The Number 12 Looks Like Me

Today this blog is twelve. To celebrate I went out to the park to celebrate... And put on a pair of glasses... And carried an Easter basket... And de-aged twenty years...

(Shadow is trying to quietly creep away.)

"Why would anyone care about that?" Mom asked.

"About my blog being twelve? Then why is it on all the nightly news programs?"

Mom grabbed up her remote, but it flew out from her fingers like a wet bar of soap and landed in Bailey's dog dish.

"BAILEY!"

"Now the remote is getting all cold and eaten."

While Mom gently beat Bailey about the face, Chris came to see the old bag. We started talking about important issues of the day like Chris and Cinira's upcoming trip to Brazil when Mom interrupted with an urgent, breathless question:

"Did you get a birthday card for Liam?" 

"What?"

"That was really random, Mom. But, yes, I'm sure Chris has put that at the top of his list of things to do. Pack, get plane tickets, hotel room reservation... BUT FIRST AND FOREMOST PICK UP BIRTHDAY CARD FOR NEPHEW. And Liam will no doubt be obsessively checking his mailbox every hour to see if his uncle sent him a Snoopy card for his twenty-second birthday."

"I was just asking," Mom said glumly.

"Now what is Bailey..."

"BAILEY! Oh, Greg, stop her. She's got the poop spoon in her mouth again."

"At least it's not the diarrhea knife!"

"This is so disgusting," Chris said.

"This puts me in mind of the Gonzales branch where we have to listen to the homeless fart all day. See, we have to keep the restroom doors open for security reasons. I was at the desk with twenty-year-old Zoe, she of the ripped jeans and belly shirts and shining professionalism, and we were forced to listen to a veritable symphony of groaning of the damned from the toilets. Angry, relentless farting. At one point, Zoe put her head down on the desk. Thank God the library is blissfully quiet, which gives us the opportunity to focus on every nuance of a man's anus. Isn't that what the Founding Fathers wanted? From pert farts like a rap on a bongo, to throaty baritone anal belches, all followed by groans and sighs. Ha ha."

"I think that's my cue to leave," Chris said.

"Oh! Are you leaving?" Mom said. "I have more pictures to share. Please don't go yet. Here's one of Greg skipping with an Easter basket doing his impression of Andrew Tate who I've never heard of."

"Am I in any of these?" Chris said.

"Yes, this one."

"That's Greg and Mark, Mom."

"Ahem. Only the handsome brothers were photographed in those days."

(Meanwhile, cans of dog and cat food were being assiduously 

cared for in the mechanical dishwasher, as was the style at the time.)

"Well, how about this one of you and Chris?"

"That's another one of Greg and Mark. The important brothers. Also handsome. Wait, who's talking?"

"Are you sure?" Mom squinted, lifted her glasses and set them down again on her nose. "That goofy smile looks like yours, Chris."

(Glib parenthetical comment about tube socks.)

"That's Mark, Mom."

"You could tell I was a thinker even back then."

"Oh, here's one of you acting goofy on the Empire State Building."

"Again, not me. That's Greg."

(Question: What book am I juggling comically? 

Hint: Mason and Dixon by T. Pynchon. No, too easy. By Thomas P.)

"Wait. Are those the Twin Towers in the background? What depraved monster took such a photo??"

All eyes turn to Amy X. She looks up from her phone. "What? What's happening?!"

Chris peered more closely at the photo. "I don't see Hakeem Olujuwon and Tacko Fall in the background. Are they back in there?"

The door rang. Dinner had arrived. Mom shouted with joy. She was much happier with this than seeing her two sons can you blame her.

"Bailey! Come here, my glacious! Let me put the KFC bib on you! Time for dinner...!"

"Okay, if Mom takes up a spoon or a knife, I'm... Oh, dear God. Run!!"

Boys With Hats, the Latest Boy Band Sensation

Mom gave me a bunch of photos. Well, actually I inveigled them from her. That's right: I inveigled TO THE MAX. I wanted the photos for my own purposes, but I was well aware she wouldn't just hand over photos--especially of herself--if I simply asked. So before putting my cunning strategem into play, I decided to lull her with library stories. She'd be very sleepy very soon.

"So I worked at the Corky Gonzales library yesterday," I said.

"Corky, what?"

"I'll be Corky. You know, Albuquerque, New Mexico."

Mom was baffled. "There's a New Mexico?"

