19 May 2006
167
R. Linda:
The floods have returned. The rain was heavy and pounding once again. Me home, which was surrounded by a moat had gone back to being a house on an island. There is no seven feet of water to cross anymore, no it be more like 200 yards of water.
Yesterday, it was sunny for a change, or I should say the sun showed itself 75% of the day. The rest were angry black clouds, but for the most part, things were in the event of drying out, thus, the moat status. I thought to meself, tomorrow (which be today), I be going back to work. But this morning, I was awoken by the sound of thunder, yes R. Linda, the heavens above were cracking, and rain was pouring down. One look out at the water surrounding me house and that was the end of any thoughts of going to work.
I went back to bed and would have slept, but for me employer ringing me phone off the hook to ask me where the hell me arse was and why it wasn't thrown in a car on its way to Boston. I explained, and he was not sympathetic but seemed to think I was shirking me duties of sitting in Boston traffic for a whole two hours to get twenty feet. He said, "Ok, Gabe, I hope you can keep dry, but if there is any possibility you can make it in, try."
I knew that was not a request. It was an order. What to do?
Shortly after, Mr. Weasil called to tell me with glee that it was raining again. Like, I didn't know that. I must have sounded off because he asked me what was the matter with me, so I explained about me boss and the missed work, the flood, etc.
"Gabbie Ima gonner rescua ya." And he hung up. I gave him no mind. I went back to me hot coffee.
About an hour later, I was sitting in the living room listening to the rain, the fireplace keeping me warm as I pondered me work situation. Me lovely wife was standing by the window, frowning. Then she squinted her eyes like she was trying to see something in the distance.
"Gabe, I think you should come here and see this," she said, her eyes riveted on whatever was outside.
Sighing, I got up and this was what I saw.
Taken with a telephoto lens, Mr. Weasil biking up the road or what had become a river.
I was stunned. However, you see that patch of pavement? That's as far as he got. He waved and then turned around and left. Ton and I looked at each other.
"What the hell was that?" I asked.
She shook her head and went into the kitchen to make more coffee. About an hour later, we heard our names being called. We both went to the window and there he was—this time, he had a boat.
God love him; he is tenacious. His precious little face was full of mud, where he must have splashed himself (I don't think he's ever rowed a boat in his life), but for the offending t-shirt, we were happy to see him. However, the elation was momentary as he paddled by mooning us in the process.
And yes, that be me car underwater, sigh.
We usually see Mr. W doing things like this. Yes, he is a wee bit of a daredevil, hanging on to cliffs for dear life.
Yesssirrreee. But usually, Weas enjoys winter sports by pretending it is 90 degrees out. Really, his mother should be told about this. And if he isn't running around half-naked, he's trying to hack into my AOL account just because he can!
R. Linda:
The floods have returned. The rain was heavy and pounding once again. Me home, which was surrounded by a moat had gone back to being a house on an island. There is no seven feet of water to cross anymore, no it be more like 200 yards of water.
Yesterday, it was sunny for a change, or I should say the sun showed itself 75% of the day. The rest were angry black clouds, but for the most part, things were in the event of drying out, thus, the moat status. I thought to meself, tomorrow (which be today), I be going back to work. But this morning, I was awoken by the sound of thunder, yes R. Linda, the heavens above were cracking, and rain was pouring down. One look out at the water surrounding me house and that was the end of any thoughts of going to work.
I went back to bed and would have slept, but for me employer ringing me phone off the hook to ask me where the hell me arse was and why it wasn't thrown in a car on its way to Boston. I explained, and he was not sympathetic but seemed to think I was shirking me duties of sitting in Boston traffic for a whole two hours to get twenty feet. He said, "Ok, Gabe, I hope you can keep dry, but if there is any possibility you can make it in, try."
I knew that was not a request. It was an order. What to do?
Shortly after, Mr. Weasil called to tell me with glee that it was raining again. Like, I didn't know that. I must have sounded off because he asked me what was the matter with me, so I explained about me boss and the missed work, the flood, etc.
"Gabbie Ima gonner rescua ya." And he hung up. I gave him no mind. I went back to me hot coffee.
About an hour later, I was sitting in the living room listening to the rain, the fireplace keeping me warm as I pondered me work situation. Me lovely wife was standing by the window, frowning. Then she squinted her eyes like she was trying to see something in the distance.
"Gabe, I think you should come here and see this," she said, her eyes riveted on whatever was outside.
Sighing, I got up and this was what I saw.
I was stunned. However, you see that patch of pavement? That's as far as he got. He waved and then turned around and left. Ton and I looked at each other.
"What the hell was that?" I asked.
She shook her head and went into the kitchen to make more coffee. About an hour later, we heard our names being called. We both went to the window and there he was—this time, he had a boat.
And yes, that be me car underwater, sigh.
We usually see Mr. W doing things like this. Yes, he is a wee bit of a daredevil, hanging on to cliffs for dear life.
Yesssirrreee. But usually, Weas enjoys winter sports by pretending it is 90 degrees out. Really, his mother should be told about this. And if he isn't running around half-naked, he's trying to hack into my AOL account just because he can!
So just to get into the show and not be outdone (he at least put a shirt on), you see for yourself the result. When I first saw this picture, I thought the Weasil was dead of the cold. But no, it was his idea of a snow angel, which no one told him; you don't just lie there; you move your arms and legs, and it is the SNOW that makes an angel impression around your chilled self. I think the thought of this poor misguided woman excites him in his perverse way (unless me eyes deceive me). Sigh. Snow angels, indeed! Thank God he found his shirt, and there isn't anything dirty written on it (this time). Even if his choice of colours is a bit bizarre for the middle of winter, at least he's trying to stay warm while he lies in the icy cold snow, burrr.
He did finally row me arse down the river, which is usually a road, to where his sporty red Mustang was parked. Did I mention he had a cover over it? Yup, so it wouldn't get wet. Right. Who does that? He reluctantly uncovered it, and we got in. He chattered his fool head off all the way into Boston, which took three hours and fifty minutes. Not because we sat in traffic, Weas weaved this way and took roads that didn't exist, so he made them. We went through brambles and branches, mud and puddles on this "short cuttie" and that "short cuttie." This route did nothing for the paint job of the lovingly coveted motor. I just don't get him. I swear branches almost came through the windscreen to take me head off. One time he told me to open the window because he had to fart, and when I did, he drove through a massive puddle of water, and I sat there drenched, dripping muddy water while he laughed his arse off.
By the time I lurched out of the car, I was half-crazed and dripping. I walked into work like I had a balance problem. Me co-workers thought it was from the flood and all that rain, but in truth, it was from Weasil's incessant conversation about absolutely nothing, the whipping the car around and his crazed laughter each time he did it all the way to freaking Beantown.
Weasil had gone to New York City on Mother's Day to see Axel Rose at some concert. He was all about Axel and Chinese Democracy. This is what he brought me back.
Yup, a blow-up Axel doll! And YES, I dragged it into work with me. Forget the looks I got, I did not want to go there, but there were LOOKS!
I tell ya, the lad is severely mentally ill. I had to leave work, dragging the Axel Doll behind me. I was walking into the walls and talking to water coolers. I think he is doing a one-man job of trying to make me crazy. He told me about hari kari, or as he called it, hairy kerry, and that one can go insane from water dripping, drip, drip, drip all night and all day. Enough, he said, for someone like me to want to kill meself, "hairy kerry, Gabe." I don't know what else to say.
Gabe
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