Big Daddy Gouda

Ads and Brian, were on a little vacay in Atlantic City.  We spent most of the afternoons on the beach.  The second day there Ads and I were sitting on the beach, bored.  Brian was laying face down on a blanket next to us.  He had his walkman on.  He had fallen asleep.  To cure our boredom Adam and I decided to go up to the boardwalk and grab some lunch at Burger King.

As we were walking back to our spot on the beach we casually noticed all the goddamn seagulls slowly following us.  Those scavengers knew we had food.  I grabbed a couple fries and tossed them onto the beach.  It was quite a sight to watch about 25 birds fighting over a handfull of measly fries.  But they would fight viciously as if the tiniest morsel could be their last meal.  We arrived back at our spot and noticed Brian was still sleeping.  I could faintly hear him snoring.  He was in a deep deep afternoon nap.  It was in that instant that a very devious idea popped into my head.

I reached into my burger king bag and pulled out my order of fries.  About half an order of a large fry remained.  I slowly crept up to Brian.  I was about 8 FT away.  I took one small fry and threw it down by his feet.  Instantly a small group of gulls noticed and went after the fry. More importantly the other birds knew something was up. Still, no movement from Brian.  “Adam, watch this”

I cocked my arm back like a pitcher getting ready to throw an underhand softball pitch. With all the speed I could muster I brought my arm forward with the small box of fries in my hand. I firmly held the box when I reached full extension. ( Adam would later remark I had the form of a champion horseshoe thrower ) The box stayed in my grip, but the fries flew out in what could only be described as a thing of beauty.  After that everything seemed to happen in slow motion.  The golden Burger King French Fries flew through the air like arrows during the battle scenes from Braveheart. I glanced at Adam.  He had the wild look of a young child, filled with anticipation for something magical about to happen.  And it did.

The fries crashed square into Brian’s back all at once in a mighty heap.Right between his shoulder blades.  Brian’s head immediately shot up from his afternoon dream.  Then it happened.  Before Brian could turn to see what had happened the Seagulls were upon him.  15 to 20 big fat white seagulls with long black beaks with yellow tips had enveloped him.  I could no longer see Brian.  Just a mass of cackling birds fighting for a portion of the feast I had laid out upon Brian’s back.  I glanced at Adam, his expression hadn’t changed.  This was like a movie to him and he was enjoying every second.  I glanced around the beach, a handfull of people noticed what was going on.  Too stunned or confused to really do anything. Then like a volcano erupting Brian arose from the flock of seagulls that had engulfed him. He began flailing his arms wildly and darted for the ocean.  I immediately knew in his still groggy state he had no idea what was going on.  Brian dove into the ocean.  The birds did not chase him as he would of thought.  They simply began picking at whatever fries remained in the spot where Brian once laid. 

By the time Brian had walked back up to our blankets the birds and my fries were gone.  He was shaking his head in total confusion as he approached us.  “What the fuck happened?”  Adam began laughing uncontrollably.  I wasn’t going to laugh out loud. I didn’t want to give myself away just yet.  Brian’s next question took care of that plan. “Do you think those birds were rabid?”  Then I started laughing.  When I calmed down I watched as Brian slowly crept over to his blanket. He glanced to his left, then right, and finally up to the sky.  He carefully picked up his walkman.  Looked around once again, and preceded back to our hotel.

It wasn’t till weeks later in a somewhat drunken state that I confessed to Bub that I had set him up for the attack by tossing fries on his back.  To my surprise Brian didn’t accept this confession.  He shook his head, “Nah, that wouldn’t of done it.  Somethings up with those birds down in Atlantic City…Something weird.

 When I first started this website and My sister got wind of it, she had but one request, “Don’t put any stories up about me!” Lora, it’s been 3 and a half months.  I’ve honored that request longer than I’d originally intended to. Please find comfort in that…

It was roughly a year ago just before sunrise.  I was tossing and turning in my bed.  I couldn’t sleep and I was pissed about it.  I heard My sister upstairs getting ready for work.  She left for her job as a mail carrier every morning at 5:30.  It was in this instant, for no other reason than “that’s who I am”, that I decided to be an ass.

I knew in roughly 5 minutes she’d walk downstairs, past my room, out the back door and into the driveway to her car.  My plan was to give her the scare of her life.  I heard her start to come down the stairs.  I quietly snuck out the back door.  I stood outside in the cold pre dawn air giddy with anticipation.  I casually glanced around my neighborhood.  It was quiet. I was a bit worried that a neighbor might see me, but not worried enough to abort the mission.