"Anyway, they had to shut down all the restrooms, all three of them, because of heavy, hilarious crack use. The custodian put an OUT OF ORDER sign on all the doors, and he told me he'd reopen them in an hour once the thick, choking smog of people enjoying themselves cleared. So inevitably some gentleman in his hundreds and with a walker came up to me and asked where could he have a quiet pee? I told him the restrooms were closed, but they'd open in an hour. The man was not happy. 'This is a public building, I should be able to use the facilities!' he groused. At that point, I stared at him, mouth open, the words not coming. I was beflummoxed. My normal instinct was to give him options. The idea flitted in my head that we could get him to the staff restroom, but I thought that probably wouldn't be a popular option with the rest of the staff. Since I was at Gonzales, which is at Federal and Colfax, I was utterly at a loss as to where this gentleman with his walker could go. Direct him to the Conoco three blocks down Colfax? Instead I just gaped at him, and the man huffily snorted away. Not my finest moment in customer service."

Mom was peacefully dozing.

"Mom, Bailey is running off with your poop spoon!"

"What, what!" Mom jumped awake.

"Just kidding. She's taking a poop instead. Aw, how cute."

"Are you done with your library stories?" Mom said. "Please?"

"Wait, there's more. So later in the day, the restrooms were back open and the one directly across from where I sit they keep the door propped open, because of crack. A small fellow came up to me and asked if he could use it, and I said, most certainly--feeling good about my customer service skills again. He went in to the handicapped stall, and proceeded to flush. And flush. And flush. I turned to my fellow clerk and asked her if she noticed that a lot of flushing was going on. Flush! There it went again. Flush. Flush. Finally, we got the security guard and she knocked on the door and asked if everything was all right in there. The guy yelled he was going number two. The guard shrugged at us. I told her we needed to make a sign, 'LIMIT 10 FLUSHES PER CUSTOMER.' She answered me very seriously that she didn't think that would be needed, as the toilet continued to flush roaringly behind her."

Mom yawned.

"Anyway, Mom... Those pictures?"

"Hm? Oh, oh, yes. Here. Take what you want."

I started to sort through them, stopping on the ones that had the most obvious comedy/tragedy value. The first one was me and my little brothers (whatstheirnames) at Estes Park, being a public menace.

"Let's don hats and be SILLY."

The next was Christmas Day (note the paper holiday bells scotch-taped to the wall in the background, decoration so depressing it makes baby Jesus cry), where I decided to celebrate the first Festivus by drooping yarn on my full head of dreamy hair. Chris scored some swag. A one? A two? Off to buy some gumballs and Pepsi-Colas and Whammo cup-and-ball games, with change left over! (The ghoul woman in the background is Grandma, grinning in anticipation of giving us all a savage beating with Whammo Tinkertoys.)

A ripping yarn, the untold story

Mom frowned. "Oh. There are some mixed in of your father. See this one. That one he's looking at me with real love."

"That's nice, Mom."

"It's awful."

"Right, right."

"Right, stand there, you two. We want the bleakest, most

 depressing background we can get. Ah yes. Echh. Oh God.

 Actually, I don't know if I can... Get Samuel Beckett

 for this shit... Ugh... *snaps picture* Okay, let's get

 a beer. And crack. (I'm so fucking depressed...)"

And another, to round out the quartet of warm, sweet memories.

"The radiator adds a nice touch. *chef's kiss*"

"Dad as a young Lothario, marrying two women at once. Or three. Who are these other people?"

Mom shrugged. "I think that was Barbara, your father's first girlfriend. And that's Mikey on the side. He was a real jerk to me. Oh, and the one on the right was Laura. She was terrible. I always hated her."

"Aw," I said.

"Are we done here?"

"Yes, we... Oh, look! Bailey is licking the poop spoon!"

"Bailey!" Mom shrieked. "Bad!"

"Good!" I yelled, and made off with my booty. I had plans.....

Drew's Blues Cruise

Today's guest blogger is Drew, wherein he had enjoyed a supposedly fun thing he will never do again! See previous reviews here and here.

Nestled by the decaying body of the Queen Mary (not the hot one) lays the decaying dome that used to house the Spruce Moose.  The dome has been transformed to lead you on to the decaying corpse of the fantastic Carnival Radiance!  This ship is magnificent, and it glows with memories for a lifetime!

"I said, GET IN!"

