I was cleaning out my 8,000+ unread emails this morning and I stumbled upon an unread email from our late, great friend ~ Nancy W. Kappes, paralegal. For those of you new to the blog you should know that Nancy was the greatest letter-writer in the history of ever, and everyone in my small world mourned for her last year when she died unexpectedly. If she was here I suspect she’d point out that it was less unexpected that she died, and more unexpected that it didn’t involve heavy gunfire, a swat team and a briefcase of stolen heroin and Judy Garland Trail Mix.
If you aren’t a fan of Nancy then this will just confuse you and you should just come back later, but if you are, it’s a bit like a voice from the grave. An awesome, confusing, vulgar, dearly-missed voice from the grave…
Fuck me running (which is what I totally tried to do, but goddamn those punk-ass young cops are fast) so I had me a little Holiday at the Hamilton Handcuff County Hilton. BUT, on the plus side, you wouldn’t fucking believe how many people want to have sex with me.
So. Several things to catch up on. You need some human skin? Fuckin-A, dude! My thank-you-god-former MIL had jowls the size of fucking Delaware and I always said she should be like The World’s First Skin Farm, where they harvested that shit, waited for the growing-back phase (couldn’t be that long), and BOOM! Harvest again! Makin money just for havin a face! A face that is so goddamned scary, I used to put a photo of her on my patio door to scare burglars. It also worked on raccoons. Although we could still totally hear them in the woods behind our apartment. I mean, Christ! These motherfuckers were bigger than my car and you could hear them loud as shit in the night. One time, my Claire was sleeping with me [bed by the huge window overlooking said woods] and she was…ah, maybe 10 years old. We totally wake up to hear, [deep growl] “UH UH UH UH UH UH” interspersed with [high-pitched] “EE EE EE EE EE.” After about 5 minutes of this bullshit, Claire screamed out the window, “Leave her alone already!”
In 7th grade history, I organized a cough-off where everyone would hack their fucking lungs out at exactly 1:15pm. Naturally, when it was over, the teacher just said, “Whitford—Principal’s office” which was a phrase I heard at least once a day. I mean, shit! What kid hasn’t spray-painted the school walls? On the inside.
Oh, and Jenns, if you need any dominatrix gear for your Speaking Engagement and Other Activities, lemme know. I got a truckload of that shit. I also need to know if you have an allergy to latex before I send all that shit. Most of it is illegal in the US but fuck it.
Carry on, Motherfucker!
Nancy W. Kappes, Paralegal