Joe "Koo-koo for Kavanaugh" Mahoney
2020-05-13 14:34:24 UTC
My many masticators of the mango morel, many of you have deluged (sp) me with email begging for more memories of my Fatha, Joe Mahoney Seenya. So here's a favorite one, that always brings a smile -- as well as a cravering for Bud Lite...
So we the Mahoneys had moved into our new town of Halifax Maxichusipp's, a town where Dad felt right at home and not "too low class," as he had in many of the neighboring towns, which are slightly close to the City which Dad feared and reviled.
Why did Dad feel so at home in Halifax? Well, every restrint heeya serbs one thing: PIZZA. And with that pizza you get an excellent choice of beeya: Bud, Bud Lite, Coors, or Milla.
There's a Wal-Mart for any cultural need's one might have. Lot's of auto-shops. Coupla spo-its bahs, and most portintly, no book sto-was or any of that Communist gobbidge. Like I said, Dad -- theya forwa the resta us -- felt right at home.
Now upon our arrible in this wondaful down, Dad noticed the neighba had a great big red noisy lawn-mowa. And the next day, Dad went out and got one. The SAME EXACT MOTTLE. Bright red, big, and supa-noisy. Neil Pert would have been proud. Dad was very fonda this lawn mowa. It was almost like one of his DILDOS, only this one cut the grass.
And a few otha thing's as well.
Ya see, one aftanoon, as I was whippin up a nice little pre-dinna snack of microwave pizzas, hotpockets, lasonyas, chickum pop pies, and lean cuisines (thems last ones just ta hep me keep my figgaya), I heard Dad HOWLIN outside on his mowa. I belched loudly in return. But he continya'd howlerin. So, summonin as mush speed as I could mustid, I opened the doo-wa and ambled down tow-wids Dad, doin my best not to shit in my pance.
Dad meanwhile, had been goin round in circles on his Mighty Madder Mowa. Then he turned it off. Then he started wrigglin his massive butt, tryin to detach himself from the lodge mowa's seat. Finely he fell off. And as I approached, he slowly got to his feet.
"Theya!" he shrieked in his familya falsetto voice wish happened whenebba he get's excitered. "Theya!" he said pointin.
I reached the spot, sweatin, puffin, gaspin, fottin.
And theya indeed, on the groun, was the mangled body of a SNAKE. Still movin a little bit, but bloodied. (Surprisingly its blood was red, not green.)
I watched in fascination at the dyin devil.
"Yee-Haaa!" Dad bellowed, and then he began STOMPIN the small satan with his clown shoes. I joined in.
Eventually it stopped movin and was quite flattened and still.
We embraced, smearin each otha with sweat, feces and PRIDE.
"Son," Dad commanded in that high-pitched military voice of his, "Go back to the house and fetch me that case of Bud Lite from the fridge. This call's fer celebratchims."
"Yes sir," I Joe Joonya ansad obediantly. "And the dildos too?"
Dad beamed with pride: "Why the fuck not?"
Joe "large and in charge" M.
So we the Mahoneys had moved into our new town of Halifax Maxichusipp's, a town where Dad felt right at home and not "too low class," as he had in many of the neighboring towns, which are slightly close to the City which Dad feared and reviled.
Why did Dad feel so at home in Halifax? Well, every restrint heeya serbs one thing: PIZZA. And with that pizza you get an excellent choice of beeya: Bud, Bud Lite, Coors, or Milla.
There's a Wal-Mart for any cultural need's one might have. Lot's of auto-shops. Coupla spo-its bahs, and most portintly, no book sto-was or any of that Communist gobbidge. Like I said, Dad -- theya forwa the resta us -- felt right at home.
Now upon our arrible in this wondaful down, Dad noticed the neighba had a great big red noisy lawn-mowa. And the next day, Dad went out and got one. The SAME EXACT MOTTLE. Bright red, big, and supa-noisy. Neil Pert would have been proud. Dad was very fonda this lawn mowa. It was almost like one of his DILDOS, only this one cut the grass.
And a few otha thing's as well.
Ya see, one aftanoon, as I was whippin up a nice little pre-dinna snack of microwave pizzas, hotpockets, lasonyas, chickum pop pies, and lean cuisines (thems last ones just ta hep me keep my figgaya), I heard Dad HOWLIN outside on his mowa. I belched loudly in return. But he continya'd howlerin. So, summonin as mush speed as I could mustid, I opened the doo-wa and ambled down tow-wids Dad, doin my best not to shit in my pance.
Dad meanwhile, had been goin round in circles on his Mighty Madder Mowa. Then he turned it off. Then he started wrigglin his massive butt, tryin to detach himself from the lodge mowa's seat. Finely he fell off. And as I approached, he slowly got to his feet.
"Theya!" he shrieked in his familya falsetto voice wish happened whenebba he get's excitered. "Theya!" he said pointin.
I reached the spot, sweatin, puffin, gaspin, fottin.
And theya indeed, on the groun, was the mangled body of a SNAKE. Still movin a little bit, but bloodied. (Surprisingly its blood was red, not green.)
I watched in fascination at the dyin devil.
"Yee-Haaa!" Dad bellowed, and then he began STOMPIN the small satan with his clown shoes. I joined in.
Eventually it stopped movin and was quite flattened and still.
We embraced, smearin each otha with sweat, feces and PRIDE.
"Son," Dad commanded in that high-pitched military voice of his, "Go back to the house and fetch me that case of Bud Lite from the fridge. This call's fer celebratchims."
"Yes sir," I Joe Joonya ansad obediantly. "And the dildos too?"
Dad beamed with pride: "Why the fuck not?"
Joe "large and in charge" M.