Friday, February 26, 2010


GRAMMY:  That was one hell of a storm, yesterday, huh?  You alive over there?

ME:  Oh, Grammy!  Everything’s a mess!  There are trees down in the driveway, my basement is flooded, I have no power, and I found my mailbox half-way down the street.  What about you?

GRAMMY:  I’m sitting in a nice warm house with lights, and I’m as dry as a bone.  Oh, and the mailman is dropping my mail through the slot as we speak.

ME:  I don’t get it, Grammy.  How do you always escape disaster?

GRAMMY:  Ha!  Disaster wouldn’t come within two feet of me.  I’d kick its sorry ass all the way to Kookamunga.

ME:  To where?

GRAMMY:  Kookamunga. You know.  One of those weird places.  Like Timbuktu and Kalamazoo.

ME:  You’re making those names up.

GRAMMY:  Right.  I have nothing better to do than make up fake city names.

ME:  Well, actually, Grammy, you don’t have anything better to do.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, poor me.  Sitting here all comfy cozy when I could be hauling tree trunks and bailing water out of my cellar.  Well, I guess we can’t all be as lucky as you, huh?

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