Troubles in Paradise for Cleveland

Since moving from Buford, I sadly don’t see many of my former neighbors very often. I got a call from a great friend who needed help with her Wi-Fi setup. The Geek Squad had made a mess of it, so she called in a professional. After wading through the misery of a Geek Squad hack job, I worked it all out and even got to hang out with a 3 week old adorable baby girl that was made of cuteness.

As I was bidding farewell to my former neighbor, Cleveland was walking up the street and saw me. He greeted me and asked me how I was doing and expressed that he had missed me. It was a touching moment that was entirely destroyed a moment later by asking me for a favor. Honestly, considering the nearly non-existent number of people willing to do him a favor, I’m surprised he’s been able to live without my intervention on a semi-daily basis.

When last we checked in on Cleveland, his mother had passed away and his brother had kicked him out of the house they were living in so he could live there instead. He went to live with an old PTSD-afflicted Vietnam vet named “Jurral” who lived just down the street. The trailer is a grey box, devoid of any charm, that can only be described as that place at a prison where the conjugal visits happen, except not as nice.

Jurral has been what we will loosely refer to as “living” with PTSD since his return from Vietnam. He is constantly drunk and walks around the streets of Buford all day in search of money that someone might give him and his next beer. He has been hit by vehicles at least 4 times from his slow ambling through the streets and, when the mood strikes him, will pull out his penis anywhere he is to relieve his bladder. I’m not happy to say, I’ve seen his penis more than once. I think that Jurral was the original muse for the creator of the zombies for The Walking Dead.

Cleveland was beside himself that day because he was out of beer. The only way beer would happen was if someone would take Jurral to the bank so he could withdraw a few dollars. For nostalgia sake, I decided I would take them to the bank and meanwhile, catch up with Cleveland and his living la vida loca lifestyle. Thankfully, I live in Georgia. It was a nice spring-esque day that allowed me to roll down the windows. The layer upon layer of beer odor and body funk would have been enough to kill a yak.

Cleveland told me that he missed me because of the intelligent conversations we had. He explained that Jurral, while having a good heart, spent most of his time locked in his own head discussing his Vietnam experiences and complaining about black people. Cleveland seems to have a problem with Jurral’s racism. I can’t begin to tell you how much this amuses me, because Cleveland uses the N-word and other racial epithets more often than anyone I know. I can only imagine what kind of vile bigotry must spill out of Jurral’s mouth to bother Cleveland.

Cleveland poured out a tale of woe concerning his wife, Donna. As discussed previously, when Cleveland was removed from his home, his brother Michael moved into his house with his wife and two children. One child has autism and the other is just dumb as a brick. I suppose it runs in the family. Donna was allowed to stay in the house as a live-in babysitter. They are taking advantage of her pending homelessness to make sure they can do the things they want without having to worry about the kids. In any other situation, I’d also think that Michael might have also set that up to “get some strange” on the side, but Donna is not remotely attractive. On a scale of 1 to 10, Donna is a -4. Donna is so ugly, Keith Richards makes fun of her looks. HEY, looks aren’t everything! Maybe she has a great personality. Well, no. She seems to be a ball of hate. I can understand that, being married to Cleveland. I won’t even go into her intelligence. She’s married to Cleveland.

Donna had gotten the idea that Cleveland had been messing around with some girl he knew from high school and has been telling Cleveland to get lost, using a variety of swearing and vulgar hand gestures. Cleveland swore this was not the case. He was trying to help her with work around her yard to get beer. I could, at this point, believe that he was being truthful, because beer seems to be the primary motivation in his life. He and Jurral had done a lot of work in her front yard, with removing leaves and other detritus. At the end of his seemingly endless toiling, he was paid with one beer. One sad Keystone Light beer.

Over the course of the 20 minutes or so I spent with Cleveland, he admitted he had tried to hook up with this mysterious woman that Donna had accused him of messing with, but he couldn’t do it. She apparently was addicted to crack, handicapped, and very ugly when she was naked. I let that one slide for a variety of reasons, the least of which might drive me to madness a-la staring into the gaping maw of Cthulhu.

