gonna send those soldiers ta die who the heck knows where without babies! So those stupid sluts gotta start spittin' out some babies an' I mean NOW! If they need LESSONS I'm the guy ta show 'em HOW! </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">(Look at that photo up there! He ain't kiddin'!)</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Me: Gee you're smart Gov.!</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Him: That's how come I took over Texas. Next I figger I'll take over the White House. Then we can send our soldiers ta North Korea an' Iran. </span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ya gotta watch it with those Godless places 'cuz they know all about baby makin'! </span></span></span></span>I'll keep those stupid sluts doin' their duty. I'll hook 'em up with our heros in uniform. We're sure ta get good soldiers out of 'em then! Ya know what they say, breedin' is everything! Just like with cattle. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><b> </b></span></span></span><br />
Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-11959692374611738752013-06-14T13:58:00.000-07:002013-06-15T16:15:10.509-07:00Dear Nanabanana: Unalienable Rights!Hi everybody! I know I've been gone awhile because Roy said I missed out on two Crazy Chili Thursdays. That's too bad, because I like to put a soft taco in my mouth and pretend I'm Donald Duck. The good thing is, I've been enjoying a long episode of delusional fantasy that will keep me smiling for at least a month. First, I went to London to visit the Queen. I didn't get to talk to her though. She was busy with a war crimes trial against G. W. Bush and Dick Cheney. They were crying and squirming around in a vat of Jello. That makes sense at least. I love Jello. I thought Parliament would have been trying the defendants, but the Queen was very efficient about the whole thing. She shouted, "Off with their heads!" (as I expected) then William and Kate came at them with machetes and made quick work of the sentence. The British are so much more sensible about these things, even if it makes a big mess in the throne room.<br />
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Next, I found myself in Congress during a paint ball game. Boehner was standing on his desk with his pants down. He spread his cheeks and said, "Try and hit this you Communists!" They did. In fact, so many hit the bull's eye that paint was shooting out his nose. Nancy Pelosi had the best aim, even though she's for gun control. Paul Ryan was running around screaming, "Filibuster! Filibuster!" but it didn't do any good. Harry Reid hit him with yellow paint that must have had nails in it. Ryan was pinned to the wall. There were some Democrats who got nailed too, like Anthony Wiener. He doesn't even work there anymore but he uses the showers. He was hit so hard he wound up in the balcony. The crowd cheered! Then they ate him. What else could he expect with a name like Wiener?<br />
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It got too hard to tell who was winning so I went outside. There were lots of people building guillotines and yelling, but I don't think they were French. They had Rush Limbaugh trussed up like a capon and he didn't stop screaming until they chopped his head off. Can't remember much else, except for the sailboat race in that pond in front of the Washington Monument. Vladimir Putin won, probably because he wasn't wearing a shirt. The President pursed his lips so I knew he was really mad! <br />
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Delusional fun! Now, here's the latest issue of Dear Nanabanana.<br />
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______________________________________<br />
<br />
Dear Nanabanana;<br />
<br />
I'm pretty darn tired of paying for insurance and never getting anything. I never have a car wreck, so no new car. I never get sick, so I'm paying on health insurance for nothing. I'll never see any cash from my life insurance and that REALLY ticks me off. My wife spends enough of my money already. I did file a claim on the house once. My neighbor hates my guts so he busted out all the 1st floor windows. I got new windows. Big deal.<br />
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Well, the other day I found paper work on a policy I forgot all about. It's a death and dismemberment policy and it's pretty neat. You get money for parts of you that get chopped off. The bigger the part, the bigger the payoff. A little cash for fingers and toes, more for hands, more for arms, etc. Heck, my right foot has a big bunion so I could live without that. I
could ice it up and take it off with a chop saw. It's pretty tempting.<br />
Now, the really interesting thing is, I can't find any reference to <i>deliberate </i>loss of body parts in the policy. Not even in the fine print. Maybe that's in recognition of my unalienable right to amputate something if I want. <br />
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The Declaration of Independence says I have the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. I figure that about covers it, even if the insurance company tries to fight me. What do you think?<br />
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Thanks, <br />
Real American <br />
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Dear Real,<br />
<br />
You're absolutely right about the Declaration. We have those rights as Americans and nobody can take them away! Heaven help any insurance company that tries taking away your right to chop off a body part! No doubt there's millions of lawyers who'd drool at the chance to represent you in a lawsuit! You might, however, want to have the chopping done by a professional chopper. Some pain killer would be good and you could donate your body part to some poor soul who's missing one. Maybe one of our heroes who had something blown off in Afghanistan. Wouldn't that be patriotic! Someone who got hit at the Boston Marathon would probably be thrilled to get a replacement part. It's all up to you. Sure hope you'll get back to me. I'll be wondering how it all turns out.<br />
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Your friend,<br />
Nanabanana<br />
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_______________________________________<br />
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Here's how it turned out...<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Rights and Claims </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">June 13, 2013</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Bob Hoggett, for the Freedom Chime</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Recently, an event in Burgertown came to light, raising questions about our rights as Americans. A dismemberment claim was filed with the Dipsom Insurance Company for the loss of a policy holder's leg. Interestingly, Mr. Theodore Hosenfrost lost his leg because he removed it himself. When Dipsom denied the claim, the ACLU was called in to protect the man's right to amputate his own leg. Lawyers of the opposing parties expect a protracted battle.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"It's a question of rights afforded to all Americans," said ACLU attorney Walter Carp. "Dipsom will have to come up with some legitimate argument that over arches the Declaration of Independence. So far, they've shown nothing in their policy that has that power." Representatives for Dipsom have declined to comment. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">When reached for comment, Mrs. Bee Hosenfrost had much to say, most of which was unprintable. "I can't tell you how mad I am!" said Mrs. Hosenfrost. "Look a the mess we're in now, not to mention the mess he left in the garage!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Mr. Hosenfrost was found in his garage by his son Harold Hosenfrost. The senior Hosenfrost was lying in a pool of blood, a Saws All in one hand and a cell phone in the other. The cell phone's battery had no charge. Mr. Hosenfrost had no pulse. </span><br />
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Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-61014297897980428912013-05-30T19:09:00.002-07:002013-05-31T19:02:33.701-07:00Dear Nanabanana Follow Up!Oh my GOODNESS! We've got a few bullies here who are VERY sorry they messed with Phyllis! First of all, they were deprived of their little fish crackers. Next, a little shampoo on the shower stall floors resulted in a slippery boom boom on their bottoms. But best of all, someone who will remain nameless, (me) got hold of some hot Chili pepper and sprinkled it in their underpants while they were busy trying to get up from the shower floor. We made sure Phyllis got to see them doing a high speed Chicken Dance while they screamed for mama. I think that should be enough to influence their future behavior. When the chefs asked what was up, we just told them that Monty's imaginary baboon did it. Not sure they bought that story. Too bad you can't pull those kind of stunts in the outside world without
the probability of winding up in jail. If you get caught, that is. Thankfully, the insane have a lot more latitude in the naughty department. But you knew that already, didn't you. <br />
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Other than that, things have been basically normal around here, by our standards anyway. Memorial Day was a hoot. Hot dogs, beans, potato salad and watermelons have great aerodynamic properties. Of course, a few people couldn't resist doing things with hot dogs that got them sent to their rooms, so they missed out on the ice cream. Not me! I learned that lesson the hard way last year! Our veterans, Earl, Roy, and Angus, got extra helpings, salutes and lots of hugs and kisses. They were gong to use the watermelons like bombs to reenact their favorite battles, but they ate too much and fell asleep on the buffet table. We managed to toss a few anyway. Don't watermelons make a lovely splat!<br />
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Here's the follow up on Edgar the skeleton! Isn't it amazing the affect he's had on Dina's life! He's really brought her out of her shell!<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Regarding Edgar</span></span></b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">May 30, 2013 </span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Frederick Bimmel for the Kinnybunkton Patriot</span></span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our readers will recognize the name Dina Grimdust. Ms. Grimdust appeared at the Yummy Yum Cafe' earlier this May with a skeleton she referred to as Edgar. Efforts by authorities to identify the skeleton included a visit to Ms. Grimdust's home and produced a surprising discovery. Within the attic recess where the skeleton had been stored a diary was found. Packed beneath cedar chips, presumably used to mask the odor of decomposition, the diary made short work of the investigation. The diary, dated 1919 and authored by Mrs. Fiona Pincrest, made reference to the man who wound up in her attic. If that weren't bizarre enough, the diary revealed that Ms. Grimdust has named the skeleton correctly. Excerpt below:</span></span></span></span></b><br />
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<i><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Oh give me my darling Edgar! I have gone against God to be his lover! My shame is my glory! As I lay beside my husband each night I can only think of Edgar sleeping in the barn loft! Such a humble bed for the man I truly love! It takes all my restraint not to rush out of the house and join him! I am consumed with sinful longing for his touch, his kiss, his manly passion! How can I continue this charade while I live with the knowledge that I carry his child?"</span></span></span></span></b></i><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">The diary goes on to give some graphic details unsuitable for print. It concludes with an entry stating that Mrs. Pincrest suspected her husband, Mr. Thornton Pincrest, was aware of her affair. Given the dates, the child Mrs. Pincrest mentioned would have been her first born son, Sheldon Pincrest, who was the father of our own mayor, Thornton Pincrest II. </span></span></span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">"You just never know, do you," remarked coroner Martin Bugthistle. "We can't find any mention of an Edgar in the census or church records from those days, but we sure as hell know what he was up to!" Under the circumstances, it's unlikely that Edgar will ever be positively identified. Authorities have concluded that he was a wandering farmhand, a common occupation in those days. Most likely, Mr. Pincrest found the diary and dispatched Edgar out of righteous anger over his wife's illegitimate child.</span></span></span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">When shown the diary, Mayor Pincrest was naturally shocked, but somewhat pleased.</span></span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">"What do you know. Grandma was a real spicy lady!" he remarked. "Of course, I knew my grand parents were prominent and where they lived, but who'd guess that my dad was a bastard!" The mayor was more than willing to leave the skeleton of his true grandfather with Ms. Grimdust but kept the diary, "for the family archives". </span></span></span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's hoped that this article will serve as notice that Ms. Grimdust and Edgar will continue their relationship. Students of the Kinybunkton Community College, who have been picketing the mayor's office daily, may now direct their interests elsewhere. A visit to Ms. Grimdust's home found her on the back porch with Edgar, enjoying the fine spring weather on her glider. Edgar was appropriately dressed in blue jean overalls and bandanna head dress. </span></span></span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">"I'm so relieved that the controversy has ended so quickly," Ms. Grimdust said. "We've had many visitors since it all started and made new friends. We're so happy that Edgar has relatives in town! I think the mayor looks quite a lot like Edgar! </span></span></span></span></b><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Next week we're going over to the Community College so the kids can see all the knife marks on Edgar's ribs.</span></span></span></span></b> It all just goes to show how appealing a guy can be, whether he's alive or not."</span></span></span></span></b><br />
