Spank That Pudding

Kiss My Ash

Steve: There upon the mantel piece sat an urn. As I gazed at it, I noticed...
Shirl: a speck of dust, or could it be a speck of charred DNA? Oh drat! Now what shall I ever do? I turned to grab the dust rag and...
Steve: couldn't find it, so I ran upstairs to get my microscope, only to discover that...
Shirl: it too, was covered with dust. My thoughts turned to the urn...and the ashes within. I grabbed the microscope and cleaned the lens with my shirt.
Steve: As I slid down the banister, microscope in hand, the tail of my shirt snagged on the knob at the end of it. Swinging around, I knocked over the urn. Its contents sprayed the floor.

Shirl: The dog ran over and sniffed at it and as a result, sneezed, causing the ashes to spread further over the floor. Garfield, the cat, decided to get into the confusion and chased the dog, causing the ashes to curl up into the air and ....
Steve: that's when I decided that Great-Grandpa's ashes weren't worth the trouble. Out came the 14 amp Bissell Deluxe. As I switched on the vacuum, the...
Shirl: cat's tail got entangled from the suction and brushes beneath and a with an ear-piercing howl and a THWARP, the Bissell deceased. Poor kitty.
Steve: I paused for a moment. I'd never heard a 'THWARP' before. Nevertheless, I knew I had to clean up the mess. Using both hands- a cat's tail in one, a power cord in the other, I headed to the dumpster.
Shirl: I recall the words of George Carlin, "Most people don't know what they're doing, and a lot of them are really good at it." Well, that's me. I thought since I had the microscope, I'd have a closer look at old Garfield, as there was no worry about him wriggling-about any longer. I got out my pocket knife and...
Steve: cleaned my fingernails.
Shirl: I set up the microscope, re-arranged and reconfigured it with my scientific abilities to be able to see the heavens. I had heard that Venus was going to cross the disk of the sun.
Steve: All the while, the echoes of a long dead Freddie Mercury coarsed through my head. The strains of 'Bohemian Rhapsody'..... "Galileo, Galileo, Galileo Figaro...."

Shirl: The microscope didn't quite work the way I had intended...so back to the drawing table...I guess the difference between genius and stupidity is that genius has its limits (Albert Einstein). However, I digress. I went back into the house, picked up the urn and poured a beer into it. "Here's to Great-Grandpa. Cheers."
Steve: The phone rang. Checking the caller ID, I saw that it read "unavailable", so I decided to be the same. Locking all the doors, I fired up the stereo. It was a coal-fired stereo, inherited from my mom's side of the family. She said it was used by my Great-Grandpa to listen to old Edison cylinder records of Teddy Roosevelt's sister's haggis recipes. I didn't believe a word of it.
Shirl: "Do mothers bullshit?" I asked myself. I scratched my dandruff-ridden head. I wanted to remember as Great-Grandpa did, those very same sounds. I listened intently, it began...
Steve: Ccchchcchh... "This is what you do..cchhcchcssch....take one teaspoon of..ccsshhchkss.. and put in in the...schccsshhkkss.." I lost patience. Slinging the wax cylinder across the room, I realized I was destroying a piece of history. So what.
Shirl: "It was the thought that counted," I told myself. I filled the urn with another cold beer.I decided to listen to some Arrogant Worms and put their CD in the player. The phone rang again. This time it was "Mother Dearest" asking for the urn so she could spread the ashes in the Ozarks when she visited there the next day.
Steve: "Sure," I told Mom. "But you need to come over here and have a beer with me first. Let's party in memory of the old man."
Shirl: "How can I party when I'll be driving for 8 hours tomorrow, you party animal! Get a life and get your ass outa that chair and bring it to me now!" I replied, "You want fries with that?" She then told me that sarcasm is just anger with a haircut. She guilted me, the way only mothers can do.

Steve: 'Anger with a haircut'. I'd heard that one before. The French fry comment was nothing new either. I knew what had to be done. It had to involve sarcasm.
Shirl: I asked her, "Do you really want to toss old Gramps out into the cold? He is just fine here on the mantel, warm and cozy and besides, he's so miserable without you...its almost like you're here." There was a long pause at the other end of the line.

