He was up on the ladder when he spoke. "My hands are tied right now." This in answer to my asking how long he wanted me to stand there holding aloft the box of push-pins. There were things I needed to do, and five gorgeous Preben Holm freehands I wanted to get my fingers on. Offering push-pins for the convenience of someone tying himself in knots six feet above the ground was not what I had envisioned.
My natural response was to exclaim "then now is the right time for auntie to beat you with a soggy brassiere, large size!"
I put the push-pins on the top rung and moved out of flailing distance.
A man with Christmas ornamentation can be unpredictable.
Especially two weeks before Thanksgiving.
It's far too early for that.
While heading back toward the box of briar pipes that begged for clean-up and restoration, I speculated that his sex life was getting weirder by the week, and he shouldn't have talked the fat blonde neighbor-lady into participating in his queer bondage game. Yeah, she's desperate; it's been ages since her alcoholic husband got up off the couch, he's been lying there since the last Bush administration ended, gorging on micro-wave macaroni and cheese washed down with rootbeer-flavoured vodka, and the care-giver comes in only once a week to help him evacuate, poor big-ass constipated lardo.
But sadomasochism on ladders with a hung-over Guatemalan is NOT the answer, and good sturdy bras are hard to find.
I'm not certain that the Ectorinator appreciated the lecture.
He said something about a sick Dutchman.
Perhaps he's seeing things.
Anyway, nothing more eventful than that happened.
It was a very peaceful day.
I'm rather enchanted by the mental image of a gentleman smoking a cigar being roundly abused with wet underwear, extra large size, by a sweaty blonde naked whale of a woman. He deserves a bit of fun, the dear man.
Me personally, I prefer women to be smaller and not violent. But I believe that peroxided orcas are the American standard of beauty.
You are all welcome to it. And them.
Whatever lifts your spirits.
It is far too early to put up Christmas decorations.
That, also, may be a ruddy perversion.
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All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
Do they really make rootbeer-flavoured vodka? Or is it a product of your imagination?
Yes, they do: Three Olives Root Beer.
And then there's this: Smirnoff Root Beer Float Vodka.
Welcome to the world of twenty-somethings.
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