25 February 2008
224
R. Linda:
It be a memory, the fudge be gone. A bad memory? Right, until the next time. By that time the chocie fudge cravings will have reared their ugly little fudgy head and me stomach will be sending messages to me impaired brain like neon lighting: FUDGE! YOU NEED FUDGE! IT IS FUDGE TIME! GET FUDGE NOW!
Right now I can't even look at a piece of fudge, let alone taste some. Like you, I be still burping fudge and will probably be until 2011. I stop at the grocery store on me way home for me wife to pick up something and find I avoid the candy aisle. I get the shivers seeing the sign above it, CANDY.
I even have nightmares about the man in brown standing at the bottom of the driveway, pelting me with pieces of rock-hard fudge and a tail-less squirrel cursing me because he's broken his teeth on the hard pieces the UPS man threw at me.
But the squirrel, that be a REAL waking concern, he's got it in for me R. Linda he does! I went driving down me driveway yesterday morning and I heard the sound of ping, ping, ping, and I had no clue. When I came back the same thing happened. When I got out of me motor I noticed tiny dents in me car door. I looked around in wonder, it looked like someone had shot bebe's at me. I went to the other side and yes, there too were tiny dents! It took me until this morning to see this:
Not to worry, I may be sick of fudge right now, but I'll get over it once the shakes disappear.
Here be a scary thing that happened to me, me wife mistakenly told Weasil about the fudge and he actually came to me door asking me about the huge amount of fudge I was in possession of. Of course, I denied such. I wouldn't let him set foot in the door should he catch a whiff. Was a close call that! I had to wonder how he got passed that damn squirrel but then I realised they both be Scottish!
Oh, and I had a dream, you were making more fudge. You told me you had a blistering headache from the smell of onions. It woke me up, you stirring sliced onions into fudge. Oi! I thought to meself I better get help of some kind and soon. But then I fell back to sleep and there you be chattering on about how you joined Facebook and My Space and that you were known on both as the Fudge Demon. In me dream I clicked on your profile on one and there you were, hair in points dripping fudge sauce, fudge on the end of your nose, dripping out of the corner of your mouth, and splattered all over your face. I woke up with a start. Me heart was pounding in me chest like a kitchen mixer beating fudge.
Another problem I and the rest of me family be having is the top button of our jeans. We can't fasten it. We can't even stretch the little Airport's nappy to fit, so we ended up buying him adult Depends!
I be dreading fudge season next year. Last night I could have sworn I heard you from afar laughing this at me, "The fudge has real sweet cream butter, tons of chips, sugar and evaporated milk. FAT, FAT, FAT! How's that muffin-top going Gabe?" Then I settled into a restless sleep and you were at me saying things like, "Hey Mr. Fudge Taco, how's the diet and exercise plan working out?" And then laughter. It was horrible. You said, "I'm going through withdrawal myself." Followed by more insane laughter. Finally, you woke me up with this dream threat, "Last night I had to fight the urge to get up and make a batch of fudge, orange fudge! I got up late and had a cup of my chocie coffee, it didn't curb the chocie craving. TONIGHT I MAKE A BATCH!!!" I was in amok sweat and was relieved I awoke before you could say, "AND I'm sending you about a thousand pounds of the stuff, hahahahahahaha!" Oi, oi, oi!
You keep at it and I know you'll end up on the Dr. Phil Show weighing in at a whopping 400+ pounds. You will not only be begging him to help you out the front door, but you'll wonder what ugly shoes you are wearing if any. I can see him trying to push you through the door with an awooga sound and your left eye twitching to the awooga sound each time he digs his heels in and shoves. But in me daytime imagination, I see you as the owner of CHUBBYS. I be so overwhelmed by your voice coming to me at odd times of the day saying things like, "I'm tempted to send more fudge!!! I'm sure as heck not eating it anymore. So sending it to YOU!" And I stop what I be doing and cringe. This behaviour has got the attention of me co-workers. That happens more when I start impersonating you at me desk with goodies like this, "All that WORK making fudge and you won't eat it all? I love doing the guilt thing, and I love when it actually works so EAT THAT FUDGE I PUT SUCH SWEAT INTO MAKING IT JUST FOR YOU!"
You mentioned in an email about medication and you not hearing voices, but I DO -- YOURS! And well, that's me medicated to the gills with calming drugs to stop me from even thinking FUDGE and drooling? Oh yeah, that happens A LOT.
Gabe
Copyright © 2008 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
It be a memory, the fudge be gone. A bad memory? Right, until the next time. By that time the chocie fudge cravings will have reared their ugly little fudgy head and me stomach will be sending messages to me impaired brain like neon lighting: FUDGE! YOU NEED FUDGE! IT IS FUDGE TIME! GET FUDGE NOW!
