2004-05-17 - 7:20 p.m.

I'm back. Some might even say with a brand new mission. Those people who say that would be wrong. Dead wrong. I've still hammering home the same old tired and well-worn 3-part mission: 1.) Convince people that Mormons & Born Again Christians, like gypsy moths, need to be stopped before they totally drive the rest of the Earth bugfuck crazy 2.) Petitioning to make the Earwig the official mascot of the New York Yankees. While I would also accept the tried and true mascot known as the "Orphan Raper", I've found that with the loss of Clemens and Strawberry, "Orphan Raping" doesn't really speak to the chemistry of the team any longer. Whereas I think an insect that has tried to eat my brain since 1978 and is known for making nests in your ear and then slowly driving you bugfuck crazy is more indicitive of the 2004 Yankees. 3.) Popularize the word, "bugfuck". Don't blame me. Blame Bill Willingham.

Things are awfully sexy in here today huh? Don't believe me? Look how some poor fuck found me on yahoo today! Which isn't half as funny, OR sexy, as someone finding me like this on google! So I think you've re-evaluated haven't you? It's AWFULLY sexy in here today. Seriously - the 2 white horses fell in the mud thing? I don't really get it. Well, I mean, I get the original joke. If you can call it a "joke". 2 white horses fell in the mud, 3 came out. Ok. I guess what we're supposed to get from the joke is that when the 2 white horses "fell" in the mud we're to assume that ever-so-coincidentally their "delicate parts" became entagled in such a way that it made it so mere seconds later (give or take 9 months, or however long it takes for a horse to have a baby. Al-Y's not here so I can't ask her) a 3rd white horse jumps back out of the mud with the 1st and 2nd horse. Ok. As stupid as it is, I GET it. But then there were all these spin-off versions of the joke. (And far be it for me to assume that just because the "2 White Horses . . ." series of jokes were popular on Laconia playgrounds in the 80's means they were/are universally popular and that you all understand what the fuck I'm talking about. Hell, no one usually understands what I'm talking about 80% of the time, so i figure why ruin the curve now.) Anyway, then came shit like:

2 white horses fell in the mud, 4 came out. Um - ok. Twins. Fine. I guess. Although, one has to assume that mud puddle/pit/gorge is fucking HUGE. I mean, it's covering up not only two adult horses, but the birth of twins?!? And keeping it quiet enough that the emergence of the 4 of them calls for surprise?! This is assuming that the innocent bystander isn't already spooked enough from 2 horses simultaneously falling into mud deep enough to disappear.

2 white horses fell in the mud, 2 white horses and a black horse came out. Um . . . this must have been for the older kids telling us this joke, because it's slightly risque. I'm thinking we're supposed to guess the female horse was having an affair with a black horse and it wasn't until her and the male white horse fell in the mud and jumped out with their new mullato horse that her infidelities were laid bare.

2 white horses fell in the mud, 1 came out. Right. Cannabalism? Black Widow white horse? I have no fucking clue.

2 white horses fell in the mud, 2 came out. Ok, so either male horsey is impotent or it's a repeat of the Black Widow thing with a Oedipus thing thrown in with horsey jr. killing his father and getting with his mother.

2 white horses fell in the mud, 2 horses and the farmer came out. Well, look, I'm all for beastiality as much as the next guy, but the thing that bothers me about this version (right, like none of the others bother me) is the familiarity it assumes. "and THE farmer" it says. Not "a farmer", or "previously unmentioned farmer", but THE farmer. It plays on the notion that we all know which farmer they're talking about. YOU know. That farmer. No sir, I do NOT know which farmer. But whatever way you slice it - a.) the horse gave birth to a farmer, b.) the farmer was laying in wait for the horses in the mud, or c.) I have no fucking clue - it's still pretty fucked up.

2 white horses fell in the mud, 2 horses and Fat Pat Chase jumped out. Ok, admittedly, this one might have only been popular at Elm Street School, but I'll be damned if it's not my favorite version.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAANYWAY, so I get home from a family party on Sunday afternoon/early evening (a party, which I may add, only reaffirmed my intense loathing of born again fuckwads. No offense to any fuckwads in the audience. I drive into the driveway and realize something is amiss. Namely, the shed is missing. Well, that's not entriely true. The shed had been "moved". The entirety of the contents that used to be in the shed (i.e. - skiis, record players, fertilizer, old clothes, remnants of the ghost of fred robie, power tools, etc.) are sitting on a tarp in front of where the shed used to be. Ben is in the woods connected to some rope and an apparatus he called a "ball joint" (I could be wrong here, and probably am) which was pretty much a glorified pully. "Hey," Ben screamed. "I need your muscles!"

Flash forward two hours. It's getting dusky out. Aaron was fortunate (for us, unfortunate for him) enough to stop by and all of a sudden cinder blocks are fulcrums, pvc pipes are wheels and this giant fucking shed is trojan horsing its way into the woods. Meanwhile, Kenichi is running to and fro mewing his head off and chasing after stick I throw to him. Yeah - he's totally normal. If I owned fine linens I definitely wouldn't have worn them yesterday during "The Great Shed Moving Episode". As it was, I think the three of us absorbed a good 20 lbs. of dirt into our clothes. My main job, outside of carting the shed stuff from the old spot (on the tarp) to the new spot (in the shed, now in the woods), was to hold onto the wheely part of the ball jointy thing and make sure it stayed straight while Aaron pulled the chain and Ben caught the slack part of the chain which all in all moved the rope that was attached to the shed which inched the shed closer to the woods, all while being anchored by more rope against the giant tree. Doesn't that sound . . . something? Yeah. But anyway. We had to dig up all the old Native American bodies that were under where the shed used to be and now a giant spider lady lives in our basement and a little kid cut off the achilles tendon of our elderly neighbor. I'm sure it's not related. Anyway, we were quite a scene to behold yesterday.

Yeah, so what we have here is Aaron trying courageously to keep the great Shed aloft while the original gangsta, Chef Chen Kenichi, zooms by to impart some wisdom. Meanwhile, Ben maniacally cackles out more orders while I manage to get my foot caught in the rope and cry for my Mommy. Notice the realistic touches like the blood I'm crying from my own cyan-colored eyes. Ah, life in Rollinsford . . .

Oh yeah, my brain popped this morning when I was in the shower and it dawned on me that the David Byrne concert that Rich, Ben, Andrea and I'm going to on Sunday night kinda conflicts with the Alias party for the season finale that Brooke, Andrea, Hayley and I were going to have at my house. FUCK. But, crisis averted, kind of. Marianne is gonna tape it for us, I'm gonna pick it up Monday morning at work from her and then Hayley, Andrea, and I will have a "Brunch With The Bristows" party. And cross our fingers that the ending won't be too fucked up and we find out the whole season has been a garden gnome's dream.

It's been real,

Lorax

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