Monthly Archives: June 2011

Fishy Feet

And another thing that marks out Staines-on-Thames as one of the most glamorous undiscovered gems of the British Isles is that you can get little fish to eat the dead skin off of your hands and feet for just fifteen bucks in the local mall. Ichthyotherapy is illegal back home in Tennessee, but that’s because only rich people there have healthcare. Here in England, if you catch some weird disease from fish that you paid to eat the dead skin off your feet in a shopping mall, you might raise a few eyebrows in the emergency room, but the treatment is still free. That’s called civilization.

Besides, there isn’t much to do here in the summer rain, so cousin Ronnie and I decided to take my glamorous friend Karen there last weekend and give it a try.

 

What did it feel like, I hear you asking? It felt like little fish were eating the dead skin off your body. Doh! Fatima, the therapist, explained that they are talking about introducing a full body treatment. We couldn’t decide on that one. Frankly, it could go either way. But what with being an old lady with limited opportunities, as it were, I would certainly be willing to find out.

© Copyright 2011, Southern Dysfunction

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Filed under Shopping, Uncategorized

Back to Earth

I know it has been a long time, since my last post from Greece Heaven. The thing is, I’ve been sulking. It has rained every day for the past two weeks, and I can’t even get any boat painting done. But at last, we are having a nice day and I have perked up. Besides, I’m in walking distance of Staines! Yes!

Every bit of ground in England is sacred, and Staines is no exception. Founded by the Romans, the town is in the Domesday Book, and Sir Thomas More was tried and found guilty in a pub here in 1535, which is not surprising because everyone I have ever met in a pub in Staines is guilty of a serious crime.

In fact, I really don’t know why tourists bother with nearby Windsor Castle or Hampton Court Palace, when they could instead be gazing at the life-sized statue commemorating the famous linoleum factory founded by the inventor of linoleum, Sir Frederick Walton, in 1864. I bet you didn’t know that Staines is the original international world headquarters of linoleum. Yessirree!

As immortalized in the classic poem, ‘Release Every Pattern’, by Richard Price and Leona Medlin (2003):

Roll out the lino
from Staines to the world!
Release every pattern
from chessboard to twirl!
In every hopeful kitchen
let life unfurl,
bathrooms are artrooms
from soapsuds to swirl!
Roll out the lino
from Staines to the world!

That’s all I have to report, really, from Staines, in the land of Shakespeare. Missing you all!

© Copyright 2011, Southern Dysfunction

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Mary’s Big Day

Yesterday was a big day up here in heaven because, now that the Rapture has happened and all the kinfolk could be here, Mary and Joseph decided to go ahead and tie the knot. Given the fact that she had been planning her big day for two thousand two hundred years, you will not be surprised to know that everything was perfect, down to the last detail.

And she chose me to be her best woman! Phew! What an honor! I got to escort her on her donkey ride to meet the bridegroom on the bridge in the center of town.

I thought that those Prada sunglasses were an especially nice touch!

Like always, I cried buckets at the ceremony. By the way, that cherub who Mary is holding is actually her grandson. Unconventional? Certainly! But then, Mary never was one to play strictly by the rules, was she?

As you can see, St Peter officiated. My ancient Aramaic is a little rusty, but I think I heard him mutter something like ‘Crazy English. What do they want the donkey for? She could have used the Mercedes.’ By heavenly tradition, Joseph had to give him a big bottle of ouzo ambrosia just to get him to show up. Seriously.

All in all, it was a very special day. And I just knew that all of y’all down there would be thrilled to know that Mary and Joseph are living happily ever after. In heaven.

© Copyright 2011, Southern Dysfunction

 

 

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Pearly Gates

I know, I know, it has been awhile. But this has truly been a busy week, and while everything else is perfect, getting a good internet connection up here in heaven has proved to be incredibly difficult. But I know that y’all will be eager to hear what the Rapture was like and I will do my best to fill you in while my battery power lasts.

I hear that back down there on earth you have been giving Harold Camping a hard time. Oh please: just because he wasn’t included doesn’t mean he didn’t get the date right! Forgive my sarcasm, but frankly, my sympathy is limited, because there are plenty of signs and you should know better: Storms? tick! Locusts? tick! War in the Holy Land? tick! Bad news, folks, you were not chosen.

[Note: Before I go further, just a quick piece of inside information. The President is NOT the Antichrist. Au contraire: turns out he is your only hope, and Jesus told me personally over cocktails last night that unless you have worked on his re-election campaign your application form is going straight in the trash can.]

As for moi?

Those of you who know us both personally will be dumbstruck not be at all surprised to hear that I have been raptured with my cousin Ronnie, who has been visiting me from New York City. And I think we deserved it. Ronnie comes from East Texas and was an Eagle Scout, and I am a lot of fun. With hindsight, it was a no-brainer.

Mind you, at the time, I just thought that the internet had gone down. But then, this happened:

I have got to tell you, that the whole waiting-to-enter-into-heaven thing exceeded expectations:

And now that we have gotten here, well, what can I say? The food is great and the views are outstanding. More people arrive every day on transportation that looks kind of like a cruise ship. A surprising number of them are English, which I have to say, I wasn’t expecting at all. The whole place has a sort of Greek Island vibe. Here is the view from our cloud:

I am just so happy to be here! And for the next couple of weeks or so, I want you to see me as your guardian angel, up here in heaven, drinking retsina and thinking of you.

© Copyright 2011, Southern Dysfunction

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Filed under Church