Years ago, Aunt Tudi found a mail order gag gift that she just had to have. She's holding it in the picture above. She asked me to get her, the Father Unit, and Uncle Michael one each, because she thought it was just hilarious. When it came in the mail, I took this picture of her, and photoshopped one gleaming tooth, adding the caption. I posted it here on LJ and on Facebook.
A lot of people here on the Cliffs got to know Aunt Tudi really well over the course of the nine years she was with me after I began blogging. Many of them became friends with me on Facebook as well. Facebook is where dydan contacted me to tell me she'd spotted Aunt Tudi on eBay. She gave me the link to the eBay listing, and the belly-laughing commenced! So I wrote to the person on eBay. Here's a screen cap of the note.
And would she have laughed? Most definitely.
This is proof positive that anyone can be a model, even middle-aged, eccentric, crazy-cat-lady level, Southern goofballs with a fetish for novelty items! Screw Kendall Jenner. Aunt Tudi is a star!
I just got permission to share the rest of the conversation as it stands now. If there's anymore in the future that I can share, I'll do more edits. I have to say, this has really made my day. :D
(I then sent him the link to the video, since I wasn't bright enough to include in the original response)
Behold the horror.
Spinach Lasagna, for the win! I had a completely vegetarian meal.
When we got home, though, I couldn't find my wallet. I knew I'd had it at the restaurant; otherwise, I would not have been able to pay for our meals. But the Unit took me back to Giovanni's, just in case. No joy.
I was starting to freak out, but as we approached the curb in front of the house, the Mother Unit said, "What is that lying in the gutter."
It was my wallet. It must have fallen off my lap, when I opened the door to get out.
I was so relieved.
Here are some pictures that need sharing. I made the Accomplishment sign, the Pentecostal Kitteh sign, and the Mickey Rourke sign.
( here be some funnies )
One of the things I've learned that I love about getting taxis, is the varied nationalities I've so far had the honour of encountering. I have a "Fish Called Wanda"-level love for accents and languages, so engaging these guys in conversation is like crack for me. I have so far gotten to talk with an Indian, a Kenyan, a Pakistani, a Jamaican, a Ukrainian, a Nigerian and, today, an Iranian by the name of Abdulahi.
He came to pick me up at CVS to bring me home. As usual, I complimented him on his accent and asked him where he was originally from. He told me Iran, and that he'd been in America for almost twenty years. It was a pleasant conversation that lasted all too briefly, since the trip from CVS to the house is just over two miles.
I paid Abdulahi and exited the cab. As I was about to open the front door, though, he honked his horn at me and I turned to see him getting out of the car and rushing up to me. Taking me by the shoulders, Abdulahi turned my back to him and pulled a big sticker off my butt. Apparently one of the cab notices had come off the window and fallen in the seat. I sat down on it, and it stuck to me. So there I was, proudly displaying one of Orange Cab's policies on my tuches. He said, "I'm so sorry, you have a sticker on your a--," then caught himself. I just cackled, and thanked him, noting that I was glad I was home instead of still out in public with something like that affixed to me. I thanked him and he laughed, apologised again, and then hugged me.
I don't think there's any sort of moral to this story, except for maybe watch where you are landing your arse, but it's one of those WTF stories that you know you're gonna end up telling a disinterested orderly in the old folks home.
"Sonny, did I ever tell you about the day my butt got labeled by a taxi, and earned me a hug from an Iranian dude? Well, sit right down!"
So I figured a trip to urgent care may be in order to make sure I hadn't broken anything and maybe I could get an antibiotic for the tooth so the dentist could pull it immediately when I get to see him after September 1, instead of making me wait and take antibiotics then.
But because I had suffered vertigo, urgent care sent me to Mercy Scripps emergency room. They x-rayed me there and everything was in order; however, they did give me some tramadol for the pain and giant penicillin horse pills to take three times a day for the next week to get my tooth ready for extraction. I already feel better there.
