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Aliens In The Walls

Okay folks, first comes, “sorry about the silence the last few days.” As many of you know, it takes a lot of time to write a halfway decent entry and while some people can do it all the time, many more of us are only able to come up with enough stuff to make a quality read once in a while.

Here is a quality read, , Kelly’s blog. While superheroes may walk through walls, she (poor thing) walks into them. She also works as a substitute teacher and, well, her kids always seem to get the better of her. Her ebullient effervescence ( I know you guys love when I am always alliterating) may seem a little odd, but it is hard won. A thoroughly likeable blog y blogger and friendly also.

I, myself, (there is a turn of a phrase for you. Why do people say that? “I, myself, would…?) Feel a little strange, but that may be because for the last 2 days the girls have had guests over. So, I have been with 5 teenage girls all weekend. There is some company to keep and they know how to wear you down and get what they want, too. Just wait, Carter, the best is yet to come, bwahahahaha!

Do you ever wonder where things disappear to? Example, you have a pen and you set it down on the table, but when you go to look for it, it’s gone. You look all around the table and the floor and everywhere and then, two days later, when you are not looking for it anymore, it appears in the bathroom behind the sink. Well, there are aliens that live in the walls. They come and take your stuff for study and possibly to collect your DNA to clone you. This is why you get in trouble for things you never did or are seen places that you never were and probably would never go, but someone says, “I know it was you! It had to be you. Who else looks like you?” This accusatory and infallible logic is based on the person seeing your clone, say, walking out of the grocery store with an embarrassing purchase of one kind or another under your arm. So, the next time something goes missing or you are seen somewhere you wouldn’t be caught dead, it is just the aliens that live in the walls.

They also have, what I will call in most unscientific terms, “black holes” they use to send things back to their home planet for the scientists there to study. These are things like two hundred dollars worth of theater tickets that you know you sat on your desk just two weeks ago. They have to be on this desk somewhere. There is no other place you could possibly have left them. None. Really. The resident aliens pick up your distress signal by the subtle instruments they have. Like the one that measure the seismic waves in the ceiling that your wife has just hit because you lost two hundred dollars worth of tickets in that black hole you call a desk!

The aliens quickly call for the items back, but since you are frantically tearing up the desk they decide to put the tickets in the pocket of the suit you are about to wear, if you ever find the tickets. They then tap her on the shoulder (whether she is aware of their existence and is, in fact, in cahoots with them is another question) and she thinks, “Could he have possibly have had the foresight to put them in the pocket of his suit?” She then comes walking out and calmly wades through the piles and piles of books and notepapers and rubbish that you have piled everywhere and simply holds them out waiting for you to notice that she is standing there. She hands you the tickets and stomps off with a “humph” that you will waste your time explaining to that you know, in fact, that you did set them on the corner of the desk. *sighs*

On the calendar, which the aliens had absconded with, was written a note on a date. 4/12/05 was Carter’s birthday. He turned 142. Happy Birthday, OLD friend. I suppose now I shall have to send a present along with a card, but that’s okay. I have just the thing right here on my desk.

Remember, the Good Book says, or maybe it was Carter, “You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your friends nose and wash your hands before you shake with me.”

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