She had a lovely backside, so she did!
An old woman sat on her rocking chair one evening rocking away her life of limitless toil. Since she had just turned eighteen and the sun was out and she was driving in her car, she did not rock in her rocking char. She came to a stop light, which being green was inneptly named. Turning left onto a one way street which had a sign proclaiming "BRIDGE OUT" she realised that her life was moving in a strange direction. Tumbling through the air like an Italian gymnast in a circus who travels around the country in a troupe of like minded acrobats who are not related yet refer to themselves as the Guido Brothers, she had occasion to look back and ponder what had brought her to this end.
Of course, the the thing she first considered was the sign she saw earlier. What if it had said "BRIDGE IN"? In what? What was the bridge, in fact, out of? Could the potentially misleading sign not be replaced with "LACK OF ROADWAY" or "POTENTIAL LIFE THREATENING PLUMMET ENSUES"?
When the old girl of eighteen was still a lass of fifty she had married a man who had one eye. This eye always had a far away look in it which made her often wonder if it was looking for its missing twin. This endeared him to her instantly as she thought it was a perfect metaphor concerning life, religion and love. She also liked his mustache.
Clem was as hard a man to love as he was to look at, but they were very happy. When she gave him their third child at the ripe old age of thirteen, he cried tears of joy. Oddly enough the tears came out of both eyes. (I hope this answers at least one of the reader's here to before unanswered questions.) He looked down at her in the delivery bed, sweaty and not necessarily as beautiful as a fire hydrant (not if you've seen a pretty, new one!), but glowing with an inner warmth and radiance like a toaster or an electric cigarette lighter. "Ophelia" he said with love licking every syllable, "Whyn'choo git up offn that sorled bed an leep upn mah harms!" With the light of love leaping from her doe eyes, she did. The two kissed and cooed as the warm trickle of blood from the split stitches of her caesarian section bathed them both in the wonder and joy that is parenthood.
"Em'r fahn tames" Ophelia thought as the water under the BRIDGE OUT came toward her car. Not quickly like in one of those new action movies, nor quickly like one of the old action movies, but slowly like one of the action movies from the eighties, when people first decided that it would be groovy to draw out the inevitable in order to subliminaly force rapt audiences to eat just one more handfull of soy substitute laced popcorn product with recycled kernal filler.
It was March third eighteen sixty three. The civil war was in full swing and the grapes of wrath had been wrung through the clenched fists of the citizens of America from two of the cardinal points of the compass. Ophelia had not yet been born...She decided to think of something else.
In the far reaches of space the leader of the Great Tribunal of Warriors solemnly approached the dais. His multi-jointed jaws opened and a strand of ammonia rich spittle stained the ceremonial robes, causing them to turn a fetted brown color. A slow murmer rose from the crowd at this faux pas. A visiting potentate from the neighboring nebula quietly commented on the age of Tar, the great leader.
Tar's eyes, normaly a pale orange, which in his youth had been the talk of many a handmaiden in the royal entourage, became livid and green. They expanded to fill the sunken cavities of his eye sockets as a waft of red smoke filtered upward from his cerebrum. With a finger upraised as if to make a momentus statement, he toppled forward, his great bulk splintering the lecturn and causing panicked shrieks, glurps and gabumps to erupt from the gathered crowd.
Captain James Tiberius Kirk, in a geostationary orbit over the capital haled his newly modified transporter room.
"Scotty, did the death ray work as planned?"
"Aye sir, we seem te' have directed all of the power directly inte' the Overlord's cranium."
"Good work Scotty. Bridge out."
Ophelia immediatly regretted the halucinogenics she took in the seventies when she was a crazy fourty year old college student. She began to think about the things in her life that had brought her so much joy. Her many pets, her family, her wonderfull orthodontics which she had left at home...huh, she thought, I seem to have left my own bridge out. She laughed and laughed as gravity innevitably turned her into raspberry jam at the bottom of the ravine.
..
About the author:
Chad Schmegpole is a lunatic mail carrier from Shitheel Cove, Kenya. He spends his days with his neighbor's son N*Boke, who enjoys reading Mr. Schmegpole's books and playing with his dog N*Tobe, who enjoys scratching that spot behind his ear which seems to have some type of exema and chasing the mail carrier Chad Schmegpole who enjoys brown water rafting, engaging in impossible tasks and screaming at strangers. He is married to Mrs. Schmegpole, a half whit taxidermist and has three children...with one body...who desperately need your help. For information regarding the fund to cure the three headed deformity, or FuCThD, write to Schmegpole and Jizburp Assc., 1 Garbage Dump Lane, Shitheel Cove, Kenya 00006.
