I think I might have mentioned that Mulletville is under water because of the rain and that Chuck has been down in the basement for two days battling the flood and a kidney stone?
Some of the sounds coming up from the basement have been downright unsettling—sounds that make me think of large animals that have severed limbs, intestinal parasites and are close to death. Sounds like
The Hug-aahhh hug-aaahh was the worst.
In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best time to shout down into the dark abyss
and ask about when he’d get around to finishing the wainscoting in the downstairs bathroom. But we’re having company this weekend—or rather, we were having company—and I was merely looking for a status update.
It’s not my fault. Facebook and Twitter have made me a status update crackhead.
Chuck freaked. He’s normally a very patient man, but he went ballistic. I guess the sensation of having your testicles in a vice as you lift buckets of slimy basement water will do that.
He raced up the stairs and told me exactly what I could do with my wainscoting—things I wouldn't recommend even seasoned Home Depot workers do with their wainscoting! Cover your ears!
Then he collapsed.
So there Junior and I were, watching Chuck twitch on the floor
when I cracked open the leftover fortune cookies from last Thursday and one said this:
Holy shit again. It's like something out of the Twilight Zone. Is King Wah Wok Palace a portal into the Great Beyond? Someone's obviously trying to tell me something via stale cookies, and it's creeping me out.
If that wasn't bad enough, the other cookie said this:
"Even the greatest of whales is helpless in the middle of a desert."
So now I'm inconsiderate and fat.
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