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<br />Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-23058568764393223752013-05-18T17:26:00.000-07:002013-05-30T18:51:10.820-07:00Dear Nanabanana X4!Well! I never thought any of my buddies here at the maximum security psychiatric facility could be so CRUEL! Yesterday Duds and I walked into the craft room and a few of the guys (who I'll leave nameless) were harassing Phyllis! They were telling her the North Koreans were coming for her! So, of course, she was hiding behind an easel, crying and trying to shoot at North Koreans with a tube of acrylic paint. (The craft room needed more color anyway.) Where are the chefs when you need them!<br />
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So Duds and I went into action. We quickly wadded up some balls of clay and let 'em fly! Ever get hit in the head with a wad of clay? You wouldn't like it. Neither did the bullies. There was some hollering and then they ran from the room. The noise attracted people from the dining hall, so we got a good round of applause. Then Duds and I helped Phyllis come back to reality, which was a trick for her. She's only been on meds for a few weeks. The last thing her nerves needed was a dose of stress.<br />
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Everybody that wasn't a bully gathered around Phyllis in support and the bullies found themselves the objects of social rejection. That's likely to last awhile. There's a few rules here and they broke one BIG time. It's fine to join in on a delusion if the person who's delusional enjoys it. If you're contributing to somebody's pain it's entirely unacceptable. The whole episode put my brain into a high geared spin. I thought of all the attention bullying is getting in the press and how bullying plays into other social issues. Then, I remembered this letter I got last week. The backlash was almost immediate, so I've included that here too.<br />
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Dear Nanabanana,<br />
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I've always been a quiet, unassuming person. I'm a middle aged, single woman with no family and I'm very shy. Even at my job in the cardboard box factory I hardly ever talk to anybody. A few years ago I bought an old farmhouse in a small town in Massachusetts. Last year I decided to add some insulation in the attic. I pulled up the floor boards and discovered that a skeleton was packed beneath them! I pulled him out, wired up his loose parts and set him on the sofa in the parlor. In almost no time I was talking to him. Since he's even quieter than I am, he makes good company. I decided to name him Edgar and he sits with me at supper, watches TV with me and rests with me on my glider in the screened porch out back.<br />
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While I realize this is an odd relationship I can't imagine why anyone would object. Then there's our human rights to consider. Don't we have a right to be friends even if people don't agree? Still, I'm wary of taking him out in public. It would be great to take him to the movies or a nice cafe' but I fear the attention it might bring us. He doesn't complain but it seems cruel to keep him in the house all the time. Edgar and I would appreciate any thoughts or ideas you might have regarding live/dead relationships.<br />
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Thank you, <br />
Friendly Bones<br />
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Dear Friendly,<br />
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I assume you and Edgar aren't having sex, since he's missing a few important parts. As far as I know the only laws against your relationship pertain to <i>sex</i> between live and dead people (necrophilia). Other objections are just artificial social conventions and hardly worth mentioning. It does remind me of the struggle gay people face when they want to get married. I've never understood why straight people are so cruel to gay people. If you're feeling brave enough to take Edgar out, why not? The worst that can happen is a tangle with the authorities. If you have the courage, you could strike a blow for live/dead relations!<br />
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My only word of caution is; get a lawyer. Sorry to say, my advice tends to result in people being jailed or declared insane, so think hard before you act. Also, keep in mind that the rest of society is going to be against you. It takes a lot of backbone to stand up against that. (No joke intended.) So make the decision that's best for you two, and enjoy your friendship. It's hard to find true friends, and Edgar sounds like a great guy! He can't walk out on you or drink up your beer! Say Hi for me!<br />
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Your friend,<br />
Nanabanana<br />
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So, wouldn't you know, here's the results;<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Bony Buddy Gets Attention</span></b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">May 17, 2013</span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Fredrick Bimm<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">el</span> for the Kinnybunkton <span style="font-size: x-small;">Patriot</span></span></span></span></span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Patrons <span style="font-size: small;">got a shock<span style="font-size: small;"> when <span style="font-size: small;">Kinnybunkton resident Dina Grimdust<span style="font-size: small;"> took<span style="font-size: small;"> a seat at <span style="font-size: small;">a</span> sidewalk table of th<span style="font-size: small;">e Yummy Yum Cafe'. Ms. Grimdust wasn't the problem, but her partner was. Ms. Grimdust was accompanied by a <span style="font-size: small;">skeleton. Owner<span style="font-size: small;"> Bob Button summoned police when Ms. Grimdust refused to remove the s<span style="font-size: small;">keleton and leave. <span style="font-size: small;">As<span style="font-size: small;"> police arrived<span style="font-size: small;">,<span style="font-size: small;"> Kinnybunkton <span style="font-size: small;">Community College</span> students<span style="font-size: small;">, who<span style="font-size: small;"> were <span style="font-size: small;">march</span>ing for gay marriage rights at General Skeezer Park across the street, dropped th<span style="font-size: small;">eir signs to join Ms. Grimdust in so<span style="font-size: small;">lidarity.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">This reporter was down the street <span style="font-size: small;">and join<span style="font-size: small;">ed the growing <span style="font-size: small;">crowd while <span style="font-size: small;">police attempted to <span style="font-size: small;">detain</span> Ms. <span style="font-size: small;">Grim<span style="font-size: small;">dust and take possession</span></span> of the skeleton</span>.<span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">Three lawyers, Attorneys <span style="font-size: small;">Ruddy</span>, <span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">Weiner</span>, </span>and Coxe, also patrons of the cafe', confronted the bemused police of<span style="font-size: small;">ficers <span style="font-size: small;">on behalf of M<span style="font-size: small;">s. Grim<span style="font-size: small;">dust and her skeleton.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> <span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">As it became known that the skeleton<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>was on her property when Ms. Grimdust purchased it, the three attorneys pointed out that she had every right to claim ownership. When Ms. Grimdust stated that she found the skeleton in her attic, the lawyers agreed that its removal did not constitute grave robbing<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>and it's probable that Ms. Grimdust will only need a permit to keep it. </span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">S</span>t<span style="font-size: small;">udents chanted "Freedom for Skeletons<span style="font-size: small;">!" as cafe' owner Mr. Button and our local police officers <span style="font-size: small;">wiped tears of laughte<span style="font-size: small;">r from their eyes. "I can't wait to tell <span style="font-size: small;">the <span style="font-size: small;">Chief</span></span> about this!" <span style="font-size: small;">declar</span>ed Officer Walt <span style="font-size: small;">Teasdale. "I can't wait to tell <span style="font-size: small;">my wife</span>!" said Officer Dale Feather<span style="font-size: small;">balm</span>. Under the circumstances, police decided not to detain Ms.<span style="font-size: small;"> Grimdust<span style="font-size: small;">, but wrote her a ticket for disturbing the peace. It's ex<span style="font-size: small;">pected there will be an</span></span> investi<span style="font-size: small;">gation <span style="font-size: small;">into</span> the skeleton's identity and how it got in<span style="font-size: small;"> her</span> attic. Given the aged, yellow coloring<span style="font-size: small;"> of the skel<span style="font-size: small;">eton and <span style="font-size: small;">the few years that M<span style="font-size: small;">s. Grimdust has owned <span style="font-size: small;">her</span> pro<span style="font-size: small;">perty<span style="font-size: small;">, it seems unlikely that she put it there her<span style="font-size: small;">self.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">With three attorneys proffering their cards,<span style="font-size: small;"> Ms. Gri<span style="font-size: small;">m<span style="font-size: small;">dus<span style="font-size: small;">t w<span style="font-size: small;">on't</span> lack representation should that <span style="font-size: small;">prove</span> necessary.<span style="font-size: small;"> As she prepared to leave Ms. Grimdust lifted <span style="font-size: small;">her s<span style="font-size: small;">keleton, turned to the crowd and <span style="font-size: small;">called out</span>, "Edgar is my best friend and nobody is going to sep<span style="font-size: small;">arate us!"</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">The crowd <span style="font-size: small;">went wild</span>. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">See this here?<span style="font-size: small;"> Living people and skeletons have been friends for a long time<span style="font-size: small;">! Not sure how the <span style="font-size: small;">S</span>ak<span style="font-size: small;">i sucking monkey fits in...</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-90380201701940985642013-05-06T00:36:00.003-07:002013-05-20T09:21:27.365-07:00I'm Crazy and I Have a Gun!Hi everybody! Hope you all had a fine Cinco de Mayo! It was wild here at the maximum security psychiatric facility! We had a swell time with the construction paper making ponchos and sombreros. We pretended to be Mexicans, shouting, "<i>Fuego!</i>" or "<i>Dos cerveza por favor!</i>" or "<i>Mi aerodeslizador esta lleno de anguilas!</i>" (which means, 'My hovercraft is full of eels' and doesn't have anything to do with Cinco de Mayo but we like it anyway.) The tacos and burritos went air borne as usual and the re-fried beans stuck to our faces real well. Of course, the Mariachi music was playing full blast so it seemed like a good time to put Phyllis through orientation.<br />
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Phyllis arrived here on April 1st but wasn't up to socializing for a few days. It takes awhile to get on meds and become somewhat conscious of reality. Phyllis got picked up because she was waging her own little war with imaginary people, but using a real shotgun. By the time they dug her out of her bomb shelter she was a real mess. So we took great care showing her how to start a food fight, wreck the arts and crafts room and pick the lock on the elevator. I think she'll fit right in.<br />
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That reminds me! I got a letter from my actual old friend Mary Theresa. She and I were great pals back in the day and worked together at a mud wrestling establishment. We liked to hang out at the local biker club and had many a riotous adventure. One time we went to the roof of the club house and threw shingles at the police when they came to arrest our buddies for whatever stupid excuse they could come up with. Anyway, I thought you, my faithful readers, would enjoy reading the letter. Everybody here got a kick out of it. (We always share our letters.)<br />
