Twitching in my Sleep
Tuesday, Nov. 28, 2006 at 9:12 a.m.
On this day in 1994, homosexual cannibal Jeffrey Dahmer was beaten to death with a broomstick by inmate Christopher Scarver while cleaning the prison bathroom. Dahmer's brain was to be preserved in formaldehyde at the request of Mom, but a court ordered its destruction in late 1995.
Ding, Dong, Dahmer�s dead
Someone whacked him in the head
Ding, Dong, Jeffrey Dahmer�s dead!
And why would Mom want his brain stored in formaldehyde? There have been a series of studies that criminals have a different brain from the folks who don�t see the need to kill and eat people for fun:
. . . But that�s been pretty well disproven in favor of the idea that we�re all crazy. Coincidentally, I was talking to a woman last night in the nail shop � we were waiting for our nails to dry � and it turned out she was a corrections officer for the �reception� area and the mental criminal ward. I asked her what it was really like and she said that working with the crazies made for a very interesting work day, such as the woman who swears that the �ugly Mexicans� on the floor above her keep tickling her feet.
By the same token, Miss J, Hubster�s grandmother, believed that there was a man under her blanket that kept poking her. For some reason, I imagined this guy to be a Frenchman, wearing the striped shirt and the red scarf and the beret, sporting a moustache and the cigarette. I don�t know why. Uncle A, Hubster�s uncle who died of spinal cancer, believed that there was a Mexican man sleeping in the chair in the corner of the room. Perhaps there was, at least one that Uncle A could see. And who�s to say that a little Frenchman wasn�t in Miss J�s bed? This is the same woman who believed that the staff at her home was making her eat baby birds. We still haven�t been able to disprove that.
Speaking of Miss J, bless her soul, she passed away the Monday before Thanksgiving. Hubster and I plan to drive down to her memorial service next Wednesday. She was 100 years old, although she was in very poor health for the past two years or so. She was still pretty sprightly when I first met her, and there were times I visited her without the Hubster and she knew me as her �granddaughter-in-law� although I�m sure my name escaped her. That was okay. I liked to listen to her stories, even though she got them all jumbled up and I�d be treated to a beginning, two different endings, a middle of another story, and then the original beginning again. By the way, there�s a little Frenchman in her bed.
In other news, I have placed a link to the Howlin� at the Moon story over there to the right under the NaNo box . . . click on that and it takes you to the beginning of Chapter 1. I�ll be posting more chapters as I edit them. Be warned that this story has several dogs that call each other �fucker� and there�s a couple of sex scenes; however, there are no canine sex scenes of any sort. Sorry.
I wonder now if I�ll be googled for �canine sex scenes�. Gads.
I am, however, the #1 site for the search, �these boots are made for pooping�. I do mention pooping from time to time, and of course, these boots are made for kicking.
Once again, this site is on the list for the search for �horny older�, but now I rank #91.
I�m so proud.
Proud in the same way that fans are proud of their terrible football team:
Ta!