Mike an' Liz Snowball Fite
When Mike an' Liz were supposta B out shovelling, they had a big ol' snowball fite instead. Here's what Liz hadta say abt it:
Apes
I told you Mike is evil, it is so nunfair, he told Mom I would shovel the driveway because I don't pay as much rent as him and I feel guilty, but ha ha ha then I got him back because I said, "Geez Mike don't you think you should feel guilty for taking that inside parking space and making Mom park outside?" and that did it, ha ha ha, so Mike had to shovel with me, and then what do you know, instead of working he starts throwing snowballs at me, so of course I had to throw one back, and we both have really good aim, we kept hitting each other in the head, and I decided that wasn't bad enough, so I shoved some snow down Mike's jacket, well then that horrible evil jerk did the most inforgiveable thing yet, he copied me and shoved snow down MY pants!!!, I screamed because no boy is supposed to go in a non married girl's pants least of all her brother, so I fwapped him upside the head again, then I think all those snowballs to the head got to us because we fell down in the snow and jerked and rolled around a lot, and made funny sounds when we grasped for air, later on I looked it up on Dr. Nick's DiagnoseUrself.com, I think we gave each other seizures from the head trauma of the snowballs, I'm not sure why they call it head "trauma," probably because it sounds like "drama," and getting hit in the head is very dramatic, in fact Mom has been telling this story to everybody she meets all day, I am kind of annoyed with her too, nobody needs to know Mike is a sicko pervert who sex crimed me by putting snow down my pants, I would have preferred to deal with that in my own way.So that's what all the noise was abt outside! I'm just glad it was them insteada me throwin' all that snow around. Cuz if it'd been me, I'da been in hella trub!
Liz
Apes
Labels: crowded house, Liz, Mike, stoopidity
posted by April Patterson @ 8:38 AM
3 Comments:
At 4:34 PM,
Anonymous said…
April,
Little sis. Elizabeth has an interesting perspective on things. Mine of course, is a little different from hers. By her account, I told mom she should shovel the driveway because she doesn’t pay as much rent as I do and she feels guilty (which is true), but then she got mom to say I should shovel with her because of my inside parking space. The part she failed to mention was when mom took me aside and said, “Don’t let Elizabeth near any sharp objects.”
Of course I went outside and immediately realized that the shovel has a blade on it, which was a sharp object. So, my task was tricky, wouldn’t you say? How do you shovel a driveway when you are trying to keep your sister away from the shovel? Fortunately, inspiration struck as Liz was doing her “Mike Patterson” imitation, which is a remarkably good imitation if you can get past the long hair. She certainly does a good job with my delicate hands and the way my hips move when I walk. She said, “Look at me. I’m Mike Patterson. I thought I didn’t have to shovel the driveway, but now I do. La-di-da-di-da!” I thought, “Well, here’s one snowball’s worth of driveway snow which is no longer in the driveway”, and I hurled it toward her “Mike Patterson”-imitating head.” Considering my impeccable writing skills, Liz was actually struck less by the snowball and more by the large yellow “WHAPP” which struck her body in the back, complete with motion lines. I am so good.
Liz yelped out, “No fair, you turtle-neck wearing Poff” and to illustrate her point, the sound effect of her snowball to my head said, “POFF”. As I looked at my sister, I realized I had successfully gotten her to stop imitating me, because she had gone into her “lips of loveliness” and had stuck out her posteriour no doubt to try to use her allure to entreat some passing male to take up her cause. A snowball “FWAPPP!!!” quickly put an end to that. After all, I didn’t want to have to snowball-fight Anthony Caine and Warren Blackwood too.
Liz squeaked, “You’re going to pay, you booff”, and to illustrate the point, the sound effect of her snowball to my head said, “BOOFF!!” Sensing her lips of loveliness were not going to avail her, Elizabeth leaned into my next snowball “WHAK!”ing her in the head and stuffed snow down the back of my shirt with a comment which was something along the lines of “Now you finally have a spine, ugly brother.” But much to my surprise, she stuck her posteriour out again to try to attract male help, so I shoved some snow down her pants and said, “This may be the only time a man makes this part of your body wet.” She claims it was a sex crime, but we all know better than that.
