Over the years me and Uncle Emil have parked our carcasses and written a small library of them. Started when the two of us agreed most of those newsy ones about wonderful children and open heart surgery sucked to high heaven. Then my wife Lois piped in with a "Me too" and we were off. Odd thing was Lois wrote a few our counter culture ones herself. Yup, all of ours mentioned family but only in passing and rarely as the focus.
The best ones were simply hand written on the cards we sent out. Written and never seen again. Then a few months, or years, later someone on the list would pop up with a "What you said in your card this year was really strange, funny for sure, but strange. What did it mean?"
Me, I wouldn't have a clue what they were talking about. The brain moves the hand, the hand the pen and the words flow onto the card. No two the same. What I'd written was gone from my mind within seconds of sealing the envelope. So they'd have to clue me in. And I'd laugh. I love my sense of humor though I suspect it isn't mine. Figure me as a conduit for my Uncle Emil. He's the one with a sick mind. I'm just a bozo who can hold a pen and find the keys.
We've kept them all except maybe the Reed's Mill one. That was seriously gruesome in a constructive kinda way. If I find it I'll definitely throw it in. As for the strangest of the strange, my buddy Bruno Scarzinni has all the cards I've sent him over the last score of years. My Uncle Emil might seem strange but compared to Bruno he's Mother Cabrini.
So here goes, starting with this year's:
Christmas 2012
So, the other morning I wandered out to the compost bin (ain't we organic?) with the usual bucket of garbage and found the following note inside:
We're tyred of having to eat the labels off the banana peelz even
if they thay say thay r Brain Food. Take them off or we'll choo a
hole in yur roof and moov in.
The Skwirrels
P.S. We r also sik and tyrd of taking the lid off this feedr. Leev
it off or else! We meen bizness!!
Sounded like war to me. Damn ingrates! They steal corn and seeds from our bird feeder and raid the apple tree from budding time on. There's no way we owed those tree rats a thing. In a fury I wrote the following note and taped it to the bin:
Scumbags,
Take a look in the mirror. Yes, the food you've been stealing from us
does make your asses look big! It's a wonder you can still climb trees!!
We figure you owe us!!! Also keep in mind you taste like chicken!!!!
The Owners
P.S. Any wrong moves on your part, we'll live trap you and ship your
useless carcasses off to the north woods where the foxes and coyotes
will gobble you up like like Milk Duds! By the way, learn to spell!!
This morning, in the bin:
Skritch, skritch, skritch. Wat's that? Cud that sownd u heer up on the roof
be the skufling of Santa's ranedear? Think agan idiot! Enjoy the beech
in Alabama as much as we wil enjoy r nu hom. Live traps, wat a joke.
How stooped do u think we r?
Yur Wurst Nitemare
Long story short, took but a second to realize any time I'd lose trimming off the labels would be neatly offset by never again having to remove the compost bin covers. It ain't an uplifting thought realizing that squirrels are now smarter than you are. I wonder if Donald Duck ever came to that point with Chip and Dale? If not, that puts me somewhere between birds and rodents on the scale of evolution. Could be worse.
I'm almost apologetic about this one. Too cute, way too cute. Only threats, no real blood. But sometimes you write 'em for general audiences with the idea they can be stuffed in anyone's envelope and not given a second thought. I'll dig around in the ghosts of Christmas' past to see if there's something I am proud of for the next entry.
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