"Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - bird or devil! Pt II

Tap! Tap! Tap!  As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber floor. It is no one I muttered. No one rapping on my bedroom floor. Deep into darkness peering, long I lay there wondering fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
But since the silence was unbroken and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken were the whispered words of "Monday morn!"
This I whispered, "nevermore" an echo chanted louder, "Monday MORN!"

Rap, rap, rapping on my bedroom floor.

"Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil! - prophet still, it bird or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted
In this Harding house by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore
Is there - is there balm in my Gilead - my head - tell me, I implore!'
quote the raven, 'Nevermore."

Thump, thump thump grew the rapping as a beating heart of the dead body beneath my floor.

"Monday morn! Monday morn!"shouted in cadence with the tapping from my chamber floor.
"Prophet!" said I, 'thing of evil! - Prophet still, if bird or devil!"
"Nevermore" I said, tossing in my slumber to the haunting voice below one floor.

Thump, thump, thump went the broom handle on the entry ceiling - "Truly your forgiveness I implore."

"Up and at 'em!" yelled the vice that had been rapping at my bedroom floor, "It's Monday morn!"
Presently the light grew stronger and I realized that that tapping and voice morphed into my nightmare lore.
It was not a a heart beating -  not the dead rising - in fact it was not to be that tame!
No! Monday morning was always the same and yet no timid game!

Eyes finally adjusting to the light of day, it was the staff sergeant's broom handle beating on my bedroom floor.
"Up and at 'em!" yelled my dad. "let's go, go, go, go, go" cried he,
"Its time of the harvest moon" he implored!
Be it beating heart, or dead man or ghoul beneath the floor would have been better than what was in store!

Morning morning trash day had become my chore.
This was not Wednesday or Thursday "street cleaning day" circus galore (blog post 7/1/2013).
This did not involve the entire Wolf Pack, only Markie D and this infamous chore.

No one dared go out the backstairs door with what the Veloci Raptor had in store.
No dared tempt the evil bird that was no one's friend!
Someone flesh the rooster was destined to rend!

I marched down stairs with angry in eyes, dragging trash cans twice my size.
"Why was I the only one?" I criticized!
I knew the answer, it was no surprise.
I was Saint Francis, to the evil bird with crazy eyes.

Only me. Markie D!
My gift.  My superpower gave me a free pass
The bird of prey allowed me and me alone on the weeds and remnant grass.
Only I was allowed to drag the trash cans pass.

(Okay, you get the idea and the story will take much too long to continue in the prose of Poe)

Blaming the violent rooster for scares and blood, the older boys on the third floor were not part of my Monday morning ritual on trash day. Dad pounded on the ceiling below my bed. I dragged out the billion cans of trash to alley every Monday morn.  I looked at the rooster with love in my eyes and spoke a language it didn't despise(Blog Post: Kid in a pit with a water hose 2/27/14).  The hideous beast cleared a birth wide enough for this little lass, unhindered by the wild beast, I did pass.

Packing cans and stacking trash in the alley I did my chore.. my chore forever more.
when finished with the mundane task, I turned towards the house alas...
this is where things got wild, for the beast blocked my path - standing on the grass.

The Veloci-Raptor stood in the narrow path between cars and junk old kitchen sink
and a look in the eye of the evil beast cause my heart to sink.
But I was Saint Francis lover of animals not the typical hippie or rat fink!
Why rooster? Why?" Be that word or sing of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked upstarting -
"Get thee back into the tempest and quell this nightmarish horror.
Leave no blood foul fowl as a token of our sacred bond and let me pass now and forevermore!"

Why? (Again too much rhyming and I mean it -  anyone care for a peanut)

This is a true story as I looked at the crazy bird
and threw out positive pheromones of gentleness and kind word.
slowly approaching with my Saint Francis confidence and the "Covenant we struck in the Pit"
I trusted that rascle -  "Oh - S...Poop!"

Nevermore be still
Nevermore cursed bird or devil
I shrieked as betraying raptor flew waist high
and struck me repeatedly with sharp talon usually reserved for the hippies and the other guy!

Fresh blood flowed through the holes in my jeans
I laid on the ground with unrequited screams
shaking my fist at a horror worst that any of my bad dreams

Like wounded soldier, I crawled to the back gate
stood to my feet in haste I scrounged for battle gear
I plundered a trash can lid as shield and buckler
a broken mop handle - IT WAS WAR for this little suckler.

