Conversations With …part deux

My sister via text while I was in my tower on a hot, hot day.

me: I brain dead roasted

sister: perfect. I can’t imagine…its grossly hot. and you’re slowly cooking yourself like a super slow microwave.

me: Like the fun cooker

sister: ewww.  so you’re probably internally aging like an astronaut…

me: is that what happens up there…in…space?

sister: yes…they age so quickly…like crazy…that’s why they have to exercise for two to three hours every day up there…

me: I don’t want to go up there then.

sister: I do…when I’m dead…shot into space to disintegrate

me: would u disintegrate before u cleared the atmosphere? Then bits of you would rain down.  That would be nice.

sister: Yes, wouldn’t it?

me: I want one of my turds petrified & then shot into space.

sister: Hac! How about some bloody tampons?

me: but the rest of me buried.  No coffin. Shallow grave. I want bugs & beasts to have their fill.   EXCELLENT IDEA!!(re:tampons) I’ll start saving them now!

sister: ahhh, don’t you dare blog this.

me: and I want them glued together in a likeness of me.

sister: like a lady gaga meat dress?

me: more like a statue of me.

sister: that’s it.  I’m stopping sending you ideas.

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Ginch, Gonch and Ryan Gosling

Throughout my life, I am ashamed to admit, I have used the words ginch and gonch interchangeably.  For awhile I had thought that gonch was simply the plural of ginch however my mistaken belief was pointed out to me and, as it turns out, ginch is the feminine and gonch is the masculine.  What is the plural ginch/gonch?  I don’t know.  

I have also, recently, watched the movie Drive, starring one silent and violent Ryan Gosling.  The following story was birthed as a result:

 It’s snowing again, always…forever.  Will it ever stop snowing?  Will the air ever hold crisp spring or a hint of life?  The dry dead winter tore up her nostrils and into her sinus cavities.  They seized in rebellion.  Snot production put into overdrive to protect from the onslaught of dryness.  Humans were not designed to live in such climates.  Why was she here?  Why did he send her into this horrible place?

The sun snuffed out by heavy clouds.  Yet, in spite of these clouds, the air on ground was fatally dry for someone so sensitive.

“It’ll be good for you.” He had said.  “Toughen you up a bit.” These words played through her head as she hitched her shorts up and tried to walk in her platform boots. Platforms did not handle the ice and like a short stumpy deer on skates she fumbled her way across the street and into the mall.

“He’ll be in the Charm Diamond Centre,” he had said as he handed her the packet.  Always the same, a picture, a place and a date.  No instructions – ever.  But she knew what to do.

Once inside the mall the going got a lot easier.  Midday on a Monday in a small town so the place was deserted. She hurried along, looking for the Charm Diamond Centre. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The boots made her short legs look eight inches longer. Looking good, she said to herself as she hitched her shorts up again.  She hated low-rider design and longed for the day this fashion trend was snuffed out.  On account of her large gut, low-riders got pushed down revealing the refrigerator repair man butt.  How was she supposed to do her job wearing these bloody low-riders? And everything was low riders these days.  Even underthings. She had to stick with ten year old ginch because all the new ones would fall down.  Held up by nothing but the crotch of her jeans she would have to find a secluded corner to reach down the front of her pants and yank her ginch up.

As she rounded a corner and saw the Charm Diamond Centre across the empty mezzanine another million dollar idea flitted into her head: I should design ginch-suspenders.  And another million dollar idea was ignored.  If she had only followed through on one of her ideas she wouldn’t have found herself here, doing what she had always done, and wearing low-riding hot pants.

Why were hot pants called ‘pants’? They were shorts, damn-it.

She shuffled into the Charms and immediately recognized her target.  He had the salt and pepper hair of a fifty year old and the body of Ryan Reynolds….in Blade.  She was going to enjoy this.

She slid in beside him as he gawked at the jewels locked behind glass.  She leaned forward, her lips close to his ear, “Excuse me.” She whispered with a heavy exhale.

The coffee and garlic odour that was her breath danced across his nose.

He cringed. “Sorry,” he mumbled as he shifted away from her.  His eyes surreptitiously took in her ensemble and he was appropriately frightened.

“No problem, Hon,” she smacked as she shimmied even closer to him.

He tried to bend further away from her, but she had managed to park herself right in front of the jewel case where he had seen it.  The broach.

“Excuse me,” he muttered as he tried to angle his way ahead of her.  He needed to see that broach.

“No you don’t.” She sneered as she turned on him.

“Pardon?” He regarded her with shock.

“You should be shocked you filthy little bitch.” She whispered as she reached around and grabbed his butt. “No gonch today I see, any reason for that?”

He pulled away from her grasp and backed up towards the mezzanine. “What the hell are gonch?” He cried.

She shook her head with loathing.  What an idiot.

He reached the threshold and turned, “Security!” he wailed.

“They can’t help you today, you slut!” She screamed as she rammed her hands down the front of her shorts and tore her ginch off.

Temporarily dazzled by this display of strength, he hesitated, his mouth agape in shock.