Anyway, whilst I was outside the E/R waiting for my cab to the drug store, this dude came up to me and assured me that everything was going to be okay. I wanted to believe him, because he looked like Montel Williams. He asked if they were able to help me, and I told him yes. He said he was waiting for them to take his vitals, but wanted to come out and smoke real quick like, and thought I was pretty, so he figured he'd take his chances and talk to me. I thanked him, and smiled the best I could, with my swollen face. Then he asked if I was waiting for my husband to pick me up, and I thought oh here we go…. I told him I wasn't married. Lawd, you would have thought he'd won on Jeopardy. He put his arm around me and started yip-yapping about everything, and informed me that he had been diagnosed with schizophrenia, but was taking his medications, so he was okay. He introduced himself as Geno. I immediately thought of Geno Vanelli. He then gave me his phone number and practically begged me to call him. Then, as my cab pulled up, he asked me for a quick kiss. WTF? He gave a light peck on the lips and dashed back into the hospital.
After all that, my emoticon face was set on o_0.
So, today, I went to the grocery store with the Mother Unit, and as I rounded the corner of an aisle, this short, chubby guy stopped me. He held up a huge bottle of Jim Beam in one hand, and a family-size box of Fruit Loops in the other. In a lovely Middle Eastern accent, he asked "This is a great combination, eh?" I laughed and agreed with him. He practically skipped away with glee.
I think I'm really starting to like San Diego.
You constantly revile me with your singular lack of vision. Be aware, there is an essential truth and beauty in all things. From the death throes of a speared gazelle to the damaged smile of a freeway homeless. But that does not mean that the invisibility of something implies its lack of being. Though simpleton babies foolishly believe the person before them vanishes when they cover their eyes during a hateful game of peek-a-boo, this is a fallacy. And so it is that the unseen dusty build up that accumulates behind the DVD shelves in the rumpus room exists also. This is unacceptable.
I will tell you this Rosalina, not as a taunt or a threat but as an evocation of joy. The joy of nothingness, the joy of the real. I want you to be real in everything you do. If you cannot be real, then a semblance of reality must be maintained. A real semblance of the fake real, or “real”. I have conquered volcanoes and visited the bitter depths of the earth’s oceans. Nothing I have witnessed, from lava to crustacean, assailed me liked the caked debris haunting that small plastic soap hammock in the smaller of the bathrooms. Nausea is not a sufficient word. In this regard, you are not being real.
Now we must turn to the horrors of nature. I am afraid this is inevitable. Nature is not something to be coddled and accepted and held to your bosom like a wounded snake. Tell me, what was there before you were born? What do you remember? That is nature. Nature is a void. An emptiness. A vacuum. And speaking of vacuum, I am not sure you’re using the retractable nozzle correctly or applying the ‘full weft’ setting when attending to the lush carpets of the den. I found some dander there.
I have only listened to two songs in my entire life. One was an aria by Wagner that I played compulsively from the ages of 19 to 27 at least 60 times a day until the local townsfolk drove me from my dwelling using rudimentary pitchforks and blazing torches. The other was Dido. Both appalled me to the point of paralysis. Every quaver was like a brickbat against my soul. Music is futile and malicious. So please, if you require entertainment while organizing the recycling, refrain from the ‘pop radio’ I was affronted by recently. May I recommend the recitation of some sharp verse. Perhaps by Goethe. Or Schiller. Or Shel Silverstein at a push.
The situation regarding spoons remains unchanged. If I see one, I will kill it.
That is all. Do not fail to think that you are not the finest woman I have ever met. You are. And I am including on this list my mother and the wife of Brad Dourif (the second wife, not the one with the lip thing). Thank you for listening and sorry if parts of this note were smudged. I have been weeping.
Your money is under the guillotine.
I saw this image of Barbara Bush on Yahoo, and the first thing I thought of was a velociraptor. Now, you will too.
( more behind here ~ one is very naughty, so be aware... )
I'm back to trying to write, as well as collect pictures for the most ambitious video I will ever make. Ta.
I may have just lost my mind from this hilarity.
Earlier this morning (I've been up all night again), this story popped up on my trending feed.
