the letter

A friend moves out of town.

He and his family are far away.

Life gets hard and tiresome for them.

I send a letter.

This is that letter.

His real name has been changed to protect his privacy.

Dear Senor Todaviabueno,

I'm writing you, as you may have deduced, to notify you that I've never called you "dear" before this moment.
It's a special moment... the kind you'd share. So perhaps if you find such sharing paraphernalia as a can of International Food's powdered coffee mix in the pantry or underneath the left-rear passenger seat of the mini-van, go ahead and formulate a concoction as to set the sharing mood; sit your wife and youngster's down in front of the fire -- any fire will do -- (excuse me, but I suggest that before they commit to sharing this moment with you, that you should pre-share a disclaimer: IN NO WAY POSSIBLE WILL YOU GAIN SOME SORT OF USEFULNESS IN HEARING ANY PART OF THIS PUBLICATION.-- This will, in fact, be more of a sacrificial gift on their part to sit through it with you, as to show support to the NGNWG(North-Georgia Non-Writer's Guild) whose membership is at an all-time high this decade, and is in hurting need of support -- in the financial area mainly --so if you could find it in your hearts and wallets to send just a few cents to cover the ink and paper, much appreciation will be felt. The non-writing that you are experiencing so fortunately is generously donated by local non-writer's such as myself(Vice-President/Participant of the NGNWG). Incidentally, the Presidential position became wide open to any candidates who might be interested
(more info available online @ ifyouthinkyoucannotwrite.com.org.okaydotsgood).
That position had been held by Yours Truly since the founding of the guild, but for a variety of charges, I was demoted (an emotionally exhausting experience that will probably never happen
again). But in retrospect I think it was for the best.
Anyway, the postage is covered by different local businessmen in the local area who apparently don't really understand what we're all about and/or have nothing better to do with their money than look for ways to write it off on their taxes. We're counting our blessings one by one.
That being written, I feel I should say that my hopes are that you'll thoroughly enjoy the non-writing as it is intended for your entertainment only. If we could, we would likely venture into other, equally useful areas of publication, such as educational pamphlets, fictional commentaries, etc. I really don't believe that it's for the lack of ability in non-writing. It's important to note that we've been rejected in applying for our "open" non-writing license and could only obtain a "limited" license( this should explain the rumors you may have already heard, of our intentions to strike against the Union's impotentness in representing our demands to the people they go to talk to when they represent us about stuff. In fact, we have a guy in our guild( we endearingly refer to ourselves as "guild guys" sometimes), who is looking into the matter 'cause he's almost like a lawyer--he even auditioned as a non-writer for "The People's Court" back a few years ago. They really screwed him over at the audition and gave him some poorly imagined excuse that he "can not-write pretty good, but has no signs of understanding the law." AS IF! Since when do you have to have understanding of the predicate subject when you're non-writing?

I'm of the opinion that he posed some threat to their "good ol' boy" hiring system. Anyway, he's been able to determine so far that the Union doesn't recognize our guild population as breathing and "not worth the cost of paper to reply on letterhead". That's why we're going on strike! But that's scheduled for next year...

Meanwhile we will not-write for nothing. Nothing's new.

I miss you guys, and we're rootin' for yas....Love, Tim

yEECHK!

i've gotta tell you how disblahh i am with that latest postage. so much so that i'm almost ready to quit all together over it. yeah, i got legitimatelike complaints of precious time lacking from whence to write in... whait?... whatever, the point is that not only can i not write seriously without sounding like...say...gloria estephan singing joan jet's only hit "i love rock'n'roll", i also can't write one ittybitty blog post without having to take a day off of work, or totally neglecting my entire family for hours until i'm done publishing, editing and republishing... does anybody else get that gloria-joan jet stab?, or is it just me trying too hard to be an intellectual comic. you intellectual types reading this (in my dreams) are muttering "try being funny... at least capitalize, cheeesh!" isn't it cool that i don't do that, though? like in a rebel way? to heck with grammar! no, i'm beyond that, to heck with making sense. i actually capitalize( if only i could sell this stuff) on senselessnesses.



ok
fact is, i'm so busy hittin the backspace key on every other word, i just don't have time to shift and stuff. it's bad enough that i gotta put a space between words and use punctuation and use words that mr. webster approves of. aprooves of. apprroovveess ooff. whatever.
my wife complains that i go on and on without breaking a paragraph into sentenses. i loose her, she says. i tried reading a post of mine once, and she's right. so here it is. the new way. short thoughts. to the point. straight up. cool. yup. read carefully.

