Alphabet Story

Re: Second Alphabet Story

Ale and gin don't mix, everybody knows that. But I guess I wasn't paying attention on that particular day in Life's Lessons 101.

Connie Macintosh entered my office with her hands behind her back, and I knew instantly that it wasn't going to be my day.

"Dang it, Connie--that better not be another live tarantula you're hiding--these practical jokes are getting pretty stale," I told her.

Evil Mac, as they all called her, simply looked at me with a bland expression. She slowly pulled her right hand from behind her back. I gasped when I saw what was in her hand.

"For heaven's sake, Connie! Where on earth did you get a diamond that freakin' huge?" I said.

"Guy give it to me last night, I guess," she said. For her, that was articulate. Connie utters a coherent sentence about as often as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sings backup for 50 Cent.

"Heavens," I said. "You don't remember?"

"I'm s'posed to remember something?" she asked. She screwed her face up in concentration. It looked painful. I hate to see her in such misery so I decided to help her out.

"Jack," I said helpfully. "Was it something to do with Jack?"

"Kid," she said. "Jus' one a' them kids. Was two kids by the market – um, three kids countin' the girl. I went for crackers an', um, that butter stuff that don't jam up your tubes, ya know. Not the possibly-high dragon-ate-it kind. I can count the girl, right? Yeah. Three. They was three. He gimme this" – she held up the diamond – "and said to hide it good. And then they run off." I sighed. The day Connie learns to say margarine will be the day my deceased paternal grandmother takes a job as a forklift driver.

Re: Second Alphabet Story

Ale and gin don't mix, everybody knows that. But I guess I wasn't paying attention on that particular day in Life's Lessons 101.

Connie Macintosh entered my office with her hands behind her back, and I knew instantly that it wasn't going to be my day.

"Dang it, Connie--that better not be another live tarantula you're hiding--these practical jokes are getting pretty stale," I told her.

Evil Mac, as they all called her, simply looked at me with a bland expression. She slowly pulled her right hand from behind her back. I gasped when I saw what was in her hand.

"For heaven's sake, Connie! Where on earth did you get a diamond that freakin' huge?" I said.

"Guy give it to me last night, I guess," she said. For her, that was articulate. Connie utters a coherent sentence about as often as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sings backup for 50 Cent.

"Heavens," I said. "You don't remember?"

"I'm s'posed to remember something?" she asked. She screwed her face up in concentration. It looked painful. I hate to see her in such misery so I decided to help her out.

"Jack," I said helpfully. "Was it something to do with Jack?"

"Kid," she said. "Jus' one a' them kids. Was two kids by the market – um, three kids countin' the girl. I went for crackers an', um, that butter stuff that don't jam up your tubes, ya know. Not the possibly-high dragon-ate-it kind. I can count the girl, right? Yeah. Three. They was three. He gimme this" – she held up the diamond – "and said to hide it good. And then they run off." I sighed. The day Connie learns to say margarine will be the day my deceased paternal grandmother takes a job as a forklift driver.

Losing her mind seemed to be a favorite pasttime for her. I took the diamond from her hand and told her to make herself a drink while I examine the monstrous gem closely.

Re: Second Alphabet Story

Ale and gin don't mix, everybody knows that. But I guess I wasn't paying attention on that particular day in Life's Lessons 101.

Connie Macintosh entered my office with her hands behind her back, and I knew instantly that it wasn't going to be my day.

"Dang it, Connie--that better not be another live tarantula you're hiding--these practical jokes are getting pretty stale," I told her.

Evil Mac, as they all called her, simply looked at me with a bland expression. She slowly pulled her right hand from behind her back. I gasped when I saw what was in her hand.

"For heaven's sake, Connie! Where on earth did you get a diamond that freakin' huge?" I said.

"Guy give it to me last night, I guess," she said. For her, that was articulate. Connie utters a coherent sentence about as often as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sings backup for 50 Cent.

"Heavens," I said. "You don't remember?"

"I'm s'posed to remember something?" she asked. She screwed her face up in concentration. It looked painful. I hate to see her in such misery so I decided to help her out.

"Jack," I said helpfully. "Was it something to do with Jack?"

"Kid," she said. "Jus' one a' them kids. Was two kids by the market – um, three kids countin' the girl. I went for crackers an', um, that butter stuff that don't jam up your tubes, ya know. Not the possibly-high dragon-ate-it kind. I can count the girl, right? Yeah. Three. They was three. He gimme this" – she held up the diamond – "and said to hide it good. And then they run off." I sighed. The day Connie learns to say margarine will be the day my deceased paternal grandmother takes a job as a forklift driver.

Losing her mind seemed to be a favorite pasttime for her. I took the diamond from her hand and told her to make herself a drink while I examine the monstrous gem closely.

"Make me one too, while you're at it," I said. Big mistake.

Re: Second Alphabet Story

Ale and gin don't mix, everybody knows that. But I guess I wasn't paying attention on that particular day in Life's Lessons 101.

Connie Macintosh entered my office with her hands behind her back, and I knew instantly that it wasn't going to be my day.

"Dang it, Connie--that better not be another live tarantula you're hiding--these practical jokes are getting pretty stale," I told her.

Evil Mac, as they all called her, simply looked at me with a bland expression. She slowly pulled her right hand from behind her back. I gasped when I saw what was in her hand.

"For heaven's sake, Connie! Where on earth did you get a diamond that freakin' huge?" I said.

"Guy give it to me last night, I guess," she said. For her, that was articulate. Connie utters a coherent sentence about as often as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sings backup for 50 Cent.

"Heavens," I said. "You don't remember?"

"I'm s'posed to remember something?" she asked. She screwed her face up in concentration. It looked painful. I hate to see her in such misery so I decided to help her out.

"Jack," I said helpfully. "Was it something to do with Jack?"

"Kid," she said. "Jus' one a' them kids. Was two kids by the market – um, three kids countin' the girl. I went for crackers an', um, that butter stuff that don't jam up your tubes, ya know. Not the possibly-high dragon-ate-it kind. I can count the girl, right? Yeah. Three. They was three. He gimme this" – she held up the diamond – "and said to hide it good. And then they run off." I sighed. The day Connie learns to say margarine will be the day my deceased paternal grandmother takes a job as a forklift driver.

