Fire Foot Larkins


That’s my friend Corey’s nickname.  Fire Foot.  He doesn’t suffer from chronic athlete’s foot, nor is he a fire walker.  He’s simply:  Corey. 

Ten years ago, my hometown was hit by a very vicious snow/ice storm.  Trees suffered the hardest blow and branches were down all over town.  The city maintenance crew worked tirelessly to gather all the branches and they placed them in an area just off the side of the city park where they were later to be burned.  The fire was impressive, lasting for several hours and it smoldered for a few days afterwards.

It was a Friday night, just after our high school basketball team had won it’s first game.  Spirits were high all over town and it seemed everyone was out celebrating.  I was hanging out with my two buds, Mandi and Corey, and we were bored with the scene.  We wanted to do something, but had no clue what.  We were in Mandi’s old Ford Thunderbird, driving around town, when we drove through the park.  Our eyes lit up as we drove past the still smoking pile of wood. 

“Dudes, we should roast marshmellows!” said Mandi, enthusiastically.

“Awesome!  Out of sight!” said I.

“It’s on like Donkey Kong!” quipped Corey.

We drove to Mandi’s house and raided her cupboard.  And we looked for food, too.  Success!  Hidden in the back shelf was a bag of giant marshmellows.  We grabbed them excitedly and drove back to the park.  When we got there, we searched for long sticks to use to roast our treats.  Mandi and I were looking on the outside of the pile, because as I said before, it was a pretty big pile and was still pretty hot.

Corey, however, was standing closer to the middle of the pile.  I warned Corey to be careful.  He did not listen so well.

Mandi and I had our sticks and were holding our marshmellows over a hot spot, when we heard Corey yelp loudly and he was jumping up and down, cursing.

“Holy shit!  My fucking foot!  It’s on fire!”

We threw down our sticks and ran over to Corey, who was still dancing around like a retard. 

“Jesus Christ, my foot’s on fire!  Help me!”

You know when you’re in church and your older brother does something funny and you’re laughing and your dad grabs your elbow to make you shut up, but that’s even funnier still and you keep laughing and you know you shouldn’t be laughing because you’re in church and God will smite you forever?  Yeah….that’s kind of what it was like then, too.

Corey looked like such an ass, hopping around, screeching that you couldn’t help but laugh.  I was also concerned for him because his foot was pretty much engulfed in flames at this point.  But seriously, how could you NOT find this humorous at all?  Mandi has very little empathy for anyone, so she was on the ground, laughing hysterically and pointing at Corey’s foot, trying to grab her marshmellow stick so she could roast hers over Corey’s foot. 

I was laughing, too, but was trying to get Corey to stop, drop, and roll, because that is how you get a fire out. 

“Corey, stop moving! ”  I yelled at him.

“I can’t, my foot’s ablaze!” he screamed back at me.

Well, the idiot wasn’t going to stop, so I did what I thought was best.  I ran over to him and started stomping on his foot, trying to snuff the flames.  Now, instead of screaming that his foot was on fire, he was screaming at me to stop jumping on his foot.  Well, what was I supposed to do?  I got the fire out. 

Mandi was still laying on the ground, tears streaming down her sooty face.  Corey limped over to her and kicked her in the side and called her a twat for not helping him.  He hobbled over to Mandi’s car and opened the passenger door and sat down in the seat.  He pulled his shoe off and groaned.

“My new shoes!  Ruined!  You’re buying me a new pair, bitch!”  he spat at Mandi.

She didn’t care, she was still on the ground, unconscious.  A small patch of her hair had caught fire and a stray dog had wondered over and was licking her charred face. 

I made my way over to Corey and picked up his shoe.  The sole was melted on one side and the entire inner side of it was burnt leather.  I could put three fingers into the hole.  I looked down at Corey’s foot.  His sock was ruined, charred and black. 

“Are you ok, Corey?  Are you hurt?”

“What the fuck do you think, Erin?  My fucking foot was on fire and all you did was laugh and stomp on my feet!” 

