These below are excerpts from hilariously humorous story I found on the net one night. Even now, years later, I return to it when I'm down. I don't expect for anyone else to understand anything here, but heck, it's a good thing this is my personal diary :):):)
and if it strikes you as funny, too, visit
http://www.xenafiction.net/scrolls/chelle_atu1.hts yourselves.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Stephanie bummed around San Francisco for six more days, fighting off weasels, sharks, and evangelists.
She suspected that her cut offs and tank top needed laundering, but her nose wasn't reporting on the world anymore, which was probably a good thing. With a fresh beer between her thighs, she selected "drive" and headed north on I-215, desperate to avoid Los Angeles. Sometime around 9:43am, two-thirds of Steph's poor addled brain stopped working. Using only her hindbrain, she maneuvered Brittanie the Desoto on autopilot through the morning and afternoon. When she came back to her senses, the sun was already going down, and she'd taken a turnoff for SR-99. Stephanie groaned and lit a Camel. She had just driven in a two-year circle. Steph was less than ten miles from Bakersfield.
Barney the Cat took one look at Vito and let out an unearthly squall, puffing up all his fur to appear twice his size. Vito whimpered and peed, cringing in terror. In the blink of an eye, Barney snatched him off his feet, shaking him like a rat, and accusing him of everything from being an illegal alien, to being a communist, to being a pedophile. Steph had finally separated them as Brittanie the Car shook on her springs in hysterics.
Gotta concentrate, gotta think clearly, Steph thought to herself. Fine with me, her hindbrain croaked as it passed out from the stress. Of course, we'll do what we can, her midbrain said reassuringly. Her forebrain just gave a nervous chuckle.
Steph believed things like that should have names. People named their pets and boats. They named their children. She'd named her car and they'd thought she was crazy because she talked to it. Her cat, too. Yet they'd never figured out how she'd solved so many crimes on her beat all those years ago. They'd never identified her informants or learned where her information had come from. They would never have believed that Brittanie the Desoto had learned more, talking to the vehicles on the streets, than a dozen detectives could have learned by questioning the neighbors. They would never have believed that Barney the Cat had found the locations of counterband, stolen goods, hideouts, and hidden weapons. He'd prowled the dark alleys and rooftops, spying out the haunts and doings of nocturnal criminals; listening and reporting on their plots with a glee that bordered on mania. It had been a variation on his natural hunting instinct, a part of his catness.
When she got back to SR-101, Stephanie stuck out her thumb as she had on that June afternoon in Bakersfield, eleven years ago. She presented herself to the Christmas traffic as a drunken woman, her legs covered in mud, carrying a handgun and a pack of Camels…even in California, it was almost an hour before anyone stopped.
Steph spent most of her evenings downstairs in the garage with Lizzie, watching DVD movies on the flat screen plasma TV she'd set up there. Lizzie Cooper adored the cinema, laughing, fretting, and crying with the action. Steph kept a couch, microwave, and refrigerator on a piece of carpet in the middle bay of her garage. It reminded her of the apartment she'd lost. Her proper living room upstairs was seldom actually used. Many an early morning found Stephanie curled up asleep on the couch, empty long necks and ashtrays cluttering the floor, the TV screen awash with static, while Lizzie dozed peacefully in the bay beside her. It was a time of bonding, and on other nights, like Archie had loved to do, they'd sit in the yard with the lights off, watching the stars.
Stephanie's hindbrain was really getting off on the titillation, while her forebrain was overloading on the miasma of incest. Connie's parents were siblings, etc., etc., etc.…at least it explained the webbing between Con's toes and some of the skeletal aberrations that Steph had noticed. I've got to get out of here, her forebrain screamed. I want to watch, her hindbrain chuckled. As usual, Stephanie's midbrain was the voice of reason. Let's compromise and get another beer, it said.