(Hey, if Dr. Suess and rappers can make up so so can I)

Thump Thump Thump! Tap Tap Tap! Rap Rap Rap
we clashed in epic battle
With my trash can shield and wodden sward I gave that beast quite a rattle.
Losing my Saint Francis I said, "Mess with me you devilish pig, your shallow grave, I'll gladly dig!"

Anyway, I managed to survive the fiendish attack before I set off that day for school
and was bent on being no bodies fool
Not Erick, Sister Edith, Mike, Terry, not Joe
Though animals and babies, I'll consent to try to give my Saint Francis eye
but for this mini-Godzilla, Wolf pack or foe
all I can say, "Stay clear or my oh my!"

I came in to test my Dad's experimental milk (Post 7/13/13)
and choked down clumpy oat meal meal worms and all (Shocking and Vomitous Thursday post 7/11/13).
and limped off to Saint Mark's school
determined not to be played for anyone's fool




                                    
                       "Watch out Terry, don't even think about messing with my friend Harry!"


Quote the raven, "Nevermore!"

"Trash Towers" Dahlins and The Eight Wonder of the World!

It was 1969 and a lot was going on... the US is making progress with the Apollo Program and it isn't too long now until mankind would walk on the surface of the moon. Tommy still thinks the moon is made of cheese and Jeffery thinks that our astronauts will be shot by laser beams from the green aliens that live on the dark side of the moon.





The Vietnam war in is full swing - I've got one brother in the Army and one in the Marines and three that sent their draft cards back to President Nixon.  There is a long hair that doesn't like the short hair for being such a rich one, that will not help the poor one and so on and so on and Scooby dooby doo-bee.

Probably worst of all was the fact that the Beatles decided to call it quits!  I don't know why they did it. I don't know if they had gotten around my brothers and the Mexican Tomato Plants had gotten to them- or if it was Yoko Ono... or if it had something to do with their new manager... or if it was just too much money or too much fame - but it didn't matter...it felt like the world was coming to an end.
Oh, sha sha, - even The Beatles couldn't figure out how to live together.

No more tours.. and they weren't jumping with joy like they used to. IT WAS OVER!


Now that all SIX of my big brothers were of legal driving age our front yard...our street and backyard were full of cars and trucks and dreams. They had brought home junkers they hoped to fix up and junkers they hope to cannibalized and strip for parts for the ugly heaps that they hoped would run someday.  Kurt even brought home a friend from his water polo team who brought project cars home to our house because this wasn't something that happened in Malibu along the beach where Mario lived. Our family kept growing and the clutter just kept stacking up.

I kind of felt sorry for Mr. Blaser next door. He liked his house like the "Father Knows Best" house on TV. He wanted everything spic and span - tidy and neat and the poor guy lived next to the Dahlins!
Our backyard was a primordial graveyard of old cars parts, decaying boats, travel trailers —that had no travel left in them, carcass’s of prehistoric washing machines and outboard motors that haven’t had pistons in them for ten years. 






We failed to tame the encroaching ivy which had an insatiable appetite and had consumed an entire patio and other structures that had been gobbled up for archaeologist to unearth in the distant future. The ivy and the bamboo had become perfect ways to camouflage the hippie crop of Mexican Tomato plants that were hidden in the far back behind all the junk and protected by mini-Godzilla the dreaded Veloci-Raptor.   

Even more to Mr. Blaser's dismay was the power and vitality of the bamboo the boys had planted. Different strokes for different folks. Bamboo is literally a fungus that cannot be killed by anything short of a nuclear blast. That stubborn bamboo grew up through old rusted barbecues, a bazillion used Schwinn bicycles, ancient baby strollers, red and rust wheels from abandoned Soap Box Derby - go-carts...cabinets - lots of cabinets (cabinets people had thrown-out that my dad had rescued from the jaws of the garage trucks on his notorious pre-dawn trash-run days - free cabinets that he hoped to hang in the carport someday... someday... someday!) along with bumpers, carburetors and other sundry car parts. It looked like this junk had been lifted up as sacrifices to some pagan god on an altar of bamboo (Asherah Poles I think they were called in the Old Testament). 



Before the Watts Towers, was the Eight Wonder of the World in our backyard; The Trash Towers of Venice - which rivaled the "Hanging Gardens" of Babylon.        

