Wednesday, March 31, 2010


ME:  Hello, Grammy!

(no answer)

ME:  Grammy!

(no answer)

ME:  Grammy?  Oh, my . . .  Julius, quick. Call 911.

JULIUS:  Is she dead?

ME:  I don’t know.  Call 911.

JULIUS:  The phone won’t work.  I think they’re both dead.

ME:  Oh, my God.  Grammy?  Grammy?

GRAMMY:  Ha!  April Fools!

ME:  Grammy!

GRAMMY:  Thought I was dead, didn’t you?

ME:  Yes!  Why would you do something like that?

GRAMMY:  What, are you deaf?  I said April Fools.

ME:  April Fool’s Day is tomorrow, Grammy.  Not today.

GRAMMY:  Well, what’s the point of playing a damn joke on April Fool’s Day?  Then you’d know it was a joke.  Besides, you don’t come over here on Thursdays.

ME:  I can’t believe you did that, Grammy.  I could kill you!

GRAMMY:  Ha!  A minute ago you were in tears because you thought I was dead.  Now you’re gonna kill me?  Make up your mind.  Do you want me dead or alive?

ME:  I want you alive, Grammy, so I can kill you myself.  Come on, Julius.  We’re leaving.

GRAMMY:  Hey!  Where are you going?  I thought you were gonna kill me?  Sheesh.  That woman will never amount to anything.  No follow through.

Photo:  Source

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Monday, March 29, 2010


BABY:  (runs through apartment)  YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!

GRAMMY:  What the hell was that?

ME:  The baby from hell.

GRAMMY:  Oooh.  Not our usual Barney self today, are we?

ME:  Shut up, Grammy.  I’m not in the mood.

BABY:  (knocks kitchen chairs down)  WHEEEEE.

GRAMMY:  Okay.  Who is she and where did she come from?

ME:  It’s my neighbor’s daughter.  Her babysitter cancelled and she was in a bind, so I volunteered.

BABY:  (slams kitchen door over and over)  YAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!

ME:  She just doesn’t stop.  It’s been like this all day.

GRAMMY:  So you brought her here?  To my house?  What the hell is wrong with you?

(Baby pulls knickknack shelf over)  CRASH

ME:  I don’t know what to do, Grammy.  I can’t get her to stop.

BABY:  (runs past)  YAYAYAYAYAYAY!

GRAMMY:  Lord!  She’s like the Energizer Bunny on speed.  You try to catch her.  I’ll go get the whiskey.

ME:  This is no time to be drinking, Grammy.

(Baby rips off diaper and flings it)

GRAMMY:  It’s not for me.  It’s for her.

ME:  Oh!  Good idea.

(twenty minutes later. Baby’s asleep)

ME:  Well, that was an experience.

GRAMMY:  Yep.  I’m telling you, Barbara.  There’s nothing a bit of whiskey can’t fix.

Photo:  Philip Rogan

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Friday, March 26, 2010


GRAMMY:  I saw your ex today.  He’s out in front of the supermarket begging.

ME:  Begging?

GRAMMY:  Yeah.  He was bent over on the ground, cup in front of him, scrounging for money.  Even got the cat and dog in on the act.

ME:  Oh, Grammy.  He wasn’t begging.  He trained the cat and dog to do that ages ago.  It’s the art of Street Performance.

GRAMMY:  Well, that’s exactly what he was doing - performing the art of begging in the street.  And how the hell is that gonna help Julius?

ME:  What do you mean?

GRAMMY:  Admit it, Barbara.  The boy has idiots for parents.

ME:  That’s nonsense, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, well tell him that when he goes to school and everyone makes fun of him because his father is begging outside the supermarket.

ME:  I told you.  He’s not begging.  He’s performing.  And even if you don’t understand that, other people will.

GRAMMY:  Well, if you’re not gonna do something about it, I am.

ME:  Grammy?  Where are you going with that rifle?

GRAMMY:  The supermarket.  I’m gonna put on a little performance of my own.

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Wednesday, March 24, 2010


JULIUS:  Grammy, I need help.  I need to write down ten things that are orange.  Besides an orange.