Of course, the the thing she first considered was the sign she saw earlier. What if it had said "BRIDGE IN"? In what? What was the bridge, in fact, out of? Could the potentially misleading sign not be replaced with "LACK OF ROADWAY" or "POTENTIAL LIFE THREATENING PLUMMET ENSUES"?
When the old girl of eighteen was still a lass of fifty she had married a man who had one eye. This eye always had a far away look in it which made her often wonder if it was looking for its missing twin. This endeared him to her instantly as she thought it was a perfect metaphor concerning life, religion and love. She also liked his mustache.
Clem was as hard a man to love as he was to look at, but they were very happy. When she gave him their third child at the ripe old age of thirteen, he cried tears of joy. Oddly enough the tears came out of both eyes. (I hope this answers at least one of the reader's here to before unanswered questions.) He looked down at her in the delivery bed, sweaty and not necessarily as beautiful as a fire hydrant (not if you've seen a pretty, new one!), but glowing with an inner warmth and radiance like a toaster or an electric cigarette lighter. "Ophelia" he said with love licking every syllable, "Whyn'choo git up offn that sorled bed an leep upn mah harms!" With the light of love leaping from her doe eyes, she did. The two kissed and cooed as the warm trickle of blood from the split stitches of her caesarian section bathed them both in the wonder and joy that is parenthood.
"Em'r fahn tames" Ophelia thought as the water under the BRIDGE OUT came toward her car. Not quickly like in one of those new action movies, nor quickly like one of the old action movies, but slowly like one of the action movies from the eighties, when people first decided that it would be groovy to draw out the inevitable in order to subliminaly force rapt audiences to eat just one more handfull of soy substitute laced popcorn product with recycled kernal filler.
It was March third eighteen sixty three. The civil war was in full swing and the grapes of wrath had been wrung through the clenched fists of the citizens of America from two of the cardinal points of the compass. Ophelia had not yet been born...She decided to think of something else.
In the far reaches of space the leader of the Great Tribunal of Warriors solemnly approached the dais. His multi-jointed jaws opened and a strand of ammonia rich spittle stained the ceremonial robes, causing them to turn a fetted brown color. A slow murmer rose from the crowd at this faux pas. A visiting potentate from the neighboring nebula quietly commented on the age of Tar, the great leader.
Tar's eyes, normaly a pale orange, which in his youth had been the talk of many a handmaiden in the royal entourage, became livid and green. They expanded to fill the sunken cavities of his eye sockets as a waft of red smoke filtered upward from his cerebrum. With a finger upraised as if to make a momentus statement, he toppled forward, his great bulk splintering the lecturn and causing panicked shrieks, glurps and gabumps to erupt from the gathered crowd.
Captain James Tiberius Kirk, in a geostationary orbit over the capital haled his newly modified transporter room.
"Scotty, did the death ray work as planned?"
"Aye sir, we seem te' have directed all of the power directly inte' the Overlord's cranium."
"Good work Scotty. Bridge out."
Ophelia immediatly regretted the halucinogenics she took in the seventies when she was a crazy fourty year old college student. She began to think about the things in her life that had brought her so much joy. Her many pets, her family, her wonderfull orthodontics which she had left at home...huh, she thought, I seem to have left my own bridge out. She laughed and laughed as gravity innevitably turned her into raspberry jam at the bottom of the ravine.
..
About the author:
Chad Schmegpole is a lunatic mail carrier from Shitheel Cove, Kenya. He spends his days with his neighbor's son N*Boke, who enjoys reading Mr. Schmegpole's books and playing with his dog N*Tobe, who enjoys scratching that spot behind his ear which seems to have some type of exema and chasing the mail carrier Chad Schmegpole who enjoys brown water rafting, engaging in impossible tasks and screaming at strangers. He is married to Mrs. Schmegpole, a half whit taxidermist and has three children...with one body...who desperately need your help. For information regarding the fund to cure the three headed deformity, or FuCThD, write to Schmegpole and Jizburp Assc., 1 Garbage Dump Lane, Shitheel Cove, Kenya 00006.
posted by Chad at 11:43 AM
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