Steve: She sensed I was bluffing. I knew she had a telepathic link with the cat. Somehow she knew Great-Grandpa and Garfield were lurking in the dumpster a few yards from my front door. "I'm not buying this," she honked.
Shirl: She asked, "You want trouble?" She said she was on her way over with some catnip for Garfield and would be picking up the urn. I panicked...
Steve: "Mom," I said, "You really need some help." I emailed her the link- www.eharmony.com.
Shirl: "You clown, I don't have a computer, and if you figure that out, you'll be halfway to I don't give a damn". The phone went dead. I looked in the ashtray and an idea came to mind.
Steve: Hmmmm. Ashes to ashes, dust to... "Eureka!" I exclaimed. Realizing Mom wouldn't know the difference, I took out my Zippo. The burnt remains of the armchair would surely suffice for the ashes of the old guy.
Shirl: But what about Garfield? I would just tell her that he was at a sleep-over. Again, the pocket knife came to the rescue, I cut a chunk of fabric out of the chair and placed it in the ashtray. Setting it afire with the Zippo, it created a horrific smell, one of a combination of old cat urine, mixed with old beer stains, food, dandruff particles, cat hair, and a squashed dried up raisin imbedded too. To my horror, the pungent odor filled the house.
Steve: "Well, I suppose she'll smell that," I calmly surmised. Knowing Mom as I did though, I knew she could be easily derailed. Soap operas were a way. I knew she liked 'All My Children'. I knew it aired at 1:00. I arranged for her to show up at 12:45.

Shirl: In the meantime, I took some sausages and ground beef out of the fridge and started to fry them. I would tell her I was making haggis from the recipes Gramps had listened to on the Edison cylinders and that the smell was from that. .
Steve: "And did you know Josh was cheating on Jessica?" I bluffed. At the instant the words came out of my mouth, I knew I'd been discovered. I was not an 'AMC' fan. She knew it. I blanched and squinted.
Shirl: "What are you trying to pull the wool over my eyes about, Son? I didn't come here to eat nor watch television. Something is foul here and it isn't just your cooking."
Steve: "Mom, it has nothing to do with wool or eyes or even television or the sporran in the closet... I just wanted to tell you I love you."
Shirl: "Well all right son, if you put it that way, I believe you. And I wasn't really looking forward to driving 8 hours to toss out Gramps' ashes."
Steve: "Mom," I said, "It's OK. Just bed down for the night and we'll discuss this in the morning." Whew. She didn't catch on that Great-Grandpa was dumpsterized.
Shirl: She took a swig of beer and asked me why all the containers in the cabinet looked like urns. The one she was holding was adorned with floral motifs and had initials engraved on it. I was startled for a moment and answered....
Steve: "Uhh.. uhh.." Then I stuttered. Regaining my composure, I threw her the bullshit. "That's a vase, Mom. Did you bring your Alzheimer's medication?"
Shirl: "No", she answered, "but I did bring my Ritalin. Want some? We can really party hard here son". She grabbed another urn with a baboon's ass painted on the side of it. "That's quite a vase all right", she said.

Steve: As it turned out, Mom came prepared to have a good time. Seizing the opportunity with a razor blade in one hand and a mirror in the other, I started chopping the Ritalin tablets into neatly formed, nasal-friendly lines.
Shirl: Yet again, the damn dog came along and sniffed the crushed lines of Ritalin before we could push him away. He snorted as he left and sat down in front of the television watching the Three Stooges. His tail began to wag furiously as the Stooges carried out their antics.
Steve: I had to ignore the dog. All thoughts were about Mom. I glanced her way as she giggled at the dog. She bore no attitude about the canine's misbehavior. Instead, she looked at me and said...
Shirl: "I need to know...'hiccup'...when is Garfield coming home, I miss him". The tears began to well up in her eyes.
Steve: It was now or never. I was fed up with lying. That was it. So I told her: "Mom, Garfield was sucked into a vacuum. It was a bizarre accident. I know you don't believe me, but you're a crazy old hag, so I don't expect you to." Then I sat back and waited for the inevitable reply.
Shirl: The mixture of beer and the remnants of the Ritalin had taken their effect. As a bullfrog on the first cold night, she had become lethargic. "Oh that's nice, goodnight son I'll see you in the morning and don't call me, i'll call you, in the cold light of day". She passed my chair heading for the stairs to go up to bed, and with the speed of a lightning bolt grabbed me and gave me a tit-twister the likes of which I had never endured.
Steve: My blood ran cold. My mother just twisted my titty. The nerve. The NERVE! I decided to follow her upstairs and give her a taste of her own titty-twisting medicine.
Shirl: I ran for the stairs, with dog underfoot. I tripped over him and fell nose first into the unbrella stand. I was impaled up my nostril by the pointed top of a folded umbrella which had been parked there. "Mother", I cried, "help me!"
Steve: Pinching her nose, Mom taunted: "Help me, help me, help me," as the blood cascaded down the stairs. Still, I was determined. That titty-twisting broad wasn't going to get away with it this time. I reached for my...
Shirl: flashlight. She had smashed out the lightbulbs. "What a broad!" As i walked down the hallway, my feet crunched on bits of broken glass. I heard a giggle in the linen closet. I readied the flashlight and opened the door...
Steve: To my amazement, inside the closet were numerous happy linens. One sheet in particular held a story about Mom. This piece o' cloth had the goods on the old beotch. I stuffed Kleenex into my nasal wound. As Mom slept off her Ritalin hangover, the sheet spoke.