I heard Lora’s footsteps on the hard wood floor.  She was approaching.  I stood off to the side of the door with my back pressed against the house.  The door began to open.  I waited just long enough until I knew the door was open wide enough for her to have a clear view of the driveway.  In that instant I hopped in front of my sister with my arms spread wide as if I was carrying a large box. When I was planted directly in front of my sister I screamed as loud as I could like some crazed lunatic.

My sister didn’t move.  She was completely frozen in mid step, as if time had stopped.  The look on her face was one I’d not seen in my 24 years of knowing her.  I could only describe it with 2 words: SHEAR TERROR.  I instantly began to laugh.

After about 15 seconds My sister composed herself and violently brushed by me toward her car. As she fumbled with her car keys she spoke one sentence, and it was all she would say to me for the next 2 weeks, “You’re lucky I don’t have my mace you fucking asshole!”

As I laughed my way back into the house I began to think how truly traumatizing the whole experience must of been for her.  I’m sure the last thing she expected to see when she opened that door at 5:30 in the morning was ME screaming my head off. To this day I’ll never forget the look on My sister’s face. It was as if Lora opened that door and saw  Lucifer himself.

0px 5px 5px 0px” /> Everyone who knows Brian Shafer is aware that once upon a time he was one of the best “runners” in all of high school sports.  Then in college he became even better.  Second place in all of New England I believe. We also know Brian didn’t run for fame, fortune, or glory.  He ran to get a FREE college education.  However one afternoon, during our senior year of high school, Myself, Aaron and Joe almost ruined Brian’s running career.  At least according to Aaron’s mom anyway.  Ladies and Gentlemen, The Tack Story:

Myself and Joe were at Aaron’s house, hangin in his room watching TV.  The phone rang, it was Brian.  He was on his way over.  As Aaron hung up the phone my attention was focused on a box of thumb tacks that were on Aaron’s bureau.  Not really sure if I was serious or not I said “Hey, why don’t we spread the thumb tacks over the floor, so when Brian comes in he’ll step on ‘em” Joe and Aaron looked at me as if I was a bit crazy.  Then before I could say “just kidding” Joe and Aaron sprung into action.

Aaron grabbed the thumb tacks and immediately began to sprinkle them all over the floor.  After the box was emptied there lay a huge pile of tacks right in front of the bedroom door.  I would say roughly 50 tacks lay sharp side up, ready to do some damage.  Then Joe had an epiphany: “Wait, when he steps on the tacks, he’s gonna immediately jump.  Let’s make 2 piles, so when he jumps outta one, he lands in the other!”  Before I could comment on the pure genius of this statement Joe and Aaron were back to work.

Some images in your memory are forever burned there.  Never to be taken away.  I can honestly say that the image of Joe and Aaron on their bellies, carefully placing the thumb tacks into 2 equal piles is permanently engraved in mine.  I believe they even argued over the placement a few times, “No wait, if he jumps this way he’ll land here, but if he jumps off this foot, which he most likely will cuz he’s right footed, then he’ll undoubtedly land here!” After about 15 minutes, the placement of the tacks was agreed upon.  The trap was set.  Now we just had to wait for the victim. Joe and I sat on Aaron’s bed.  Aaron sat at his desk. After about 10 minutes of unbearable anticipation the doorbell rang!!

“Come in!” Aaron’s mom shrieked from downstairs.  The door opened and we could barely contain our laughter when we heard Brian’s voice say “Hello” to Aaron’s mom.  It was in this instant that Aaron said one of the most brilliant things I’ve ever heard anyone I know say, “Brian, take your shoes off!”  Of course, how could we have been so stupid!  What if he came upstairs with his sneakers on. The scheme would have been ruined.  It was winter and slushy, so the statement to take off your shoes was an obvious one.  But it needed to be said.  Everything was perfect as Brian began to make his way up the stairs.  Except for one small detail.  Joe immediately dimmed Aaron’s lights.  Just in case Brian was looking at the ground.

As Brian entered Aaron’s room I literally thought I’d explode with excitement.  The door slowly opened and he walked in.  “What’s up?” he said as he took his first step. I swear I heard Joe grimace in pity.  But there was no reaction from Brian.  He took another step…..and then he stopped cold. He opened is mouth and a long slow “AAAAH!’ came out.  He immediately looked down and saw the tack pile he was standing in.  And then in a perfectly timed leap of predictability, Brian jumped from the pile of tacks….and landed…..directly in the 2nd pile.  “Pure Genius” was the phrase that ran through my mind.

