#232-ANOTHER FINE MESS!

Last summer I caused myself a bit of a dilemma (what's new).  I have a bad habit of climbing up onto whatever is close to reach things above my normal grasp.  This, in the past, has caused the demise of various cans, tables,  and, yes, boxes.  But none can compare with what happened when I climbed up onto a plastic outdoor chair.  

Picture this with a gaping, jagged
hole in the center.

You know the kind I am talking about.  You see them at every Target, K-Mart or Walmart each spring.  They are the colorful ones that grace almost every other back yard patio in the world.


Anyway, up onto the chair I went, to try and fix the garage door which was refusing to open (again for the 100th time).  I stepped up onto that plastic perch (which had apparently been in the sun waaaay to long to hold even a person half my weight).  No sooner than I had stepped up, my leg broke through the center.  The problem was not that I fell but... the chair seat immediately broke into a chard pattern and was holding my leg hostage.  In order to get my leg out I was going to have to pull it out against the chards.  "Oh, mannnnn, this was going to hurt," I said  (deja-vous, it seems as though I have said this to myself before).  


Add to this that I was in the garage and had no place to sit down in order to ponder the best plan of attack.  The garage door wouldn't budge and the only possible path to another chair was up two steps and through a spring-loaded storm door.  I gingerly walked over to the first barrier to gaining entrance to the house only to be stabbed in 3 places by the pointy chards.  


Obviously the problem occurred when I tried to get through the spring loaded storm door.  Acting much like an alligator the darned thing kept glomming onto the chair.  I couldn't seem to put the trapped leg up first or hop up the steps on my right leg.  The danged door opened up to the left.  I couldn't reach far enough to hold it open in order to avoid the chair which had latched onto me like a pirana (yes, I know the door is an alligator and the chair is a pirana...apparently my garage is a swamp of some sort).


Next, I looked around for some tools to break (or cut) the chair off of my leg.  Now, if your garage looks like mine, then you know that there is no clear path to anything of importance.  So, I staggered around with this chair maintaining a shark like grasp on my leg (may as well keep the analogies in the realm of deadly water animals).  

Picture this upside down.

I found a small crate on which to sit and attacked the 'sharkesque' chair with a small saw.  Makes sense...use teeth to attack teeth...NOT!    When I pushed down on the saw it worked OK. But, when I pulled up the monstrous teeth bit into my leg.  


Struggling to my feet I went in search of a more deadly weapon (at that point if I could have found a gun I would have gladly put the chair to death).


The only thing I could find was a rusty pair of pruning shears.  So, I plopped myself down on the crate again and began to try and cut the plastic.  Well, that danged stuff was brittle enough to shatter when I stepped on it but, held together when I tried to cut it.


I sat there thinking while sweat dripped of me as if I were actually in a stinking swamp.  As I was looking around for an idea I spotted a coil of clothes line rope.  BINGO!  Gingerly, I wrapped a loop around each shard (one at a time) and pulled the loop up over the arm and tied it off.   


It worked great.  Well, almost...The last chard broke and I fell backwards onto the plastic crate (that had, also, apparently been in the sun way too long).  The chair flew off my leg, and my butt was suddenly stuck in the broken crate.  I said, "Well, sh!!, this is another fine mess you have gotten yourself into."   (I think I must be somehow related to Laurel and Hardy).


I sat there laughing at myself and eventually turned over to the side and got my crate covered rump up off the floor.  With a little tug and wiggle the crate dropped to the floor.  


That day I went to Walmart to buy a step-stool.  On, occasion, I do learn from my mistakes... ... ... 


(And YES, I am in my "Blue Boy" period).  It seemed like the thing to do when the all the art turned out to be blue.

COMING ATTRACTIONS:


#233 Double Debacle 
#234 The War of the Roses
#235 Deer Me
#236 True Love

kt 3/18/12

#231-DAISY LED HIM TO THE LIGHT

When my kids and I first moved to Missouri in the early 70s  I was determined to let my kids have lots of animals around.   I have written about most of them. (Daisy #65 =  2/11/10), (Bantys #18 = 8/5/10), (Ducks #219 = 3/9/12) However, I have not written about how Daisy handled a little bantam rooster we called Turkey.