Life continues for Cleveland and Jurral. He invited me over for beer and conversation. I told him I’d come by when I had time at some point. For this to happen, though, I’d have to lose my olfactory sense, and all of my common sense. I still go to Buford occasionally. I’m sure I’ll run into Cleveland again. But for now, I’m satisfied with the apparent fact that God does indeed take care of fools.

Adventures in eye care; Or how I came to see God… or a spaceship… or the color flerp.

The day started out strange anyway. I had only gotten one hour of sleep the night before because of a combination of my standard late-night Waffle House run with my neighbor and phone calls for work. I had things to do previous to going to the eye doctor where they would invariably do things that would pretty much assure work was done for the day.

Oh. I was right.

It started out getting the very annoying part out of the way, immediately. The “puff of air” test. Anyone who has gone to the eye doctor has had the puff of air. I understand the reasons for it and don’t begrudge them their torture, but I did ask if there were any other way to do that test. The lady told me the doctor could instead touch my eye with an instrument. I informed her the puff of air would be fine. I could never wear contact lenses because the thought of touching my OWN eyeball creeps me out. I’ll be DAMNED if I let someone ELSE touch my eyeball.

The rest of the main tests went relatively quickly. Which one looks better, one or two? Three or four? Before long we found the prescription that worked best for me. I was told that I have 20/20 vision if I squint. I have an astigmatism. When I was a small child, I got the bright idea to plant a bean plant in a small flower pot. My father and uncle kept large gardens in our yard. I happened to have a bean seed and was going to grow a beanstalk like Jack had. I was using a screwdriver to dig the hole. I never successfully planted that bean, but I did successfully scratch my cornea causing an astigmatism that would be there forever. I told my eye doctor this. “Ew.” was all she would reply.

She asked if she could dilate my pupils. I agreed, not knowing the effect it would have. While the eye drops were taking effect, I was lead to the Walmart section of the available glasses. You see, I walked into the place wearing jeans, a tie dye, and an attitude of ‘I don’t want to be here.”, so they assumed a certain socioeconomic status. After a few moments, the guy asked me where I worked. I told him and he proceeded to tell me that I have the Cadillac of insurance carriers for vision and I was shopping in the wrong section. He lead me over to the Gucci and other expensive frame section where I spent the rest of the time shopping for frames that would make Sir Elton John blush. After getting every bell and whistle you can possibly get on glasses, I still undershot my goal of spending $2000 on a pair of glasses. Where the hell are my HUD glasses that science fiction has promised me forever? Google glass is close, but they’re not prescription.

I went back to the doctor who began to shine varying intensities of light directly into my eyeball, culminating in photographs of my retina being taken with the most astoundingly painful flash camera that caused me to actually recoil in exquisite pain… twice.

After it was all said and done, I was released back into the wild, fending for myself to drive home with vision that looked like I would imagine driving in a glass of milk would look like. I’m really glad I have lived here long enough I instinctively know my way home. Road signs were absolutely not happening. I couldn’t read my phone. I’m fairly certain I saw Jesus hitchhiking with a sign that read “I eat rhino”. I’m also fairly certain I saw a UFO in the shape of a moose that hovered above a building that was probably a government bunker.

After the day I had, I just wanted to go home and sleep, and sleep I did. After giving Cleveland and his mama the brush-off (at least I think it was Cleveland’s mama. It could have been this guy),

Cleveland’s mama?

I finally slept. I slept for hours.

Adventures in chronic mastication

A few years ago, I had a friend undergo a series of medical problems which culminated in dead kidneys. Since then he’s been doing dialysis 5-6 days a week. He’s transitioned to doing it at home, but it’s still a major time-consuming activity that can mostly be described as watching paint peel. The bright light at the end of the tunnel is the promise of a new kidney. To DO that, he has been asked to lose a hundred pounds.