Perfect! Right? Every adventurous 12-year-old's dream.... image the go carts I could assemble and the magnificent forts a kid could build back there...except!

Except for the Veloci-Raptor!  No one in their right mind could enter the backyard without being armed with a whip and a chair like a lion tamer.  

But me and Veloci-Raptor had a good relationship ever since the older boys buried me in the pit and tried to kill me (Blog Post 2/27/2014). There is a yellow one that won't accept the black one that won't accept the red one, that won't accept the white one or big brother that won't accept the little brother. Different Strokes for Different Folks... why can't we live together?  

That's what I wanted to know so I started in my backyard and I developed mental powers that made me like Saint Francis that gave me a special way with animals. I could look at them in the eye and show them that they were loved and it's as though I could speak right to their heart and they understood me. Everybody was looking for kindness - even animals! I could be right, I could be wrong. 


Since the Nuns at Saint Marks had it out for me and my older brothers had it out for me...God had given me this gift with dogs and babies and the mini-godzilla that roamed our backyard...UNTIL ONE FATEFUL MONDAY MORNING on Trash Day! 

That is when the magic wore off and I became an everyday people. 

Until next time... and the bloody showdown at the Dahlin OK corral.     OH Sha Sha... don't hate the rooster, just hate the bite! 

for you android users Everyday People Sly and the Family Stone

Last Supper, Jalapenos and The Creature!

Last Supper and Jalapenos Pt 2

I have a lot of Superpowers, but most of them are in my imagination! Whenever I am buried in a pit, dropped out of a window, shot with needle-tipped arrows, electrocuted, tied up in a rope, or shoved in a hamper, those circumstances provide the opportunity to pretend!  I pretend that I am Superman or Spider Man... and in this latest adventure of the diabolical scheming by older brothers (AKA the Wolf Pack) I wished I could have been the new action hero - Iron Man - mainly because he doesn't feel anything. In the times when I'm been tortured and I receive the gift of adrenalin that pulses through my body and I get the strength of about 3 or 4 boys my size...like the mom who has the superhuman strength to lift up a car to free a trapped baby, I have to be reminded that I am only human. DANG IT! I come to the painful realization that I am like most mere mortals.

Anyway, getting back to the story about the Hawaiian, Luau themed party in the backyard. Everyone was having a good time outside at the party until it came to a screeching halt when they heard the piercing shriek of horror coming out of my mother's bedroom window.

Mr. and Mrs. Nargie heard it
Mr. and Mrs. Blaser heard it
All of those at the (now ruined and infamous) Luau in the backyard heard it!

The Steadmans across the street
The Lennons down at the corner

The Nuns at the convent around the corner
The old grouch next door- and her drunk brother, Hutch, heard it!
The Tripps
John Gillemonster on Naples

and Mrs. Gass over on Crestmore Ave
the Grants down on Angelus Place heard it
The Vasquez'
and Bobby Manriquez  - they all heard it!

I'm sure some heard the terrible screams of the 7-year-old all the way to the Venice canals... and if you were alive back then, it is possible that if you think really hard you might just remember hearing this awful screaming no matter where you might have been in the world at that time.

If you didn't hear me screaming in pain, then you heard my mom, shouting out furiously for Roy (that's what she called my dad) to do something!  That was nice I thought. It was good thing to know that she still cared and still went a little berserk from time to time when bad things were happening.

I don't know exactly why they did it...or whose idea it was to cut open all the left over jalapenos and smear the skins and the juice all over my tender little body. They took off my shirt, held me down and wanted to see what the hot chili peppers would do to human tissue when rubbed over its entirety! By that, I mean everything that was exposed - like arms, legs, upper torso, both arm pits, face and lips.  Everything turned red and swelled, I looked like a red Pillsbury-Dough-Boy that had caught on fire.

I was burning up and wanted to jump from the window, but they held me down until they heard the rushing footsteps of Mr. D tromping up the stairs, then they vaporized into the four corners of the globe (i.e. cluttered bedrooms on the third floor).

Dad picked me up and began running down the stairs and mom began shouting for him to take me to the emergency hospital...she thought I was going to die. My eyes burned and were swelled shut, but I could tell he turned right instead of left. This was not the way to the front - instead he was headed for the backyard!

The pain was too great...I screamed...She screamed and had begun to shout down curses on the older boys and said stuff about "Pain of Mortal Sin" and about how they would never see their way out of Purgatory!