Losing her mind seemed to be a favorite pasttime for her. I took the diamond from her hand and told her to make herself a drink while I examine the monstrous gem closely.

"Make me one too, while you're at it," I said. Big mistake.

Never drink ale and gin while doing something important. Temporary alcohol-induced blindness does not make examining a diamond an easy task. It also gives you one heck of a headache the next morning.

Re: Second Alphabet Story

Ale and gin don't mix, everybody knows that. But I guess I wasn't paying attention on that particular day in Life's Lessons 101.

Connie Macintosh entered my office with her hands behind her back, and I knew instantly that it wasn't going to be my day.

"Dang it, Connie--that better not be another live tarantula you're hiding--these practical jokes are getting pretty stale," I told her.

Evil Mac, as they all called her, simply looked at me with a bland expression. She slowly pulled her right hand from behind her back. I gasped when I saw what was in her hand.

"For heaven's sake, Connie! Where on earth did you get a diamond that freakin' huge?" I said.

"Guy give it to me last night, I guess," she said. For her, that was articulate. Connie utters a coherent sentence about as often as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sings backup for 50 Cent.

"Heavens," I said. "You don't remember?"

"I'm s'posed to remember something?" she asked. She screwed her face up in concentration. It looked painful. I hate to see her in such misery so I decided to help her out.

"Jack," I said helpfully. "Was it something to do with Jack?"

"Kid," she said. "Jus' one a' them kids. Was two kids by the market – um, three kids countin' the girl. I went for crackers an', um, that butter stuff that don't jam up your tubes, ya know. Not the possibly-high dragon-ate-it kind. I can count the girl, right? Yeah. Three. They was three. He gimme this" – she held up the diamond – "and said to hide it good. And then they run off." I sighed. The day Connie learns to say margarine will be the day my deceased paternal grandmother takes a job as a forklift driver.

Losing her mind seemed to be a favorite pasttime for her. I took the diamond from her hand and told her to make herself a drink while I examine the monstrous gem closely.

"Make me one too, while you're at it," I said. Big mistake.

Never drink ale and gin while doing something important. Temporary alcohol-induced blindness does not make examining a diamond an easy task. It also gives you one heck of a headache the next morning.

On the other hand, I saw the ale bottle was empty. Connie poured out what was left in the gin bottle and reached for--oh no! Not Worchestershire sauce!

Re: Second Alphabet Story

Ale and gin don't mix, everybody knows that. But I guess I wasn't paying attention on that particular day in Life's Lessons 101.

Connie Macintosh entered my office with her hands behind her back, and I knew instantly that it wasn't going to be my day.

"Dang it, Connie--that better not be another live tarantula you're hiding--these practical jokes are getting pretty stale," I told her.

Evil Mac, as they all called her, simply looked at me with a bland expression. She slowly pulled her right hand from behind her back. I gasped when I saw what was in her hand.

"For heaven's sake, Connie! Where on earth did you get a diamond that freakin' huge?" I said.

"Guy give it to me last night, I guess," she said. For her, that was articulate. Connie utters a coherent sentence about as often as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sings backup for 50 Cent.

"Heavens," I said. "You don't remember?"

"I'm s'posed to remember something?" she asked. She screwed her face up in concentration. It looked painful. I hate to see her in such misery so I decided to help her out.

"Jack," I said helpfully. "Was it something to do with Jack?"

"Kid," she said. "Jus' one a' them kids. Was two kids by the market – um, three kids countin' the girl. I went for crackers an', um, that butter stuff that don't jam up your tubes, ya know. Not the possibly-high dragon-ate-it kind. I can count the girl, right? Yeah. Three. They was three. He gimme this" – she held up the diamond – "and said to hide it good. And then they run off." I sighed. The day Connie learns to say margarine will be the day my deceased paternal grandmother takes a job as a forklift driver.

Losing her mind seemed to be a favorite pasttime for her. I took the diamond from her hand and told her to make herself a drink while I examine the monstrous gem closely.

"Make me one too, while you're at it," I said. Big mistake.

Never drink ale and gin while doing something important. Temporary alcohol-induced blindness does not make examining a diamond an easy task. It also gives you one heck of a headache the next morning.

On the other hand, I saw the ale bottle was empty. Connie poured out what was left in the gin bottle and reached for--oh no! Not Worchestershire sauce!

Poor girl couldn't mix a proper drink any more than she could talk. Too late, though – by the time I'd swallowed three glasses of her original concoction, I was in no shape to reflect rationally on just how original it was. I felt as loose as a lubricated crash-test dummy riding a roller coaster, and as competent as one when it came to complex tasks such as standing up.

Re: Second Alphabet Story

Ale and gin don't mix, everybody knows that. But I guess I wasn't paying attention on that particular day in Life's Lessons 101.

Connie Macintosh entered my office with her hands behind her back, and I knew instantly that it wasn't going to be my day.

"Dang it, Connie--that better not be another live tarantula you're hiding--these practical jokes are getting pretty stale," I told her.

Evil Mac, as they all called her, simply looked at me with a bland expression. She slowly pulled her right hand from behind her back. I gasped when I saw what was in her hand.

"For heaven's sake, Connie! Where on earth did you get a diamond that freakin' huge?" I said.

"Guy give it to me last night, I guess," she said. For her, that was articulate. Connie utters a coherent sentence about as often as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sings backup for 50 Cent.

"Heavens," I said. "You don't remember?"

"I'm s'posed to remember something?" she asked. She screwed her face up in concentration. It looked painful. I hate to see her in such misery so I decided to help her out.

"Jack," I said helpfully. "Was it something to do with Jack?"

"Kid," she said. "Jus' one a' them kids. Was two kids by the market – um, three kids countin' the girl. I went for crackers an', um, that butter stuff that don't jam up your tubes, ya know. Not the possibly-high dragon-ate-it kind. I can count the girl, right? Yeah. Three. They was three. He gimme this" – she held up the diamond – "and said to hide it good. And then they run off." I sighed. The day Connie learns to say margarine will be the day my deceased paternal grandmother takes a job as a forklift driver.

Losing her mind seemed to be a favorite pasttime for her. I took the diamond from her hand and told her to make herself a drink while I examine the monstrous gem closely.

"Make me one too, while you're at it," I said. Big mistake.

Never drink ale and gin while doing something important. Temporary alcohol-induced blindness does not make examining a diamond an easy task. It also gives you one heck of a headache the next morning.

On the other hand, I saw the ale bottle was empty. Connie poured out what was left in the gin bottle and reached for--oh no! Not Worchestershire sauce!

Poor girl couldn't mix a proper drink any more than she could talk. Too late, though – by the time I'd swallowed three glasses of her original concoction, I was in no shape to reflect rationally on just how original it was. I felt as loose as a lubricated crash-test dummy riding a roller coaster, and as competent as one when it came to complex tasks such as standing up.

Quartz tends to look like diamond under such conditions. That's about all I can say to explain the mistake I made next.

Re: Second Alphabet Story

Ale and gin don't mix, everybody knows that. But I guess I wasn't paying attention on that particular day in Life's Lessons 101.

Connie Macintosh entered my office with her hands behind her back, and I knew instantly that it wasn't going to be my day.

"Dang it, Connie--that better not be another live tarantula you're hiding--these practical jokes are getting pretty stale," I told her.

Evil Mac, as they all called her, simply looked at me with a bland expression. She slowly pulled her right hand from behind her back. I gasped when I saw what was in her hand.

"For heaven's sake, Connie! Where on earth did you get a diamond that freakin' huge?" I said.

"Guy give it to me last night, I guess," she said. For her, that was articulate. Connie utters a coherent sentence about as often as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sings backup for 50 Cent.

"Heavens," I said. "You don't remember?"

"I'm s'posed to remember something?" she asked. She screwed her face up in concentration. It looked painful. I hate to see her in such misery so I decided to help her out.

"Jack," I said helpfully. "Was it something to do with Jack?"

"Kid," she said. "Jus' one a' them kids. Was two kids by the market – um, three kids countin' the girl. I went for crackers an', um, that butter stuff that don't jam up your tubes, ya know. Not the possibly-high dragon-ate-it kind. I can count the girl, right? Yeah. Three. They was three. He gimme this" – she held up the diamond – "and said to hide it good. And then they run off." I sighed. The day Connie learns to say margarine will be the day my deceased paternal grandmother takes a job as a forklift driver.

Losing her mind seemed to be a favorite pasttime for her. I took the diamond from her hand and told her to make herself a drink while I examine the monstrous gem closely.

"Make me one too, while you're at it," I said. Big mistake.

Never drink ale and gin while doing something important. Temporary alcohol-induced blindness does not make examining a diamond an easy task. It also gives you one heck of a headache the next morning.

On the other hand, I saw the ale bottle was empty. Connie poured out what was left in the gin bottle and reached for--oh no! Not Worchestershire sauce!

Poor girl couldn't mix a proper drink any more than she could talk. Too late, though – by the time I'd swallowed three glasses of her original concoction, I was in no shape to reflect rationally on just how original it was. I felt as loose as a lubricated crash-test dummy riding a roller coaster, and as competent as one when it came to complex tasks such as standing up.

Quartz tends to look like diamond under such conditions. That's about all I can say to explain the mistake I made next.

Rocks of any kind would have looked alike to me under the influence of Evil Mac's vile mixture. I know that sounds strange, coming from a man with his own rock collection. Not to mention a father of three who's always warned his offspring of the dangers of drinking.

Re: Second Alphabet Story

Ale and gin don't mix, everybody knows that. But I guess I wasn't paying attention on that particular day in Life's Lessons 101.

Connie Macintosh entered my office with her hands behind her back, and I knew instantly that it wasn't going to be my day.

"Dang it, Connie--that better not be another live tarantula you're hiding--these practical jokes are getting pretty stale," I told her.

Evil Mac, as they all called her, simply looked at me with a bland expression. She slowly pulled her right hand from behind her back. I gasped when I saw what was in her hand.

"For heaven's sake, Connie! Where on earth did you get a diamond that freakin' huge?" I said.

"Guy give it to me last night, I guess," she said. For her, that was articulate. Connie utters a coherent sentence about as often as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sings backup for 50 Cent.

"Heavens," I said. "You don't remember?"

"I'm s'posed to remember something?" she asked. She screwed her face up in concentration. It looked painful. I hate to see her in such misery so I decided to help her out.

"Jack," I said helpfully. "Was it something to do with Jack?"

"Kid," she said. "Jus' one a' them kids. Was two kids by the market – um, three kids countin' the girl. I went for crackers an', um, that butter stuff that don't jam up your tubes, ya know. Not the possibly-high dragon-ate-it kind. I can count the girl, right? Yeah. Three. They was three. He gimme this" – she held up the diamond – "and said to hide it good. And then they run off." I sighed. The day Connie learns to say margarine will be the day my deceased paternal grandmother takes a job as a forklift driver.

Losing her mind seemed to be a favorite pasttime for her. I took the diamond from her hand and told her to make herself a drink while I examine the monstrous gem closely.

"Make me one too, while you're at it," I said. Big mistake.

Never drink ale and gin while doing something important. Temporary alcohol-induced blindness does not make examining a diamond an easy task. It also gives you one heck of a headache the next morning.

On the other hand, I saw the ale bottle was empty. Connie poured out what was left in the gin bottle and reached for--oh no! Not Worchestershire sauce!

Poor girl couldn't mix a proper drink any more than she could talk. Too late, though – by the time I'd swallowed three glasses of her original concoction, I was in no shape to reflect rationally on just how original it was. I felt as loose as a lubricated crash-test dummy riding a roller coaster, and as competent as one when it came to complex tasks such as standing up.

Quartz tends to look like diamond under such conditions. That's about all I can say to explain the mistake I made next.

Rocks of any kind would have looked alike to me under the influence of Evil Mac's vile mixture. I know that sounds strange, coming from a man with his own rock collection. Not to mention a father of three who's always warned his offspring of the dangers of drinking.

Still, even though I damn well knew better, I took my jeweler's loupe that I got off Ebay for thirteen bucks plus shipping, stuck it in my eye and settled down to examine Connie's stone.

Re: Second Alphabet Story

Ale and gin don't mix, everybody knows that. But I guess I wasn't paying attention on that particular day in Life's Lessons 101.

Connie Macintosh entered my office with her hands behind her back, and I knew instantly that it wasn't going to be my day.

"Dang it, Connie--that better not be another live tarantula you're hiding--these practical jokes are getting pretty stale," I told her.

Evil Mac, as they all called her, simply looked at me with a bland expression. She slowly pulled her right hand from behind her back. I gasped when I saw what was in her hand.

"For heaven's sake, Connie! Where on earth did you get a diamond that freakin' huge?" I said.

"Guy give it to me last night, I guess," she said. For her, that was articulate. Connie utters a coherent sentence about as often as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sings backup for 50 Cent.

"Heavens," I said. "You don't remember?"

"I'm s'posed to remember something?" she asked. She screwed her face up in concentration. It looked painful. I hate to see her in such misery so I decided to help her out.

"Jack," I said helpfully. "Was it something to do with Jack?"

"Kid," she said. "Jus' one a' them kids. Was two kids by the market – um, three kids countin' the girl. I went for crackers an', um, that butter stuff that don't jam up your tubes, ya know. Not the possibly-high dragon-ate-it kind. I can count the girl, right? Yeah. Three. They was three. He gimme this" – she held up the diamond – "and said to hide it good. And then they run off." I sighed. The day Connie learns to say margarine will be the day my deceased paternal grandmother takes a job as a forklift driver.

Losing her mind seemed to be a favorite pasttime for her. I took the diamond from her hand and told her to make herself a drink while I examine the monstrous gem closely.

"Make me one too, while you're at it," I said. Big mistake.

Never drink ale and gin while doing something important. Temporary alcohol-induced blindness does not make examining a diamond an easy task. It also gives you one heck of a headache the next morning.

On the other hand, I saw the ale bottle was empty. Connie poured out what was left in the gin bottle and reached for--oh no! Not Worchestershire sauce!

Poor girl couldn't mix a proper drink any more than she could talk. Too late, though – by the time I'd swallowed three glasses of her original concoction, I was in no shape to reflect rationally on just how original it was. I felt as loose as a lubricated crash-test dummy riding a roller coaster, and as competent as one when it came to complex tasks such as standing up.

Quartz tends to look like diamond under such conditions. That's about all I can say to explain the mistake I made next.

Rocks of any kind would have looked alike to me under the influence of Evil Mac's vile mixture. I know that sounds strange, coming from a man with his own rock collection. Not to mention a father of three who's always warned his offspring of the dangers of drinking.

Still, even though I damn well knew better, I took my jeweler's loupe that I got off Ebay for thirteen bucks plus shipping, stuck it in my eye and settled down to examine Connie's stone.

To make a long story short, my buddies in the mineralogical society used to call me Semiprecious Sid, but it's been Semistupid Sid ever since word got out that I called the cops that day to report finding a "large, valuable gem, probably stolen."

RE: second alphabet story

Ale and gin don't mix, everybody knows that. But I guess I wasn't paying attention on that particular day in Life's Lessons 101.

Connie Macintosh entered my office with her hands behind her back, and I knew instantly that it wasn't going to be my day.

"Dang it, Connie--that better not be another live tarantula you're hiding--these practical jokes are getting pretty stale," I told her.

Evil Mac, as they all called her, simply looked at me with a bland expression. She slowly pulled her right hand from behind her back. I gasped when I saw what was in her hand.

"For heaven's sake, Connie! Where on earth did you get a diamond that freakin' huge?" I said.

"Guy give it to me last night, I guess," she said. For her, that was articulate. Connie utters a coherent sentence about as often as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sings backup for 50 Cent.

"Heavens," I said. "You don't remember?"

"I'm s'posed to remember something?" she asked. She screwed her face up in concentration. It looked painful. I hate to see her in such misery so I decided to help her out.

"Jack," I said helpfully. "Was it something to do with Jack?"

"Kid," she said. "Jus' one a' them kids. Was two kids by the market – um, three kids countin' the girl. I went for crackers an', um, that butter stuff that don't jam up your tubes, ya know. Not the possibly-high dragon-ate-it kind. I can count the girl, right? Yeah. Three. They was three. He gimme this" – she held up the diamond – "and said to hide it good. And then they run off." I sighed. The day Connie learns to say margarine will be the day my deceased paternal grandmother takes a job as a forklift driver.

Losing her mind seemed to be a favorite pasttime for her. I took the diamond from her hand and told her to make herself a drink while I examine the monstrous gem closely.

"Make me one too, while you're at it," I said. Big mistake.

Never drink ale and gin while doing something important. Temporary alcohol-induced blindness does not make examining a diamond an easy task. It also gives you one heck of a headache the next morning.

On the other hand, I saw the ale bottle was empty. Connie poured out what was left in the gin bottle and reached for--oh no! Not Worchestershire sauce!

Poor girl couldn't mix a proper drink any more than she could talk. Too late, though – by the time I'd swallowed three glasses of her original concoction, I was in no shape to reflect rationally on just how original it was. I felt as loose as a lubricated crash-test dummy riding a roller coaster, and as competent as one when it came to complex tasks such as standing up.

Quartz tends to look like diamond under such conditions. That's about all I can say to explain the mistake I made next.

Rocks of any kind would have looked alike to me under the influence of Evil Mac's vile mixture. I know that sounds strange, coming from a man with his own rock collection. Not to mention a father of three who's always warned his offspring of the dangers of drinking.

Still, even though I damn well knew better, I took my jeweler's loupe that I got off Ebay for thirteen bucks plus shipping, stuck it in my eye and settled down to examine Connie's stone.

To make a long story short, my buddies in the mineralogical society used to call me Semiprecious Sid, but it's been Semistupid Sid ever since word got out that I called the cops that day to report finding a "large, valuable gem, probably stolen."

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have touched this one with a ten foot pole. But, something in that drink made Connie strangely attractive, and I couldn't stop myself from wanting to help her.

Re: RE: second alphabet story

Ale and gin don't mix, everybody knows that. But I guess I wasn't paying attention on that particular day in Life's Lessons 101.

Connie Macintosh entered my office with her hands behind her back, and I knew instantly that it wasn't going to be my day.

"Dang it, Connie--that better not be another live tarantula you're hiding--these practical jokes are getting pretty stale," I told her.

Evil Mac, as they all called her, simply looked at me with a bland expression. She slowly pulled her right hand from behind her back. I gasped when I saw what was in her hand.

"For heaven's sake, Connie! Where on earth did you get a diamond that freakin' huge?" I said.

"Guy give it to me last night, I guess," she said. For her, that was articulate. Connie utters a coherent sentence about as often as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sings backup for 50 Cent.

"Heavens," I said. "You don't remember?"

"I'm s'posed to remember something?" she asked. She screwed her face up in concentration. It looked painful. I hate to see her in such misery so I decided to help her out.

"Jack," I said helpfully. "Was it something to do with Jack?"

"Kid," she said. "Jus' one a' them kids. Was two kids by the market – um, three kids countin' the girl. I went for crackers an', um, that butter stuff that don't jam up your tubes, ya know. Not the possibly-high dragon-ate-it kind. I can count the girl, right? Yeah. Three. They was three. He gimme this" – she held up the diamond – "and said to hide it good. And then they run off." I sighed. The day Connie learns to say margarine will be the day my deceased paternal grandmother takes a job as a forklift driver.

Losing her mind seemed to be a favorite pasttime for her. I took the diamond from her hand and told her to make herself a drink while I examine the monstrous gem closely.

"Make me one too, while you're at it," I said. Big mistake.

Never drink ale and gin while doing something important. Temporary alcohol-induced blindness does not make examining a diamond an easy task. It also gives you one heck of a headache the next morning.

On the other hand, I saw the ale bottle was empty. Connie poured out what was left in the gin bottle and reached for--oh no! Not Worchestershire sauce!

Poor girl couldn't mix a proper drink any more than she could talk. Too late, though – by the time I'd swallowed three glasses of her original concoction, I was in no shape to reflect rationally on just how original it was. I felt as loose as a lubricated crash-test dummy riding a roller coaster, and as competent as one when it came to complex tasks such as standing up.

Quartz tends to look like diamond under such conditions. That's about all I can say to explain the mistake I made next.

Rocks of any kind would have looked alike to me under the influence of Evil Mac's vile mixture. I know that sounds strange, coming from a man with his own rock collection. Not to mention a father of three who's always warned his offspring of the dangers of drinking.

Still, even though I damn well knew better, I took my jeweler's loupe that I got off Ebay for thirteen bucks plus shipping, stuck it in my eye and settled down to examine Connie's stone.

To make a long story short, my buddies in the mineralogical society used to call me Semiprecious Sid, but it's been Semistupid Sid ever since word got out that I called the cops that day to report finding a "large, valuable gem, probably stolen."

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have touched this one with a ten foot pole. But, something in that drink made Connie strangely attractive, and I couldn't stop myself from wanting to help her.

Very attractive indeed. With her eyes resembling those of a cat fish out of Three Mile Island and an (melted) hour-glass figure, I found myself incredibly aroused, wanted to see her with nothing on except for the gem in a very strategic location.

Re: second alphabet story

(Ray, keep your mind on your work. We've got to wrap up the plot in only four more steps.)


Ale and gin don't mix, everybody knows that. But I guess I wasn't paying attention on that particular day in Life's Lessons 101.

Connie Macintosh entered my office with her hands behind her back, and I knew instantly that it wasn't going to be my day.

"Dang it, Connie--that better not be another live tarantula you're hiding--these practical jokes are getting pretty stale," I told her.

Evil Mac, as they all called her, simply looked at me with a bland expression. She slowly pulled her right hand from behind her back. I gasped when I saw what was in her hand.

"For heaven's sake, Connie! Where on earth did you get a diamond that freakin' huge?" I said.

"Guy give it to me last night, I guess," she said. For her, that was articulate. Connie utters a coherent sentence about as often as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sings backup for 50 Cent.

"Heavens," I said. "You don't remember?"

"I'm s'posed to remember something?" she asked. She screwed her face up in concentration. It looked painful. I hate to see her in such misery so I decided to help her out.

"Jack," I said helpfully. "Was it something to do with Jack?"

"Kid," she said. "Jus' one a' them kids. Was two kids by the market – um, three kids countin' the girl. I went for crackers an', um, that butter stuff that don't jam up your tubes, ya know. Not the possibly-high dragon-ate-it kind. I can count the girl, right? Yeah. Three. They was three. He gimme this" – she held up the diamond – "and said to hide it good. And then they run off." I sighed. The day Connie learns to say margarine will be the day my deceased paternal grandmother takes a job as a forklift driver.

Losing her mind seemed to be a favorite pasttime for her. I took the diamond from her hand and told her to make herself a drink while I examine the monstrous gem closely.

"Make me one too, while you're at it," I said. Big mistake.

Never drink ale and gin while doing something important. Temporary alcohol-induced blindness does not make examining a diamond an easy task. It also gives you one heck of a headache the next morning.

On the other hand, I saw the ale bottle was empty. Connie poured out what was left in the gin bottle and reached for--oh no! Not Worchestershire sauce!

Poor girl couldn't mix a proper drink any more than she could talk. Too late, though – by the time I'd swallowed three glasses of her original concoction, I was in no shape to reflect rationally on just how original it was. I felt as loose as a lubricated crash-test dummy riding a roller coaster, and as competent as one when it came to complex tasks such as standing up.

Quartz tends to look like diamond under such conditions. That's about all I can say to explain the mistake I made next.

Rocks of any kind would have looked alike to me under the influence of Evil Mac's vile mixture. I know that sounds strange, coming from a man with his own rock collection. Not to mention a father of three who's always warned his offspring of the dangers of drinking.

Still, even though I damn well knew better, I took my jeweler's loupe that I got off Ebay for thirteen bucks plus shipping, stuck it in my eye and settled down to examine Connie's stone.

To make a long story short, my buddies in the mineralogical society used to call me Semiprecious Sid, but it's been Semistupid Sid ever since word got out that I called the cops that day to report finding a "large, valuable gem, probably stolen."

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have touched this one with a ten foot pole. But, something in that drink made Connie strangely attractive, and I couldn't stop myself from wanting to help her.

Very attractive indeed. With her eyes resembling those of a cat fish out of Three Mile Island and an (melted) hour-glass figure, I found myself incredibly aroused, wanted to see her with nothing on except for the gem in a very strategic location.

Well, there's nothing like a surprise visit from a fifteen-year-old daughter to end that kind of reverie. Xanthippe ran into my office, looked at me, and said "Daddy, how did you find your birthday present so early?" Evil Mac stared at her and screamed "That's the girl!" I was too drunk to run, so I opted for burrowing instead. I slid under my desk faster than a bait-and-switch appliance salesman shows a little old lady who came in for a one-burner hot plate to the top-of-the-line range with convection oven.

Re: second alphabet story

Ale and gin don't mix, everybody knows that. But I guess I wasn't paying attention on that particular day in Life's Lessons 101.

Connie Macintosh entered my office with her hands behind her back, and I knew instantly that it wasn't going to be my day.

"Dang it, Connie--that better not be another live tarantula you're hiding--these practical jokes are getting pretty stale," I told her.

Evil Mac, as they all called her, simply looked at me with a bland expression. She slowly pulled her right hand from behind her back. I gasped when I saw what was in her hand.

"For heaven's sake, Connie! Where on earth did you get a diamond that freakin' huge?" I said.

"Guy give it to me last night, I guess," she said. For her, that was articulate. Connie utters a coherent sentence about as often as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sings backup for 50 Cent.

"Heavens," I said. "You don't remember?"

"I'm s'posed to remember something?" she asked. She screwed her face up in concentration. It looked painful. I hate to see her in such misery so I decided to help her out.

"Jack," I said helpfully. "Was it something to do with Jack?"

"Kid," she said. "Jus' one a' them kids. Was two kids by the market – um, three kids countin' the girl. I went for crackers an', um, that butter stuff that don't jam up your tubes, ya know. Not the possibly-high dragon-ate-it kind. I can count the girl, right? Yeah. Three. They was three. He gimme this" – she held up the diamond – "and said to hide it good. And then they run off." I sighed. The day Connie learns to say margarine will be the day my deceased paternal grandmother takes a job as a forklift driver.

Losing her mind seemed to be a favorite pasttime for her. I took the diamond from her hand and told her to make herself a drink while I examine the monstrous gem closely.

"Make me one too, while you're at it," I said. Big mistake.

Never drink ale and gin while doing something important. Temporary alcohol-induced blindness does not make examining a diamond an easy task. It also gives you one heck of a headache the next morning.

On the other hand, I saw the ale bottle was empty. Connie poured out what was left in the gin bottle and reached for--oh no! Not Worchestershire sauce!

Poor girl couldn't mix a proper drink any more than she could talk. Too late, though – by the time I'd swallowed three glasses of her original concoction, I was in no shape to reflect rationally on just how original it was. I felt as loose as a lubricated crash-test dummy riding a roller coaster, and as competent as one when it came to complex tasks such as standing up.

Quartz tends to look like diamond under such conditions. That's about all I can say to explain the mistake I made next.

Rocks of any kind would have looked alike to me under the influence of Evil Mac's vile mixture. I know that sounds strange, coming from a man with his own rock collection. Not to mention a father of three who's always warned his offspring of the dangers of drinking.

Still, even though I damn well knew better, I took my jeweler's loupe that I got off Ebay for thirteen bucks plus shipping, stuck it in my eye and settled down to examine Connie's stone.

To make a long story short, my buddies in the mineralogical society used to call me Semiprecious Sid, but it's been Semistupid Sid ever since word got out that I called the cops that day to report finding a "large, valuable gem, probably stolen."

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have touched this one with a ten foot pole. But, something in that drink made Connie strangely attractive, and I couldn't stop myself from wanting to help her.

Very attractive indeed. With her eyes resembling those of a cat fish out of Three Mile Island and an (melted) hour-glass figure, I found myself incredibly aroused, wanted to see her with nothing on except for the gem in a very strategic location.

Well, there's nothing like a surprise visit from a fifteen-year-old daughter to end that kind of reverie. Xanthippe ran into my office, looked at me, and said "Daddy, how did you find your birthday present so early?" Evil Mac stared at her and screamed "That's the girl!" I was too drunk to run, so I opted for burrowing instead. I slid under my desk faster than a bait-and-switch appliance salesman shows a little old lady who came in for a one-burner hot plate to the top-of-the-line range with convection oven.

Xanthippe (thanks for the name, reph) screamed as Connie grabbed the rock and the cops came crashing in through the door.

Re: second alphabet story

Ale and gin don't mix, everybody knows that. But I guess I wasn't paying attention on that particular day in Life's Lessons 101.

Connie Macintosh entered my office with her hands behind her back, and I knew instantly that it wasn't going to be my day.

"Dang it, Connie--that better not be another live tarantula you're hiding--these practical jokes are getting pretty stale," I told her.

Evil Mac, as they all called her, simply looked at me with a bland expression. She slowly pulled her right hand from behind her back. I gasped when I saw what was in her hand.

"For heaven's sake, Connie! Where on earth did you get a diamond that freakin' huge?" I said.

"Guy give it to me last night, I guess," she said. For her, that was articulate. Connie utters a coherent sentence about as often as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sings backup for 50 Cent.

"Heavens," I said. "You don't remember?"

"I'm s'posed to remember something?" she asked. She screwed her face up in concentration. It looked painful. I hate to see her in such misery so I decided to help her out.

"Jack," I said helpfully. "Was it something to do with Jack?"

"Kid," she said. "Jus' one a' them kids. Was two kids by the market – um, three kids countin' the girl. I went for crackers an', um, that butter stuff that don't jam up your tubes, ya know. Not the possibly-high dragon-ate-it kind. I can count the girl, right? Yeah. Three. They was three. He gimme this" – she held up the diamond – "and said to hide it good. And then they run off." I sighed. The day Connie learns to say margarine will be the day my deceased paternal grandmother takes a job as a forklift driver.

Losing her mind seemed to be a favorite pasttime for her. I took the diamond from her hand and told her to make herself a drink while I examine the monstrous gem closely.

"Make me one too, while you're at it," I said. Big mistake.

Never drink ale and gin while doing something important. Temporary alcohol-induced blindness does not make examining a diamond an easy task. It also gives you one heck of a headache the next morning.

On the other hand, I saw the ale bottle was empty. Connie poured out what was left in the gin bottle and reached for--oh no! Not Worchestershire sauce!

Poor girl couldn't mix a proper drink any more than she could talk. Too late, though – by the time I'd swallowed three glasses of her original concoction, I was in no shape to reflect rationally on just how original it was. I felt as loose as a lubricated crash-test dummy riding a roller coaster, and as competent as one when it came to complex tasks such as standing up.