Ancient Egyptians may have chronicled the flickering of a star known as "the Demon," perhaps the earliest known record of a variable star, astronomers suggest.
And that got me to thinking about Nibiru and the Annunaki again, so I ended up here:
Earlier this month, at a meeting of the American Astronomical Society in Timberline Lodge, Ore., Rodney Gomes, an astronomer from the National Observatory of Brazil in Rio de Janeiro, announced the results of his simulation of a region beyond Pluto known as the "scattered disk," suggesting the presence of an as yet to be discovered massive world.
Well, that got me on a roll, so I decided to check out the dark moon Lilith.
The Dark Moon has also been defined as the apogee of the Moon's orbit, or that point in the orbit farthest from the Earth. Both these points, the apogee and the second focal point, lie on the long axis of the orbital ellipse, the line of apsides. Seen from the Earth, they lie in the same direction, and therefore occupy the same place in the zodiac. The second focal point lies at a distance only about 36´000 km from the Earth, the apogee at about 400´000 km. Apart from this, both definitions can be regarded as being equivalent. Because the orbit of the Moon continually shifts forward in space, the Dark Moon moves along the zodiac at about 40° per year. A complete revolution takes 8 years and 10 months.
And, somehow, that led me here. And I larfed and larfed. For obvious reasons. Because, really, I've known this for 22 years now.
Could there be a monstrous, undiscovered star orbiting our own Sun? Could it be scattering killer comets throughout our Solar System like clockwork every 26 million years? New scientific surveys are probing the edges of our Solar System--a realm populated by giant worlds and mysterious planetoid--hunting for Nemesis, the Sun's purported evil twin. We may be on the verge of discovering this ultimate death star, suspected of causing every mass extinction in Earth's history.
And there is something phenomenally bizarre about my joking around with Carl and Vivienne, continuing to use the Clive Barker theme. ::meltdown:: hahaha!
You know where you hope this Ford Escort will take you, but you don’t know for sure…..
but it doesn’t matter, because Tom Hardy is driving it and let’s be honest, you didn’t even ask where it was going because you don’t care because it’s TOM HARDY.
But I think my soul is better for it. I don't feel natural walking a path of light. It doesn't seem sincere. The monsters I harbour are often my only comfort now, and I think that's the way it should be for me. And, if events had turned out differently during that time of Celtic Wonderment, I would not be where I am today.
Everything is connected. Everything means something. Everything is important in the forging of a spirit.
On my way back from taking care of the kitties, I swung by the ABC store to replenish my Irish Creme in order to make the coffee that much tastier. The woman asked for my ID. When I showed it to her, she did a double take and said "I don't believe it."
I turn 45 years old in five months.
This pleased me to no end. I told her that you reach a point in your life when being carded is actually a good thing. She laughed and told me she agreed 100%.
Sometimes, it's just damned groovy being a Vampire. Actually, it's the Evans gene. It was passed on to Aunt Josephine, who looks like she's in her sixties, when she's actually closer to ninety now. Aunt Tudi also had the gene. When she passed, she looked to be in her forties, but she was 67. I am the last Evans to carry this trait, as our numbers have dwindled and no one in my generation has the fortune of the Evans Vampire Chromosome.
I don't know how old the woman thought I was, but she obviously thought I was much younger than 44. Actually...you have to be 21 or older to buy alcohol, so I figure she thought I was near enough to 21 to hold me in suspicion.
Speaking of Vampires, I posted this picture of Barry and Finn on Facebook, 'cos someone was keen on seeing it and I figured I'd share with all the Shriek fans. The picture is from 1985. I never knew the date until Vivienne clued me in, in the comments section of the photo. Barry has changed very little from that picture. There are signs of age, yes, but nothing like what it should be for someone who turns 56 in September.