“At least I tried to help, asshole. ”  He pissed me off.  “I could have just let your foot burn! ”

“But did you have to fucking stomp on it?!  That was like, the worst experience of my entire life!  I think you broke my foot!”

“Oh, shut up, you big fairy.  Quit your bitching and help me pick Mandi up.  The dog is starting to hump her.”

So the two of us, I, furious at Corey for being a whiny little bitch and shunning my heroic efforts to put out his fire foot, and Corey, shoeless and sock-less in the middle of January, walked over to Mandi and pulled her to the car and laid her down in the back seat.  I got into the driver’s seat and started the car. 

We drove in silence back to Corey’s house.  Mandi was still unconsious and was starting to mumble in her comatose state.  Not wanting to deal with her, we left her in her car.  Corey and I walked into his house and his parents were sitting in the living room, watching porn.

“Corey, darling, where’s your shoe? ” asked his mom.

“It fucking caught on fire, no thanks to Erin here.”

“Erin?  Is that true?  Was his foot on fire?”

“Yes, ma’am.   But it wasn’t my fault.  He got too close.  It’s his own stupid ass fault.”

“She’s right, son,” Corey’s dad Mike said.  “You should have been more careful.  You know how flammable you are.  Remember your fourth birthday?  Lit up like a Christmas tree, he was.  Spent months in the hospital.  Skin grafts, plastic surgery….honestly, son, what were you thinking?”  His dad went back to watching porn.

“Fuck you, dad!” Corey roared.  Next thing I knew, he grabbed the lamp next to him and smashed it over his dad’s porn loving head.  The lamp shattered into a million pieces and his dad slumped over, knocked out cold.  Corey’s mom screamed and struggled to get up from the couch. 

“Oh no you don’t, wench!”  He grabbed the same lamp he rearranged his dad’s face with and used to cord to tie his mom’s feet and hands together.  He whipped around to me and said, “Help me get them out to Mandi’s car!”  Not being one to argue with a madman, I obliged.  We piled his parents on top of Mandi in the backseat.

“Get in your car and follow me.  And no funny business.” he sneered at me. 

Scared witless, I did was I was told.  Corey got into Mandi’s car and peeled out into the street.  I was close behind him, terrified of my friend.  What was he going to do?  What’s happening?  Was Friends a rerun tonight? 

We drove back to the park.  Oh no, I thought.  Not again….

Corey barged out of the car and ran over to me.  His eyes were wild and flashing, his mouth foaming.  He never looked so frightening. And I was never more aroused….

“Pull them out of the car and leave.  Go home.  This doesn’t involve you.”

I did what I was told.  I got the three limp bodies out of the backseat.  Mandi was coming to and she looked around, frightened.  I leaned down to her and whispered, “Forgive me, friend…”  I felt Corey’s eyes burning holes into the back of my head.  I had to think quick.  I gave Mandi a hay-maker and she was out cold again.  I slowly turned around and walked back to my car, opened the door, got in, and started it.  Afraid he would change his mind, I drove away as fast as I could. 

I drove home in silence, reeling from the nights activities.  This had to be a nightmare.  It had to be….

I never saw any of them again after that night.  In his rage, Corey was going to throw his family and Mandi into the very fire that had consumed his soul, but was stopped in the knick of time.  Someone had heard a great commotion and called the police.  Corey was apprehended and arrested.  He’s now serving 3 life sentences in a prison for the mentally insane.  Mandi and Corey’s parents were spared.  They spent a few days in the hospital for their injuries, but are doing fine.  Mandi writes to Corey every day….

Me?  I’ve tried for ten years to get the images out of my head.  Luckily, I banked a ton of money after selling our story to Dreamworks, who made an “inspired by true events” movie about us.  It starred Matt Damon as Corey, Winona Ryder as Mandi, Sam Elliot as Corey’s dad, Susan Sarandon as Corey’s mom, Chris O’Donnell as the arresting officer, and Glenn Close as me.  It’s called “Three Banjos” and is up for several Oscars.  With the box office returns, I am rolling in the Benjamins, so I could care less about what happened.  I’ve got mad stacks of coin! 

