The home improvement guys were back today. I've always hated the light fixture in my bathroom and wasn't shy about saying so after the new windows went in and they looked so good and it didn't, so the huzzzz-bun dragged me to Lowe's to pick out a new one. I decided that, hell, at my age whimsical is the only way to go, so I got one with a bronze base with palm trees and monkeys on it. They put it in this afternoon, and I love it!
There was no dearth of Words Gone Bad today. Is there ever, she asks with an evil grin? With a ready supply of raw material always at hand, it would be criminal to waste them. Thus, we give you today's Halloween-themed Storytime With Twisted Linguistics.
Today's assembled assets:
I no very well
PUMP KEN HEAD
A long, long time ago -- almost a month now -- there was this Candadian guy named Jack. He was usually high, so everybody called him Highjack. He hated this other guy named Ken because Ken had truely impressered him as a big-headed know-it-all.
"I no very well that Ken don't know squat," Highjack would lament to anyone who would listen. His complaints must have been pretty affective, because the guys hanging around the poolroom started egging Highjack on.
"He dissed you, is that ciorect?" the guys asked.
"Yo!" said Highjack.
"And he never appoligieze, did he?" they continued.
"Was it just an oversite?" they inquired.
"Then you need to take him subteranian, dude," was the guys' consensus.
"Yo!" Highjack agreed enthusiastically.
So they got there facts straight and as Ken lay in his grubby bed in the shack in the swamp that night, they came for him.
"Yo, Ken!" the angry mob shouted from the shabby front yard. "Come on out here!"
"Wha'?" answered the sleepy Ken. "I no feel so very well."
"You dissed our pal Highjack here. We pump a little o' that hot air out your fat head."
"Oh, okay," Ken said, scratching his nether regions as he stumbled out the front door.
"We ain't gonna put you inna ground," the guys promised. "We just teach you little object lesson in ciorect behavior."
"Gotcha," said Ken.
"Pump Ken head! Pump Ken head!" they began to chant.
And the guys hooked up a purloined aquarium pump to Ken's head and commenced to pumping. Alas, they got just a trifle carried away with the pumping and, before they knew it, Ken's head was flat as a pancake. He knew he wouldn't last long because he couldn't breathe out of his flattened nose, so he used his dying breath to make a blood vow.
Ken promised them right then and there that forever after, on the anniversary of that night, one of them would die. He swore that they could run but they couldn't hide. He promised that if he could not find them, their friends, family, and in-laws would do in their place. And then a wind current caught him right beneath where his chin should have been and carried him up, up and away.
And so began the legend which would spread like wildfire through the town. Since there was quite a bit of inbreeding in the area, no one wanted to take a chance -- everyone who owned a pump of any kind destroyed it. Just in case.