Todd piped up and declared the picture "creepeh." When I private messaged him and told him he'd just called Vivienne's ex-husband creepeh, he swiftly replied with "Oh dear. Damn it." I can't stop laughing. HAHA, he just wrote me back and said "I really need to use judgement, eh? I never want to be a dick." ::dies laughing::
Publicly, I told him I would kill him off in my next novel but, since I'd already done it once (his anchored character Paine Bryerson was the only one to die in The Chalice, and he did so at the hands of Cadmus Pariah, which was intentionally ironic, considering his disdain for, as he calls them, "Screechback"), I'd have to think of something equally as vile to make him miserable.
I love Todd. He always makes me cackle.
I have another buttload of Rothian photos to display here. The people on Tumblr are insane when it comes to posting pictures of The Roth. And all of them are so damned lovely.
I now have over 200 pictures of Tim Roth. That is ridiculous. I'd be ashamed of myself, but I'm too busy stoking the smouldering fires of my lust.
Watch this space.
For now, I think it's time to either work on the Gethsymonae story, or begin a new one for Cadmus. He's clawing at my brain, demanding attention since the whole Flint debacle.
When Cadmus is out for blood, you either feed him or he feeds himself, at your expense.
I'd give anything to know what Clive Barker would think of Cadmus, since his influence is quite evident on the character.
I guess I'll never know.
aries: angriest asshole award
taurus: number two and loving it award
gemini: superficial nervous wreck award
cancer: crybaby emotionpants award
leo: egotist extraordinaire award
virgo: petty perfectionist award
libra: indecisive “individual” award
scorpio: secretive bastard award
sagittarius: expert exaggerator award
capricorn: condescending parent award
aquarius: complete weirdo award
pisces: idealistic idiot award
When I went to the podiatrist, he said that the toenail was literally attached by a mere wisp of now-infected skin. I told him I would have just pulled it off the rest of the way, but I was a little too scared to do so. He told me that I would have been in excruciating pain if I'd done that and assured me that he would deaden the toe before he removed the nail the rest of the way. He gave me two big shots of Novocain and, after a few minutes, took these godawful pliers and yanked the nail out the rest of the way. I asked him if I could keep the nail, that I wanted to freak my family out, and he looked at me like I'd just hopped out of a UFO and said "take me to your leader." It turns out I was like the third person that week who had asked to keep their toenail. He slipped the monstrosity into a biohazard bag (which made me feel really great about myself) and gave it to me, after wrapping up my toe, saying a prayer, and writing in my chart that I was yet another weirdo to cross his path.
When I got home, I showed the toenail to Uncle Michael, Janice and Johnna's two youngest kids. They were all "EWWWWW," except for Uncle Michael who, with me, got to speculating about what I could do with my nail. Here are some of the things we came up with.
- Drill a hole through it, affix some string and voila! a Christmas tree ornament.
- Use some Polident and glue it to my front teeth, then go around the flea market grinning at horrified patrons.
- Nail it to my front door as decoration
- Show it off as my "pet."
We decided that the best idea was to put the toenail on display like the Crown Jewels in a clear plastic box that said, "for viewing only, protected by ADT."
Today, Uncle Michael gave me a round Franklin Mint coin holder. He said that would protect the nail until he could build me a display. He's serious. Once I have the display ready and get a new camera (I broke mine in another spectacular fall), I'll take pictures and post them here.
The last time Aunt Tudi was in the hospital, she wasn't even given the option of an iron transfusion. They just started pumping her full of blood while they set her up an appointment with a hematologist. Today, she went to see her new blood doctor, one Dr. Eric Nelson. He reminded me of a honey dew melon with arms and legs. Just a very cute little man, Dr. Nelson is. And the man knows his stuff. Only Vampires know as much about blood as this man. I was mightily impressed.
Of course, they drew blood and did labs on Aunt Tudi before she saw the doc, so he could get an idea of what he was dealing with before he talked to Aunt Tudi. He came in and told her, after looking at her blood under a microscope. He told us that Aunt Tudi's blood was not only low in red blood cell count, but also in white blood cells, which may explain how she can catch a minor head cold and almost die from it. She asked him about her platelet count because they'd mentioned in the hospital that her platelet count was low. He kind of smiled sidewise and said, "Well, Ms. Evans, normal platelet count is usually 180,000 to 250,000. From what I saw, your count is running about 19,000."
