"My Cup Runneth Over"

"...With something other than love!"

     I usually keep my posts light, twinged with humor.  Nothing political, controversial, or anything that may fan the flame. It's been difficult to do at times. It wasn't that I didn't have an opinion, I chose not to express it..
     So, I didn't write about or even comment after the tragic events unfolded in Newtown, Ct. I said naught in regards to the backlash following President Obama's successful presidential campaign. I even sat mute when the 26 yr. old Detroit mother of 5, stabbed her 8 year old daughter to death, even though, from all appearances, the system failed the little girl, as there'd been allegations of abuse, and the department of children's services and the court system had gotten involved.
     Today, my cup runneth over and spilleth down the side. I've got to say something, or burst. This morning, I hear on the news,  that a 15 yr. old New Mexico teenager is in custody, for killing his entire family, - mother, father, 2 sisters, and a brother. Surely I thought, the teen's  life was imperiled, the entire family  had somehow ganged up on him, and it was a do or die situation, - he grabbed the rifle and shot. Right? No, totally wrong. The news quoted him as saying "he was frustrated with his mother, planned the killings, and wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, being shot by cops at Walmart!" JESUS H. CHRIST!
    He's only 15, probably some one's loved one, and I'll go out on a limb and say it, but, has no redeeming value.  Fry him, put him out of his misery now, save taxpayers a few dollars.  He is damaged goods and CANNOT be salvaged!  No one sitting behind a desk can penetrate his thick mental fog enough, to convince him that what he did was wrong.  He's 15 for God's sake! Definitely old enough to know better, if not capable of such an understanding.
     Obviously, he is/was very troubled, possibly suffering from a mental illness.  Only someone seriously deranged would 'romanticize' dying in a hail of bullets at Walmart! At the very least, he's got anger management issues.  Yes, there is a catch-22. He clearly needed help.  Could his parents have gotten it for him?  With so few mental facilities, did help  even exist where he lived?  But....
    He killed his family because he was frustrated with his mother???? If he'd been my son, he probably would have been in hell, and I would have been in jail.  And I'd bet this wasn't the first time he raised up against his family.
    My mother could have frustrated the he heck out of a blind, deaf, mute person!  And had she so much as thought I'd  even THINK about talking back, let alone doing her harm, I'd have been fodder for some one's lawn!  Anyone else raised by NO-nonsense parents?  Raise your hands and say Amen!

"Crabby Old Man"

I take no credit for this whatsoever, - I read it on Facebook.   It was so touching that I felt it post worthy to say the least!



When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home 
in North Platte , Nebraska , it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.
Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions,
they found this poem.. Its quality and content so impressed the
staff that copies were made and distributed to every
nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Missouri .

The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in
the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association
for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been
made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world,
is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet..


Crabby Old Man

What do you see nurses? . . . .. . What do you see?
What are you thinking . . . . . When you're looking at me?
A crabby old man . . . . . Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit . . . . . With faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food . . . . . And makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . . . . . 'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice . . . . . The things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . A sock or shoe?

Who, resisting or not . . . . .. Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . . . The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking? . . . . . Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse . . . . . You're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am. . . . . . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, . . . . . As I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten . .. . . . With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters . . . . . Who love one another.

A young boy of Sixteen . . . . With wings on his feet..
Dreaming that soon now . . . . . A lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . . . My heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows . . . . .. That I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five, now . . . . . I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . . . And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . . . . With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons . . . . . Have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me . . . . . To see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . .. . My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me . . . . . My wife is now dead.
I look at the future . . . . . Shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing . . . . . Young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . . . And the love that I've known.

I'm now an old man . . . . . And nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age . . . .. . Look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles . . . . . Grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone . .. . . Where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass . . . . . A young guy still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . My battered heart swells.
I remember the joys . . . . . I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living . . . .. . Life over again.

I think of the years, all too few . . . . . Gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . . . . That nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people . . . . . Open and see.
Not a crabby old man . . . Look closer . . . See ME!!

Remember this poem when you next meet

An older person who you might brush aside

Without looking at the young soul within.

We will all, one day, be there, too!

PLEASE SHARE THIS POEM

The best and most beautiful things of

This world can't be seen or touched.

They must be felt by the heart.

"TV: Mid-Season"

  

     As January comes to an end, most people are probably gearing up for Super Bowl Sunday, on 

February 3.  Me, I've been training for the Mid season TV Replacement Shows.  This is a concept that is not to be taken lightly.  You don't wake up, plop into a chair, and flip on the remote.  You prepare, you practice, and you are breathless with anticipation!