Aaron, Joe and I, winced at the sight of it.  But like a car crash we couldn’t stop watching. As Brian landed in the second pile he screamed louder.  This time his cries were not only filled with pain, but there was anger in there as well. Instinctively Brian immedietly reached for his wounded foot. In this motion he lost his balance, wobbled a bit, and crashed to the bedroom floor.  We erupted in laughter.

The thud of Brian’s fall, as well as our unusually loud laughing caused Aaron’s mother to come running up the stairs.  She flung the door open and flicked on the lights. “What the hell is going on up here?”  What a site she walked into.  She noticed Joe, Aaron, and I,out of breath and beat red from laughing so hard.  Her attention immediately focused on Brian. He was sitting on the floor, surrounded by thumb tacks, silently picking them out of his feet.

Aaron’s mom erupted. “Are you guys fucking crazy! He’s a RUNNER for Christ Sakes!!” To this day that statement is still strangely amusing to me.  Was she mad because we hurt Brian or was she mad that we hurt someone who was an all star athlete?  For some reason If I was the one sitting there on the floor picking tacks outta my feet, I don’t think she would had quite the same reaction.

After about 5 minutes of screaming and hollering, Aaron’s mom finally left the room.  By the time she left, Brian had just about gotten all the tacks outta his feet.  All that remained was a pattern of tiny red dots covering the bottom of his white sock where the tacks had pierced the skin and the blood had soaked through.

These days when Red Sox fans, and baseball fans alike talk about “The bloody sock” people think of Curt Schilling and how he pitched the biggest game of his life while bleeding from the ankle. Not me! When sports fans bring up a “bloody sock” I think of Brian Shafer, Litchfield High School All Star Runner, sitting on Aaron’s bedroom floor picking thumbtacks outta his fast, graceful, All-Star feet.

I must of been 23 or 24 years old.  I was in Boston for the weekend hanging with Bub, Jewett, Tai, and Ads.  We had spent Friday and Saturday partying on the campus of BC.  Sunday we wanted to do something a little different and a little more mellow.  Bub had suggested a day in the city.  It sounded perfect.

The day started off on a rather sinister note.  Brian lived on the 9th floor of the dorm.  Earlier in the weekend he’d informed us, occasionally when he and his roomies get wasted they would throw things out the window.

Jewett and I were sitting in the living room waiting for everyone else to get ready.  Above the fireplace I noticed a giant wooden egg.  It was a gift from Brian’s grandmother.  Kind of an Artsy-Fartsy thing if you ask me.

Anyway, for no reason what-so-ever I grabbed the egg and without thinking twice, tossed it out the window.  Jewett’s eyes opened wide as saucers.  He sprung from his chair and darted toward the window.  I didn’t look to see the egg land.  Jewett laughed and said “It smashed into a thousand pieces on the ground”  We agreed not to tell Bub.

Jewett giggled to himself as we made our way to the elevator and out into the city.  I felt guilty.  But just a little bit.  It was a wooden egg for Christ Sakes….

Our first stop was JFK Memorial Park.  We sat on a bench just bullshitting and drinking coffee.  We watched casually as pigeons landed in front of us and fought tooth and nail over crumbs.  Our pigeon gazing was interrupted by the sound of screeching brakes.

We looked toward the road.  A blue pick-up truck had almost mowed down 2 French tourists.  How did we know they were french?  Because the dude was screaming at the truck driver in a very thick french accent.  His lovely frog wife was trying her best to calm him down..but to no avail.

“Zee crosswalk is for ze Pedestrians…Is not for You!”  the man shouted as he waggled his finger in the motorists face.

The fat redneck driving the truck kinda just laughed.  This only infuriated Frenchie more:

“Oh a wise-ass eh…You want a piece of me!” 

At that point the Frenchman’s female companion pulled him aside and the truck went racing away.  I was hoping for a fight…but cooler heads prevailed.

That’s when we met the drunk guy.  We had been standing around watching the commotion when a bum casually walked up to us.  He was a short man.  I’d say early 40s.  He had a big bushy mustache.  His clothes were torn and tattered.  He was dirty.  And he was drunk.

“Hey……fellas…..can you guys spare some change”

He was slurring his words.  Mark, Ads, Tai, and I said nothing.  Bub however saw these kinds of people every day.  He firmly said “NO…we’ve got no money!” This did not get rid of drunky.  He wanted to talk.

