Aloha!
So stellt man sich eine typische, gl�ckliche Familie vor:
"Monday: The cat ate my baby brother today. Mom said it was an
accident, but the cat looked fine to me. Only threw up once or twice.
After dinner at KFC we had our usual family stuff going on. Grandpa
took a spill in the living room - drunk again but at least he didn't
throw up too just like the cat which was a big relief for Mom. And
Mom got upset too like she always does because no one cleaned up
their mess. Food and paper and homework books everywhere. Mom asked
if our arms and legs are painted on? She is such a geek sometimes.
Wish someone would clean up those ugly bloodstains over the
entertainment center thingy - we all fight lots when the t.v. is on.
But Dad cleaned his firearms in the kitchen AGAIN which pissed off
the whole family. In no time, we're gonna be off probation, and Dad
knows he shouldn't clean his guns when everyone is fighting.
Mom asked Aunt Prissie over for Sunday dinner too. She said, "Fine as
long as you guys aren't cooking." Same old same old. So what else is
new?
Tuesday: It was one of those tough days when regular folks might
declare the wrong side of the bed was used to get up from. But now
we're talking about folks with beds, aren't we?
I think Clawed the damn cat was the worst one off. Had to get him
wormed yesterday. Something he ate, according to the vet. Then the
dog sniffed him when we got him home. Took a chunk out of him, and
Mom says we'll need to get the worms out of Sparky now too. The cat
slept for the rest of day after that. No wrong side of the bed when
your leg is near gnawed off.
Sparky has always had one of those wry smiles, unlike grandpa who
comes by his rye smile honestly. If dogs could talk, I bet ole Spark
would cuss up a storm. Especially when the neighbor kids come by to
do their science experiments. Dad always pulls out the guns for
cleaning when the kids drop in with their petrie dishes and such.
It's a nervous habit he says and not a weird coincidence like Mom
says. The explosions seem to make his twitch worse. Then Sparky barks
and Grandpa falls on his still and knocks it over... and then it's
hard to make out the history of the blood stains. Like, who bled
where and why.
I'd love to show you how Grandpa hobbles around the livin' room, but
I'm still holding this crutch from the time Billy-Bob chased me
'round while we played axe tag. Remember this if you remember nothing
at all: don't wear your mother's high heels when playing axe tag.
It's nearly as bad as sticking your Dad's needle nose pliers in the
light socket.
Happy trails to all of you. That reminds me. Now where did I put my
damn horse again? Don't tell me I forgot it at my last sleepover with
one-eyed Bobby Sue...again.
Just another typical day.
Wednesday: No-Eyed Bobby Sue ain't doin' so well these days. Says
once she finds that eye Rachel poked out, there'll be no more fun and
games. Just sports. She's thinkin' she'll have Rachel test her new
rocket launcher, built for one and packs a real wallop. I don't think
I'll invite Rachel over for indoor bonfires anymore.
Today Mom said we are all a disk-funk-shun-all family. There'd be a
lot more funk in our house if Billy-Bob and Bobby-Bill hadn't blown
up the radio. Blew it up real good, too. The blast and the smoke
cleaned up most of the blood stains Grandpa keeps leaving all over
the place though. Dad wasn't happy because it pretty near caught his
gun cabinet on fire. Mom says Dad won't ever be happy and he says of
all the things he ever lost, the thing he misses the most is his
mind. How he ever misplaced his mind beats me.
Thursday: You'll be happy to know that Neigh the horse finally
moseyed home. Someone glued a sign to his rump which reads, "I'm not
a neigh-sayer, I'm just a malcontent." But Grandpa says his grand mal
seizures seem better now he ain't drinking a quart of Jack Daniels
before breakfast. Mom says it's all in his head. Dad doesn't think
so, but he's been busy building his bomb shelter, so us kids know
better than to ask too many questions. He says we are moles planted
by the CIA. But the pesticide guy sprayed last week just like he does
every week... he says all the darn varments are gonzo.
Where's Gonzo by the way? Still in therapy?
Friday: Clawed got another beating today. Mom says half a leg gone
ain't no excuse for what he done. He made our hamster die. Well, not
made really... seems that Spike committed suicide. Jumped clean off
the fridge and plunged into the empty rifle shells Dad keeps leaving
around. Mom is still pissed that we don't clean up our mess,
especially Dad. Says she posting a sign that says, "Clean up your own
mess. Your Mother doesn't work here." Grandpa says it's Mom's way of
giving us all subtle hints, but I dunno. I think she's still ticked I
broke her only pair of high-heels playing axe tag again. Good thing
she never said a word about tripping over my crutches though...
Next week we are all going south. Grandpa says the angry villagers
won't need to drop by for a spell with their torches. "
Bernd
Every cloud has a silver lining (except for the mushroom shaped ones,
which have
a lining of Iridium & Strontium 90)
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