Whew, the writing I’ve been doing lately, huh?
I mean, you probably thought Stephen King was prolific, but man, my output of blog posts has been staggering even to me.
I hope you’ve enjoyed reading them as much as I have writing them.
Because we’re talking a Mt. Everest of work here, a tsunami, a plethora, a deluge, a glut, I’m certain you’ve probably forgotten some of them, so I thought perhaps I’d review some of my own favorites.
“Smell under my armpits, office, that’s alcohol!” Remember this one? Where I got pulled over by a cop and had to explain to him that, no, I wasn’t drunk, that no liquid intoxicants have ever passed my lips, except for that one time which I have no recollection of, but that alcohol odor was really coming from my armpits, not my breath. It was difficult to prove the science to him, that my body actually produces alcohol, but in the end, he let me off with a warning. Thought that was funny, didn’t you?
Oh, and how’d you like the one where I grew a 1,491-pound pumpkin in the 4-foot by 6-foot “bonus area” of our condo and then, just to spite the neighbor who complained the behemoth orange gourd squished his yappy-at-all-hours-of-the-day-and-night dog when the ground maybe shifted or someone maybe accidentally (or not) gave the pumpkin a hard shove, I grew a 2,175-pound pumpkin? Both state records by the way. As for the neighbor, my feeling is he should get a dog that can take care of itself. Or keep its yap shut.
Seriously, you must have loved the one where I was the bottom layer of a nail sandwich. If I do say so myself, I hammered that one home.
It was tears in my eyes when I wrote about Chris the sheep, the woolliest sheep in the whole wooly wide world, passing away and being turned into 1,422 turtleneck sweaters … because someone has to care.
And of course, there was the one about the Italian astronaut who got so excited about watching the Italian team in the Rugby World Cup he accidentally kicked a hole in the International Space Station. Like a good Italian, and a man after my own heart, he blamed it on the Russians.
My mostest favoritest post though was the piece entitled “Gator horseplay” where I described how I played with the gator in our local community pond until it got tired. Boy howdy that was some fun, especially when it swam right up to me and chomped down on my right hand, though I must admit the loss of those fingers has made tipp … topp … pupoiu … t y p i n g a bit herder … horder … h a r d e r.
Ah, good times.
E.E. Williams is half Italian on his mother’s side, which is fortunate because she still has a health head of hair as does he, and is author of the Noah Greene mystery series, “My Grave Is Deep,” “Tears of God” and “Tears in the Rain.”
E.E. Williams, Author 