Thursday, May 15, 2003

The thing I like about

The thing I like about this story isn’t the image of the independantly prehensile lingual portions, or the idea of letting someone work on my mouth with a scalpel that’s been heated with a blowtorch, but the name of the air force base they mention. It’s long been one of my favorite names, and isn’t it a lucky coinicidence that I just got a letter from my old friend, Peter Johnson, telling me all about his happy family:

“Hello, Chuckles, how’s it hanging?  Dick and Rod send their love.  They’re staying over with Grandpa Willie and his ol’ buddy Orel; I’m sure they’ve got their hands full with those boys.  I’m going out hunting tomorrow to fire a few off with my brother Lance and his triplets Woody, Tiny and Chubby; the boys wanted to bag something big and hairy for Uncle Randy to take over to Seymour’s place at the Air Force Base.  Well I’d better go - the cock’s gotten loose and he’s a real pecker!  Stop on by the Johnson place anytime and take a load off!  - Your friend, Peter Johnson.”

Good people, those Johnsons.  And they know better than mess with God’s handiwork.  Split my tongue?  I’ll sit this one out.  I have enough stuff to spread as it is.