Good morning friends and fans. This is, well, let’s see. Oh. Call me C.W. I sometimes take to writing whenever it is a damp, drizzly November, uh, January in my soul. Forget that. I was just kidding. I really start to writing when I want to give my friend Big Dope a day off. He’s presently not attentive or alert. I hear him snoring from here. I left him alone and I’ll take the steering device for an ocean-going vessel today. So … heavy objects attached to a rope or chain and used to moor a ship to the sea bottom away!
You should see me. I have taken the form of a large man with orange hair with two chins. I’m very beautiful. In my home planet form, I actually have three chins, but they are on separate heads. Two on one head is a much more beautiful plan, a great plan.
Anyway, Big Dope has had tough weekend, caring for things while Mrs. Big Dope takes an extended period of recreation, especially one spent away from home or in traveling.
Excuse me for an indefinitely short period of time. I need to make some adjustments.
There. My GUT was giving me problems. Now, where was I? I remember, I was telling you about Big Dope. He is watching over things, or supposed to be. I wonder. Do you really put jalapeno peppers in applesauce? His mother-in-law certainly doesn’t think so. And she has a way of gently informing a cook that she doesn’t care for a certain dish.
She pours a generous helping of ketchup upon it and smiles like a saint that has just fed a hungry baby. That’s how he found out that she didn’t care for his macaroni and cheese.
Anyway, it’s been a give and take weekend. She prefers six dogs in the house at once. He prefers none. So far, they have compromised at six. She saw a seventh on our afternoon drive yesterday and demanded we stop and rescue it. He lied and said he knew the dog and that it belonged to a neighbor. She let it pass, but did remind him that her daughter had once dated a man who had pretty red hair and became a physician.
Later in the day, he asked her who had spread pecan hulls all over the living room floor. “You tell me,” she answered. Then she proceeded to remind him how far she had walked to school each day as a child. That figure has remained a constant three miles since I came here, though the snows have gotten deeper and there are now frequent allusions to roving bands of murderers and child-abductors along the path.
Following such tales, she will ask, “You never had to walk to school, did you?”
She’s a sweet lady, though, and she likes me a lot, particularly when I shape myself as Franklin D. Roosevelt, her favorite president. She also likes my rendition of Lawrence Welk when I need to win her over to my side. It cracks her up when I do my, “uh-on, uh two, uh three.” It burns her son-in-law. He has only one shape: Big Dope. Eueww!
That’s about it for today. I know he wanted to tell you about an experience we had this past week, but trust me, you don’t want to hear about it. Anyway … the state agreed to forget the whole thing. There will be no company producing a product called “Medical Mellows” in our state. The candy company has dropped the logo thing, and Big Dope made me plow up the plots.
Those helicopters that keep flying over the farm are a nuisance, though. And it seemed as though everyone we know had suddenly taken ill for a while. Can you believe it?
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