Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
View From Down Here A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--Last night my parents experienced a catastrophic air mattress
malfunction.
My dad has a history of back problems, and is very particular about beds
and mattresses, and whatnot.So
they travel with an ancient old air mattress that meets his approval,
and they break it out whenever faced with a questionable
sleeping surface.
We always offer them our bed when they visit, but they never take us
up on it.Probably too many
horrifying visions to deal with…No,
they just fold out the sleeper sofa, and put their air mattress on top
of it.And that does the
trick, I guess.
Until last night, anyway.
They were asleep, my dad was telling me, when something popped and woke
him up.The hell was that?!He didn’t know, but wondered if the bedsprings were giving way.He remained very still, and it happened again:POP!POP POP!!What in the living crap?!
Then he realized his feet were now going uphill, and my mother’s torso
was elevated in an unnatural manner.Her head and legs were still at normal bed-level, but the middle
of her body was way up in the air.And
she never woke up during any of it.
He got up to investigate, and found that the little buttons across the
mattress, which gives it a pillowy effect, were popping loose.Apparently they’d over-inflated the thing, and it was just
saying screw it.
They left it as-is for us to see, and I busted out laughing.It looked like a regular mattress, but with several incredibly
large bubbles here and there.Hilarious.I ran to get my camera, but by the time I returned they’d
already let all the air out of it.Grrr…
And so, they’re out shopping for a new travel-mattress, which is the
only reason I’m able to tap out this half-assed update today…
The kids hit those, and plenty of others.
And I’m tellin’ ya, Knoebels is a blast...
My mother climbed aboard some sort of apparatus (The Intervertebral
Foramina Krusher?) with the oldest Secret, which I wouldn’t ride if
somebody pressed a gun to my temple.It’s really old, like something out of the
1940s, and whips
round and round, and up and down.No
friggin’ way.
I was a nervous wreck until both of them exited the ride of their own
volition.My mother had
brain surgery a few years ago!Is
it really a good idea for her go hurtling end-over-end into the sky like
that?I had my doubts.
But there was a happy ending, and a splendid time was had by all.I won’t bore you with a bunch of pictures very similar to ones
you’ve seen before.But I
do have a couple worth highlighting, I think.
This is a dog wearing shoes.I
asked the owner if I could snap a picture, and the guy shrugged his
shoulders as if he couldn’t give one tiny shitlet what I did, and said,
“Knock yourself out.”A
very charming fellow.
And here’s a scary-ass shack called the Babies Aid Station.I don’t know what that means, and don’t care for that
painting either.Its eyes
seemed to follow me, no matter where I moved.In fact, I think it’s looking at me right this minute, somehow.Shit!
--I’d better start
wrapping this thing up, I have a feeling the mattress-shopping
expedition is almost at its end.Luckily
for all of us though, we’ve got something new and good from Brad, to
take up the slack.Right
here.
I’ll also use his update as the basis for a loosely-defined Question
of the Day.Use the comments
link below to tell us your bully stories, won’t you?Everybody’s got a few, I’m sure, so let’s hear ‘em.
I don’t have time to get into all the details right now, but almost
all of my bully-encounters happened during the Jr. High School era.I got in more fights during those three years than the other
forty-one combined.And
that’s not an exaggeration.
Please help compensate for my half-assery today, by telling us some interesting
tales.I’d be much
obliged.