First, you have to understand how our bantam Rooster got the name Turkey.  We had two and they were both beautiful and so very colorful.  Their feathers shined in the sun and almost glowed

in the moonlight.  Dandy was sweet and gentle and came when called.  He was almost a pet.  Where as his anthesis, Turkey, was mean and evil so we called him Turkey (as in what a Turkey!) 

See, isn't he beautiful!

Anyway, Turkey always wanted to fight.  He tried to pick fights with Dandy.  He tried to pick a fight with his reflection in the hub caps of my car and the trash can.  He had a real problem with anger management because he would attack anything that moved and some things that didn't.  I had to resort to carrying a broom when I entered the back yard as Turkey would attack my legs immediately.  So, big deal.  He was only about ten inches tall.  However, on his legs were 3 inch spikes, not to mention his sharp beak.  Turkey was a real TURKEY and we were all just about fed up with his behavior when my dog, Daisy, decided she was fed up too.  After all, she had to share HER yard with this feathered fiend who thought it was HIS yard.  


One Saturday morning I let Daisy out and started washing dishes.  (This is the ONLY time in my life I actually liked to wash dished.  The reason is that my sink over looked our three acre back yard).


I heard Turkey's screech out his call to attack and looked up just in time to see him lunge at Daisy.  Well, Daisy faked to the right, spun around, and grabbed him by his neck.  I started to run out the door to save his sorry little butt, but Daisy simply held him by the neck.  She held him high so his claws barely touched the ground and then she did her daily rounds with Turkey helplessly hanging from her mouth.  


You see, every time Daisy went outside she her usual check for interlopers.  Today was no exception.  With Turkey clutched tightly in her mouth she conducted business as usual.  She ran around behind the garage, down the west fence, then across the south fence, (did her business with Turkey still in her mouth. a feat worthy of olympic status) and then trotted up the east fence to finish the rounds of HER yard.  She finally turned Turkey loose (who must have had his life flash before his eyes several time).  He staggered around like he was drun.  He then plopped down shaking his head (I guess to see if it was still attached).  Next he slowly got up, stretched and shook his feathers out, fell down, and then staggered to the chicken coop, disappearing inside.


I went out back to make sure he was all right.  He appeared to be fine however, his neck feathers were in a disgusting sopping wet disarray.  Poor Turkey did not come out of the coop for a couple of days (not even to announce the arrival of dawn).  When he did come out it was like he was "born again."  Turkey never attacked another man, beast, or hubcap again.  Apparently, Daisy made him see the error of his ways and he repented.

#230 - "THWANG!"

The thwanger and the thwangee, CHRISTMAS 68

This is a short one...I seem to be running out of stories or words or both. 

Thanks to Melynda and her Pee story I remembered this about my two and prompted the question,

"At what age should a parent stop allowing  siblings to take baths together?"

Well, my daughter was about 2 1/2 and my son was around 5 which means that  I had been giving them baths together for around 2  years.  They got along well and it was obviously less time consuming to wash them both at the same time.  Bath time was a lot of fun with lots of toys, splashing and giggling.  

Then, one day my son stood up to step out of the bathtub and the above question was answered rather quickly.  My daughter suddenly reached up and smacked his....his....his...well you know and then said,"Thwang! "  Both kids laughed as I groaned because that meant bath time just changed and a I was going to need to have a personal conversation with my son to explain why.

So, the answer to the above question is:  The time has definitely arrived when there is a wiener whacking, followed by sound effects.

#229-AND THEY THOUGHT THEY WERE GOING TO GET LUCKY!

A while back Laila  (The Untroubledkingdomoflailaknight) sent me a challenge and one of the questions I had to answer was:  #5 = Have you ever thrown your panties/underwear at a rock star or other celebrity? If so, which one(s)? If not, which one(s) WOULD you throw your panties/underwear at, given the opportunity?


This was my answer:
  

I have never thrown my underpants to anyone. However, it just so happens that I did throw my panty hose at a Matador while in Tijuana watching a bull fight.  But, cerveza (beer) did play a major role in that fiasco (and I did have underpants on under the hose).  This incident is on my list for a future post.  

So, here is the post I alluded to to which I alluded. (See, I do know not to end my sentences with a preposition, but it sounds so prissy.) 

The summer after my senior year in high school I was asked out on a date by a very handsome and sought after young man.  I was ecstatic and looking forward to the date.  However, since he wanted to go to Tijuana I insisted that we double date with a friend of mine.  He had a friend that would be just right so the date was made.