After manoeuvring the intricacies of embarkation and British spelling in this crazy, mixed-up post covid time, we made our way to Shaq’s Big Chicken Restaurant to partake in some Journey and over-fried strips.  Our cabin wasn’t available yet, so we toured the Radiance from snout to out to see its many wonders which included:        

·    Two unfilled pools!

·    10 restaurants!  2 of which served humanly edible food.  In a delightful twist, I imagined the other 8 served food made of humans‽

·    SportsSquare!  A fun area that included words smashed together, MiniGolf, VolleyBall, BasketBall, and a gigantic chess set.  The delightful breeze on the top deck where the square was located, made it especially fun to chase bishops blowing around in circles. “J’adoube! J’adoube!”

·   Seuss at Sea!  That’s right, Andy Seuss. Apparently, there are many NASCAR fans that love to cruise.

·  A photographic staff eager to cater to any of your whims!  Unless your whim is to simply be left alone.

·  Journey playing over the ship’s PA system every day!

·  Scenic views

If you squint, you can see the Spruce Moose 

geodesic dome in front of the lovely Long Beach docklands.

For entertainment, there were some fabulous choices.

·   Comedians – Professional comedians who were sure to get a laugh out of themselves!

·   Trivia!

·   Yahoo Serious Ted Talk!

·   Towels folded as monotremes!

·   Journey playing every day!

·   Loud horsing off in the hallway outside our cabin to inspire us to partake in all the fun!  The fun never stops, especially between 2 to 5 AM! 

Our ports of call were Catalina and Ensenada.  Catalina was quite enjoyable.  We hiked to the Avalon Casino and then jumped aboard a speed boat for parasailing. Since this was our first time parasailing in Catalina, we were only able to do the “training” package.  This meant we hooked up to the parashoot but were not allowed to liftoff.  And only $300!

I feel like an astronaut in training!

When you think of Mexico, Ensenada is probably on the top of your list along with Cancun, Cabo San Lucas and Colima.  Lucky us it was a short sail from Catalina.  Unfortunately, a mass killing occurred the day before we got there involving a different cruise ship.  Our Cruise “fun” director “Mike” came over the ship’s intercom to inform us that all the perpetrators had stowed away on the previous ship so there was no known ongoing threat.

Undeterred, early in the morning, we braved the crowd of seven others to disembark and make our way to the square in town that held stalls of vendors happy to vend hard.  I wish we could have bought everything there.  Especially the automatic weapons on display so we could make it back to the Radiance in peace and one piece.  We settled on a wooden carved turtle. 

I stood on the deck and watched as we left port.  As we set sail “Mike” informed us that the previous day’s dead had all been buried with honors and each marked by a white stone lest anyone ever forget.

Smartly, they saved the big field in the back for future cruises.

Our last day aboard was at Sea.  Precious time to enjoy with family and split several tens at BlackJack.

Area Woman Reads Grandfather's Self-published Novel, Wishes For Death

Today we'll be reviewing SEDUCED by D. L. Johnson. An erotic economic thriller, SEDUCED takes the reader on a gripping ride through the corporate banking system and deftly explores the issues that face everyday Americans as they struggle with the bottom line and the man.

The novel opens with a Prologue, giving the reader a panoramic sweep of American history of the last hundred years. The first line gorgeously evokes the fears and aspirations of those times.

"America was in the Roaring Twenties, a giddy, gilded age when the 1929 stock market crash ended crazed bank borrowing and betting for overnight riches."

The reader nods, recognizing that indeed there was a crash in 1929. Good job!

The next sentence personalizes the stakes of economic booms and busts of our capitalistic world:

"It led to the Great Depression's deadly, desperate deprivation that Rian Reston thoroughly studied in history at college."

The alliterative prose rolls trippingly off the tongue, a veritable euphonious swell of words that recalls the patristic writings of Chrysostomos and, perhaps, Tacitus at his most grandiloquent.

We are frog marched through a newsreel parade of History until arriving at the watershed moment:

"Then---like a streaking meteor from a dark sky, on August 15, 1971, President Nixon shocked the world by ending the redemption of US dollars for gold. That created new freedom for the nation's benefit. Or harm!"

That final, telling exclamatory sentence drives home the point, and sends a frisson streaking down the back of any concerned citizen who thinks about Richard Nixon and meteors.

We are then plunged into the world of seedy bars in Chicago where Lothar Gravestone, fresh from Middle-earth, goes to drink with his eight-year-old step-son.

