Mr. Crumpton

Mr. Crumpton owned a manufacturing company that made scrubs for doctors and nurses.  In his employ were about a hundred workers, including cutters, seamstresses, shaders, ticket-makers and quality control experts.

He ran a tight ship and was a strict employer but he was a fair one.  He paid a decent wage and expected a decent days’ work.  Jobs in his company were hard to come by as his employees tended to stay.  Some of them had been with him since the first day the doors opened.

He was feared by a few, as he was an imposing character.  Six foot, four inches tall and still built like a Marine at sixty-five years old.

A few of the older women had secret crushes on him, for no other reason than he was so mysterious.  Being long before the age of computers where everybodys’ life was clearly available, only his secretary knew anything about him.  If he had a family, only she knew and she didn’t talk.

The only thing that was known, was that he had started the company forty years earlier, armed only with a shoestring budget and sheer grit and determination.

Every year around this time, he was faced with having to deal with the holiday season.  There were requests for parties and celebrations.  It wasn’t that he could be labeled a “Scrooge,” he just had it in mind that taking time out for something as frivolous as a Christmas party had the potential for missing deadlines and slower production, both of which translated into lost revenue.

The girls who worked in the office, gave up their lunch hour to put up a tree in the lobby.  Mr. Crumpton didn’t complain but would have never suggested any sort of holiday decorations.

Two weeks before Christmas, the new hospital that Mr. Crumpton had been contracted to provide the uniforms for was going to open ahead of schedule, which had been a possibility stated in the contract.  In order to avoid a penalty, it meant that production would have to increase in order to meet the promised deadline for delivery.  That also meant overtime for workers and no time for parties.

No apologies were extended.  His workers were disappointed but they had always been loyal and dependable and were prepared to meet the challenge.  Mr. Crumpton had always valued their loyalty and after he thanked them, he quietly slipped into his office.

His secretary went in and cautiously suggested that maybe this once, he could give his employees a bonus for their efforts, as he had never given bonuses before.  His response was “I pay them for a days’ work and I pay them for an extra days’ work.  I don’t pay them for sentimentality.”

The deadline was met and the employees celebrated with cheers as soon as the last bundle of scrubs was packed into a box for delivery on Christmas Eve.  The expected visit on the floor from Mr. Crumpton didn’t come.

The day after Christmas, production once again back in full swing, was interrupted when his secretary asked for everybodys’ attention.

“First, I want to thank all of you for a job well done and I hope everybody had a Merry Christmas.”  After the cheers and applause settled down, she said “I’m afraid I have some sad news.  Mr. Crumpton died suddenly early this morning.”

All the employees stood silently stunned after hearing the news.  She went on to say that there was going to be a meeting that afternoon at two o’clock but she would like for them to continue working until then, if they were able.

That afternoon, again the employees stood silently stunned when an attorney informed them that Mr. Crumpton had left his entire fortune of 4.1 million dollars…to them.

 

A Letter To Santa – First, The Sappy One. Now, The Snarky One

Dear Santa,

I don’t have a Christmas tree.
Actually, I have 15 Christmas trees.  I just chose not to put them up.
Would you leave some Boost for me?
I have four cases so I’m set.
You could leave it at my door.
There is a box at my door right now.
I promise I’ve been good and I won’t ask for more.
Don’t know about being good and I’ve learned not to ask for anything.

You don’t have to fill my stocking.
You’re off the hook (and so is the stocking.)
Or read a pleading note.
I don’t write pleading notes, asshole.
I don’t want a car, a fur or something that will float.
Got a car, a couple of furs and a rubber duck.  I’m good.

The cards fell wrong for me and I’m alone.
Hell yeah, and I’d rather be alone than live with a lying, cheating, disease-giving pig.
It’s now my way of life.
Yep.  And like I said.  It’s better than living with a lying, cheating, disease-giving pig.
But, once I was a mother.
Yes, I was and I’m afraid I was not a very good one.
Once I was a wife.
Biggest mistake I ever made.  I’d have been better off being just another tramp.  

I won’t ask for company.
I didn’t bother to decorate so I don’t think anybody would want to come over anyway.
For there’s nobody left.
Oh, they’re there.  They just choose to visit somebody else.
I will be okay, though.
Yes I will, and I have been for the last several Christmases.
I will not be bereft.
I probably will be but that’s nothing new.

