Small Town Crime

I am spending the summer in Bigfork, Montana and the more I am here the more I love small-town life. Life in Bigfork is slow slower than a snail with sore feet and it is as lazy as a forty-pound tom cat. One of my favorite things to do is read the local paper, The Flathead Beacon. I especially enjoy reading the Police Blotter section. Small-town crime is hilarious. Below are some examples taken directly from The Beacon (bolded words are my thoughts):

A Kalispell resident asked about the extent one would need to go to legally neglect a pet. He was also curious about fines and how much such things might cost a person.

Someone found an abandoned crate containing one undesirable cat.

The Kalispell resident must have chosen abandonment over neglect.

A Bigfork man described a suspicious substance falling from the sky. A deputy discovered it was pollen.

         No really, one can’t make this stuff up.

A Kalispell resident reported that multiple men were undressing and dressing in a front yard on Eighth Avenue West.

         Can’t a team practice for the annual Fourth of July Undressing and Dressing Competition without someone calling the police?

A senile cocker spaniel has lost its way home.

In Montana, a senile cocker spaniel that has lost its way home is called bear snack.

A resident on Yeoman Hall Drive captured a spaniel-type dog.

         Yea, maybe the senile cocker spaniel isn’t a bear snack.

A Kalispell woman called in to asking to speak to a specific deputy but refused to say which.

         NO COMMENT!

A young man broke down and refused to function after his parents took his Xbox away.

The parents commented, “He is twenty-seven and it is time he found a job.”

A man used curse and swear words to describe three loose dogs. He warned that if the law enforcement didn’t take care of the animals, he would do it himself.

         Curse and swear words are two different things?

A pack of loose dogs consisting of a “lap dog”, Great Dane, and black Lab have been risking their lives, according to one resident, with their ramblings.

Apparently, they escaped the clutches of Mr. Curse and Swear Words.

Wayfaring dogs have been conducting their evening gatherings at the Silver Shadow Estates.

I bet it’s that “lap dog”, Great Dane, and black Lab hanging out by the lamppost, smoking, and laughing about their life-risking ramblings. 

Paco’s Perspective

Hey, Flip, you are an adventurer. What about joining that pack? I think you would enjoy yourself.

The Flip Side

SQUIRREL!         

I Am, Sir Flip, the Lizard Slayer

It’s that time of the year and Cathy is too busy to write. She asked if Paco and I would like a turn at writing. OCD Paco can’t stop twirling and licking the grout long enough to write, so it is up to I, Sir Flip, to write this week.

I want to tell you the story of my first Lizard slaying, but first I must tell you how I found M’lady, Cathy.  Many say t’was by accident but I believe t’was fate. I had been held captive by a wicked, cat-loving queen since birth. She kept me in the backyard, gave me food on occasion, and I was made to sleep outside on the bare ground. Her cats glared at me from the inside and laughed at my situation. I had become a straggly, forlorn substitute of my true knightly self. My fur was matted, my bones were very visible, and my heart was broken.

I decided, no not I, fate decided t’was time for me to move on. I waited for my opportunity, a forgotten open gate, and left. I spent many days on the road. At times I wondered, if fate had dealt me a worse hand. Unfortunately, I had found myself traveling on a road with many cars. I had not had enough knightly practice at dodging cars and I had many near disasters. Then a car stopped and another knight, who I later learned was named Sir Dave, stepped out of the vehicle and said, “Come here, Sweetie!” SWEETIE? Apparently, my rough exterior had shadowed my manly prowess, but I didn’t care because I was tired and hungry. Anything was better than wondering the streets in search of food and shelter. I ran and jumped into Sir Dave’s arms.

We drove a short distance and Sir Dave tossed me in a room with a fellow four-legged knight known as Paco (lousy name for a knight). This knight was unable to make any kind of conversation with me due to his inability to stand still. I took advantage of the abundant water and food and free access to a soft bed. As I slumbered, that knight Paco barked at every little noise. This four-legged knight had the wrong name; I went to him and tried to stare him in the eye and said, “I dub thee, Sir Barks Alot!” As the day continued, I wondered had fate led me to another prison, but just inside.

Many two-legged creatures came to the room and spoke to us through the prison gate. I later learned their names to be Sir Ben, Princess Breeze Louise, and Princess Alyssa. As I was cuddled, loved and petted by each, I knew I had found happiness but t'was not the true happiness my heart was in search of.

