by JRM

October 3, 2007

My wife and I are having a disagreement.  Do you guys remember the little things that popped up after you and your partner got married/decided to live together?  Chunky vs. creamy peanut butter, white bread vs. wheat bread, dogs vs. cats, under vs. over vs. empty-roll-on-the-dispensor-and-new-roll-sitting-on-the-back-of- the-tank toilet paper preference...the list goes on - feel free to list a few if you've got the time. Anyway, my wife and I are having one of those right now.  It's hard to believe that we're still having them after six years of marriage.  She thinks that me having sex with a midget is adultery, simply because we're married.  My defense was of course, but it's a midget!! Naturally she responded with, "Stop being an asshole!"  Her name is Kat if you want to try and talk some sense into her…because it's only a matter of time before I run into a drunk and easy midget in some seedy bar. Thanks in advance for your help.

My sister and I were talking last night and we came up with a pretty important question:  What do you call someone who is from Connecticut ?  Connecticans? Connecticites? Connecticians?  Now that I've written it down, I'm pretty sure it's Connet - i - cans, but if you're from there - I'd like to know for sure.  Know what?  I don't think I've ever met a person from Connecticut .  I also remembered a similar story while I was on the phone with my sister.  I was standing at a dinner and talking with the mayor of a town in Iowa called Le Mars. The deal behind the weird name is that it was named after the first initials of somebody's daughters or something like that. I finally worked up the courage to ask him toward the end of the night, "Uh, excuse me Mr. Mayor?  I know you're going to think that I'm joking, but I'm afraid I'm not...What do you call a person from Le Mars?  Are they Le Martians?"  He looked me right in the eye and with a straight face said, "You know son, I honestly don't know."  So there you have it - straight from the mayor's mouth...he's my dad.

I came across some erotic stories yesterday.  I've never really understood the allure of those things.  Sure, they can really stimulate the mind in a very filthy direction, but what then?  From there it's like trying to decipher a Chilton manual during an earthquake.  Maybe if I wasn't so fat...speaking of that…

As far as I can tell from TV, most people decide to stop wearing a pair of pants when they go out of style, or when they can't fit into them anymore, or maybe even when the knees wear out or something.  In only two worlds do pants expire by way of a violent tearing out of the ass.  Spongebob Squarepants' and mine.  I really don't understand it...if it's just because I'm a fat guy, I would expect a button to pop or something. Perhaps it would be easier to understand if the pants were tight...but no.  I just wear the comfortable pants for a few months, drop my keys and my ass blasts out the back end.  Boggles the mind.

During the course of my duties at my job, I encountered a very drunk man.  I have no idea why the hell he was home at 1 pm - he said he was a plumber.  I said the things I needed to say to him in order to keep getting paid and of course, he got extremely angry. Fortunately, rather than trying to fight me, he decided to tell incredible lies.  By the time I managed to clear the scene, the guy had told me, among other things, that his wife was an 'FBI special secret agent'.

Now I don't know whether or not the Federal Bureau of Investigation has a position with the job title 'special secret agent', but I do know that I was skeptical of the man's claim.  I finished whatever it was that I do for a living and went back to the office to get the paperwork out of the way.  I wasn't at my desk for more than four minutes when the special secret agent called.  If she is, in fact, an FBI special secret agent, then her cover as a grainy-voiced, rural-born Missourian was spot on.  I imagined her speaking Farsi with that accent and almost laughed into the phone.  She wanted to know what had happened and why I had been at her house.  I asked how much her husband had told her and she said he 'wasn't there anymore' and 'hadn't had a chance to explain everything’.  Special secret agents should be more convincing - I heard right through her voice and 'wasn't there anymore' was easily translated to 'has passed out on the floor with his hands down his pants'.  I explained everything to her.  She thanked me.  I hung up.  I actually hope she is a special secret agent.  There, that oughtta be enough to keep me on staff until Jeff wins the lottery.

Love,

JRM

      
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