I will not ask for calls or texts.
I would prefer not to get obligatory or drunken calls or texts, so that’s why I won’t ask.
I know they will not come.
Nope.  They won’t.
They will go to someone else.
Yep.  They will go to all the important people.  The people who matter.
So, I’ll pretend I’m numb.
No pretense.  I already am.

A case of Boost is all I want.
Well, we all know I want Wentworth Miller but I’m trying to be realistic here.  
It’s full of nutrients.
It is probably some of the worst crap you can drink but it beats having to turn on the stove and open a can of beans.
Please don’t deny my only wish.
You’ve denied so many of my wishes in the past, it wouldn’t be anything new.
Or show insouciance.
I had forty-one years of that.  Don’t need any more.

If you would only bring some Boost.
That would be great, especially if it was free.
I’ll have a happy day.
I’m lying.  What the fuck is a happy day?
I’ll drink it while I reminisce.
I do quite a bit of reminiscing this time of year.  Gotta cut that shit out.
And pass the time away.
I learned how to pass the time away the first week I was married, so I’m a bit of an expert.

You don’t need to wrap it.
Well, if you had any newspaper handy, you could wrap it in that.  That would certainly bring back memories.
Or add a big red bow.
No bows.  They tend to get squished.
When I awake on Christmas morn.
I would actually like to sleep all day so I didn’t know it was Christmas.
From who it is, I’ll know.
I’ll know who it’s from.  Merry Christmas, Laurel.  From Laurel.

I’ve never stopped believing.
Are you fucking kidding me?  I stopped believing in just about everything a long time ago and that includes you.  I don’t even like you.
And I will be right here.
Where the hell else am I going to be?  At a family gathering? Don’t be ridiculous.
So, while you’re loading up your sleigh,
Throw in some Boost.  While you’re at it, kidnap Wentworth Miller but understand.  He’s MINE.  Don’t deliver him to anybody else!
Would you remember me this year?
You haven’t remembered me for the last four years but if you don’t remember me this year, I’m going to tell all the little kiddies that you aren’t fucking real.  Okay?  How about that?

 

 

A Letter To Santa

Dear Santa,

I don’t have a Christmas tree,
but would you leave some Boost for me?
You could leave it at my door.
I promise I’ve been good and I won’t ask for more.

You don’t have to fill my stocking,
Or read a pleading note.
I don’t want a car, a fur,
Or something that will float.

The cards fell wrong and I’m alone.
It’s now my way of life.
But, once I was a mother.
Once I was a wife.

I won’t ask for company,
For there’s nobody left.
I will be okay though,
I will not be bereft.

I will not ask for calls or texts,
I know they will not come.
They will go to someone else,
So I’ll pretend I’m numb.

A case of Boost is all I want.
It’s full of nutrients.
Please don’t deny my only wish,
Or show insouciance.

If you would only bring some Boost,
I’ll have a happy day.
I’ll drink it while I reminisce,
And pass the time away.

You don’t need to wrap it,
Or add a big red bow.
When I awake on Christmas morn,
From who it is, I’ll know.

I’ve never stopped believing,
And I will be right here.
So, while you’re loading up your sleigh,
Would you remember me this year?

 

Twelve Days Of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
A six-pack of beer.
“Thanks, babe but I don’t drink.”
“I thought maybe you’d grow up and learn how.  Okay, I’ll drink the beer.”

On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
A book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“I don’t read books and I have no aspirations to be a journalist but thank you.”
“Not a problem.  I thought if you actually read a book, you might get smarter.  Obviously you’re not interested, so I’ll throw the fucking book out and I’ll drink the beer.”

On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
 An art set of oil paints, canvases, complete with sable brushes, a book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“Thank you, my sweet but you know I don’t paint anymore and you know why.”
“Just because I got mad one time and threw your paints across the room, you have to be a martyr.  Okay.  I’ll give it away, I’ll throw the fucking book out and I’ll drink the beer.”

On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
A box of golf balls, an art set, a book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t you remember what happened the last time I played golf with you?
“Goddammit, aren’t you ever going to get over me jerking your arm out of its socket while screaming at you to get out of the fucking way?  Fine, I’ll use the balls, I’ll give the art set away, I’ll throw the fucking book out and I’ll drink the beer.”

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
A pack of guitar picks, a box of golf balls, an art set, a book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“Thanks for the thought, darling but I don’t play the guitar.”
“Well, fuck.  Is there anything you WILL do?  Okay.  I’ll take the guitar picks, I’ll use the golf balls, I’ll give the art set away, I’ll throw the fucking book out and I’ll drink the beer.”