Then it happened! Two more two-legged creatures approached. One, I could tell was the alpha and to my surprise was a female. I had never met a female knight with the heart of a lion, Lady Janet. When Lady Janet speaks all four-legged creatures listen with intent and awe. She has a gentle way with creatures. And then fate came through the door in a wheelchair. Ahhhhhhh, a permanent lap, my heart’s desire I knew t'was she I had been looking for. T'was she I would slay dragons for. T'was she, M'lady Cathy. I jumped into her lap, settled myself into the crook of her arm, and I knew I was home.

I have resided with M’lady Cathy for almost three years. I have kept her from harm’s way. I have chased the squawking blackbird from the castle garden. I have soothed her broken heart with my kisses. (I, true knight that I am, must be honest; M’ lady doesn’t really like my kisses, yet, but I have soothed her broken heart!) I have chased the dreaded lizards away.

I have never had the opportunity to catch a lizard until the other day. M’lady was talking with a gentleman about renovating the castle walls. Apparently, M’lady doesn’t like the appearance of the exterior castle walls. She had left her chamber door to the garden open. I have tried to tell her many a time to not leave the chamber door open (that’s how the snake entered), but she doesn’t listen like a dog sometimes. I was luxuriating in the recliner and all of a sudden I heard M’lady shout, “Janet, lizard! Flip lizard! Help, lizard!” I descended from the recliner; I dodged Sir Barks Alot, and there t’was. Generally, the lizard is far too quick for myself, but this one had panicked himself into a corner. I had him in my clutches and Lady Janet appeared, “Flip, drop it!” I do what Lady Janet says; I dropped it. “No, no not in here,” commanded Lady Janet, “get him.” I captured the evil creature again. “Take him outside,” commanded Lady Janet. I obeyed. I dashed through the four-legged escape hatch. I heard Lady Janet scream, “Now drop it.” I obeyed. She grabbed and brought me inside. She put me down and I ran for the escape hatch because it is my duty to slay the evil lizard. Lady Janet grabbed me again just before I got the evil lizard in my clutches one more time, “Sorry, Sir Flip, there shall be no slaying of the lizard in this castle.”

Alas, I was so forlorn, t’was my chance to prove my strength and Lady Janet said no. I sadly jumped in M’lady Cathy’s arms. I covered her with kisses and she still didn’t like them. But, M’lady scratched me behind the ear and whispered, “I appreciate your valor and the valiant effort to protect this castle and those whom reside inside from danger, Sir Flip.” I crawled into the crook of her arm and went to sleep and dreamed of slaying lizards.

Paco’s Perspective

First, excuse me, Don Quixote, what’s with the knighthood crap? Second, I am NOT OCD, I am NOT OCD, I am NOT OCD! Finally, “t’was I, Sir Barks Alot,” that chased the itty, bitty lizard into the corner. You got some imagination, kid!

You Know You're Old When . . .

WARNING: ADULT CONTENT

MOM WARNING: If you are offended by the use of the “f word”, Mom, DO NOT READ!

I had many other titles for this blog in mind, but they involved using the “f word”. This becomes a problem for a few reasons: 1) I am not a big user of the “f word”. It sounds ridiculous coming out of my mouth, but there are times when nothing else will suffice. 2) I have a lot of ex-students that read my blog, although, many of them are high school age or older and I am sure they have used the “f word” many more times than I and some, perhaps, daily; I still don’t think they would want to know that their fifth grade teacher that they loved and revered (yep, I have an ego) actually uses the “f word”. Many students think their teachers sleep at school and never go to the bathroom, let alone use the “f word.” 3) My mother hates the “f word”! I once got slapped for using the word ‘frigging’, as in, I can’t get this frigging thing open. When asked why I was slapped I was told for using a bad word and I replied ‘frigging’ isn’t a bad word and then my mother explained to me that that wasn’t what I was thinking! She said I was thinking the “f word”. (I hate it when my mother is always right.) I remember, one day, I explained to my mother that in order for her to get over her deep-seeded hatred of the “f word” that we needed to spend the entire day placing the “f word” in front of just about every word we spoke. We never “effing” laughed so “effing” hard in our “effing” lives using the “effing f word” for the entire “effing” day. We “effing laughed until the “effing” pee was running down our “effing” legs. Thus, was born the “effing” mantra of the “effing” Sistahhood, “Stop, or I am going to “effing” pee!” OOPS! I digress! If I write about the other titles I had chosen for this blog and I use $%&# instead of the actual “f word”, my mother will be mad at me for what I was thinking. So, no matter what, I am $%&#ing screwed.