Some time back, he had a lap band put in and he’s been living with it. Apparently though the band was never filled to the point it was actually DOING anything. I imagine the doctor who did it was simply inept.It has previously been entirely ineffective in actually doing anything.

I have pondered the idea of doing a gastric sleeve, lap band, or even potentially a gastric bypass. After today, I’m a little more wary.

I got up this morning at an entirely unholy hour to go with him down into Atlanta, braving craptastic weather and ATL traffic to go to Emery to just provide moral and comedic support.

His new doctor decided to do a fluoroscopy to determine what (if anything) was going on with his lap band. In retrospect, it was probably a bad idea to go to all-you-can-eat wing night at Buffalo’s last night. He and I both powered down somewhere in the neighborhood of 40 wings each. (Hey… I had to get my money’s worth! Don’t judge!)

After a few rounds of having to drink the barium-laden fluid and taking pictures while adjusting his lap band, everything was set for him to leave. If his doctor were older, I’d swear he served as a Gestapo medical experimenter. The lap band was tightened enough that for roughly 10 minutes following the procedure, my friend lost any liquid content of his stomach into a trash can. This should have been the omen I needed to suggest we skip lunch, but NO. Let’s do this thing!

We decided on a cheap hole-in-the-wall Chinese joint in Lawrenceville that his mother took us to. He ordered egg drop soup and some crab rangoon. This proved to be too much. If there’s anything I can tell you about a properly filled lap band is, you’d better chew a LOT. All it took was one piece of egg from the egg drop soup to get stuck against the lap band, and the subsequent water to wash it down came back up like a volcano. I feel sorry for my friend, but I have to admit the look on his face just previous to projectile-vomiting was priceless. The waiter was very concerned, and were it not for my friend’s mother, may have wound up dead oh the floor for hovering around my distressing friend too much.

So now the question remains, if egg drop soup is too much for his lap band, what the hell CAN he eat? I imagine over the next couple of weeks, he’ll experiment with many things. I’ll occasionally be by his side wearing rubber clothing, just in case.

In all, if he gets his kidney and this annoying road he is on culminates in a success, it will all have been worth it. Until then, he’ll have to be a chronic masticator and give up on most of the foods he’s come to love. I think, however, that I’ll wait to see if he lives through this before I consider any kind of gastric surgery. The results on day one don’t look so pleasant.

Day Two of my Captivity

I wish I knew what I did to deserve being incarcerated, but over time, I am finding ways to make my time in lockup a more pleasant experience.

I was patrolling my turf yesterday early morning before the giant light in the sky came up. I noticed one of the bipeds I had adopted was near the area of the food bowl, so I went to investigate. He showed his appreciation for my love momentarily, as expected, and then a terrible thing happened. I can only describe it as a coup de etat. I was picked up, some words were muttered that included my name, and then I was shoved into a box and a metal gate was closed behind me! I was trapped! A few soft things were there to, I assume, comfort me, but this was too far. After at least an hour of testing the cage for escape, I gave up and began a loud protest that seemed to annoy my captor. Good.

I was then placed in his moving box that he calls a car and when next I was allowed to see the surroundings outside my cage, I was greeted by a small woman who took me away and was rendered unconscious. I was certain this was the end. I said a prayer to Bast as I slipped away and was awakened later. After a very brief time, I discovered that I had been radically altered. Part of my JUNK was MISSING. I cannot tell you how many hours, I had derived pleasure licking those! These bipeds are MONSTERS.

I was again in my small prison, and was one again released to my original captor and was transported in this ‘car’ back to my original turf, but was placed inside the residence of my captor. It has become my new prison. For a while I was in solitary confinement with a small bowl of food, some water, and a box of some sort of granular dirt. I have since discovered that they intend for me to defecate and urinate into this dirt.

After a few hours of solitary confinement, I was released into genpop where I met my prisonmates. One they call Denny, or Little Monster. I’m doing my best to get along with him. He’s rambunctious and has a tendency to place his nose into my private area. I tried my best to explain that I had somehow misplaced my testicles, but I have since noticed he is missing his as well. These bipeds have strange foibles with sexual organs. They cover theirs 99% of the time. I’d have complied if they had intended to cover mine as well. That seems a better option than simply removing them!