On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
A noon appointment to watch a Duke basketball game in a bar, a pack of guitar picks, a box of golf balls, an art set, a book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“Oh, honey.  I’m really not interested in going to a bar to watch basketball and you know how drunk you get.  I was kind of hoping that we might spend the day just being with each other.”
“How can you be so fucking selfish?  You know how important Duke basketball is to me!  It’s all about you, isn’t it?  You don’t do anything and you don’t want me to do anything either, right?  Don’t worry about it.  I’ll watch the game by myself, I take the guitar picks, I’ll use the golf balls, I’ll give the art set away, I’ll throw the fucking book out and I’ll drink the beer.”

On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
A notice that his friends were coming over for a drink, a noon appointment to watch a Duke basketball game in a bar, a pack of guitar picks, a box of golf balls, an art set, a book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“Darling, I really don’t want your friends coming over. They get so rowdy and they break my things.
“Still all about you, isn’t it?  I let your idiot sister come down here and act like a fucking moron and never say a word.  Tell you what.  If you don’t like it, you can leave.  I’ll entertain my friends, I’ll watch the game by myself, I’ll take the guitar picks, I’ll use the golf balls, I’ll give the art set away, I’ll throw the fucking book out and I’ll drink the beer.”

On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
Three recycled magazines about Tree Houses that had come to his office earlier that year, a notice that his friends were coming over for a drink, a noon appointment to watch a Duke basketball game in a bar, a pack of guitar picks, a box of golf balls, an art set, a book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“I appreciate the re-gift sweetheart but I don’t plan on building any tree houses anytime soon.
“Can you be any more useless?  Don’t you want to at least pretend to know something about something?  If you don’t want the magazines, I’ll toss them.  I’ll entertain my friends, I’ll watch the game by myself, I’ll take the guitar picks, I’ll use the golf balls, I’ll give the art set away, I’ll throw the fucking book out and I’ll drink the beer.” 

On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
A collection of Christmas cards to display, sent from his family members and addressed only to him, three re-cycled magazines about tree houses, a notice that his friends were coming over for a drink, a noon appointment to watch a Duke basketball game in a bar, a pack of guitar picks, a box of golf balls, an art set, a book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“I am not going to display cards in my house from people who blatantly exclude me.  Do you not understand that?”
“You’re a real piece of work, you know it?  Go ahead.  Ruin Christmas for me.  I’ll take the cards to work, I’ll toss the magazines, I’ll entertain my friends, I’ll watch the game by myself, I’ll take the guitar picks, I’ll use the golf balls, I’ll give the art set away, I’ll throw the fucking book out and I’ll drink the beer.”

On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
An invitation to not spend the day at his brothers’ house, a collection of Christmas cards to display, three re-cycled magazines about tree houses, a notice that his friends were coming over for a drink, a noon appointment to watch a Duke basketball game in a bar, a pack of guitar picks, a box of golf balls, an art set, a book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“You’re going to spend the day with your brother instead of me?  The brother who treats me and your children like we’re worthless garbage?”
“Listen, my mama and daddy drove down and I want to see them and I’m not going to take any shit from you about it. Besides, you know you don’t want to go, so I’ll spend the day with my brother and my mama and daddy, I’ll take the cards to work, I’ll toss the magazines, I’ll entertain my friends, I’ll watch the game by myself, I’ll take the guitar picks, I’ll use the golf balls, I’ll give the art set away, I’ll throw the fucking book out and I’ll drink the beer.”

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
Another invitation to spend Christmas alone, an invitation to not spend the day at his brothers’ house, a collection of Christmas cards to display, three re-cycled magazines about tree houses, a notice that his friends were coming over for a drink, a noon appointment to watch a Duke basketball game in a bar, a pack of guitar picks, a box of golf balls, an art set, a book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“You’re leaving me alone again on Christmas?  But I have a pot roast cooking.  Can’t you stay here with me?”
“The family rented a house at Edisto Beach.  Mamas’ cooking and everybody’s going to be there.  I didn’t ask you if you wanted to go because you never want to do anything.  Go upstairs and make a quilt or something.  I’ll go see them, I’ll spend the day with my brother and my mama and daddy, I’ll take the cards to work, I’ll toss the magazines, I’ll entertain my friends, I’ll watch the game by myself, I’ll take the guitar picks, I’ll use the golf balls, I’ll give the art set away, I’ll throw the fucking book out and I’ll drink the beer.”

