M Y S T I C�� T A C O�� S T A N D

Hick Stew (The Relatives are Coming!) ... January 5, 2003

Guess what happened to me today? Those darned black-sheep relatives came around again.

So, here I am sitting in the dining room, eating ravioli with no pants on (it's me that's pantless, not the ravioli) and minding my own business, when suddenly the doorbell rings about 50 times. Thinking it's my bro being a douche-bag, I run noisily to the door, forgetting that he isn't due for another 2 hours at least. I still have enough sense in me to take a peep out the peep-hole before whipping open the door and revealing my pantless wonder to a complete stranger and who do I see but my favorite freaky hick relative, Uncle Alan!

Not being dressed, I panic because there's an open window between me and my cloths. In my panic my hand falls, hits the door knob and turns it slightly. Dang, I'm caught! So I crack open the door and hide my butt behind it, "Uh, hi, Uncle Alan." Alan looks like he's almost 60 years old, even though I'm sure he's late 40's or early 50's. If it's hard for you to imagine anyone you know who's that age ringing a doorbell 50 times, then you haven't met Alan.

Alan is the kind of guy who has all sorts of cosmic hick adventures when he forgets to take his lithium. For instance, he once told my parents that the devil was in his oven. Yes, this may seem completely out there, but actually he had a good reason for thinking so. Not that we'll ever be able to figure out what that reason is, too bad for us I guess.

Oh, yes and there was the time he brought his drunk "cleaning lady" over. Surprisingly enough, she tried to pry another drink from my father, and then attemped to get me to give her the boots I was wearing as an early birthday gift. The crowning jewel of her performance included cornering my father alone, crying about the fact that she didn't have the money to get back home to Florida, and trying to get him to give her the money. I was nice enough to give her a penny out of my pocket as a birthday gift, knowing that her intoxication would prevent her alcohol, sorry, her BLOOD from boiling at the insult.

Then there's his first wife (now X-wife # 1) and son, David. Becky looks like a real version of a story book hag, she smokes all the time and never speaks except when trying to restrain Alan from doing something that stirs up what little shame she still has left. Still, she's the most classy of the bunch. Her only real flaw lies in that, even now that Alan's been through another marriage and several fiances, she's always with him.

David, the oldest sire from Alan's loins is shaped like a giant partially-deflated basketball, and truely the only difference between him and a real basketball is the number of tattoos. His hobbies include calling everyone by the pet name, "CUZ", showing others how he can jiggle his latest tattoo (usually so new it's still oozing blood), and asking uncomfortable questions concerning your not noticing his completely unnoticeable but non-the-less substantial weight loss. Personality-wise David might remind a person of a overweight puppy, simpering and trying to show off (unsuccessfully) in a pet store window.

X-wifey #2, A.K.A. Phylis, was inpreganted by her father and gave birth to Abby. Abby, being a child of incest and of like mind as her mother, was pretty mentally handicapped and was taken away from her loving mother and adopted father (Alan) after accusations of sexual and physical abuse and neglect. Alan and Phylis produced another offspring, who was named April after me (what a compliment!) and who was taken away into foster care soon after her first birthday. Phylis departed from Alan's company when she "accidentally" fell to sleeping with several other guys at once and got pregnant by one of them.

Then of course, has come the endless stream of fiance's and women whom Alan has brought over and introduced as his "soul mate", which brings us back to our story...

So, there I was, pantless and panic'd, hiding my naked ass behind the door from my freaky hick relative. Of course, he dropped his usual hints about wanting to come in, which he rarely succeeds at because there is always found some reason to talk outside. Soon I had managed to wriggle into some pants and a coat, and hopped outside to meet him beside the car he came in. David stood smiling in his huge damp looking sweat suit and said, "Hi, CUZ." As is his custom, this was the only relevant thing he said for the remainder of the time we spoke.

Alan raved for a few minutes before introducing me to his latest "soul mate" of the month to whom I waved at though the glass of the back seat window. After a little chit-chat between his personalities, he showed me the custom made liscence plate frame on the front of her mini-van, which read, "HAPPINESS IS BITING MY PARROT BACK." He seemed exceedingly proud of this, and I had the feeling that somehow it was supposed to be amusing, so I giggled but was completely lost.

Just then the lucky woman hopped out of the car and introduced herself. She had probably seen the confusion that had flitted accross my face because she immediatly launched into what I percieved was meant to be an explantion of the liscence plate frame. Somehow, this was supposed to have some connection with the fact that she was from New York and that she kept 12 or 13 pet parrots, though despite her in-depth explanation, I was still only able to conjure up a happy face being knawed on by parrots and then a long slick frog tounge shooting out and wrapping around one of them. Then only a crunch noise and a splatter of blood. No matter what it really meant, it struck me as extremely gruesome.

Throughout the whole conversation, there were references to being a preacher, the internet and being a chat room mediator, something about a jungle themed computer, and cheap travel. Most of this Uncle Alan shouted at nearly the top of his lungs and at such a fast pace that I can hardly remember it. During some of the more quiet moments, David interjected with statements such as, "I have 'The Lion King' on video tape." and "I bought a Honda ZX12 scooter from my friend, Raymond." or "Not used to seeing me in baggy jeans, are you, CUZ?", and of course the now classic, "Check this out, I can make my wolf tattoo open and close it's mouth!"

Finally I managed to get rid of them, without rousing their anger and without giving them too much information about how to contact us later. See you next inconvenient surprise visit, you freaky hick avengers!

And of course, all of this brought me to the conclusion that hicks are stupid.

I think that might have been the moral of the story, but I'm not sure.

No wait, I think the moral is; be glad if you don't have relatives like mine.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this account of the History of Hick-dom in my family...please shoot me now if you haven't already shot yourself.

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