Hi FML!  Elizabeth here, daughter of Bonehead Bob the Bacula Man.  When I
came over to dad's today, he took me into the front room and made me sit
down on the couch.  Then he handed me a homemade book that had 84 pages.
The first 83 pages were print-outs of letters sent to me from people on the
FML asking me not to quit.  The last letter was from dad, telling me how
proud he was of me and how much he loved me for stuff.  Dad also asked that
I think about taking a week or two vacation from the FML, then think about
if my decision to quit was a good one.
 
So I will probably only post when dad wants something to get in the FML for
a while, and decide later.
 
Anyway, you will not believe what happened yesterday.  Mom's car is in the
shop, so she borrowed dad's brand new bright red 1998 ZX2.  Dad was in the
passenger side because he wanted to be dropped off at the library and they
where stopped at a red light when a big Federal Express truck smashed into
them.  Dads car no longer has a trunk.  It has an accordian.  Dad spent the
night in the hospital to make sure it didn't cause him to bleed, and is now
drugged and sleeping in a big pile of ferrets in the front room.  They
really like his new plastic collar brace and keep chewing it.  Dad doesn't
seem to mind so long as their whiskers don't go in his nose.
 
The car is in the shop to see if dad can still drive it to New York but if
it can't I think he is going to fly or rent a car.  He is supposed to find
out more tonight then the insurance people call him back.  All dad said when
he came home this morning was, "I guess the paint job finally lost its
virginity.  Serves me right for buying a new car." This is the second time
this year dad got hurt when someone else was driving, so he said to me that
he guessed he needed to drive more.  Mom has now been driving when two of
dad's cars got wrecked, both in the last year.  She totaled dad's green car
when a really old lady pulled out in front of her, and now she wrecked dad's
red car.  At least the wrecks were not her fault.
 
Someone wrote me to say dad had a lot of bad luck but it never seems to get
him down.  Dad says he has nothing but good luck because he is still walking
around on two feet, with two arms and two eyes.  I don't know if it is good
luck or bad luck.  Dad has pictures of him in war zones, hanging from a rope
over cliffs, inside burning buildings with firemen, and one really dumb one
of him standing with his toes off the edge of Half Dome.  I hate looking at
it.  He put a typed message under it saying "Don't do this at home." I know
he has been shot a few times, and I have a picture of him getting a medal.
He looked like he was 12 years old!  My favorite picture was taken a couple
of years ago when dad was off someplace in Arizona recording rock pictures.
He slipped off the cliff and landed on cactus.  The picture shows dad
pulling spines out of his naked butt with a pair of "stats" and a bunch of
young students laughing.  A piece of cholla cactus is still stuck to the
side of his head.  (It really doen't show much naked butt, just enough to
embarrass him).  Dad says there is no such thing as luck and everything is a
learning experience, some are just more profound than others.  All I know is
when he first gets up in the morning, he walks around like Foster, all
hobbled up.
 
Did I say dad was covered with ferrets?  Those silly guys love dad and
follow him all over the room.  Stella loves crawling inside his shirt and
dad is really ticklish so she drives him crazy.  I think the ferret know
when dad isn't feeling well, because they all get lovy-dovy and snuggle with
him.  To my horror, dad said he will be bringing home a couple more this
year.  My jaw dropped in disbelief.  In my mind the poop piles just got
larger.  Dad said he wasn't a ferret collector, but he knew some would be
dying soon, so he was getting replacements before the fact.  The truth is, I
don't think he knows how to say "no." Actually, I think he is just trying to
get enough to make a living blanket.
 
Oh yeah, dad broke his nose in the wreck when his hand whipped around and
smacked himself in the face.  He has a bandaid thing on it and cotton
stuffed inside his nostrils.  He sounds like a chipmonk, it is so funny.
He's running around singing George of the Jungle.  It was funny the first
three times.  When I complained, he started singing Rocket Man like if he
was Captain Kirk.  I think the pills he got has brought back the 60s.
 
Elizabeth, chief scooper of pooper
[Posted in FML issue 2007]