We have been getting quite a bit of snow recently in the Midwest, perhaps a foot or more in some places. I ventured upon my roof top to assess the accumulation and ran into Cracker Jack the Gnome. Now he says it is pronounced Cracker Yack but spelled like Jack but I don’t think it is.
Here is some quick background because I have to leave in like 3 minutes. I hired some gnomes to take care of my roof garden several years ago – thank you DACA. The deal was I wouldn’t speak to them but thrice a year and they would help fertilize and see that my plants n’ trees grow up right and proper. A symbiotic relationship much like left (or right – not judging) hands and porn. So I figured I’d get one of my conversations over with already. Their project manager – the aforementioned Cracker J(Y)ack – was milling around atop a drift covered planter. Our word exchange went something like this.
ME: hola Cracker J(Y)ack.
CJ: go fuck yourself.
(BTW he tends to swear but in gnome speak it is like a form of endearment. Did I mention gnomes also freeze when they see me much like what you should do in front of a TRex? Probably not because I’m leaving in about a minute.
ME: I know you don’t mean that CJ(Y).
CJ: So what’s up fuck face?
ME: Oh i’m just looking at all the snow.
CJ: You know it’s almost over.
ME: The snow or life? Ha ha.
CJ: The snow you boob.
(But then he winked in way that made me shudder and sweat. I couldn’t tell if there lied an undertone of truthfulness in regards to an actual end of mankind as we know it. So I didn’t press.)
ME: Ha boob. Ok. That’s good.
CJ: As long as you don’t start seeing bleeding mannequins you should be safe.
Then he slowly creeped back into the snow embankment and I heard a hearty laugh followed by the smallest fart noise you ever did hear. Till the next time we speak I guess. Gotta run!
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