What the $%&#! Original title number 1: Where the $%&# Did I Put That and How Could I Possibly Forget My $%&#ing Social Security Number? How many pairs of reading glasses can one have strewn throughout the house? And when will I find the pair I am looking for? I use my Social Security Number daily! I need to know the last four digits of that number for EVERYTHING. A year or so ago 9I don't remeber the exact date.) I forgot my $%&#ing Social Security Number. I am still feeling the trauma of that memory loss to this day. I needed the last four digits to get into a site at work. I had to call Human Resources and ask for help, but they wouldn’t give me the four digits over the phone. I felt like a complete ass. I am sure the reader is asking, “Don’t you have your Social Security card in your wallet?” No, I don’t because if someone stole my wallet, they would have my all-important $%&#ing Social Security Number. I panicked and I was sure that was the beginning of $%&#ing alzheimers.

I called Janet in tears, “Janet, I forgot my $%&#ing Social Security Number. What am I going to do?”

“Don’t you have your Social Security card in your wallet?” she asked. (Janet happens to have her original Social Security card from the age of two.)

“No, I don’t because if someone stole my wallet, they would have my all-important $%&#ing Social Security Number,” I replied with a continued sense of panic.

“First, calm down. Then breath and think, da, da, da – da, da – da, da, da, da,” she said calmly.

“Okay, da, da, da – da, da – da, da, da, da. I got it! DA, DA, DA – DA, DA – DA, DA, DA, DA! Janet, am I going to have to be put in a home?”

“No, I promised I would never do that and I keep my promises!”

Every day when I wake up, I recite my $%&#ing Social Security Number, but I still can’t find my $%&#ing glasses.

Original title number 2: When Did Going to Bed Become More $%&#ing Important Than Drinking and Dancing? I remember when (yep, that is what all old people start their stories with) I could stay up all night drinking and dancing and not just on the weekends. I could stay up until the bars closed, run home, sleep for a couple of hours, get ready for work, and teach school with no problem. Then one day the words, “I can’t it’s a school night,” came rolling out of my mouth. I don’t remember when it happened because I am too $%&#ing old and I can’t remember a $%&#ing thing. And now if given the choice, I will choose going to bed over drinking, dancing, or eating. Yes, I said EATING!

Notice I said I would rather go to bed than anything else instead of I’d rather go to SLEEP over anything else which leads to original title number 3: Why the $%&# Can’t I go to Sleep? Oh, I go to bed because I am old and I would rather do that over anything, yes, I mean ANYTHING! But when I go to bed I don’t sleep unless I am watching something really important that I don’t want to miss on T.V. I will fall asleep immediately and sleep for the duration of that program and then I am wide awake for the rest of the night. Although, I have found that my best ideas come to me at 2:21 a.m., yep, not 2:30, not 2:15, but 2:21 a.m. At 2:21 a.m. I get great ideas for lessons or smart-ass comebacks. They are the greatest ideas ever. The only problem is I can’t $%&#ing remember them in the morning.

Original title number 4) At Exactly What $%&#ing Moment Did I Get So $%&#ing Old? (A Girl Needs to Know!) I need to know exactly when I got those lines around my lips that make me look like I have been smoking since I was two years old. I need to know exactly when having a bowel movement and making sure not peeing one’s pants when laughing became a top priority. I need to know exactly when my baby soft skin became dried fruit leather. I need to know exactly when I decided it would be easier to go to Costco and buy the eighteen pack of reading glasses and spread them strategically around the house instead of spending hours looking for the cute, fashionable pair in the adorable carrying-case. (Hell, I need to know exactly when I bought the cute, fashionable pair in the adorable carrying-case.)  And I need to know the exact, precise moment that my ample, voluptuous, well-placed, forward-facing breasts became two flat team pennants that I need to use a roller shade device to gently roll them up and place them in my always-pointing-to-my-toes-stretched-out-straps bra. A girl just needs to $%&#ing know!

I apologize, if I have offended anyone young or old. No, I don’t! You young thangs just better stop laughing because this shit is going to happen to you. To the old people I have offended, don’t worry you won’t remember reading this in a couple hours. Let’s face it, sometimes in certain situations certain words are necessary. I am having a problem facing the fact that I am fucking old. OOPS, sorry, Mom! (Slap me Wednesday when I come for dinner.)

Paco’s Perspective

Sometimes one must stoop to the level of a chicken and say, “Cluck you!”

