wild-s-child

I want my Saturdays back. Remember when we were but knee high to grasshoppers and old was like twenty?  Yeah, I know, it's a bit blurry to me too, but think really hard and somewhere in that mess of gray matter you will pull out a memory.  No, not the one of your parents having sex or what you did to the neighbor's cat.  (By the way, you can throw out that 'Lost Kitten' sign that appeared on the telephone pole / public mailbox out front.  It's incriminating.)  I'm talking about those wholesome memories of a simpler time.  A time when Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtles ruled the world and Saturday morning cartoons were appointment television, even

It goes down like this: Thanksgiving day, roughly 4:19 in the PM.  The family has yet again averted an akward fist fight over Uncle Billy's gambling problem.  Thankfully the only thing the family craves more than eachother's blood is the Tryptophan induced coma that will follow said meal.  Your sister especially.  (She only eats a little turkey so that she can take advantage of the dull high that will follow.  Rather like smoking pot from a faulty Dr. Pepper bottle.)  Anyway, your mom's side of said family has disposed of the pitchforks and your pop's side has traded their boom sticks for the gravy boat.  And as Auntie Val is finishing her '

Lights up, "Paris Hilton vision" camcorder shot on group of 4 scraggly looking folks, all conversing among selves.  Girl with shotgun walks from left side of camera toward window on back wall.  Man at center quites crowd, speaks: Ben: Well, how do you start a zombie story? Call me a freak, call me crazy, call me what you will.  Hell, you can even call me late for dinner if you want to. But whatever you do, do not call me an overachiever. What to say about a summer wasted?  As school draws nearer, I'm so ready to exit this summer hell and get back to life as usual.  Ha, me talking about life as usual.  That's funny, but the comedy comes fr