     Like an Olympian, I've been treating this old bod like the castle that it should be.  Drinking carrot juice by the gallons, cause it wouldn't be kosher not to be able to watch/see the new programs.  I've been practicing hand-wrist coordination, so they work in concert with one another. When I grab up the remote, and aim at the TV, it's showtime. No time for fumbles.  Similarly, I've been doing laps around the house.  I must be in tip top shape.  Commercials come on, I'm up and running....To the bathroom, get more snacks, check Twitter for program commentary.
     For those of you unfamiliar, a mid-season replacement show, is a television series that premieres between January and May, in the second half of the traditional TV season. These replacements usually take the place of shows which were part of the fall schedule/lineup, but were either cancelled, put on hiatus, or had a shortened season.
      The shows to which I most look forward, listed along with their premiere date, time and channel, are:

• The Following ~ 1/22 on NBC @ 10pm
• The Taste ~ 1/22 on ABC @ 8pm
• Do No Harm  ~ 1/31 on NBC @ 10pm
• The Americans ~1/30 on FX @ 10pm
• Monday Morning ~2/4 on TNT @ 10pm
• The Job ~ 2/8  CBS @ 8pm
• Southland (return) ~ 2/13 on TNT @ 10pm
• Zero Hour ~ 2/14 on ABC @ 8pm
• Cult ~ 2/19 on CW @ 9pm
• Golden Boy ~  2/26 on CBS @ 10pm
• Boston's Finest ~ 2/27 on TNT @ 9pm
• Red Widow ~ 3/3 on ABC @ 9pm
• Mistresses ~ sometime in May on ABC

     Would you believe that I've calenderized, plotted and graphed the shows by date, time & channel?  Okay, I'm lying, but would you say that MAYBE, Maybe, just maybe I need to get out more? LOL!
     Any upcoming programs that you are particularly looking forward to?

Eating Your Way to Good Health~1 Recipe at a Time ~ Black Devil's Food Cake

The only missing from this cake is a glaze, - which I intend to supply.  Hey, I'll cry tomorrow!

Ingredients:
2 cups all purpose flour
1 & 3/4 cups sugar
1/2 cup cocoa
1 tablespoon baking soda
2/3 cup vegetable oil
1 cup low-fat buttermilk
1 cup strong coffee (instant coffee can be used)

Instructions:
Preheat oven to 350*.  Grease and flour a 9: x 13" pan.
In a large mixing bowl, sift together flour, sugar, cocoa and baking soda.  Add oil and buttermilk.  Stir until well blended.  Set aside.
Bring coffee to a boil in a small saucepan over medium-high heat.  Remove from heat and stir coffee gently into batter.  Mixture will be soupy.
Pour batter into prepared pan and bake 35 - 40 minutes.  Remove from oven and serve warm or cool completely.

Nutritional Info:
calories   184
protein   2 gm
carbohydrate   27 gm
cholesterol   0 mg
sodium   137 mg
total fat 8 gm

"Blowing Bubbles in Milk Always Tastes Good"

     Blowing bubbles in milk always feels good.  Aw shucks, thought Myron, as he  hunkered down in  the bathtub, contentedly blowing bubble after bubble in his milk bath, just like the big kid that he wasn't. No time to get maudlin.  Soaking in a tub of  milk never failed to elicit memories of his mother, now long deceased.  He closed his eyes, and it was yesterday, again. He was a kid of 5 or so, sprawled on the hallway floor, just outside the bathroom. He played with his race car set.

The door was partially ajar, and he could hear, rather than see his mother softly crooning to Crystal Gayle's, "Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Blue?". which played on the  kitchen radio.  He mother loved Crystal Gayle, and went to all her concerts.

The song ended, and his mother called out,

"Myron are you being a good boy?"

 "Yes. mama," he replied.

 Soon his mother completed her bath, told him to close his eyes as she stepped out of the tub.  This was a ritual she enjoyed twice a week.  She said it made her feel like a queen, like Cleopatra, who was known to have exquisite skin.  The baths must have worked too.  Everyone commented on mama's beautifully soft, milky white skin.  When asked what she used on her skin, she'd always smile and say it a secret shared between queens.  Then she'd giggle!  My daddy doted on mama, but he'd raise the roof, about "wasting" so much milk. She'd try to explain that it wasn't real milk, but the powdered kind. diluted with water.  I don't think daddy believed her.  She offered to show him the powdered milk box,more than once, but he never wanted to see it.  I suppose his mind was made up, he though he knew what he knew.

