So, the other day I was walking back from the bus stop after transporting my youngest and her saxophone and this women in a vague yellow car slows down and stares at me funny then drives on. I immediately took inventory of my apparel. Jeans, sweater, winter coat and boots. It's winter in Nebraska and so I was temperature appropriate, nothing to stare at there. But I got to wondering, why? Why slow down and stare at me? Does she hate the Irish and think we're a bad influence on the neighborhood?
"Yep, them Irish folk down the road are burning potatoes and cabbage and giving the squirrels whisky again. I can just smell it."
And then I started thinking of the Omaha mafia and whether there was such a thing.
"Sorry, Lars. You've pissed off the Godfather and it's time to send you off to where the cows don't shine."
Which makes no sense because cows don't shine at all, they drool and belch a lot but they don't shine. Stupid thing to say and they don't really have cows out here anyway. They have soybeans and some kind of stunted corn stuff growing by the roads. Anyway, so where do they put their hits? Not like they can drive them out to the Jersey bog like the east coast mafia dudes.
You know, a thousand years from now they are going to be amazed at the Jersey Bogmen they dig up and judging by the bad suits and skinny little ties they'll assume they have found a Jehovah Witness sacrificial pond.
"Sorry, Daniel. We saw you looking at that Christmas tree and smiling and we just can't have that. Christmas trees are physical manifestations of Satan you know. In you go. And take these pamphlets with you. Maybe you can save a few souls on your way to hell. Tell them meetings are on Thursday at 7 sharp and don't wear any of them flared out demon jeans."
You know, my Grandmother was a Jehovah Witness. When I was little I felt bad for her because she couldn't officially celebrate holidays or b'days or anything except baby showers and weddings. That's it. Everything else was worshipping Satan. But she used to bring us little gifts anyway always wrapped in the most non-satan worshipping giftwrap she could find. This is how I know paisly is of the Lord.
So, one day in the middle of December we were visiting Grandma and I walked into the living room to find her staring out the big picture window at the neighbors across the street. They had a huge tree in their living room and the lights twinkled and the ornaments sparkled and everything looked so very merry and I thought to myself that Grandma must be missing having her own Christmas tree and I almost asked her if this was true when that very sweet, cookie baking, never swearing, always understanding and kind woman opened her mouth and said, "Every year I look over at that tree and I pray for the damn thing to catch fire and burn the house down." Then she laughed and said, "Isn't that awful?" and she walked into the kitchen chuckling.
You just never know....
Read more...
So, the other day I was walking back from the bus stop after transporting my youngest and her saxophone and this women in a vague yellow car slows down and stares at me funny then drives on. I immediately took inventory of my apparel. Jeans, sweater, winter coat and boots. It's winter in Nebraska and so I was temperature appropriate, nothing to stare at there. But I got to wondering, why? Why slow down and stare at me? Does she hate the Irish and think we're a bad influence on the neighborhood?
Read more..."Yep, them Irish folk down the road are burning potatoes and cabbage and giving the squirrels whisky again. I can just smell it."
And then I started thinking of the Omaha mafia and whether there was such a thing.
"Sorry, Lars. You've pissed off the Godfather and it's time to send you off to where the cows don't shine."
Which makes no sense because cows don't shine at all, they drool and belch a lot but they don't shine. Stupid thing to say and they don't really have cows out here anyway. They have soybeans and some kind of stunted corn stuff growing by the roads. Anyway, so where do they put their hits? Not like they can drive them out to the Jersey bog like the east coast mafia dudes.
You know, a thousand years from now they are going to be amazed at the Jersey Bogmen they dig up and judging by the bad suits and skinny little ties they'll assume they have found a Jehovah Witness sacrificial pond.
"Sorry, Daniel. We saw you looking at that Christmas tree and smiling and we just can't have that. Christmas trees are physical manifestations of Satan you know. In you go. And take these pamphlets with you. Maybe you can save a few souls on your way to hell. Tell them meetings are on Thursday at 7 sharp and don't wear any of them flared out demon jeans."
You know, my Grandmother was a Jehovah Witness. When I was little I felt bad for her because she couldn't officially celebrate holidays or b'days or anything except baby showers and weddings. That's it. Everything else was worshipping Satan. But she used to bring us little gifts anyway always wrapped in the most non-satan worshipping giftwrap she could find. This is how I know paisly is of the Lord.
So, one day in the middle of December we were visiting Grandma and I walked into the living room to find her staring out the big picture window at the neighbors across the street. They had a huge tree in their living room and the lights twinkled and the ornaments sparkled and everything looked so very merry and I thought to myself that Grandma must be missing having her own Christmas tree and I almost asked her if this was true when that very sweet, cookie baking, never swearing, always understanding and kind woman opened her mouth and said, "Every year I look over at that tree and I pray for the damn thing to catch fire and burn the house down." Then she laughed and said, "Isn't that awful?" and she walked into the kitchen chuckling.
You just never know....