Once again I’ve read the porn sites, no one has done
anything exceptionally stupid or O.D.’ed. Actually I
O.D.’ed two weeks ago. Metamucil. It wasn’t pretty.
I overslept this morning after indulging in excessive
jilling last night. The bukkakes were goooooood. The
cops both protected AND served. They weren’t like the
ones I’d seen before. The chicks actually TALKED in
South’s bukkakes. They even looked like they were
(GASP!) having fun. I remember a bukkake I saw a long
time ago, directed by God only knows. The chick was
laying on the table (reading Cosmo, I think) and the
guys were jacking off on her. Every once in a while a
guy wearing a protective mask would come out and
squeegee her off. {There’s a job to envy, huh?) A
couple times she looked at the camera and said, “Are
they through yet?” Very arousing in a “I paid how much
for this piece of crap?!” kind of way.
I was really sad when I got up this morning. It was
noonish, the time I usually roll out of bed to wake
the kids up for school, but alas there were no
offspring here in Atlanta to greet me with screams,
threats and loud door slamming. I miss them. I miss
our afternoon routine. First they make me breakfast,
then they do the dishes. Then I line them all up,
Fabreeze ‘em from head to toe (cuts down on laundry),
then make ‘em walk two miles to school so they can
pick up my cigarettes and booze along the way. Sigh.
I miss those little boogers.
Speaking of boogers, I’m not sure if many of you are
aware of it, but I always try to tackle the really
heavy subjects on my site. Last week, for instance, I
was discussing Digger the Dog. Doesn’t get much
heavier than Digger. Tim Case emailed me and told me
that Digger was his favorite toy during his West
Virginia trailer park childhood. I, of course, asked
him how that differed from his Ohio trailer park
adulthood and added, “Come on. When you grow up in a
trailer court your favorite toy consists of either a
bucket and a shovel (practice for your future career
as a dirt farmer) OR a big cardboard box that used to
house someone else’s Motorola.”
Tim replied: “Actually, the trailer park I lived in
was located directly next to a Honda motorcycle
dealership on US 60 in Barboursville, WV. Louie
Fonduck Honda was the name of the dealership, and my
brothers and I would very often dig the large
cardboard packing crates that the cycles were shipped
in out of the dumpsters and use them as playhouses,
etc. Thanks for reminding me of all that.”
Well it just so happens that I decided to check out
this information and see if I could locate & speak to
Mr. Louie Fonduck about a young Tim Case. After about
25 lengthy calls-—24 of which were to psychic hot line
asking if they thought South was gonna be pissed when
he opened his next phone bill—-I connected with Mr.
Fonduck. Here’s a bit of our conversation:
Goddess: “Hey, Mr. Fonduck, thanks for taking the time
to speak with me. I’m calling about a guy named Tim,
who said he used to live next to your car dealership.
Do you remember him?”
Mr F: “Hmm, Tim….Tim..…can’t say that I–oh wait a
minute! I do remember a boy named Tim who used to
steal the shipping crates.”
Goddess: “Can you describe him?”
Mr. F: “Well, near as I recall he had brown hair,
brown eyes and he always had a runny nose.”
Goddess: “OMG! That’s him! What do you remember about
him?”
Mr. F: “Well he was the sort of child you never wanted
to hug.”
Goddess: “Why? Tim seems so warm and loving. Who
wouldn’t to hug him?”
Mr. F: “Seems he had a slight tendency to wipe his
nose on the front of his shirt. It was always wet and
snotty. I remember this one time, he had the biggest
booger hanging off of his…”
Goddess: “Ok ok, we get that Tim has a post nasal drip
problem. Do you remember anything else?”
Mr. F :”I hate to say it, but he was a bit of an
underachiever. One day I called him into my office and
I said, ‘Son, life is not a game. You gotta make
something of yourself. Stop screwing around and set
some damn goals.”
Goddess: “What did he say?”
Mr. F: “I don’t know. Some bullshit about still being
in first grade. And then he peed his pants.”
Goddess: “Damn. Who knew he was such a slacker?”
Mr. F: “Is he married?”
Goddess: “Yanno nobody is really sure. Sometimes he
talks about his wife, other times his girlfriend and
still other times his fiancée. We’re not sure if he
has three chicks dangling on the line or whether he’s
just bitter and confused. But I put a call in to
Robert Stack, and Unsolved Mysteries is gonna do a
segment on Tim’s marital status.”
Mr. F: “What kind of job does he have?”
Goddess: “Uh….well, he has an excellent job in the
luggage industry.”
Mr. F: “Top position?”
Goddess: “Eh, more like second in command.”
I was really upset when I called home last night and
found out one of my female offspring got in trouble at
school yesterday. Apparently she punched another kid.
I got her on the phone and said, “Look, you are a
Goddess. This is not the way I taught you to deal with
conflict. We stuff our anger down, then go home and
eat chocolate till our stomach aches. Now straighten
up or else!” Yessiree, I’m really smelling that Mother
of the Year award more and more each day.
South called last night and I’m sorry to say, but he
didn’t ask about ANY of you. Tsk tsk. He called to
tell me he was arriving home on Friday. The only way
Mr. G allows me to come to Jawjah is if I promise him
South won’t be there. He’s..um…not Mike’s biggest fan.
So when South said he was coming back Friday, I’m
like, “NO, you’re not! There’s only two episodes of
Third Watch left and I am NOT missing Friday night’s ep.”
Then he said, “Then I’ll be home Saturday.”
I said, “NO, you’re not! Saturday is a very, very
special day for me. A high holy day. It’s the 600th
episode of COPS!! Whoo hooo!! Two full hours of people
acting like assholes and I am NOT missing it.”
He said, “FINE! But I’m coming home on Sunday!”
I said, “Dude. Do whatever you. It’s your home.”
I received some great emails that I’ll post tomorrow. Later!
