Posts Tagged ‘Lady Gaga’

Previously: Why do I bother listening? Why do I hang around this place? Why? Why?

And Now: That was a damn good question. I had to get out of there and now. I didn’t care if Ahmad had the best falafel, everything else was about to do me in. So I booked.

But where would I go? Church? Not hardly. Not since Sister Mary Angela Bucco caught me screwing around with one of the Goldberg-O’Brien twins behind the sacramental wine rack. (That’s where the priest kept the good stuff.)  Which sister I can’t remember, they DID look alike after all. And what you’re probably asking is up with the Goldberg-O’Brien name? Yeah, Irish and Jewish. Go figure. Lust knows no boundaries and neither did their parents. Being a good Catholic and a good Jew, they had the best of both worlds: six kids by three sets of twins. Why buy retail, right? So church was out.

2701993985_e3e5065a57                                    And this is why.

So was home. I ran away four times and this time it looked like it was finally going to stick. Where to go?

I’d been to all the halfway houses, quarterway houses, and a few of the all-the-way houses. Suffice to say, I have an interesting history. I’m pretty clean now that Hostess is out of business. I was up to a five pack a day habit on Twinkies. You know when you’re doing the good stuff, Ding Dongs and Ring Dings, scoring Little Debbie stuff just doesn’t cut it. Thankfully, it never got that far out of control. Hey, I can stop anytime I want. All you have to do to realize that is look at my weight. It’s a strapping 165 lbs. of rippling flab on a 6’3” frame. Good metabolism I guess. Sorry, that went off a little bit. Just a little TMI for you guys, but understand I’m going crazy here.

I would normally have gotten into my car and headed out to parts anywhere. But due to the damage done during the PETA dust-up, that car wasn’t going anywhere. Hitchhiking was out of the question. The last time I did that, I almost wound up getting married to a Paula Deen impersonator. No, I won’t be thumbing it for a long time.

So that leaves the rails or the bus. The bus affords more opportunity to get off anywhere and quickly and I opt for that. It’s time to leave the driving to them. Them being a sordid bunch of rum-soaked, caffeine-addicted, chain-smoking, former long-haul truckers who maintain a modicum of civility. A very small modicum.

134402237_f62c730185                  My life is in their hands!

Buses are the one of the last bastions of true democracy. Sit anywhere but be careful where. It’s the United friggin’ Nations on wheels. And there is a hierarchy to the seating “plan.” It’s not really official, but it resembles your old classroom seating. The law-abiding, butt-kissers sit up front looking to curry favor with the “teacher”. It also allows them the opportunity to get off fast. Something to always keep in mind on a bus trip. If this is the way you roll, better get on first, because of those sentenced to this mode of travel, it’s as welcome as a fart in church. As you move down the aisle, the bus gets a little and then a lot messier until you reach the back of the bus where all the kids who sat in the back of the classroom now reside. Certainly more interesting and definitely more pungent. Always decisions to make.

These are the people I normally associate but in the interest of rapid escape, I choose the front of the bus. What a mistake!

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Next stop…off!

I called like I usually do to see if the other Bruce was ready to have our regular morning cappuccino, but there was no answer on his Star Flight 89 phone. That was odd as the Star Flight 89 is supposed to be capable of receiving and answering calls even when off. This didn’t distress me too much as Bruce was probably sleeping it off after being out the night before celebrating our housekeeper Mrs. Crosby finally getting her GED. Now we can probably expect her to ask for a raise as she is now a high school graduate or some such paper equivalent. Fat chance on that one! She came highly recommended but still is a thorn in our sides.

Mrs. Crosby before the party.

Anyway, I did not pay it much attention until lunchtime rolled around and Bruce didn’t show up for our daily stir-fry lunch of radicchio and tofu with a little Prego sauce tossed in for color. He never misses that one. So I tried calling him again but to no avail. I went to his home but his wife wasn’t there as well. Where the devil could they be? I must admit I was getting worried as Bruce had earlier testified in the trial of a politician who had sent incriminating photos of his nether region to the National Enquirer in hopes of getting a photo spread for his re-election. No surprise it didn’t work; but he did get an offer as a back up singer to Lady Gaga. He declined as he swore he didn’t know who she was – more proof that the electorate once again sent a total doofus to Washington. The politician swore Bruce would pay for his testimony. Could it be the Washington insider had already wreaked his revenge on Bruce, his wife and their beautiful children Taffy, Tad, and Milo?

Law has it that an adult is not missing until 24 hours have passed. With Bruce’s notorious short attention span, that 24 hours may as well have been 24 weeks. Time passes both slowly and quickly simultaneously for Bruce. Maybe Einstein was right about his theory.

Dinner came and went and still no Bruce. I called the police and inquired about an Amber alert but was told it was only for children. I tried to convince them of Bruce’s childlike wonderment of the world which made him eligible, but they would not cooperate. If anything happens to Bruce, I will personally hold them responsible. In the meantime, I think I’ll call Liam Neeson for help – he’s been down this road a couple of times.

Not the Liam Neeson I envisioned, but hell, he’ll do.

It was a sleepless night for all of us. Bruce’s lawyer called for whatever reason we’ll never know. Perhaps he was psychic. He wanted to know how Bruce was. How did he know? Was he involved somehow? Very strange until we found out he was looking for Bruce for an unpaid invoice. Typical lawyer.

This absence of Bruce carried over for a full week and a half with no sign of Bruce. And then we got a postcard from Bolivia. It seems he was taken hostage by a bunch of striking Bolivian tin workers demanding a ransom or they would separate Bruce from some of his vital organs. Needless to say this would put a big crimp in our plans for the upcoming opera season. It’s always something.

In a masterful stroke of diplomatic genius, I took over all the negotiations. It seems after a week and a half the tin workers were more than willing to turn Bruce over, ransom or no. Between his demands for a bed made properly, food cooked to his liking, and a general overall non-stop week and a half of whining, they had seen the folly of their undertaking. But they were not going to get off the hook so quickly. Oh, no.

While it’s true we wanted him more than they did, we would parlay this into a positive and come out smelling like roses, though when we did retrieve Bruce, he smelled nothing like any rose we’ve ever seen. Our negotiations went quickly, so desperate were they for relief. We got everything we demanded and probably could have gotten more but why be greedy?

Suffice to say, they paid royally for their misadventure. We now have: a lifetime subscription to Opera News, unlimited car washes for the Pignasaurus, five years worth of those entertainment coupon books, and a promise that sometime in the next couple of months they will take our housekeeper, the insufferable and over-paid Mrs. Crosby off of our hands. Hah, and they thought Bruce was a handful! I can hardly wait to see what she’ll get us!