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Dear Nanabanana,<br />
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Long time no shit! I'm writing from the county jail while the sphincters of authority decide what to do with me. Guess they didn't like it when I showed up at Governor Ricky Snyder's house. I took along my AK47 and shot a few rounds in the air while I was yelling, "<i>I'm crazy and I have a gun!</i>" They didn't even know a crazy people's rights activist when they saw one!<br />
Of course, I'm twisted and I can prove it, so buying a gun was easy. Gun dealers have no problem selling all the weapons a lunatic wants, since there's no background checks that track us, <i>yet</i>. Makes it a lot easier to fight the good fight, bringing insanity into the light of day and <i>demanding</i> that 2nd Amendment rights are not withheld from the mentally disturbed.<br />
Well, maybe I should change that to <i>made</i> it a lot easier to fight the good fight, since I've been denied my 2nd Amendment rights already. Respect runs short for us psychos, doesn't it? Sure hope you're doing OK. Maybe I'll get sent to your place and we can form an insane political activists gang! We, the psychotic, disenfranchised misanthropes gotta stick together! Here's a photo of me in my glory. Send me a photo of you if you can.<br />
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Stay cool,<br />
Mary Theresa<br />
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Now, I didn't see any news on Mary Theresa's story, so I have to wonder if she's not exaggerating a tad. After all, she really is a nut case. The only other explanation I can think of is that they kept the story under wraps so more psychos wouldn't stop by to visit the Governor. I'm betting Mary Theresa will be contacting every wacko she knows to push her agenda and Snyder will be having more guests real soon. And why not? Isn't that what democracy is all about? <br />
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The top photo is Mary Theresa. The guys here at the facility think the bottom photo is what she <i>ought</i> to look like. (Perverts.) <br />
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Well, that's all for now folks! Load 'em if you got 'em and buy 'em if you don't. (Guns, not boobs.)<br />
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Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-31781496030943093762013-04-27T10:24:00.000-07:002013-04-27T22:50:38.345-07:00Texas ToastWell don't I feel stupid. While I've been ranting about the terrorism at the Boston Marathon I overlooked a little issue in Texas. I only started paying attention because of my nutty buddies. At dinner of the 26th I was happily brooding about the remaining little twit who bombed Boston when I realized there was a hum of whispers underlying the usual dinner chaos. I kept hearing low pitched mutters of "Texas Toast" but just thought it was some paranoid observation because we had, in fact, been served Texas Toast with our barbequed chicken strips. Well, it <i>was</i> a group paranoia event triggered by 'suspicious' Texas Toast. Fairly understandable since it was founded on a real situation. I didn't get it until I asked Roy what the heck was going on. He pointed at his toast and explained, disdainfully, that the toast might blow up because it came from Texas and nobody was going to eat it. HUH? We all <i>love</i> our Texas Toast! So I tried to trace the cause of that remark on TV. The news was still focused on Boston but there was 60 seconds of coverage on the Texas story that gave me a point of reference. <br />
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The internet was more obliging and I got a nasty shock when I read about the fertilizer plant explosion. I was puzzled by my own ignorance until I recognized that the West Texas incident was rather mundane compared to the sensational nature of the bombings in Boston. Terrorism is much sexier than a little old explosion of known origin.<br />
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I'd be a lot <i>less</i> shocked if there wasn't such an obvious failure of corporate responsibility and evidence of appalling regulatory incompetence. <br />
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"It seems this manufacturer was willfully off the grid," Rep. Bennie
Thompson, (D-MS), ranking member of the House Committee on Homeland
Security, said in a statement. "This facility was known to have
chemicals well above the threshold amount to be regulated under the
Chemical Facility Anti-Terrorism Standards Act (CFATS), yet we
understand that DHS did not even know the plant existed until it blew
up."<br />
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"Fertilizer plants and depots must report to the DHS when they hold 400
lb (180 kg) or more of the substance. Filings this year with the Texas
Department of State Health Services, which weren't shared with DHS,
show the plant had 270 tons of it on hand last year." <br />
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WHAT? Seriously?! The article goes on to say that 270 tons is <b>1,350 times</b> the amount that should have triggered an inspection! <br />
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Well isn't that just DANDY. In what I'd consider a mass shock reaction, the nice folks of West Texas are united in the support of the West Fertilizer Co. Since the company supplies a lot of jobs for the area it's understandable that there's a well established community loyalty. This, in spite of the fact that the explosion is the second worst in our country's history. It's likely that their attitude will change when FEMA steps in and funding is delayed.<br />
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Remember Hurricane Sandy? Remember how Rick Perry remarked that FEMA funds shouldn't be used for the victims? Remember how pleased he was to have Texas named a target by Kim Jong un? I'd love to know what's cascading through his shrunken little brain right now. He wants lots of FEMA money for <i>this</i> disaster, apparently oblivious of the irony. The conspiracy theories are already in play; Kim Jong un and the feds taking turns being the culprit. The first lawsuits are rolling in. Some legal warriors will assign a value on the lives of the 17 dead and numerous victims. Next we can expect a general collapse of community loyalty as it becomes obvious that the massive loss of property won't be promptly addressed and the jobs are <i>gone</i>.<br />
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How will this impact the rest of the country? Probably very little. We all like to put such things behind us. Memories of the record breaking tornadoes of 2012 and Hurricane Sandy are already fading as new opportunities for morbid fascination crop up. I'm left to wonder if any 'normal' folks will experience residual unease from the West Texas explosion. There are <i>lots </i>of fertilizer plants in the USA. As for me, I'll never feel quite the same about Texas Toast. <br />
Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-14521094593077699422013-04-21T09:30:00.000-07:002013-04-24T06:19:53.581-07:00Boston Lockdown!<span style="font-family: inherit;">Darn it! That little 'brain chips' freakout last week put the whole floor in lock down. We all had to stay in our rooms until Dr. Idiot decided which of us were behaving well enough to get out. I was sprung the next day because I wasn't freaked out to start with, but I was alone most of the day, which is almost enough to freak me out. Isn't it weird how footsteps on terrazzo sound when there aren't any other noises? The TV and computer were still blacked out, so I was pretty itchy for some kind of contact. I indulged myself by sneaking up on the chefs and screaming, but that's an old trick that doesn't impress them much anymore. When Duds and Rita got out the next day I felt a little better but they were so loopy with head meds that they weren't much company.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The days dragged by while my nutty buddies trickled back into the common rooms a few at a time. Still, the TV was off and I couldn't get permission to use the computer. I've already read all the books in the library and crafts leave me cold, since I'm not allowed to melt crayons, so I was getting desperately bored. Yesterday they finally turned the TV on and opened the computer for use. Duds and I did rock, paper, scissors and I convinced Duds that I won so I got first crack at getting online. That's how I found out that there was more than insanity to blame for the media black out, there was horrible news too. Just as well I didn't hear sooner, because I went from bored to completely FURIOUS. Jumping up and down, beating on the wall, screaming obscenities, PISSED OFF TO THE EXTREME! The chefs called Dr. Idiot, but he decided I was behaving normally. In fact, Dr. Idiot said he was pissed off and all the normal people he knew were pissed off too. SMALL WONDER!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bombing in Boston. At the Marathon. All kinds of people parts flying everywhere and 4 people DEAD. Here, once again, is a prime example of amateurs playing with explosives and <i>killing people!</i> For pity's sake! They couldn't have just blown off their bombs from the roof of a building? A nice display of pyrotechnics instead of <i>murder?</i> Then what happens. The WHOLE CITY is put in lock down, the older homicidal sociopath gets shot and the younger one hides in a boat like a raccoon. Oooo! We're SO impressed! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Message to Monkey Brains: Having<i> </i>fun <i>now</i> Mr. Islamic Jihadist Wannabe<i>?</i> Enjoying your bullet wounds?<i> </i>Your misanthrope of a brother is DEAD and you're left to tell everybody how <i>smart</i> you are! Can't wait to hear all about that! Did you make Allah happy? Are you SURE? Well, I'm betting Allah would say you're a deluded little pimple on the ass of the universe. Keeping in mind that Allah is a lot smarter than YOU. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So now we get another noxious dose of ethnic and religious condemnation. Every Muslim will be getting the stink eye even if they don't come from Chechnya. Everybody who has a vaguely Russian accent will be under suspicion. Yeah, that's just GREAT. Thank goodness the people of Boston all pulled together to help the wounded and chase down these twisted little poster boys for poorly interpreted religious doctrine. I wish the c</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">onspiracy theories that prompted this paranoid psychosis could be permanently put on black out. Yeah, yeah, 1st amendment, blah, blah, blah. The internet spreads conspiracy theories like whores spread syphilis. If t</span>hese guys believed the conspiracy crap that turned them against the USA then what the HELL were they doing here? Oh, that's right, they wanted to play with explosives and become martyrs to a phantom cause. Chechnya must be <i>really</i> proud!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Postscript: Oh wow! The Junior Jihadist woke up! Now he's telling the world how he and his dead brother were "self radicalized", which means they spent lots of time on the internet getting misinformed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">ANOTHER message for Monkey Brains: Now that you'll have plenty of time to play on the internet, you might want to study the actual history of events in Afghanistan and Iraq. For instance, the US and other countries, such as Israel and China, kicked in billions of dollars to get the Soviets out of Afghanistan in the '80s. Ever hear of that? Ever hear that money is STILL flowing into Iraq and Afghanistan to help rebuild? But don't worry, you'll have lots of time in prison to upgrade your woefully truncated education. While you're at it, think about those people you've killed or crippled. Did that even the score? Do you feel vindicated? </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If you wanted to blame somebody, why didn't you blame the guys who made billions of dollars off those wars? Why didn't you go after them? Of course, that would have required a lot more courage than you'll ever possess.</span> If there's any justice you'll have a ghost child taunting you every night for the rest of your life. By the time you're facing your own death you might even figure out what a tool you've been. I have my doubts, but it could happen. </span>Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-76052881223226377802013-04-13T10:21:00.004-07:002013-04-14T09:08:00.551-07:00Bummer!<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Judas Priest! This weekend is shaping up to be a real circus! I woke up to the sound of a fracas in the dining hall and got there just in time to see the chefs chasing people around trying to medicate them. Roy was about the only one I could see who wasn't running around so I asked him what was happening. He just genuflected and covered his mouth, which told me he was being a nun who took a vow of silence. Roy never breaks his vows, so I crawled under the table where Monty was to ask what was going on. He took his thumb out of his mouth long enough to yell, "Brain Chips!" Then he stuck it up his nose as a visual aide. Monty's imaginary baboon, who's never delusional, told me what started the fuss. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Remember those squirrely looking guys who stuck swabs up our noses? Turns out they weren't looking for jeans, they were looking for <i>genes</i>. Crazy genes, to be exact. Like some little gene is going to go psychotic so they'll know which one it is. Honestly! Sometimes normal people can be such twits! Anyway, word came down the grape vine that the nose swabbing gene freaks were coming back to swab noses again. This news was not greeted with cheers. It was greeted with screams, the gnashing of teeth and the yanking of hair. All my psycho buddies, once again, reached the conclusion that they were about to be implanted with brain chips. Every time things started to calm down somebody would yell, "Brain chips!" and everybody would go nuts again. The chefs kept trying to tell them it was just a rumor, but you know how that goes. Rumors are always more believable than the truth. Just look at Congress. Any day now C-SPAN is going to air live feed coverage of the entire House full of Congress people running around screaming, "Brain chips! Brain chips!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Why is it people don't listen when you're only trying to help? You can see this phenomenon in action all the time. For instance, the folks who want new gun regulations are NOT trying to take everybody's cap pistols. They're trying to keep people from getting shot! HELLO!! The folks who want gay marriage aren't trying to threaten the fabric of civilization, they're just trying to be nice! What's wrong with that? I keep running into this problem too. I give people advice through my Dear Nanabanana forum and NOBODY LISTENS! Darn it all! Why do they ask if they aren't going to listen? Case in point, see the following:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Pot Party Bust Results <span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span>n</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Felony Charges</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">by Carl Lingerlong, for Police Beat </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">In response to a noise abatement call, police arrived at 1298 Tweezer St., to discover a party in progress, with an estimated 60 people on the property, dancing to loud rock music under a heavy haze of pot smoke. Police called for back up while the party goers scattered, many of whom climbed the 6 foot privacy fence to escape. Only 6 of the revelers were detained, all of whom were minors too heavily drugged to run. Cursory examination of the open garage revealed 16 pounds of marijuana, 200 "hits" of LSD and several platters of marijuana laced brownies.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">One of the detained minors informed police that the home owner, Mr. Donald Burnbottom, was last seen entering the crawl space beneath his house the previous day. Police used a remote bomb detonation robot to inspect the crawl space where they discovered a naked Mr. Burnbottom crouching, giggling and singing while coating a Rottweiler in cobwebs. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">A g<span style="font-size: small;">roup</span> of neighbors stated that Mrs. Burnbottom and the two Burnbottom children had left town several weeks earlier. "It's been crazy around here ever since the wife split," remarked Ms. Angel Knitski. "Don's been such a good neighbor. It's sad to see him fall apart like this." Ms. Knitski described the recent activities at the Burnbottom household as "perpetual partying with people running naked all over the place". Mrs. Burnbottom could not be reached for comment. The Rottweiler was returned to it's owner who is considering animal abuse charges after discovering that the dog was "very stoned".</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The curious lack of any earlier complaints was explained when it became known that nearly all of the subdivision residents were in India, celebrating the Hindu holiday of Holi.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>"Nobody likes to see somebody get busted", remarked neighbor Brent Vigorelli. "We all love to party, but it got way too silly. I mean, there's limits, even in California." It took several hours of coaxing before Mr. Burnbottom emerged from beneath his house t<span style="font-size: small;">o be</span> taken into custody. Probable felony charges include distributing drugs to minors, possession with intent to distribute or sell marijuana and LSD, plus lesser charges of burning bonfires and use of fireworks in a residential neighborhood.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Mr. Burnbottom, a mortgage loan officer for Bank of America, will remain in the Hoarfrost County jail under observation until he is able to respond to questioning.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">A Polaroid instant photo found on the scene show<span style="font-size: small;">s<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mr. Burnbottom, center, with unknown <span style="font-size: small;">guests</span>.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> <b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"> </span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"> </span></span></b> </span>Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-43338262725376582532013-04-07T17:41:00.000-07:002013-04-09T07:19:21.294-07:00Naughty Kim Jong-un!<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Free at last!</span> Got myself in trouble~agai<span style="font-size: small;">n. This time I wasn't<span style="font-size: small;"> d<span style="font-size: small;">elus<span style="font-size: small;">i</span>on<span style="font-size: small;">al<span style="font-size: small;">, I was just <span style="font-size: small;">rooting<span style="font-size: small;"> for</span></span> Feeney<span style="font-size: small;">'s delusion. So was ever<span style="font-size: small;">ybody else who wasn't catatonic. </span>Who could resist it? Fenney was having delusiona<span style="font-size: small;">l sex with Nancy Pelosi and she <span style="font-size: small;">was app<span style="font-size: small;">ar<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">e</span>ntl<span style="font-size: small;">y</span> having<span style="font-size: small;"> a wonderful ti<span style="font-size: small;">me, if you can <span style="font-size: small;">trust Fenney's powers of deduction. He kept <span style="font-size: small;">shouting things like, "Ri<span style="font-size: small;">de <span style="font-size: small;">my <span style="font-size: small;">Crui<span style="font-size: small;">se Missile</span></span></span>,<span style="font-size: small;"> you</span> wrinkled little elitist li<span style="font-size: small;">bera<span style="font-size: small;">l!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>" <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">and</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">,</span> <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Bang that gavel </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">you hot Speaker <span style="font-size: small;">M</span>omma!" Feeney's attracted to power</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">fu</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">l</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> women, so we didn't tell him </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">she lost her job. </span> </span></span></span></span> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> I <span style="font-size: small;">really should try harder to behave myself. I'm always blame<span style="font-size: small;">d for the floor show and</span></span> <span style="font-size: small;">tossed in the mop closet<span style="font-size: small;">.<span style="font-size: small;"> What<span style="font-size: small;"> with the <span style="font-size: small;">'shut up' meds <span style="font-size: small;">Dr. Idio<span style="font-size: small;">t pum<span style="font-size: small;">ped into me</span></span></span> and the la<span style="font-size: small;">ck of a clock or <span style="font-size: small;">a window, it took me awhile <span style="font-size: small;">to get oriented when <span style="font-size: small;">they let me out</span>.<span style="font-size: small;"> So I <span style="font-size: small;">went to <span style="font-size: small;">check the date </span></span>on the <span style="font-size: small;">computer</span> <span style="font-size: small;">but </span>Rita had it already<span style="font-size: small;">.</span> <span style="font-size: small;">She</span> was playing a video game where <span style="font-size: small;">the D<span style="font-size: small;">alai</span> Lahma <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">mows down zombies with a Breacher.<span style="font-size: small;"> St<span style="font-size: small;">upid game. <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Everybody knows y</span>ou don't need a<span style="font-size: small;"> Breacher</span> to kill zombies. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> <br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Any<span style="font-size: small;">way<span style="font-size: small;">, I had to threaten <span style="font-size: small;">to pee on her pillow to g<span style="font-size: small;">et Rita off the keyboard. She <span style="font-size: small;">couldn't </span> decid<span style="font-size: small;">e</span> if she wouldn't like that<span style="font-size: small;"> so</span> she<span style="font-size: small;"> left to get</span> Fenney's opinion. I <span style="font-size: small;">hop<span style="font-size: small;">ped on the <span style="font-size: small;">internet<span style="font-size: small;">,</span> went straight to the news, and the first thing I saw was THIS<span style="font-size: small;">:</span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">N.Korea Threatens to Nuke Texas,</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Rick Perry's Massive Ego Takes Credit</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">2013/04/05</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">By T. Steelman for Addicting Info </span><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></b></span> </div>
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</ins><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Perry smash puny North Korea! (OK, he didn't really say that.) </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">There comes a point when it is clear that a person has just lost it. In Rick Perry's case, I think his ego is </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">reaching critical mass, which could lead to God knows what kind of explosion. Yes, he has lost it. I know...</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">did he ever have it? Well, that is a debate for another day. Today we are getting a view of Perry's ego that is</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">truly astounding. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I saw th<span style="font-size: small;">is and thought <span style="font-size: small;">it was</span> a<span style="font-size: small;">n April Fool's joke<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">!</span> I checked the date and the source an<span style="font-size: small;">d <span style="font-size: small;">had <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Angus</span> check too<span style="font-size: small;">, just in ca<span style="font-size: small;">se I was delusional. I didn't know just how offended I should be! That naughty Kim J<span style="font-size: small;">o</span>ng-un! Th<span style="font-size: small;">e</span> <span style="font-size: small;">sweet little boy who was schooled in Switzerland and loved basket ball has <span style="font-size: small;">rejected all the <span style="font-size: small;">western virtues<span style="font-size: small;">, li<span style="font-size: small;">ke <span style="font-size: small;">Democracy, that he was <span style="font-size: small;">so liber<span style="font-size: small;">al<span style="font-size: small;">ly exposed to? How can this be? How could he have become so intoxicated <span style="font-size: small;">by his</span> recent a<span style="font-size: small;">q</span>u<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">i</span>s<span style="font-size: small;">ition of power that he would threaten the US? He's certainly aware that his sabre rattl<span style="font-size: small;">ing is <span style="font-size: small;">laughable</span> in view of N<span style="font-size: small;">orth Korea's poor miss<span style="font-size: small;">ile launch</span> re<span style="font-size: small;">cord. <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> He can't have forgotten that the US c<span style="font-size: small;">ould make North Korea <span style="font-size: small;">go away i<span style="font-size: small;">f so inclined.</span></span></span> No doubt he's already estranged from Michael Jordan. No<span style="font-size: small;"> Jordan</span> fan photos for you, <span style="font-size: small;">Mister Too Big For His <span style="font-size: small;">Britches</span>!