"Afterward, Lothar would take Rian home for a beating, as usual. His caring, loving mom, Sasa, too, if she intervened."

The reader is gripped immediately by the boy's plight as he is apparently beaten senseless every single day, but one feels some reassurance as Lothar will be beating the boy at home--no beatings out in the alley, at least!

In a "booze-fed buzz," Lothar drinks and laments getting fired as men around him talk about "da" Bears and whether Chris Kattan is a comic genius. Lothar sees Roberto Scaratucci, his former foreman and an Italian from Italy. They mix it up:

"Without a word, Lothar pulled Scaratucci around and smashed his nose with a burly fist. Then, burying the other fist in his stomach, he said, 'This is for you, you bastard.'"

After Lothar is carted away to prison for the crime of punching an Italian, Rian Reston must carry on in life without the daily beatings and struggle to survive in the mean streets of Steamboat Springs where he gets a job at a bank and meets crowds of seductive females who wish to beat Rian, so to speak, off.

"He had no time for genuine relationships---just one-off transactions with cheerleaders or hormone-driven women, who enjoyed hanging with or hooking up with testosterone-crazed gridiron gladiators. 'Scoring,' for the smack-talking jocks with their brains hanging between their legs, was in a girl's end zone."

Thankfully, Rian learns how to tuck his brains into his shirt and meets Mariah, a nice girl with a penchant for penis. A peppy party ensued.

"As she undressed, he pushed his briefs off onto the floor and his steel-hard shaft sprang out from its cloth prison."

Any reader will be breathless with excitement and wonder as they follow the exploits of Rian and the hormone-driven women who dawn lipstick and armor-clothes to do battle of the sexes. Like my niece!

"Without hesitation, he mounted her. As he placed himself, her alabaster hips rose to take him, and he sank in full hilt.

'God, it feels good. It's huge, its fills me,' she moaned.

"She bucked like a crazy-ass mare as her well-hung stallion jackhammered her to the promised land. She bit, grunted, and moaned. Spurred on like a crazed animal, he didn't feel her Tony Lamas flail his clenched buttocks as his pleasure-pulsing penis came in spasmed spurts."

"His twitching erection pointed straight up. She got on him and held it as she carefully impaled herself on its purple-rouge end. She was a blur of animalistic fury, riding his monstrous pleasure pole."

"After that night, the friends with benefits had many Tinder moments taking each other furiously."

Then Rian learns that meaningless hookups are meaningless, and he meets his true love, Missy. Together they go on a journey that takes them from one part of the bedroom to the other.

"No rush now. At long...long last, the universal clock's pendulum halted for them. Sensuality engulfed them. His muscular arms engulfed her. Their fiery, impassioned tongues flickered, explored, and tasted each other.

Nestled like cooing doves, nuzzling, purring, quivering, they savored the moment. Then, unable to resist any longer, aching with desire, holding his engorged erection, he rose over her butterflied open thighs. She guided him. 'Give it to me...I want it all!'"

Hey, where did Taylor go? Anyway, that's how we learn about banks. Five stars. Get your copy today and get engulfed in sensuality!

https://www.amazon.com/SEDUCED-D-L-Johnson-ebook/dp/B0CSDXZ28K/?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_w=ItYZA&content-id=amzn1.sym.d0ebfbb2-6761-494f-8e2f-95743b37c35c%3Aamzn1.symc.50e00d6c-ec8b-42ef-bb15-298531ab4497&pf_rd_p=d0ebfbb2-6761-494f-8e2f-95743b37c35c&pf_rd_r=R1H27XQABG06VWYTJ1XD&pd_rd_wg=FLeAM&pd_rd_r=9148c221-9fa9-4353-a1b3-71beac241cb8&ref_=pd_gw_ci_mcx_mr_hp_atf_m

P. S. Andy can testify that we've enjoyed ten years of this stool softener! This is from August 2014.

The Problem With a Chinese Wish Pot Is That You Want To Make Another Wish an Hour Later!

Since I'm the type of person who digs on multiverses, I thought I'd watch a movie called WISH UPON. And, yes, nonexistent reader, all my wishes which I was not careful to wish for swished into my smart-ish wishy-washy squishy eyeballs, wish.

"Hard pass. Wait. From the director of 

ANNABELLE??! I dig on!"

Some dummy finds a Chinese wishing well, kiss and tell, and then proceeds to prance about like Terence Trent D'Arby. (Dear God that would be much, much better.) 

"Duhh. I mean, huh. Er. Derp. Wait. Line?"

