I wish I could see the face of the billings worker who reads the note section of my check. I wrote in "For sexual services rendered". And, since I rounded the total up so that it would be an even dollar amount, some bean counting suit might panic that a Verizon coworker gave me a thirty-seven cent hummer. Creamy splendid.

I hope I make the day of some bank employee when the check is cashed.

My sis cracked me up last night. Course I was stoned off of some sweet fine and yummy herb. Giggle inducing purple hairs. But, she had me gasping for air on the phone.

First I have to preface. I hate prefacing. Sounds like backdoor technicalities. But, I believe it's necessary. Brace yo'self for an explanation fools.

We tortured each other incessantly as kids. Nothing medieval. I didn't lock her into an iron maiden. Run to the hiiiiiiiillllls, run fo-o-or your li-i-iiiiiiife. Okay, brief muscial brain interruption inspired by my own random insanity over. No serious scars, physical or mental, were the result of the childhood torments we employed on each other. So, any nervous nellies out there can keep their limp noodle tight sphincter comments to themselves.

Preface complete.

I always thought I was the more prolific puckish munchkin. Sis informed she retaliated on the sly. I honestly had no idea of some of the ways she got back at me. Take a gander, this shit makes me piss my pants with laughter.

I have written before about a serious poison ivy infection I acquired during a boy scout summer camp outing. Search the archives if ya want for better details. The virulent pollen got into my bloodstream when I opened my flesh against the bark of a tree riddled with the toxic stuff. Spread everywhere on my body related to dermis. Under my eyelids and lining the walls of my urethra and shit. Put me into a semi-coma delerium for most of a week.

Drooling and sprawled out on my grandma's living room floor. Covered in gauze soaked with medication. Planted in front of the television, which was not necessary cause I had cartoons going on in my head anyway. Parentals were seriously worried. I knocked that shit out of me eventually. Needless to say I know what irritable plants look like now.

So dazed, and the only kind of proof that my brain was active was the involuntary twitching, my sis saw an opportunity. Honestly, this really does make me laugh. But she told me, that she would poke me in my sores cause all I would do would make pitiful and opiated like "Owwwww"'s. I had no idea until she told me last night that she ever did it.

Sis - "Spankie, does this hurt?"

*Poke*

Me - ( Spittle bubbles popping ) "Mmmbubuooooooowwwww"

Grandma - "( My sis' name hollered like a cuss )! Leave him alone!"

Repeat every fifteen minutes till bedtime or someone gets a smack with some kind of kitchen utensil.

Shit had me in convulsive snorting guffaws when I heard it. On the farilla my ninjas, I deserved it. It was a constant chess game of whose humorous misery we could revel in as tots. My sis said it was just like the scene in the Simpsons when Bart gets his "Moth" tattoo removed with a giant laser. Poke, quit it, poke, quit it.

She reminded me of this bedtime treat I would dish out to her on the regular. We shared a room in St. Louis for a couple years before being seperated for the sake of everyone's safety and mental health. My bed was wedged in the corner. Lights out, closet door closed ( so monsters can't access that portal into our world ) and the folks passed out from their days of slaving away at their respective jobby jobs. I would open my palms up till my fingers kinda bent backwards. I would run the backs of my knuckles, you know palm side, against the bedroom wall. Sounded exactly like horse hooves racing down the hallway. I would tell Sis that it was the Headless Horseman coming to collect her soul.

Of course she believed me. Sheets drawn up to her eyeballs. Can't even fart from encapsulating fright. Oh man am I stinker.

Well, in reponse she would talk to me in my sleep. I could hold extensive, albiet strange, conversations in my sleep when I was a kid. Still have no recollection of how any of them went. She admitted last night to steering these somberific diatribes towards a twisted reality. Little bitch was feeding my nightmares. I think that is awesome.

Hard time even typing right now, whole body quivering with uncontrollable stiffled giggles. Coworkers afraid to sit next to me. A beneficial result I must say. I'll probably have unexpected laughing fits all shift. Maybe even for a few days.

I still believe I committed more acts of devilry than her. Any digs she could get in were valid justice. I filled in the gaps damaging myself with numerous stupid boy behavior. To which she has and had every right in my book to chuckle over. What will be really interesting will be any response we get from past kids in our old hood. We spread the little shit activies around. Just waiting now for someone who just completed regression therapy to ask us why we convinced them to eat a booger sandwich. Cause that shit is funny dumb ass!

Really though.