Recovering Hermit

“Recovering Hermit” is not just some pseudonym I chose in an effort to be “funny”.  Life is funny; not me.  A recovering hermit is actually the essence of what I currently am.  After a train-wreck of a first marriage, I had completely closed myself off from the world, and was more than happy to do so.  I was a misanthrope of epic proportions, and the thought of going anywhere outside of the house actually made me nauseous.  Had anyone told me at that time that I would be where I am today, I would have told them they were nuttier than a squirrel turd.  Little did I know…..

Several years ago, I reconnected with an amazing woman I have known since I was a kid.  I’m not going to get all sappy and spout on and on about true love, soul mates, and how 99% (if not more) of the people on this earth will never experience either.  But after all the hell that she and I have both been through in our lives, the miracle we have been blessed with is something we not only thank God for day and night, it’s something we hold sacred.

She has changed my life in nothing but the best of ways.  But as much progress as I’ve made in my quest to always find the goodness and decency in my fellow man, I still struggle a lot with the whole concept.  I truly believe I wouldn’t have such a hard time with it all, if it weren’t for the absolutely asinine way that people relentlessly assault my intelligence or, perhaps more importantly, seem to lack even the smallest shred of common sense.

The unyielding stupidity that those of us with at least a couple of viable brain cells must endure on a daily basis is almost inconceivable.  In fact, it is now so deeply rooted into the very fabric of our society, it sickens me to the point of projectile vomiting.  I find myself both at a loss for words and, ironically, unable to shut up about the endless idiocy I am force fed on a daily basis.

I could honestly go on forever, if I didn’t limit myself.  So I’m thinking maybe a “Top Ten” list may be a therapeutic baby step at this point.  Hell, let’s have some fun with it….. Let’s hear yours as well!  Please respond with your own!  We could turn this into a big ass dysfunctional group therapy session!  And maybe – just maybe – it will help us all start the healing process!

And away we go…..

1.)  Mobile morons: When I leave the house, I can assure you it’s always much to my chagrin.  It’s because I have shit to do.  Like, oh, I don’t know….. get to WORK!  Yes, some of us still do that.  And I’m a 30 mile drive one way kind of guy, traveling the worst stretch of highway this side of hell.  So you know what?  How about if you want to cruise that bad boy at, say, 20 miles an hour, you don’t do it in the FAST LANE?

I’m so tired of you tortoises blocking the highway like a twisted colon, I could pull my prematurely graying hair out!  When you see a line of cars behind you, with people shaking their fists at you, turning beet red, and appearing to be having a stroke, it may be a good idea to….. GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY!  If not, I swear by all that is holy, one day I will somehow find a way to mount a death ray to the hood of my car and turn you into a cloud of ash that I will drive through with sheer joy, laughing maniacally long after you’ve dissipated into nothingness!

2.) Eclectic bumper sticker guy: You know who I mean.  The guy with the Jesus fish, along with an array of other stickers proclaiming “Free Tibet”, “It’s a Child, Not a Choice”, “Baby On Board”, “Suck It”,  and “Bearded For Her Pleasure”.  Really dude?  I’m sure that Jesus and Buddha are really stoked that not only do you respect their teachings, but you are an unrivaled master of cunnilingus and enjoy having your peenie sucked….. all the while respecting the miracle of life and the fact that it is securely fastened in a car seat behind you.  Props to you, dude,  you epic douche with a capital bag.

3.) Walking down the center of the moving vehicle lane in the parking lot without moving to the side person: Are you people serious?  I mean, can you not hear the engine running behind you….. feel the heat from said engine warming the back of your knees?  It’s a game to you, isn’t it?  Well guess what?  I don’t like games.  Never have, never will.  But I’ll play.  And when it’s my turn to roll the dice, I win, you lose!

That 4 foot tall floral arrangement you were carrying will become a smattering of crushed flowers and you will be nothing more than a strange thumping noise coming from the undercarriage of my car, because I don’t have the time or patience for your stupid ass!  Your biggest mistake was thinking that I actually give a shit as to why your pidgeon-toed, sorry ass decided to use the driving lane to mosey along in, rather than move to the fucking side like any thinking person would, thus creating a stress-free parking lot situation, where no one had to die.  I didn’t want this… It’s your fault!

