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Monday, October 22, 2012

The Trial of Teddy "Slabmeat" Johnson

Did anyone like that "Bridge" story? Choose the best answer.

A) Loved it.
B) Hated it.
C) What "Bridge" story?
D) Both B and C
E) All of the above, except A

On a related note, I was attacked by a dust tornado today. It was quite humorous. But no words will do it justice. So I refuse to say more on the subject.

On a related note, I went to choir practice yesterday, as I am the choir pianist. For a "warm up" hymn, Isaac chose "All Creatures of our God and King." Emily and I had just watched the Mr. Bean episode like, two days before. So everytime we came to the "Alleluia!" part, I would look over at Emily, sitting down in the pews, and she would giggle, and then I would start messing up really severely because I wasn't watching the music, and we all had a good laugh. LAUGH LAUGH LAUGH.

Friday, October 19, 2012


"Darla, will you please remove your feet from the bridge table?" asked Betty McJohnson, with a hint of anger in her voice. Darla did not budge.

"I will ask you one more time Darla," said Betty again. "Remove your feet from the bridge table please."

Darla was the crazy one of the bridge club. Well, they were all crazy. They were all over 80 years of age. There were five of them. Betty, Darla, Susan, Mary, and Imogene. But Darla was really the "crazy" one.

Darla finally removed her feet from the bridge table.

"Now," said Phyllis. "On with bridge club!"

"Bridge club unite!" yelled no one.

The game continued on, with trumps here, and tricks there, and all manner of bridgey things.

"Cheater!" yelled Darla, pointing her wrinkly old finger at Susan. Then she pulled out a gun.

"Whoa!" yelled Mary. "I believe we agreed on no guns at bridge club."

Darla pointed the gun at Mary. Then Betty. She was shaking.

"Just put the gun down," said Betty, her hands raised above her head. "Just put it down Darla."

Darla had fury in her eyes. Fury of never winning at bridge.

"I never get what I want!" she cried. "You guys always gang up on me!"

Imogene, thinking quick, overturned the table towards Darla, who cried out, and fired a shot into the ceiling. Then she went down, with the table crushing her to the floor. At last, Darla was dead.

The police arrived minutes later, as result of Susan pushing the button on her panic bracelet. "What happened here?" asked Officer Ted, surveying the devastation. Cards lay everywhere. Then he spotted the body.

"Dear gosh," he said. Darla lay lifeless on the floor with cards in her mouth. "This was a bridge game gone too far," he remarked, and everyone laughed. Everyone...except Officer Ted.

"Get her outta here," he yelled to nobody in particular.

After Darla's body was removed and the mess cleaned up, the four seniors sat down and resumed.

"On with bridge club!" shouted Betty.

On with bridge club.


The end

Thursday, October 18, 2012

6 years

I've decided to be a little nostalgic and revisit my first day as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. October 18th, 2006 was a silly day. I was nervous and scared beyond belief. The night before, I had laid on the floor in my bedroom and, being the baby that I was and still am, cried my eyes out. The next morning, we packed up all my garbage in some sort of minivan. Why we were driving a minivan, and where it came from, I have absolutely no idea. We have never owned a minivan. But I remember that it was a minivan. We drove north. We stopped in Fillmore to grab snacks, but all I felt like was a bottle of orange juice. In Provo, we stopped at Brick Oven to eat, but all I felt like was a bowl of soup. Stephen Miller met us there and said goodbye to me.

We went to the MTC. I received a dork dot (hooray!). I have noticed in photographs of that day of how horrible, how ghastly ugly my tie was. We entered some sort of chapel room. I don't remember anything, except singing "called to serve," and then it was time to separate. It seems like most missionaries remember this part well, and have a most difficult time letting go of their family. I did not. "Whaaaa?" you must be saying. "Did you hate your family or something?" On the contrary my friend. But I had to go to the bathroom REALLY REALLY BAD. So I made it quick. Ha ha!