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> <br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> At the core of my annoyance with <span style="font-size: small;">the little stinker is disdain for his lack of destructive art exp<span style="font-size: small;">ertise. I just know if he ev<span style="font-size: small;">er blows off a miss<span style="font-size: small;">il<span style="font-size: small;">e he'll muc<span style="font-size: small;">k it up and kill people. I<span style="font-size: small;">f</span> he<span style="font-size: small;"> can even keep them out of the water, that is. </span>He's obviously an amateur and <span style="font-size: small;">would do better to <span style="font-size: small;">just hang <span style="font-size: small;">out</span> with all thos<span style="font-size: small;">e goose stepping <span style="font-size: small;">budd<span style="font-size: small;">ie</span></span>s of <span style="font-size: small;">his. Somebody give him a box of sparklers and a <span style="font-size: small;">Big <span style="font-size: small;">Gulp</span></span>.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> As for Gov<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">ernor Perry, well,<span style="font-size: small;"> this must b<span style="font-size: small;">e dick measuring at it's finest.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> It's no<span style="font-size: small;"> trick for Perry to turn a looming disaster into a compliment. (Or visa versa.) He had plenty of <span style="font-size: small;">practice <span style="font-size: small;">while campaigning. </span></span></span>However, I have to wonder <span style="font-size: small;">whether </span><span style="font-size: small;">hav<span style="font-size: small;">ing <span style="font-size: small;">Texas targeted by the overgrown adolescent that's running North Korea <span style="font-size: small;">is the fon<span style="font-size: small;">t of joy to Texans that it is to Perry.</span></span> Remember the Cuban Missile Crisis? <span style="font-size: small;">Texans will <span style="font-size: small;">start building bo<span style="font-size: small;">mb shelters<span style="font-size: small;"> if they didn't <span style="font-size: small;">already do that back i<span style="font-size: small;">n '6<span style="font-size: small;">2</span>. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I keep <span style="font-size: small;">envisioning this</span> Waco <span style="font-size: small;">style picture</span>; Te<span style="font-size: small;">xans armed to the teeth<span style="font-size: small;">, ready and <span style="font-size: small;">more than willing to engage the enemy. If they engage Hing Lu when he d<span style="font-size: small;">elivers <span style="font-size: small;">food from Wonton Junction, well, <span style="font-size: small;">O</span>ops! When I think about it, a huge threat is probably me<span style="font-size: small;">at and drink to many Texans. They can <span style="font-size: small;">alert</span> all the well ordered militias that have nothi<span style="font-size: small;">ng much to do and <span style="font-size: small;">get Wayne La Pierre <span style="font-size: small;">to be the general! </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Gosh<span style="font-size: small;">! I feel almost sane now! <span style="font-size: small;">I admit <span style="font-size: small;">I'm <span style="font-size: small;">resentful</span></span> when it comes to crazy people who aren't in here with me.</span> <span style="font-size: small;"> Just who do they think they are? They get to be crazy right in public? An<span style="font-size: small;">d hold public office? And build missiles? </span></span>Something is wrong. There needs to be an intervention. W<span style="font-size: small;">e need a lot more maximum security psychiatric facilities just to handle the politicians and <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">gun totin<span style="font-size: small;">g</span> paranoids. Both groups <span style="font-size: small;">are <span style="font-size: small;">rip<span style="font-size: small;">e for </span></span>violent psychosis. </span>As for our little potentate in North Korea,<span style="font-size: small;"> Michael Jordan's disapproval <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">just mig<span style="font-size: small;">ht</span> be enough to straighten him out</span></span>.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> <br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">Don't know WHAT to do about these guys!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-29473662045149951112013-03-28T13:03:00.000-07:002013-03-29T05:56:25.298-07:00Dear Nanabanana X 3!<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well...people just keep asking for my advice even though 2 out of 3 have wound up in jail. Puzzling, isn't it? I can't just ignore them though. They NEED me! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dear Nanabanana,</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm 68 years old, but still young at heart. I fondly remember the '60s and how great those times were. Peace marches, 'make love not war', so many fantastic memories. Heck, I still have my tie dyed T-shirt from Woodstock. It's kind of thin now though. I was walking through the flea market a few months back and noticed how much '60s apparel was available for sale. Not old stuff, new bell bottoms, tie dyed shirts, dresses, peace sign jewelry and etc. It really made me long for the good old days! So, what the heck, I bought a few things. Couldn't resist the tie dyed shirts and low rider bell bottoms. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was about 2 weeks later that I found out there was going to be a 60s revival concert at the local community band shell. (I'm in southern California.) I decided to go, while my wife was attending some (snort) Republican political meeting. Man, I had a bitchin' time! There were 6 bands playing the old rock & roll, kids were dancing and smoking weed. It was fantastic! So I decided to attend every rock concert I could find around here. Pretty soon, the kids at the concerts started to recognize me and I got a reputation for being a sage from the old days. I have to admit it was an ego booster. At the last concert some kids invited me into their restored Volkswagen van to smoke weed. So I did it. It was great!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's where the problem comes in. I was hangin' naked in the back yard, (we've got a privacy fence) just playing my old Fender acoustic, when my wife came out and had herself a fit. She said she didn't know who I was anymore, the kids were embarrassed to bring their friends home, blah, blah, blah. I told her if she just came along with me to some concerts instead of supporting the military-industrial complex maybe she could stop taking Lithium. That didn't go over well at all. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So here I am, a stranger in my own home, getting no respect and being vilified by my own family. Is it so wrong to be on the outside who I've always been on the inside? Is there something I could do to get back on my family's good side and still stay in the groove?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thank you,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not So Good Vibrations</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">__________________________________________________________</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dear NSGV,</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Can you say brownies? I'm amazed you haven't thought of it yourself! For heaven's sake! You're in CALIFORNIA! Keep your family stoned to the bone and life will smooth out for you. (Well, might not work with the kids. Kids always hate their folks anyway.) While I'm aware that some people would call what you're going through a 'midlife crises', I couldn't disagree more. In your case, it's a reaffirmation that you're experiencing. You've been subverting your true nature since you 'grew up'. If you've been keeping up, you know that another guy, 'Uneasy Rider', went through something similar. Well, maybe that's not such a good example, since he got in a lot of trouble, but what you're doing is much healthier. Everybody needs to have fun and I can't imagine why your wife doesn't understand that. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm betting that if you bug the old lady until she attends a few concerts she'll forget all about being a Republican, (especially if she's buzzed). So get some weed, burn some incense and let the good times roll! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Your friend,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nanabanana</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-74351117622748964792013-03-20T10:25:00.000-07:002013-04-17T07:09:47.218-07:00Not My Fault!This just in! Well, I<i> told </i>him to watch out for biker chicks...<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><u><b>Man <span style="font-size: large;">Charged with Racketeering <span style="font-size: large;">and</span> <span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></b></u></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><u><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Insider<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>Trading C<span style="font-size: large;">aptured</span> by Bikers </span></span></b></u></span></span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">March 19, 2013</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Burt Nosewhistle, Reporter at Large</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Roger Watchpocket wasn't prepared for what he got.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Sought by the Justice Department, FBI and the SEC, Mr. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Watchpocket was charged with racketeering and insider</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">trading last Friday, when he disappeared and his wife called </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">his office in a panic. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> "Mrs. Watchpocket was very helpful in revealing the full ex-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">tent of her husband's fiscal activities," said SEC spokesman</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Edith Von Squirtsen. "She found paperwork in a lock box </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">which suggested her husband had kept a number of secret </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">bank accounts with deposits totaling more than 120 million </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">dollars. The money from the bank accounts was withdrawn </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">shortly before Mr. Watchpocket vanished," stated Ms. Von </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Squirtsen. "There's no way an industrial analyst, especially </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">one with the SEC, could possibly amass that much money in </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">any lawful manner."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> Here's where the rubber meets the road, so to speak. In a </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">twist that rivals a movie script, Mr. Watchpocket fell afoul </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">of the Bloody Fists biker club in Greenknuckle, Tennessee.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The story, as related by Mud Gitcha, president of the club, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">goes like this: Mr. Watchpocket, who was at the Burntwood</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Hotel with his lady companion known only as 'Spinner', was</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">a bit too forthcoming about his recent change from white collar</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">to black leather.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> "The SOB was <i>crowin' </i>about skippin' out on his wife an' he </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">didn't leave her NO CASH! I hate that S*%&!" stated Ms.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">'Spinner'. "I got my sisters an' we put a HURT on his dumb</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">F%@# A@#!" Indeed, the efforts of the lady Bloody Fists </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">resulted in hospitalization for Mr. Watchpocket. Also key to </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">apprehending Mr. Watchpocket were the men of Bloody Fists. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Speaking for the club, Mr. Gitcha remarked, "If we didn't get </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">in there, the chicks would'a snapped his dumb F*%&# neck! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">We had to hold 'em back 'til the cops got there!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> While bikers are, at times, considered trouble makers by law </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">enforcers, the Bloody Fists Club members, pictured below, are </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">now being hailed as good citizens and will be officially honored </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">at the Dangroads County 4H Fair for community service, where </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">they will receive $10 gift cards to the Stop & Slop, a local cafe'. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> Mr. Watchpocket, currently unable to speak due to his badly</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">fractured jaw, concussion, broken arms and broken ribs, will be </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">transferred to New York to answer to the charges against him, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">and recover from his injuries, pending legal action. </span><br />