Who says money can’t buy happiness?  They’re obviously stupid.  And poor.

I need to stop…


Apparently, being a girl isn’t working out so hot for me. 

I have been “fake baking” because I am in my best friend’s wedding in July and didn’t want to look like I just crawled out from under a rock.  I am 25 years old and have never been tanning in my entire life.  I usually do it the old fashioned way:  lay outside on the lawn.  So the actual tanning experience is totally foreign to me. 

First of all, I didn’t realize that you had to put the lid down.  Here I was, laying in the bed, lid up, and I began to notice that my backside was getting color whereas my front was not.  Awesome.  I have since learned to close the bed.  Good for me!

Second, I always laid on my back.  I began to notice that the area above my boobs was not getting any color.  What?  But I’m shutting the lid now!  What gives, yo?  Well, I’m chesty, hence, when I lay down, gravity works against me and my giant bazoombas were blocking the rays from my chest.  To remedy this, I have been lying on my stomach and much to my approval, this is working.

My latest exploit is this:  I tan with me underoos on.  I just can’t quite bring myself to tan in the buff–I think it’s gross.  Think about it:  Lord knows how many people in the bed before me and can you really trust the so-called “sanitizing” spray they use to wipe the beds down?  Uh…no.  I’m not having my girl bits touching some one else’s bits.  Unless I want them too, but that’s a different story all together.  So, here I am, underpants on, and I’ve noticed that my butt has like, 3 different tan lines.  Obviously, I do not wear the same pair of knickers every time I go tanning and obviously, all my pantaloons are not the same style; some are lower cut than others.  Therefore, I kind of have a neopolitan ice cream effect going on on my toosh.  I go from dark brown to pink to white. 

I amaze myself.
When will the madness end?!  Soon, I hope….the wedding is a little over a month away, so I hope I can get by without too many more boners. 

You all want to be my friends now, dont you? 

I would, too. 

Childhood adventures of E.E. Zulkoski


I’ve decided to reminisce about the past in a regular publication I’m going to entitle “Wasted on the Young.”  Basically, I’m going to tell humorous anecdotes from my childhood.  With that having been said, let’s get started.

For the first seven years of my life, my family and I lived in the tiny rural community of Deshler.  It’s a picturesque little town in the southeastern corner of Nebraska.  It has the quintessential  Main Street U.S.A. feel to it with all of the little local shops and cafes.  It’s a place where cars and houses are left unlocked and small children can roam the streets on bicycles, skateboards, and scooters, oblivious to the dangers of the outside world.  Everyone is everybody else’s neighbor and all seems right with the world. 

The day in question happened the summer of my fifth year.  I was a racous young girl–trying desperately to have my brother, who’s seven years older than me, to take notice of his little sister.  I wanted to earn some street cred with him and his older, somehow more exotic friends.  I wanted to be just like my brother, from the way he dressed to the way he acted.  In 1986, I vividly recall wanting to wear the same Hawaiian shirts, white pants, and checkerboard Vans that Nate had.  Looking back, I can’t imagine how a 12 year old boy could have felt knowing that his little sister was copying him.  That poor son of a bitch…Nate, after 20 years, I’m sorry.  I didn’t respect you as the individual you were.  Forgive me, Brother. 

I had spent the better part of the summer of ’86 trying to get Nate and his friends to pay some notice to me, but with no avail.  He’s as stubborn now as he was back then.  I had almost given up what little hope I had left, when my little life changed.  The house down the street had been for sale for a while, but today was the day the new owners were moving in.  And my mom had told me the night before that the people moving in had a little boy the same age as me.  Score.  Even in my five year old head, I knew this was a good thing.  I needed a male companion to run around with.  All the kids my age that lived near me were girls and didn’t want to play war games or go exploring in the woods behind our house.  That would all change when I befriended the new neighbor boy. 