The Flip Side

Hey, Flip is an “f word”. I flipping hate it when those flipping lizards go into their flipping hidey-holes. 

This is flipping fun!

I Wonder

Wonder is a book written by R. J. Palacio. This is my faaaaaavorite book. No really. It is. I’m not kidding! (This is my mantra every time I start to read a book to a class. After about the third book the students say it with me.) Wonder is a story about an ordinary fifth grader, August, with an extraordinary disability. He has been home schooled and his parents decide it is time for him to attend school so that he will be ready to face the world.

The author R. J. Palacio writes a one-page lead that would capture any reader. The first chapter is called Ordinary. On the first page a boy describes how he is an ordinary boy that likes to do ordinary things. In the first paragraph he lists the ordinary things that he likes to do. Then he says, “I feel ordinary. Inside. But I know ordinary kids don’t make other ordinary kids run away screaming in playgrounds.” I think this would capture the attention of even the most reluctant reader. The boy continues to describe his feelings when people give him that “try-not-to-stare” stare. He describes his somewhat over protective family and how they see him as extraordinary. The last line of the first page the boy formally introduces himself, “My name is August, by the way. I won’t describe what I look like. Whatever you’re thinking it’s probably worse.”

As I read the first page of this amazing book I imagined a group of students, sitting on the floor in front of me, leaning farther forward with every sentence, mouths agape, and eyes wide with anticipation. Of course that last line is where I would stop because I love to hear students scream, “No! Don’t stop!”

The book follows August’s tumultuous journey attending a school for the first time. It is a heart-wrenching story that causes one to cry relentlessly throughout the book. It makes one want root for the underdog, feel for the forgotten older sister, and beat the shit out of the bully. It reminds me of the book Mockingbird by Kathryn Erskine. They both have the theme of everybody deserves kindness.

Wonder is a story that is written from the point of view of different characters: August, his older sister, Via, and Jack Will, the school jock that becomes August’s friend.

As I read this book it made me reflect again on how I treat people and how I see others treat people. I find myself always being in a hurry and when I see someone I give that expected courteous smile, and say those expected words, “Hi, how are you?” not stopping to hear how that person is, hurrying off to my next destination. When Janet and I come home everyday the family is very kind about asking, “How was your day?” but Janet and I always answer the same way. She says, “Great, wonderful, terrific!” and I respond, “Fine and dandy, Andy!” We say this even when it hasn’t been a great-wonderful-terrific-fine-and-dandy-Andy day. And I wonder why?  Why does one ask, “How are you?” when one really doesn’t want to know. And why do I say, “Fine and dandy, Andy!” when I really am not fine and dandy. It is difficult to decide when one asks, “Hi, how are you?” if they really want to know how you are. I wonder . . . . .

I have had a difficult time this past month at work and I have worked very hard to keep people from knowing how I really feel. I wonder what would happen if someone asked, “How are you?” and I actually told one how I was. I wonder what would happen if I said, “Hi, how are you?” and I actually stopped, made eye contact, and waited for an answer other than, “Fine and you?”

I wonder . . . . . . .

Paco’s Perspective

Okay, okay, I get your drift. “Flip, how are you?” Okay, I give, I can’t do it because I really don’t care.

The Flip Side

Do you think the lizards and prairie dogs want me to ask them how they are before I chase them or after I catch them?

An Olde Cliche

I bought a house a little over a year ago. It was one of those short-sale-soon-to-be-a-foreclosure things. It is a custom built home on two acres of rock breeding “farmland”. The home was originally built for someone in a wheelchair. There are no steps to the doors. All doorways and hallways are extra wide. My living area is huge and has a bathroom that I can do wheelies in with my wheelchair.

The house was a mess. It was almost completely overgrown with weeds and The Lantana That Ate Cincinnati. It was the size of a Volkswagon Bug and the home to many unknown critters. The front acre was full of cacti and huge rocks. It is an adobe old territorial Arizona style home and I love it, but did I tell you about the paint job.

There are two theories about the paint job. Theory one: someone tried to do some artsy-fartsy dry brush job or Theory two: (which is the theory of a professional painter that I had come and give me an estimate) it looks like whoever painted it had a bad sprayer and didn’t really give a damn. No matter what the theory, I hate it. I love the house I hate the paint job. It was going to be the first thing I was going to have done until I got paint estimates and realized all the other things that had to be done: clear out the weeds, get rid of The Lantana That Ate Cincinnati, put up a fence for DaBoyz, plant a yard for DaBoyz, paint the entire inside of the house, etc., etc., etc. I had so many things to get done and so little money to do it.