Right now I can't even look at a piece of fudge, let alone taste some. Like you, I be still burping fudge and will probably be until 2011. I stop at the grocery store on me way home for me wife to pick up something and find I avoid the candy aisle. I get the shivers seeing the sign above it, CANDY.
I even have nightmares about the man in brown standing at the bottom of the driveway, pelting me with pieces of rock-hard fudge and a tail-less squirrel cursing me because he's broken his teeth on the hard pieces the UPS man threw at me.
But the squirrel, that be a REAL waking concern, he's got it in for me R. Linda he does! I went driving down me driveway yesterday morning and I heard the sound of ping, ping, ping, and I had no clue. When I came back the same thing happened. When I got out of me motor I noticed tiny dents in me car door. I looked around in wonder, it looked like someone had shot bebe's at me. I went to the other side and yes, there too were tiny dents! It took me until this morning to see this:
The tail-less hombre must be Scottish! He's down at the end of the drive with an Uzi gunning for a fudged-logged ME!
Anyway, I was so full of your fudge that I seriously considered entering rehab and not writing to you. Letting you wonder what your fudge did to me, but then I found out rehab is passe' and the psyche ward is IN! I could see me in a padded room, in one of those white jackets, fudge stains all over it, me in a fudge stupor saying over and over, "She used extract no nuts. WHO DOES THAT?"
Here be a scary thing that happened to me, me wife mistakenly told Weasil about the fudge and he actually came to me door asking me about the huge amount of fudge I was in possession of. Of course, I denied such. I wouldn't let him set foot in the door should he catch a whiff. Was a close call that! I had to wonder how he got passed that damn squirrel but then I realised they both be Scottish!
Oh, and I had a dream, you were making more fudge. You told me you had a blistering headache from the smell of onions. It woke me up, you stirring sliced onions into fudge. Oi! I thought to meself I better get help of some kind and soon. But then I fell back to sleep and there you be chattering on about how you joined Facebook and My Space and that you were known on both as the Fudge Demon. In me dream I clicked on your profile on one and there you were, hair in points dripping fudge sauce, fudge on the end of your nose, dripping out of the corner of your mouth, and splattered all over your face. I woke up with a start. Me heart was pounding in me chest like a kitchen mixer beating fudge.
Another problem I and the rest of me family be having is the top button of our jeans. We can't fasten it. We can't even stretch the little Airport's nappy to fit, so we ended up buying him adult Depends!
I be dreading fudge season next year. Last night I could have sworn I heard you from afar laughing this at me, "The fudge has real sweet cream butter, tons of chips, sugar and evaporated milk. FAT, FAT, FAT! How's that muffin-top going Gabe?" Then I settled into a restless sleep and you were at me saying things like, "Hey Mr. Fudge Taco, how's the diet and exercise plan working out?" And then laughter. It was horrible. You said, "I'm going through withdrawal myself." Followed by more insane laughter. Finally, you woke me up with this dream threat, "Last night I had to fight the urge to get up and make a batch of fudge, orange fudge! I got up late and had a cup of my chocie coffee, it didn't curb the chocie craving. TONIGHT I MAKE A BATCH!!!" I was in amok sweat and was relieved I awoke before you could say, "AND I'm sending you about a thousand pounds of the stuff, hahahahahahaha!" Oi, oi, oi!
You keep at it and I know you'll end up on the Dr. Phil Show weighing in at a whopping 400+ pounds. You will not only be begging him to help you out the front door, but you'll wonder what ugly shoes you are wearing if any. I can see him trying to push you through the door with an awooga sound and your left eye twitching to the awooga sound each time he digs his heels in and shoves. But in me daytime imagination, I see you as the owner of CHUBBYS. I be so overwhelmed by your voice coming to me at odd times of the day saying things like, "I'm tempted to send more fudge!!! I'm sure as heck not eating it anymore. So sending it to YOU!" And I stop what I be doing and cringe. This behaviour has got the attention of me co-workers. That happens more when I start impersonating you at me desk with goodies like this, "All that WORK making fudge and you won't eat it all? I love doing the guilt thing, and I love when it actually works so EAT THAT FUDGE I PUT SUCH SWEAT INTO MAKING IT JUST FOR YOU!"
You mentioned in an email about medication and you not hearing voices, but I DO -- YOURS! And well, that's me medicated to the gills with calming drugs to stop me from even thinking FUDGE and drooling? Oh yeah, that happens A LOT.
Gabe
Copyright © 2008 All rights reserved
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