Weekend Recap
Apparently Granddad woke up on the wrong side of the bed and noticed that Twenty Major lumped him with all the rest of the NON-smoking bloggers.
Twenty responded as you would have expected him to do so….with lots swearing and an insult. Well Grandad got on his high horse (No he’s been off heroin for awhile now) and loosed his giant Tiger or Lion or something like that, named Tiddles, on Twenty. Well Grannymar is upset because Herself hasn’t been heard from in days. She has recruited Dario Sanchez and John in Dublin to help figure this problem out. I offered to see what I could do to help.
I called K8 the Gr8 but I got her answering machine. She was out hiking the Himilayas with King Wouldye of Labrador.
I also made an emergency phone call to the Jefferson Davis’ compound down south but he was gone to the local cafe chatting up some ginger waitress. I tried both Kav and The Swearing Lady but Kav was slurring his speech and going on about how GlenLivit is shite compared to Jamesons. I hung up on him. The Swearing Lady was getting ready to go bar hopping and she was ranting on about how one just can’t find a decent pair of heels in Galway. I can’t understand her accent. I then contacted the RAF and asked if they could do a quick flyover to make sure everything is alright. They claimed not to know where Ireland is so I called NASA and asked if they could point one of their satellites that way and check up on this situation. They sent me 137 pages of forms to fill out and then I have to submit it to a review panel that won’t be back at work until June.
I called the government of France but they kept yelling something about the pate not being done yet.
I then contacted the German Luftwaffe but apparently they all have been out drinking heavily since last Wednesday.
I finally got through to the 193rd Special Operations Wing Command of the Pennsylvania Air National Guard and asked them if they could pop over and find out what’s going on.
They have reported back to me and here are the super-secret spy photos they forwarded to me.
That is the REAL Tiddles.
Here’s Grandad and Herself after the Gardai arrived.
It looks like Twenty made it home from the pub.
Well things settled down by Easter Sunday morning and we all had a nice Easter dinner together as witnessed below.
I’m thinkin’ there’s more to this story…
Grandad is a teddy?
How the fuck does he use the computer? That must be super-ESP powers or something!
How did you know that I was chatting up a Ginger waitress? Damn Super-ESP!
I get a lot of stick for being unable to drink whiskey (or whisky) at all. Just can’t stand it. Think it stems from the teenage years, when we used to drink naggins of Jameson straight. Ack.
Any whiskey drinker know that it is spelled whiskey. Unless of course, you drink Scotch [which is nearly as bad as bourbon] which is spelled whisky.
Dario – I have super powers.
To finish off the story – Grandad threw a bucket of slurry at the 193rd Special Ops Wing. They all crashed and burned.
The photo they claimed is Tiddles is, in fact Attila. He’s a vicious little bugger – even Tiddles is wary of him.
So we all lived happily ever after. Apart from Twenty, who is still stuck in the drain.