And so, we have lived here for over a year and the outside of the house has still not been painted. Janet said that every time we pull up to the house I wince, close my eyes, and slightly shake my head.

But “don’t judge a book by its cover”. “It’s not what is on the outside but what is on the inside that counts”. It is a beautiful home filled with family, love and laughter. It is warm and cozy on the inside. I have my very own veranda and evergreen grassy area for DaBoyz to play and me to read and soak up the wonder of a new day.

Weeds and bushes have been pulled, trees trimmed, huge rocks move, cacti carefully transplanted somewhere else, couple of fences built, horse stalls put up, and flowers planted.

Someday the front acre will have green grass, fencing and a cow named Dinner. Someday the back pasture will be completely fenced in and the horses will roam freely. Someday Janet and I will have a vegetable garden. Someday Janet will be able to have her chickens again that she loves so much. Someday we are going to drive up to our home and I won’t have to wince and close my eyes. But until then, come on in, welcome, feel the warmth, feel the love, and join in on the laughter.

Paco’s Perspective

Don’t forget about that doggie door that allows us to go in the backyard and play.

The Flip Side

Would it be possible to put a doggie door in the fence? I can’t get to those %#$* gophers.  

Listen Like A Dog

I am not a very good listener. I consider myself an interruptive listener. Of course, I have an excuse for this – I am old. If I don’t share what is on my mind immediately, I forget what I was going to say, and sometimes what I was going to say was really good or I think it was really good. I make an attempt to do all those things one is suppose to do to be a good listener: 1. Quiet Your Mind – I try so hard to clear my mind of stressful thoughts and think of only what the speaker is saying. BUT my mind is going 100 miles a minute and I am thinking about what I am going to do next. 2. Look at the Speaker – I am very good at this WITHOUT listening. There are times when I have been a participant in professional development in which the subject is something I have heard at least twenty times. I am an expert at making eye contact, shaking my head, and smiling, but it doesn’t mean I am listening. 3. Focus – Really? Isn’t that the same as quieting your mind and looking at the speaker? See, I am not even a good listener when I am doing the “talking”!

I have a new favorite book. I know, I know, I say every book is my favorite. Every time I read a book to a class I begin by saying, “This is my favorite book, no, really it is, I’m not kidding!” I say it so much that now all I have to say is, “This,” and the class will finish with, “Is my favorite book, no, really it is, I’m not kidding!” I want the reader to know that this new favorite book has worked its way right next to my all time favorite, The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane. This new fave has ridden on a wave of books written from a dog’s point of view: A Dog’s Life: The Autobiography of a Stray by Ann M. Martin, A Dog’s Purpose by W. Bruce Cameron AND here it comes, wait for it . . . . . Racing in the Rain: My Life as a Dog by Garth Stein.

Racing in the Rain is a special adaptation for young readers of Garth Stein’s original title, The Art of Racing in the Rain. I came across this book at our book fair. I have a tendency to sit and read and buy all the chapter books at the book fair. I was working the book fair late one night and I picked up the book for something to do. While I was reading this book I wanted to read it to someone out loud. The next day I even went to a fifth grade class and asked the teacher, if I could read the first chapter to her class. Racing in the Rain is the story of a Dog, Enzo, whom belongs to a racecar driver and his family. Enzo believes that when he dies he will come back as a man. Like Edward, I learned so much from Enzo, the dog! Throughout the book, I have placed sticky notes to signify places of learning about life. One of my stickies is placed where Enzo explains how important it is to listen like a dog:

Here is why I will be a good person. Because I listen. I cannot speak, so I listen very well. I never interrupt, I never change the course of the conversation with a comment of my own. People, if you pay attention to them, change the direction of one another’s conversations constantly. It’s like having a passenger in your car who suddenly grabs the wheel and turns you down a side street. Learn to listen, I beg of you. Pretend you are a dog like me and listen to other people rather than steal their stories.

Thanks, Enzo, I have made a commitment to listen like a dog.

I highly suggest the reader read all three books written from a dog’s point of view. I also, strongly suggest the reader purchase a box of tissues and a pad of stickies along with the books. Put on a comfy pair of jammies, get into just the right position in bed, place the books on one side and the tissues and stickies on the other and learn. The reader will look at one’s dog in a whole different light.