I was sitting on our front porch all morning long watching the comotion down the street.  Box after box was taken in, but I didn’t see any kids.  Then, it happened.  Later that afternoon, a car pulled into the driveway and three boys spilled out the back.  Two of them were older and I made a mental note to tell Nate about them, but the third boy, MY boy, was just as my mom had told me:  he was Erin sized and looked ripe for the picking.  I opened up our front door, yelled into the house at my mom and told her I was going to meet the new kids.  If she gave me a reply, I didn’t hear it because the time the front door slammed shut, I was already standing in their driveway, my trusty three wheeler at my side.

“Hi, I’m Erin!  Do you wanna play with me?” I asked the towheaded little chap.  He was clutching a very worn teddy bear in one arm and a G.I. Joe in the other.  He looked me up and down for a second, then took off into the house.  I stood there for a second, stunned.  Oh no, I thought….he doesn’t like me.  I’m doomed to play with little girls afterall.  I climbed back on my three wheeler and was started back to my house when I heard the front door open and the boy came out, sans bear and action figure. 

“Hey, wait for me!  Let me get my bike!”  Oh, joyous day!  Oh, wonderous time!  He ran around the house to the garage and seconds later, came back with an impressive bike–and no training wheels.  This kid was the big time.  I knew that we were going to be best friends.

“My name’s Chad.  We just moved here from Beaver Crossing cuz my dad is a teacher and he’s going to teach the big kids at high school and be the football coach.” 

Whoa…my little mind was blown away.  Beaver Crossing?  Where was that?  What was that?  His dad was going to be a teacher for the big kids?  AND be a coach?  For some reason, all that information in my head made me somehow think that these people must be filthy rich.  Give me a break.  I was five and had no concept of monetary value or worth. 

“So, what should we do?  Do you want to come over to my house?” I asked.  “Sure!”  We pedaled down the street to The Hoffmeyer House and I took him inside to see my room, the bathroom because we had a laundry shoot that went into the basement.  “Hey, watch this.” I grabbed a towel from the closet and opened the shoot door and dropped the towel.  We both stuck our heads side by side to watch the towel land on the basement floor.  “Cool!  I wanna try!”  I grabbed him another towel and he dropped it down the shoot.  “Hey, I’ve got an idea, “Chad said, “you go down to the basement and I’ll stay up here and throw something down and you can see what it looks like!”  Brilliant…this kid was a genius.  I had never thought of that before.  I raced downstairs and when I was at the opening, I yelled up to him to throw something down.  The door opened and I saw Chad launch something down, but it wasn’t a towel.  It ricoqueted around in the shoot until it landed on the pile of towel.  It was a toothbrush.  This kids hilarious!  A toothbrush?!  That had never been done before!  He’s such a genius!  I laughed and laughed and I could hear Chad’s laugh echoing down the laundry shoot. 

I wanted to show Chad around more, so I ran back upstairs.  “Hey, let’s go outside and see my dog!  He’s cool.”  The family dog, Gus, was a bit of a legend in our neighborhood.  He was a massive, hairy beast with pitch black fur and he was as tall as I was.  He looked like such a menacing monster and he would stand on his hind legs and put his huge paws on his kennel fence to bark at the random wild life that scurried around in our yard.  Truth be told, he was the sweetest, most gentle dog alive.  He literally was all bark and no bite.  I took Chad outside and over to Gus’s kennel.  I opened the chain link fence and stood at the front of the dog house, where Gus was inside sleeping.  “Here boy!”  I could see Gus yawn and stretch.  Behind me, I heard a small gasp as Gus walked out of the dog house.  “Wow…he’s giant!”  Chad immediately walked over to the dog and held out his hand.  Gus sensed an ally and started licking Chad’s hand.  I took this as a good sign.  Everyone that came over to our house was terrified of Gus, but not Chad.  Chad was so brave, I thought. 

