Health PSA From My Daughter!

My daughter works in a small Kansas town bank.

Today, on her facebook feed, she posted this:

PSA: Microwaving cash does not stop the spread of Corona. Actually that's the worst possible thing you could do while at home. Don't do it. That is all.

This PSA has been brought to you by things people have actually done.

Okay, constantly I'm mind-boggled by the utter cluelessness of people. My daughter said that things didn't turn out so well for her customer who said she had done this. (And there were even more customers bringing her the same lame-brain, microwavable pandemic fix-it-all).

In fact, it blows my mind when I consider how far some people will go to microwave various items.

A friend of mine had a post-college girlfriend. Yet, on day, she was mysteriously wasn't present. I said, "everything okay in La-La Land?"

He rolled his eyes, told me she'd blown up her kitchen.

"What???"

"She didn't know foil was metal. I asked her, 'what do you think foil's made of?' She said, 'How was I supposed to know aluminum is metal?'"

La-La Land died a quick death after this encounter.

But, wait! It doesn't stop there! (The less said about a cat in a microwave the better.)

I hear you saying, "Well this is all nice and fine, Stuart, but surely there are some things people wouldn't microwave...like a lava lamp."

Au contraire! Some enterprising hipster slacker did just do that! I suppose he wanted to turn his microwave on with some decorating.

CD's, spray paint, a watermelon (which admittedly looks pretty cool exploding inside a microwave), gummy bears, a light bulb, chewing gum, soap, a highlighter, a phone, a Furby (my personal favorite; this evil entity should be microwaved everywhere), and, um, a dildo have all been victims to the microwaving craze. Someone even found a way to microwave a microwave! Talk about "meta."

SO...during your Coronacation, I hope I've given you all food for thought and some fun things to try when you get bored! But wouldn't it be safer if you picked up a book? Hey, just so happens I've written 23 of 'em. WHICH CAN BE FOUND HERE!

 

The Most Dangerous Woman in Kansas

I walked into my mom's apartment with my customary greeting, expecting to hear sighs of ill health. The way we roll. "Hey, Mom, how're you doing?"

Instead, my mom backed away. "Stop. Stay where you are." Hand out, like some kind of cop or something.

"Why?" I worry she might be sick. "Is something wrong?"

"No, but I'm dangerous!"

Now there are many words to describe my mother, but "dangerous" wouldn't top anyone's list. Well, except for the fact she still thinks Trump is a wonderful, "God-fearing" leader. And, let's not forget when she was still driving past her expiration date, Mr. Magoo-ing her way through orange cones and stop signs. I'm sure she was pretty dangerous then.

But now?

I had no choice but to play along. "Okay, Mom...why are you dangerous?"

"Because it's what everyone keeps telling me. About this virus."

Well. First thing's first, she doesn't really see or talk to anyone. Who are these mysterious people proclaiming her dangerous?

"Mom, you're not dangerous."

"But it's what everyone keeps telling me!" She shakes her head, ticked off that I'm not getting it.

"You're vulnerable, not dangerous!" I raise my voice to get my message across loud and clear. Hard of hearing that she is, I repeat it three times.

"You don't have to yell at me, Stuart!"

But I kinda do since she refuses to get a hearing aid. "Mom...you're considered elderly which makes you more vulnerable right now. I'm probably in that category, too, now. That's what 'they' mean."

Still shaking her head, she's not gonna budge. "Everyone says I'm dangerous, Stuart. You just don't get it." 

I get that you can't teach an old dog new tricks, so I'm just gonna live with having a dangerous mom.

Be careful out there, folks. And if you see my mom coming...RUN!

In fact, why not "run" safely to Amazon, and check out the new rerelease of the final book in my Secret Society serial killer, darkly comic thriller series, Killer King, put out by those fine folks at Crossroads Press? Go on...I'll wait for you right here.

How Not to Murder Your Spouse while Quarantined

My wife's under the impression that during our current time of quarantine, there will be a huge explosion of babies come January and February.

I beg to differ. Not even having completed our first week of being quarantined, I believe that spouse murder will be on the uprise in the near future. But fear not, for I have an easy plan to guarantee you stay out of jail, as long as you adhere to my rules! (Hell, I might even throw in a free, used Popeil Pocket Fisherman.)

1) Get a safe or panic room. Okay, maybe you can't afford one (or perhaps no one's willing to come out and install it these days). Barring that, double-check to make sure the lock on your bathroom works. Men, I'm aiming this one primarily at you, as we all love a good peaceful sit-down.

2) Separate your work spaces. So, when we moved my wife's office home, we ended up on our dualing computers, sitting across from one another. Cute...for five minutes. That's when I made the decision to work exclusively on my laptop downstairs and she could have the top floor.

3) Hide all sharp cutlery. This isn't particularly a problem at our house as most of my knives from my bachelor days wouldn't cut through hot butter. Of course, this could lead to an even more grueling death if bludgeoning seems the method of choice.

4) Load up on alcohol. A must! And, apparently, you all agree with me, as booze sales are skyrocketing. Right now, WalMart's stock is thriving because they're the one-stop shop: booze, toilet paper, candy, and hand sanitizer, something for the whole family!