She wishes that the popular girl would get skin herpes or something equally funny, and it comes true! Ha, ha! This will be a great story at their fortieth reunion. Mike Perez will love it, I promise!

"I hate you Prell!"

So you see, it's like this. Dumb girl makes wish and then something ironic happens like dumb uncle does pratfall in his fancy bathtub or area dumb woman gets her face caught in the garbage disposal. 

"How does the garbage disposal keep up

 with the news like that??"

"Don't. praise. the. garbage disposal."

How is this ironic, you ask? Well, you see, because the uncle liked hygiene and the area woman liked to wash her vegetables first, it just shows you don't do that or a Chinese demon will kill you! Wow. This movie is kinda deep. 

"Says here it wants to be called an Asian Wish Pot, not an Oriental."

Because when the Oriental girl figures out the curse, the wish demon does a sort of slow motion running with the Pamplona bulls thing and kills the girl very dead.

"I'll catch up with you guys later! I have to gently sink 

my face into this sharp horn! For irony!" 

Then the dumb girl wishes everything could go back to the way it was and the film starts with the Big Bang and recapitulates 13.8 billion years and brings us back to the same stupid point, except her dad dies instead of her mom--AND they had to sit through the Ice Capades again! 

"OMG! Dad's blood is freezing cold!!"

The rest of the movie is really great because the dumb girl runs around trying to escape her malfunctioning brain and fails ha ha.

"Someone bring me a taquito! Awwwggh!"

And she dies, after learning the valuable lesson that you don't yell. Or you always leave a note. Or you don't give lessons.

"Someone give my regards to the lunch lady. Her fish sticks were exquisite."

And yet... and yet... did she learn a lesson? I mean, since she's super dead and stuff? Sort of hard to see the point. You know, this movie was incredibly stupid and just a huge waste of.... Aw hell, who cares, let's dance!!

Spooning (not the good kind)

We were huddled in Chris's igloo, breath smoking. 

"Chris," Mom quavered. "Can you turn the heat up, please?"

"You mean on, Mom," I said. "The word is on."

"What's the problem? I think it's fine." Legs crossed, Chris sat back in his cane chair, wearing shorts and a Bermuda shirt, his lips blue as he sucked on the straw of his pina colada. "Rasta, mon!"

"Can we get the show on the road?" Mom said, breaking the ice and the icicles from her nose. "Bailey is lonely waiting for me. I told her I'd be home in an hour."

"Bailey can't tell time, Mom."

"Oh, she can. She's a pickle, that one! Yesterday she was solving equations in matrix linear algebra. Did you hear me? Matrix linear algebra."

"Matrix?? Bailey must be the One!"

Mom nodded. "The other day Bailey was putting the treats I give her behind the toilet. Oh, she's a pickle! Later, she found the treats and ate them, one by one. What dog does that? Isn't that amazing?"

"Literally every dog on the planet does that."

"Oh, is this my Christmas gift, Greg? I don't like this. I don't want it."

"You haven't opened it yet."

"I know what it is. You did some horrible painting of me."

"You act like you're Dorian Gray. I promise I didn't paint you with your face melting off your skull."

"What did you say about my melting skull face? Oh! I don't want it!"

"Mom, just open it. You'll like it, I promise."

"I'm very scared."

"As well you should be."

"You better not put this on your blog."

"Oh, Greg. Why? WHY?"

"Happy Solomacas Day, Mom!"

"Thank you," Mom said, grimly.

"You look thrilled."

Chris burst out laughing. I joined him, both of us swept up in a hurricane of hilarity. Mom shushed us fiercely.

"They can hear you in the next igloo! Shhh!"

Mom demanded to go home. We got to her apartment just in time to see Bailey climb down from the table piled with books on quantum mechanics and Finnegans Wake, the Graphic Novel. Bailey removed her glasses, cleared her throat, and then pissed on the carpet.

"No, bad dog!"

"Aw. Look at all the urine. How will Bailey get that Nobel Prize in Mathematics now?"

Mom instructed me to put the painting in the bedroom. There I set it on the dresser, where it will remain until the sun explodes or we die, whichever comes first.

"I really wish you wouldn't paint me. But that's a dear painting of Bailey. She's so cute! Don't you think Bailey is beautiful?"

"That dog is a fox."

"Now in here is where I want my new bed to go."

"Well, you'll have to kick the dried turds out of the way first, but there's some cleared space..."