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<br />Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-10903957260935233732013-03-18T13:46:00.000-07:002013-04-17T07:27:50.910-07:00Escape! Wow! It's been nuts around here! I get to say nuts because I <i>am</i> nuts. Kind of like people who are black get to say the 'N word because they<i> own </i>the 'N word. Nobody else gets to say it except bigots, and they're pushing the envelope. Actually, everybody gets to say words like nuts, crazy, delusional, psychotic, etc., even if all they're doing is teasing friends or insulting people. (Don't call the boss nuts. Not advisable except behind his/her back.) Comedians use psychiatric terms, or act nuts, which just shows how popular crazy is, as long as it isn't real. <br />
<br />
Last Monday I had a really cool delusional episode. I believed I was playing basket ball with Carles Buggs. Pretty strange, since he plays for Minnesota's Golden Gophers. That's just college ball and I've never even been to Minnesota! So Buggs and I were playing against Michele Bachmann and her weird husband, and they were losing. They got mouthy and I was laughing, so all the gigglers, twirlers and screamers ramped up and became fans in the bleachers, only without real bleachers. Everybody who wasn't delusional at the moment joined the game, since Buggs and I were winning. Even Monty's imaginary baboon joined in. He has a great jump shot. (Monty was in the bleachers.) We were in overtime and Michele's weird husband was crying when the alarm bells started ringing. Well! We all knew what that meant! Bennie had escaped again!<br />
<br />
So THAT'S why Dr. Idiot didn't catch us playing delusional basket ball! He was (no doubt) freaking out because he was looking for Bennie so we all got out of getting shut in our rooms. Remember I mentioned that Bennie thinks he's Houdini? He happens to be really good at being Houdini. He knows a bunch of tricks, but his best trick is disappearing. He's pulled his disappearing act about a dozen times so we knew what to do. We ran around looking for crayons and paper and started a pool. The categories go like this: 1# Bennie gets caught. #2 He comes back voluntarily. #3 Where he's found. #4 How long he's gone. #5 He makes it outside. #6 He makes it off the grounds. <br />
<br />
Now, interference is always allowed, since it's a lot of fun. So when the chefs or Dr. Idiot came into the dining hall, we'd misdirect them. He took the elevator! He's in the bathroom! He's in Dr. Idiot's office! He's turned into a dust bunny! That last one doesn't work, but it's amusing. You'd think, after all these years they'd figure out we're just messing with them, but they always fall for it and go running off to find Bennie. Sometimes, we get Duds to imitate approaching cop sirens. He's so good at it that we all run to the windows, and sure enough, we see Dr. Idiot and the chefs tear out of the building. The last thing they want is for Bennie to get through the gates and be 'at large'. He's not very big, so 'at large' doesn't make much sense. Another funny thing: Bennie knows exactly how to be 'at large'. He just doesn't always feel like it. He has left the grounds a couple of times. Once, he got all the way to the land fill and was found passed out with a trash bag over his head. He never did <i>that</i> again! <br />
<br />
This time Bennie was 'at large' two whole nights! That was a first! He strolled back in about noon on Wednesday, bowed and gave us a big grin. We gave him a standing ovation. Then the chefs snatched him up and tossed him in a mop closet. We checked the pool. A couple of my fellow loonies guessed one or two categories. Guess who got three. ME! I picked two nights for the return time and that cinched it. I really wasn't trying to win. I like to see the other wackos have fun. The winner gets to pick a prize. Most people pick a bag of little fish crackers from each participant. Some of us like to get a bit creative. Freaking out our keepers is a favorite. I decided to do something different. I spread peanut butter all over my naked, wrinkled rump and made butt prints on the wall. Everybody howled with delight and many imitated me. It's nice to be appreciated. Dr. Idiot made me go to my room and take a 'shut up' pill. Guess I can't blame him. He had a rough couple of days.<br />
<br />
All of this should tell you something. Even though somebody is delusional, they still might be smarter than you, and <i>sneakier</i>. It's a point most people miss. That doesn't mean psychotics should be allowed to run 'at large' being Houdini. It should tell you this: lots of crazy people are smart enough to hide their mental state. Being crazy is something anybody would try to hide. It just isn't socially acceptable. So when psychos hide until they go volcanic, folks really shouldn't be surprised. Small wonder Hitchcock named a move 'Psycho'. Wasn't Norman Bates a psychotic smarty pants? Moreover, folks shouldn't pick on the family that doesn't see how nuts their loved one is. (Or can't corral an adult family nut case. So many legal barriers.) This even applies to the families of a loved one who goes out and kills people. It can be really hard to catch people being psychotic if they're clever enough to hide it. To condemn the family, in my opinion, is worse than stigmatizing the psychotic. After all, a psychotic gets to go somewhere reasonably safe and removed from the trouble they caused. Their family is left to suffer the stares and condemnation of society.<br />
<br />
Oh! One more thing: everybody should try the peanut butter butt prints. That's not psychotic, just a tad twisted, and a lot of fun.!<br />
<br />
<br />
This is the REAL Houdini, Bennie's still in the mop closet.<br />
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Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-68687629826953670392013-03-04T17:20:00.000-08:002013-03-04T20:15:02.908-08:00Did I Do That?<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Oops! Looks like I<span style="font-size: small;"> might be</span> getting a new ward buddy! </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><u>Woman Arrested as Public Threat</u></span></b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">D. Drake Gosling, lead reporter</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Today at the Three Corners Kroger store an elderly lady was </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">apprehended while attempting to feed mice to unsuspecting </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">patrons. The mice, covered in chocolate and crushed nuts, </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">were presented to shoppers who, unfortunately, were not</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">aware of their content. When shopper George Cooter took a</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">bite of his chocolate covered mouse, </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">havoc ensued and the </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">police were summoned. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"I was seriously grossed out, but I have to admit, that mouse</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">was pretty tasty!" Mr. Cooter remarked, adding, "She's a sweet</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> little old lady. Hope she gets a nice jail cell.</span></span><span style="font-size: small;">" </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Mrs. Eleanor Puce, pictured below, was apprehended and de-</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">livered to Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow Catholic Hospital to </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">undergo psychiatric evaluation. Criminal charges are pending </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">review. Anyone who has one of the chocolate covered mice,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">has eaten a chocolate covered mouse, or suspects they may </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">have, is advised to contact the county health department to </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">be evaluated for rabies. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-13432577252561869482013-02-19T19:09:00.001-08:002013-02-25T12:15:59.689-08:00Dear Nanabanana...again!Hello, hello, hello! I'm proud to announce that I've spent all my allotted computer time for the last several weeks just wading through the comments, suggestions and requests for my expertise! Thankfully, quite a few could be addressed simply by forwarding to the FBI. Some had to be delicately handled, so to speak, and weren't suitable for display, but here's two that are. Enjoy!<br />
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<br />
Dear Nanabanana,<br />
<br />
I think the 'giving season' should be all year long. Giving enriches the soul and I live for opportunities to perform random acts of kindness. Well, it can get a bit rough on the pocket book, to be sure, but Regis gave me a wonderful idea. Regis is my funny furry kitty cat. He loves to bring me sweet little dead mouses. A great many of them and always in pristine condition, but dead. One day I was feeling a bit blue because I had no money for gifts. I was looking in the freezer for my Chunky Monkey when I realized I was digging through a treasure trove of frozen mice! The freezer was full of them! I keep them there because Regis doesn't like it when I put them in the fridge.<br />
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So I wrapped each one in colorful tissue with their little tails sticking out. Cute enough for a baby shower! I filled up a satchel with frozen mice and headed out the door. Silly me, the neighbors were all at work, so I headed for the grocery store. When I got there I started handing out my little gifts to anyone I saw. Some people said no thanks without even looking at them. Several people took them and didn't even open them. A few people looked at them and behaved rather oddly. They seemed perplexed and moved down the aisle rather quickly. Finally, I met the sweetest old fellow! When I handed him his mouse he smiled and thanked me very nicely. He opened it and exclaimed with delight. Then he grasped the mouse by the tail and took a good bite. "Mmmm!" he said. "Better than pork rinds!" I was aglow with joy! We were chatting happily together when, a few aisles away, a woman screamed, and screamed again! Everyone ran to her. When I got there I could see she had stripped her mouse and thrown it on the floor! She was acting like a lunatic, (no offense) and when she saw me she went completely psychotic! She charged at me and almost pushed me into the center aisle baked goods bin! Then the store manager arrived and told me I had to leave and never come back. I was shocked! I've never been treated with such rudeness before! Fore heaven's sake! I wasn't handing out rats!<br />
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I don't know about you, but I think good manners have died in this country. I never thought I'd encounter such low class behavior in such a nice neighborhood. Maybe I'm just old fashioned, but good manners define us as civilized human beings. It's very upsetting. What do you think?<br />
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Signed, <br />
Dazed and Refused<br />
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Dear Dazed,<br />
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You poor abused thing! What an awful experience! I can only imagine how sad this has made you. It certainly is true that manners have degraded terribly in this country. Why, it's even spread, like some vile disease, right into Washington DC! Frightful. Of course, that means people like you and me must try even harder to encourage appropriate behavior whenever we can. It also requires that we try to overlook some of the mistakes people make. It would be rude, for example, to demand that people open their gifts. I'm sure you understand. I do have a few other ideas. Next time you decide to go gifting, take time to prepare and make your gifts more appealing. For instance, you could toast the mice until they're crunchy, then cut off their tails, push a skewer up their rears and dip them in melted chocolate. Roll them in chopped nuts and wrap them in cellophane. You can get little cellophane bags for just this sort of thing. Watch the reaction then! Let me know how that works, but visit a different grocery store next time. You may have an innovative product in the making, you know. It could be the next flavor crave! If you get 20 or 30 more cats you could become a Captain of Industry! By the way, mice can be used in place of chicken in soups, casseroles and makes a nice change from veal in Scallopini. It's just wonderful to hear from such a kind, giving person like you. Don't let anyone stop you from being who you are; a force for good with a style all your own! Be well, dear, and say hello to Regis for me!<br />