“I have a dog, too.  Her name’s Megan.  Maybe our dogs can play together sometime.”  The things that came out of this boys mouth…I tell you what…I had never heard so many wonderful ideas and thoughts pour out of a child so eloquently and freely.  He surely must be gifted.  After we played around with Gus for awhile, I took him into the garage.  I felt a little bit naughty for doing so…my dad told me not to touch anything unless he was around to get it for me, but I wanted to impress Chad with my dad’s cool stuff. 

Just the other day, I had wondered into the garage while my dad was working on his truck and at the his feet was a gadget I had never seen before.  I picked it up and examined it.  “Dad?  What’s this?”  “That’s an oil can.  Like the one the Tin Man had in the Wizard of Oz. ”  So it was….it was amazing.  I squeezed the handle and a dark amber stream of oil came shooting out.  Awesome.  Now as Chad and I were standing in the garage, I knew that Chad would love this as much as I did.  I looked around my dad’s work area and came upon my jackpot.  But lo and behold, what did my little eyes see?  Not one, but TWO of these oil can devices.  I grabbed both and handed one to Chad.  “Here, take this and follow me!” 

I led him to the front porch and I climbed up on the banister, leaving Chad on the lawn.  I took aim, fired the trigger, and oozed oil on his arm.  “Hey!” he yelled, “Cool!” He fired back at me, but I ducked.  A thick spray of oil hit the house.  It ran down in a slow stream.  We looked at each other and smiled.  We just invented a new game:  Spray Oil on the House.  Coming soon to a toy store near you.  I jumped off the banister and started shooting oil all over the side of our house and on the sidewalk.  I know now that was a poor decision to make.  I had no idea that oil stained things.  How could I have known?  So here’s me and Chad, squirting oil on our nice white house and lauging our butts off.  I was in heaven:  this is how a kids summer is supposed to go.  Messing around with your best friend, getting into all sorts of trouble.  It was marvelous.  We tapped the cans dry, so we went back into the garage to put them back.  It was  a good day.  As we came out of the garage, we heard Chad’s mom yelling for him, so we said our goodbyes, promised to meet again the next day, and he left.  I went inside and watched Scooby Doo.

After a few hours, my brother came home and asked me where Mom was.  I told him she was in the kitchen.  Nate left and went to find Mom.  A few minutes later, the two of them went outside.  When they came back, Nate had a smile on his face, but my Mom looked kind of angry.  “Erin, were you playing in the garage today?”  “No.  I went in the garage to get stuff for me and Chad to play with, but we didn’t play inside the garage.”  It’s true.  That’s what happened.  “What did you get from the garage?”  “The Tin Man’s oil cans.”  My mom closed her eyes.  “Did you spray oil on the house, Erin?”  Busted!  “Chad did it, too!” “Erin, please go to your room until your dad gets home.”  Dad?  My dad had to find out about this?  Isn’t there some sort of mother/daughter code of silence?  My dad would be furious at me.  I started crying and went upstairs to await my doom. 

My dad came home and I heard Mom talking to him.  Next,  I heard my dad shouting “She did WHAT?!” and his giant footsteps coming up the stairs to my room.  Shit.  I hadn’t had a chance to write out a will….not that I knew how to write anything but my name, but still, it’s the principle of the matter.  My dad came into my room and sat down on my bed.  “Erin, I’m not mad at you.  I’m just disappointed in you.”  ooohhh….that’s soooo much worse….I’m disappointed….I failed you, Father….”You are going to be punished, though.  After supper, you are going to clean up outside.  I’ll get a bucket and a sponge for you and you need to try to get all the oil off the house, understand?”  My father had spared me…washing our house would suck, but compared to the ultimate torture I had envisioned, this was a breeze. 

So, after I gave our house a bath, all was right again.  My dad ended up buying a padlock for our garage to avoid these little incidents again and I was only allowed over at Chad’s house to play for a month as more punishment. 

And here is what I shall call the “Eric Filpkowski Ending”: 

But little did they know that I’d have my revenge.  Later that month, I sneaked into my parents room and doused them with oil, my little girl eyes ablaze with hatred for my parents.  Make ME wash the goddamned house?!  I couldn’t deal with this shit…and I knew it was only going to get worse as the years went on.  I had to stop this here and now. 