The other cellmate here the bipeds call “Holland”, “Bunny”, and sometimes “Panda”. I think she hates me. She seems to enjoy it when she is addressed by the bipeds or even Denny, but all I ever get from her is cursing and threats on my life. I’m going to have to watch her closely.

So far, I have learned a bit how to survive in this place. The bipeds are warm and provide heat while they sleep. I curl up against them and can get a few hours of uninterrupted naptime, but they have an annoying tendency to move around even while asleep. I’ve also discovered that food in here is better than outside. There is no schedule. Food is simply always there. This is an upgrade from my previous situation, but there are no birds and rodents to chase around in here. Instead, for entertainment, there is a variety of cloth and plastic analogs for outside wildlife. I will begrudgingly play with them, as it seems to make the bipeds happy. If I am to find a way out of this prison, the bipeds should remain happy.

The fat biped has been watching me for a while. I think he wants to use his laptop. I hope this missive finds you all free and well, and I will continue trying to find a way out of this (albeit warm and cozy) hell. I will also try to figure out how to make peace with Holland the Fat, as that is the only hurdle I can see to an otherwise cushy prison stay.


Up on the Roof, There Arose Such a Clatter

It all started rather innocently, then homemade muscadine wine was introduced into the mix. After drinking a good bit and sitting around the table, the idea was thrown out that it would be funny if, when Cleveland woke up the following morning, his bicycle was on the roof.

That’s really all it took for a plan to be put in motion. I don’t know that it would be proper to say CAREFUL planning, but it all turned out without too much of a hitch. One of the workmates of one of the neighbors crawled up on Cleveland’s roof and the bicycle was handed up and placed. The scuffling on the roof apparently drew the attention of Cleveland’s mama. She came walking out on the porch and looked around. Nobody ever expects to find someone on their roof, so she didn’t notice the tall gangly man standing perfectly still, sporting an ‘oh shit’ look on his face.

Shortly after going back inside, the second bicycle made its way to he roof, followed by the lawn mower. This still didn’t satisfy the gods of drunken amusement, so they were also strung with Christmas lights and illuminated.

I may have to get up extra early tomorrow to see the reaction… and then help my neighbor remove the things from the roof.

ClevelandRoofMerry Christmas to all, and to all… watch your bikes and lawnmowers.


The return of Cleveland

Cleveland returned home from the hospital today. He has been in there for 8 days. During this 8 days he has dried out from constant alcohol abuse which caused him to suffer SERIOUS detoxification over the last 7 days. When he went to the hospital he was convulsing and vomiting at an alarming rate. This DT episode was after 24 hours without alcohol. His mother was very concerned and told Wendy about it and she called in the EMS.

His mother was needless to say, distraught that this had happened to her little boy. Wendy and I tried to comfort her and let her know that this is the very episode that could get him on the straight and narrow, and that the hospital is EXACTLY where he needed to be to begin the road to recovery. She seemed to understand and was much better with it all as the days wore on.

Cleveland called me over this evening and I sat with him for a while so he could tell me the story of what happened.

His words were clear. His thinking process is no longer clouded by copious amounts of rot-gut beer. He explained that he remembered going into the ER where they had an IV in his arm and they told them they were going to give him a sedative… and the lights went out.

The next time he remembers being conscious enough to know what was going on, he was strapped to the bed. His mother explains that he was having seizures and hallucinating, causing a generally dangerous situation for not only himself, but the nursing staff that was taking care of him. All Cleveland remembers was waking up, tied to the bed and wondering where the hell he was and why he was tied up. He also immediately told them he needed to be untied so he could urinate.

After handing him a plastic urinal and said ‘Go in that’, he requested the team of female nurses leave the room so he could accomplish this feat. They complied, but Jose, the enormous patient care technician who was standing by his bed, took it upon himself to grab Cleveland’s penis and stuff it in the urinal for him. This freaked Cleveland out. I told Cleveland that he should have at least been taken to dinner first.