Then she whirled around and “FWAPPPP!” ed me in the head with another snowball, and I think that was about the time I lost consciousness. I collapsed on the snow and woke up to see Liz doing her imitation of Grandpa Jim with hemorrhoids. Her eyes were all squinty, and she was grunting, and she was grabbing her leg with her hands, just like Grandpa Jim used to. The sight of it caused me to start laughing hysterically. I think it took me an hour or two to stop. Liz said it was because of the head trauma from the snowballs to the head.
In any case, it was a successful operation. We managed to remove the snow from the driveway, and Liz never got near the sharp edges of that shovel.
Love,
Michael Patterson
At 6:13 PM,
April Patterson said…
mike, dad's been strutting around saying he musta dun a great job raising u an' liz cuz u cleared the driveway of snow, and that's almost as good as raking leaves or picking up him an' mom @ the airport. whatevs, i'm gonna take the doggies 4 a walk.
apes
At 2:16 AM,
Anonymous said…
April,
Little sis. Work today was especially difficult. Mom helped me go through the employee records and productivity reports to find the perfect employee to down-size and we kept coming up with Mr. Gluttson or Barry, the editor-in-chief. I told mom, I was pretty sure Mr. Gluttson or Barry didn’t want me to down-size them, but mom told me if I down-sized them, then I could take their job. But without either of them going through a divorce or some other personal disaster which would cause them to leave their jobs without any effort on my part, I couldn’t see a way to make it work, which meant only one thing. I had to eliminate myself, but before I did this, I felt I needed to sleep on it. So, I put my hand on my head and took a nap staring at my computer terminal, which is one of my best places for sleeping.
While I was napping, my coworker Francine came into my office and said, “You look pale, Michael. Is everything OK?” This woke me up, but I kept my eyes closed and said, “No, Francine. It isn’t.” just in case she would get the hint and leave me to my nap. I was not that lucky. She continued to stand there, so I was forced to explain things to her. I said, “Mr. Gluttson wants to downsize again. He told me to eliminate one of the higher salaried positions.” You may remember the last time Mr. Gluttson wanted to downsize and the agonizing decisions I was forced to make about eliminating someone. I certainly don’t remember it; unless maybe Mr. Gluttson was talking about when he eliminated Mitch Frenum, in order to give me his job.
My poor memory was depressing me, and as Francine has done so many times, she said some things to cheer me up. She said, “You have to fire someone? But why? We’re doing so well! We’re turning a good profit—and we’re a great team!” Whenever Francine tries to cheer me up, I have to agree, even if the things she said were not quite true, as any reader of my monthly family letters for the last 2 years would know. So I said, “I know.” Then Francine got down to what she really wanted to say which was, “So, how are you going to eliminate one of us?” and she leaned over my desk and gave me that really scary look of hers, which made me glad I had never dated someone in the journalism profession. I had to tell her the truth, so I said, “I’m not.”
Then I was puzzled about what I wanted to say next to Francine. I thought about saying:
“If ever a man needed killing, it's that no-good, putrid piece of trash over there.” or
"You're better off than me... You got me for a buddy... I only got you." or
'Better men than Michael Patterson have cracked.' "There are no better men than Michael Patterson." or
"First one to make a break for it dies like a dog." or
"I'm not expendable, I'm not stupid, and I'm not going." or
"Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."
Instead of those choices, I turned my back to Francine, stared at my computer screen and said, “I’m going to resign.” Fortunately, saying that to Francine is not an actual, official resignation; and I was really interested in seeing her reaction. If she started begging me not to quit because it would destroy Portrait Magazine, I might reconsider. If she said, “Could I have your job?” then I would definitely stay. If she said, “You’re quite right, Michael. I understand home loans are so much easier to get when you’re unemployed.” then I would definitely leave, just to prove her wrong. You may be wondering exactly how Francine reacted, so I will leave that little tidbit until tomorrow. It’s always good to leave your audience wanting a little more, and when it comes to stories about me, who wouldn’t want more?
Love,
Michael Patterson
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