Thanks to the sleeping pills I snuck into their meatloaf at dinner, my parents didn’t wake up as I was drowning them in the oil of their sins.  I grabbed the lighter out of my pocket–I had been smoking heavily since I was three–and flicked the flint.  A wonderous orange flame flickered in the dark room, illuminating my face.  “Good night, Mommy.  Good night, Daddy.  I love you, ” I said as I tossed the Zippo onto their bed. 

The quilt caught fire instantly and spread up over my sleeping parents still bodies.  The smell of burning oil, flesh, and smoke filled the room.  I ran out of the house and into the street, screaming for help.  I had made sure my brother was gone that night.  I didn’t need his bullshit getting in my way.  My screaming hysterics woke up the neighbors and some one called the fire department.  By the time they got to our house, the entire top floor was engulfed in flames. 

I remember a fireman carrying me away from the house and into the back of an ambulance to make sure I was ok.  As I was beeing led away from the house, my eyes never left the top floor window where my parent’s room used to be.  A small smile creeped on my face.  That’ll teach ’em, I thought. 

Now an orphan, I got sent away to live with my grandparents.  My brother was so traumatized by the events of that night, he went crazy and was put into a mental asylum for young boys in Vermont.  I was rewarded all of my parents insurance money and got a fat settlement check out of the ordeal, too.  Now, twenty years later, I’m living it up in West Hollywood in a mansion built with my parents blood money.  And it feels good….really good.  No one tells me what to do. 

No one. 

The End. 

Buddah and the Gnome


One day, Buddha went on a walk in the forest to find enlightenment.  He had been walking for what seemed like hours and hours, but in reality, it had been only ten minutes.  Buddha is fat and out of shape.  So, he sat down on a stump to rest.  Little did Buddha know, this was a magical stump and inside of it lived the most magical creature in all the woods:  a gnome named Percival Quentin Higgenbushenbottom, or P.Q. for short. 

Unaware of P.Q. or that he lived just under Buddha’s ass, Buddha let a very potent, very odoriferous air biscuit.  He couldn’t help it; he had Kung Pow shrimp for lunch and it was tearing his Buddha guts apart.  Obviously, the smell was too great for little P.Q., so he had to abandon his stump for some fresh air.  Now, gnomes are usually very peaceful creatures–that is until some enormous fat fuck sits on his house and rips ass. 

Naturally, P.Q. was pissed and wanted to fight Buddha right then and there.  Buddha pleaded with P.Q., asking him to have mercy on him, he never would have done such a vile thing if he had known P.Q. lived in the stump.  P.Q. was having none of Buddha’s bullshit, so P.Q. challenged Buddha to a fight to the finish: winner takes all.  The prize?  The hand of the lovely and fair maiden, Smurfette.

All the creatures of the forest gathered to witness this epic battle royale and some of the raccoons even had a wager on who would prevail.  The match started out with Buddha, who was voted to go down in the 4th round, as the top contender, based purely on his girth and enormous belly and Buddha boobies.  His strength was also his weakness, for after the first round, Buddha was tired, sweaty, and ready to throw in the towel.  But Smurfette looked like such a little slut in her dress, it gave Buddha a second wind. 

P.Q. was also fighting proudly, afterall, this has HIS magical forest.  The prize of Smurfette didn’t matter to him–he wanted to win for all the creatures of the woods that got shat upon by fat fucks like Buddha.  Besides, P.Q. and Smurfette had hooked up a few months prior at the Forest Christmas Party and P.Q. had already tapped that.  And it wasn’t all that OR a bag of chips.  And P.Q. had heard that Smurfette had had a three-way with David the Gnome and Gus Gus from the old Cinderella place.