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Your friend,<br />
<br />
Nanabanana<br />
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Dear Nanabanana,<br />
<br />
Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe I should just go find a shrink. Is this totally confidential? I have interests to protect, OK? I've been under a lot of stress lately. I'm an industry analyst for the SEC, 24 years, and last year I bought a Harley Soft Tail to give myself a little present, you know? A new hobby. Relaxing. Only, after a few months, I started having this problem. I was lonely when I wasn't with my bike. I couldn't think of much except my bike. I couldn't stand to wear anything but my leathers. All my off hours I'd wear my leathers. I'd wear them riding to work, take them off at the office and go through my day just dying to put them back on. So I started putting them on at lunch and riding around a little. That helped, but it wasn't enough. I'd take as much time off as I could manage to ride my bike around. I got suits sized so I could wear my leathers under them. Everybody thinks I've got some weird disease. I've had to back out of so many social events that my wife is talking divorce. I'm seriously freaked out and I don't know what to do. On top of everything else, I'm fighting an urge to shave my head and have it tattooed with flames reading, "Harley Forever!" It's like I'm cursed! I don't know if this will pass by itself or if I need Harley detox. Maybe you can refer me to a nice, secure rehab program. If they hear about this at work my career is over.<br />
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Signed,<br />
Uneasy Rider<br />
__________________________<br />
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Dear Uneasy,<br />
<br />
My goodness. Your Harley has turned you into a Biker. This has been known to happen, especially to men who live a grueling, soul sucking life such as yours. There's really only one solution and deep down you know what it is. Quit your job and give yourself over to the mystery! Don't tell me you can't! You've got your cash stashed and you CAN take to the rode! It isn't a lifestyle choice, it's a <i>calling.</i> Be glad! If your wife shows no enthusiasm, let her divorce you. You can pick up a chick somewhere. By all means, get as many tattoos as you like. Who should you please besides yourself? Seriously. This is a glorious affirmation! I wish I could be there to see you ride off to your destiny! I know you'll be happy soon! Drop me a note, if you can, and let me know how you are.<br />
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Your friend,<br />
<br />
Nanabanana<br />
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!!!! p.s. to Uneasy Rider!!! <br />
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I forgot to mention Sturgis! Maybe you've already heard about the annual biker festival each July in South Dakota. You wouldn't want to miss THAT! Get those tattoos right away so they'll be healed in time! I suppose it was cheeky of me to assume you have cash stashed for your escape, but isn't that natural given your line of work? Money guys like you always have money, hopefully where your wife can't find it. Back in the day, when I was a mud wrestler, I had a biker boyfriend named Scrotum. Great times! We'd go on long, aimless rides to places I never heard of and sometimes he'd even bring me home. I shouldn't have blown up his Harley. That was the end of my love affair with Scrotum. So watch out what kind of chick you pick up. Biker chicks can be a bit twitchy.<br />
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Ride and be well,<br />
<br />
Nanabanana <br />
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Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-89212906747291658112013-01-30T16:51:00.000-08:002013-01-31T08:35:51.737-08:00My Left Eye<span style="background-color: white;"><span></span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="font-size: small;">Hi everybody! Sorry I've been gone so long. I should have mentioned before that I always lose computer privileges in January because it's the anniversary of my arrival to this lovely maximum security psychiatric facility. Well, it has more to do with the annual reenactment of the <i>reason</i> that I came here. That and my left eye. You see, 15 years ago I created my most glorious display of destructive art. On a Sunday night in January, a full moon in attendance, I blew up a 150,000 sq. ft. herring and sardine canning factory. Think of it! The burst of light brighter than epiphany! Sheets of tin siding as big as billboards spinning up and away like monster frisbees! Steel I beams tumbling through the air like boomerangs! But best of all, the fish! Oh, the sight of tons upon tons of tiny fishes flying free! I'm welling up just thinking of it. They went up with such velocity that only a few tons fell around and on me as I lay among the smoking refuse. The rest were carried off by the clouds and rained down for more than 20 miles east of the factory. Of course, the force of the blast threw me some 60 feet through air, slammed my guts against my spine and slapped my brain to the back of my skull. Then I landed on my back so hard that my left eyeball popped right out of my head. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="font-size: small;">When the police found me I was still looking for my left eyeball in a pile of little fishes. Thankfully, I found it and tucked it in my pocket until I could get to jail and wash it off. It popped right back in and it generally stays snug in it's socket. It only pops out again when we reenact The Great Herring and Sardine Canning Factory Explosion. The reenactment is a<span style="font-size: small;"> much anticipated event</span> for all the residents here on the 14th floor. We plan and prepare for weeks, gathering cardboard and making streamers. Throughout the year we hoard our little fish crackers. Well, <i>most</i> of us do. The little fish crackers are key, of course. There's always a squabble over who gets to be the Fish Cracker Coordinator. Anyway, this year's reenactment went beautifully. The audience assembled in the dining hall and took their seats or wandered aimlessly around the room. I gave the countdown and everybody yelled, "KABOOM!" The flame and smoke streamers waved, the cardboard flew and bowls of little fish crackers were tossed in the air. Rita was singing 'Don't Cry For Me Argentina', which wasn't part of the program, but it didn't hurt anything. Then I launched myself backward off a table and landed on a cardboard box. Wouldn't you know it, once again, my left eyeball popped out.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="font-size: small;">So while everybody was scrambling and stuffing their faces with little fish crackers I was yelling, "My left eye! I can't find it! Don't step on it! <i>Don't eat it!"</i> That's when Dr. Idiot walked in, flanked by the chefs. He always looks so constipated when he's irritated and he looked just as constipated this year as he has every year before. Then, true to form, he made us all take a 'shut up' pill and go to our rooms. I didn't even find my elusive eyeball until the next morning when I caught Feeney talking to it in the hall. By then it was filthy and had dust bunnies stuck all over it. Even so, it was a relief. The dust bunnies were good evidence that Feeney hadn't used it to take a closer look at parts of himself. There are parts of Feeney that I'd rather not have my left eye exposed to. Next, I had the meeting with Dr. Idiot to receive my annual dose of recrimination and chastisement for getting everybody so wound up. Then, as usual, he took away my computer privileges 'until further notice'. Now, if I hadn't managed to find my left eye by the time I saw him, Dr. Idiot would have upped my meds and I'd be drooling again. I hate it when that happens. After all, my eyeball is just a small part of the total ME. Why should I be penalized because my left eye plays hide and seek?</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="font-size: small;">They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting a different result. Of course it is! That's why I'm here! My left eye repeatedly pops out and I'm the one that gets in trouble. At least my left eye is predictable. I can count on it popping out at least once a year. I don't expect a different result<span style="font-size: small;">, but that never stops me. </span>On the grander scale, many people behave like my left eye. For instance, the Shoe Bomber was trying to kill a bunch of infidels, instead, he forever changed how we board airplanes. <span style="font-size: small;">He misbehaved and we got</span> dirty socks. Get enough people in line and the smell of feet must be impressive. Since 9/11 anybody who even looks like they're Muslim is under suspicion. Not fair. Nowadays it's gun owners who are getting a taste of that. Some people are too crazy to have guns, but it's not fair to look askance at every gun owner. Including <i>assault gun</i> owners. Most folks who own guns are perfectly nice, responsible people. Maybe they don't really need an assault weapon, but one shouldn't assume that a scary looking gun indicates that the owner is as crazy as I am. If you have grizzly bears in your backyard an assault weapon is a pretty good idea. It's too bad that some folks are so scared about losing their 2nd Amendment rights, but the more they yell about it the crazier they look. It reflects badly on all the other gun owners and that's not fair either. Perhaps Congress can come up with a law that makes people take their shoes off when they shoot scary looking guns. I'm kidding. Maybe everybody could just use rubber bullets. Would that be fair? Whatever happens, some people are going to yell, "Not FAIR!" and they're right. It isn't fair. So which choice is more reasonable? Letting everybody have scary looking guns and shrugging your shoulders when people are shot? Or making it harder for everybody to buy scary looking guns? Doing nothing, repeatedly, is pretty crazy in it's own way. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's quite a conundrum. One thing is certain, people will get shot. Some will be shot with assault weapons wielded by crazy people. Others will be the garden variety victims of evil criminals. A few will get shot by Dick Cheney. As long as there are guns, people will die. In that regard, at least, guns are just as predictable as my left eye.</span></span></span></span><br />
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Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-45993824636427186752012-12-26T21:29:00.001-08:002012-12-26T21:35:48.568-08:00Crazy Talk!Huzzah! Christmas was a wonderful day! There were lots of different things to eat. I really liked my slice of ham. Added a smear of gravy and it stuck to the wall very nicely. Rita took all the napkins and stuffed them in her pants. She said she was a snow man and looked the part so we all applauded. Earl, Roy and Angus did the Can Can and mooned us, as usual. When the chefs came in to gather the refuse we saluted them with confetti. It was actually Chex Mix and popcorn, but they took it with good humor. I was feeling quite mellow and gazed with tepid affection at all the antics of my psycho buddies. It's at times like this that I feel much saner than the others and it gives me a heartening sense of superiority. Who can resist the comforting notion that there are others worse off? This observation lead my nimble mind to go visiting other ways we quantify and qualify each other.<br />
Everybody knows the ordinary requirements to fit in any given group. Everything from race to shoe size. If someone defies inclusion in set categories it's a bit disturbing. Like those Goth kids. They're kind of crazy looking. I knew a guy who lived in a tree. Very nice guy. Very quiet. Many would call that crazy but he was a sculptor too, so it's OK. If you try to break the world record for eating hot dogs you're not crazy. If you think you're the reincarnation of Evita Peron you might be riding the crazy fence. A notch or two up the scale are people who are delusional to their own detriment. Bennie could tell you about that but he thinks he's Houdini. When Bennie decided to cut a hole in the frozen Detroit River and act out Houdini's daring escape, he became a problem. Personally, I think many other people should be included in Bennie's group. People like Timothy Treadwell, who spent years with the grizzly bears until they ate him. Or guys who climb Mount Everest. What are they thinking? Or my dearly departed husband Dwight, who went to swim with the sharks. PAID to swim with the sharks. They ate him. It was a small funeral. Or how about NASCAR? Is that really sane? You get the picture.<br />