For now, Cleveland has replaced alcohol with some prescribed nerve pills and some sweet tea. He’s still off the sauce and, while still weak from his ordeal, sounds better than he has since I’ve known him. I told him I was proud of him being clean and have treated him more friendly today than I have in weeks. I intend to continue being friendly and helpful so long as the dryness stays a reality. It’s the neighborly thing to do and I want him to have the best shot at recovery he can get. During my next visit, I’ll offer to take him to the local AA meeting. I hope he takes me up on it.

The Illusion of Freedom

I live ‘In the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave’. I also live in the home of the Braves, being nearby Atlanta, in Gwinnett County. Howdy y’all.

I’m extraordinarily proud to be an American. This country was founded on principles that were very advanced for their day. The founders of this great nation were very busy promoting the idea of liberty from oppressive regimes they had come from. A great many men, arguing a great deal, came to the conclusion that we should be a free nation, and fought hard to ensure our freedoms. Of this, I am entirely grateful and will always hold a reverent place in my heart for those who have always fought for our freedoms and liberties.

Americans all sing the songs and are indoctrinated from birth about how great our country is and hold aloft the heady notion that we are the ‘most free’ nation of the world. I’m not here to debate that or even hazard a guess. I DO know that there are a great many ‘Western’ nations that enjoy many of the same liberties you and I have, and perhaps even more.

Laws exist to curtail these liberties. They tell you what you actually CAN’T do… and there are a lot of them.

Here are a few of my favorite laws from around these United States.

Alabama: It is illegal to wear a fake mustache that causes laughter in church.

Alaska: It is considered an offense to push a live moose out of a moving airplane. (I suppose it’s OK to push dead moose out of moving airplanes though)

Arizona: Donkeys cannot sleep in bathtubs.

Arkansas:  Oral sex is considered sodomy. It is strictly prohibited to pronounce “Arkansas” incorrectly.

California: It is a misdemeanor to shoot any kind of game from a moving vehicle unless the target is a whale.

Colorado: In Aspen, catapults may NOT be fired at buildings.

Connecticut: In order for a pickle to officially be considered a pickle, it must bounce.

Delaware: It is illegal to fly over any body of water unless one is carrying sufficient supplies of food and drink.

Florida: I could go on for days here but… If an elephant is left tied to a parking meter, the parking fee has to be paid just as it were a vehicle. And you cannot fart after 6PM.

Georgia: Sex toys are illegal. (The last time someone was actually PROSECUTED under this law was 1968, but it’s still there)

Hawaii: Coins are not allowed to be placed in one’s ears.

Idaho: You may not fish on a camel’s back.

Illinois: You may be arrested for vagrancy if you do not carry at least $1 on your person.

Indiana: If any person has a puppet show, wire dancing or tumbling act in the state of Indiana and receives money for it, they will be fined $3 under the Act to Prevent Certain Immoral Practices.

Iowa: A man with a moustache may never kiss a woman in public.

Kansas: If two trains meet on the same track, neither shall proceed until the other has passed. (I have my scientists still trying to work out the math on this one)

Kentucky: One may not dye a duckling blue and offer it for sale unless more than six are for sale at once.

Louisiana: Biting someone with your natural teeth is “simple assault,” while biting someone with your false teeth is “aggravated assault.

Maine: Shotguns are required to be taken to church in the event of a Native American attack.

Maryland: Oral sex cannot be given nor received anywhere.

Massachusetts: Tomatoes may not be used in the production of clam chowder.

Michigan: A woman isn’t allowed to cut her own hair without her husband’s permission.

Minnesota: A person may not cross state lines with a duck atop his head.

Mississippi: A man may not seduce a woman by lying to her and claiming he will marry her.

Missouri: In Purdy, dancing is strictly prohibited. (I saw a movie about this once)

Montana: Seven or more indians are considered a raiding or war party and it is legal to shoot them.

Nebraska: It is illegal to go whale fishing.