Yet I’m not the least bit sorry that I had to be the one to take you out….. and I don’t mean to dinner.   Good-bye asshole!  Your death just increased the intelligence level of the American gene pool!

4,) The getting all up in my personal space at the check-out counter person:  As you can see, ass-hat, I’m still unloading my shopping cart onto the counter.  However, I am the type of person that will quickly grab my bags and immediately evacuate the premises….. AFTER I have paid for my shit and concluded my brief transaction.

When I can feel your hot breath on the back of my neck – smell what you had for lunch – you’re just a smidge too close, and you have one of two choices.  You can either ease the fuck off, or I can introduce you, face first, to the inside of my shopping cart.  Your choice, but if you want to look like a human waffle for the rest of your miserable life, I’ll be happy to oblige.

5.) The government: Enough said.  Besides, elaborating is probably not a good idea.  Who wants to wake up in a re-education camp, being force fed a steady diet of Soylent Green and bullshit?  Yep, it’s probably best if we don’t wake up at all.  That seems to have worked SO well, thus far.

6.) The “Hey, look at me!  I’m important and you should be impressed!” guy: Yeah, well……. I’m not.  Talking loud in public on your cell phone guy, wearing that stupid blue-tooth earbud that looks like something you pulled out of the spy kit your mother bought you on your 12th birthday guy, or best of all – the full headset (you know, that thing that looks like Britney Spears microphone) wearing guy….. do us all a favor and cut the crap!

And by the way, I say “guy” because it usually is a guy.  My guess is a guy with a small penis.  What other reason could you possibly have for making such an annoyingly colossal ass of yourself?  We can all see that you’re trying relentlessly to sweep your inadequacy under the proverbial rug.  It’s not working, stubby.

7.) The moving slow in front of me when I have to poop in a public place old lady:  Why is it that when I feel that unholy pang in my gut, accompanied by the sounds of a pissed off Tasmanian Devil trying to tear its blood-thirsty way through my abdomen, I seem to get stuck behind the one infuriatingly slow blue-hair who’s moving at roughly the same pace as a three-toed sloth on Quaaludes?  I don’t have time to watch moss grow on your back, lady.  I’m prairie-dogging back here, and if I don’t get to the can pronto, I’m going to shit myself!

I move left, she moves left.  I move right she moves right.  I can’t get around the old bitty, because she seems to be anticipating my every attempt to escape this flypaper nightmare.  Now, I respect my elders, but I will push your old, arthritic ass down and use your head as a spring-board to launch myself toward the restroom door before I soil myself in this frozen food aisle!   Sorry grandma… them’s the breaks!  Of course, I’ll come back and apologize after I’m done.  I’m guessing by then you will have moved, oh, I don’t know….. maybe another two whole feet?

8.) The “I’m never going to smile and you can’t make me” person: Don’t you just love these people?  One thing I’ve learned from my amazing wife is to try to smile at everyone I meet now.  You never know when that one smile will make somebody’s day.  I’m usually met with pretty good response, and it honestly feels good to not only have a reason to smile now, but to share it with others.  It’s very healing and, best of all, it’s contagious.  It makes the world a better place.

But there’s always that one tough nut to crack.  They try to ruin it for everyone else who’s just trying to make it through the day.  If they’re not happy, then by God, no one else around them will be.  Well, guess what?  I’m still happy, and I’m still smiling at you, whether you like it or not!  It took me a long time to find this smile again, and I don’t intend to stop.  So I’ve adapted.  I can multitask now.  Now I can smile AND tell you to go fuck yourself, you miserable asshole!

9.) My boss: I’m sure you don’t want to read a novel right now.

10.) The “You’ll never get away, because I’m going to continue telling you this boring story” person: You try to inch away.  You try to be kind and tell them you have pressing issues to attend to.  You feel your brain cells start to melt.  You go cross-eyed.  You feel that horrible, throbbing pain in your temples.  You try as desperately to hold your tongue as you do to find any means of escape.  In your mind, you’ve already bludgeoned them to death with a ball-peen hammer 17 times, just to stop the agony, yet they continue to assault you with their mindless drivel.

At least if you were caught in a bear trap you could gnaw your own arm off and scamper away to find a quiet spot to lick your wounds and thank God for your freedom.  Escaping this trap….. not so easy.  You could really hurt their feelings if you let on how badly they suck.  So you do what any thinking person would.