Embarrassed, people left the party quickly yet somber like it was a funeral dirge... as they cleared a path for my dad who was holding an unrecognizable hideous red creature in his arms. Instead, of the hospital, he flung me into the pool! More screaming by Mrs. D...which launched Jerry LaFountaine on a rampage in a search and destroy mission through the the house for the boys. Boy, did he enjoy that! Poor Jerry, however,was sorely disappointed because he could not find a single soul to punish as my clever siblings hid in the secret crawl space behind the walls up in the third story across from the rattlesnake cages.

After recovering from the shock of being tossed into the pool, I emerged from the water CHANGED! Something happened in the chemical reaction to the burns that interacted with the chemicals that had been release by the adrenal glands located in the cortex on top of my kidneys.

I emerged from the water as if i were The Creature from the Black Lagoon bent on revenge. Frightening the remaining guest away, I went on a pillaging rampage... and ate all the cowardly older brothers, drinking all of their blood and letting the helpless reptiles out of their cages (seeing that now, I was related to the scaled reptiles).

I walked the earth all the rest of my days alone and hunted, a reptilian fugitive surviving off the flesh of humans and yearning to drink blood.

Okay, so the last part - the part after I was thrown into the pool and went around eating everybody was only something conjured up in my puny brain while I had been intoxicated with drugs to numb the pain.

Though I was a hideous little red creature for the next couple days and looked like an actual relative to the monster from the Black Lagoon - or something that lived in the snake cages upstairs, I laid in bed, draped in damp towels having weird thoughts and mostly thankful that I hadn't eaten any family members or drank their blood.

A week later, however, I did manage to sneak up stairs when no one was home and opened the door to a rattlesnake cage.  Hehehehe...  

Someone sounded the rattlesnake escape-alarm and raised the flag to alert the neighbors.  Havoc reigned and neighbors complained... but it was just another regular day on Harding avenue...where we all survived - not perfectly unscathed, but enough to share the infamous and crazy stories that made life worth living.







 

 

The Last Supper only with Jalapenos

I apologize that it has been about a million years since I have had a minute to sit down and write another post. It is just after Mother's Day, but I strongly urge that none of you moms read this latest post!

This was one of those very horrible pranks that was much more than just a practical joke. Instead, it was  more like something Jack Bauer would do on the TV show 24 to interrogate a terrorist. (I was reminded of this story by someone who had told me his firsthand eyewitness account, when I was last down in Southern California).

The only thing I can't be sure of is the exact date. I can get close, however, by the diligent investigative historical analysis of source criticism (I will pick the year 1963: 1. Because our pool had to be up and operational i.e before the alligator, before Veloci-rooster 2. It was during a period that the back patio was clean 3. The pool also must have been clean and not a greenish-mosquito breeding swamp - 4. It had to be after the time this person began hanging around, if he was an eyewitness... I'm feeling like a New Testament scholar or something like that).

Anyway, my parents were were throwing a big bash in the backyard that had been decorated in a Hawaiian theme for the neighbors (that's why it had to be before the crazy Veloci-Raptor-attack rooster). I remember the decorations of fishing nets, cork buoys and palm trees. Sorry for borrowing from the Queen's English, but it was a "hoity-toity" affair and us young kids were not allowed. They had a record player and an open bar and I spied on the event from a clandestine spot from my mother's bedroom window, which had the perfect view.

I know what a lot of you are thinking already, "Don't tell me that a member of the notorious Wolf Pack threw you out of the window?" NO!  It was worst than that - at least to an seven-year-old kid, it was!

This was the end of a bad year...our Catholic President had been assassinated - the Vietnam war was escalating and  Frank Sinatra Jr had just been kidnapped up by Lake Tahoe somewhere. The whole world was mad - maybe that explains this whole incident - maybe this wasn't my brother's fault - maybe something was just wrong with the world. Or maybe a couple of the older boys were mad that they couldn't come downstairs to the party and somehow figured they'd get back at my parents or perhaps it was that they could still be the center of attention, though locked far away in the proverbial "tower."

I was minding my own business, as I spied on my parent's party below, when I was jumped on and attacked by a couple brothers. I fought back, but couldn't take all three of them. Marvel comics had just come out with this new super hero person called Iron Man, and boy, do I wish I was made of steel, so I had a chance of fighting back and so that that my human exterior could have withstood their devious plot. But I wasn't, and my outside was made of skin instead like any regular 'O person and I couldn't fight them off.