Shirl: "Well son of a sheet, you've found me".
Steve: Sniffing the other suspicious linens, I thought, "There's no Bounce here."
Shirl: But, the odor of mothballs was rampant. Not a moth to be found. The sheet continued its diatribe....
Steve: "Listen, you door-opening, fabric-sniffing turd! If you even think about shoving another moth ball between my pleats, you're going to be one itchy unit when it comes time to unfold me. Bring it on, you toxic-substance-carrying, erectile-dysfunctional closet whiffer!"
Shirl: I was taken aback...here I thought the well ironed crisp linen was going to give me the goods on the old beotch, but instead I get harangued by a fricken sheet! For sheets sake!
Steve: Suddenly, a wash cloth piped up. "Shushhh, you guys. We'll wake up the towels."
Shirl: Then a beach towel piped up, "Life's a beach, and then ya die".
Steve: I was frustrated by the disunity between the different types of cloth. I hoped that one day they would settle their differences. Perhaps in the next spin cycle. But I had other things on my mind. The first was...
Shirl: to make sure mother got into bed all right without getting my tits twisted again. I went to the door of the room where I thought she had gone to sleep but there she was unfolding fresh linens and talking about old gramps with them. The conversation was like that of an old Zane Grey book. "And I packed a pistol ...
Steve: "It was a good one too. A Colt .45. Yessiree, a damn good weapon. In my day..." The fitted sheet interjected, "Lillian, can we please delay this story until next time you visit? Your son can hear you. He has his ear against the door, you know. He knows you're chatting with us. You can't hide your schizophrenia forever."
Shirl: "Oh my, I have Alzheimer's, take Ritalin, and now you say I have schizophrenia too? It's no wonder I'm talking to linens." She dove onto the bed and jumped in under the covers and pretended to sleep. I was glad, and went back downstairs and poured myself another beer and my no-good brother walked through the front door. "Where's the old doll?", he asked and "Why are you drinking out of gramps' urn?" He looked perplexed. I began to tremble and fumbled with the urn. My purple tit glowed with pain. I felt like shit. "OK, bro....(I spilled the beans to him).... you and I have to take ma to the Ozarks tomorrow".
Steve: So I poured Rodney a beer laced with GHB, commonly known as a "date-rape" drug. As the chemical took effect, Rod seemed less and less worried about how all the decanters in the house looked like urns. After he finally passed out, I carried all 140 pounds of him upstairs and laid him on the bed next to Mom. As I placed him there, Mom awoke with a lurch.
Shirl: "Its like living with Bert & Ernie again", she said. "But, here we're all back together again like old times", as she ran her fingers through our hair like when we were kids. She turned on the tv with the remote to the cartoon channel and we watched Fog Horn Leghorn being hounded by the juvenile chicken hawk. Too funny! Rodney, who had rallied from the drug, spewed his beer out of his nose as did I, and mine flung further from having had a larger orifice now from the impalement earlier. Maw guffawed so loud and long she could hardly keep her breath.
Steve: I melted from the sentiment. Instantly, I was ten years old again. Waxing back to the late sixties, I remembered a time when Mom would invite Rodney and me to come and watch cartoons with her in bed. Memories flooded back. I crawled into bed between Mom and my brother.
Shirl: All of a sudden it was morning. Where had the night gone? Time for the Ozarks. Taking the newly transformed ashes with urn in hand, we all headed to go out the door and maw tripped over the dog. The urn flew through the air. Ashes fell to the ground like snowflakes. Maw said, "Oh what the hell." She went for the Bissell.
Steve: "Mother, I just vacuumed the dog yesterday," I said. "Let's head for the mountains. Uncle Lefty said he'd meet us at the old cabin." I was, of course, bluffing. There was no cabin or Uncle Lefty. But I figured the B.S. would buy me a minute or two while I formulated my plan to find Rodney some Viagra. I had black market connections. Now was the time to use them.
Shirl: Rodney was gay, but the Viagra would obviously be handy. Ma decided to give up on the plans as she seemed more interested in watching more soaps on tv.
Steve: Seizing the opportunity I'd waited for since the Gulf War, I slammed the front door, locking Mom inside with the time-delayed explosive that I triggered by pressing 72#Send on my new Nokia "Mom-away" cell phone. Off I skipped with Rodney into the mountain air, in search of a new Uncle Lefty.
THE END