Auntie Grizelda's Story

If you've never heard the Monkees' song, "Auntie Grizelda", click on this sentence to listen to it before reading this.

(We tracked Auntie Grizelda down in a Pinellas Park, Florida retirement home and interviewed her. Here's what she remembers about the Monkees. She's rather old, hard of hearing, and nearly blind. Out of respect for her, this chapter is printed in large type. -Ed)

``No, I never did like that boy one bit. All that hair, and all those strange clothes, and he just couldn't keep his hands off dear Esmerelda. She was named to rhyme with me, you know. I was her mother's best friend, as well as her favorite sister. In fact, none of those boys could leave that girl alone.

``Yes, that boy was all of the time tryin' to put his arm on her shoulder, and hug on her. I daresay he even tried to kiss her a time or two, and they only dated eight weeks. And all the boys crazy about her, and she about them. What was that girl a'thinkin'? I like to had a fit!

``Esmerelda was a good girl. Still is. She ended up a'marryin' that other Monkee boy, what's his name, Davey Jones. I'd like to send him to Davey Jones' locker! They hadn't been married no time a'tall, I mean they weren't even through with the reception, and that boy had the marriage annulled!

``At least he didn't get her in the family way first. I guess that's somethin' to be grateful for.

``Anyways, that one boy, Michael, he always scared me. Somethin' strange about that boy, how he'd look at me. And always a'wearin' that silly cap, no matter the weather! But I fixed him.

``People say, of course, that the Monkees broke up over some artistic argument, or some such thing. But when that Michael fella kept a'comin' around, and don't think I didn't know what they wanted, even after Esmerelda finally listened to me, and wouldn't have nothin' to do with any of 'em no more, I just got sick and tired of it, and like I said, he scared me.

``This was about a year after the day of the marriage. I called my nephew Frankie over to Brandon, and asked him to come see me. So he did. And I explained about this boy, Michael, and Esmerelda. I tell you, I wished I had thought of Frankie before, and told him about the whole lot of them!

``Anyway, Frankie and a couple of his friends went and paid that Michael a visit. And nobody ever saw him again. I wish I'd a told Frankie about that Davey fella, too, only Frankie could only keep one thing straight at a time.

``Anyway, Frankie took care of things. And today, you always hear about that Michael making movies, or having a song, only nobody ever has any new pictures, just those old ones with that silly hat. And when the Monkees get together for a concert, there's only the three of them, Mickey, Davey, and that other one, but no Michael. On account of I had Frankie take care of him.

``Now, Mickey, after he got over being silly about my niece, he was an all right boy sometimes. Always complimented me on my fudge. But that other one, I'd catch Esmerelda looking at him, and he'd just look back, plain as day, like a deer stuck in the headlights.

``I couldn't abide none of 'em except Mickey, and I only liked him over for tea and fudge when Esmerelda was gone. And one day after he was there, I found all the water splashed out of the wading pool our budgie, Grace, liked to play in. Never knew why, but it always made me wonder.

``Anyway, that's the story. I hear they wrote a song about me. Probably mean and hateful. I don't know, on account of I never listened to that trash they called music. I miss Lawrence Welk. He played good music. Not just any old noise, and hateful words, like those boys played.

``That was what ruined this country, you know. That awful, loud noise and hateful words. And all that hair. Didn't even look like boys! And nowadays, most of 'em look like they stuck their head in somewhere it don't belong, blenders or light sockets or toilets or some such.

``But not my Frankie. He still looks so good. Takes care of himself. That boy keeps his hair nice, and dresses nice. And he still listens to classical music. He's so nice. If only he weren't Esmerelda's cousin, but then I guess he couldn't have taken care of that Monkee fella, and then they wouldn't have left her alone, and I don't know what would have happened then.''

Sniper School Pays Off (One Shot, One Kill)

WARNING: If you can't deal with killing vermin, don't read this.

This was written 1998-Nov-08 when we lived in the country, near Jonestown.

The other night, I found out we had a mouse in the house.

I realized that we had no mouse traps.

After pumping up Josiah's air rifle (mine needs a new cocking spring), I realized it was empty - no BBs. The mouse disappeared, and did not come back out, even though I went through the trouble of getting the pellets out and inserting one in the air rifle.

The next day, both Sharon and I forgot to get mouse traps. That night, wen everyone else was in bed, I heard a noise in the kitchen; the mouse was using the gas range top as a playground. It disappeared as I peeped around the corner. Clever little devil.

I chose a suitable, hidden location (the table), complete with rifle rest (a small, wooden tissue box cover someone with bizarre taste gave us). I cleared all collateral objects (salt shakers, dish washing detergent, ceramic duck) from the field of fire. I made sure there was a suitable backdrop (a wall), to avoid any collateral damage (broken windows). I baited the trap (placed grated cheese in the middle of the range top).

I then sighted in my rifle on the target area, all of six feet away. Since the rifle was actually sighted in for 25 feet, I guesstimated that I needed 1/2 inch of additional muzzle elevation (tall sights). I settled in and waited.

After a few moments, the enemy made a scouting mission. He darted across the field of fire, reconnoitered, and darted back. I focused on the front sight and continued to breathe slowly and evenly. Again he darted through, pausing briefly near the cheese this time. I kept my finger over the trigger, but didn't move it.

A moment later, he darted straight into the middle of the cheese. Stopped dead in my sights. I aimed just above his spine, slowly squeezed the trigger.

There was a loud pop. The sights jumped slightly. The mouse did a flip in the air. I heard the whine of the ricochet. Something lodged in my hair. The mouse landed on its feet, scurried a few inches, and stopped across the burner hole. It relaxed and fell through, dead. As I got up and walked over to check it, the pellet, thoroughly flattened, fell out of my hair. [1]

I put the mouse in a Ziploc body bag, cleaned up the blood, and buried him under the coffee grounds in the kitchen trash can.

How did it feel? It didn't really. Not really good or bad. A tad sad, but I just did the job I had to do. Not that hard a shot, nothing to be especially proud of. Just an unpleasant job that had to be done.

It was the next morning I realized I'd blown it. I should have put the body bag in the freezer, next to Sharon's frozen snake. "Frozen Roadkill City - Fun For The Whole Family! 5 Miles Ahead!"

-Miles, Great White Hunter

[1] "Oh, gross! Mouse guts and blood in your hair!" -Sharon

The Outer Limits... Facebook Style

(cue spooky theremin music)

``There is nothing wrong with your browser. Do not attempt to adjust the updates. We are in control. If we wish to make you see everything, we will feed you our database. If we wish to make it sparser, we will show next to nothing. We control the width. We control the automatic scrolling. We can roll the ads, make them flutter. We can change your focus to a soft blur or sharpen it to crystal clarity. For the next few hours, sit quietly and we will control all that you see and hear. We repeat: there is nothing wrong with your internet. You are about to participate in a great adventure. You are about to experience the awe and aggravation which reaches from your subconscious to... The Facebook Limits.''