Dr. Nelson believes that it's the methotrexate that has messed Aunt Tudi's blood so badly. He saw no signs that would point to any kind of leukemia, so he doesn't think we need to worry about anything quite so serious, but he has taken Aunt Tudi off the methotrexate permanently, and he hasn't out-ruled a bone marrow test just to be on the safe side of things. In the meantime, he wrote up an order to schedule her for a couple of transfusions of iron, and he wants to see her in two weeks for more blood work to see if her blood levels have gotten any better since she's been off the methotrexate. If he sees no improvement, a bloo,aod marrow test is definitely going to happen. Whatever else the doctor has up his sleeve, I guess we'll find out if we have to cross that bridge.
So, on the way home, I spied a mosquito floating about in the car and told Aunt Tudi about it, although she usually doesn't have to worry about such things. Blood-sucking creatures like mosquitoes always go after me over anyone or anything else. Surprisingly, a few minutes later, Aunt Tudi piped up and said "Well, that mosquito just bit me on the back of the neck."
"What? You're kidding me! Mosquitoes always bite me first."
"Well, not this time," Aunt Tudi groused.
"Hm. With your blood, the mosquito must be on a diet."
Aunt Tudi laughed. It was then we equated our blood to milk that people drink depending on their diet. Since we're both anemic, neither one of us have the equivalent of whole milk. We decided that I have 2% blood and Aunt Tudi has skim blood.
And who knew mosquitoes needed to watch their weight?
Tonight, I had a Pot Noodle for supper. My tongue is still out of whack from my biting it so bad, so I'm limiting myself to soft and semi-soft foods. Pot Noodles fall under that category. This Pot Noodle, though, was entirely different from the others I've had. This one was spicy. No... it was SPICY! It was so hot, I was weeping and begging for Sweet Jesus to take me home. I ate the whole thing, though, and I feel like it has cauterized the wound on my tongue. So, maybe I should have eaten a hot Pot Noodle sooner than this, despite its horrific effects on my body and soul.
I went to the Social Security office today to speak with Ms. McNalley. I had received a letter in the mail about two weeks ago, telling me to contact the Social Security office and speak with an S. Fincher. I had to do this by 22 May, or my qualification for SSI/Medicaid may be compromised. So I began calling the same day I was in receipt of this letter, but every time I called, all I got was a voice mail for a Ms. McNalley. I would leave a message each time I called, but I never received a call back. We had to go to Spartanburg today, so I decided to swing by Social Security and talk to someone face-to-face, since it was obvious I was not going to get any joy via Ma Bell. When I was finally called to a window, I explained my dilemma to the social worker and she told me that Ms. McNalley was S. Fincher, that she had gotten married. Dude...why not change your bleeding voice mail?! The social worker asked me to wait for about thirty minutes, as Ms. McNalley was currently at lunch. So I waited and was called back about 35 minutes later.
Ms. McNalley explained to me that the letter I received was for me to call and set up an appointment to come in for my interview to see if I qualified for SSI/Medicaid benefits. For about thirty minutes, Ms. McNalley asked me question after question about my residence, car, income from outside sources (like foodstamps), and any earned income. I was brutally honest with her about everything, up to an including my earned income from mid-2009 through May-2011 - all $36.80 of it. She gave me googly eyes at that and I tittered with amusement on the inside. After the interview, Ms. McNalley processed my information and informed me that I did qualify for SSI/Medicaid retroactively to September 2009. From the way she explained it, this means that all the medical bills I've accrued during the period in question should be retroactively paid by Medicaid instead of my having to pay them out of my retroactive cheque. If that's the case, this is very good news. She also said I qualified for supplemental security income during that period and asked me if I wanted the monies directly deposited into my bank account. I'm not sure if that means I'm getting an additional payment from Social Security? ::boggles:: Not sure if this is the case, but I surely hope so.
