Memory Loss is Groovy

Yesterday I was going through some old documents on my almost broken and very decrepit PC. I came across this list and I have no idea why I have it. I seriously don't remember writing it or why I would need it. So, I'm going to share it with you just to give it some kind of purpose. Also, if you leave a comment you have to use one of these phrases in it.

Keep on truckin’
Right on
Bad
Boogie
10-4 good buddy, over and out.
Can ya dig it?
Dyn-o-mite
Far out, man.
Foxy mama
Funky
Gimme five
Slap me some skin
Groovy
Jive Turkey
Joshin’
Outta sight
Sit on it
Up your nose with a rubber hose.

I was obviously having some freaky 70s flashback.

It really is far out, man.
Babs

A Poem

I just wanted everyone to know that my silence over the past week or so is because I got nothin'. I don't know if it's a lack of material, writer's block or just having the blahs, but I don't have a single thing to write about other than writing about not having anything to write about.

So, I'll share one of my poems. At least it will fill up space.

Constant Company

The dead are here. They breathe
on white sheets that I clip
to a cotton line, and suck the water
from coarse towels. They sit quietly
between rows of beans and glazed tomatoes;
filter dark earth through fingers
that once picked green peas from the vine.

The dead are here. They wait
until I pass through the shaded doorway
so they can whisper on my neck.
The words are indistinct,
yet I know they carry with them
the wisdom I have yet to attain.
It is there on the edge of my mind
waiting to find its way to my lips
like a name that one forgets
only to have it drop
from those spaces in your memory
where thoughts go to hide.

The dead are here. They rest
on faded red cushions and watch
as I soap the baby in the cool white sink.
Taste as I stir the pot of soup;
tell me when I’ve added too much salt.
They bring me notes from an unseen place
as I sit at a piano whose keys
are smooth from years of play.
And when night falls, the dead
gather on the edge
of sheets that smell like the sun,
and listen
as I read aloud these words.

Love,
Rachel

Ingenuity

Love,

Babs

Under the Influence and In the News

Nevada native Sean Smith was feelin' a bit tense, and decided that a nice blend of LSD and weed would be just the thing to take away all his cares and woes. Sean then decided that to further decrease his stress level, he should take a leisurely stroll down the highway. Naked. While claiming he was the Terminator. Unfortunately, his little bubble of bliss was popped when the police caught up with him and tasered him in front of a group of children.

In other news, Clayton Ernest Adams, who hails from Crestview, Fl, is doomed to suffer from a horrible malady which makes him a complete moron when he drinks. Police were called to a domestic disturbance call at Clayton's blessed abode which he shares with his beloved wife, Clarice Janette. I actually have no idea what his wife's name is. I just think Clayton Ernest and Clarice Janette sound right together. Anyway, the police were needed because Clayton complained that Clarice had locked him inside his truck. Inside. As in, inside the fucking truck. Poor Clayton Ernest had to break a window to get out.

Big Kisses,
Babs

20 Ways to Be a Kid

Summer's here and it's the perfect time to be a kid. Go have fun. It's good for you.


Here's the list:

1. Catch lightning bugs
2. Play hopscotch
3. Chase down the ice cream truck
4. Blow soap bubbles
5. Hula hoop
6. Swing
7. Have friends over to play hide and go seek
8. Cloud watch
9. Camp out in the back yard
10. Jump off a rope swing over a river
11. Play in the sprinkler
12. Have a mud fight
13. Build an indoor fort with chairs and sheets
14. Eat watermelon on the back porch and spit the seeds
15. Have a water balloon or squirt gun war
16. Climb a tree
17. Skip stones
18. Go wading in a creek
19. Create a masterpiece with sidewalk chalk
20. Laugh until your sides hurt.


Feel free to add more in the comment section

Love,
Babs

Here Comes Peter Cottontail

Hi kids! Today's sermon involves a pastor, a bunny and a town named Moorhead. Even though it may sound like one of my freaky fantasies, it's not. It's another church scandal! Yay!

Pastor Mark Ostergarden has been having an affair with a stripper, I'm sorry, a dancer named Bunny Byington for the past 3 years. It started off with him paying for a dance and then progressed to him paying for sex. Then one very magical day, Mark and Bunny decided they'd come to the point in their relationship where money didn't need to be exchanged anymore. That was also the day Mark asked Bunny to go steady, and then gave her his class ring.

Recently, however, Mark and Bunny got into a bit of a spat when she allegedly demanded that Mark pay her thousands of dollars or she would expose their affair. Mark refused to pay the money, so she blabbed to the church, and even emailed one of the church dudes a pic of Mark sporting only a t-shirt and underwear. Now, Mark and the church dude are having an affair.

Oh how I kid.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, Bunny has since been arrested for extortion. Here's a pic of her mugshot.

Oh my.

Hold the phone. Is she missing her right ear? If she's a one-eared stripper, that's one of the coolest things I've ever seen.

But she still frightens me.

Somebody please hold me,
Babs

Thank you, Dan, for sending me this story. And, no, I'm still not paying you for it. The story, that is.

Just Call My Name and I'll Be There

It's bad enough that I have to keep up with Jesus and his mother popping up in various and assorted objects, but now guess who's starting to make appearances? Michael Jackson.

Felix Garcia of Stockton, California is claiming that he's seen the image of Michael in a tree stump.

I hate to tell you this, Felix, but that's not the King O' Pop. That's an angry Monchichi and you'd better hope it doesn't break free from it's stump. Seriously, dude, it will jack your shit up. Look how evil Monchichis are.

Scary little fuckers, aren't they?

Michael then hopped the Afterlife Express to Lajeado, Brazil so he could show up in a greasy pan. I dunno why he'd pick a greasy pan in Brazil. He was a very strange man and I cannot explain his reasoning.

Te Amo,
Babs

Hate It

You know what I hate?

The phrase "creative juices".

I absolutely detest that phrase. If it was a person I'd want to throat punch it and then set its pubic hair on fire.

I'm so glad I got that off my chest.

Love,
Babs

Just a Squirrel Lookin' For a Nut

I think we'd all agree that I've blogged about some weird shit here on Flumadiddle. This story has to be in the top three.

An unnamed woman - wait, you guys know how I hate 'unnamed' anything, so let's call this woman deranged and we'll name her Betty. Why the hell not? Betty was recently questioned by police in Warren, Ohio about a crime. I suppose there's nothing special in that, but the part that kinda buries the needle on the kooky meter is that Betty had a live squirrel tucked in her cleavage during the entire interrogation.

She also had a chipmunk shoved in her ass crack.

Okay, I made up the chipmunk part.

I hope.

Here's a shot of Betty performing her death-defying "Squirrel In My Cleavage" trick.


Can anyone explain why?

Warm Hugs and Sloppy Kisses,
Babs