Wednesday, December 23, 2009


GRAMMY:  Jules?  What the hell do you want?

JULES:  I’ve come to spend Christmas with my son.

GRAMMY:  So you came here?  And brought friends?

JULES:  It’s Wednesday.  Isn’t Barbara usually here on Wednesdays?

GRAMMY:  It’s almost midnight, dimbulb.  She does go home once in a while.  You know - to eat and sleep.

JULES:  Oh. Well . . . .

GRAMMY:  Did you bring presents for the boy?

JULES:  I’m, ah . . . a bit short right now.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, I can see that.  Must have spent it all on those fancy duds, huh?

JULES:  Well, you know what they say, Grammy.  Clothes make the man.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, they do.  But we were talking about you. (slams door in his face)

JULES:  Grammy!  We’re not going anywhere!  We’ll be here for Christmas dinner!

GRAMMY:  Good.  Dinner’s at five.  Bring your appetites!
Now where did I put that rat poison?

Photo:  Neil Girling

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I'm Jet . . . said...

The word of the day is SANIT, which I think absolutely must be the root word of SANITY, right? And INSANITY.

I'm happy to be reading your little brand of it . . .

Merry Christmas, Barb!


Barbara said...

And you, too, Jet!