Extended Ed, my tall uncle, is my tall uncle. Haven't seen his smile since it got cloudy.
I had an uncle who raced alligators. Things finally caught up with him. He's now in the compost business.
My uncle Will, a dirt farmer, married a dust bunny. Their twins, Mud and Muck, were born in the dry season. They'll be happy until it rains, I bet. After that, things could get sticky. I wish them luck.
Today I decided to become a rodent. They tell me that I'll have to grow some front teeth and let my whiskers lengthen. Maybe develop some cheek pouches too. Then I'll need to give up my driver's license (can't reach the pedals any more) and quit wearing pants, but I don't do that anyway, since I converted to kilts and tutus under the tutelage of my Scottish-Russian ballerina uncle Floyd Lloyd Cherenkov Pussycat Jones Huff-Huff. So if you'll excuse me now, I need to go off and practice my gnawing in private.
True, one of my uncles was an ape, but it doesn't necessarily mean that it runs in the family, does it?
Uncle Buds' fluidic massage and footlong red-hots and poetic incarceration nuts. (They come in an insulated bag.)
Uncle Dan has a School of Soft Knocks. It's quiet there.
Which reminds me — my uncle Walt was a pickle tuner. One of the best in the business, according to experts. He never made any money at it though, having chosen to reside in a pickle-hating part of the country, along with his wife, Aunt Ella. She was a goat trimmer by trade, but played left tackle for amusement, mostly on weekends in months ending in "Y". "Y me", she often said, "And if you try I'll flatten you", and had one or two trophies to at least partially corroborate her assertions.
Uncle Fred's mucus bags. Never popular outside the circus circuit despite being totally odor-proof.
I never had an Uncle Fred, so I don't know how it feels. I did have an Aunt Fred (U.S. Marine sharpshooter and later ran her own parasite museum) but Mom never let me go there after that time I came home with a bag of used tapeworms). So, mostly when I wanted amusement Mom would kick me out and tell me to go play in the sewage lagoon with all the other kids.
Never did like my uncle Rex, not much. Neither did anyone else, so we duck-taped him to the top of a Walmart truck and sent him to Kentucky dressed as a chicken. Haven't heard back on any of this. Still hoping not to.
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Me? Got something in my shoe. Has teeth. Doesn't seem quite normal. Am open to diagnoses.
