Sometimes I am truly amazed and humbled by things I don’t understand.
Especially how Jerry has managed to live 55 years and still has all of his fingers and toes. Then again, since he only has ten of each, he may have lost some in the past. It’s probably in poor taste for me to make a West Virginia joke, but it’s not uncommon in some parts of WV for entire families to have six or seven toes on each foot. Maybe he had more genetic diversity in his family than in others, because I think he was born with the customary ten toes and ten fingers, which is a good thing. I went to school with a guy who had six toes on each foot, and he also had a thing for eating boogers, paint and dead bugs. I don’t think extra digits=extra intelligence, but I’m no geneticist, so there may not be any correlation between having too many toes and whether or not your mamma and your sister are the same woman. (“Aunt Mom??”)
Anyway, back to more of Jerry’s drunken activities. Last night’s drunken activity of the evening was tilling. For those who are extremely urban and have never grown a garden, or observed someone grow a garden, tilling is what you have to do to break up the ground so you can put seeds or plants in it. Our garden plot is somewhat large, which means manual tilling, with a shovel or hoe (also a digging tool, but not to be confused with “ho”) is not practical. Tilling a large garden plot requires a roto-tiller, which is a funky thing that is powered by a lawnmower engine, but in the front of it there are vertical, rotating tines that dig up the ground (versus a horizontal blade like a lawnmower.)
It would be in one’s best interest to be relatively sober when operating such a potentially dangerous machine, but Jerry was at least a 12 pack into it. So he is traipsing through the mud with the tiller dragging him along. His shoes ended up so caked with mud that I am surprised the dog shit he stepped in on the way in the house managed to stick to them, but of course, dog shit sticks to anything. I could have killed him for tracking in dog shit (again) but in his defense I don’t think he could see it and I’d be surprised if he could have smelled it as shitfaced as he was. I retrieved the shoes, tossed them on the back porch and of course, had to clean up the shit that got tracked all over the floor.
Just a quick passing observation. Legend has it everyone has a double. Even Obama. I couldn’t stop laughing the other night when Jerry and I were watching “The Legend of Awesomest Maximus,” which is about the most corny spoof of Greek mythology I’ve ever seen in my life. The movie was funny in a puerile, sophomoric way as most National Lampoon humor is- nothing highbrow here-but my uncontrollable, blow-iced-tea-out-my-nose laughter was caused by the uncanny resemblance shown here:
This is King Erotic, the evil king of Greece (from “The Legend of Awesomest Maximus”)