“Hey….fellas….I was just in a bar…and they wouldn’t serve me.  They said I was drunk.  You guys want to know something…..I ain’t even had a drink yet……”  he began to mumble some nonsense that I couldn’t understand.

Bub could tell we were feeling a bit uncomfortable so he took the initiative.  “Sorry buddy but we gotta go”  I didn’t know where we had to be but Bub started walking and like soldiers we started following. 

As we walked away the drunk guy continued to talk as if we weren’t leaving.  Still mumbling about not being served at a bar because he was too drunk and still insisting that he hadn’t even had a drink yet.  As we approached the crosswalk I turned around one last time.  The drunk guy was talking to the pigeons.

Bub had lead us into a record store.  As soon as we walked in another crazy Frenchmen came running up to Jewett.  He was excited and had a wild look in his eye.

He grabbed Joot on the arms and said:  “Excusa Me but can yew tell me how to get to zee bath-a-room!”

Joot pulled away from the guy, grabbed him on the arms just as the man had grabbed him.  He looked him dead in the eye and like a teacher talking to a student said “I DON’T KNOW!”

The Frenchman smiled and said excitedly “ZANK YOU!” and hurried away.  I think we could all agree, that’s enough French people for one day.

After about an hour in the record store we walked back to the park.  We laughed and joked around as we made our way through the twists and turns of JFK Memorial Park. We came upon something odd in the middle of the park.  It was a little plaque that read “JFK MEMORIAL”  Next to the plaque was a cement pathway that lead to what appeared to be….an open grave…surrounded by a giant cement border.

Without saying anything we kinda just followed the path.  I thought hard about all the history books I’d ever read.  Is JFK’s body on display in a tomb in Boston?  Was I about to see the frozen, fully preserved body of John F. Kennedy?

We came upon the stone monument.  It looked kinda like a coffin…but there was no lid on it.  We were lined up single file and like clockwork we all peered in at the same time.

Nope!  The body of JFK was nowhere to be found.  Instead this “open stone grave” was filled with sandwich wrappers, beer cans, used condoms, and dirt.  If JFK had been here, he definitely had one hell of a party.  Without saying anything we walked away.

We made our way onto The T to take us deeper into the city.  I remember the train being crowded.  We had to stand and hold onto the handles to keep from falling over.  We didn’t talk much while moving.

That’s when I heard the voice.  I heard it as plain as day.  We were about 4 stops in and about 3 stops away from our destination.  The conductor’s voice came over the loudspeaker and said “Next Stop HELL“

I smiled and laughed a little.  I turned to Tai.  “Did you hear that?”  But Tai ignored me.  I looked at my friends.  None of them were looking at me.  It’s almost as if they were purposely ignoring me.  The T began to slow down, finally coming to a STOP….in Hell?

The doors opened….but nobody moved.  What was even scarier, everyone around us was looking at me.  Except my friends.  They were looking at the ground.  I was starting to feel uneasy.

An old man behind me said “I think this is your stop”.  Was I dreaming?  Am I in Hell?  The train doors were open but it was just dark.  I couldn’t see the platform.

I took a step toward the open door.  That’s when Ads grabbed me: “This isn’t your stop Gouda”  After he finished that sentence the doors closed and the train started moving. My friends looked up and began to talk normally.  I wasn’t sure what just happened but it was eerie.

We walked around the city for about an hour just kinda browsing here and there.  No agenda, just a carefree day in Boston.  Jewett and I were in a toy store looking at the Teletubby display.  This is about the time all the controversy had come out about the gay teletubby.

“Which one’s the gay one?” Jewett asked me.  I wasn’t sure.  But according to the sign these were “Talking Teletubbies”.  Mark pushed the stomach of The Yellow Tubby and it said in a very sweet voice: “Girls are Great”  I then pressed the stomach of the red Tubby.  In a voice just as sweet it said “I’m Straight!”  Joot then pressed the Purple Tubby and in a very evil voice it said “Fuck me up the ass!”

What?  I went to press the Tubby again when the female sales clerk walked by.  She leaned in and almost under her breath she said “Soon they will all see”

See what?  I thought.  What going on?  I was a bit nervous so Mark and I left the store.  We tried to tell the gang about the crazy sales lady and the homo Teletubbie but they didn’t wanna hear it.  You had to be there I suppose.

The day was winding down.  We decided to sit in front of an ice skate park and rest our weary bodies.  We sat, relaxed, drank hot chocolate, and watched the skaters.  I’m not sure who noticed first, but after about 2 minutes we were all well aware what we were watching.

