blogger interrupted

Editor’s note: Dorothy Fuldheim is Blogger Interrupted’s Special Correspondent from the great beyond. 

No respect, I tell you.  Russo gets the good stories about whore houses, and I get this crap about some former GOP congressman chasing teen-aged caddies at his country club.  Whatever.  I got another good one, this time from the party of an afterliftetime.

So I made my displeasure known to the boys at the club.  Nev Chandler says let’s just do a shot.  Ten Boggle games, and about a fifth of Canadian Club later, Tom Brazaitis starts slurring something.

“cmmmmppppppprrrr….”

Barnaby laughs so hard he does a spit take into Gib Shanley’s face.  Bob Hope thinks he’s got a joke for that.   “C’mon, Tom, spit it out, hehhhh!”  What a rapscallion, that Hope.  Dumbass.

Brazaitis keeps slurring.  ”uuuuutttttttttvhhhhhhhhhhhcchhhh”  No one has any idea what he’s saying.  Everybody’s laughing so hard their partials are popping out of their gums.  I’m the only one still coherent, barely, so I get up, waddle behind his chair, and smack Brazaitis in the back of the head with my purse.  

Bad idea.

Next thing I know Brazaitis is projectile vomiting onto the Boggle game.  Everyone takes a dive for the floor, and conveniently, Gib Shanley lands on my ass.  Before I can say “guess who else Jessica Utovich porked on her way up the ladder,” Shanley’s hand is up my girdle, and he starts licking my goiter.  

Well, that was all it took, and honey, let me tell you, I haven’t had such great group sex in the great beyond since James Rhodes had a swinger party at the Van Sweringens.  I’m gonna have to get back to that story next week, because now I can barely walk.

See ya soon!

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