"It would be nice to get a good night's sleep. That darn beeping noise wakes me up every night. At two am! I'm thinking of writing the Denver Post about it."

"That doesn't seem like the best way to... Wait. Why do you have a spoon on your toilet?" I went to get the large metal spoon. "Have you been crying and eating cookie dough in here?"

"What? No, that's my poop spoon."

"Your..." I gasped. "Poo...?"

Mom shrugged. "Yes. I use it to break up the poop in my toilet. It won't go down, so I use that spoon to break it down so everything flushes."

"Oh, dear God, Mom," I said. I flung the spoon from me, some poop water spritzing Bailey in the face, who barked weakly. "Why? WHY?"

"I don't know! I mean, I'm a normal goer. It's not like I have such big poops. It must be the toilet."

"You're a... normal goer."

"Though lately I've been going a little, then I flush, then go a little more. Like that."

"Ohhh," I said, fainting and falling and grabbing to the walls. "Elizabeth! I'm coming to you now...!"

"What are you reading?" said someone to no one not reading this.

"Greg's blog. More about his mom's poop."

"Again?? Why? WHY??"

"Good question. Hey, what's on the CW?"

Merry Christmas, everyone! *checks calendar* Merry Christmas, everyone!

Fasting and Furious, It's About Family (Unfortunately)

Mom and I were having our Last Supper at the Wind Crest Saloon. To distract Mom from the fun of her upcoming move, I went all in and pushed across the table Dad's new masterwork. It's an erotic economic thriller with, get this, a woman senator. I mean, come on. Now I've read everything! 

"Reform your banking system... or DIE."

Mom scowled at the cover. 

"Is that supposed to be your father standing on a heap of... what..." Mom squinted. "Are those skeletons?"

"And a sexy lady. Because women love lounging on a pile of decomposing corpses. It's pretty metal."

"Will this book be on the Amazon front page?"

I laughed. "Sure! I mean, we can all hope. I don't know if Bezos can pull some strings, but he's trying. Because people need to know about banks. And stuff."

"They now know my crimes. Ha ha."

"I don't understand what the point of this is," Mom said sourly, pushing the book back at me. "Has your father lost it completely?"

"That's what they said about Einstein. Wait. Did they say that about Einstein?"

"He's not serious, is he?"

I took up the tome and flipped through its four hundred pages. "It's a book of monumental linguistic criminality. So... yes."

"Do you want some of my mashed potato?" Mom scooped up some in her fingers. "Bring your plate over here. You're looking too thin to me."

"Mom, do not put potato, mashed or not, on my plate. Please."

"Do you want some of my salad? You'll eat that, right?"

"No. I'm fasting. I can have water, with water mixed in."

"You're what!"

"Fasting."

"Oh, that's terrible. It's terrible for your body!"

I shrugged. "I want to get back to my elementary school weight. I was a VERY chubby kid. *looks at Andy* Mm? Mm?"

"You look terrible."

"Probably shouldn't have thrown myself into that vat of acid. I'll go head-first next time."

 

"Tufutti break! Yaaay!"

Then it was time for Mom's big move. There were well nigh a hundred boxes with leaky shampoo wetting the cardboard and lumpy bags of wet trash. Once the movers lifted away the dresser and hutch, exposed to pitiless light were little black turds across the stained carpet. Worse than that, some were black gumdrops.

There was a pink rag on the floor. I picked it up only to see it was a pair of Mom's panties. I flung them from me like it was an IED and it exploded, wraiths swirling out. Trying to prevent my skeleton from leaving my body, I turned to see Mom hoisting a moist bag of garbage.

"Mom, you're spilling."

Turds whimsically spilled forth from the rip. Mom stooped to conquer--and picked up the little turds in her hand.

"Okay," she said. "I'm going to turn in my keys at the front desk."

"Right. But the...?"

"What?"

"Are you going to bring them the turds?"

"Maybe I will! I'm not very happy with them."

And indeed, Mom handed them her access badge, her signed intent to leave, her mail and room key, and--the coup de crap--Bailey's little turds. Goodbye, Wind Crest! I'm sure you'll miss us!

**************  NEEDING TO GET SEDUCED??  ********************

Get your copy(ies) of SEDUCED at finer retail outlets everywhere! 24.99 hardcover, 17.99 paperback, and 1.99 for the ebook. Well? Don't just gape at this blog post, get out your damn credit card and start ordering. NOW