*Runs out into the sunlight*
*Loads the carbon fiber Benelli shotgun*
*Shoots fiery blazing ball of evil in the sky*
*Runs back in the basement, locks door, closes blinds*

*Panting wildly at all that exertion*
*makes note to do more cardio*

*Feels around in the dark for vacuum hose to fend off Monster Dust Bunny that’s come to kill us all*

*Holds breath, turns on vacuum, sucks that fucker up*

*Flops down on the floor, waiting for another axe to fall*

It doesn’t come.
Nothing.
Just silence.

And then a realization.

Someone hit the mute button, put in earplugs and is wearing TWO eye patches.
See nothing, say nothing, hear nothing.

After I was probed by aliens in the first week of May leaving me with  *FrankenBoob © , all I could muster was that lame ass post about how the Internet, God Bless it’s tiny little heart of stone, was trying to coerce me into becoming a vampire slut hooker.
And that’s when I locked my self in the basement in a time of nothingness.
Grey.
Rain.
Rain.
Grey Rain.
And went insane.
Slowly.
And surely.

Lost all of my marbles…Once a-fucking-gain but only for a moment.
Because I had sights to see.
Horses to lose my shirt on.
Plagues to contract.
Days that needed me to do nothing but roll around on the couch in a foggy agony of cold meds that do nothing but make me slightly more stupid.
And then another realization that my floor was/is getting furry/furrier by the minute and soon, like that liquid metal guy from that terminator movie the fur will, with out a shadow of a doubt, turn into another Monster Dust Bunny.
Right now as I type this I can see out of my tiny little hole I made in one eye patch, the fur? Is gathering strength. It is rolling across the floor carried on the balmy waves of air wafting through, around, over and under me, the couch the table and chairs. Scooping up the bloody carcasses of the Malignant Mosquito’s From Outer Space that I shot with the Sig 9 mm, with my very own hands, right out of the Mother Fucking Air!
These fur balls are going to be one bad ass MOFO to contend with.
Just as soon as I get me (or my) shit together.
Just as soon as I take a nap.

Just as soon as I figure out what the hell that  Fiery Blazing Ball of What Can Only Be Pure Evil is, in the sky.
Making my eyeballs burn if I take off the pirate patches.
Making my skin turn pink if I stand out in it longer than the time it takes to load the shot gun.
Making my toes thaw out from the blocks of ice, that I have grown so fond of.
This  fiery blazing ball of evil in the sky has made these blocks of ice melt away like the Wicked Witch of The East.
Or something.

And now…

In the quiet I can smell the farenheit. I can hear the mercury rise

It is now The Hot Season.

And I am in Hell.

Exactly where I love to be.

(pretty sure I have all of my fingers and thumbs and hands. Yet I find this picture of my left hand to be totally creepy.)

It’s hot.

AND…

So. Am. I.
(**)

P.S. *More on the FrankenBoob © later. But lets just say everything is fine and  nothing is wrong.

P.P.S. ** I realize that saying  ”So. Am. I.”, in reference to the hot temps,  might make me sound like I am tooting my own horn, but really I have been sweating my balls off today (much to The Dishes approval) which is something I haven’t done since August  2010.

• 2 Ear plugs
• 1 ball gag
• 1 pair of hand cuffs

So on the RARE  weekly night out for dinner I have realized that there is a checklist of things I really, and I mean really nead to make sure to bring with me…just in case someone forces me to drink a never ending glass of wine.

So my friends opened a restaurant and well they are my cool friends and my husband and I are all about going there and supporting our habits their business.  But really that list up there, are the things I need to bring with me.  Well because when I have a little wine…all filters faulter!

Ear plugs would be good for when I hear a strange noise coming from the room with the Kiddie Birthday Party going on and I blurt out ‘WHO GAVE THAT CHILD A DILDO” (yes, I do know I should have said a vibrator, but well I like the sound of the word Dildo better…DIL…Doh..)

And then the Ball Gag would have been good when I ran into this guy that I will call Dude.  Why you ask ? I will tell you why but first I will tell you how I casually started out conversation. 

Me: Hey Dude, how are you…oh yeah, oh cool that sounds interesting….you know when ever I see you I ALWAYS think of dogs…. (at this point I can hear the crickets chirping and my husband has turned away and will no longer participate in the conversation)

With a perplexed look…

Dude: What…why?

Me: um well, you know, um…oh uhhh (turning to my friend who owns the restaurant)

Friend: Oh you know Dude how Blondie loved our dog and you loved our dog and you two rented apartments that had adjoining bathrooms almost…..(this is a true friend, cause she had nooooo idea why I said the dog thing)

Me: Yeah, and every night I came home and could hear you peeing through the walls because we had kind of adjoining bathrooms, and that would totally make me go into pee shock. I CAN NOT pee if I even think someone might be listening in…

(the caption reads “for ‘Quiet Time’ “)

At this point the Ball Gag should have been inserted for like an hour already.  Back in the day I had heard a story about how the Dude, (at this point The Dish has all but disappeared and refuses to try to bail me out)  was having sex with some randomness and her dog was licking his ass and instead of stopping the dog from licking he let it lick him all the way home, and by home I don’t mean…ahhh I am sure you get it.   But thats not where I end my foot in mouth disease, I then proceed to try and get the Dude’s young son to say the word Bajigity…just because hey won’t that be funny and I am sure his very pregnant wife will think that is just about the best thing her little pride and joy has said.  Forget “Mommy, I love you”, how  about “Yo Ma, gettin’ BAJIGITY over here!” instead.

Yeah I am so high class I can’t stand it.

At this point I should don the hand cuffs 

 
because I might just start appropriating things that I feel should no longer exist in your fine establishment…oooh like say this
  

 Yes I single handedly kidnapped and then tortured James Brown. And there he sits on my counter in my kitchen biding his time until he gets to return to the corner of the bar to yell at all the passers by. You see if you hit that red button this happens…