GRAMMY:  And what do you have so far?

JULIUS:  A pumpkin.

GRAMMY:  That’s it?

JULIUS:  Uh, huh.

GRAMMY:  Well, sweet potatoes are orange. And life jackets.

JULIUS:  Oh, and goldfish.  Remember when we ate one?

GRAMMY:  Yeah. It was kind of yummy. Wasn’t it?

JULIUS:  Kind of wiggly, too.

GRAMMY:  So, what else is orange?

JULIUS:  Clown hair and circus peanuts.

GRAMMY:  Circus peanuts?

JULIUS:  You know.  Those orange squishy candies.

GRAMMY:  Oh, yeah.  Taste like wet cardboard.  Let’s go buy some.

JULIUS:  Really?

GRAMMY:  Sure.  And we’ll get something to drink with our orange peanuts.  How about an Orange Julius?

JULIUS:  But I’m not orange.

GRAMMY:  It’s a drink, boy.  Named after you.  And it just happens to be orange.  But don’t tell your mother.

JULIUS:  Why not?

GRAMMY:  Well, you know how she is with all her health food crap.  She’s not really an orange person.  She’s more into yellows.

JULIUS:  Like cream corn and lemons?

GRAMMY:  You got it, boy.  Like cream corn and lemons.

Photo:  Source

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Monday, March 22, 2010


TYPHUS:  Hey, Grammy.  Come look.  I bought myself some wheels.

GRAMMY:  Hell, are you even old enough to drive?

TYPHUS:  Got my license two weeks ago.

GRAMMY:  Well, I’ll have to remember to be more careful when I cross the street now.  Where is it?

TYPHUS:  It’s the blue convertible in front of Alfie’s.

GRAMMY:  You’re kidding me?

TYPHUS:  I got a great deal.  Only three-hundred bucks and it’s practically brand-new.  Only has 200 miles on it.

GRAMMY:  And you didn’t ask why you were getting a brand-new car for $300.00?

TYPHUS:  I know it’s got problems.  The dealer said it was in a small accident and the owner didn’t want it anymore.

ME:  What’s everyone looking at?

GRAMMY:  Typhus got himself a car.  Got a great deal on it, too.  Brand-new and only $300.00.

ME:  That’s ridiculous.  You can’t buy a new car for $300.00.

GRAMMY:  Oh, I don’t know.  You’d be surprised.  Come see.  It’s the one in front of Alfie’s.

ME:  But that’s . . . that’s my car.

TYPHUS:  You don’t have a car.

GRAMMY:  Not any more.  It was in a small accident.  Got crushed by a garbage truck.  Happy driving, Typhus.
Photo: Musty Moments

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Friday, March 19, 2010


GRAMMY:  What’s with all the damn flamingos?

ME:  What flamingos?

GRAMMY:  Alfie’s got over a hundred of them out in his front yard.  Didn’t flamingos go out with the fifties?

ME:  Oh, it’s probably some art project he’s working on.

GRAMMY:  Well, that doesn’t sound enthusiastic.  Usually, you’re fawning all over everything he does.  What’s the matter, you two love birds have a fight?

ME:  We’re not ‘love birds,’ Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Yep.  You had your first fight.

ME:  Alfie doesn’t fight, Grammy.  Or argue.  Or get mad.  He shrugs and says, “Oh well.”

GRAMMY:  Or he plants flamingos.

ME:  What are you talking about?

GRAMMY:  Well, look at the damn things.  Bound legs, beaks tied up tighter than a noose, feet frozen in the ice, and every one of their beady little eyes trained on this window.

ME:  So?

GRAMMY: So, he’s telling you to shut up, go away and die. Hell, he’s screaming it.

ME:  That’s ridiculous, Grammy.  I don’t know where you get all your crazy ideas.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, well, what you need to get is a restraining order.  Lord, I can almost hear the creepy music playing in the background.

Photo:  Stanislav Odyagailo

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Wednesday, March 17, 2010


ME:  Don’t you just love parades?  The balloons and the bands, the popcorn and cotton candy?

GRAMMY:  Standing around in the cold, freezing your ass off.

