UPDATE: While Eric remains on his deathbed (given last rites, yesterday) “Celebrity Guest Blogger Weekend” continues… with Debbie Swenson
Hi everyone… long time no hear.
I had just finished finished nursing Bigfoot back to health, when I was saddened by the horrific news of Eric’s illness.
I arrived at the Lair of MiScHiEf, after stopping to gaze at the glorious sunset by the Delaware Water Gap. The golden streaks amid the purple hues in the clouds giving way to the blazing stars was extraordinary.
I probably shouldn’t have stayed and watched… since I had his prescriptions in the car, and he needed them bad. But I had to share this nonetheless.
It broke my heart to see this frail shell of a man suffer so. I remember how talanted he was, so full of life, and pure unbridled energy.
Burning up with a 98.9-degree fever, he was nothing like his web persona. So timid and unassuming.. even his legendary “SHAG ROCKET” appeared to be a tenth of the size he claimed it was in his E-Mails. He quickly explained its toddler-like size to an “icy cold spongebath” he just received, just prior.
Just then, from the heavens, a glowing star fell from the sky. We covered our eyes to the dazzling array of colours entering the window. The the bright lights took on the form of my long-gone angel, KayCee. Always hovering inches above the floor, for fear of any snakes, since the Lair of MiScHiEf is deep in the snowy woods.
“Oh Eric,” KayCee lamented, with her full pouty lips, smiling eyes, and blonde wig, “I just checked with the Big Guy upstairs… he doesn’t have you on his list. It’s not your time yet!!!!”
“Did you check with the other guy downstairs?”
(long pause) “… oh.”
KayCee floated to the ailing mischevious one, gave him a gentle kiss on his forehead, and snuck a quick peek under the thin white sheets.
“Icy cold spongebath again, huh?”, she inquired.
KayCee and I decided it was our turn to be naive and gullible.
We quickly changed the subject and regaled in the good old days where clowning around on ICQ quickly turned in to hot monkey cyber-threesomes on many nights. I sat there, stroking his SHAG …uh…bullet, as part of his therapy in an attempt to heal and “resurrect” him.
Six hours later, still limp as a noodle, he confessed to a wound he suffered during Desert Storm, rendering him flaccid for all eternity.
(Not that he was in Kuwait during the conflict, rather, at the time of this war… he was in an office in One Liberty Plaza in NYC, while changing the toner in a copy machine, a clumsy co-worker stumbled…. resulting in slamming the copy machine door closed, with his genitalia caught and mangled inside the machine.)
We wished our dear sickly friend well, as we were whisked off to investigate the rumors that in nearby Shickshinny, PA… a truck driver named John Burrows bears an uncanny resemblance to The King of Rock & Roll….
We are the Warriors!
(* No clue who Debbie Swenson is? You youngin’s have no appreciation of history * )