Now for some piccies. It's just a variety of happy photies snapped over the past few months, with accompanying captions. Enjoy the snaps.
This is our nightly visitor. The opossum comes to eat some cat food each night. It will let me sit in the rocking chair about a yard away and watch it munch merrily along. I just love opossums!
( click for more fun! )
And, finally, I wanted to commit to my beloved Cliffs of Insanity a discussion that Aunt Tudi and I had earlier. Aunt Tudi was asking me about the different speeds one might have to connect to the Internet, and how they differed from one another. I came up with the following analogy.
- Dial up = Walking in deep snow with snow shoes on. You can get around, but it's difficult and slow as hell.
- AT&T FastAccess DSL Lite (13x faster than Dial Up) = Cross-country skiing. You're chugging along pretty well, but it's still slower than you'd like.
- AT&T FastAccess DSL Xtreme 6.0 (100x faster than Dial Up) = Chase rocketing Chevy down the snow-covered hill on his greased-up mega-sled.
If you're unsure what my Chevy Chase reference is, click said reference above and be taken to one of the funniest scenes in a movie ever filmed.
Alrighty, that pretty much covers it. I have an important post to make after this, that needs special attention from any Texans who may read it. Stay tuned.
Speaking of signs, there's a new daycare in Duncan called Grins and Giggles. The sign out front is white with red lettering. I am so tempted to sneak over there in the night, paint over the Grins with white and replace it with the word Shits. "I take my son Fred here to Shits and Giggles Daycare!" It reminded me of when the shaved ice stand in Duncan had their "Hawaiian Shaved Ice" sign altered to read "Hawaiian Shaved Pussy." That was bloody priceless right there.
I'm slowly constructing the playlist for The Augury of Gideon. I've been bantering around in the brain pan about possible chapter names too. Here's what I've come up with so far.
- The Violent Inquisition
- The Mortal Paladin (this would be the chapter into which I'll be injecting my Agatha short story "The Shroud.")
- Defeated Dragon
- The Found Path
- Said the Child to the Mother
- The Final Reunion
This writing two books at the same time is actually kind of fun, if not a little frustrating. The rewrites on The Blood Crown are going to be ridiculous because I wrote a lot if it in stream of consciousness whilst whacked out on Monster coffees. I'm hoping Augury won't be as difficult on gunslingaaahhh.
I just witnessed Aunt Tudi kick a news bee's ass out of the front door. I mean literally, she booted his fat ass out. He looked back at her resentfully and said "kiss my ass next time, byotch." Yes, I speak bee and he was rather vociferous regarding his poor treatment as a guest in our home. Now, if gypsyboy70 had been here, he would have screamed like a leetle gurrl and passed flat out. He doesn't like bees. Why are so many of my friends and acquaintances afraid of bugs? I don't get it. Now, if they feared centipedes and millipedes, I could understand that, because those things are hellspawn from the planet EEEEEEEEEEEEEEK. But bees and spiders? Harmless. Mostly. Like Earth in The Hitchhikers' Guide to the Galaxy.
I've done my LJ and FB cuts. If you were one of them and want to protest, feel free. I'll add you back in a New York minute. But I don't see that happening 'cos the folks I said goodbye to were hardly active at all anyway. And I'm betting that some of them are actually grateful to be rid of me. I know I'm grateful to be rid of me when I get to sleep. Finally, some time away from myself!
Speaking of sleep, Zyprexa is helping me do that. It may kill me, but I was close to death because of not sleeping anyway. It's either take the Zyprexa or take walk in the river. Insomnia can make you want to do ungodly things, like commit suicide. If you're dead, you're sleeping the Big Sleep. I was taking that option quite seriously last week. As a result, I came really close to being hospitalised by the doctors at mental health until I explained to them that I am intractable when it comes to medication. When a couple of Advil would help a normal person, I have to take like four or six. It runs in the family to be this way too. So the doctor gave me the next to the largest strength of Zyprexa. The first night I slept 13 hours. Second night, 7. Consecutive nights have me averaging about 5 or 6, but that's 5 or 6 more hours than I was getting and I'm achieving REM 'cos I remember having dreams. I wish I could remember the dreams, but I know I'm having them. I may have to write a love poem to Zyprexa.