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Lots of folks are talking crazy these days. Crazy talk is in the news. It's fun to speculate about who might be crazy but it's better to actually learn about crazy. I found a really great op ed about schizophrenia in the New York Times. It's by Paul Steinberg and it's very good crazy talk. Click here: <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/12/26/opinion/our-failed-approach-to-schizophrenia.html?nl=todaysheadlines&emc=edit_th_20121226">Very smart, very right.</a> Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-1178804697338689572012-12-17T07:14:00.000-08:002012-12-17T20:49:54.201-08:00The Fourteenth FloorHello my dears! So sorry I've been out of touch the last week or so. There's been an awful lot of stuff happening all at once here at the facility. Last week, everybody on my floor caught the stomach flu and overloaded the plumbing. What a mess! Of course the chefs caught it too, so we got our meals late which we couldn't keep down anyway. When we started getting better we were told we were moving all the way up to the fourteenth floor. That was fine with me since all the floors are pretty much the same and I'd heard that the view of the local land fill is spectacular. Some of the gang got a bit twitchy, but most of us were too worn out from the flu to mount a genuine protest. So we all packed and said goodbye to our favorite plastic chairs. Monty couldn't find his imaginary baboon and we all looked so he'd stop crying. The big chef found it in the mop closet and Monty was all smiles again. It seemed like such a lot of trouble for nothing until Dr. Idiot told us why we were moving. Turns out the state closed ANOTHER maximum security psychiatric facility and all the patients had to be moved to the FEW that are left! Very irritating! Thankfully, our fourteenth floor was totally empty and available. That wouldn't be the case except for poor planning going WAY back.<br />
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You see, darlings, the fourteenth floor was intended for the most violently dangerous and hopelessly psychotic people our country manages to produce. There were some of that type up there until some years back, when the last one got really old and died. He was all alone up there because for many years the state has been sending a lot of the truly dangerous psychotics to prisons where they can be properly stored. But only the ones who break a big law while they're being truly crazy. I suppose that makes sense. Then there's that other little mitigating factor; most dangerously psychotic people kill themselves. That's REALLY easy in the USA because we have <u>lots and lots of GUNS</u>. So the number of seriously insane people that wind up in prisons is becoming bigger and bigger and the number that are stopped in time is getting smaller.<br />
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The TVs are still off and the computer was too until this morning so I just found out about Sandy Hook. Even psychotics like me cry when children die. Dr. Idiot wanted to give me a shot but changed his mind. I've just been sitting here with wet eyes wondering why that sick young man had lots and lots of guns in his house. How did that happen? How come NOBODY was smart enough to snatch that guy up and put him on the fourteenth floor? There's a bunch of people blogging about mental health care and intervention on the Sandy Hook stories. Everybody should read that! From what I can tell there's a LOT of folks with violently disturbed kids who can't find help for them. Now THAT is INSANE! Everybody should have help when they need it!<br />
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WHY ARE THERE LOTS AND LOTS OF GUNS BUT NOT ENOUGH MENTAL HEALTH CARE? I'm crazy, but I'm not stupid. There is no logical reason for the gross imbalance between available guns and available mental health care. I can tell you one <u>excuse</u>. Nobody wants to deal with it. It's fine to yap about too many guns, but nothing is done. Mental health care only gets talked about when people are murdered and then the talk dies down after awhile. Believe me, I get it! Mental health is such an uncomfortable subject. It leads people to think about all the scary things they'd rather not. Even when they're quite aware of a sick person in their midst, people don't like to talk about it, much less take action. Meanwhile, the guns are out there and so are the untreated mentally ill. It takes a story like Sandy Hook to get people wound up, but will it change anything? Can that even happen in this crazy world? Crazy doesn't just fix itself! Period! The guys who get to run the country are looking pretty crazy themselves these days. And THAT is what gives crazy such a bad name. <br />
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Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-74686615297397132282012-12-02T19:04:00.000-08:002012-12-02T19:07:55.050-08:00Brain Chips!What a day! Dr. Idiot didn't tell us we'd be having visitors! We'd just finished eating breakfast and these folks walked right in! There was five of them, all guys wearing white coats like the chefs. They seemed to be a bit uncomfortable. Maybe it was the oatmeal and Wheaties splattered all over the place. One guy reminded me of Barney Fife. He was all buggy eyed and his adam's apple was hopping up and down. Naturally, everybody started getting all excited. First the gigglers started, that set of the twirlers, then the screamers pitched in and everybody else either curled up in a corner or took their clothes off. I love a floor show! Then Dr. Idiot came in with the chefs. That brought the volume down. Nobody wants to wake up in the mop closet.<br />
Dr. Idiot told us the visitors were going to take samples of our jeans. We were all very confused. We don't wear jeans! We wear these floppy little outfits with Velcro for buttons. Sometimes we take them off to see how many we can Velcro together. My buddy the Meth Maker jumped up and yelled, "Piece man!" Two of the chefs took him out right away. I heard Dr. Idiot say the Meth Maker was just polluted, not psychotic. Is that any reason to leave him out of the fun? So next they started dragging us to one of the dining tables. They grabbed Rita first. They whipped out tongue depressors and Q-Tips. They tried to get in Rita's mouth and she bit off the tongue depressor. So they stuck the Q-Tip up her nose! That was a big mistake! Everybody who saw that started yelling, "Brain chips! Brain chips!" and the floor show started up again.<br />
Brain chips are a big concern around here. I've never really believed the rumors about brain chips, but the visitors said they wanted samples of jeans. So who's crazy? Everybody knows there aren't any jeans up a person's nose! All the visitors, chefs and Dr. Idiot used their fake comfort voices to say; "now now, just be still, it won't hurt, it only takes a second". Didn't work, but eventually they got in all our noses. I kept MY dignity. After they stuck that Q-Tip up my nose I grabbed a bunch and crammed them in my mouth. That showed THEM! Then we were all planted back in our rooms. Lunch was late and a third of the bunch were still in their rooms. After the chefs delivered lunch the muttering started. Every other mutter was, "Brain chips!".<br />
Now, I'm not crazy enough to believe I've got jeans up my nose much less a brain chip. I've been hearing my looney buddies muttering about brain chips for so long I just figured they were paranoid, which they are. Still, there was so much muttering about it, I thought I'd go online and see what I could find and...<br />
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OH NO! IT'S TRUE! THERE REALLY ARE BRAIN CHIPS AND PEOPLE ALREADY HAVE THEM! The evil scientists are taking over! Everybody will have brain chips very soon and if there's a power outage <i>WE'LL ALL FALL DOWN!</i> <img alt="" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-43" src="http://targetedindividualseurope.files.wordpress.com/2011/04/implants.jpg?w=600" title="implants" /><br />
<br />Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-76620784858359351492012-11-30T19:43:00.001-08:002012-12-26T21:56:10.960-08:00Dear NanabananaHi faithful readers! I was thrilled to see that I'm starting to get messages from you and that you apparently think I know what I'm doing! I'd like to answer all your requests for advice, but as you know, it's difficult for me to get access to the computer. Dr. Idiot only allows me to use it for an hour a day. Two if I claw at my face and promise to stop chewing on the mouse cord. He's such a fuss pot! I decided to expose you to the message below because it's so important to be encouraging and supportive. This poor lady is desperate! So here goes...<br />
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Dear Nanabanana,<br />
<br />
I've been suffering from peculiar and inappropriate impulses that have become impossible to suppress. For instance, I hide under the bushes in front of my house and jump out when the mailman arrives. He screams, the mail flies up in the air and he falls on his behind. It makes me laugh, but I know it's WRONG. Sometimes I eat the cat food right out of his bowl, but it's so tasty I can't resist. My cat hates me now. Last week I went next door, emptied the neighbor's hot tub and filled it with composted manure. I knew my neighbor was at work so I wouldn't get caught. What surprised me is how pungent composted manure is when you warm it up in a hot tub. After all, it's composted! I just stayed in the house when the police arrived. <br />
Worst of all, I've started doing things to my husband while he's sleeping. Thankfully, he's a very deep sleeper. One night, I hooked the pull cord on the window blinds to his big toe. In the morning he got out of bed, the blinds flew up with a ZING and then the whole set of blinds came crashing down! I had to hide under the blankets and stuff my mouth with the pillow so he wouldn't know I was laughing! Amazingly, he didn't figure out how it happened! Last night he was sleeping in his Lazy Boy while I watched Hoarders and, well, I disrobed, stood on a chair and rubbed my naked lady parts on his HEAD. When he started to wake up I jumped down, ran in the bathroom and hid in the shower stall. I laughed so hard, but he just went back to sleep! I don't understand why I'm doing such things. Is there any hope for me?<br />
<br />
Signed,<br />
Strange in the Suburbs<br />
--------------------------------------<br />
<br />
Dear Strange,<br />
<br />
No. There's no hope for you. It doesn't matter how many mind altering drugs you try. No amount of therapy or psychiatric care will make the slightest difference. There's nothing that affects the kind of deranged, perverted behavior you engage in. You simply have to learn how to forgive and accept yourself for who you are! You have every right to express yourself, even if it results in social rejection or a few trips to the slammer. It doesn't matter what others think of you. It's how you think of yourself that counts! Embrace the true you! Celebrate all that makes you a unique entity swirling around in the cosmos! Also, you might want to grab that lazy husband of yours and demand some sex. Dr. Idiot says it's very calming. Other than that, fly free, free bird! Keep on keepin' on! <br />
Oh, and thanks for the tips!<br />
<br />
Your friend,<br />
<br />
Nanabanana <br />
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<br />Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7274879342652532478.post-44671762203433175532012-11-27T09:23:00.001-08:002012-12-26T22:10:30.765-08:00Dinner With the Finicky ManOk. Here's a poem I wrote for all my ex-guys whether I married them or just lured them into my house.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b><i><u>Dinner With the Finicky Man</u></i></b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b><i><u> </u></i></b></span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I could feed you hot-dogs and potato salad, baked beans and sauerkraut, pickles
and onions my finicky man.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
Or, I could give you a rare grilled steak and baby red potatoes roasted in
mustard sauce and scallions,<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>a salad of young spinach, rosy peppers and Nasturtium blooms.<br />
I could tempt you with Cornish game hens broiled to perfection, nested in wild
rice and cashews, grapes sauteed in wine.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
Then again,<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>asparagus in Hollandaise is available tonight, medallions of veal scaloppini with
artichoke hearts and fat mushrooms.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
Or, I could dazzle you with the essence of Provence, <br />
garlic and wine and butter simmering your senses,<br />
perfuming the kitchen with the promise of secrets revealed.<br />
I could serve you pasta in any of a million forms dusted with musty cheeses;
Parmesan, Asiago, Romano.<br />
I could toss it before your eyes while singing Figaro<br />
and lavish it with a sauce laden with sausage, <br />
smother it with meatballs or creamy Alfredo.<br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Or, my darling, I could serve you a feast of love.<br /><span style="font-size: large;">Spread </span>it out before you, redolent of my ardor,<br />
steeped in my desire, musky spiced morsels,<br />
delectable passion sushi<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>cloaked in murmurs and sighs.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
Or, my beloved, we could, perhaps,<br />
we could, if you please,<br />
we could, we COULD,<br />
go out to eat<span style="font-size: large;">.</span></span></span><br />
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Nancy Alborellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09670097162853715770noreply@blogger.com2