BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Several weeks back I was doing some work around the house. It was a warm, sunny afternoon in early October as a matter of fact. I happened to be in the back yard when I heard someone at my gate calling out to me.

I turned to discover a video crew. At first I was a bit taken aback, but then I was also taken aback by a lady in the parking lot of the Home Depot awhile back when she jumped out of her vehicle, pointed at me, and started squealing “You’re… You’re HIM! You’re HIM!” So much so in her case that I dropped the lumber I was loading into the back of my truck and gave myself a nasty gash on my arm.

I still don’t know which “HIM” she was talking about, but since no police showed up to arrest me I have to assume she didn’t mistake me for someone who had snatched her purse or taken the last jelly donut at the local Krispy Kreme.

But that’s another story…

So, back to early October… As it turns out these folks with video equipment in tow had traveled to Saint Louis for the express purpose of interviewing me on their show. Why they hadn’t contacted my publicist first to schedule it remains a bit of a mystery. All I know is that what ensued was a bit weird, disconcerting, made me very uncomfortable, and might not have even been entirely legal. At any rate, after chasing them off my property while  I was wielding an axe handle and screaming obscenities, I thought I’d seen the last of them.

Apparently I was wrong…

Even under the threat of legal action, this production company elected to release the footage of that bizarro interview, and to add insult to injury they have done so in several places around the web – from PUF TV to Youtube and beyond. At first I was livid. Then I was pissed. Then I was livid pissed since dividing my energies between the two seemed a bit wasteful. I started making phone calls and planning my revenge, on many levels.

However… The Amazing Wendy, my publicist, tends to see silver linings where I do not. She has now urged me to give up on my quest to eviscerate these wingnuts, telling me that I should embrace this as a promotional opportunity instead. Wendy can be very convincing. So… Since not everyone is on Facebook, not to mention the state of obscure flux in which the FB news feed dwells, I am taking her advice and posting it here.

You know, the more I think about it, the more I’m beginning to wonder if  maybe she was in on this the whole time…

More to come…

Murv

There are certain rules around our house…

I will meet E K at the door with her drink…

I will have dinner on the table no later than 30 minutes after E K arrives home…

I will spit shine all of EKay’s shoes on a daily basis…

I will do whatever E K tells me to do…

Sense a pattern there? Yeah, me too.  But the consequences for non-compliance with said rules are pretty harsh, so I just live with them. There are some other rules, of course. Most of them involve something I have to do in order to please The Evil One and keep her from taking me downstairs into her “play room” – which reminds me, I’m supposed to hose it down today after I drop her Stryker Saw off at the shop. I just hope she didn’t leave anyone down there. The trash truck doesn’t run for another couple of days yet…

There is, however, a rule that doesn’t directly involve E K… Well, sorta… I mean, the results of the rule compliance directly involve E K – as well as allow me to comply with the other rules of the house… But the actual rule is more along the line of – The Kitchen is MY domain, leave my stuff alone.

Surprisingly, E K generally works within the boundaries of that rule. Largely, I think, because she hates to cook, but likes to eat.

Because of this, it was a great surprise to me when I walked around the corner the other night and found her torturing a houseplant. I know, I know… Whiplash moment there, but trust me, there’s a connection. She was torturing the houseplant with one of my kitchen knives.

You see, we have this yucca plant… We’ve had this plant for something on the order of forever. Seriously. I’m pretty sure we had it when we moved into together. It has been through some serious trials and tribulations – namely countless plant chewing felines. During the summer it lives on our front porch, soaking up the sunshine and Saint Louis humidity, mostly safe from cats with plant fetishes. During that period of months the yucca goes crazy, sort of like it is making up for the rest of the year when it’s in fear for its life. By the time Autumn rolls around, and the first frost is upon us, the yucca looks a little… well… yucky.

And so, the temperature was forecast to plummet the other night, and plummet it did. Before it fell too far though, E K, in all her regalness, invoked her prime directive – that being the rule saying I have to do whatever she says.

“Lackey!” she demanded. “Go bring in the plants.”

Little did I know that in rescuing the yucky yucca from the cold, I was merely delivering it into the hands of a deranged redhead with a topiary affliction. Unfortunately for both of us – the plant and me – she didn’t have her pruning shears handy, so she headed straight for the knife block on the kitchen counter.

Of course, I suppose I should look upon the incident as an opportunity, because I learned something that evening.  Never mention the rules to an evil redhead who is holding a large, serrated bread knife in one hand and the hacked up limb of a defenseless yucca plant in the other.

We have a Ficus too, but it’s a little tougher than the Yucca. I think while she’s at work I’ll go hide my electric knives, otherwise they might end up dulled and it’ll be a little tough carving the turkey at Thanksgiving this year.

More to come…

Murv