Bummer!

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.     

Remember those squirrely looking guys who stuck swabs up our noses?  Turns out they weren't looking for jeans, they were looking for genes.  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!"

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:

Pot Party Bust Results In
Felony Charges

by Carl Lingerlong, for Police Beat

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.

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.  

A group 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".

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.  "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 to be 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.

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.

       
A Polaroid instant photo found on the scene shows  
Mr. Burnbottom, center, with unknown guests.

               



        
         

Naughty Kim Jong-un!

  Free at last!  Got myself in trouble~again.  This time I wasn't delusional, I was just rooting for Feeney's delusion.  So was everybody else who wasn't catatonic.  Who could resist it?  Fenney was having delusional sex with Nancy Pelosi and she was apparently having a wonderful time, if you can trust Fenney's powers of deduction.  He kept shouting things like, "Ride my Cruise Missile, you wrinkled little elitist liberal!" and, "Bang that gavel you hot Speaker Momma!"  Feeney's attracted to powerful women, so we didn't tell him she lost her job.       

  I really should try harder to behave myself.  I'm always blamed for the floor show and tossed in the mop closet.  What with the 'shut up' meds Dr. Idiot pumped into me and the lack of a clock or a window, it took me awhile to get oriented when they let me out.  So I went to check the date on the computer but Rita had it already.  She was playing a video game where the Dalai Lahma mows down zombies with a Breacher.  Stupid game.  Everybody knows you don't need a Breacher to kill zombies.    

  Anyway, I had to threaten to pee on her pillow to get Rita off the keyboard.  She couldn't  decide if she wouldn't like that so she left to get Fenney's opinion.  I hopped on the internet, went straight to the news, and the first thing I saw was THIS: 

N.Korea Threatens to Nuke Texas,

Rick Perry's Massive Ego Takes Credit

2013/04/05

By T. Steelman for Addicting Info   

Perry smash puny North Korea! (OK, he didn't really say that.)

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 
reaching critical mass, which could lead to God knows what kind of explosion. Yes, he has lost it. I know...
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
truly astounding.

! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

  I saw this and thought it was an April Fool's joke!  I checked the date and the source and had Angus check too, just in case I was delusional.  I didn't know just how offended I should be!  That naughty Kim Jong-un!  The sweet little boy who was schooled in Switzerland and loved basket ball has rejected all the western virtues, like Democracy, that he was so liberally exposed to?  How can this be?  How could he have become so intoxicated by his recent aquisition of power that he would threaten the US?  He's certainly aware that his sabre rattling is laughable in view of North Korea's poor missile launch record.  He can't have forgotten that the US could make North Korea go away if so inclined.  No doubt he's already estranged from Michael Jordan.  No Jordan fan photos for you, Mister Too Big For His Britches!  

  At the core of my annoyance with the little stinker is disdain for his lack of destructive art expertise.  I just know if he ever blows off a missile he'll muck it up and kill people.  If he can even keep them out of the water, that is.  He's obviously an amateur and would do better to just hang out with all those goose stepping buddies of his.  Somebody give him a box of sparklers and a Big Gulp.

  As for Governor Perry, well, this must be dick measuring at it's finest.  It's no trick for Perry to turn a looming disaster into a compliment.  (Or visa versa.)  He had plenty of practice while campaigning.  However, I have to wonder whether having Texas targeted by the overgrown adolescent that's running North Korea is the font of joy to Texans that it is to Perry.  Remember the Cuban Missile Crisis?  Texans will start building bomb shelters if they didn't already do that back in '62.  I keep envisioning this Waco style picture; Texans armed to the teeth, ready and more than willing to engage the enemy.  If they engage Hing Lu when he delivers food from Wonton Junction, well, Oops!  When I think about it, a huge threat is probably meat and drink to many Texans.  They can alert all the well ordered militias that have nothing much to do and get Wayne La Pierre to be the general!  

  Gosh!  I feel almost sane now!  I admit I'm resentful when it comes to crazy people who aren't in here with me.  Just who do they think they are?  They get to be crazy right in public?  And hold public office?  And build missiles?  Something is wrong.  There needs to be an intervention.  We need a lot more maximum security psychiatric facilities just to handle the politicians and gun toting paranoids.  Both groups are ripe for violent psychosis.  As for our little potentate in North Korea, Michael Jordan's disapproval just might be enough to straighten him out. 

  Don't know WHAT to do about these guys!

   
   

  
  
  

Dear Nanabanana X 3!

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!

Dear Nanabanana,

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. 

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!

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. 

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?

Thank you,
Not So Good Vibrations
__________________________________________________________

Dear NSGV,

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. 

