BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

I keep stuff.

No… I’m not a hoarder. Well… Not in the sense of having piles of crap everywhere. In fact, as we have aged, E K and I have been streamlining and jettisoning our excess crap. What I’m talking about keeping is information. In particular, electronic documents containing cut and pastes of things I found interesting, things I’ve written, notes I’ve taken… That sort of stuff. So, while it is a bit of a hoarding situation, at least my stash is contained to a 1 terrabyte HD that still has all sorts of room on it – therefore, when I up and croak, my kid isn’t going to have to do much other than hit delete… Unless, of course, she decides to sell the info to someone. Who knows? Some of what I wrote might be worth a nickel or two after I’m all corpsified.

So, anyway, as I was organizing my electronic piles of data, I ran across one of my exchanges on FB that I had felt compelled to copy and paste. I still get a chuckle out of it. Y’all might too. Or not.

ME: Dining room floor stripped, scrubbed, steamed, waxed, and buffed. Supper installed. Now continuing Beer 6.0 installation.

MARY: wow! I can’t seem to find that program on the microsoft website… can you direct me? I will even buy a pirate copy if needed. LOL!

ME: Which one, Mary? Beer 6.0 or adult playdate? 🙂

MARY: Beer 6.0 I don’t need – I have Wine 6.0; Adult playdate is already installed and currently running, I’m talking Handyman 7.0. LOL!

ME: Ohhhh, that one. Well, you see Handyman 7.0 is a forced install by my sysadmin, E K and it takes some adjunct software to get it running. She generally starts with booting into her secondary operating system, Dominatrix 8.2.6, then locally installs Stiletto Heels 5.0, Leather 9, and Whip 10.7A. After that she does a remote format then pushes a ghost image of Subservient Husband 4.2 across the network. Once SH is up and running all versions of Handyman, up to and including 8.0 Beta install with no issues whatsoever.  She’s invested quite a bit in the upgrades too. I can’t begin to name them all, but in the way of add-on modules she even has stuff like Electrician 2.8, Groundskeeper 3.0, Chef 2.1, Masseur 5.9, and Plumber 1.5.3 (although she hacked the latter to insert a “no butt crack” subroutine)…

And there you have life at my house…

More to come…

Murv

It took everything I had to keep from spitting spaghetti across the table and all over The Evil Redhead.  Judging from the bemused shock in her eyes and her hand over her own mouth, I am fairly certain the same was true for her. We both glanced quickly at our daughter as she continued to stuff her face, then I pushed away from the table and made a beeline for the telephone…

Of course, as with most of my stories, for this to truly make sense we have to step into the “wayback machine” for a moment to get a bit of background. So, have a seat next to Mister Peabody while Sherman fiddles with the dials and takes us back to a point in time just a scant couple of weeks prior to the “almost spaghetti spewage.”

Kerchunk… bleep… ring… ring… bloop… blorp… kerchunk… kerchunk…

Okay, here we are… Not only have we traveled back in time, but we have also shifted westward better than two-hundred miles to a suburb of Kansas City Missouri. The townhome (at the time) of my friend – and E Kay’s occasional doormat – Duane.

You see, the near spaghetti spewage is all Duane’s fault. And, the fact that it is his fault in this particular instance is 100% true. Just ask him. He will even admit to it without objection. He won’t even scream “Unicorn.” Well, not right away like he normally does.

Allow me to explain…

Her Supreme Evilness, the O-spring, Johnathan, The Chunk Man, and I took ourselves an extended weekend trip out to see Duane. This wasn’t unusual by any stretch. He comes to Saint Louis to see us, we go to KC to see him. However, during this particular visit, Duane – or as he was called by E K for a brief period, “Dammit Duane” – set certain events into motion that culminated in the almost spray of whole wheat fettuccine noodles, along with a lovely Bolognese, all over our dining room.

“How?” you ask.

Simple. Like all of us, Duane receives his share of bizarre email forwards from folks out there. On the particular weekend in question he had received an attachment in the form of a video file. Now, I have to admit that there is no truly delicate way to put this – the file in question involved “adult activities” between a Latex clad Dominatrix and her submissive.  However, the “porn” factor wasn’t the real reason the clip had been forwarded to him. As it turns out, not only was there a high level of “OMG bizarreness” to the  depicted activity itself – which I shall leave up to your individual imaginations – but the German language dialogue also punctuated it with an LOL factor somewhere around a 7 on the “LOL 1 to 10 Scale”. Anyway, to make a long story short, Duane found it so amusing that he insisted on showing it to Johnathan, The Chunk Man, and me. Due to the fact that I was in the middle of cooking, I was unable to watch the whole clip, however, I got the gist of it, as did Johnathan, The Chunk Man, and Duane. And, they got it in spades, for you see, the rest of the weekend the catch phrase between the three of them became this innocuous snippet of dialogue –

“Yah… Das is gud!”

Fast forward back to the summer evening around the dinner table. We had only been eating for a few minutes when the O-Spring, who was all of 5 years old at the time, stopped shoveling the spaghetti into her mouth and announced, “Das is gud!”

(Now, before you go calling Child Protective Services, the kid did NOT see the clip. She merely heard her Uncle Duane, Uncle Johnathan, and Uncle Chunkee running around the whole weekend chuckling and saying, “Das is gud!” about everything…)

Once I managed to swallow my mouthful of pasta without choking, I called Duane. After all, someone had to warn him that E K was already plotting his demise.

Of course, I certainly wasn’t opposed to it being him in trouble instead of me.  In my way of thinking, das is gud…

More to come…

Murv