These people weren’t just skating casually.  They had this crazy synchronized routine going on.  It was as if we were watching a professional ice skating show, but we were the only one’s who knew it was on.

Music pumped from the speakers surrounding the rink.  The skaters did flips, and spins, and jumps.  It was all perfect. They formed 2 lines and made an isle in between.  The music stopped and a spotlight shun on the entrance to the rink.

The music started up again.  We couldn’t believe our eyes.  Who should coming skating out onto the rink but…..THE DRUNK GUY from the park!

Only he wasn’t drunk.  And he was no longer dressed like a bum.  He was wearing a Tuxedo!  But there was no mistaken.  It was him!  He skated down the isle, did a couple of flips, twists, and turns, and ended with something I believe was called a triple lutz!  He had the grace and agility of an Olympic athelete. 

As he stuck his landing he stretched out his arms like Jesus. Pigeons, most likely the same pigeons this “drunk” had been talking to in the park, swooped down and landed on his outstretched arms.  The guy took a bow.

Then….he skated toward us.

He motioned for us to come over.  Without saying anything, as if we were in a trance, we walked toward him.  He spoke in perfect, clear, sober, English:

“My name is Professor Epstein. You fellas were part of my big experiment.  Congratulations boys.  You passed the test” 

He smiled from ear to ear.  My mind tried to process everything.  What experiment?  What test?

At that moment Professor Epstein reached into his pocket and pulled out:

Brian’s wooden egg.  The same one I’d thrown out the window 7 hours earlier.  He handed it back to Brian and said “Nice work”  Bub was just as confused as me.

Epstein began clapping.  Soon everyone was clapping.  We looked around and couldn’t believe who we saw:  The Feisty French Pedestrian, The Redneck Motorist, The French Tourist Looking For The Bathroom, The Old Man From The T, The Sales Lady From The Teletubby Store.  They were all there and they were all clapping.

Something was going on.  We just didn’t know what.  We all kinda smiled and waved to the crowd.  At that moment we were rockstars on a grand stage….we just didn’t know why.

To this day I’m not sure what went on in Boston.  Myself, Jewett, Bub, Ads, and Tai rarely talk about it. 

Sometimes, when my mind has almost pushed that day out, I swear I see old Professor Epstein walking by and the events of that day come rushing back.  Maybe Espstein’s “experiement” continues each day and we just don’t know it.

Bub swears he’s seen him too.  Maybe he’ll always be there.  Watching us….All of us.

Rest assured, we’ve taken one BIG precaution.  One that will prevent this strange, crazy, unexplainable day from ever happening again:

NO MORE ACID!!

I’d be lying if I tried to tell y’all I’ve lived a DRUG-FREE existence.  Since I turned 18 I’ve basically tried em all.  Well, except for the really hard stuff.  ( heroin, meth, crack )  Some I’ve liked more than others. ( love the painkillers, hate the pot )  After Tuesday night I can officially check another drug off the To Do List: Valium.

While at work Tuesday one of my female coworkers asked if I’d ever tried Valium.  I hadn’t, and I explained I didn’t really like to do any drug that made me feel sleepy.  She informed me that it was the complete opposite.  She explained how she was currently on Valium and she was “as high as a kite”.  So being the curious little cat I was I said “gimme one”.  I stuffed the little yellow pill in my pocket and basically went about my day.

In the evening I decided to drive myself to The Waterbury Mall to catch the latest Kevin Costner flick, Mr Brooks.  I was alone, I had my large rootbeer, I figured this was the perfect opportunity to “relax” with my little yellow friend.  I popped it right at the concession stand and walked into the theater.

About 5 minutes into the flick my worst fears about Valium were realized.  I was suddenly feeling very sleepy.  I hate to watch movies when I’m tired.  I hoped that it was just a coincidence and at any moment the drug would kick in and I’d perk up.  How wrong I was.  I remember slouching back in my chair and putting my feet up on the seat in front of me…………

What I remember next is being poked on my feet.  I faintly heard a voice saying “Sir…..Sir”  I opened my eyes and was in a complete fog.  The theater house lights were on.  The screen was blank and buzzing.  The place was empty.

Standing next to me was a black usher holding a red glow stick that they use while they’re walking up and down the isles.  He was jabbing my feet with it attempting to jostle me from my slumber.

“Sir, the movie’s ova….you gots to go”

I said nothing.  If the movie was over, 2 hours must of gone by.  I looked around and began to gather my things.  I still couldn’t believe I had slept that soundly for 2 hours.

