BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Part 1 of 2…

You really never know exactly what an evil redhead like E K is going to do to you. Sure, there are all the normal, everyday tortures she has in her bag of tricks. The evil, sadistic stuff that wicked redheads do that would make even Dick Cheney cringe. I’ve already told you about those.

I’m talking about the far more intense EHTT’s (Enhanced Husband Torture Techniques). You see, E K is among that elite group of hypersadistic not-of-this-earth redheads who come up with ways to grind their stiletto heel into the back of your head without even being within 20 miles of you.  Pretty scary stuff this “Remote Torture”, and The Evil Redheads of the world have perfected it.

I’ll let you in on a little secret – I’m pretty sure E K is their leader. She disappears for a couple of hours every week and whenever I ask about it she just gives me one of those really evil grins and says she was at a “meeting”, then tells me to make sure I have chocolate fondue or finger sandwiches ready for her to take with her to “the meeting” the following week. Unless I am missing my guess here, these “meetings” are where the redheads get together and devise new and frightening things to do to poor husbands like me. This includes not returning my Tupperware and/or fondue forks, but that’s another blog.

Anyhow, regarding these new and sadistic tortures, let me give you an example – Take for instance a couple of Christmases ago… (nice segue, eh?)

You see, E K is a “sock lady”. This is almost exactly like a “shoe lady” (she’s one of those too), but it involves socks instead of shoes. Also, be aware that “sock ladies” should not be confused with “sock puppets”. They are something entirely different. Sock ladies can, however, have puppets, especially if they are evil redheaded sock ladies. But, usually they just call us lackeys, slaves, or “hey you”. For some reason they eschew the use of the word puppet. It probably has something to do with “sock monkeys” and corporal punishment, but we won’t go there.

Yeah, I’m  digressing… so what’s new about that?

Okay… Back to the situation at hand – or, at foot as the case may be…

As I was saying, E K is a “sock lady”.  Back in her early twenties – which isn’t all that long ago since, as we all know, she just turned 25 (wink wink, nudge nudge) – her majesty wore skirts, stockings, and heels to work. Yeah… Even as a service technician out in the field she could be found lithely prancing about on high-heels while beating a printer into rightful submission, and looking damn good doing it. (Not that she doesn’t look damn good doing now too, mind you.)

However, for the past several years she has reserved her “fancy shoes” for “fancy occasions”… These days when going all dominatrix with a screwdriver on a printer or plotter she is far more likely to be found in slacks and a stylish pair of black or brown leather, flat-soled Mary Janes.

This is where the socks come in.

You see, she is not about to sacrifice her quirky individuality for anything. Therefore, she has an entire room full of socks.  And when I say socks, I don’t just mean your average, run of the mill, 6 in a package from K-mart type of socks. Nope. Not E K. She has knee socks, over the knee socks, mid-calf socks, ankle socks, lacy socks, sheer socks, polka-dotted socks, striped socks, solid color socks, argyle, oddly patterned, holiday, whimsical, thin, thick, fuzzy, wool, cotton, synthetic, electric, nuclear, hybrid… wheeeezzzzzzz… wheeeezzzzzzz…

(Pant… Pant… Pant… Hold on a sec while I catch my breath, okay?)

wheeeezzzzzzz… wheeeezzzzzzz…

(Whew… Better now… I think…)

So, anyway, you get the point. The woman has socks galore, and is always all about obtaining more socks galore.

She will buy them in a box. She will wear them with an ox.

She will wear them on her feet. She thinks socks are really sweet!

She will get them from the store. She will get them more, more, more!

And, that’s just the beginning.

But, much like the folks who collect those little “baby spoons” from National Parks, she doesn’t want just any socks. They have to be socks she doesn’t already have in her collection. Socks that speak to her. Showcase her individuality and wicked stylishness.

Which brings us back around to Christmas a couple of years ago.

Here’s the thing… E K and I have been together for a long time. When you have been together as long as we have, no matter how much you are “in love of one another” you tend to start scaling back in the Christmas gift department. Instead of going out and mortgaging the house for the Faith or Charity Diamond (I mean, who would want the Hope Diamond. It’s cursed!) You tend to go for gifts that are slightly less pricey and sometimes even a bit more practical. Especially when you are married to a Taurus. They are all about practical. So, on to the socks… You see, those couple of years back I asked The Evil One if there was anything special she wanted to find under the Yule tree. Without missing a beat she replied, “Cool Socks.”

Okay. Cool socks. Easy like pie. This, even I can do without screwing up too badly.

I should have paid more attention to the way the corners of her mouth curled up into a fleeting grin, because little did I know she had just set her wicked, wicked plan into motion.

More to come…

Murv

To Be Continued In:  Murv The Purv…

THE PUF REPORT: Part 2 of 5

You know, this whole being an author gig is kind of interesting, in a psychological mindf*ck sort of way, if you get my meaning.

Now, if you don’t get my meaning, I hope you will by the end of this blog entry. But – and this is a big but (stop snickering) – before I go any further, I want to point out an important bit of info: I write because I enjoy writing. I sought publication because I enjoy sharing stories, and I’ll admit that it’s nice to get paid to do something you enjoy. (Not that the paycheck is all that big, mind you.) So, writing was pretty much my only choice in the  “professions I truly enjoy” category because I don’t have the necessary endowments to make it big in the adult film industry.