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
An announcement that he picked up the WTC in a bar, another invitation to spend Christmas alone, an invitation to not spend the day at his brothers’ house, a collection of Christmas cards to display, three re-cycled magazines about tree houses, a notice that his friends were coming over for a drink, a noon appointment to watch a Duke basketball game in a bar, a pack of guitar picks, a box of golf balls, an art set, a book about journalism and a six-pack of beer.
“Um…what?”
“I’d like to bring her down and I thought we would stay with you.”
“You can’t stay here.”
“Oh, well I guess I won’t bring her then.”
“I think it’s time to talk about divorce.”
“NO.  I am not going to talk about divorce!  I cannot imagine not being married to you.”
“Wait a minute.  Did you really think that you were going to bring her down here, stay in my house, sleep with her in my bed while I slept on the sofa and I was going to be okay with that?”
“Yeah….no.  I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Sorry, darling. I am not going to be your whore wife but Merry Christmas anyway!

 

Treasure Trove Award

treasuretroveaward

 

A big thank you to my friend Robert Matthew Goldstein for this award.

There are no rules.

You don’t have to do anything.

The Award is a gift of appreciation.

I’m going to take this opportunity to thank all of my followers and tell you how very much I appreciate your support and encouragement.  I really don’t know where I would be today, were it not for my “band of bloggies.”

I will also take this opportunity to vent a little.  I try to follow everybody who follows me.  Lately, I have noticed that I will click the “follow” option on the stat page and the next day for some reason, WordPress has decided that I don’t want to follow them anymore.  This has been happening for months and months.

Even readers that I have followed since almost the beginning of my blog, suddenly disappeared.  I didn’t know what had happened to them until I realized I had stopped “following” them.

I will get comments from some of my readers, saying “I’m going to try this one more time.”  I am not getting their comments nor are they getting mine.

When I was using Mozilla Firefox, WordPress crashed almost every five minutes.  I switched to Google Chrome and it only crashes every few days now.  (How am I supposed to continue my dark and twisties if WordPress keeps crashing?)

I don’t know how to fix this.  If anybody has any ideas you could pass along, I would be eternally grateful (as would others who seem to be having this same problem.)

My nominees:

giminilvr

Marquessa

Elisabeth

Marshall W. Thompson, Sr.

A@moylomenterprises

Belle Papillon 24/7

savingshards

learningtolivelikewater

creativerational

samlobos

angelicakidd

Tikeetha T

AnnaLevensonPsy

snakesinthegrass2014

avaswan

ifonlymommy

Embeecee

Etta

Ease

Brian Lageose

There is no pressure to accept.

 

 

One Thanksgiving Long Ago

It was that time of year again.  The little girl was told that she would be allowed to go back home, although it would only be for a limited stay.  She would of course have to sign an agreement, stating that she would obey all the rules that had been set down by her mama and older sister, but she didn’t care what she had to sign.  She would be at home!

The rules were strict.  She wouldn’t leave her room unless she was told that she could.  She would ask permission before she ate or drank anything, even if it was just a glass of water.  It would be her job to wash the dishes after every meal and if she didn’t come to a meal immediately when she was called, she didn’t eat.

She would go to church.  That was absolute law and she was not to question why she was the only one who had to go.  It had been explained that she needed to go, so that maybe God could help her become a decent person.

It would be her duty to get up and fix her daddy his coffee every morning and make sure that her older sister got up in time to go to school but under no circumstances was she to enter her sisters’ room.

She was not to complain.  She had willingly and eagerly signed an agreement and she was being given a gift.  She should be grateful, she was told.

It was the only time of year when kinfolk would invade the house.  Her mamas’ half-sister and brother-in-law would drive up from Florida.  Granny would also be there.

Her daddys’ mama and papa wouldn’t be invited because her mama didn’t like them.  Even though the little girl lived with them, she was too young to understand how sad they must have been to have Thanksgiving by themselves.

The kitchen would be a flurry of activity and wonderful smells would begin to waft through every room of the house.  Her mama would be busy fixing turkey, dressing, sweet potato casserole, green beans, mashed potatoes and gravy, macaroni and cheese, and there would be cranberry sauce.  Cranberry sauce was her favorite.

There would be apple and pumpkin pies and this year, there was going to be an added desert…one her older sister loved.  Divinity fudge.

