First of all, thank you to everyone for being so supportive about Barnaby Jones. You made me cry (in a good way) and I needed to do that. It’s almost Sunday and I’m supposed to be writing my weekly wrap-up but I’m just not myself right now so I’m going to skip it until next week. Instead I’m going to paste the emails I exchanged with my sister today because she made me laugh out loud about something I thought I’d never be able to laugh about and I think we could all use a little bit of levity after the single most douche-canoe of a week ever. Also? Yes, I’m totally phoning it in here. Stop hassling me. I’m grieving, you asshole.
Emails from my sister:
Lisa: Barnaby Jones Pickles dies and I have to find out through facebook?!?! What has this world come to??
Me: It is kind of ridiculous that you found out that my dog is dead through facebook. If you’d been following me on twitter you’d have known days ago. You are a terrible sister.
Lisa: I think that the foxes in your neighborhood were really drug dealers and got him hooked on heroin and then they gave him some bad stuff. All so they can get closer to the house and rob you blind. I mean seriously, did you ever teach him “hugs not drugs”? I bet not. Better teach the cat how to bark. Now at least I won’t feel so bad when Granny kicks the bucket and I tell you over Facebook.
Me: Don’t be ridiculous. You know I never read your facebook updates.
Lisa: Next time instead of a dog, get a pet pig. That way when he overdoses you can have pork chops instead of having to dig a hole in the backyard. The hallucinations from all the heroin he shot up will just be like a bonus. WAIT A MINUTE! You actually buried him yourself and aren’t injured? No missing toes from a not-so-well aimed shovel? No rattlesnake bites? I’m not buying it. Barnaby Jones isn’t even dead, is he? This is all a ploy so you can convince Victor to get you a pig isn’t it? Well played. May I suggest the name ‘Dr. Reverse Kevorkian’, then he can “magically” bring BJP back from the grave. You can call him RV, because within a year he will be the size of a mobile home.
Me: I broke two nails pulling up rocks to make a deep enough grave but the ground is 95% rock and I guess I didn’t dig deep enough because THOSE FUCKING CRACK FOXES DUG HIM UP. Then I spent an hour crying and running around my yard with a machete trying to murder vultures. This is how I spent my Saturday. I called mom and dad to ask what to do and daddy said to dig him back up myself (um…no) and mom said to just let the vultures eat him like some kinda fucked-up circle-of-life Tibetan Air Burial. WTF? Mom is the worst Atheist ever.
Lisa: Now I can’t get The Lion King’s “Circle of Life” out of my head. Thanks for that. You have a freezer you know, just push the Toaster Pastries to the side and toss him in there. The next time Mom and Daddy come down they can take him home with them and Daddy can stuff him. I think he would look super cute in a tiny leather jacket, riding a motorcycle. Oh, or Zombie Barnaby Jones! So there’s my vote. Oh, and now, I totally need some Toaster Pastries.
Me: I just looked up “how to dispose of a corpse” on the internet so now I’m totally fucked if Victor turns up murdered. Hey, did you know that quicklime doesn’t actually destroy a body? Because I do. Now.
I’ve called 10 animal removal/cremation places and none of them work over the weekend. This is like when you can’t find a plumber on a Sunday, except worse because my dog is dead.
Lisa: Evidently you aren’t supposed to off your pet on the weekends. Did you try taking him down to Frank’s Bait and Tacos? I’m sure they would know what to do with him. I’m only 1/2 way joking here.
Me: Oh! And the cat knocked over Hailey’s frog tank and killed them all. So I’ve managed to kill 3 out of 5 pets in 24 hours. That’s like the worst record ever.
Lisa: So did the fish die because the cat knocked over the tank and ate them, or did they just reverse drown? They always say that deaths come in 3′s, so you should be good.
Me: I think they reverse drowned. The cat’s not hungry, just…sort of evil. I found one of the frogs my bathroom and it was desiccated but intact. God knows where the other one is. I’m sure the cat is probably saving it to put on Hailey’s pillow because this week just hasn’t been shitty enough.
PS. Now I’ll never eat toaster pasteries again. Awesome.
Lisa: More Toaster Pastries for meeeeeeeeeeee! Also, without the ‘Pickles’ at the end, his initials were BJ, and I just now figured that out.
me: This is all getting blogged.
Lisa: Cool. It’ll be kind of like an obituary, but with more frozen goodness. (For the record, I’m referring to the Toaster Pastries, not Barnaby Jones.)