Once past this, I received some sort of shot, and then I met my MTC companion, Elder Scott Riley, whose most notable characteristic, I think, was that he hated me more than pond scum.

Here's some pictures, if you prefer a "picture book" rendition of the day.

The Fillmore Maverik. I got some orange juice. Also, it warms my heart that Google Images has a picture of the Fillmore Maverik. Otherwise, this story would be painfully incomplete.

The Brick Oven in Provo, Utah. I ate a bowl of soup, and saw Steve. Hi Steve!

The MTC in Provo, Utah, which is renowned the world over for containing an endless supply of cereal. Here, I had to go to the bathroom, which made leaving my family less difficult. Also, Elder Riley and I got in a yelling match in the laundry room once (not technically October 18th). There you go. MTC.

Friday, October 12, 2012

Captain Dingo

This is Captain Dingo. I am at work right now, and my mission journal at home contains his real name, so I will add it into this post later. When I was in Shelbyville, Tennessee as a missionary (back in October 2007) my companion and I ran into this guy one night, sitting on a bench in the town square. He was the COOLEST guy ever. Oh yeah, and he was also a hobo. I say "was" because I don't know where he is to this day or what he's doing. Apparently, he rides all around the country on trains and just plays his guitar for people. Really really nice guy, and played us a little song. We were so impressed that we ran and bought him some Arby's food, and I gave him my little red cute-sized pocket book of mormon, and a CD of "Nashville Tribute to the Prophet." No, we didn't think he was taking advantage of us. In fact, I don't even think he asked us for food or anything, we just thought he was so cool, and he deserved some tasty arby's food. The real reason I'm writing this blog is because I really want to know where he is and what he's doing, and maybe if he's full of himself, he'll google his own name (if he happens to use a computer, which is unlikely I think), and run across my blog. My google searches on him have yielded no way to contact him, so this is my only shot. Apparently, he's been on David Letterman and such, so he's kind of a big deal.

Thursday, October 11, 2012


What to write, what to write...

1) Oh,been having a lot of angry dreams lately. I don't know what my deal is. And they usually include F words. In one dream, a kid from my PTA class was bullying me, and I told him to "GET THE EFF AWAY FROM ME" and "GET YOUR EFFING HANDS OFF MY FACE." Last night, I dreamed that I was attempting to leave work, even though my boss, Aaron Olsen (my boss at the Washington Rec Center) was, for some reason, not letting people leave. We yelled at each other, in rage, and he yelled back, "SHUT THE EFF UP!" and then I said, "NO!" And then he was way mad, and I stormed out, and my mom was there, and she was mad. And then for some reason, Dave Nielsen was there, and he said, "WHOEVER WANTS TO DEFEND THEIR RIGHTS TO LEAVE WORK, COME WITH ME!" and then I'm pretty sure he said the F word to Aaron. This has been a very interesting little blurb, I know, but maybe you can get a sense of the rage that my subconscious is spewing up right now. I don't know why my subconscious is so angry at the world. Maybe you can help me out. I could be mad about Rivers having a birth defect. I could be mad that every NBA superstar is now either on the Lakers or on the Heat. I could be mad because Juno and Frankie peed all over in their cage the other day. But that's pretty much it, honestly. Not a lot of things to be mad about.


3) Pray for Rivers.

4) Tell me I'm a winner, and then we'll eat...the dinner?

Saturday, October 6, 2012

Rivers, Mine Only Begotten Son

So my wife and I are going to have a child. But she explains all this pretty well on her own blogs, so I won't go into it. His name is Rivers. Sometimes, my wife tells me that she feels him kicking. Then when I come to her to investigate, he stops. THE LITTLE CUSSER. He's a sneaky one. Right now, I'm at work, and I'm not supposed to be blogging, in fact, we're pretty much not supposed to do anything here (including sitting on the couch downstairs for some reason), but I'm a rebel. The end.