My fathers side of the family is a motley crew, but they all have one thing more or less in common; theyre pranksters and practical jokers.
The brunt of these jokes? Usually my gullible, loud-mouthed, foul-tempered grandmother, from whom I have long been estranged---for reasons I wont get into here. You may think its cruel to pick on an old lady, but the woman can dish it out, believe me. In fact, she spends most of her conscious hours doing just that---dishing shit out. If a member of SG, she'd write "dishing shit out" for the "what gets me hot" part of the profile. Simply put, she deserves every ounce of shit she gets, and then some.
Anyway, during one of the recent hurricanes in Florida, my Uncle J pretended he was going through crack withdrawal. Dont ask why; he was probably just bored out of his skull and needed something to do. A hobby. And he knew, no matter how improbable the premise, my grandmother would take the bait. And she did.
So in the middle of Floridas third hurricane, after having been cooped up on hours on end, he started acting strangely, really hamming it up--- hands shaking, eyes popping out feverishly, the works.
J, whats the matter? my grandmother asked.
I cant stand it anymore!
What are you talking about?
Withdrawal, Im going through withdrawal. Fuck!
Withdrawal from WHAT?
Crack, goddamn it!
Perhaps my grandmother would have never believed this had my uncle hadnt recently been going through a midlife crisis of sorts. Strange new tattoos; hard liquor; a wild, entirely uncharacteristic haircut, one of those messy chop cuts in which the hanks of hair seem to be snipped off at almost random length; a psychic girlfriend on the side. All symptomatic of some slow, inexorable slide into a mid-life crisis. Crack probably seemed like a feasible part of the equation. Yes, crack made SENSE. Crack was a logical progression.
Tell me youre kidding, J.
Look at my hand. Look at my face. You think this is kidding?
Bullshit.
Im telling you, I need crack!
In the middle of one of the hurricanes blinding, lashing squalls, my uncle left the house, peeling away in his car. This information courtesy of my father, who had been staying there because he was evacuated from his own home up the coast. Dont ask me where my uncle went in the middle of a hurricane, because I dont know. But he came back twenty minutes later with sugar cubes in a ziplock bag and an old-fashioned corn-cob pipe. Props hed obviously been saving for just the right occasion.
He plopped down on the couch and, visibly relieved, put one of the cubes in the corn-cob pipe, lighting up. Making greedy, sucking noises, like someone whod just returned from a dry, three-day trip through the desert and had been given a canteen of cold water.
J, if you dont stop it, Im calling the police.
God, I love crack!
J!
Want some?
My grandmother picked up the phone and dialed 911. Literally. But they must have been so swamped with calls that she couldnt get through right away.
This is what passes for a reunion on my fathers side of the family.
The brunt of these jokes? Usually my gullible, loud-mouthed, foul-tempered grandmother, from whom I have long been estranged---for reasons I wont get into here. You may think its cruel to pick on an old lady, but the woman can dish it out, believe me. In fact, she spends most of her conscious hours doing just that---dishing shit out. If a member of SG, she'd write "dishing shit out" for the "what gets me hot" part of the profile. Simply put, she deserves every ounce of shit she gets, and then some.
Anyway, during one of the recent hurricanes in Florida, my Uncle J pretended he was going through crack withdrawal. Dont ask why; he was probably just bored out of his skull and needed something to do. A hobby. And he knew, no matter how improbable the premise, my grandmother would take the bait. And she did.
So in the middle of Floridas third hurricane, after having been cooped up on hours on end, he started acting strangely, really hamming it up--- hands shaking, eyes popping out feverishly, the works.
J, whats the matter? my grandmother asked.
I cant stand it anymore!
What are you talking about?
Withdrawal, Im going through withdrawal. Fuck!
Withdrawal from WHAT?
Crack, goddamn it!
Perhaps my grandmother would have never believed this had my uncle hadnt recently been going through a midlife crisis of sorts. Strange new tattoos; hard liquor; a wild, entirely uncharacteristic haircut, one of those messy chop cuts in which the hanks of hair seem to be snipped off at almost random length; a psychic girlfriend on the side. All symptomatic of some slow, inexorable slide into a mid-life crisis. Crack probably seemed like a feasible part of the equation. Yes, crack made SENSE. Crack was a logical progression.
Tell me youre kidding, J.
Look at my hand. Look at my face. You think this is kidding?
Bullshit.
Im telling you, I need crack!
In the middle of one of the hurricanes blinding, lashing squalls, my uncle left the house, peeling away in his car. This information courtesy of my father, who had been staying there because he was evacuated from his own home up the coast. Dont ask me where my uncle went in the middle of a hurricane, because I dont know. But he came back twenty minutes later with sugar cubes in a ziplock bag and an old-fashioned corn-cob pipe. Props hed obviously been saving for just the right occasion.
He plopped down on the couch and, visibly relieved, put one of the cubes in the corn-cob pipe, lighting up. Making greedy, sucking noises, like someone whod just returned from a dry, three-day trip through the desert and had been given a canteen of cold water.
J, if you dont stop it, Im calling the police.
God, I love crack!
J!
Want some?
My grandmother picked up the phone and dialed 911. Literally. But they must have been so swamped with calls that she couldnt get through right away.
This is what passes for a reunion on my fathers side of the family.
that is so awesome.
how to make the most out of this community: 1. get a usepic. it doesn't necessarily have to be YOU, but it should be something.
2. get active in groups and on the boards, or just start posting in people's journals.
you'll be addicted soon enough