Dogs in Trees and Being Germaphobic

It's Monday ya'll. Let the games begin!

I'm tired as all get out this morning. I worked on the carpet some more yesterday and as ya'll probably know by now, I'm allergic to physical labor.

Is it sad that I keep turning the big overhead light on in the living room to better gaze upon the rich, green cleanliness of the floor?


Here at the Asylum, PG's cellphone is ringing loudly, echoing through the office while Lulu has her granny panties in a wad over something, running up and down the hall like the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland. Across the hall, Louise is either late or not coming in at all... we're not sure yet.

Oh great... and I've just been informed that PG is infected with the double barrelled intestinal puke n' shoot. Gross.

Ya'll will probably find me later, hunkered down in the corner, wearing an old surgical mask, complete with splatter shield, (a leftover from my EMT days) spraying everyone who comes in hacking range with the pseudo Lysol, the smell of Moonlight Path scented antibacterial gel oozing from my pores.

I don't have time to get sick ya'll.

Frog Pond Holler lost a much loved citizen this weekend. Charlie was one of the first people I met when I came to work at the Asylum. He'd be here, pushing a twenty year old vacuum cleaner around the office every morning when I came in. When he'd make his way to my cubey, he'd always peek in and say, "Hey good lookin'!" which always made me smile, even though Lulu was always quick to point out that he was legally blind.

It didn't stop him from driving around town in his little maroon Pinto though, poking along at 15 miles an hour.

It was Charlie who recently spotted a bear climbing up an apple tree, smack dab in the middle of town, causing a great debate over his ability to see, speculation that it was really a big black dog and resulting in the argument that if it was indeed a dog, then it would still be quite a spectacle if, indeed the dog had climbed an apple tree.

Rumor has it that Charlie was a ladies man in his hay day and even in his advanced years, he still had a small harem of little old women who'd take in his laundry, do his shopping and make sure he was taken care of.

The Amazon told me Charlie had died at the nursing home Saturday night. I'm gonna miss the old feller.

Ya'll take this Monday by the cajones and make it squeal like a pig.

Later Taters!