Nevada: It is illegal to drive a camel on the highway.

New Hampshire: On Sunday, citizens may not relieve themselves while looking up.

New Jersey: You may not pump your own gasoline.

New Mexico: Idiots may not vote.

New York: Citizens may not greet each other by “putting one’s thumb to the nose and wiggling the fingers”.

North Carolina: Elephants may not be used to plow cotton fields.

North Dakota: It is illegal to lie down and fall asleep with your shoes on.

Ohio: It is illegal for more than five women to live in a house.

Oklahoma: It is illegal to have the hind legs of farm animals in your boots.

Oregon: Dishes must drip dry.

Pennsylvania: Any motorist driving along a country road at night must stop every mile and send up a rocket signal, wait 10 minutes for the road to be cleared of livestock, and continue.

Rhode Island: Cap guns are illegal.

South Carolina: By law, if a man promises to marry an unmarried woman, the marriage must take place.

South Dakota: If there are more than 5 Native Americans on your property you may shoot them.

Tennessee: It is illegal to use a lasso to catch a fish.

Texas: It is illegal to shoot a buffalo from the second story of a hotel.

Utah: A husband is responsible for every criminal act committed by his wife while she is in his presence.

Vermont: It is illegal to deny the existence of God.

Virginia: Not only is it illegal to have sex with the lights on, one may not have sex in any position other than missionary.

Washington: No person may walk around in public if he or she has the common cold.

West Virginia: It is legal for a male to have sex with an animal as long as it doesn’t exceed 40 pounds.

Wisconsin: Margarine may not be substituted for butter in restaurants unless it is requested by the customer.

Wyoming: It is illegal for women to stand within five feet of a bar while drinking.

Insect Overlords and Why We Should Nuke Them From Orbit.

Aliens that visit this planet may completely overlook the inanity of what the bipedal builder-class of the planet is up to once they see the sheer biomass of our poorly understood cousins, the bug. The last time I lived in the South, I was four. For a while, my parents and I lived in Louisiana while my father was down there writing about the Cajuns and their culture. Previous to then, I had never experienced the kinds of bugs that come to me only in my nightmares.

West Virginia has its share of bugs. They suffer from the 14 year cicada hatch that means every square inch of tree, house, sidewalk, and dog are covered in them. Cicada are among the ugliest insect ever devised by a deity. Huge red beedy eyes set on a cross between a housefly and a scarab beetle. They are TERRIFYING looking, but about as dangerous as a marshmallow. West Virginia also has cockroaches, but they are small and scurry for their dark holes when the lights come on. Down South, some varieties of them (palmetto bugs) FLY and even the German cockroaches not only refuse to scurry when you turn the lights on, they come out and beg, doing creepy little tap dances to amuse you.

The mosquitoes down here are numerous and have been known to carry off small children. Sadly, despite my farming efforts, there are still small children that occasionally stand on my lawn.

Then the other day, a friend of mine from college posted a picture of a bug in his backyard. He lives in North Carolina, and I checked, these things live here too. Meet the Wheel Bug.


This wheel bug is a juvenile. Please notice the beak on the front of it. This beak is designed to STAB INTO OTHER BUGS AND SLURP THEIR INNARDS OUT.

Now, I am quite certain that God is still angry with the South, likely over that old slavery issue. No God who wasn’t pissed about something would allow this freaky thing to live anywhere near his chosen people. Ever since I found out this thing could be hanging out around my house, I’ve been looking for the appropriate weapon to destroy the entire species. They also apparently occasionally bite humans and the wound sometimes takes a couple of MONTHS to heal.

My girlfriend thinks I’m nuts because I want them all nuked from orbit. I think she’s nuts because she’s not understanding that these things will one day rise up and kill everyone in the house! To HELL with the zombie apocalypse! I’ve been training with video games for that scenario for years! THESE things can kill me in my sleep! To round out the perfect evening, I also found an unidentified ugly-ass bug in the bathtub last night. Turns out it was an earwig, but they look like those little bastards they used in Wrath of Khan. I’m entirely weirded out. I may need therapy. No WONDER the CDC is located in Georgia. One day this will be the front line of some terrifying new plague brought on by the wheel bug. Until then, I’ll keep the baseball bat handy and hope they go down with one hit.

