Don’t Drink the Water in Lick Skillet. EVER.

I haven’t written in a while and it’s because I’m good and pissed off. Not “I can’t believe you raised the price of bananas, I’m going to take my business elsewhere” pissed off, but more like “I’m going to overthrow your government” pissed off. You know, Viking-level pissed off.

Apparently, my child’s school is so freaking amazing at their jobs that they’ve managed to cure her autism. It’s brilliant, really, and will be a huge savings to the taxpayers and the health care industry. All it takes is simply declaring it to be so. Decide that the child is no longer autistic or the patient no longer has cancer, and they therefore no longer need any services or treatment, and then they’ll be fine. Incredible.

Now the fun begins. It’s revenge-plotting time.

Yes, I had to dig through a couple of drawers, but I managed to find my handy-dandy revenge notebook. It’s filled with all kinds of great ideas, and they range in severity from making sure you have a bad day all the way up to requiring Red Cross disaster relief support to clean up the damage and help the survivors. Sometimes, just sitting down and plotting in the notebook is enough to make me calm down, think rationally, and not end up in federal prison.

But not this time.

While my husband busies himself with revenge that involves hiring an attorney and gathering documentation, I’m unbelievably busy Googling, “How long it takes to permanently ruin your car’s interior after someone fills it with rancid pork products.”

My friend, a former redneck, offered his services by pointing out that he knew where all the really good covered wells are in Lick Skillet. I immediately pounced on this information.  I was a little overeager, because, as it turns out, he was kidding.

ME: Why did you bring it up if you weren’t going to tell me?

HIM: Well, I was kidding, since I didn’t think you would actually kill someone.

ME: First of all, what ever gave you that impression? Second, why would you bring up the wells if you thought I was going to kill someone?

HIM: You know, to hide the body.

ME: Wow. That is actually a really good idea!

HIM: Wait, if you didn’t know that’s a good place to hide a body, WHY did you want to know where all the good wells are?

ME: To poison the water supply, of course.

HIM: (stunned silence)

ME: What?

HIM: I know a really good attorney.

ME: Oh, we’ve already got the lawyer, my husband’s working on that.

HIM: No, the attorney YOU’RE going to need.

ME: Wait a second, wouldn’t a rotting human corpse thrown in a well still poison the water supply? So we could, like, get a two-fer out of this?

HIM: Stop talking. It’s important that you stop talking now. I’m a state official and I can’t be hearing this.

ME: Puh-leaze. You’re a tax collector. You’ve probably already been thrown down a few of those wells.

In the meantime, keep your fingers crossed that I don’t destroy any vehicles with leftover bologna or discard anything in the aquaducts. And keep your fingers crossed that my daughter still gets to be autistic next year.

Seriously? WHAT Were You Looking For?

I am ever so fond of every single person who reads this blog, whether they are die-hard fans who read anything I spew here or they are lowly internet people who accidentally found my blog at 2am while trying to complete their sixth graders’ homework projects. Either way, I’m glad you stopped by.

But I am going to have to start taking issue with the WAYS people find my blog. This website gives me all kinds of fancy tools that let me learn a lot of information that might otherwise be useless to someone whose technological know-how doesn’t extend past the wine bottle opener. And I am very sad that the website showed me the keywords that people typed in on the internet that brought them to this blog:

Really? REALLY? SCARY BABIES and DEAD PEOPLE? C’mon, Internet people, work with me here!

Apparently, This Is An Election Year. I’m Running for Coroner.

It doesn't really look like it, but these two are probably dead. Maybe. I don't know.

I’ve said it before, I’m not really up on current events. I try to pay attention if some whole region of a small country was wiped out by a killer storm and I really do try to make sure I know just a teensy bit about the newest bacteria that’s going to destroy us all if we catch it from touching the handle of a shopping cart.

One flaw in my personality that I really do not feel bad about is politics. I am vaguely aware that we have a President. I know his name, I know his wife is a lovely woman who’s been ripped apart for trying to get kids to exercise. I know he has two kids but I couldn’t pick their faces out in a crowded elevator, a fact that in my mind already makes the Obamas Parents of the Year. That’s pretty much the extent of my knowledge on politics because I Just. Don’t. Care. Most of our government is controlled by a network of people who spend millions of dollars to snag a job that pays less than $500,000 a year, which right off the bat tells you something is going on.

But here in my hometown, there is one campaign that I watch eagerly every election year by following the candidates’ platforms and listening for any hint of scandal from their respective war rooms. It’s the coroner.

Yes, we still elect our coroners in this state. I don’t know, maybe your state does, too. But little known fact about my state (and maybe your state)…YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE A DOCTOR TO BE THE CORONER.

Yup. Probably stemming from a shortage of doctors that were less than a two-day horse ride away, but you don’t have to be the doctor to legally declare someone dead. And that, my friends, keeps me awake at night. What if some backhoe driver wins the election and declares me prematurely dead just because they’re having a little trouble waking me up? What if I’m in a car wreck and the coroner is actually a pizza delivery guy and he tells them, “Bag her up. She’s a goner.”

My real concern is the fact that a lot of would-be coroneratorial candidates are actually funeral home owners, which on the surface would make sense. They see a lot of dead people, and not just in the creepy way like that kid in the movie. But doesn’t anyone else see the conflict of interest here? THESE PEOPLE MAKE MONEY OFF OF DEAD PEOPLE. We don’t need them drumming up business by being called to the scene to declare someone dead. They’ll be calling the time of death from across the Walmart parking lot, just to pay off their kids’ braces.

That’s why I’m running for coroner on the Let’s Not Be Too Hasty platform. I’m so squeamish it will takes days for me to declare you dead, because I’m going to wait until you start to smell and flies hover around you before I’m willing to get close enough to check. I’ll just sit way over here and if you haven’t moved (and your left eyeball falls out from the decay), I’ll know. I wonder how much coroners get paid.