Paco’s Perspective

I love the part when Denny’s friend puts Enzo’s toy dog in the washing machine. I know exactly how Enzo feels. Janet is always washing my guys.

The Flip Side

How does a dog write when it can’t hold a pencil?

Chew on This, Clinton Kelly, Please

I have a friend, Peggy, who always wanted to be best friends with everyone. We would be watching T.V. and someone she admired would appear on the screen and she would say, “You know she and I are soul mates. If she knew me, she would definitely be my best friend. We would talk and laugh and partake in our guilty pleasures until all hours of the night.” I was always concerned that someday, by accident, we would come upon one of her famous crushes and she would explain to him or her how they should be best friends. I always thought Peggy was just a little crazy (that is why I love her) until I started watching The Chew and I laid my eyes on Clinton Kelly.

Clinton Kelly is that guy from the show, What Not To Wear. The readers might be asking themselves, “Clinton Kelly, What Not To Wear? Are you crazy, Cathy? Who wants to hang out with a guy that would tell one what they are wearing should have been left back in the eighties with Cher?” I DO! I know, I know, he would be appalled with my easy clothes. But I do have a valid excuse, Clinton Kelly.

While I was sick at home I started watching The Chew. It stars Clinton Kelly and some other folks. Everyday these folks get together and talk and laugh and EAT! The other folks on the show are good, well, except for maybe that sweet, innocent, never touched bacon, young thang. Some days I just want to force feed that sweet thang butter. And then there is Clinton Kelly. OMG, I am  . . . . . . I don’t know what I am. I am not in love with Clinton Kelly but I want to be his best friend. I want to talk and laugh and partake in our guilty pleasures.

The other evening I was watching The Chew, Guilty Pleasures. Cathy, I thought you said it was a daytime show. It is! Yep, I Tvoed it. I am obsessed! I would just like Clinton Kelly to “Chew” on how much we are alike:

Clinton Kelly’s number one guilty pleasure is ironing, of course. I love to iron. I am no longer able to iron because the more crippled I get the weaker I get and I can no longer lift the iron, oh, but when I could. I think I loved ironing so much because it was something I could do all by myself. I don’t know if any of my readers have ironed from a wheelchair but it does get tricky. I burnt my knees quite often with the edge of the iron. My favorite thing to do alone in my townhouse was to watch Lois and Clark and iron. Clinton Kelly, I can no longer iron, but I would love to watch you iron.

Clinton Kelly’s number two guilty pleasure is eating home fries. Okay, I am not a huge fan of home fries, but I am a fan of food. Everything is better with bacon. I bet I could put bacon and cheese on those home fries.

Clinton Kelly’s number three guilty pleasure is watching Judge Judy. No, really, Judge Judy. Who wouldathunkit? I Tvoe Judge Judy along with The Chew.

I can see us now. Me, watching Clinton Kelly iron. Collar, yoke, cuff, sleeve, cuff, sleeve, side, back, side. He coming over to me every once in a while and bending down so I could pop a home fry in his mouth. We wouldn’t want to get grease on his well-ironed shirts but if we did he has a secret for getting it out. While all this ironing and fry popping is going on we will be happily watching and kevetching about Judge Judy. We will even spout some of our favorite Judge Judyisms.

“Clinton Kelly, may I put some cheese on these fries?” I ask knowingly.

“NO, because I am the boss, Applesauce!” Clinton replies.

“Those home fries would taste so much better with bacon and cheese. You know I am telling the truth because I am the Truth Machine,” I cajole.

“This is not Let’s Make a Deal and I am not Monty Hall. When it comes to fries you have to follow the K.I.S.S principle, “ he says with anticipation.

Together we shout, “Keep It Simple, Stupid!”

Clinton Kelly, would you be my best friend? I know, you are gay and I am not, but I don't want to marry you I just want to be your best friend. I know, you will probably pick on my easy clothes wardrobe, but what are friends for? Don’t worry, Clinton Kelly, I am not a stalker. You won’t see me outside your window looking up at you lovingly. I am crippled and I don’t travel well. I just wanted you to “Chew” on this, Clinton Kelly, we are soul mates, you just don’t know it, yet.

Paco’s Perspective

Doesn’t Clinton Kelly have a cute dog, Mary, that goes with him everywhere? Just like us! Clinton Kelly, we are all destined to be together. Has anyone told Clinton Kelly about Filp?

The Flip Side

What is a Clinton Kelly? Is that a kind of lizard? If so, I am in!