hmmm, it’s morning, and no email from Ex… How odd…
You don’t suppose that he was making up the whole story about the camping trip, do you? I mean, something like that would make headlines for certain. I certainly don’t recall hearing about it. Then again, it was a long time ago in a land far, far away from where I grew up.
So I suppose it could well have happened. I mean, I’ve never seen his father or Jimmy Edwards or Mr. Kershaw or Mr. Henderson. Have any of you? And who’s to say that one of them wasn’t responsible? Who’s to say one of them didn’t continue to stalk Ex to this very day? Who’s to say that as he sat as his computer, finally telling the terrible secrets he knows, who’s to say that the mysterious abductor wasn’t tracking every key stroke, knowing that the story was about to come out?
Poor Ex sat there, typing away, intent on his task, his keyboard lit by a single dim lamp. He wouldn’t have noticed the quiet squeek of the back door hinge. He wouldn’t have heard the soft, stealthy footfalls coming toward his computer desk. So all-consuming was his writing, that he’d have ignored the odd scent that wafted thru the room… until… until… :eek: :eek: :eek: :eek: :eek: :eek: :eek: :eek:
Of course, he coulda just been kidding about the email. Right? Right?
…and the next day they found Ex’s keyboard. It had a BLOODY HOOK IN IT!
Jester you fool! (I can’t call you a “baby” anymore since your a College Man now. Oh wait, yeah I can. Baby.) Implying I’m the evil one of us two right here in my own thread. That’s just ludicrous! I, of course, and the Good One. Very good. For over three minutes at a stretch too.
But, yeah, you can have shotgun. No way am I letting you drive. (And shut up about your Grammy. Sheesh! One little award and yap yap yap like a Yorkie when the mail comes.
It’s good to hear from you ScoutySweetCakes. Nice to know you haven’t conflagrated. But still be careful. BECAUSE I SAID SO!
It’s good to hear from you too dwyrSweetyCakes. Take care of yourself and we’ll be here for you.
-Rue. (WITH A BLOODY HOOK!)
Sorry. I had a brief sort-of-emergency last night and when I got back my connection was down for some reason. So no e-mail either.
The end of the story in brief:
My dad came back out of the woods and told us all to quit screwing around and go back to bed. The grownups had gotten tired of us kids and were sitting by the lake shooting the breeze and knocking back a couple of beers.
That pansy Jimmy had gotten scared and walked all the way back to the road to sleep in the van like a big sissy, and the grownups were pretty annoyed when they finally found him. Sheesh. The kid was scared of the dark so he figured the solution was to walk about half a mile through the woods in the dark. Not just a sissy, but pretty dumb too.
All in all, no biggie. But it was kind of spooky for about ten minutes there.
The Lovely and Tallented Ellen (the Brown Eyed Girl) has some… domestic issues to clear up. (Not like “fire the maid”.) Got a lot on her plate and stuff like that. But she’s close to our hearts and that’s what matters.
Sounds to me like you’re just jealous that I beat you for “best song.” I tried to tell you that nobody wanted to hear a love ballad about bloody hooks, but would you listen? Of course not. But you should, since I am, after all, at College, and therefore know everything.
Oh, and good story Exgineer. But how did Jimmy break into the van? And wouldn’t sleeping alone in the van have been more scary that sleeping with people? I’m confused.
Uhhh…I mean, curious. Yeah. Being in College, I don’t get confused. Ever.
swampbear, don’t do that to me! I almost spilled my coffee! Almost. A man has to watch his coffee. Especially when you find a bloody hook in the pot at work. I mean, I suppose I should call the police eventually, but damn, coffee comes first.
Except sometimes they hook (oddly, not a BLOODY HOOK! this time) in the front , not in the back like you’d expect. And some don’t hook at all. And sometimes it’s just a Free Zone…
Oh wait… look who I’m talking to. Like this bit of “confusion” would ever be a problem. Even in College.
Bumbazine does not hate newbies. Bumbazine likes newbies…
Especially with some fava beans and a nice chianti.
Dwyr, sorry about the mid-life crisis thing. If you figure out the answer let me know, 'cause I obviously haven’t found it. I can’t offer any help, just sympathy. One thing I did figure out though; the sports car is good fun, but the 25-year-old blondes are a PITA. Just so’s ya know.
Jester, you’ll know you’re really a college man when you can work the hooks with your * mouth*. But don’t ever put a bra around a pillow and practice where anyone might catch you. I’m just sayin’
gets needle-nosed pliers out of drawer Come over here Jester and I’ll fix that for you. Ran into one of Rue’s booby traps didn’t you? You should know better than to sneak into Rue’s room trying to nick those girlie mags he keeps hidden under his mattress…er…I’ve heard he keeps under his mattress. He’s pretty steamed about them disappearing, I hear.
The little turd Jimmy figured he’d be safer from whatever imaginary boogieman he was afraid of with something more solid between his whiny little self and the big, scary dark than just a nylon tent. Or maybe he was afraid of bears, I dunno. It was over 20 years ago and I had a bit of a marshmallow buzz on at the time. And normal people, when in the middle of nowhere with no one else around for miles and miles, just don’t bother to lock the van.
You hear me? WE JUST DON’T BOTHER.
Also, I changed all the names to keep my dad from kicking my ass in case he reads this.
Just keep following the Rue and Bumbazine manual dexterity program. Before you know it you’ll move up to garter belts.
There was a bloody hook on the window of my hotel room this morning, and a small pile of ashes (with a few white, bone-like fragments mixed in) outside the my hotel room door, but I figured the maid would deal with it. I mean, I left a tip and all, and she has the broom, not me. If it had been at my house, I would have cleaned it up, but at a hotel, I’m disadvantaged by not having a key to the broom closet.
Not that I’ve ever been in the closet. I’ve always been very open about my heterosexuality (BTW, at one point I, too, could unbutton a pair of Levi’s with my mouth–and take off his socks with my toes).
I have other adventures to share with you all, but I’m going to wait until next week because all my best stuff seems to spell the end of the line and if I’m going to be the last poster of the week, I want to be lame.
So, on that note–The Little Mermaid didn’t wear a bra, and we were all shell-shocked to see it!