The table would be set and everybody would gather around to take their places.  Her uncle would say a prayer.  He was a Hell fire and brimstone Baptist preacher and acted the part, at least in front of the family.  After everybody filled their plates and sat down, she would be allowed to fill hers.  She wanted a taste of everything except the apple and pumpkin pies.  She had never liked either one of those.

After her plate was filled, her aunt would say “your eyes are bigger than your stomach, I’ll bet.  You should put some of that food back and not be so wasteful.”  The little girl would put some of the food back and then sit outside the kitchen and eat.  Her mama was a marvelous cook and everything was perfect.

She could hear chattering around the table.  She could hear everybody laughing and heard her older sister ask if she could have some more turkey.  She heard her daddy say “why, sure youngun’.  Help yourself.”

After the feast, she was told to do her job.  Everybody else went into the front room to chat a little more and savor some freshly brewed coffee.  There would be moans and groans about how they were as full as a tick and praise for the wonderful meal they had just supped.

The little girl would take the wooden ladder that her daddy had cut in half and put it in front of the sink.  Standing on that ladder was the only way she could reach it, and she had to wash the dishes.  That had been in the agreement she signed.

On one side of the huge farm sink, pots and pans were stacked so high she could hardly reach them.  On the other side were the dishes, glasses and silverware.

She carefully washed all the dishes, glasses and silverware and then dried them.  They were put away in the Hoosier cabinet and she needed the ladder to reach it, too.  The pots and pans were put in a drawer under the stove and it was to be done without making a “racket” as her sister had instructed.

It took hours to wash everything and by the time she had finished, her aunt, uncle and granny had left.  None of them had come into the kitchen to say goodbye to her.

After the last pot was put away, she walked into the front room and asked if she could have a piece of fudge.  Her sister looked at her and asked if she had paid for any of the ingredients.  The little girl hung her head and said no.  Her mama looked at her with an icy cold stare and asked her if she had helped in any way to make it.  Again, the little girl said no.  Her sister spitefully said “well then, you can’t have any.”

The little girl decided to break the rules and went into her mama and daddys’ bedroom without permission.  She humbly asked her daddy if she could have a piece of fudge.  When he asked her why she was asking him, she told him what her mama and sister said.

Her daddy got up and went into the front room and said “I pay for the goddamn groceries in this house and if this youngun’ wants a piece of fudge, she can have it.”

She knew she had angered her mama and sister and she knew that she would pay dearly for it later, but that piece of fudge was the most delicious thing she had eaten all day!  It was even better than the cranberry sauce!

She received her punishment the next morning, when her mama woke her up by throwing the drawer of knives, forks and spoons in her face.  She had left a piece of food on one of them, she guessed.  After the little girl gathered up all the silverware and put it back in the drawer, her mama dragged her by the hair into the kitchen.

When she got there, every pot and pan and every dish and glass was sitting on the sink for her to wash again.  The little girl guessed she had left a piece of food on everything.

She got the ladder out and put it in front of the sink.  As she started washing them, her mama while sitting in the chair with a switch, snarled at her and said “if you’d use your right hand, maybe you could get something clean for a change.”

The little girl quickly switched the dishrag from her left hand to her right hand.  She was careful to inspect everything she washed before she dried it and put it away.

When she went back to her room, all she could think was…Christmas was coming soon and she hoped that she would be allowed to stay until then.  She prayed and asked God to make her mama and daddy let her stay.

She believed in Santa Clause and Christmas was her favorite time of year.

 

 

R.I.P. Chucky

As I was driving home after having been trapped by hurricane Matthew, I remember being mindful that I would not take any of my suitcases or bags inside my house.

I had stayed in the Roach Motel for five nights and I was sure one of those dastardly little creatures had somehow weaseled their way into my belongings.  When I finally made it home, I hurriedly toted all the contents of my car straight into my house.  (I’m citing temporary insanity and eagerness to be at home.)

Sure enough, when I was emptying a plastic bag which held some of my dirty clothes, Chucky (a vile, nasty Palmetto bug) scurried out!  I tried to catch him but he was too fast and that little fucker made it into the kitchen.

I opened my back door and shook out all the rest of my clothes, determined to not allow Chuckys’ wife and children to take up residence in my house.

For the next several weeks, when I went into the kitchen at night and turned on the light, there was Chucky…sitting on the top of my dishwasher door….like he owned it!

He was taunting me….laughing at me while he wiggled his antenna and it looked as if they were keeping time as he mockingly sang “na na na na na…I’m in your house now!”

