Dear Auntie Belle,
I don't know if you've ever encountered a problem quite like mine, but I saw the way you helped that guy who set his anus on fire and well, I was so impressed I just HAD to take my chances. Let me start somewhere near the beginning...
My wife's abdomen does tricks. These tricks may seem like slight-of-hand (gut) but I assure you they are all too real. She can roll it like the ocean, inflate it rapidly to five times its normal size and can, when the need arises, hide a six-pack of Michelob in her navel. As if that's not enough, she tattooed some hula girls on it so she could make them dance toFoghat's "Slow Ride." As one might imagine, she makes good money working in the freak show at all the surrounding county fairs.
Now, all of that is fine---she's never been one to stay at home cooking anyway, but recently she hired an Amish manager who follows her everywhere pulling a little red wagon piled-high with what appears to be a wide variety of old, smelly tennis shoes. He's got her performing a new act: she gets in a hot-tub and, in a mere ten minutes, inflates her gut to create what appears to be---to the
delight of the audience---a giant frosted muffin. But you don't want to be around when the show's over, if you catch my drift.
Listen, I can make my own sandwiches, but I'm afraid she's spending too much time with this new manager. The other day I caught her hiding three bottles of strawberry wine and a pair of plain, brown suspenders in her belly-button. I'm also finding stray horse-hairs in our bed.
Am I crazy or is she wiggling more than just her abdomen?
How can I save my marriage from the Amish?
Mr. Wriggly's Believe It Or Not
Dear Mr. Wriggly,
I don't know if you've ever encountered a problem quite like mine, but I saw the way you helped that guy who set his anus on fire and well, I was so impressed I just HAD to take my chances. Let me start somewhere near the beginning...
My wife's abdomen does tricks. These tricks may seem like slight-of-hand (gut) but I assure you they are all too real. She can roll it like the ocean, inflate it rapidly to five times its normal size and can, when the need arises, hide a six-pack of Michelob in her navel. As if that's not enough, she tattooed some hula girls on it so she could make them dance toFoghat's "Slow Ride." As one might imagine, she makes good money working in the freak show at all the surrounding county fairs.
Now, all of that is fine---she's never been one to stay at home cooking anyway, but recently she hired an Amish manager who follows her everywhere pulling a little red wagon piled-high with what appears to be a wide variety of old, smelly tennis shoes. He's got her performing a new act: she gets in a hot-tub and, in a mere ten minutes, inflates her gut to create what appears to be---to the
delight of the audience---a giant frosted muffin. But you don't want to be around when the show's over, if you catch my drift.
Listen, I can make my own sandwiches, but I'm afraid she's spending too much time with this new manager. The other day I caught her hiding three bottles of strawberry wine and a pair of plain, brown suspenders in her belly-button. I'm also finding stray horse-hairs in our bed.
Am I crazy or is she wiggling more than just her abdomen?
How can I save my marriage from the Amish?
Mr. Wriggly's Believe It Or Not
Dear Mr. Wriggly,
Once the Amish get involved, it is a lost cause. I advise you to move as quickly and as far away as you can. Your wife's belly talents are not all that unusual; it is caused by a slight deformity of the 13th chromosome, but I'm waxing scientific. If that's what attracted you to her, you can find other women with the same condition on any Craig's List ad in the state of Missouri. For your edification, you should see another post herein called Sins of the Amish'n'. I can not urge you enough to run, Mr. Wriggley, run.
Auntie Belle
Auntie Belle
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If Mrs. Wriggly is looking for a new beard-wearing stove pipe hat guy, have her call me.
ReplyDeleteI have dibs on the gut shaker, dammit.
ReplyDelete