In mid-babble, you fart.  You don’t just fart, you push for all it’s worth and pray for a silent creeper that would peel the paint off the walls surrounding you.  It works.  As they begin to gag, speechless for the first time in 15 minutes, you apologize and tell them if you don’t get to the bathroom immediately, their story is going to end in a way that neither of you want it to.

Quickly turning away, you rush off, finally free….. hoping you can make it to the bathroom in time to give birth to the behemoth that is now on deck, thanks to a little quick thinking and strategic ass magic.  There is nothing left to do now but enjoy your quiet time in peace, trying to forget the misery you’ve just endured.

Or you could just tell them their story sucks and you don’t have time to listen to fucking idiots.  Whichever you prefer…..

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How Mamajuana Made Mama Wanna!

Mamajuana!

It was our first vacation together, and we couldn’t have chosen a more romantic getaway.  Our search for paradise had led us to Cap Cana, located at the eastern most tip of the Dominican Republic; where the sugary white sands of some of the most amazing beaches in the world meet the crystal blue waters of the Caribbean sea.  To say we were shocked by the incredible beauty of our all-inclusive little “Sanctuary” would be an understatement.  This was, quite simply, heaven on earth.

After being shown to our suite, we quickly unpacked and set out to explore the resort.  One of our first discoveries was that our room was situated just around the corner from the fairly large, yet intimate, main bar.  What better way to start our exploration than to slip in and order a drink?

The bartender welcomed us with a warm smile, and after exchanging greetings we asked if she could recommend anything special to cool us off, as the day was quickly promising to be a hot one.  “Si,  Coco Loco es muy delicioso!”, she replied.  “Then two Coco Locos, por favor!”, I said with a smile.  In a flash, the love of my life and I were sipping on the most incredible frozen drinks we had ever tasted.  One quick, “Gracias!”, and we were on our happy way.

My soon-to-be-wife and I spent the next hour or so wandering aimlessly around the beautifully landscaped, well manicured grounds.  It seemed we had stepped into our own private Eden….. a place where dreams became reality.  I kept a sharp lookout for Mr. Roarke and Tattoo as we strolled along the dream-like paths that led us deeper and deeper into this fantasyland.  We decided to head back to our room, after another quick stop at the bar, of course.

Our friendly bartender was still smiling from ear to ear, just as we had left her an hour earlier.  It was then that I remembered a little suggestion from a friend back home who had been to the Dominican several times.  “Whatever you do, make sure you ask for a Mamajuana.”  So that’s just what I did.

“Aaaahh….. Mamajuana!  Si!!!”, was our bartender’s reply.  I thought her reaction was a little bit odd, but not as odd as the fact that she went back through a door behind the bar, only to come back, grinning from ear to ear, with a huge bottle of what appeared to be a dark rum.  Stranger still was the fact that the bottle also seemed to be stuffed full of twigs, roots, and some type of tree bark, which had apparently been soaking in the rum for God knows how long.

“Interesting…..”, I thought to myself, as she poured some of this concoction into a small glass.  She watched as I took a tentative sip.  Good Lord, this stuff was delicious!  I quickly downed the rest of the glass and asked for another.  More than happy to oblige, she seemed to be smiling more at my girlfriend now than me.  She even winked at her, all kind of sexy like!

I wasn’t sure what that was all about, but hey… my woman is hot as hell, and she was absolutely ROCKIN’ that new white bikini.  I mean, who could blame the bartender, female or not.  Certainly not me.  I had her pour me one more before she whisked the bottle back off to, once again, secure it in its secret location somewhere behind the bar.  Setting my empty glass down with a smile, I took my little temptress by the hand and we headed back to our suite to regroup.

In the thirty seconds or so it took to reach our door, I noticed a few things I found very curious.  First, I was not feeling as buzzed as one would expect after drinking three extra large shots of rum (known locally as Vitamin R).  Secondly, as beautiful as my girlfriend was, she now appeared to be a goddess that would make Aphrodite pack it in and spend the rest of her days in hiding as a “hideous” recluse.  And perhaps the most amazing thing of all, I appeared to be more aroused than a middle-aged virgin who had just downed a full prescription of Viagra in one swallow!

I tried my best not to fumble the key card as I pulled it out of my shorts, which were now mysteriously much tighter.  With a little difficulty, I opened the door and, as any gentleman would, waited for my lady to enter before even thinking about crossing the threshold behind her.