But, be that as it may, what I’m driving at here is the fact that I did NOT go into this profession seeking fame. Really and truly, I didn’t. With fame comes all sorts of responsibility that I really don’t want. Unfortunately, by definition, the whole “branding” and “marketing” thing does tend to make your name known to readers of a particular genre and that sort of thing.  Ergo, while not necessarily what you would call “fame”, there is a certain level of “recognition” that is achieved. It’s actually even somewhat necessary – as I said, “marketing” – in order to have any kind of success in this field.  Yeah, it just sorta comes with the territory, like it or not.

Fortunately for me, I’m a ham and I don’t mind a little bit of attention every now and then. Unfortunately, however, I am afraid I might have become a bit used to it.

Okay, before anyone says anything about that statement above, no, the author thing hasn’t gone to my head. Dorothy Morrison would probably tell you otherwise and that I have to use a pair of scissors to get out of a pullover shirt, but that’s simply not true. (I’ve had all of them altered to include a Velcro quick release a the shoulder seams.) That, and she lies on me all the time. It’s how she is.

Still, with all that said, I have become somewhat used to arriving at an event and having people recognize who I am and be happy to see me.

This is where we segue to Lasagna.

Okay, I’ll sit back for a second and wait for everyone to slip into their neck braces, what with that sudden case of whiplash coming out of nowhere… Everybody ready? Good… Here we go…

At PUF (Pagan Unity Festival) there is a community feast on Saturday night. Everyone brings a dish to share and the event usually preps a major entree like ham and chicken or something of that sort. There’s food for miles, but we are actually going to get to that in a later blog, so I won’t give you all the food details right now. The point behind me telling you this is that some years back everyone donated frozen lasagna. Yeah…everyone… Their dish to share was the old standby, family-sized pan of frozen, layered, Italian-American pasta. PUF literally received something like 40 pans of it. In the wake of this glut of pasta the fest has requested that no one donate lasagna ever again under pain of horrible and terrible, prolonged, agonizing death. Thank you, and go about enjoying yourselves now. Etc.

Well… you know me… I take that as a challenge… Yeah, you guessed it. Every year it is a moral imperative that I and my crew donate a frozen lasagna, if for no other reason than to get a decent laugh. Now, since we do this primarily as a joke, we buy cheap lasagna. And, since it is frozen, we tend to buy it when we get close to the event – as in just a few miles away. The past few years it has been obtained from the Kroger in Dickson, TN since that is right near the park where PUF is held.

So, by now I am sure you are all wondering just exactly what Kroger Frozen Lasagna has to do with this whole authoring thing, fame, and even more so, why this post is titled “Where’s Kat?”. Well, believe it or not, it all fits together.

Seriously. Would I lie about that? (Okay, don’t answer that.)

Ahem… Koff… Koff… Well, let me see if I can tie it all together for you. Obviously, “Kat” is none other than E K. If that wasn’t obvious, it should be now that I have told you (wink wink, nudge nudge). At any rate, after she was through torturing Johnathan… Well… Actually she’s never truly finished torturing anyone… But, moving on… After she was finished torturing Johnathan for the time being, we finally rolled into Montgomery Bell State Park where PUF is held each year. We checked in at the gate, did our annual “Royal Wave” as Johnathan and I rode down to the cabin on the back of the van, and then started to unload. (Note: The only reason E K doesn’t make us ride on the outside of the van during the rest of the trip is because it is illegal on the highway. Although, on numerous occasions she has been known to tie someone up and put them in the car top luggage carrier, but that’s another story.)

As we were unloading the van, I noticed that the Frozen Lasagna was  well on its way to getting melty, so I grabbed it up and headed down the hill to the main hall where the kitchen and fridges are located. It was nice to finally be off the road after a long drive, and I was excited to see all the folks I call my friends, but who I only get to visit with about once per year.

When I reached the bottom of the hill I walked into the dining hall, then through the doors and into the kitchen. There was bustling activity among the crew as they prepared the evening meal. I grinned and tossed the lasagna on the counter as I always do. It felt like I was coming home again. For a brief few seconds, anyway…

You see, usually I am greeted with something along the line of, “Murv’s here!” being shouted with much excitement. This year, however, instead of anything involving my name and happiness over my arrival, what met my ears was, “Where’s Kat?”

Initially I figured this was just an odd anomaly. A one-time occurrence. Nothing that should raise any sort of concern. But then someone came out of the back, rounded the corner, saw me, then smiled and asked, “Where’s Kat?” Then, someone came in through the doors behind me, noticed I was standing there and said, “Oh hi, Murv. Where’s Kat?”

I answered the question two dozen times before I made it out of the dining hall, only to be bombarded with it all the way back up the hill to our cabin. I  finally lost count of how many more times it was asked of me over the weekend. Suffice it to say, it became painfully clear that I had been unceremoniously and completely usurped by the Evil Redhead.  Murv was nobody. All hail E K.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, she’s far prettier than I’ll ever be, and then there’s that whole “hot, sexy, evil without boundaries” thing she has going for her. I suppose it was only a matter of time…

But, you know, that’s not the most troublesome development out of all this… As always, the planning for the following year’s PUF begins approximately 24 hours after the end of the current year’s PUF, so all of that is already in full swing. Not unusual, except that I’ve already been hearing rumors that we author types are being completely cut from the program.

Apparently E K is going to be the 2010 Guest of Honor.

More to come…

Murv

The next installment in THE PUF REPORT: Part 3 of 5 – Dingle? What’s A Dingle?