My new alternate dimension. It’s weird here!

I awoke this morning and thought I was still dreaming. My surroundings weren’t right. Where was my palatial estate? Where was the serving robot? Why wasn’t my Apple iDevistator on the midget who kneels by the bed to be my end-table?

I figured out relatively quickly that I had somehow slipped through a hole through the dimensions and wound up in a strange parallel universe. I immediately started looking through my surroundings to determine where I was and how I was to survive without my hoard of lavender-smelling topless assistants.

Luckily, I found an iPad sitting near the bed, so I picked it up and downloaded the app that allows me to talk to the other side. (Yes, there’s an app for that. I won’t tell you which though because that would ruin my considerable advantage)

Your world here is different than mine. There are many similarities, like, physics still works mostly the same, except here your toilets flush clockwise. How strange is that?!

After being greeted by my cats lovingly, I decided they were ok and then realized that they were being cuddly because their food dish was empty. I guess this universe is not so dissimilar after all!

In my world I am uncontested ruler of the world. It’s largely ceremonial, because when you are responsible for EVERYTHING you learn to delegate. I learned I actually have a JOB on this world. Quaint. I’ll figure out how to do it if I am to remain here.

The sky is blue. The sun is yellow. There are many similar things, however the air here smells like cat litter. I figured out that my alter-ego here has no bevy of servants to take care of these things. Barbaric. I met some neighbors. I watched some TV. I ate something vile called ‘Chef Boyardee Beefaroni’. What the HELL is wrong with you people?

The following is an incomplete list of differences in our worlds:

Cheddar spray cheese is not the imperial cheese of choice. In fact there IS no imperial cheese of choice. I hate starting again at square one.

People on this world allow their children to wear words on their asses like “Juicy”. What in nine-hells are you people thinking?

Platypii are POISONOUS? Hahahahahaha! Insult to injury. Make the dumbest looking animal alive poisonous. Ok, there may be humor on this world after all.

The vehicles here are strange. They still run on dead dinosaur juice. I suppose that explains the heady smell of carbon monoxide on the breeze. On the other side, we didn’t let oil companies dictate how fast our technology progressed. Everyone has an electric car over there. Recharging stations EVERYWHERE, though they are not needed much as every available surface of the car is dedicated to capturing free energy from the . The sun’s rays provide solar energy, the wind flowing across the surface of the car creates energy as it moves, and the very friction of the tires against the roadway is regathered. I’m sure once your side figures out the key to energy independence is to abolish the oil companies, everything will be fine here.

People here watch a show called “The Jersey Shore”, though why, I cannot figure out. I called back to my world for a little research. It turns out on my side, Snookie is a hooker in Brooklyn and The Situation was arrested for robbing a coin laundry and subsequently died when his cell mate wore his colon as a hat.

My neighbor, Cleveland, in the other world is a successful lawn mowing tycoon employing only minorities and pays them a fair wage. He buys wine and cigarettes for his mother every day.

Tow-truck companies are only helpful on the other side after a nationwide campaign culminating on an executive order from President Martin Sheen.

Mel Gibson married a Jewish woman and converted. They adopted 4 black children.

Mitt Romney is engaged to his long-time boyfriend, Skip.

Millionaires give back to their communities for reasons other than tax shelters.

Lawn darts are still legal and kids still mostly survive to adulthood.

A Nigerian prince died when he tried to get a US citizen to accept an enormous amount of money to smuggle him out of his country and couldn’t find one.

Penis enlargement pills work. Ron Jeremy was deemed too ugly to be on TV.

Keith Richards is a drug-free-world advocate.

Women get paid more money than men because they have boobies.

Congress was the same group of aging idiots that were completely ineffectual. I had them all fired and replaced by kindergarteners who are, sadly, smarter. Congress then moved on to do what they were ultimately qualified to do; lawn work for Mexicans.

