
I was out in the garage last week, rewiring a toaster, when Maria shouted out that there was a phone call for me. I shook the solder and bread crumbs from my mitts, opened the squeaky screen door and entered the kitchen.
Maria said: "It's Barbara. She's very upset."
Barbara was my second wife. We enjoyed a heated May-September fling in the 70's and, while the divorce was ugly and mean-spirited, we had maintained a cordial level of communication over the decades.
I picked up the phone. Barbara had been reading the blog and was offended by the escalating use of "posterior humor" introduced by Sig94's writings. I calmed her by explaining the erratic behavior caused by the presence of a bronze plate in Siggie's head.
That seemed to calm her, but there was no tempering her views on the upcoming election. She insisted that I immediately tell every one of this blog's readers that if the Democrat Party were to escape with even one congressional seat, she will personally "hunt down every American voter and plant my size 7's squarely up their poop chutes". She was unable to recognize the irony in her declaration.
I planned to post her statement on Monday. Alas, life has a way of disrupting one's plans. I've just learned that Barbara Billingsley has shaken off that mortal coil. Cancer did its ugly work. I can't now fulfill her request, but I can ask each and every one of you to remember her on November 2nd.
Good-bye my Naughty Chipmunk,
Your Funny Bunny