P.Q.’s eyes were set on a different prize:  Vanity Smurf.  P.Q. had seen Vanity in a low-budget forest porn called “Barely Legal Woodland Sluts 9” and had to have him for his very own.  That’s when P.Q. took a fall late in the 3rd round.  He was down for the count.  Buddha was declared the winner by TKO and later that night, was a winner again when he screwed Smurfette behind Gargamel’s rose bush.

As for P.Q., his defeat had no ill effect on him–he was still the most magical creature in all the woods AND he got his man.  In fact, P.Q. and Vanity were going to be joined together in a civil union later that month.

The moral of the story is thus:  Buddha is a fat piece of shit who might have gastroenteritis; Smurfette’s cooter has seen more action than a Chuck Norris movie; and gnomes are gay.

 The End.

For Chad

My best pal Chad was always trying to keep me down as a kid.  He was a chauvinist little boy bastard.  Chad’s mom used to watch me while my parents were at work, so I was over at his house quite a lot.  Chad had the newest and best toys and games and was forever getting more stuff.  G.I. Joe, He-Man, Transformers, Thundercats, Ghostbusters, and for some odd reason, My Little Pony…as you can see, this kid had it all. 

Chad and I are fairly close in age; he’s about nine months older than I am.  Chad has a younger brother, Jeff, and he is three years younger than us.  The story I’m going to tell takes place in 1986–the height of Ghostbuster mania. 

As mentioned before, Chad had the latest and greatest little kid gear and Ghostbusters paraphernalia was no exception.  He and Jeff had the action figures, the Ghostbusting mobile, the backpacks, and the ghost catcher.  It was like a mini version of the movie, starring six and three year olds.  Everytime I came over during that fateful year, we played Ghostbusters.  No–let me rephrase that:  Chad and Jeff played.  I was always forced to play the secretary.  It never failed.  Nevermind that they had four of everything, so it wasn’t an issue of not having enough equipment to go around.  No…they just didn’t want me to play with them.  Chad would have none of that.  Jerk.

So, while Chad and Jeff were busy suiting up, donning the backpacks and looking amazing, ready to kick some supernatural ass.  Me?  Chad would dig out his old Fisher Price cash register and telephone and leave me alone in his room.  The basic premise of our version was that while Chad and Jeff got their supplies in order, a client would call me and be all scared and worried about some sort of ghost infestation.  I’d calm the person down, take down the info needed, and assure them that the suave and debonair ghostbusting team of the Holle Brothers would come and save the day.  I’d relay the message to Chad and Jeff, who would immediately hop to action.  The first few minutes they were gone, I’d do some secretary things…file papers and whatnot.  I didn’t mind being left alone because I knew that in a few minutes the boys would come back from their job and then tell me that their mom had our snacks ready. 

However, later on as the story lines got more involved, Chad and Jeff would be gone for much longer amounts of time and there is only so much a kid can organize in a fake office.  Eventually, I’d ditch my post, something I was told explicitly not to do under any circumstances, and grab a handful of My Little Ponies, a few action figures, a remote control Godzilla, and a dump truck.  I’d go into the living room, sit down on the couch and go to town.  My play time was WAY cooler thatn Chad and Jeff’s.  I would pretend that G.I. Joe and Skeletor had a My Little Pony ranch, but Godzilla would attack the herd, so Joe and Skullface would get in the dump truck and run Godzilla over with it.  Then, they’d load up the dead body and bury it out in the pony pasture.  Much better than stupid ghosts.

I’d be sitting on the floor, playing along, when I’d sense a dark, ominous shadow looming over me. 


He had come back to check to see if there were any more jobs and found me gone.  He stood over me, arms crossed over his defiant little boy chest, ghost pack still strapped to his shoulders and asked me just what I thought I was doing.  Without looking up, I’d tell him that I closed the shop because I was on my lunch break.  He’d yell at me for abandoning my post and for missing job opportunities for him and Jeff.  Then, he’d fire me, take off his backpack, and play with My Little Ponies.