There's something I've been needing to do for a while and I may just do it this evening. I need to take down the Joker posters and stash them away as a moment of short-lived blissful memorabilia. In their place, I'll be mounting on the wall a Shriekback poster from the Go Bang! era. How I'm going to sleep with Barry looming over me is yet to be surmised. We'll see how well the Zyprexa does after the poster shuffling has been achieved. And yes, there will be a picture made. God help us all.
In closing, I am hungry and want lamb koorma with naan immediately, but I'll settle for a peanut butter sammich.
The show was written pretty quickly, but we had issues with the ending. Since it was decided early on the folks who paid to see the show wouldn't know that it was a mock talent contest, we didn't want a recognisable student to actually win. So we all stayed after school one day and brainstormed. And I came up with this idea. Why not have the Invisible Man do a number and end up winning the contest? The bouquet of roses could be set on the empty seat where he's supposed to be sitting and everyone will be happy with the results. Everyone thought that was a dandy idea, but they were curious as to what sort of number the Invisible Man would do.
"Well, why don't we pull one of the mics backstage and have the Invisible Man tap dance to 'Me and My Shadow?'" I asked. The idea was another winner, but no one knew how to tap dance.
Except for me. When I was even younger than high school age, I used to play with my cousins' tap shoes, putting them on my hands and tapping away to old Big Band Jazz tunes on the record player (if you don't know what that is, youngsters...it's now a musical instrument used for scratching in many Rap songs). I couldn't tap dance with my feet to save my life, but I was a tapping fool if you put the shoes on my hands. I explained this to the club members and they all looked at me like I was a fruit loop...and rightfully so. I mean...who tap dances with their hands? At any rate, the consensus was that the Invisible Man would perform a tap dance number and subsequently win the talent contest. And I would be the Invisible Man.
The night of the big show came and everyone who'd paid for a ticket arrived with an overwhelming sense of antici........pation. The proceeds for the show were going to some sort of charity, I forget which, but we weren't conning the public even though some of us were tempted. I'm not naming names. We had Dracula singing a Rock song, Frankenstein doing a dramatic reading (this was before Tonto, Tarzan, and Frankenstein...we should have sued SNL), the three Witches (and I was one of them) doing a suggestive dance around their cauldron, and a number of other humourous monster encounters for our Halloween talent contest. The final contestant was the Invisible Man.
The set up was this: we'd taped a live mic to the floor backstage and piped the song "Me and My Shadow" through the sound system in the auditorium. I was sitting straddled in front of the mic with my cousin's tap shoes on my hands. As soon as the music started, I began to hand dance, tapping away like Mr. Bojangles from Hell. The effect was that the audience could hear someone tap-dancing, but the stage appeared to be empty. They loved it.
When the winner was announced, the public was in full agreement and actually gave a standing ovation when the flowers were brought out and placed on the Invisible Man's lap. I was backstage laughing my butt off. Nobody but my fellow Lits and Dramas ever knew who the Invisible Man was and they never questioned my mad tap-dancing skillz after that magical night when my hands got busy on "Me and My Shadow."
Maybe I should take this act to America's Got Talent so I could be laughed off stage, because I'm certain I would be.
So yeah...me and the Invisible Man? We're tight. Totally.
Hinduism: This shit happened before.
Confucianism: Confucius say: Shit happens.
Buddhism: It is only an illusion of shit happening.
Zen: What is the sound of shit happening?
Islam: If shit happens, it is the will of Allah.
Jehovah's Witnesses: Knock, Knock: 'Shit happens.'
Atheism: There is no such thing as shit.
Agnosticism: Maybe shit happens, maybe not.
Protestantism: Shit won't happen if I work harder.
Catholicism: If shit happens I deserve it.
Judaism: Why does shit always happen to me?
Televangelism: Send money or shit will happen to you.
Rastafarian: Smoke that shit.