5) Drink lots of alcohol. (This step should be self-explanatory). 

 6) When in doubt, bake it out! Yep, instead of fighting or blowing a gasket over some dumb little irritant, go bake brownies. Your spouse will appreciate it immensely.

7) Read! E-books are cheap, you don't have to go anywhere to get them. So shut off the damn TV and open a book.

8) At the end of the day, greet your spouse back from a hard day at the office (okay that last part is "pretend," but it works!). Don't forget to love them, make them feel welcome, kiss them, hold their hands (after proper sanitation, natch), and take a walk.

There you have it! Your Stay-Outta-Jail card! I swan, I really should be charging you guys for this.

Be careful out there.

Hey speaking of ebooks, did you know I have a ton of 'em available at Amazon and other fine ebookeries? No? Huh. I can't believe I've neglected to let everyone know! Well, check 'em out, fine entertainment to take your mind off reality for a while: http://bit.ly/StuartRWestBooks

Fester's Party Barn

Hey-ho, something different this week at Twisted Tales as I hand the reins over to guest blogger, friend, and sister-in-law, Julie Pederson McQueen. Why am I doing this? Because I found her recounting of a recent family vacation horrifying and hilarious, the way we like things around here. (Oh! And because the last time I tried to keep up drinking with Julie, I ended up with a broken leg! That's the kinda gal she is, just sayin'!). Take it away, Julie...

So as I sit here, self quarantining with my family, it reminds me of another time that I went through hell...enter "Fester’s Party Barn," located in Piedmont, Oklahoma. Friends had told us of the fun and charm of this "quaint" tourist trap, so we loaded up the family. But wait...let’s start at the very beginning. First, it’s 98 degrees out & WINDY.  Second, the drive, the endless, torturous drive! Picture this: happy family on an October day heading out on an adventure to the pumpkin patch, anticipating the petting zoo, hayride, big slide, oh my! And of course, pumpkins!!! What could be more fun?!?! Turns out, staying at home.

Fester's Party Barn is in nowhere land. We get lost and the boys start complaining. We, being parents, threaten to “TURN THIS CAR AROUND AND GO BACK HOME!” If only we had done that. However, on the wings of a prayer and dumb luck, we finally arrive at Fester’s Party Barn with excitement in our minds and our hearts.

So I’ve mentioned it’s October, time for Halloween, but it’s 98° outside and incredibly windy. Upon arrival, my husband and I, paste on our excited faces, and rouse the troops by shouting, “Yay! Come on, we get a free pumpkin, there’re animals to see, a hayride, a corn maze, and a big slide! Let’s go!!!” We forge ahead, fighting the winds of the plains. We may as well have been singing, “OooooOklahoma, where the wind comes sweeping down the plain!” Parking far away, we enter the (according to friends) beloved Fester‘s Party Barn. 

At the ticket booth, we discover our Groupon (yes, I said Groupon) doesn’t work. The accommodating clerk gets us the nice fat discount anyway. Good thing, too, because after it was all said and done, it should’ve been free. First stop at Fester's is the “petting zoo”. So two minutes in there, yeah we’re done, let’s move along. There's hand sanitizer at every stop, which might've been our first clue. (Keep in mind, this is before Corona virus time.) So we move past the petting zoo and look at the other animals--donkeys, horses--Really, I'm not sure what they were because I think I blocked it out. 

Next, we head to the refreshment/gift shop area for room temperature waters all around! I did mention it was like 98° right? Anyhoo, with brave parent faces strapped on, we say, "Hey, let’s do the hayride! Because it takes us to the corn maze that leads us to the big giant super duper slide!” We get on said hay ride, sans the hay, and we’re sitting on benches. A cyclone of wind  carries my husband's hat away. 

Apparently, we'd been through a drought, so the corn maze is chest high for the boys, at best.  We wave at each other in the next rows, say, "hello, whatever." My husband, ever the cheerleader, rallies with, “It’s gonna be all right guys, come on we can do it, the big slide is ahead!” The “big slide" isn't so big, the size of the slide I had on my jungle gym when I was five. Our older boy was good sport enough to go down it even though he rode down it with his arms crossed, looking really annoyed. It was awesome. That was the best part. 

Then we got back on the wagon ride (no hay, remember?), went back through the nonsense to pick out our free pumpkin, the choices about the size of my hand. At this point, everyone's cranky. The boys were like, “I don’t even want a pumpkin!” I was kind of the same but trying to salvage a little bit of adulthood so I wouldn’t leave my husband alone in his attempts at fun, but the rest of us were done. We put our “pumpkins” in the back of the car--because the cup holders were full--and drove home in silence.

 
Hey, guys and gals and monsters, it's me again, the usual author of this blog. While we're all hunkered down, trying to avoid the Vile-Cooties, and what-not, take back to reading. Your eyeballs ain't gonna like staring at a telephone and/or TeeVee screen for too long. Here're my (ahem) totally non-biased recommendations: http://bit.ly/StuartRWestBooks