     Myron rested his gangling arms on the sides of the tub, slid back under the milk water and blew more bubbles. At 6'3, he was a sight to behold, all arms, legs and angles.  He could barely fit into the race cars.  Mama would have been proud, he thought.  To know that something good at come out of his love of cars.  She'd  fussed daily, and tell him the only possession he'd ever have would be a car. She was partially right.  He did own a car, - well, several actually. And love cars though he did, even he never imagined himself on the race car circuit. If only his buds could see him now. That would be a hoot!!

     He heard the front door open downstairs.  Heck, his fiancee, Monica was home, a lot sooner than expected.  He had to get outta the tub, drain it, and towel off, quickly!  Monica usually commented that his skin was as smooth as a baby's behind.  He chuckled. despite working feverishly to clean things up.  If she only knew the truth!  Maybe one day, he'd tell her about his softer, more sensitive side. Women were supposed to like that in a man right?  But for now, it would remain a secret, between him and two queens!

A Tale of Poor Mickey

This is a true tale. This is a cautionary tale. This tale is not for the faint of stomach.  This tale is about my son's dog,  Mickey.
     I say Mickey is my son's dog, true, though he he, Mickey spends the majority of my waking hours with me,  literally underfoot.  He even sleeps on my bed.  Which brings me to the story.  All in all, Mickey's a good boy, very affectionate, and NEVER takes the house for granted, and by that I mean not using it as his personal outhouse.  He always communicates to us when he needs to go out.  Yesterday, he'd whine and indicate it was time to go out.  I'd walk to the door, open it, he'd stick his head out, sniff, and retreat.  Three times we danced this tango. Three times he refused to go out.  Still don't know what he smelled, or sensed.  But he does that from time to time.
     Forgot to mention that Mickey is afraid of his shadow.  If an intruder entered the house, and there was room for one in the closet, somebody better have some strong air freshener, cause I'd be left out in the cold.  Not only would Mickey run in the closet, but he'd lock me out!
     By now, it's one o'clock p.m.,  and it's my bewitching hour.  In other words, - bedtime.  Since I've been on midnights  the highlight of many of my days is settling into my bed for a long sleep. Like Rip Van Winkle. LOL!  Fate had other plans yesterday.  No sooner had I gotten comfortable, than Mickey blinded in and onto the bed.  Few minutes pass, and I hear a much dreaded sound....heaving, as in the heaving that prefaces a spate of vomiting.  I try to jump up, but get tangled up in Mickey who is lying across the foot of my bed,  almost convulsing with his heaving.  Still trying to get my legs out from under him, I 'm saying, "Let's go out Mickey. Let's go out Mickey." Poor boy, he can't move.  He's caught up in the moment, vomiting onto my bed.  Yuck! Yuck! Yuck!
     We finally disengage, I let him out, return to my room, and want to cry. Peace has been shot to hell.in a basket.  I'm now wide awake.  I have a mess on my hands, and almost everything had to be changed, - comforter,  blanket, and just for good measure, the sheets.
     A few minutes later, Mickey bounds in, and goes directly to his food dish.  Guess he just needed to get a load out.  Guess I needed to get one off too, - off the bed,  and into the washer!
     Did I learn anything from this experience? Most definitely.  I know now that Mickey must be treated as a young child.  Sometimes when they have to 'go', all the signs are there, but you mention bathroom, and it's "No, I don't have to go."  The next time Mickey signals he needs to go out, he goes, - someway, somehow, somewhere, by hook or crook!

Sister Sophia

     I suspect I may be turning in my blogger badge very soon.  Suffice it to say, it has been nice meeting each and every one of you. I can hear your unspoken questions.  Why? What's happened?
     Though it may be presumptuous and a tad premature, I'll let you in on a secret....I may soon be receiving a meritorious award, and asked to join the hallowed ranks of the CIA.
     I've done something just short of busting the #1 crime syndicate and/or conclusively establishing whether or not there's life after death.  My discovery will revolutionize the way America, hell the world handles problems, issues, crises and world hunger!  My fellow bloggers, I've discovered Sister Sophia!
     Now, everyone wants to know who in the sam heck Sister Sophia is.  Let me enlighten you.  Sister Sophie is a psychic and spiritual advisor.  I found her, rather she found me, by placing a flyer under the windshield of my car.  After reading it, and learning of all she is capable, I've became convinced she has the ability to solve all the world's ills, if only given the chance. You gotta problem, she gotta solution.
     I sense a hesitation.  I'll let you read the flyer for yourself  (I've typed it verbatim):

Sister Sophia

Spiritual Reader & Advisor

Are you suffering in health, happiness, business? I will tell you just what you want to know about your friends, enemies and rivals. Whether your husband, wife or sweetheart is true or false. How to gain the love of one you most desire. Control or influence the actions of anyone, even though miles away.