Gay people are left alone because it’s nobody else’s business. Lesbians, however, are never left alone because everyone wants to see women get it on.

I’m off to play something called Diablo 3. I’m sure it won’t take long and I’ll be back to post more.


Cleveland and the (alleged) Attempted B&E

It was a long day at work trying to get things done with the monster project I’ve been working on. I had decided that I was going to have a burger from Five Guys followed up by a tasty sugar-free Italian ice from Rita’s two doors down.

I was on the phone with Amanda, chatting with her about her day while she was off to her next meeting. A beep in my ear let me know I had a call waiting, so I looked down at the phone to see my neighbor, Mike calling in. Mike normally doesn’t call. We text back and forth and chat on Facebook sometimes, and certainly shoot the bull when we see each other outside in front of our respective houses, but rarely if ever a call.

“Hold on, honey. Mike’s calling in.”

That’s when I got the news. Cleveland was apparently just banging on my door and pulling on the screen on my window allegedly trying to break into my house. Wendy, my neighbor from two doors down had called him and wondered if he could get ahold of me. He obliged. I was sitting directly in front of Five Guys and had a bacon burger on the brain, so I decided that the situation was contained long enough for me to stuff my face.

By the time I got home, Cleveland was passed out and I wasn’t about to storm in to jerk a knot in his ass, so instead I interviewed the witnesses and tried to piece together a story that would make some sense. I should have known better. I rarely drink alcohol. I’ve BEEN plenty shit-hammered before and know that sometimes I’m not at my best decision-making when I’m torqued to the point of idiocy (I’ve even been known to dance during this stage of intoxication).

Cleveland mows my yard. I give him some cash to do so. He doesn’t get the opportunity to mow many yards. He was recently given $25 to mow the lady’s lawn at the end of the block. He did such a terrible job, I’ve been informed she will never do that again. This means the few jobs he HAS around to do money for are very important. Tony, also from two doors down, mows my neighbor, Mike’s, yard. He was out doing that yesterday ahead of the rain. To get into Mike’s backyard, he went through MY backyard gate (with a mower in tow) to go through the shared gate. Cleveland sees Tony dragging a mower into my yard.

From what I’ve been able to cobble together, this causes Cleveland to fly into a jealous rage and he intends to confront me. So he goes banging on the door and trying to get in the window all while reportedly bellowing incoherent phrases about how I don’t love him anymore. He professes a brotherly love for me. It’s mainly his way of reaching out since no one else on the block puts up with his bullshit.

I finally saw him this morning. I asked him what he was thinking. He apologized, explaining that he was drunk and stupid. I agreed with him wholeheartedly that he was, in fact, drunk and stupid. I told him he has to knock it off. He asked me if I accepted his apology. I didn’t answer. I don’t want him thinking he can do this kind of jack-assery, apologize, and everything is suddenly fine.

The truth is, he’s STILL mostly harmless. I don’t worry about him taking any of my stuff. I don’t worry about nearly anything with him. He’s not about to harm Amanda, me, or the kids in any way. He knows I’d break him in half if he ever messed with Amanda or the kids. I’ve warmed him of that, in case he got any not-so-bright ideas.

Cleveland knows now that I’m angry and worse yet, Amanda is angry. Since I am his only ally on the street, this is causing him some concern. Good. I WANT him to be concerned. I WANT him to know that his drinking is causing him a lot of damage. I doubt he’ll get the message. What will eventually happen is, he will lose his cool and his own mother will once again call the police and he’ll be arrested for drunk and disorderly.  It’s going to be a pressure-cooker in there today. Cleveland comes out several times a day to BS with me, mostly to get away from his wife and mother who yell at him for being a complete waste of space. He doesn’t have that option today, and he knows his number one advocate on the street is angry with him. I’m not about to let him off the hook, quite yet. He has to understand that behavior like that will hasten his demise.

The most egregious outcome of all of this, however, is I never got my Italian ice.