Maybe I was a little slow on the uptake, but I suppose it was as I closed the door behind us that I made all the connections.  The suggestion from my friend, the bartender’s eagerness to pour, her smiles and winks, the ever growing “excitement” in my now unbearable pants….. Mamajuana!!!  Not only did it taste amazing, it obviously had a very unique effect!  Talk about magic potion, this stuff gave new meaning to the term, “a good stiff drink”!

I rushed back to the door and cracked it long enough to hang the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the outside handle.  Turning back to my puzzled girlfriend, it took approximately half a second for her to realize what was going down, or should I say up?  Long story short, if that’s possible at this point, she became an instant fan of Mamajuana that day….. and that night….. and every damn day and night that followed!  But a woman can only take so much…..

She finally followed me to the bar one day and just as I opened my mouth to order, she instantly became the “Soup Nazi” from the show “Seinfeld”.  Pointing sternly at me before I could utter a word, she shouted, “No more Mamajuana for YOU!”  I broke into a fit of laughter so intense, I was literally bent over, holding my side, with tears streaming down my cheeks!

After regaining my composure, I said, “Ok, baby.  That’s fine.  I’ll just order us a couple of Coco Locos and bring them to the room.  Why don’t you go start getting ready for dinner and I’ll be right up?”.  She said that sounded like a muy excellente idea, and headed back to the suite.  I sighed, smiling to myself and watching the sexy way her cute little rear end swayed back and forth as she walked away….. although, for some reason, her amazing legs seemed a little more shaky than usual.

Turning back to our friendly bartender, I ordered our Coco Locos and, just as promised, I headed back to our suite with one in each hand….. after one more quick glass of Mamajuana!!! >;-)~

One Week In….. Heaven?

After a two day drive from St. Louis, MO, we arrived at the waterfront campsite we had reserved several months prior. The anticipation had been almost as unbearable as the “ever so pleasant” drive down to our weeklong home away from home. Where was this paradise, this romantic sanctuary that the wife and I had chosen to spend one blissful week together without the kids? Fort Desoto State Park, just outside of Tampa Bay, Florida.

The park was situated on an island that could only be reached by a bridge so steep and so high that I found myself simultaneously praying to God for safe passage and clenching my butt cheeks so tight, you couldn’t have driven a pin in my ass with a sledgehammer. But getting to this bridge, this “marvel of modern engineering” that was obviously created by a sadistic madman who delighted in the thought of torturing the millions of panic-stricken acrophobics who would have no other choice but to cross, was an adventure all its own.

As luck would have it, our carefully chosen route to one week in heaven had taken us through every road construction nightmare, poorly marked detour, and traffic jam so intense that Mother Theresa would have lost her voice from shouting obscenities at the other drivers. I’m convinced that the state of Tennessee alone has depleted the entire plastic industry of all of its resources, judging by the hundreds of endless miles of orange, construction zone barrels that decorated its southbound highways like a parade of madness. I say this because only the odd half mile stretch here or there actually had any indication of….. yep, you guessed it….. road construction! WTF, Tennessee? Really???

By the time we arrived, we were both anxious to set up camp and start to finally enjoy ourselves. We opened the back of the Yukon and began to unload all of our gear as we surveyed the layout of our campsite, mentally mapping where everything was to be set up, so as to create our perfect little haven.

We hadn’t turned away for more than maybe three minutes, yet upon returning to the back of our vehicle we discovered a raccoon in the cargo area, routing through our provisions in the hopes of finding a nice little mid-day snack. Infuriated, I yelled at the furry little would be thief, “Get the hell out of there!”. Startled and shaken, he abruptly shrunk his head into his shoulders and, with a look of shame, scuttled out, jumped to the ground, and scampered away with his tail tucked between his legs. We would soon find out that, judging by the overwhelming numbers of these hairy little resident hoodlums, he was probably just a scout, sent by his superiors to see what we were working with so they could plan some type of strategic late night raid on our campsite.

Turning back to the task at hand, we set up camp, making sure that everything was arranged perfectly so as to maximize the positive feng shui of our little oasis. Sadly, it wasn’t long before we discovered something else. Mid-July may not have been the best choice when scheduling a Florida vacation.

By the time I was halfway through setting up our tent, I was so crazy from the heat and humidity, I could have sworn I saw a leprechaun wearing a green speedo peering at me from the tree tops above our site. Rubbing my eyes, which were now stinging from the sweat that relentlessy poured into them, I refocused on my leprechaun and realized it was the raccoon scout I had recently chased away. As both Seamus McCoon and his tree top perch began to spin, I suddenly felt as if I had been submerged into a boiling pot of water.

A quick glance at my beautiful wife confirmed my suspicions. Drenched in sweat, skin redder than a ripe Jonathan apple, and swaying uneasily on her feet, she appeared to be dangerously close to passing out. We were both going to be in serious trouble if we didn’t act fast. Soaking a couple of towels in ice water from the cooler, we did our best to bring down our feverish temperatures as quickly as possible. The towels soon did the trick, and before long we had our entire campsite set up down to the smallest detail.

As the sun began to set, I could no longer wait to go for a swim in the bay just a few steps from our site. I love the ocean, and had been dreaming of this very moment for months.  And what a swim it was!  In fact, that was a story all its own, so I’ve shared it on my other blog “Shadows of My Past”, just in case you are curious.

I hadn’t been safely back on shore and dried off for more than five minutes before I had to find another dry towel to, well, dry off again.  You see, as I mentioned earlier, the whole mid-July in Florida thing was becoming more and more of a little “issue”.  If you were in the water it was no problem.  If you were not in the water, you were so soaked with sweat that it appeared you had just gone for a swim….. with your clothes on.  Yes, even at night, with no sun in the sky, it was still hot enough to roast your insides like a 99 cent burrito in a 7/11 microwave.

We quickly found out that the night-time also held another little surprise.  There were enough blood sucking insects, in every size, shape, and form to drain an adult human so quickly that any hope of survival would require a transfusion.  Since we hadn’t stocked any of our coolers with a supply of fresh blood for such an undertaking, we decided it was time to head into the tent and try to get some sleep.  Between the heat, humidity, and loss of blood, we were both so exhausted that even that was a chore.

Soon we were snuggled in and lying (uncomfortably) on our brand new, carefully chosen for maximum comfort, air mattress.  With a little difficulty, we were both asleep before long, and that’s when the real fun began…..

It felt as if I had just drifted off, when I heard a quiet shuffling outside our tent.  As I opened my eyes, I could clearly see the shadows of a group of large men that appeared to be up to no good.  They were whispering conspiratorially, as if they were planning some type of invasion into the inner sanctum of our makeshift bedroom.  For some reason, I instinctively knew they had their sights set on my wife and, as any loving husband would, I became infuriated by their now obvious intentions!

Rising up and peering out the screen window just above our little “love nest”, I saw something so unexpected that I screamed out, both in anger and sheer terror at the unholy sight before me.  The perpetrators were all huge, but despite their hulking human bodies, it was one quick glance at what lie on top of their necks that threw me into shock!

They appeared to be some form of human-animal hybrid, created in a mad scientist’s lab!  You see, each had the body of a massively built adult human male, but the head of a raccoon, complete with glowing red eyes!  I suppose it was the screaming and shouting at them to “BACK THE FUCK OFF!” that woke me up.  Yes, it was all a dream!  I’m sure it was a heat stroke, blood loss induced dream, but a dream nonetheless.  After a quick regroup and a quick reassurance to my wife that everything was fine, I fell back asleep to the sound of her drifting off again, like a neighbor pulling the starter rope on his Toro.

After what seemed like a blink of the eye, but was actually a few hours later, I awoke, once again, with a start.  Somehow, my wife and I were nose to nose, her on top of me, both of us sweating so profusely that hers was running into my now open mouth.  My disheveled CPAP mask was blowing out enough air to inflate a life raft, and as I instinctively pushed her off, she awoke so suddenly that she appeared frightened….. frightened enough to slap me right in the face!

A quick survey of our immediate surroundings confirmed another little “speed bump” in our hot, miserable little attempt at a smooth journey through the night.  Our brand spanking new air mattress had deflated like a tire with a nail in it.  Of course the flattest side was where my “not so tiny” ass lay, and my beautiful wife’s unconscious body had nowhere to go but downhill, which is why I awoke with her on top of me like a soul hungry succubus.  Small shells from beneath the tent had pressed so deeply into my butt cheeks that they left three day fossils in my ass.