After the two hour drive we arrived at the border where we had to park our car and take a taxi into town.  The taxi ride was part of the adventure.  None of us spoke Spanish, but all we had to say was bull fight and off he went (at the speed of sound).  He weaved and dodged other vehicles and sightseers.  The driver appeared to be in a race with other taxi drivers to get his fares to the spectical.   He took one turn on two wheels and then screeched to a stop.

In front of us was a long line of cars going up this narrow road to the place where the bull fights were held.  Seeing that the only way around the traffic jam was to take a detour to the right side of the road he did just that.  This meant that he had to drive on the side of the hill as there was very little shoulder on the road.  With all four of us in the back seat we slid together like sardines.  It was then that I realized that we probably should have stopped in town and gotten blitzed first.

Finally, after a harrowing ride we made it in one piece to the arena.  The place was filled with people, most of them drunk and apparently celebrating surviving their ride to the arena.

After finding a seat fairly close to the pit we stopped a young man walking around yelling,

"CERVEZA."  Immediately, our hands popped up in unison.  It was a good thing that I had several cervezas under my belt before the action started.  It was interesting at first, but then the bloody part started and right then I decided I was never going to another bull fight.  By the time the whole thing was over I was so drunk that I was really inthralled with the Matador.  So, when several women started taking off their panties and tossing them into the ring I guess it must have seemed like a good idea to me.  The only problem was that I had panty hose on over my pants (thank God).  So, I, not so delicately, pulled off my panty hose and tossed them into the ring.  That must have been quite the sight as they kept catching on everything.  I can remember having a hard time getting them off so I must have danced and gyrated quite a bit.  My girl friend said loud cheers that rivaled those that the matador had received rang out during my exhibition. 

Imagine this guy with a pair of panty hose
hanging from his nose.

The taxi driver taking us back to town drove like a little old man.  He probably knew to take it easy so his cab wasn't littered with recycled cerveza.

But that's not the end of my story (what a surprise).  We then had a terrific meal at a street side cafe (with bottled water of course).  We did some sight seeing and walked around looking for a show to attend.  I was aware of the raunchyness of some of the shows in Tijuana so I carefully reviewed the pictures on each marque posted outside of each establishment.  After what seemed like ages we came to one that showed a fully dressed (gorgeous) woman only dancing, so we went in.  Wanting to keep my dinner in my stomach I had stopped drinking by this time, but the guys hadn't.

We watched this beautiful woman dance for about 40 minutes.  She was very good and extremely seductive.  She had the most beautiful legs I have ever seen and the guys kept making all kinds of comments about what they would like to do with those legs (as you can probably imagine).  I was beginning to worry about what the guys might want to do after watching such a sexy show, however, the dancer took care of that for me.  Once finished, and with quite a flourish, she took a bow.  (It is what happened next that took care of my worries.)   She reached behind her back and undid her braw.  I sat up straight and softly said, "Oh, no!" (thinking it was a strip tease after all),  then to my delight HE flipped HIS bra and HIS wig off at the same time.

I roared with laughter as I knew that this was a real embarrassment to the guys who had been going on about HIM throughout the entire show.  One might say it was a real downer!

PREVIEWS OF MONDAYS TO COME:

kt 9/2011

#228-A SCREAM PIERCED THE AIR

In deference to those of you who hate snakes I chose non threatening snake picture for this post.    I had another one which was a picture of S. Jackson and "Snakes on a Pane" but when my 16 year old grandson saw it he started laughing.  I asked him what was so funny and he pointed to a phrase written in the picture.  It said something like, "I hate' f-in' snakes.   I guess I had better look closer at what I choose for art from now on.

Over the years I have had a few encounters with snakes.  Unlike most women I don't run screaming for the nearest man to save me from the slithery serpents.  (No, I walk up to the nearest man to ask them what kind of snake it is.  See Snakes 1 #209 and Snakes 2 #220 if you want to see their less than manly reactions).  

I happen to like snakes.  Well, maybe like does not describe my feelings toward snakes, it is just that I don't dislike them.  In fact I find them very fascinating creatures.


