Dad is still dead. I know that because he was photographed last Thursday night running down Main Street with no pants. But at least he was wearing his Farmall cap. Once they caught him they realized who he was and reburied him in the nearest vacant hole.
Yes, I know that picnics are supposed to be fun, a time to relax and stop worrying about things, but then you're facing police. Police asking if you know the naked guy running around the park, and it's your dad, and then you have to explain that he's been dead for six years but refuses to realize it, and on and on...
Yeah, Dad. He's a lot easier to live with now that he's dead. Mellower somehow, even though he smells worse.
Saw Dad yesterday. He's working at Ted's Turnip Tuneup Shop. But business is slow, so he can take all the naps he can stand. Still dead too, which helps.
I sold Dad to the circus. Got a decent price, considering that he's been dead for 17 years. But we could not — absolutely could not — figure out a way to keep him buried. So at least now he's someone else's problem,'s earning his keep running around frightening people, and we have enough money to relocate while he's occupied inside the big tent.
Speaking of Dad, the mortuary wants to repossess his underwear. They say it was only a loaner set. More problems for the dead.
Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@gmail.com
Me? Good question.
Etc...
so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals
