‘Puter’s family took the death march back from his undisclosed beach adjacent vacation spot to his palatial Upstate hovel last Saturday. Fun was had from the beginning. For those not in the know, most beach rentals run Saturday to Saturday. ‘Puter, although he had flexibility, forgot all about the Saturday-Saturday issue. As such, ‘Puter found him esconced in East Coast traffic from Hell on his return trip. Great fun was had by all, as the ‘Puter family can surely attest, mostly from ‘Puter’s short-tempered foul mouthed rants about everything from Masshole drivers to Amish buggies. Here’s a true story illustrating the ‘Puter family’s travel hijinx.
‘Puter, in packing the car for return, realized he had neither tissues (for his snot nosed offspring) nor an appropriate receptacle into which to place the waste. As such, ‘Puter secured from Grandma ‘Puter a plastic grocery bag and a partial roll of paper towels. (‘Puter’s family does not have sensitive noses, and Grandma ‘Puter was out of tissues anyway). Little did ‘Puter realize his foresight in securing the bag and towels.
About an hour into the trip, the youngest ‘Puter in bumper-to-bumper gridlock declared “I don’t feel good.” Mrs. ‘Puter grabbed the grocery bag into which the youngest ‘Puter promptly deposited the contents of his stomach, cleaning him up with the paper towels. Nothing like exhaust fumes, heat and the stench of vomit to start one’s day off right!
After that fun episode, ‘Puter’s intestinal tract started feeling a bit out of sorts. “‘Puter’ll just make it to the next rest stop, and everything will work out fine,” ‘Puter thought to himself. Wrong. About 5 miles onto a toll road, and two miles from the nearest exit, ‘Puter found himself unable to hold nature’s little brown choo-choo train in the station any longer, if you catch his drift. So, off to the side of the interstate, hazards a-flashin’, and down the poison ivy covered bank with Brawny paper towels in hand went ‘Puter. After taking care of his difficulty and returning to his vehicle, the ‘Puter family proceeded to tool on ‘Puter for the remaining seven hours of the trip. Especially in Lancaster County, Pennsyltucky, where a horse drawing an Amish carriage relieved itself on the side of the road, “just like Dad” according to the young ‘Puters. Very frikkin’ funny.
In conclusion, ‘Puter would like to say that the Brawny paper towel folks make a fine product, more than capable of standing up to whatever body emissions your family decides to let loose on a long range car trip. And, if readers are good, ‘Puter may regale you with further vacation stories. If readers are not good, ‘Puter’ll ruing your lunches again.
Always right, unless he isn’t, the infallible Ghettoputer F. X. Gormogons claims to be an in-law of the Volgi, although no one really believes this.
’Puter carefully follows economic and financial trends, legal affairs, and serves as the Gormogons’ financial and legal advisor. He successfully defended us against a lawsuit from a liquor distributor worth hundreds of thousands of dollars in unpaid deliveries of bootleg shandies.
The Geep has an IQ so high it is untestable and attempts to measure it have resulted in dangerously unstable results as well as injuries to researchers. Coincidentally, he publishes intelligence tests as a side gig.
His sarcasm is so highly developed it borders on the psychic, and he is often able to insult a person even before meeting them. ’Puter enjoys hunting small game with 000 slugs and punt guns, correcting homilies in real time at Mass, and undermining unions. ’Puter likes to wear a hockey mask and carry an axe into public campgrounds, where he bursts into people’s tents and screams. As you might expect, he has been shot several times but remains completely undeterred.
He assures us that his obsessive fawning over news stories involving women teachers sleeping with young students is not Freudian in any way, although he admits something similar once happened to him. Uniquely, ’Puter is unable to speak, read, or write Russian, but he is able to sing it fluently.
Geep joined the order in the mid-1980s. He arrived at the Castle door with dozens of steamer trunks and an inarticulate hissing creature of astonishingly low intelligence he calls “Sleestak.” Ghettoputer appears to make his wishes known to Sleestak, although no one is sure whether this is the result of complex sign language, expert body posture reading, or simply beating Sleestak with a rubber mallet.
‘Puter suggests the Czar suck it.