ME:  Oh, look!  There’s the high school’s marching band.  Don’t they sound great?

GRAMMY:  Yeah, if you like the sound of constipated pigs.

ME:  And there’s the mayor.  He’s doing a wonderful job, don’t you think?

GRAMMY:  Yep.  He’s taken more bribes this year than anyone in the entire history of the world.

ME:  Oh!  Miss New Hampshire!  I heard she’s going to be a brain surgeon.  Not only pretty, but smart, too.

GRAMMY:  Smart enough to date the head judge of the contest.

ME:  Oh, and look at the clowns!  They’re so funny.

GRAMMY:  You’re ignoring me, aren’t you?

ME:  Yes.


ME:  Oh, look, Grammy!  The Fire Department!  God, they’re so hunky in uniform.  And they look so much better out of them.

GRAMMY:  Where?  Move the hell over and let an old woman see.  (sigh)  Don't you just love a parade?

Photo:  merlinprincesse

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Monday, March 15, 2010


ME:  Grammy, look what Julius did in school.

GRAMMY:  He wrote a poem about Godzilla?  So?

ME:  So look at the sentiment and the emotions involved.  And he’s attributing them to a monster.

GRAMMY:  So?  Monsters can’t have feelings?

ME:  Grammy!  Godzilla destroyed Tokyo.  He murdered millions.  And Julius is feeling sorry for him!

GRAMMY:  Uh, you do know Godzilla is fictitious?

ME:  I know.  But does Julius?  And why would he empathize with monsters?  His psychologist thinks he might have done something awful and now he’s sorry about it and thinking of himself as a monster.

GRAMMY:   Oh, Lord.  The man’s an idiot, and you are too.  We watched Godzilla vs. Mothra last week.  Julius probably felt bad for him.  Hell, he saves Tokyo and everyone still wants to kill him just because he’s a monster.

ME:  Well, can you blame them?  I mean, think of it - having your city destroyed over and over again.  Seeing your loved ones die.

GRAMMY:  The point is, Barbara, he saved them.

ME:  So he could come back and destroy them himself later.

JULIUS: (Whispering to Typhus)  They do know he’s make-believe, right?

TYPHUS:  Maybe we should call your shrink.

Photo:  Godzilla Haiku

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Friday, March 12, 2010


GRAMMY:  What are you doing, boy?

JULIUS:  Blowing bubbles.

GRAMMY:  Really?  Just blowing bubbles?

JULIUS:  Uh huh.

GRAMMY:  So if I look out that window, I’m not gonna see some damn freaky bubble sculpture?

JULIUS: Unh uh.

GRAMMY:  And you’re not conducting some God-awful experiment where you trap bugs in bubbles or some other weird stuff?


GRAMMY:  So all I’m gonna see are bubbles floating away until they burst?

JULIUS:  Uh huh.

GRAMMY:  (takes deep breath and looks out window)  Well, I’ll be . . . it’s just . . . bubbles.

JULIUS:  I told you.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, you did.  (sigh)

JULIUS:  What’s the matter, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  Well, it’s kind of a let-down.  I was expecting . . . hell, I don’t know what I was expecting.

JULIUS:  Wanna try?

GRAMMY:  What?  Me?  Blow bubbles?

JULIUS:  It’s fun.  It’ll make you happy.

GRAMMY:  Oh, right.  Like that’ll ever happen.

JULIUS:  Try, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Oh, hell, boy.  Move over and gimme the stick.

JULIUS:  Isn’t it fun?

GRAMMY:  Yeah, it is.  I tell you what.  I’ll blow the bubbles and you take my cigarette and see how many you can pop before your mother gets home.

Photo:  Source

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Wednesday, March 10, 2010


ME:  I have to go, Grammy.  I have to get to the demonstration.

GRAMMY:  You won’t take time to find a job, but you have time for a demonstration?

ME:  Yes, Grammy.  It’s important.

GRAMMY:  Not as important as eating, obviously.

ME:  I have my Unemployment, Grammy.  And somebody has to do something.  The dolphins can’t save themselves.