Let's just put it this way - what happened next - ended the party when everyone... not just everyone at the party, but everyone in the entire neighborhood heard the painful and blood curdling screeching as though they had heard the death cry of 7-year-old succumbing to advanced interrogation at Quantanamo!

Helppppp!


 I'll finish this one tomorrow - but mommas, be warned and do not let the tender ears of your children hear this story or you just might risk the fact that they might be scarred for life...      

"Judas, do what you must do quickly"

   

Lips Ablaze and Instruments of Mass Destruction

Here is another infamous story I gathered while in southern California reminiscing with one of the older boy's favorite victims.  The Wolf Pack were generous...no, not generous  - they were lavish with terribly creative pranks. John said that every time he came over he had to prepare himself for whatever the Dahlins would throw at him.  My crazy older brothers were equal opportunity offenders and nobody was safe in our house.

I can't lie and must admit that whenever I was not the one being lowered in a suitcase, shot at, buried in a pit, or dropped over a cliff  and they were busy cleverly torturing someone other than me - I was very happy and yet also felt a tinge disappointed for not getting my adrenalin fix - (That's why I figured that I must be a little retarded)!

Here is a Picture of John telling me his story... the audio however, did not get transferred, but you can see the pained look on his face.

This story like most of our stories has a long back-story...which I'll attempt to make very short. It begins somewhere between Lennon envy and The Sound of Music.

Look at the Lennons! Look at how cute they were, and all of them sing! All of them! The Lennon sisters sing like angels, The boys sing, Mimi sings and Kippy the baby brother - even he sings!  It just wasn't fair!

When God was handing out singing voices - I think the Lennons were in line first and God ran out by the time He came to the Dahlins. None of us could sing! Not one of us could hold a tone or sing a note on key!  Look at 'em...just look at them!

Look at us! Does it look like any of us can sing? 

Well, to make matters worse a couple years ago, out comes The Sound of Music. My mom saw the movie a hundred times and wished we were like the singing Von Trapp family or the Lennons - with us, it was just lemons instead.  

So my poor mom, thought that if we couldn't sing - by golly, at least we would all play a different instrument and be a 9 person orchestra. She fantasized that other mothers from Saint Marks church would come into our house and we would line up on the entry stairs and play "So long, fair-well...auf wiedersehen ...good bye" in our symphonic nine piece orchestra."  This was her dream! 

Tony with his Clarinet

Karl with his Trombone

Kris with his Coronet

Kurt with his Trumpet

Erick with his Violin and Piano

Madeline with the Viola 

Me with a squeaky hand-me down ancient Clarinet

Karin on the Piano! 

All of us taking lessons at Saint Marks...

Dude this could have been great! Except for the part about this being the Dahlins. 

The instruments were turned into weapons of mass destruction as we used them for warfare and to beat each other up with.

Besides the foul-mouthed mynah bird that cussed, our entry also had a piano, a couple other pieces of furniture and a million of these unused and banged up instruments in their dusty, old, black cases that had been piled into what looked like siege ramp that reached the top of the grand staircase. 

As John told the story, he said he was invited in by Kurt to play his trumpet!  Now mind you, this was the very place that we had electrocuted poor John in another one of our horrible pranks(Blog 7/11/13)!  There was no reason for him to say yes! He checked to make sure no electrical wires were attached to the the thing and against his better judgement he acquiesced to Kurt's nagging, persistent, insistence - And try, John did!  ONLY...

ONLY... Kurt had smeared the mouth piece with jalapenos peppers and Tabasco hot sauce! 

Obediently, but foolishly, John put his lips on the mouth piece and blew!  He blew for about a second when he threw the trumpet and howled like a lone wolf at a full moon.  The mynah bird cussed as Kurt rushed to John's rescue with a cup of water. John took the cup and hastily threw it down his gullet only to find it had been laced with more Tabasco hot sauce!   UGHHHHHhhhhhhh

The Wolf Pack cheered!  

John howled and ran around in circles like a mad dog...So as it turned out, one of our hated instruments was finally put to good use. At least, that's what the Wolf Pack thought!

I wanted to laugh, but ducked and took cover for I was having a pre-pubescent PTSD Flash back from a incident that nearly killed me when I was just a little boy! That story next time! 

