I was talking to my just-turned-18 year old daughter on the phone the other night, while her Aunt Lisa (her mom's sister) folded clothes on the couch, and I was telling her how I'm fed up with these people thinking they can come right into our home anytime they want and take anything they want and the law won't do anything about it because they're family (the will gives the house to Lisa, and the sisters ain't liking it), but at the last go-round the dispatcher told me to go ahead and do whatever I needed to do to protect our home and our serenity, short of hurting or killing someone so I got me a can of pepper-spray (I was after bear mace, but was told it's a felony to give someone a faceful of that, even in defense of your own home) and right after I got home with it who should show up but my daughter's mother, bringing drugs around trying to tempt Lisa into doing them, knowing it would cause trouble between us because even though she says she's happy for us and wants to be at the wedding she's still mad as hell that I'm fucking her sister and have been for eight years but at any rate I told her to get the hell out of here with her drugs before I gave her a faceful of the ol' capsican and when telling my daughter the story I called her mom, "your Aunt Maureen," and she said, "That's alright -- when I think of Aunt Lisa I think, "Aunt Mom," and we had a good laugh over that but it was kind of sad at the same time.
Mr. Ed said I should use his signature, since he's not anymore. In honor of his good friend Nok, here it is: "As far as smoking a cigar," she said, "I'd not know where to start or how to start." "It's simple," said I, "You light one end and chew on the other and hope to meet in the middle."
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