My neighbor, Mucilage, left a sticky note on my door — said, in effect "I heart you pretty good and would enjoy sucking on some of your fingers whenever you aren't using them." So I sent my sister over to pound him, which she enjoys. Maybe he does too, unfortunately.
Well, Mucilage the guy who leaves pink sticky notes? I haven't seen him for a while. Not since his bandages came off. I suspect that he and my sister may have a thing. If so, she's keeping him at one of her carefully-selected undisclosed locations — probably a nearly rusted-out shipping container over behind the freight marshaling yard. (She has several there.) What this means for me is no more sticky notes covering the house, and no more slime on my doorknob Sunday mornings. Maybe some other things too, but as long as the two of them are happy and I don't have to even acknowledge that he exists, well good luck Mucilage and Ed. (That's my sister. She's also a champion sumo wrestler — heavyweight division.)
So then, it looks like Ed and Mucilage have tied the knot. She likes to do things full bore, especially if it involves ropes and tying and big knots, so she mail-ordered a 10" nautical hawser (prime grade virgin hemp) — cost a fortune — weighs 12 pounds per foot, and they bought 30 feet of it because they both enjoy leftovers so thoroughly. For after the ceremony they'll have a rented airplane waiting. Once in the air they'll blindfold themselves and the pilot, spin around three times, click their heels, recite the "No place like home" mantra from the Wizard of Oz, and fly until they run out of fuel, then jump. Wherever they land will be their happy forever home, assuming that they survive the fall, but on the other hand, they can feed off the corpse of the pilot until they get jobs, so it might work out after all, if they manage to catch the pilot before he runs away. Anyhow, it's likely to again be pleasantly quiet around here, and that's all I really care about these days.
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