I give never failing advice upon all matters of life, such as courtship, meetings, divorce, and business transactions of all kinds. I never fail to reunite the separated, cause happy marriages, overcome enemies, rivals, lover's quarrels, and evil habits. There is no heart so bad or home so dreary that I cannot bring sunshine into it. In fact, no matter what may be your hope, fear, or ambition, I guarantee too tell it all before you utter a word to me.

Available for parties

All readings private & confidential

Open 9 to 9

Phone #

.
     Soon, the hotlines to the FBI, the CIA, and to the president's closest advisors, will be burning up. Just so you know, I've already sent a registered letter, with delivery confirmation. I'm not the only one Sister Sophia reached out to, but since it appears no one else has capitalized on her potential, I must be the only one with a vision!
With Sister Sophia at the helm, possibilities are endless!

• Millions would be saved in presidential campaigns.  She'd simply announce the winner.
• Presidential debates would  likely become known as 'bare knuckle tourneys' as each candidate would have been briefed (separately, of course) about the other, and would attend the event totally prepared for any 'ambush' by his rival.
• World hunger would end.  Countries could simply ask Sister Sophia which crops to plant to feed the masses.  Done.
• Love would reign supreme.  No more bad relationships. Sister Sophia would be on every one's speed dial.  She'd provide the names of your soulmate(s).
• Think of the thousands which could be saved on college educations.  Who'd need college?  You'd have known your 'career of choice' since birth, and been preparing for it since you began school. Primary education would just be the vessel to get you there.  By graduation, you'd be ready to enter the workforce.
• No more haters in your life. You'd be able to surround yourself with like-minded people, who only cared about you and had your best interest at heart.
• There'd be no more war.  Sister Sophia could warn of impending conflicts, negotiations, and outcomes.  What would be the point?
• Spouses wouldn't have to be concerned about infidelity.  If Sister Sophia so much as caught a whiff of illicit sex, all bets would be off.  Who'd want to chance it with super snoop on the case? 
• No more wasting time on dead end jobs.  What suits you?  Perhaps you aren't supposed to work at all.  Could you be one of the chosen ones?
• You'd no longer need lawyers or courts.  Call the good sister between 9 and 9, court time.

     I thought of calling Sister Sophia myself, not saying a word, just holding the phone.  She'd know it was me of course (even though the call was block), and exactly why I called.  Think she'd give me a reading, right then and there, sight unseen, across the silent phone line? Naaahhh....
     Her response to my silence would no doubt be:  "You can only be helped with cold, hard cash.  The more cash, the more promising, the advice."  Like I said, the possibilities are endless!

"Trash, Smut, &...Romance"

     Does anyone remember the first truly salacious,  titillating, smutty, trashy, sexually charged romance novel they ever read? For me, it was "Sweet Savage Love" by Rosemary Rogers.  It was full of passion, desire,  and inevitable fulfillment.  What an eye opening page turner for my untried, unawakened mind.  Up to that point, the closest I'd gotten to anything remotely sexual, was the Real Confession & True Love magazines I'd gotten from my best friend (whose mother was far more open & liberal minded than my own), and had been able to secret into my room.
     The books I'd read heretofore, used vague phrases like, "He surged and purged, and I emerged a woman." Corny paraphrasing I know, but you get my drift.  I wanted to know EXACTLY what happened between surging...and being made a woman.  Did 'he' rush in like a superhero (from God knows where) and you suddenly arose from your cocoon? What?
     Not only had earlier allusions to sex been generically vague, but some of the romance novelists must have adhered to the belief that women always said no, but  really meant yes.  It was up to the man to 'coax' "it" out of her.  Their books read like true crime novels.  You'd read, "He kissed me like I 'd never been kissed before, touched me in places I'd never known existed,  pushed aside my corsets & petticoats, and plundered me to my depths." It sounded more like a 'smash and grab, or out and out rape than unending, endearing love and passion.
     Rosemary Rogers, and others like her, actually wrote about flesh and blood heroines, who often decided their fate, determined their destinies, and yearned for, engaged in, and shock of shocks, enjoyed and reveled in sex! I read each of her books in turn, but none were better than my first, - "Sweet Savage Love."
     I was a great  Danielle Steele fan for awhile, and would grab her books the minute they hit the bookshelves.  I loved her plots, - star-crossed loves, thwarted by convention, boundaries, significant others. But, her endings were so predictable. True, undying love prevailed, and the couples always wound up together, but there was no sex. The lovers kissed, touched tenderly, then cuddled and spooned throughout the night like a pair of eunuchs! I yearned to read about passionate love, with lots of steamy sex. At that juncture in my life, I'm not even sure "50 Shades of Gray" would have fit the bill!
Anyone else have fond memories of a favored trashy romance novel?

