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Tuesday, October 11

Door County and Power Rangers

Sorry I've been gone so long.

I was meaning to write once more before we left for Door County. I was gonna write about how much I was dreading the meeting I had set up with my cousin Eric, the confirmed bachelor who lives up that way with another artsy fartsy type, who are just friends. I didn't call him, my mom did, after she heard that we were headed that way. I waited until the last minute to tell her, but even that didn't work...anyway, I didn't have the time Friday morn to write, so here I am.

Anyway, Eric's still weird. Nothing horrible to report, however. I just sat there the whole night, holding my breath, hoping he didn't say or do anything to horrify my wife.

See, I haven't talked to him since the Power Rangers episode of about 8 years ago. Once, between marriages, I had him babysit my kids while I went off on a date with some beast I had met on the internet, actually, she was cute enough, but she went on about her 12-step programs, blah blah, and I ended up telling her that she talked too much, which pissed her off, and then my car got mysteriously keyed at work one day...

...oh, anyway, back to Eric, who was slinking around like a dog when I came home that night. I asked if the kids were alright, and he assured me they were, and they were, and he left, and I didn't realize what had happened for a couple of days, when my eldest son came up to me crying that all of his Power Ranger toys were missing their heads.

To make a long investigation short, Eric had taken them. And eaten them. Was he somehow mad at the Red Ranger? Nah, he saw some good heads, and took the initative to eat them. Saved him some dough, normally, he'd have to buy the "action figures" himself, so he could bit the heads off.

Seems that when the heads run "through the system", they tend to stretch his turdhole to it's limit, which gives him quite the rush. In fact, he looks forward to the time, as he furiously whacks off while the plastic cranium tears its way through his distended rectum.

Not that he's GAY, mind you. No, heavens no, why would I think that? He likes girls, or rather, he doesn't necessarily like men. He just likes his pooper messed with when he's getting off. Most female types don't get into that, or at least, they charge more. Sometimes, in the past when funds were scarce, he'd pluck them from the bowl, wipe them down real good, sanitize them, then, you know, recycle least until the combination of stomach acids and boiling waters would smooth down the features of the heads, thus rendering them unproductive for their task.

Shit, what a fuckin' weirdo. He smelled like petroleum jelly all night. I had the chill bumps from the moment we saw him until the moment we paid the check and ran like hell.