GRAMMY:  And who’s gonna save the fishermen?  You may be happy living on Unemployment, but that doesn’t mean they will.

ME:  Well, they shouldn’t even be fishing in the first place.  People shouldn’t eat other living creatures.

GRAMMY:  But it’s okay for the animals you’re trying to save?  They can eat other living creatures?  And what about those plants you’re continuously shoving down your throat?  They’re alive too, you know.  Well, they are until you rip them from the ground and cut them into pieces.

ME:  Plants aren’t sentient beings, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  How do you know?  Hard to tell when you don’t speak plant.

ME:  I’m going to ignore you, Grammy, and go.  See you later.

GRAMMY:  (sigh)  Give a woman a brain and her possibilities are endless.  Give her a cause, and she’ll turn into a blithering idiot every time.

Photo:  Source

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Monday, March 8, 2010


JULIUS:  Grammy!  Grammy!  Come quick!

GRAMMY:  Lord, what’s the matter now?

JULIUS:  It’s Typhus.  He’s stuck!

GRAMMY:  What do you mean he’s . . . ?  Oh my Lord!

TYPHUS:  Get me down.  Please!

GRAMMY:  Didn’t I tell you not to be jumping on my bed?

TYPHUS:  Yeah.  And I’m sorry.  Now get me down.

GRAMMY:  Sorry, boy.  We all have to learn from our mistakes.

TYPHUS:  Grammy?!

GRAMMY:  See what happens when you act like a dumb twit.

TYPHUS:  I see.  Now get me down!

GRAMMY:  Sure.  No problem.  But first, I’m gonna have me a smoke and a whiskey while I watch my soaps.  See you in a few hours.

TYPHUS:  Grammy!!!

GRAMMY:  Hey, you wanted to hang out in my bedroom.  So hang.

Photo:  Gregor Collienne

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Wednesday, March 3, 2010


GRAMMY:  Ha!  You didn’t believe me, did you?

ME:  Believe what, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  That animals are conspiring to do away with us.  Read this.

ME:  Mountain climber and photographer plunge to their deaths after being attacked by birds.

GRAMMY:  And all they found was the camera with that picture in it.  It’s just like in that Hitchcock movie. Do you think they saw it?

ME:  What?

GRAMMY:  The birds!  Do you think they saw the movie?  Maybe that’s where they got the idea.  I’m telling you, Barbara, this isn’t a war we’re going to win.  Not if the bugs get in on it.

ME:  Uhm, Grammy, have you been drinking today?

GRAMMY:  I drink everyday.  What the hell are you implying?

ME:  Well, you’re not talking rationally.  Did you take any medication?

GRAMMY:  Just that garbage the morticians at the deathhouse gave me for my arthritis.

ME:  Grammy, you shouldn’t take medication with your whiskey.

GRAMMY:  What the hell is wrong with you, Barbara?  We’re under attack by a horde of evil, maniacal animals, and you’re worried about my medication?  Go get me my shotgun.  The next bird that lands on that windowsill is mincemeat!

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Monday, March 1, 2010


GRAMMY:  Whoa!  What the hell happened to you?

ME:  Oh, the power went out during the storm and I was wandering around in the dark, trying to find a flashlight or a candle.

GRAMMY:  So what did you do?  Trip over a piece of furniture?

ME:  No.  I stepped on Snowflake’s tail.

GRAMMY:  Ha!  There’s nothing more dangerous than a black cat in the dark.  Did she bite you or claw you?

ME:  Both.

GRAMMY:  Serves you right, keeping the damn thing locked up in the house its entire life.

ME:  I don’t keep her locked up.  She gets out when we come here.

GRAMMY:  She comes in a cat crate!  That’s getting out?  You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s been planning this for a long time.  Just used the power outage as an excuse.

ME:  Really, Grammy.  She’s a cat.  Animals don’t know how to plot and scheme.

GRAMMY:  Yeah?  Remember that chimp that tore off a woman’s face?  And the killer whale at Sea World that drowned his trainer for no reason at all?  Believe what you want, Barbara, but me - I’m gonna keep that cat knee-deep in catnip when she's here.

Photo:  Laini & Samin

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