The G - Force

Jennifer in New York, this one's for you.

Everyone is always telling me I should write a book. My response? No one would believe it, and this is why. There are many entertaining facets to having a variety of people take care of me. For example, the following is a true story. None of the names have been changed to protect the monumentally stupid.

Once upon a time I had a caregiver. Let's call her Nicole. Now Nicole should not be confused with the other caregiver I had named Nicky. One morning the Harris county sheriff's department paid us a surprise visit at the house to arrest Nicky. But that's a different story.

Nicole was a good caregiver, but was overtly flirtatious with me from the start. You know the type. Everything I said was incredibly funny (well it is), and a little bit too touchy-feely. Plus every week she had a new hard luck story that she needed money for. Alarm bells are ringing Willy!

Now Nicole always had a book to read at lunch. One day Mom is at the store. Nicole and I are having lunch. She holds the book up so I can see the cover and asks me if I've ever read the book before.

The book? "Penthouse Forum Letters". Warning! Warning! Danger Will Robinson! My answer? No. She told me I should, they're really good. Alrighty then boys and girls, are you ready? Put on your dancing shoes because that was just the warm-up story.

One day my caregiver Maria is doing my laundry. She pulls out an article of clothing from the dryer. She holds it up with both hands for my mom to see.

Maria: "Miss Viki?" She asked with a very shocked look on her face.

Mom: "Where did you get that!?" She asked even more shocked than Maria was.

Maria: "It was in David's laundry." She says starting to laugh.

Mom: "Well it certainly isn't mine!" She says also starting to laugh. "David!! Come here! I have a question for you."

I roll into the kitchen. Maria is holding up a women's black silk G-string (that's a thong for those of you who are not strippers) with a small rose embroidered on the front. Both of them are looking at me and semi laughing. My reaction?

Me: "Hey you found'em. Thank-you Maria, I've been looking for that damn thing everywhere. You didn't happen to find my matching garter belt and fishnet stockings did you?"

Mom (not amused): "She found them in your laundry. How did they get there?"

Me: "How should I know? They're not mine." (Sound familiar? Genetics)

My answer was met with blank stares and cold silence. Obviously I was going to have to come up with a more satisfying answer.

Me: "OK you got me. This whole quadriplegic thing has been an elaborate ruse. I'm actually a world famous male stripper. I've just been too embarrassed to tell you all these years."

Mom (now even less amused): "Well then who do they belong to?"

Now that's a good question. Because not only was there a question of who do they belong to, but also how they got there? We decided we should find ownership first. After that the how should follow.

We quickly eliminated 10 possible suspects, Maria, myself, my mom, and the cast from Gilligan's Island. That left 4 possible suspects, caregiver#1, caregiver#2, Nicole, and Super Genius Wile E Coyote. Oh, wait. Make that 3 suspects.

Now we came to another dilemma. How do you hold up a black silk G-string and ask someone, "Is this yours?" Especially if it's not theirs. Not wanting to waste any time, I immediately went to my room and got my Official Scooby-Doo "Who Done It" handbook.

Solution? Prominently display them on a hanger in the laundry room all by their lonesome. Then ask each of my suspects if they've recently lost something while here. Regardless of the answer, I send them to laundry room, come back, and ask them if they recognized anything. Also have them bring me back some Scooby Snacks.

Of course caregiver#1 and caregiver#2 came back with a variety of humorous comments. Both of them have grown children, and both will admit that they no longer have the body type to wear such a thing. They also had the same questions we had. Who? And more importantly, How?

Finally, it's Nicole time. Mom decides to go to the store and let me handle this one. Nicole goes to the laundry room and returns. "Nope" she says, not hers either. Okaaayy. Very interesting. But instead of asking the standard who and how questions, she wants to know if they have been hanging up there all week, and has everybody else seen them.

Soon as Nicole leaves for the day Mom is in my room to see what I found out. I told her that Nicole claimed that they weren't hers.

Mom: "Really? Well I tell you what, they're not there anymore."

Bingo! Ladies and gentlemen we have our winner! The next day when Nicole returned to the scene of the crime, I had a few questions. She confessed that they were hers, but she didn't know how they ended up in my laundry basket, and that was the end of that.

Almost. Tell us Dave, is there a surprise in that box of Cracker Jack's? Why yes there is.

She told me she didn't know they were missing because she has lots of them. G-strings, (I mean thongs) are all she wears. OK, no stripper jokes! OK, maybe just one or two. She must not be doing too well as a stripper if she has to moonlight as a caregiver for me. Tell us Dave, how long has that brass pole been in your bedroom?