This incident happened when I was teaching at a newly opened residential school for behavior disordered youths.  Students ranging from ages 14 to 16 were in my classroom all day and I taught every subject with mostly spit, air, and duct tape for materials.   Therefore, for science we went on a critter hunt on the school grounds.  The grounds were on about 10 acres and there was a small pond.  Luckily for me there were lots of frogs and FROG EGGS.  We gathered up numerous eggs and put them in an aquarium I had fixed made out of old door transoms I found in an attic of the school.  With a large pan of water in the center and landscaping around the edge it looked like a small pond.


A funny thing happened on this hunt.  One of my students yelled out, "Look, a two headed frog!"  All the other students came running, as did I.  Who wouldn't want to see a two headed frog.  As it turned out, it was my first class on sex education.  You see, the male frogs were smaller than the females and there was one tenacious little guy hanging on Ms. Frogy's back for dear life.  That day, they learned a lot I hadn't planned on.


Each day we watched the eggs develop into tadpoles.  One day I unlocked the classroom door in the morning to find the entire floor moving.  Over the weekend the tadpoles had developed enough to hop out of the aquarium and onto the floor.  When the students arrived they had a jolly good time with what was eventually called the "Great Frog Roundup" (somewhat like the frog round-up in Cannery Row.  If you haven't read it or seen it you have missed a classic).  There were frogs hopping all over the school section for days.  A few we got to kinda dissect after they were stepped on.  We learned a lot about frogs (and this was without a computer or a science book in the classroom). 

Ok, you are probably thinking, "I thought this story was about snakes."  Hold your horses there kiddo, I'm getting around to that.  The above little excerpt is a kind of foreshadow of things to come.


Later on, long after the frog fiasco, we went out to look for other critters.  This time we ran into a few snakes.  We found two small black snakes, a stub nose and three garter snakes.  We named them all (the stub nose was our favorite and we called him Charlie).  I also learned a lot from the frog lesson and made a lid for the terrarium we re-landscaped.  The students were allowed to handle the snakes and thanks to the town library we were able to get books about them.


Charlie was a neat snake.  He loved to be handled and would bend his head over until he formed a hook and would hang from your finger.  Then we would stroke him and he would quiver with delight.


Now, you have to know where this is going.  But, I will tell you anyway.  One evening the lid was left off the terrarium (who would have thunk it) and I forgot to check before I left.  The next morning I went in my classroom and started my usual routine when I noticed the terrarium was empty.  I gasped in horror as I had to jump a lot of hoops to be allowed to have the snakes after the frog debacle.  Quickly I scoured every nook and cranny of the room.  The door opened and in walked my students.  In a whisper I informed them of the problem and we devised a scheme to covertly check the other rooms in the school.  The students spread out and told anyone they encountered that they were on a scavenger hunt (and it was not shared that the only thing on that list was... snakes).



Within ten minutes of school starting a scream pierced the air.  All ten of my students converged upon the the room from which the shriek came.   When we entered the classroom the teacher was on her chair pointing to a snake that was slinking along the baseboard.  One of the students grabbed Butch and we all scurried out of the room (after swearing her to secrecy).  It didn't take long before another teacher came scurrying out of her room.  Like Ghost Busters we intervened before she could blow the whistle and Harry was captured.  We found every snake but Charlie.  The kids and I were really bummed out.


Then the weirdest thing happened.  I flopped down on a bean bag and said to the kids, "Too bad he's a snake.  If he were a dog I could just call him. Here Charlie, here Charlie."  Then one of the kids squealed and pointed, "Look."  Out from the side of a bookshelf wiggled Charlie and he headed right for us.  I scooped him up and we all gave him a welcome home stroke.  To this day I believe that Charlie came because I called him... ... ... Ok, you believe what you want...... and I will believe what I want!


By the way I taught for 4 months like that until our books finally arrived.  I called this my period of Socratic teaching.  At first I was scared to death, but it turned out to be the most fun I have ever had as a teacher.   And, all of the snakes were released back into their original environment before it got too cold for them to find a place to sleep for the winter.  

PREVIEWS OF MONDAY'S TO COME:

#229-AND THEY THOUGHT THEY WERE GOING TO GET LUCKY

kt 2/15/12

#227 -FREAKING OUT!

May 1st:  I am trying to get ready to go to visit my daughter's and every FREAKING thing in this FREAKING world is going FREAKING wrong!

We have been having  FREAKING thunderstorms for three FREAKING days/nights straight (which means no FREAKING sleep)! Therefore there is about 4 inches of FREAKING water under my FREAKING house I had to FREAKING pump it out! 

This is a FREAKING picture of the FREAKING water
being FREAKING' pumped out my FREAKING front door! 

It has rained so FREAKING much that the small FREAKING tree by my FREAKING front window is FREAKING leaning at a FREAKING 65 degree angle!


Not only that but I could hear a FREAKING loud drip...drip...drip in my FREAKING attic all FREAKING night.


In addition to all of this, I have to leave the FREAKING front door open so the FREAKING sump pump hose (which I had to FREAKING buy and hook up myself) can snake out the my FREAKING front door. Because of this a FREAKING huge fly just FREAKING buzzed by my FREAKING face.  She is probably going to lay a FREAKING ga-zillion eggs in my home and when I return I will find my FREAKING house filled with FREAKING flies!

My FREAKING refrigerator is leaking water onto the FREAKING kitchen floor, and my FREAKING toilet in the half bath is FREAKING cracked and needs to be replaced!

And, lest not FREAKING forget, that I have to contend with this FREAKING new blog program that is FREAKING confusing.


I am so FREAKING stressed out that it is a FREAKING good thing that I don't FREAKING use the FREAKING "F-bomb" because I would have already used it a FREAKING 40 times. 


kt on FREAKING 5/1/12   (41)

#226-DID I WARP HIM FOR LIFE?

Yes, I'm out of my mind!

WOW! I AM USUALLY SO VERY LONG WINDED.  

SO TO REWARD YOU FOR STICKING WITH ME THROUGH MY LONG POSTS, HERE IS A SHORT ONE (about time!)

I was reading a story when I was reminded of what I said to a young boy (whose mother was allowing him to run around under and through clothes racks).  My daughter, then around 16, was in the dressing room of a fairly nice store, trying on clothes.  This kid who looked to be about eight, reached up for the doorknob of the room my daughter was in.   I knew my daughter would freak if he opened it.

I had already had enough of this little stinker and his neglectful parent so I put a scowl on my face and said in a quiet, low, menacing voice, “You touch that knob and I will cut all of your fingers off!”

The kid jumped, and immediately sought out his mother.  He stayed glued to her side for the rest of their visit.




Now, this was an awful thing to say to a kid, and I know that.  But, maybe my comment made him think about what he was doing and that mother was right when she warned him about strangers.  Then again, maybe it warped him for life (I hope not).

PREVIEWS OF MONDAYS TO COME:

#227-ANOTHER FINE MESS!

#228-A SCREAM PIERCED THE AIR!

#229-AND THEY THOUGHT THEY WERE GOING TO GET LUCKY

kt 3/15/12

#225-DOROTHY, TAKE ME WITH YOU!

Somewhere around the year 2004 we had a tornado scare in the small town in which I live (aren't you impressed with my grasp of the English languge?).  I had moved in with my parents to help my father care for my mother.  She had Alzheimers and, at this time, was in her little kid stage.  Her memory was totally shot and she clung to my dad like a shadow.


One day I came home and she was sitting in his recliner with him.  Now, you have to understand that this was a one person recliner and there she sat all squished in beside him with this silly little grin on her face.


I stopped and took in this beautiful sight in for a while and then I said to my dad, "Pop, you have the perfect wife.  She never complains, she always wants to be close, she doesn't want presents and to go out for dinner.  She doesn't remember anything you did wrong and is now content to watch your stupid TV shows with you."  But I digress...


One night, the tornado sirens went off.  The three of us gathered in a long hall in the center of our home (My dog, Luke, and my cat (Mad Max) were shut in the small bathroom).  This hall was deemed, many years ago, as the safest place in the house (as Dad refused to spring for a cement shelter).  I quickly gathered up the gear that is always close at hand during tornado seasona small mattress on which to lay and some quilts to put over the top of us (plus an emergency kit to hug).


The storm was raging outside and this is what I heard:

MOM:     Bill... (louder) Bill... (then louder) BILL... ... (and even louder)                B I I I L LLLLLLLL!  

(you see my dad was hard of hearing).

DAD:      WHAT!!!!!!!!!


MOM:    What are we doing here?


DAD:      TORNADO!


MOM:     Oh!  (in a soft little voice).


Then, about 5 minutes later I heard:


MOM:     Bill... ... Bill... ...BILL... B I I I L LLLLLLLL! 

DAD:      WHAT!!!!!!!!!

MOM:    What are we doing here?

DAD:      TORNADO!