Somehow we were able to get bits and pieces of sleep from then until morning, and woke to the sounds of sea birds, the smell of the ocean, and the sunshine, which had already become mercilessly hot enough to cook our breakfast by merely taking it out of the cooler and placing it on our paper plates.  After a quick bite, we headed off on our first full day of adventure….. and had the time of our lives!  In fact, it was the first of many more days and nights filled with both adventure and misadventure, all stories of their own…..

Stay tuned, friends!

Shuttle of Terror

Dreams of sun and fun danced through our heads as we rose to greet the beautiful Cap Cana morning with a smile.  We were having the absolute time of our lives, and this was to be an extra special day away from our new island “home”.  Quickly getting ready, we headed out to meet our shuttle to the marina.  Glancing back over her shoulder, she smiled that beautiful smile that lights up my world as I pulled the door to our own little “secret sanctuary” gently closed.

Upon reaching the lobby, we were ushered into the waiting shuttle by a middle-aged Dominican gentleman wearing Coke bottle glasses who apparently had a less than zero grasp of the English language.  Ok…. No biggie.  He seemed nice enough, and even with the communication barrier that stood in the way of any real chance of conversation he appeared to be a pleasant fellow.  I had no reason to dwell on the fact that he was wearing a belt so tightly around his festively plump mid-section that he looked like a big number 8.  I mean… so what?  Who was I to judge anyone?  Nor did I dwell on the fact that he looked like a little James Earl Jones stunt double with a blaringly obvious, severe astigmatism?   After all, he was merely helping us into the…..

“Oh my damn!… Hold up!  Wait a fucking minute!  WTF?!!!  Why is he climbing into the driver’s seat?!!!  Helping us into the van is one thing, but you mean this cross-eyed mother fucker is our driver??!!!  Oh, HELL to the no!!!”  And that’s when it all unraveled…..

No sooner had we made it out to the main road than I realized (much to my horror) that our complex little friend had way more problems than met the eye.  First of all, he appeared to have a severe case of narcolepsy, which I find is always a nice quality in a chauffer.  I say this because he repeatedly nodded off behind the wheel of our little “happy bus” as we took what I was sure would be our last journey in this life.  And we’re not talking about a split second drop of the head, a quick jerk up, immediately followed by a heightened state of alertness due to the ensuing adrenaline rush.  This dude was flat snoozing!

We weren’t just burping off onto the shoulder for a split second.  We were eating the shoulder so hard and fast at one point, I felt the axels groan as our thumping tires drew us violently closer to the roadside shrubbery.  I envisioned our bleeding bodies lying in the twisted, burning wreckage as the imminent grip of death’s cold, bony hand reached out for us through the thin veil that separates this life from the great beyond.  All the while, our chubby little cross-eyed narcoleptic was cranking a local Dominican radio station that played the largest variety of musical genre ever assembled for an audience’s listening pleasure….. if that audience were a group of hearing impaired vegetables with no awareness of themselves or their surroundings.

After our half mile sojourn on the shoulder – as if by magic – our little Spanish speaking agent of death’s meds must have kicked in, because he remained alert from that point until we arrived (amazingly in one piece) at the marina.  Thankfully, my lovely fiance, Susan, had been involved in a friendly conversation with another couple during the darkest, most dangerous portion of our journey and was completely unaware of the peril we had been in.  But as we exited our shuttle of terror to the ever so catchy tune being crooned by what I swear was the caribbean equivalent of Burle Ives, I felt almost compelled to get down on my hands and knees and kiss the ground…. or maybe change my shorts.

Day of the Gibbon

One spring day, many years ago, I was strolling along contentedly with my family on a fairly empty footpath at Grant’s Farm. Grant’s Farm is an historic estate once owned by President Ulysses S. Grant, which was purchased many years ago by none other than Anheuser-Busch, the brewery made famous for both their amazing beer and the world-famous Clydesdale horses they have always raised and trained at the farm. The farm is also host to quite an exotic menagerie of animals, and is a major local attraction in St. Louis, Missouri.

It was such a beautiful, peaceful spring day.  You know, those rare days where everything just seems so perfect for some reason.  Anyway, about half way down the path, I was violently struck in the back of my head and immediately engulfed in a cloud of dust, as tiny dirt particles showered the ground all around me.

