We Won’t Even Mention My Filthy Goat

I’m visiting my parents. This can mean only one thing- Telemarketers! I adore the people who make it their job to interrupt my dinner from across the world. The nature of their employment means they have to talk to me, which is kind of like having a captive audience.

Normally when people from India call offering to clean my ducts. I’ll answer with “No ducks. Do you clean chickens? And I won’t even tell you how filthy my goat is.”

My parents enjoy that line. Tragically for some reason the people on the phone do not. Last night the phone rang at eight thirty PM. My mother had already retired to bed and I was about to myself. “Who would be calling this late?” I thought.

When I picked up the handset suddenly there was bustling noise in the background and a man with a thick accent added himself to the call.

“Hello, do you need your ducts cleaned?” he asked.

The problem with noise is that in an effort to become louder, my normally high voice becomes higher. I go from sounding like I’m twelve to random people asking me whether I like Barbie and Dunkaroos.

I do like Dunkaroos but that's besides the point. ( Photo Credit : rccblog.com)

I do like Dunkaroos but that’s besides the point. ( Photo Credit : rccblog.com)

“Yes I do in fact” I answered approximately an octave and a half higher than my normal tone. I have no idea whether my parents require duct maintenance however it sounded like there was a party on the other end of the phone and I wanted in.

“That’s wonderful ma’am, my name is” a garbled connection and the noise swallowed up his name. “Can we talk about your ducts?”

I asked his name twice more. Each time it was swallowed by the party in background. I was transferred to his manager when I asked him to spell it so I could hear.

The manager came on the line, full of excitement for my ducts. I inquired about where their office was located. The manager answered that they were in a suburb of the metropolis close to my parents. Based on the time of night, the stock quality to his answers and the party that continued to rage in the background, I doubted this.

“Really? Do you know a good place to eat there?” I asked hoping to catch the man up.

“Why do you want to date me?” Was his retort. Very fast. Very funny. No matter where he was located, the manager was clearly quicker on his feet than his junior employee.

“I’m sure you’re very nice but no, I spent New Years Eve in that city a couple of years back and I want to know where the locals eat.”

It was at that point that the man realized he was not getting a sale out of me and I was bid adieu.

I’ve been informed to use the stock “chickens” line next time.

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Travesty Tuesday – Tricycle Rides and Unfortunate Sleeping Arrangements

The Great Unwashed- “I’m putting up a Travesty Tuesday post.”

Roscoe- “But it’s Friday.”

The Great Unwashed- “You know that saying “It’s five o’clock somewhere?” Well it’s Tuesday somewhere. It’s a time zone thing.”

Roscoe- “That’s not how time zones work.”

Red onion slices

These account for approximately 60% of the New Zealand diet.** (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Great Unwashed – “It’s Tuesday in New Zealand. Honest. And it doesn’t even matter if it isn’t, New Zealanders do things backwards anyways, they call every second Wednesday “Girdle” and only eat raw onions.”

Roscoe walked out of the room after that. He does that sometimes.

Here is an email I sent to my youngest cousin Candy*. She came to visit me just before leaving to go to college. It’s my guess that she robbed multiple convenience stores and the judge gave her the option of going to Juvie for a month or spending time with me. I think Juvie was looking pretty sweet after she read this.

Oh well you can’t win ‘em all, right Candy?

 

 

Dear Candy,

 

SURPRISE! We’re going camping. Nothing big, just the local park and only for one night. To celebrate this momentous occasion my truck is in at the mechanics getting both the flap thingie on the front fixed and also the SCREEEEEEEE noise that it’s been making any time I turn it on.

The parking lot in front of the garage was packed full of broken-down cars. The mechanics seemed doubtful about when they would be able to return my truck to me.

English: A man is repairing a tri-cycle who se...

Candy, I think you over packed a little. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As such it’s my recommendation to you Candy, to practice core muscle exercises for the next few days. Not only will these assist with paddle boarding which we shall be trying at the park but it will also help in your transport to the house from the bus station. My current plan is to ride a tricycle over and have you ride on my shoulders the three kilometers home. You will have to carry your suitcase on your back obviously.

This is a hugely popular transportation method in India just so you know.

We will be sharing the giant self inflating mattress while camping because I can’t be bothered to bring and blow up two separate ones when I could punch and kick my way through a night next to someone who is obligated to be nice to me by virtue of sharing just over 12% of my genetic code and staying in my house.

I also suggest you bring a sweater, a bathing suit, sunscreen and a UV shirt*** if you own one. Otherwise I’ll make you wear one of my UV shirts which are so used and stretched out that they’d look more appropriate on a fashionable orangutan.

Or maybe not, I feel like a fashionable anything would refuse to wear a UV shirt.

I have all necessary other camping items although I suggest you remind me to bring pillows. I often forget this item and no matter how I arrange the pile, firewood never seems comfortable to sleep on.

Lovingly, awkwardly and always on three wheels, your cousin,

The Great Unwashed

 

*Candy is as sweet as her made up name. She would never burn down convenience stores. She is frequently forced to visit me, a severe penance for crimes she doesn’t commit. At least I don’t think she commits crimes. I was covered in highly flammable oil during her visit though.

 

** I wouldn’t necessarily trust my knowledge of the world. I garnered most of the facts I know about New Zealand from Wild Buttercup. However I only looked at the pictures so I don’t know how reliable my information is.

 

Also I’ve never been to India. However I would like someone to ride on my shoulders while I peddle a tricycle. As a young child I was prevented from attempting this, I can only assume that sort of fun is illegal in Canada. India seems like a fun loving place. I bet mothers allow that sort of thing there.

 

***For those of you who don’t go red and shrivel up in the sun like a raisin a UV shirt blocks ninety to one hundred percent of UVA and UVB rays. For near albinos like Candy and I this type of clothing is a necessity for all outdoor activities. We combine it with 110 SPF sunscreen and then complain about feeling burnt. The Irish are fun to kiss but you probably shouldn’t procreate with them if you ever want to sit out on a beach.