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!    

 Your friend,
Nanabanana

Not My Fault!

This just in! Well, I told him to watch out for biker chicks...


Man Charged with Racketeering and  
Insider Trading Captured by Bikers 

March 19, 2013
Burt Nosewhistle, Reporter at Large

   Roger Watchpocket wasn't prepared for what he got.
Sought by the Justice Department, FBI and the SEC, Mr.
Watchpocket was charged with racketeering and insider
trading last Friday, when he disappeared and his wife called 
his office in a panic. 

 "Mrs. Watchpocket was very helpful in revealing the full ex-
tent of her husband's fiscal activities," said SEC spokesman
Edith Von Squirtsen. "She found paperwork in a lock box
which suggested her husband had kept a number of secret 
bank accounts with deposits totaling more than 120 million 
dollars. The money from the bank accounts was withdrawn 
shortly before Mr. Watchpocket vanished," stated Ms. Von 
Squirtsen. "There's no way an industrial analyst, especially 
one with the SEC, could possibly amass that much money in 
any lawful manner."

  Here's where the rubber meets the road, so to speak. In a 
twist that rivals a movie script, Mr. Watchpocket fell afoul 
of the Bloody Fists biker club in Greenknuckle, Tennessee.
The story, as related by Mud Gitcha, president of the club, 
goes like this:  Mr. Watchpocket, who was at the Burntwood
Hotel with his lady companion known only as 'Spinner', was
a bit too forthcoming about his recent change from white collar
to black leather.

  "The SOB was crowin' about skippin' out on his wife an' he 
didn't leave her NO CASH!  I hate that S*%&!" stated Ms.
'Spinner'. "I got my sisters an' we put a HURT on his dumb
F%@# A@#!" Indeed, the efforts of the lady Bloody Fists
resulted in hospitalization for Mr. Watchpocket. Also key to 
apprehending Mr. Watchpocket were the men of Bloody Fists. 
Speaking for the club, Mr. Gitcha remarked, "If we didn't get
in there, the chicks would'a snapped his dumb F*%&# neck! 
We had to hold 'em back 'til the cops got there!"

  While bikers are, at times, considered trouble makers by law 
enforcers, the Bloody Fists Club members, pictured below, are 
now being hailed as good citizens and will be officially honored
at the Dangroads County 4H Fair for community service, where 
they will receive $10 gift cards to the Stop & Slop, a local cafe'. 

  Mr. Watchpocket, currently unable to speak due to his badly
fractured jaw, concussion, broken arms and broken ribs,  will be 
transferred to New York to answer to the charges against him, 
and recover from his injuries, pending legal action.
 
    

Escape!

  Wow! It's been nuts around here! I get to say nuts because I am nuts. Kind of like people who are black get to say the 'N word because they own 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.

  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!

  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.

  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 that again!

  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.

  All of this should tell you something. Even though somebody is delusional, they still might be smarter than you, and sneakier. 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.

  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.!


This is the REAL Houdini, Bennie's still in the mop closet.

    
 
                                                                              

Did I Do That?

Oops! Looks like I might be getting a new ward buddy!

Woman Arrested as Public Threat

D. Drake Gosling, lead reporter

Today at the Three Corners Kroger store an elderly lady was 

apprehended while attempting to feed mice to unsuspecting 

patrons. The mice, covered in chocolate and crushed nuts,

were presented to shoppers who, unfortunately, were not

aware of their content. When shopper George Cooter took a

bite of his chocolate covered mouse,  havoc ensued and the 

police were summoned. 

  

"I was seriously grossed out, but I have to admit, that mouse

was pretty tasty!" Mr. Cooter remarked, adding, "She's a sweet

 little old lady. Hope she gets a nice jail cell." 

Mrs. Eleanor Puce, pictured below, was apprehended and de-

livered to Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow Catholic Hospital to 

undergo psychiatric evaluation. Criminal charges are pending 

review. Anyone who has one of the chocolate covered mice,

has eaten a chocolate covered mouse,  or suspects they may 

have, is advised to contact the county health department to 

be evaluated for rabies.  

 

    

Dear 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!


Dear Nanabanana,

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.

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!

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?

Signed,
Dazed and Refused
________________________

Dear Dazed,

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!

Your friend,

Nanabanana
_________________________________________________________________________________

Dear Nanabanana,

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.

Signed,
Uneasy Rider
__________________________

Dear Uneasy,

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 calling.  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.

Your friend,

Nanabanana


!!!! p.s. to Uneasy Rider!!!

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.

Ride and be well,

Nanabanana