Quartz tends to look like diamond under such conditions. That's about all I can say to explain the mistake I made next.

Rocks of any kind would have looked alike to me under the influence of Evil Mac's vile mixture. I know that sounds strange, coming from a man with his own rock collection. Not to mention a father of three who's always warned his offspring of the dangers of drinking.

Still, even though I damn well knew better, I took my jeweler's loupe that I got off Ebay for thirteen bucks plus shipping, stuck it in my eye and settled down to examine Connie's stone.

To make a long story short, my buddies in the mineralogical society used to call me Semiprecious Sid, but it's been Semistupid Sid ever since word got out that I called the cops that day to report finding a "large, valuable gem, probably stolen."

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have touched this one with a ten foot pole. But, something in that drink made Connie strangely attractive, and I couldn't stop myself from wanting to help her.

Very attractive indeed. With her eyes resembling those of a cat fish out of Three Mile Island and an (melted) hour-glass figure, I found myself incredibly aroused, wanted to see her with nothing on except for the gem in a very strategic location.

Well, there's nothing like a surprise visit from a fifteen-year-old daughter to end that kind of reverie. Xanthippe ran into my office, looked at me, and said "Daddy, how did you find your birthday present so early?" Evil Mac stared at her and screamed "That's the girl!" I was too drunk to run, so I opted for burrowing instead. I slid under my desk faster than a bait-and-switch appliance salesman shows a little old lady who came in for a one-burner hot plate to the top-of-the-line range with convection oven.

Xanthippe (thanks for the name, reph) screamed as Connie grabbed the rock and the cops came crashing in through the door.

Yes, that was a day full of lessons for me. Lesson #1: Think of your family first. I'm ashamed to say it never occurred to me that my own sweet teenagers might have planned to give me that chunk of quartz for my rock collection. Lesson #2: Never drink anything Connie mixed. Lesson #3: When you're in a spot, it's convenient to have kids with names near the end of the alphabet. Right behind Xanthippe and the cops, in rushed my two boys – Yancey and Zack.

Re: second alphabet story

Good ending Reph!
:rofl

Re: second alphabet story

Ale and gin don't mix, everybody knows that. But I guess I wasn't paying attention on that particular day in Life's Lessons 101.

Connie Macintosh entered my office with her hands behind her back, and I knew instantly that it wasn't going to be my day.

"Dang it, Connie--that better not be another live tarantula you're hiding--these practical jokes are getting pretty stale," I told her.

Evil Mac, as they all called her, simply looked at me with a bland expression. She slowly pulled her right hand from behind her back. I gasped when I saw what was in her hand.

"For heaven's sake, Connie! Where on earth did you get a diamond that freakin' huge?" I said.

"Guy give it to me last night, I guess," she said. For her, that was articulate. Connie utters a coherent sentence about as often as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sings backup for 50 Cent.

"Heavens," I said. "You don't remember?"

"I'm s'posed to remember something?" she asked. She screwed her face up in concentration. It looked painful. I hate to see her in such misery so I decided to help her out.

"Jack," I said helpfully. "Was it something to do with Jack?"

"Kid," she said. "Jus' one a' them kids. Was two kids by the market – um, three kids countin' the girl. I went for crackers an', um, that butter stuff that don't jam up your tubes, ya know. Not the possibly-high dragon-ate-it kind. I can count the girl, right? Yeah. Three. They was three. He gimme this" – she held up the diamond – "and said to hide it good. And then they run off." I sighed. The day Connie learns to say margarine will be the day my deceased paternal grandmother takes a job as a forklift driver.

Losing her mind seemed to be a favorite pasttime for her. I took the diamond from her hand and told her to make herself a drink while I examine the monstrous gem closely.

"Make me one too, while you're at it," I said. Big mistake.

Never drink ale and gin while doing something important. Temporary alcohol-induced blindness does not make examining a diamond an easy task. It also gives you one heck of a headache the next morning.

On the other hand, I saw the ale bottle was empty. Connie poured out what was left in the gin bottle and reached for--oh no! Not Worchestershire sauce!

Poor girl couldn't mix a proper drink any more than she could talk. Too late, though – by the time I'd swallowed three glasses of her original concoction, I was in no shape to reflect rationally on just how original it was. I felt as loose as a lubricated crash-test dummy riding a roller coaster, and as competent as one when it came to complex tasks such as standing up.

Quartz tends to look like diamond under such conditions. That's about all I can say to explain the mistake I made next.

Rocks of any kind would have looked alike to me under the influence of Evil Mac's vile mixture. I know that sounds strange, coming from a man with his own rock collection. Not to mention a father of three who's always warned his offspring of the dangers of drinking.

Still, even though I damn well knew better, I took my jeweler's loupe that I got off Ebay for thirteen bucks plus shipping, stuck it in my eye and settled down to examine Connie's stone.

To make a long story short, my buddies in the mineralogical society used to call me Semiprecious Sid, but it's been Semistupid Sid ever since word got out that I called the cops that day to report finding a "large, valuable gem, probably stolen."

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have touched this one with a ten foot pole. But, something in that drink made Connie strangely attractive, and I couldn't stop myself from wanting to help her.

Very attractive indeed. With her eyes resembling those of a cat fish out of Three Mile Island and an (melted) hour-glass figure, I found myself incredibly aroused, wanted to see her with nothing on except for the gem in a very strategic location.

Well, there's nothing like a surprise visit from a fifteen-year-old daughter to end that kind of reverie. Xanthippe ran into my office, looked at me, and said "Daddy, how did you find your birthday present so early?" Evil Mac stared at her and screamed "That's the girl!" I was too drunk to run, so I opted for burrowing instead. I slid under my desk faster than a bait-and-switch appliance salesman shows a little old lady who came in for a one-burner hot plate to the top-of-the-line range with convection oven.

Xanthippe (thanks for the name, reph) screamed as Connie grabbed the rock and the cops came crashing in through the door.

Yes, that was a day full of lessons for me. Lesson #1: Think of your family first. I'm ashamed to say it never occurred to me that my own sweet teenagers might have planned to give me that chunk of quartz for my rock collection. Lesson #2: Never drink anything Connie mixed. Lesson #3: When you're in a spot, it's convenient to have kids with names near the end of the alphabet. Right behind Xanthippe and the cops, in rushed my two boys – Yancey and Zack.