Somewhat dazed, but instinctively defensive, I spun around to confront my attacker.  No one was there.  Suddenly the blood froze in my veins. Upon hearing his maniacal cackling, I spotted the perpetrator.  A silver gibbon, with yet another dirt clog clutched in his hand was giving me the old, “Yeah, it was me!! What are YOU gonna do about it BIOTCH!”

Wildly swaying back and forth and laughing, as if to taunt me into some type of physical altercation, he grunted his disrespect.  Others filed up behind him as he let out a blood curdling shriek.  They all began to laugh hysterically at me and point in a mocking fashion, as if “Shreiker” hitting me with a dirt clog was hilarious.  What worried me most was it also appeared to be a catalyst to rally the others into some type of large scale assault.

Several of the others began to pick up dirt clogs of their own and jump up and down in a threatening manner, hooting and howling in a hellish chorus of evil glee.  Had I been alone, I would have been like, “OK, YOU SON OF A BITCH!!  It’s go time!!  Let’s dance knuckledragger!!!!”  But I had small children with me so, regaining my composure, I quickly ushered them to another area of the park.  For the sake of the children, I hoped that we hadn’t just experienced the first shot of some wide spread rebellion that an anti-human coalition of animals had been plotting throughout the farm.

Now anyone who knows me knows I love animals, but somewhere on that farm in St. Louis, a certain silver gibbon has a false sense of triumph.  That’s right, “Shrieker”.  Paybacks are a bitch.  I WILL be back to pay you a visit when you least expect me, and much like the elephants that share the farm you call home, I NEVER forget………… fucker.

Freak File – Entry 1 – The Brimstone Grimace

270 North in the a.m…. The biggest freak show I’ve ever had the misfortune to witness. You never know what you’ll see. But seeing is believing, my friends. This morning I’m wondering why a cloud descended from the heavens and limited visibility to like zero. Wait! WTF?!! Not a cloud… OMFG!!!!

Words can not describe the abomination I witnessed. As I made my way past the source of this inferno, there it was. To merely call it ugly would be like describing the surface of the sun as “a little warm”. I believe it was female, and it apparently had Mount Krakatoa in the trunk of it’s rolling shitbox, spewing forth enough toxic death to wipe out civilization as we know it. As I broke through the hellish wall of oil soaked soot, I spotted the creature driving. I swear by all that is Holy, it had no neck or chin… it’s head formed some manner of hideously misshapen bubble, and where the massive pie hole of a mouth unhinged from the upper portion containing the eyes, nose, etc. dangled a cigarette with a three foot long ash that somehow defied the laws of physics and clung to the filtered portion like a reluctant olympic diver. It was as if I were observing some demented version of “Patrick” from “SpongeBob SquarePants”, with a demonic afro, whose vehicle carried it (impossibly) on it’s soul devouring way.

I shall file this experience away in my ever growing Freak File under the heading “Brimstone Grimace” and sign off for now…

What a Night!!!

Sweet mother of mercy, what a night!  And the dirtier I got, the more determined we both were to make it work.   Yes… we needed to feel that heat inside!  But I digress….

It all started when she grabbed hold of it and twisted, only to feel it stay firmly in place.  We locked eyes as the rush of adrenaline swept through us both like a tsunami.  Jesus tap-dancing Christ!  What followed next can only be described as heart thumping raw emotion and an unparalleled journey of discovery that neither of us will ever forget.  By the time we figured out how we were going to do it, our bodies were both shaking uncontrollably.  I wrapped my arms around her waist and hiked that sweet little ass up in the air.  With that beautiful booty in my face and her legs both resting on my shoulders, we grunted like animals until we both simultaneously let go.  Toppling down onto the bed, she collapsed into the twisted sheets, rolling across the mattress…. almost falling off the edge.  The wave of relief that swept through her from head to toe was immediate and complete.  Neither of us could hide our blissful contentment as we both beamed with happiness, grinning from ear to ear.  That’s when the laughter started.  That mischievous laughter that only the excitement of such a memorable experience can bring…………..

Then I handed her the slippers that had fallen off her feet as she slid through the window I had just lifted her into.  Pulling the screen back into place, I stepped onto the patio in my muddy socks as she unlocked the door with a giggle and let me back in.  You know, I can honestly say without a doubt, getting locked out of the house has NEVER been so fun!!!