I don’t have any bug spray because I don’t have any bugs (except the occasional stinkbug that finds its way inside when it starts getting cold and believe me…they are called stinkbugs for a reason.)

I have heard that those little cocksucking Palmetto bugs multiply faster than rabbits.  Every night, he would be sitting there…laughing at me.  He might as well have had Leonardo DiCaprio’s face because he was obviously saying “catch me if you can” and I’m sure he was simultaneously sticking his tongue out at me.

I got my fly swatter out and took a swing at him but he scurried under the counter above the dishwasher.  He was bold…this one.  I think he had done this before.  After my futile attempts with the fly swatter, he didn’t even bother to run anymore…he knew he was too fast….or I was too slow.  He just sat there…watching me.  I think I heard him call me an idiot but I’m not sure.

Last night, Chucky was there again….interrupting my mental affair with Wentworth Miller, who was planning his prison break.  Once again, I got my trusty fly swatter but this time I didn’t swing.  I crept close, which was easy as Chucky was secure in his agility and Houdini-like expertise at escape.  Instead of swinging, I swept the fly swatter along the top of the door and off he came!

With one mighty stomp, Chucky was reduced to a blob of wings, antennae and guts on the kitchen floor!  I grabbed a paper towel, scooped up his remains and did a happy dance all the way to the garbage can.  Now I was the one doing the taunting and laughing.  “I knew I’d eventually get you, you little fucker,” I said.

R.I.P. Chucky.  Your ancestors might survive a nuclear holocaust but you won’t be around!

Mystery Blogger Award

myster-blog-award

“Mystery Blogger Award” is an award for amazing bloggers with ingenious posts.  Their blog not only captivates; it inspires and motivates.  They are one of the best out there and they deserve every recognition they get.  This award is also for bloggers who find fun and inspiration in blogging and they do it with so much love and passion. – Okoto Enigma

The award was created by Okoto Enigma.  Here is the link: http://okotenigma.wordpress.com

A big thank you to Geminilvr at https://andthentherewasone.wordpress.com
She is a fellow Gemini who is, as she puts it, “navigating the waters of dating and relationships.”  She writes touching, poignant posts and make you feel every emotion she is feeling.  If you aren’t already following her, give her a visit.

Rules For The Nominees:

• Display the award logo on your blog. √

• List the Rules. √

• Thank the blogger who nominated you and provide a link to their blog. √

• Mention the creator of the award and provide a link as well. √

• Tell your readers three things about yourself. √

• Answer five questions from the nominee. √

• Nominate anywhere from ten to twenty bloggers. √

• Notify the bloggers by leaving a comment on their blog. √

• Ask your nominees any five questions of your choice, including one weird or funny question. √

• Share the link to your best post. √

Three Things About Myself:

1.  According to Duke Energy, I use the least power of anybody in my entire area.
That must be why I am covered in bruises from running into things in the dark. 

2.  The sound of barking dogs affects me physically and psychologically.
It shoots my blood pressure all the way up to normal and makes me want to scream.

3.  I’m supposed to be a “water sign.”
I find that hard to believe since I don’t like to be around it, in it or on it and I really dislike the ocean.

The Five Questions Asked by Geminisilvr:

1.  If you were able to pick one dream location to live, where would you choose?
Either Scotland or Ireland.

2.  What is your favorite genre of music?
I like Celtic, classical and I like most of the oldies from the sixties.

3.  Besides blogging, what is a favorite activity of yours?
Talking to my RBS.

4.  What is one food you would never give up?
I could give up any food but it would be hard for me to give up water.

5.  If you could pick one superpower, what would it be and why?
I would be “The Mighty Warrior of Justice” because there is too much injustice in the world.

My Nominees:

tikeetha

TenacityT

survivednarc

creativerational

nearlytranslucent

sepultura13

RobertMatthewGoldstein

angelicakidd

Embeecee

Five Questions For My Nominees:

1.  Would you jump in front of a bus for a complete stranger?

2.  If you could go back in time and change one day in your life, which day would it be and why?

3.  What is your favorite word?

4.  The weird question:  If you knew you could get away with it, would you rob a bank?

I can’t do a link to my best post.  I think it’s yet to be written.