Eating Your Way to Good Health~1 Recipe at a Time ~ Herb Roasted Chicken

This recipe turned out very well, and I served it over a bed of rice, and served it with veggies.  The recipe says to discard the giblets and neck.  I placed them in a pot, covered them with water, seasoned them well, boiled them down, and eventually made a gravy, using them as stock.

As a rule, I prefer simple, tasteful  recipes with a few basic ingredients. I did have everything on hand except the sweet basil and the wine. 

I enjoyed the chicken immensely, and  recommend it, but I've got to say, - the instructions reminded me of a surgical procedure.  Discard, check. Pour, check. Turn, check. Turn again, check. Pierce. Untruss, check. Defat, check. LOL! And remove the skin?  That's one of the best parts! Very good nonetheless! 

Herb Roasted Chicken

Ingredients:

(1) 3 to 3.5 pound roasting chicken

 1 & 1/2 teaspoons dried thyme

1/2 teaspoon sweet basil

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, or to taste

1 large bay leaf

2 cloves garlic, peeled and coarsely chopped

2 medium onions, peeled and halved

1 whole lemon, cut into wedges

2 tablespoons acceptable margarine, melted

1/2 cup dry white wine

Instructions:

     Remove giblets and neck from chicken.  Rinse chicken, and pat dry.  Set aside.

In a small bowl, combine spices, and stir well.  Rub all over chicken, inside and out.  Stuff chicken with bay leaf, garlic, onions and lemon.  Truss.  Cover and refrigerate 5-6 hours, to allow flavors to blend.

     Preheat oven to *425.  Place chicken on rack in a nonstick roasting pan. Pour melted margarine and wine over chicken.  Place chicken on side, legs to front of oven, and roast 20 minutes.  Turn to other side, baste and roast 20 minutes.  Place chicken on its back, baste and roast 20-25 minutes longer, or until chicken is golden brown.  To test for doneness, pierce with fork between thigh and leg, to see if juices run clear.

     Remove chicken from oven, place on serving platter and untruss.  Defat cooking liquid, and set aside.  Discard lemon, veggies, and herbs.  Carve chicken into serving pieces and keep warm.  Remove skin before serving.

Nutritional Info:

calories    195

protein   25gm

carbohydrate   1gm

cholesterol   72mg

sodium   292mg

total fat    9gm

saturated fat   3gm

"Goodbye Tension...Hello Pension!"

    Ordinary heroes/heroines are made, not born.  They are few, far between and often unrecognizable.  I've known Sandra for 5 years or more, never realizing she was one such person. By definition, 'a heroine is a woman both admired and emulated for her achievements and qualities'  In my estimation, one of Sandra's greatest achievements is that she not only faced the lion in his own den, but walked away unscathed!   She will be retiring at the end of this month, after 30 years of service. That makes her, in my opinion, a super heroine!
     Every day, after clocking in. she's been heard to mutter, "hit ME with your best shot!"  But, she's  prevailed, through whatever, however, for whatever reason, the job has thrown at her. FINALLY, she'll  walk away, head held high, all faculties intact, functionally moving parts, and both eyes capable of  flashing, - in union or separately!  Outstanding, especially since Sandra cleared the 40+ hurdle y-e-a-r-s ago! LOL!  Congratulations, Sandra, the rest is yet to come!  Forget the watch, go get your cape!

Dear Gertie: "If Loving Vageena is Wrong...."

