Wednesday, August 01, 2007

Well, it's a hot one... seven inches from the midday sun...

The Chronicles of Cheeseburgerweddingpalooza: Episode Five - The Final Chapter

Yea, it's gonna be hot Saturday. 93. We've had great weather the last couple of weeks, but we knew it couldn't hold out. Oh, well. We did plan this extravaganza for August, didn't we? No bitchin allowed. Besides that, if that's the only problem we encounter, I'll consider this whole thing a big success. And (knocking wood) it has been the only fly in the ointment. Everything has just seamlessly fallen into place. So far.

Well. Except for the goldfish fiasco.

Fish Tales

See, I have this humongous, plastic brandy snifter. I have no idea why I bought it...just because it was cool, I guess. But we've been keepin our combs and brushes in it. I get the bright idea to wash it out and put a few goldfish in it...for a table decoration...for the wedding. And I wanted 'em last week. So they'd "acclimate", ya know?

The ever-dutiful Zigster trotted right uptown to the local hardware store. Uh huh. I said 'hardware'. See, they have a pretty extensive pet section, too. I know. Pets in a hardware store. Really. Fish and turtles and kittens and ferrets and rabbits...quite an assortment, actually.

I told him to get 10. He came home with 20. And it's a damn good thing. Some expired because...well...I have no idea why. Probably because they wanted to. They knew what was comin and wanted to get outa Dodge before the trouble started. I lost one live one down the sink drain. Bye, little guy! Have fun in the septic tank! The remaining ten or so were lookin pretty good.

Until disaster struck. Disaster had a name...and that name was 'Stewie'.

Up until day before yesterday, the cat had shown no interest whatsoever in the snifter full of fish. I had them sitting up on the little half-wall between the kitchen and the living room. Just above the sofa. He'd get up there and just look at 'em.

"Ho hum. Funny lookin little critters, ain't they? But kinda boring, really."

They're much more entertaining when they're floppin all over the sofa and the red shag rug, aren't they?

Yup. The whole gallon and a half or so of fish-poopy water and now-extremely-traumatized fishies....aaaaalllll over the sofa and pillows and rug.

Ever tried to pick a half-dozen tiny, slippery goldfish outa a very-shag shag rug? Hell, there might still be a stray corpse or two buried in there.

The surviving four...uh huh...four outa twenty...seem to be thriving, though.

That which does not kill us only makes us stronger. Or some bullshit like that.

Bloggers: You too, can experience the uniqueness...the quirkiness...the mad-cappery....the tom-foolery...that is Cheeseburgerweddingpalooza!

  • here to get all the details. Yea, it's a serious invitation. We'd be tickled if some of youse bloggers would come and help us celebrate. I can pretty much guarantee that you've never attended a weddin like this one.

    If you need directions, shoot me an email. If you'd prefer to wing it, just head towards Chillicothe and follow the
  • signs.


    ...and then there were three...

    I just fished (no pun intended, of course) another floater outa the brandy snifter. I'm no pathologist, but all indications point to drowning.

    Suicide, no doubt.


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