Zack said, "Wait until Mom sees this." I looked down and realized, somehow, I wasn't wearing any pants. Instinctively I shoved the rock at my crotch to cover up. And thus, I learned my lesson #4: quartz and crotch don't mix.

Anyone up for a THIRD?

"Absolutely not!" Jane shouted through the open door. "Don't you even think of bringing that thing in here."

Re: Anyone up for a THIRD?

"Absolutely not!" Jane shouted through the open door. "Don't you even think of bringing that thing in here."

Bart held out the python and pleaded, "But honey, she has no where else to go."

Re: Anyone up for a THIRD?

"Absolutely not!" Jane shouted through the open door. "Don't you even think of bringing that thing in here."

Bart held out the python and pleaded, "But honey, she has no where else to go."

"Can't you see this is the small-mammal house? And don't 'honey' me, Barton! I'm your supervisor!" Jane set down the bucket and removed her rubber gloves. "Take her over to the Reptile Pavilion and ask Freddie what to do with her. You can't leave her here. The school kids start arriving in droves at 10:00."

Re: Anyone up for a THIRD?

"Absolutely not!" Jane shouted through the open door. "Don't you even think of bringing that thing in here."

Bart held out the python and pleaded, "But honey, she has no where else to go."

"Can't you see this is the small-mammal house? And don't 'honey' me, Barton! I'm your supervisor!" Jane set down the bucket and removed her rubber gloves. "Take her over to the Reptile Pavilion and ask Freddie what to do with her. You can't leave her here. The school kids start arriving in droves at 10:00."

"Darn it, Jane. She just came from the Reptile Pavilion. They threw her out. Some flimsy excuse about a contagious viral infection, or something like that. They were going to put her down and I couldn't let that happen--so I took her and went on the lam. Now you gotta help us!"

Re: Anyone up for a THIRD?

"Absolutely not!" Jane shouted through the open door. "Don't you even think of bringing that thing in here."

Bart held out the python and pleaded, "But honey, she has no where else to go."

"Can't you see this is the small-mammal house? And don't 'honey' me, Barton! I'm your supervisor!" Jane set down the bucket and removed her rubber gloves. "Take her over to the Reptile Pavilion and ask Freddie what to do with her. You can't leave her here. The school kids start arriving in droves at 10:00."

"Darn it, Jane. She just came from the Reptile Pavilion. They threw her out. Some flimsy excuse about a contagious viral infection, or something like that. They were going to put her down and I couldn't let that happen--so I took her and went on the lam. Now you gotta help us!"

"Effectively spreading the virus around the entire zoo? No way, Bart." Jane turned back to her desk but Bart's hopeless expression, those Cocker spaniel eyes of his, made her pause.

Re: Anyone up for a THIRD?

"Absolutely not!" Jane shouted through the open door. "Don't you even think of bringing that thing in here."

Bart held out the python and pleaded, "But honey, she has no where else to go."

"Can't you see this is the small-mammal house? And don't 'honey' me, Barton! I'm your supervisor!" Jane set down the bucket and removed her rubber gloves. "Take her over to the Reptile Pavilion and ask Freddie what to do with her. You can't leave her here. The school kids start arriving in droves at 10:00."

"Darn it, Jane. She just came from the Reptile Pavilion. They threw her out. Some flimsy excuse about a contagious viral infection, or something like that. They were going to put her down and I couldn't let that happen--so I took her and went on the lam. Now you gotta help us!"

"Effectively spreading the virus around the entire zoo? No way, Bart." Jane turned back to her desk but Bart's hopeless expression, those Cocker spaniel eyes of his, made her pause.

For a moment, Jane wished for an easier job. It had seemed so wonderful at the beginning, when she was a fresh-faced kid clutching her diploma. She'd thought that working with animals would never throw her a problem an honors graduate in zoology couldn't solve. But that was twenty years ago, and right now she had no idea what to do with Bart. Or with the python draped across his shoulders, raising its head occasionally to look around and flick its tongue. Searching for the scent of mice, no doubt.

Re: Anyone up for a THIRD?

"Get him into the clinic out back. But without anyone seeing you. Put the snake in a box or something. I'll examine him myself and then decide what to do. But you really better watch your step. This is the thinnest ice you've ever been on buddy." Bart grinned. He knew she was like a cactus; prickly on the outside, soft inside.

Re: Anyone up for a THIRD?

"Absolutely not!" Jane shouted through the open door. "Don't you even think of bringing that thing in here."

Bart held out the python and pleaded, "But honey, she has no where else to go."

"Can't you see this is the small-mammal house? And don't 'honey' me, Barton! I'm your supervisor!" Jane set down the bucket and removed her rubber gloves. "Take her over to the Reptile Pavilion and ask Freddie what to do with her. You can't leave her here. The school kids start arriving in droves at 10:00."

"Darn it, Jane. She just came from the Reptile Pavilion. They threw her out. Some flimsy excuse about a contagious viral infection, or something like that. They were going to put her down and I couldn't let that happen--so I took her and went on the lam. Now you gotta help us!"

"Effectively spreading the virus around the entire zoo? No way, Bart." Jane turned back to her desk but Bart's hopeless expression, those Cocker spaniel eyes of his, made her pause.

For a moment, Jane wished for an easier job. It had seemed so wonderful at the beginning, when she was a fresh-faced kid clutching her diploma. She'd thought that working with animals would never throw her a problem an honors graduate in zoology couldn't solve. But that was twenty years ago, and right now she had no idea what to do with Bart. Or with the python draped across his shoulders, raising its head occasionally to look around and flick its tongue. Searching for the scent of mice, no doubt.

"Get him into the clinic out back. But without anyone seeing you. Put the snale in a box or something. I'll examine him myself and then decide what to do. But you realy better watch your step. This is the thinnest ice you've ever been on." She was like a cactus; prickly on the outside, soft inside.

"Her--, I mean, She's a she-snake, Jane...you'll hurt her feelings--now that isn't what you want, is it?" Bart grinned.


(POV-shift Lisa? You wicked, wicked woman, you--okay, in ridiculously high-handed fashion, I edited very slightly--because otherwise it was gonna keep me up all night. My sincere apologies.)