A fatal mistake.

She balled up her ginch and tossed them, underhand, and in spite of the gentle throw they flew with amazing speed and found their mark.  His face.

His hands flew up and clawed at the ginch.  They did not move.  Secured as if by-

“Magic.” She said triumphantly.

He stumbled backward, silent, thrashing…dying.  The ginch sealed every orifice in his face he couldn’t inhale, he couldn’t make a sound.

He fell.

The Charms Diamond Centre clerk had taken notice.  He ran to the man’s aid, and yelled at her, “Go get help!”

“Are you stunned?  Did you not see that it was I that did that to him?!?” she screamed.

“Help! Help! Help!” the clerk shrieked.

She heard the distance thumping of footsteps.  Someone else was on their way and she had outstayed her welcome.

She yanked off her platforms and ran barefoot across the mezzanine, down the corridor and out of the mall.

He was waiting in his V-dub Van.  She yanked the passenger’s door open, jumped in and screamed: “Drive, damnit, drive!”

He slammed the van into first and crawled away.

“Doesn’t this thing go any faster!?” she sqwaked.

“No, it doesn’t.” Ryan answered.

She yanked off her wig, rolled down the window and tossed it out just as they were pulling onto Main Street.  The wail of a police car rose in the distance.  She reached down, grabbed some sweats she had hidden there earlier, and yanked them on over her hot-pants. She fumbled underneath the seat, her fingers searching for her wool socks.

“Turn up the heat!” she screeched.  God Damn, she’d be happy to get out of this hellish winter land.

Ryan obliged, turned the heat- up as the van begrudgingly accelerated to 60 kilometers per hour. She found her socks and pulled them on.

She turned to take in her boss. He had picked up a swanky new gold quilted jacket.  The sight of him relaxed her. “Sorry,” she offered.

“No problem.” He shrugged.

“I got a little stressed out, is all.” She offered as explanation.  But when she looked at him she knew that everything would be fine, because who in their right mind would ever accuse Ryan Gosling of being the master-mind behind such nefarious things?

“Hey.” She said.

“Yeah?”

“I need to get some new ginch.  Maybe we could stop at Marks Work Wear House?”

“What are ginch?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes in disgust. He was hot, but he sure was stupid.

Do you know the plural of ginch and gonch?

THREE A.M.

from my other blog

A Couple of Idiots

this months writing prompt was to set our alarms for 3 a.m., get up and write.

THIS is forty

J. N. Johnson

*(confession: the only thing that came to me at 3 in the morning was: “The wrong decision can lead in the right direction.” And that led to the following being written in the daylight hours.)*

*(ps – I am flabbergasted by what Bergen wrote at 3 a.m. That chick needs to write at 3 a.m. all the time!)*

 “Bring me my roti bread.” The beast ordered from her Throne of Bones.

Human bones.

She relished in the memory of making her throne. It was many years ago she had collected beetles to strip the bones clean.  Now, in her advanced age, she had grown weary and couldn’t fathom having the endurance to collect beetles.

At one time the words ‘Jabba Roti’ had struck fear into the hearts of…

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Conversations With…

MY SISTER VIA TEXT.

Background Info: My sister adopted a baby boy, XX.  When XX was born he had alcohol and cocaine in his system.

I woke up from a nap when:

me: I just flat-lined.

sister: meee tooo.  I have brainnumbibg shift…almost..over.

me: Are you going to retire at 50?

sister: Well i did some retirement planning and at my current savings investment..I’ll have $8000/yr to live on if i retire at 66 or 67.  So no not 50, maybe 90.

me: hac!

sister: I need a better plan

me: at 55 I’ll have $100,000 in RSPs.  So if I only live to 58…

sister: well you’re 92000 ahead of me…so you know I’ll be moving in with you

me: I’m really hoping XX is like Justin Beiber

me:  Bieber.

sister: what the??

me: Like justin was a testament to teenage pregnancy. XX will be poster child for alcohol & cocaine abuse….XX will support us with his MUSIC CAREER.

sister: Fantastic…plus he’ll be really good at any sport that involves a stick and hacking things

me: a world of possibility

sister: ..not music…too much pressure to abuse drugs, plus I hate music.

me: how can you hate music?

sister: we make a good team.  Should have been financial planners.

MY CO-WORKER VIA PHONE

My co-worker had a storm overhead.  I heard a clap of thunder through the receiver when he said:

“I better go before I get zapped through the phone and my face is burnt and then my girlfriend will dump me.”

“Yeah, you’ll be Elephant Head!” I laughed

“Oh my god Jo, what is wrong with you?! “

umm..I dunno.

Tasteful Nude of Joseph Merrick.

TEXT WITH MY SISTER…next day.

me: woke up at 2am cause I hadta pee…then i couldn’t sleep cause worried about not enough money in RSP.  So I just opened a tax free savings account.  balance 25clams!

sister: you are the bomb!!!

me: so in 15 years that 25 dollars will be…$500,000?

sister: yep, according to my calculations