“Dogg, I barely even noticed you all slumped down in your chair.  If it wasn’t for your snoring, I woulda walked out and you’d been locked in here all night.”

Snoring???

I apologized and walked out of the theater.  I felt like I had been camping for 3 days.  I was still kinda out of it when I got into my car.  I opened all the windows and cranked the stereo for the ride home.  Hell, if I could fall asleep in a theater, why not cruising in my car.

When I arrived home I flopped onto my bed without taking any clothes off.  I awoke the next morning feeling refreshed but still kinda off center.

So Valium is officially in the NEVER AGAIN pile. And as for my coworker, the one who gave me the pill while she was “high as a kite”  That bitch owes my $9!!

It must of been 15 years ago.  I opened the fridge and there neatly packed as it was every night, was my father’s lunch. 

I truly must have some sort of chemical imbalance, or maybe my switch is just set to EVIL. That’s gotta be the reason why I did what I did next.

I took my father’s yogurt and instantly went into Macgyver mode.  I grabbed a pair of scissors and a roll of “invisible” scotch tape.  I sat down at the kitchen table and went to work.

With one very delicate snip, I cut the plastic off the cover and popped open the yogurt.  Then without thinking twice I reached into the fridge and grabbed one jumbo white egg.  I plopped the egg into the yogurt then got a spoon and smoothed over the surface to make it appear untouched.  I then put the cover back on the yogurt.  The hardest part was next.  I cut a razor thin piece of scotch tape and gently put the plastic cover back together.  Then I placed the mended plastic back on the yogurt cover.  It was done.  As good as new.  I placed the yogurt back into my father’s lunch bag and went to bed.

Before I drifted off to sleep I had but one wish: To see my Father’s reaction when he dug into his Stop and Shop brand Vanilla Yogurt.

The next evening when I returned home, there sitting on my kitchen table was a laminated letter addressed to STOP and SHOP.  Beneath the laminated letter were about 10 copies.  I grabbed one and casually walked to my room.  Below is a transcript of that exact letter, verbatim:

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:

THIS AFTERNOON WHILE EATING MY LUNCH I WAS QUITE SHOCKED TO FIND A RAW EGG BURIED IN MY STOP AND SHOP BRAND VANILLA YOGURT.  THE COVER WAS SEALED AND THE YOGURT CUP DID NOT APPEAR TO HAVE BEEN TAMPERED WITH.

MY FELLOW CO-WORKERS , WHO HAVE SIGNED BELOW, CAN ATTEST THAT I WAS VISIBLY SHAKEN UPON MAKING THIS DISTURBING DISCOVERY.  IF SOMETHING AS BIG AS AN EGG CAN BE SLIPPED INTO YOGURT, THEN WHY NOT DRUGS OR A NEEDLE.

I JUST WANTED TO MAKE YOU AWARE OF THIS STARTLING ISSUE BEFORE IT BECOMES A SERIOUS PROBLEM.

SINCERELY, J. PETER GOGOLYA

Underneath my father’s signature was the signatures of his co-workers.  My dad was on a mission. 

I did not confess to my mischief and my father didn’t bring it up.  I suppose he couldn’t comprehend the idea that his 18 year old son would do such a thing.

I told my sister what I had done then I showed her the letter.  I never in my life saw her laugh longer and harder.  When she finally calmed down she said: “Dad will never mail that letter, he doesn’t want to sound like an idiot.”  I agreed with her. 

We were both wrong…

Roughly 2 weeks later a case of Stop and Shop Yogurt was delivered to our house along with an apology letter from The Corporate Offices of Stop and Shop.  The son-of-a-bitch mailed the letter.  I couldn’t believe it. 

The reply from Stop and Shop was basically an apology.  It also stated that they take matters such as this very seriously and it was under-investigation.  I’d never seen my father so excited.  As far as he was concerned he had beaten “The Man” and had exposed some sort of corruption within the Stop and Shop Company.

To this day I’ve never told my father the corruption of Stop and Shop Yogurt took place in his very own kitchen.  Some have joked that I should save the ‘yogurt confession’ for his death bed, but I was saving the “I love You Dad” speech for that.  Hmm, I wonder what statement would shock my father more….

ah, the mysteries of life…

Memories of being a little kid are very surreal. Almost as if they’d never happened. Almost as if it’s not my own life I’m remembering but instead some movie that I once saw. I suppose that’s what happens as you grow older.

Once again, TV had told the truth: Getting hit in the balls really really hurts. But as long as your not the one being hit, it’s also really really hilarious.