Android users click here for. Paul Simon Loves Me Like a Rock

 

The Reluctant Reptile Wrangler

When I was down at the Dahlin House for my Brother's Memorial service I gained a couple more stories and felt that this would be a good time to tell you this one.  This funny story was told to me by Jack Cano (pictured to the left). We walked from the backyard around to the front yard to the exact place where this particular event took place - some hundred million years ago when dinosaurs and hippies co-existed.

(Pictured below is Jack telling me the story)

Just in case you haven't been following along with the blog from the beginning; the back drop for this humorous incident began years earlier when the Dahlin boys began their rather extensive reptile collection.  We had cages built into the walls of the older boy's third-story bedroom and cages built into old TV consoles we had converted into desert habitats. We had rattlesnakes and king snakes and garter snakes and the infamous Iguana Del Diablo (blog post 8/1/2013) up on the third floor. We had the alligator (BLOG post 11/1913), a giant bullfrog and a snapping turtle out back in the pond and our rather illustrious collection of four legged reptiles down stairs in the converted TV sets.

Most normal people sat around their TV sets in the afternoons watching cartoons or Bewitched (or the crazy Smith girls around the corner who had their eyes glued on Tom Jones in his glittery jacket and tight pants - Gross!) but the not the Dahlins. We were far from normal!

Instead, we sat around (like in the picture above) crammed in front of one of our gutted TV sets and watched the crazy world of the big, ugly, black chuckwallas, leopard lizards and horny toads climb around the desert habitat as if we were watching TV.  I remember one time how one of the hippies came in from the "Hooch Hut" from out back with eyes at half-mast, practically glazed over and desperately wanted to see what everyone was watching on TV and adjusted the TV antennae... saying "Dude, what channel is this bro?" Thinking we were all watching a miniature version of Godzilla.

As you know, we had inmates escape all the time - NO, not the hippies- but members of our precious reptile collection....i.e. Iguana Del Diablo...our alligator (that's another story). Our cages seemed to be especially vulnerable to snakes of all sizes and color and it was unusually upsetting to the entire neighborhood whenever a rattler managed to make a jail break. though this was a frequent occurrence at our house, I'm not gonna lie - whenever a rattler got out it freaked us out also.

On this particular occasion the glazed eye'd hippies were watching another episode of mini-Godzilla - feeding the Chuckwallas some meal-worms when one of them shot out past the foul mouthed mynah bird in the entry and took a flying leap off the front porch. This time the prehistoric creature did not head across the street to the Tripp's house (I guess, Iguana Del Diablo must have told it that it was not a good place to hide), instead it slid under a car and eluded the Wolf Pack who had been running around like the Three Stooges only there were about 16 of them. "The 16 Stoodges" Wow I'd see that in a theater.


After a short while the Wolf Pack had lost interest and most had staggered on back to where they come from.  Karin and I were still playing outside and that is when we saw it!  The grouchy old lady next door was out gardening in the front yard grouched over a hedge she had been was trimming with some rusty hedge clippers that were so old I sure Noah and his kids had used them way back in the day.

And there right below her bent-over-behind was the chuckwalla. I think that old lizard mistook her butt for a big rock or something. I was afraid for a couple reasons. Chuckwallas liked to squeeze themselves in tight places between rocks....do you know what I'm trying to say? I could see that thing making a run at her moo-moo and trying to fit himself in a spot where the sun don't shine.  I really didn't have too much against 'O Enda and although I knew that it couldn't end well for her, I figured if that chuckwalla ended up where I thought it might, It certainly wouldn't end up well for the escaped felon - the poor thing.




So Karin and I hatched a rescue plan...she would distract the old lady and I would wrangle the giant ugly behemoth.

Just as we put our plan into action, Jack Cano was coming back from Ralph's liquor store with a six pack and saw the whole thing. Karin tapped Edna on the shoulder and looked up with those puppy dog innocent eyes of a 6-year-old and I flung my weaselly little body right under Edna's butt, rolled across the ground and came up with chuckwalla tightly clenching to my chest with one hand and holding its jaws shut with the other hand.  I walked away wiggling and squirming and wrestling with Godzilla scratching at my chest and Edna turned around and snarled, "What's wrong with him?"

Karin looked up at her and said in reply, "That's just Mark...everyone says he's special!" smiled walked away.  Legend has it that Jack dropped his six pack and had to make another trip after trying to describe everything he just witnessed to Karl.

Just another weird day on Harding Avenue!





Here is to you Smith Girls!

For you android users
Tom Jones: What's New Pussy Cat