The Creepy Man

The first time she saw the creepy man, she was a young girl on her way to school.  She had to walk across a rickety bridge that had broken rails so most of the time, she walked in the middle of the road.  One day she got too close to the rails and when she looked down, she saw a man standing in the dry creek bed.  He was staring up at her.  She thought it was strange but smiled at him.  He didn’t smile back.

He had jet black hair and was wearing a light blue shirt.  The way he stared at her made her uncomfortable.  It was as if he was looking straight through her.  She thought he was “creepy.”

That afternoon, she was a little afraid to walk home by herself but she didn’t have any friends who lived nearby so she didn’t have a choice.  Not far from the bridge where she had first seen the creepy man, she saw him again.  This time, he was standing behind a tree.  She started running and never looked back.  She ran all the way home.

The next several weeks, she saw the creepy man both on the way to school and on the way back home.  She knew the streets well and even though she walked different ways, he always seemed to be lurking around, watching her.

She never told anybody about him because she was afraid that somehow, she might get into trouble.

Years later, she was walking home from high school and decided to cut through the parking lot of Sears.  She saw a man walking through the lot and it looked like he was trying to open car doors.  Suddenly, he turned around and saw her.  She was terrified when she realized that he was the creepy man.

His face was weathered now and it reminded her of a hound dog.  He had bags under his eyes and his jowls drooped.  He had on a navy blue stocking cap, a torn, tan corduroy shirt and a pair of dark blue pants.

She quickly walked into the store.  After a few minutes, she noticed the creepy man hiding behind one of the pillars, watching her.  She got on the escalator and went to the second floor.  She was the one hiding now and found a rack of clothes to stand behind.   A sales clerk walked up and asked if she could help her, thinking she was shopping.  She told the clerk that she was being followed.

The sales clerk called for the manager.  As they were waiting for the manager, the creepy man came floating up the escalator, like a ghost.  The manager finally came over to them and suddenly, the creepy man disappeared around the corner.

The manager offered to walk her out of the store.  She only had one quarter that was for lunch the next day, but she used it to catch the city bus which would take her close to her grandma and grandpas’ house.  The manager stood with her until the bus came and the creepy man didn’t get on.

After she graduated from high school she went to work at Sears, in the credit department.  About two months after she started working there, she looked over the counter and there was the creepy man, watching her.  As she stepped away, her supervisor said “you look like you have seen a ghost.”

She told her supervisor about the man and how she had been seeing him since she was a little girl.  When the supervisor looked, the creepy man was gone.

After the creepy man left, she went to the break-room and a man she had befriended from the automotive department was there.  She told him about the creepy man.  He asked her what time she got off work and that night, he took her home in his red, 1966 corvette.

Two weeks later, she left town but for years she looked over her shoulder…for the creepy man.

Kêt Thúc.

 
This is actually a true story.

 

More Misheard Lyrics

I needed a laugh today.  Here are some more misheard lyrics….some by me and some by you.

“Blinded by the Light” by Bruce Springsteen.  The line is “revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night.”
I thought it was “wrapped up like a douche-bag in the middle of the night.”

“Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me” by Elton John.  The line is “although I searched myself, it’s always someone else I see.”
I thought it was “although I hurt myself, there’s always somewhere else to see.”

“Bennie and The Jets” by Elton John.  The line is “she’s got electric boots.”
I thought she had “electric boobs.”

“Waiting On The World To Change” by John Mayer.
I thought it was “waiting on the welfare train.”

“Bernadette” by The Four Tops.
snakesinthegrass2014 thought they were saying “burn to death.”

“Run To Me” by the Bee Gees.  The line is “run to me if you need a shoulder.”
snakesinthegrass2014 thought it was “run to me if you need a show girl.”

“The Wreck Of The Edmond Fitzgerald” by Gordon Lightfoot.  The line is “they may have broke deep and took water.”
I thought it was “they ne’er broke even took water.”

“We’re going to Ibiza” by the Vengaboys.
survivednarc thought it was “we’re going to eat pizza.”

“I’d Really Love To See You Tonight” by Dan Seals.  The line is “I’m not talking about moving in.”
I thought it was “I’m not talking about meridian.”

“Me and Bobby McGee” by Janis Joplin.  The line is “one day up near Salinas, I let him slip away.”
I thought it was “one day I missed a leavin’ and let him git away.”

“Addicted to Love” by Robert Palmer. The line is “might as well face it, you’re addicted to love.”
I thought it was “might as well fake it, you’re a dickhead in love.”

“Secret Agent Man” by Johnny Rivers.
I thought it was a “secret Asian man.”