MOM:     Oh!.

The siren stayed on for about 30 minutes and this EXACT repetitive dialogue continued the entire time.  By the third time I seriously considered running out the door and into maelstrom and yelling, "Dorothy, take me with you!" 


kt 3/3/12 

   

PREVIEWS OF MONDAYS TO COME:

#226-DID I WARP HIM FOR LIFE?

#227-ANOTHER FINE MESS!

#228-A SCREAM PIERCED THE AIR!

#229-AND THEY THOUGHT THEY WERE GOING TO GET LUCKY

#224-I CHOOSE CONTROL

I would like to get a serious for just a minute. Someone very special sent this to me and I want to share it with you:

Though you have some control over things outside yourself, the most powerful and important control you have is over your own thoughts and actions. Indeed, it is through self-control that your greatest possibilities can be realized. People will attempt to tell you that you have no choice, that when certain things happen you must react in a certain way. But you most certainly do have a choice. You do not have to be a victim of circumstance, no matter what that circumstance may be. You can choose the way you respond, and you can take control of your circumstances by being in control of yourself. Imagine all the things you could accomplish if you had a servant who obeyed your every command. The fact is, you do have such a servant and it is you. So what are you commanding yourself to do? How are you controlling the powerful and valuable force that is your life? When you attempt to control others, they will resist you. Yet when you focus on controlling your own thoughts and actions, the positive possibilities are unlimited. You have within your complete control someone who is capable of many great things -- you. Use that control wisely and it can take you wherever God has planned and desires you to go.

#223-SLOSHED!

In the early 60s I was attending college at San Jose State, in San Jose, California.  Being a college town and close to San Francisco it was a town filled with a lot of energy and interesting character's.   It was here that I witnessed an incredible scene.


The apartments we lived in did not have cloth washing facilities so we had to go to the local laundry-mat.  We usually went as a large group and made kind of a party out of it.  The guys would come by and see how many times they could go around in the dryer before throwing up (just one fun thing in their arsenal of dumb stuff).  We played music and talked (and drank beer).


One such night an old lady with baggy stockings, a black straw hat, and rumpled clothing came in carrying a pillow case.  We noticed her, but were having too much fun to notice that the pillow case was moving (well, one of the girls, after the event, said she saw it moving but thought she might have had too many beers).


Anyway, the ruemy old lady walked to one of the washers and dumped the contents of the pillow case into the washer.  She pulled out a quarter (yes, back then it only cost a quarter) put it into the machine and it started filling.  


When the washer started to thrash, a terrible sound to fill the room.  It sounded like a long low moan.  Then when the spin rinse kicked in it a sounded more like a broken siren.  This horrific noise filled the room.  I have never heard such a sound.


We all stopped talking mid sentence, shut off the music, and turned around trying to focus on the origin of the terrible sound.  We concluded, at once, that the sound was coming from washing machine #6.  The old lady was half leaning, half laying, against it as if she hadn't noticed the awful sound coming from her machine.


At first we thought that the motor was making the noise but when final spin kicked in the noise suddenly changed into a blood curdling scream.   We were all frozen in place with looks of fear and confusion on our faces.


When the spinning stopped, the old lady opened the lid, removed a soggy, groggy, long haired, black CAT and headed for the dryers.  It was then that we were shocked into action.  We yelled at the old lady, grabbed a towel and wrenched the cat from her arms.  The old lady appeared to be ambivalent about our concerns.

Actually, that cat's eyes weren't quite
as focused as this ones.

The ruckus had attracted the police who had to endure the enraged yammering noise of 15  hormonal females.  The police noted our complaints, and loaded the old lady (and the soggy-groggy cat) into the police car. 


We all congratulated ourselves for being fine upstanding citizens (and uttered a sigh of relief that the cops had not noticed that more than that cat was "sloshed" that night.  (There was A LOT of underage drinking going on in that laundry-mat). 

I guess this is what it would have looked
like if we had let her put it into the dryer!

PREVIEWS OF MONDAYS TO COME:

#224-I CHOOSE CONTROL

#225-DOROTHY, TAKE ME WITH YOU

#226-DID I WARP HIM FOR LIFE?

#227-ANOTHER FINE MESS!

#228-A SCREAM PIERCED THE AIR!

#229-AND THEY THOUGHT THEY WERE GOING TO GET LUCKY

kt 2/26/12