     Please settle an argument.  My friends say I am being taken for a fool, and milked like a piece of sugar candy. Of course I beg to differ cause I know the truth, and they are wrong.
     Va-gina, pronounced Vageena (I call her VG) and I have a special relationship. For one thing,  there is a 40 year age difference.  I am 68, and she is 28. But when you are in love, you don't see age or numbers.  All you see is that person.  She calls me daddy and likes to pretend she's my little girl.
Vageena has 7 kids.  She says she loves me so much that she wants to share her pride & joys with me.  She wants me to legally adopt them.  We went down to the courthouse, filed the paperwork, but ran into an unforeseen hitch.  VG had told me she'd only been with 1 man before me, - the kids' father. Turns out he's only the father of the oldest 2 children. Vageena says she was kidnapped, held captive for years and raped repeatedly by a motorcycle gang.  She swears it was so traumatic that she blocked it out of her mind after she was rescued.  After the courthouse/paternity thing, she was able to recall the names of the fathers of her 4 youngest kids.  Miss Gertie, just hearing how she'd been so severely traumatized made me angry enough to want to track down those guys, open up a can of whip-ass, and inflict some serious trauma on them. It's going to take forever to find all those guys.  We're talking 4 baby daddies here.  How could they do that to such an innocent young girl?
     Miss Gertie, I think my friends are jealous of me.  We're all the same age, but I'm the only one with a sweet tenderloin at home. Vageena is the only sunshine in my old dark world.  You can't understand how much she has changed my life.  The biggest difference is sex.  For years, I've taken Viagra. With Vageena, I don't need it.  It's true that we mostly spoon and cuddle.  It's also true that most of the time, I'm just too tired to want to have sex.  After babysitting everyday, (she and her girlfriends go to play Bingo), I'm worn out.   This old gray ass isn't the stud he used to be! (chuckling).
     Sometimes VG will be talking about a sexual encounter we had, and for the life of me, I have no recollection of it.  She'll tell me that I wore both of us out, then was so exhausted that I rolled over, fell back to sleep, and probably just forgot.  I don't see how I'd forget something like that.   That's right up there with a solar eclipse.  Only happens once in a great moon.
     I'm content with the life I have with Vageena and the kids.  But last week, I went to visit my sister, who lives 100 miles away.  I got back early and guess I surprised VG, cause she stumbled out of our bedroom, wearing nothing but a short, sheer, robe.   Then some dude comes out.  She introduces him as her long, lost brother,  newly discovered.   He just wore boxers by the way.  The problems came about because two of my friends had picked me up at the train station.   (VG wasn't answering her cellphone.)  They witnessed everything, and acted like they wanted to fight VG's brother.  Now they keep telling me what a fool I am, and that I'm being played. To top everything off Vageena just told me she's pregnant.  I'm going to be a father.  Can you imagine after all these years?  My friends all tell me to have a paternity test done.  I'm considering doing it, just to shut them up.  What do you think Miss Gertie?
If loving Vageena is wrong, I don't wanna be right...

Dear if loving Vageena is wrong...,
     Thank you for restoring my lack of faith in humanity!  Just when I was about to throw in the towel, along you come, - an old fool on a white horse, riding for all he's worth, trying to save his lady love from the big, bad world.
     But baby, Ms. Gertie thinks you picked the wrong song.  Your debut solo should be, "there ain't no fool like an old fool."  I call you a fool because you've got the world on a string, and about to lose it, listening to those old geezer friends of yours.  Virginia, Virgin or VG, whatever her name is must really care for your old tail.  Ever hear the expression, old as dirt?  Let's try a new one, "limp as a wet noodle".  You know what I'm talking about.  Don't dumb up.on me now. Yet she deals with you.  God only knows how much cooking is required to make those noodles edible (no pun intended).
     You say you don't remember having sex with VG.  How do you think it makes her feel to know how truly forgettable she is? And, you should thank your lucky stars  that she trusts you as much as she does.  Not only does she allow you to care for her kids day after day, but also wants you to become financially responsible too, by adopting them.  Cause childcare costs ain't no joke.  Sounds like she's lucky at Bingo, and at picking men. B-I-N-G-O!! Hmmm...Maybe I'm in the wrong line of work...
     As for her long lost brother, could be, he's the brother of one of the babies' daddy, and they were performing their own DNA test.  You know, checking birthmarks and the like. I'm just saying....
As for paternity, ask yourself this: Does your 'car' actually run anymore, or just sputter a bit here and again?  If the answer is yes, junior might be yours.  If the answer is no, I suspect VG's rapist has struck again!