so what's with the small town rat race

It's Sunday afternoon. Jen's at a baby shower that started at 4 p.m. At 3 p.m. we were scheduled to show the house to a prospective buyer who drove up at 2:48 p.m. At 1:32 p.m. we pulled into our driveway arriving from our church potluck dinner that began at about noon.
We immediately began the hasty work of tidying up our weekend mess that didn't get finished yesterday on account of the fact that we were all dead tired from long-worked days, short-slept nights and some intermediate "fun" tightly shoved into the cracks here and there. Everybody pitched in. Well, actually we "pitched" everybody IN to the work, and none of the peasant's papers were stamped as work-exempt regardless of creative efforts to avoid the innevitable. We even had extra help with Isaac Stillwell who wanted to come home with us since the 4 O'Clock shower was at his house. HAHAHAA! "Yes!" I answered to his innocent request,"but you should be advised that there will be 'some' WORK involved as we are showing the house at Three..." and before I could tell him that I would be expecting any visitors to be doing most of the hard labor, he piped up and blurted his last free words: "Oh, I'll be HAPPY to help".
He was all mine.
The deal was done.
random Isaac quote, after discussing what he'd do next to help said: "Ok, I guess I'll get busy on that then... If you need anything else, don't bother asking".
"We are ALL tired!", I preached to the longsuffered faces of poor, labor-weary children (who, by the way, think that playing too long and hard is reason enough to blow off any type of cleaning). At four minute intervals I had to nearly crack a whip to keep them going while I cleaned the kitchen, again. I think I started to clean it last night, pretty sure I did. Jennifer had to prepare a crock-pot mac'n'cheese dish this morning while getting ready for church, with only Timmy to help with Bean. I and my oldest girls were at church already so that I could practice with the worship team. Murphy's Law kicked in probably the minute I left the driveway this morning, and she ended up at church about a half hour after we started worship. Unplanned. Then she had to go back after "worship", during the sermon to retrieve the dish so it would be in the right place at the right time. NOTE FROM JENNIFER: I realized after waiting 30 minutes for the water to boil and finally getting all the ingredients into the crock-pot, that there was No Way it would be finished cooking in time for the potluck. So I proceeded to pull it all out, and put it into baking dishes, leaving it in the oven while popping my head into worship, and then running back to make sure the house was not on fire...(more on that logic another day...) I actually OVERcooked it! But it was all good. There is so much more to be said about this day...I think I will post on the other blog about the rest... Ta-Ta... END NOTE FROM JENNIFER
GOODNESS!
Why can't we seem to unplug the phones one day a week? Can't we just say NO to something?
See... I got interupted by some other potluck on Sunday evening that I couldn't even finish posting. It's now 1a.m. Thanksgiving Day, and I'm just ready for the bed. You wanna know what I'm grateful for? Read all about it, some other time...

slimJ is in the house yo

oright oright yo. sit bak and pimp this chillin rhaeme gee.

evrybudy wich ya hanz in d eah
puuf pupah tchi puuf-puuf pupah tchica puuf pupah tchi puuf-puuf pupah
prrf pupah tchi kopp eeek eeek eeek eeka. Ok. If you've made it this far and you're still with me, it's important to affirm you as a creative individual who refuses to cowar at ANY challenge (you fun-loving maniac you), or, and of equal importance, report your sorry, desperate for interaction, and all around pathetic state to some sort of authority. Namely your Mother. She called. Phfff, not really... maybe she did. Mine's calling me yo, seeyah.


www.ilovetopostwithoutspellcheckorhavingtocallmygrammarcoach.com

SLIM'S WORD OF THE...JUST A WORD.OK?

good. adjective ( gu-id )

a word to say if you really really like something you're talking about.
like: " 'Good' is really really good to use as a word if you like something a lot, and if you're talking to someone else about it and saying that it's really really good."
a word to say how you are doing, or someone in your family.
like: question-"How are you?" answer- "Good"
question #2- "How's yur momma?" answer#2- "Pretty good" (the "Pretty" part is optional)
Have a nice day and may you use this word in good health. Thank you. Oh, I mean: Have a "good" day. See? It's easy.

SOCIAL BLOGGER

So I'm thinking that I should only write once a year maybe? Maybe on Holidays. Special Holidays. The ones I have off from work particularly. Yeah, I could run a commentary on the meaning of Thanksgiving, for instance. You know... I could lay out the history behind the miracle of Chrysler Rock, correlate how our relationship with the native Americans has direct, foolproof, evidentially sound and in all ways breathtaking strings attached to the brow-raising fact that The BRAVES haven't won the Winston Cup since... well, I don't even know when they won it last, if ever. I'm not a real sportsy type anyway, so for all I know, they've set the record for the most Touch-Downs in their weight-class. It could happen.
Then there's the trivia highlights about the not-so-well-known origins of such timeless catch phrases as "Let's get out of Dodge!," which by the way is what one of the first-to-go-west pioneers said after realizing that there was no more of that sweet-yam-casserole left on the table. Intense research has gone into this stuff.
I could also write a play-by-play commentary on our family supper on the Thursday of, starting with a pre-supper spread of all the kitchen work that precedes the "Great Feast of Gluttony", and then when it's all said and done, post shots of my different family members as they lounge around the living room and back porch, stomachs bulging, snoring while the NASCAR race buzzes on the big-screen TV. Then I could interview the rest of the SuperSupperDay rookies as they stand in line for the one restroom that still works, and survey the few of the crowd that remain coherent enough for an opinion-poll of which was the favored dish of the afternoon, all the while placing bets on who's going back for table scraps.
Aawww... who am I kiddin', I'll be on the couch with the rest of 'em.

FINGER IT OUT

Od. so I've only gor a minute to write and I decedes to not lood at the keys whioe I type to see if I could habelo it withour to many mistakedm, and apparently I can;t handle it . so see if I vevr type again. I don't want tom escuse me, I donpg, sorry, i donpm, hoik, no , hold on... I donllo;'gto09--- DON'G AAAADDDFJJJKKKKLLDSSDFFSEEDCCCC. OK... I don't want to type anymore, not like this. I'm not disslecksick, I promise--dependent on spell-check, yes-- but my fingers have no brains. I gotta watch everything they do, and every time they make a mistake, I'm the one making sure they do it right. I thank God for the backspace key. Sometimes, they start to get out of hand, and after fussin' at'em all day, I just let them MAKE their stupid mistakes without saying a word about it. I figure they're old enough to look after themselves, shoot, they're almost as old as me,anyway, why should I be babysittin' them all day? Fingers...