STOP! WARNING – Random Silliness Ahead.
I accept no responsibility for humor related injuries and/or loss of intelligence.
Have you ever had one of those days that completely changed your life, freed your mind and fundamentally defined who you are as a woman? No, me neither, probably because of the man parts. One time I got close, though. I had a deeply meaningful conversation with a world famous spiritual guru who opened my eyes to the universe, eternity and the meaning of life, but it’s not really the same is it. Admittedly this event is fairly insignificant within the context of my life story, but it’s just been playing on my mind recently. Hormones probably. I’ve been taking prescription alligator hormones just for kicks, and I’ve found it makes me a little nostalgic. Anyway, if you want to get to the meat of my life, I’ll just get out of your way so you can reach the buffet table. But for everyone else, I will start at the middle.
From the young age of 63 I developed a hankering for the finer things in life. Lots of money, fancy cars, beautiful women, these things I could do without, but a good Liechtenstein Eel Parfait I just couldn’t deny myself any longer. So I abandoned my lucrative 6th decimal place job, gave notice to the kids, kissed my neighbor’s wife goodbye, and ran for my life to the nearest airport.
I never made it to Liechtenstein however. There was a plane crash. My plane. And I know it crashed because I saw it on the news, while being detained by airport security. People make jokes about TSA but they really saved my bacon. True, they ate it while I was detained, but if they hadn’t saved it in the first place, it would have been lost somewhere in the Himalayas. And everyone knows, Sherpas just don’t appreciate good Canadian bacon.
So after I was finally released on probation I returned home, my dream in tatters, my position filled by an automated answering machine, and bacon-less. I didn’t know what to do. Without my bacon I didn’t think I could go on. I just didn’t feel like living anymore. Thankfully, I didn’t have to. As it turned out, the TSA never filed my detainment with their superiors, so as far as the government was concerned I had boarded the plane currently playing 52 pick-up somewhere in Eastern Europe. According to public record, I was dead.
Not being one to dwell on life’s little challenges I decided to explore my options as a member of the Grateful Dead. However, since I was never very musical, and I didn’t actually know anyone in the band, I was soon discovered and thrown from the tour bus somewhere in Nevada. Which actually turned out to be a lucky break because Las Vegas was in Nevada. I’d always wanted to go, but had never had the weasels. Of course, the only thing I knew about Las Vegas was that it was somewhere in Nevada, but I figured that was enough to go on.
So after spending 4 years wandering around the desert, living off the land, the sky, and the harvest from an illegal marijuana farm, I finally discovered the fabled location of the Great City of Vegas. Unfortunately by the time I actually got there, it was closed. Renovations apparently. But it was probably for the best. I’d already spent all my weasels on a lifetime supply of candy corn not two days previous. What can I say, I’ve always been an impulse shopper.
Like this one time, on Ebay, I had the opportunity to purchase the second string line up for the St. Louis Rams, and even though I only had half of what they were offering, I rushed down to the local loan shark and took out a sizable advance. Unfortunately by the time I got back, the auction had closed, but I did have enough for a mated pair of Alaskan circus hamsters, so I figured that was nearly as good. Boy was I wrong. Those little bastards bit off my left eyebrow, chewed through the crotch of every pair of pants I owned, and completely destroyed my credit history. But as luck would have it, the loan shark was a big fan of specialty rodents and agreed to take them in exchange for my kneecaps. A fair trade if ever I made one.
Now in case you are reading this and come to the conclusion that I have led a charmed life you couldn’t be more wrong. This all happened before I really hit my stride as walking disaster area. Why I look back at these times as the true golden years that they were. But don’t despair for me. It’s just as my second cousin, Arnold’s pappy used to say to him, “Margaret, no man is going to want you. You’ve got a face like a mule’s arse.” Wise words. True too, Arnold never did find a man.
And you also get a free bit of random silliness for your trouble.