Call now for a mail inversion.
Ever set your farts on fire? Are you Ed the giant dinosaur? We can help. Call after 3 p.m. on any Thursday.
Fernando followed me home today. That's what I'm calling him. He's a turd. I'll put him in the garden, by the carrots. It seems proper.
Following that unfortunate noodle incident in the dining room, Mom lost her temper and called ma a hopeless turd. Well, it arrived within minutes, and was indeed hopeless, and a turd, and I am sorry, but I simply don't have any idea what I'm supposed to do with it. Maybe I should call Mom, but what to call her?
Fred said we could stay here. Fred knows everything. That's why we call him Fred. First Rate Educated Dude.
Generally, I don't feel much like a giant, everything-devouring crack in the ground, but today I do. Call me Chucky, Chucky Crevasse, at least for now.
I don't know about you, but after what happened yesterday I've had my fill of pocket lint for the year. I must have six or eight pounds of it stored out in the garage already. Now Mom called. She's bringing over a whole pickup load of the stuff. I'm sort of regretting having gotten her that trucking job.
I had a brother named Joe. He wouldn't come when called — said his name was Bob. Wouldn't fetch worth a damn either. #DumbFucker
I have been called here today, by my hunger, to, in this public location, masticate thoughtfully and thoroughly. Then I'll have a nap.
I never did understand Mom. Not after she took that Portuguese class over at the community center, and no one else did either, not even the guy who taught it. His name was Fred — Fred Krutz — but he wanted us to call him Ferdinand the Very Utmost First. That was after he got back from his two-week tour of Europe (with one day in Portugal, which is where he got his language training). So we did for a little while and then it wasn't that much fun anymore but by then he'd already taught half the town to speak Portuguese and then he moved on down the road and nobody could understand anybody any more, so that's what happened to Mom. And eventually I lost track of her too. A few years back I did hear tell of a certain Vegetable Lady traveling with the circus who used to jabber nonsense, and it sort of sounded like it could have been her but then I got busy with other things and never did follow up, so that's about where that one lies then.
If I had a brother I'd call him "Ferd" so's I could distinguish him from the rest of the livestock. Maybe make him wear a hat, if he didn't come equipped with one, and prolly some clothes because — you know. "Ferd — that guy over there, wearing the clothes and stuff," is how he'd be known, aside from his distinctive name and beet collection (he likes vegetables — imaginary ones until he exists, if ever). Now, folks, I'm headed back to the cellar to visit my spiders.
Insane Lizard Posse. That's what Mom wants to be called now, and who am I to mess with her?
Little-known fact: My high-school yearbook lists me as "deceased", which is another reason that no one calls anymore. #AndISkippedAllTheReunionsToo
Louella called to tell me I'm not that good looking, but she's a potato, so I baked her. What kind of potato calls itself Louella? Tasty.
Marcus called last night, from the street, with a bullhorn. Said I was a dickhead. I had to go out there and pour a bucket of mucilage over him. That helped, but not quite as much as one would have hoped, given the circumstances. Anyhow, he left. Good thing I always keep a couple buckets of mucilage on hand. I wonder what it is. Nice name though. And who is Marcus?
Mom (or Mrs Head as she is known in some circles) called me a dick, which is why, I guess, wanting to do that, she named me Richard to begin with.
Mom called again. Reminded me to wear rubber duck feet. She's always cautious like that.
Mom called but cut it short when she ran out of coins. They still have pay phones in hell, and she's got this thing about avoiding collect calls.
Mom told me to go hang myself. Which is why I'm in your closet. In case you were wondering. Nice and quiet here. Good call, Mom.
My sister called me a dork. I didn't know you could do that. Not surprising because I don't have a smart phone.
My sister called to say I shouldn't be surprised to get a quart of pig blood from her. She's FedExing it to me overnight. Apparently it has to do with some death cult she joined last week. I wish she'd get past this phase and settle down again. She used to be married to a tax accountant until his colleagues roasted and ate him during what was otherwise a pretty average office meeting. I didn't know they did that. Anyway, my sister has been looking for some stability ever since, so this new death cult could be just what she needs. Thoughtful of her too, to think of me — she knows I can always use more pig blood.
Rolf - call me Rolf. That's Rolf Dolf, golf genius. And bug zapper.
Why am I writing about crevasses? I think I have my own delightful issues. That's what all my friends say. I have no friends any more, not since my hamster died. His name was Ed. That's what I called him. He never told me his real name. Hamsters are like that, or maybe he never really was really my friend. I did let him out of the cage a lot, so... He liked my sock drawer. Had fun chewing holes in things, squeaking occasionally, but I guess we never were really close. After he died I flushed him down the toilet, right away. Didn't want him stinking, so that's about my experience with crevasses and friends.
Yeah, Mom called again last night. She got on board a submarine and before she really knew what was happening, she finds herself way out in the south Atlantic with nothing to do but tend the sonar and scan for enemy vessels, so she's wondering, if I'm not too busy today, can I come and pick her up? And, of course, you know what my life will be like if I don't say yes. I wish she'd grow up and spend more time with her cats. Even when I get the wig on straight and wear her favorite print dress at feeding time, they still know what's up. You can't hardly fool a cat.
They seem to recognize me here. Maybe that's why they call it home. The big mean one is called "Mom". She's scary.
Currently making the transition from old creepy guy to creepy old guy. Comments? Send email to sosayseff@gmail.com See if that helps.