The Nicole and her G-string situation was never satisfactorily resolved. We did part our separate ways several months later. I'm sure it was for a reason that did not involve women's lingerie.

The G-string in the laundry basket is now running joke. Whenever one of my caregivers does something that you just have to shake your head at in disbelief, we always say, "Well at least she didn't leave her G-string in Dave's laundry basket!"

God bless & blue skies, David 

FORWARD: it's been a long time since I've written anything creative. Insert excuses here. So you can read it, not read it, just click "Like", or give me your unsolicited review. Enjoy.

GOLDEN

Follow me for a second here. My neighbor has a palm tree in his back yard. In that palm tree there lives a family of squirrels. There's Papa squirrel, Mama squirrel, and Baby squirrel. "Nobody puts Baby in a corner." Identify that movie quote for 5 bonus points. After seeing the family of squirrels, my mind started wandering. What if you took "Goldilocks and the 3 Bears" and changed the bears to squirrels? Hmmmm.

Okay, stupid idea. After all a squirrel is not exactly the same size as a bear. Thank-you, another dazzling observation brought to you by Captain Obvious. That creates all kinds of problems with size. Duh. I mean you can forget about the whole too hot, too cold, too hard, too soft thing. What difference does that make if she can't hold the spoon, fit in the bed, or for that matter get into the stupid house?

Unless of course Goldilocks were to swing by Wonderland on her way to the squirrels house. Then if Alice still has some of that LSD laced cake she scored off that psychedelic pastry dealing rabbit they can both fit. Alice in Wonderland, what a trip. Makes Dr. Seuss's The Cat in the Hat look like Shakespeare in the park. Where was I? Oh yeah.

Obviously the "Goldilocks and the 3 Squirrels" concept was right up there with men's barbed wire underwear. Although the men's barbed wire underwear did have a great slogan, "A little prick never hurt anyone." Wait a minute, where was I again?

So now we had a new problem, "Goldilocks and the 3 bears." None of us at the intergalactic brain trust breakfast table could remember the ending to this story. I mean it's a children's story, so there has be a moral to the story, right? But what was the ending and what was the moral?

Let's take a quick look at the evidence. Goldilocks is obviously a minor. But she's obviously guilty of breaking and entering, theft (eating the porridge), and destruction of private property. I don't think you can get her on anything for being found sleeping in the baby bear's bed.

You've got to admit, Goldilocks is a little creepy. She seems to have an uncomfortable desire for everything that belongs to the baby bear. Personally, I'm thinking restraining order. Talk about handwriting on the wall. Goldilocks has a bright future as a poster child for the obsessed crazy one of the pain from an psycho girlfriend. I'll bet you she knows exactly how long to boil a bunny.

Now the D.A. should have no trouble getting a conviction on our little bungling blond cat burglar. She wasn't wearing any gloves, she was seen at the scene of the crime, and leaving the scene of the crime. Obviously an amateur. Of course all of this only matters if she got caught, and I don't recall anyone placing a 911 call to Sheriff Huckleberry Hound.

If she didn't get caught, that leaves two possibilities. She either gets away, or the bears kill her and eat her. Which if I'm not mistaken they are legally entitled to do in Montana. So we have option #1 She gets away, or option #2 A grisly death by grizzly bear. Did you notice what I did there with the play on words? Grisly, grizzly, huh, huh, get it, pretty smart, eh?

Now what kind of moral to the story is it if she gets away? Criminal mischief is OK, so long as you don't get caught? Not a very good moral for children. Next thing you know you've got Little Red Riding Hood smuggling smack instead of snacks to grandma's house from distribution in Candy Land. Then Charlie Brown starts shooting up steroids so he can play high school sports. It'll be anarchy!

If she didn't get turned over to the authorities, and getting away has no moral to it, that leaves only is one possible ending. The bears ate her! Now that's a good ending. Just like Hansel and Gretel. The moral of the story? Don't go sneaking off into the woods, or some senile old bat might very well go Texas chainsaw massacre on your dumb azz.

FOOTNOTE: For the record, I did look up the ending as well as the history of the story. As it turns out the story has about 1,000 variations. I think the one I liked best was where the baby bear wasn't the baby bear at all. He was just a good friend of the other two bears. Then Goldilocks runs off into the woods and is never heard from again. You know what? I'm thinking Hansel and Gretel might have been the sequel.