Jeff would come toddling in a few minutes later, his chubby 3 year old face streaked with dirt and tears.  Chad had left him outside by himself.  He looked so hurt and rejected, but would instantly cheer up when Chad would hand him the remote control for Godzilla.  So there were the three of us, maintaining a pony farm and trying to keep a horrible Japanese monster from eating our herd.  Life was never so good.

Now, twenty years later, I still constantly remind Chad of his piggish ways and that he still owes me a game of Ghostbusters where I can be part of the team.  Sadly, after two decades, he’s still an ass and won’t let me, but that’s ok.  I like to tell people about his My Little Pony collection and how magnificent it was.

Take that, Chad.  Take that.

A guide of what not to do in life

I seem to be an expert on things that are not acceptable, so here is a list of things you should all avoid in life.  It will be a heart smart journey and I hope you all learn a little from your time spent.  Take care.  –Erin

Things You Should Not Do.  Ever.

1)  Tease the grizzly bears.  This should be obvious and hopefully doesn’t need further explanation. 

2)  Kiss a cactus.  Your lips are not invinsible and this will hurt.

3)  Try to stop a bicycle tire with your tongue.  Again, pain is the biggest issue here.  Plus, it tastes like the Michelin Man’s ass.

4)  Invest money in the stock market.  You never know when there will be another Black Monday.  This is why all money saved should be converted to quarters and kept in old Folgers coffee cans, hidden in your back yard.

5)  Ask zaftig women “When’s the baby due?”  You will be sorry…so very, very sorry.

6)  Name your childen after towns in Wyoming, European cities, last names, or random things you see.  These people will be grandparents one day and it’s stupid to have a grandma named Cheyenne McKenzie Paris Epic Sunbeam.  Joe and Margaret are good names.  Use them.  Embrace them. 

7)  Have intimate relations with various farm animals.  Pigs can love other pigs, but you cannot love pigs.  But if this sort of thing is your bag, rent Charolette’s Web and wack it to that.

8)  Asking a friend who is sad, “What’s wrong?  Did your Gramma die?”  Chances are, yes.  Please refrain from doing this. 

9)  Thinking it would be funny to fake a stick up at a bank by writing “Give me all your money!  Ha ha, just kidding!!  LOL!” on your deposit slip.  They will fail to see the humor of the situation. 

10)  If you are white, and you are singing along to a rap song and the “n” word is in it, it is not ok for you to sing along.  Instead, say the word “neighbor.” 

11)  Put your roast beef sandwich in your pocket to save for later, then go to the pound to pick out a puppy for your niece.  Puppies love sandwiches and will ruin your pants.  This will make your mom very upset and we all know how bad it is when mom’s pissed.

12)  Get a ferret for a pet.  “Ferret” is Philipino for “glorified rat.”  I know that a ferret saved everyone’s lives in “Kindergarten Cop”, but that was a movie and this is real life.  Ferrets = trouble.

13)  Pick up smoked cigarette butts from the ground and pretend to smoke them.  This is gross and unsanitary. 

14)  Befriend a monkey.  Sure, it seems like a really great idea now, but you’ll be sorry later when the monkey steals your girlfriend and takes her to Hawaii, because man, they ain’t never comin’ back.

15)  Drinking beer before hard liquor.  Beer before liquor, never been sicker.  Liquor before beer, you’re in the clear.

16)  Never stiff your waiter/waitress on a tip.   Just don’t do it.  You’ve all seen Fight Club; you know what happens to the Lobster Bisque.

17)  Leave your oil unchecked in your car.  Apparently, this isn’t good. 

18)  Leave Grandpa sitting the car in July without a window cracked.  His poor little old man body will become more shriveled and your mom will be mad at you again.  And from # 11, we already know that having mom mad is bad business.

19)  Calling collect.  But this might be moot…do payphones even exist anymore?

20)  And finally, saying you will write the next great American novel.  There is no such thing and you should give up your dreams because you’re a janitor and that clogged ladies room toilet isn’t going to fix itself.

So there you go.  I hope this list helped you make some good choices in life and you learned from this experience.   If not, well, you’re hopeless and deserve what comes to you. 

Thank you, and good day.