blogger interrupted

Editor’s note - Dorothy Fuldheim is Blogger Interrupted’s special correspondent from the great beyond.

Me and Barnby were wiping the sweat off each other after a long roll in the hay, and Barnaby drops a bomb.  Tells me there’s been lots of chatter lately about who the naked women might be who appeared on Matthew Barrett’s flash drive, which Barrett inadvertantly…ahem….flashed in front of a room of students.  

I tell Barnaby, look fella, just pass the Canadian Club.  I’m so sick and tired of chasing stupid rumors that pop into Ghoulardi’s head, or that Joel Rose writes on a pair of panties and leaves on the door to my boudoir.  Just cut to the chase already.

So Barnaby takes a swig straight from the bottle - now I know this is serious.  Barnaby’s got a liver of stone, but when he starts chugging Canadian whiskey, he’s just warmin’ up.  He puts the bottle down on the bed, nestling it between my girdle and the lacey brasier I got from Tom Brazaitis, then spills it.

“Is it Lyndsey Hughes, ODP staffer in the Mahoning Valley?“ 

I look deep into Barnaby’s eyes.  He smiles.  Next thing I know he’s got my flowing red mane banging against the headboard like a pile driver.  I scream with ecstasy so loud that Gib Shanley hears the ruckus from the bingo room.  Shanley stops calling numbers, grabs Nev Chandler, drags him into the boudoir, and all hell breaks loose.  Everybody’s shouting “Barrett!  Barrett!  Barrett!” until we’re hoarse.

When it’s all over, I lean on a pillow and ask Nev what the hell is it with the Mahoning Valley anymore?  Marc Dann, Leo Jennings, Anthony Gutierrez, and now potentially an ODP staffer in the Mahoning Valley seem to have left behind the ancient stereotype of Mafiosi for plain old sexytime.  In the old days, you could do both!  Get a little class, fellas!

Nev just smiles.  Barnaby lifts his head from between my varicose veined thighs.  And it begins again.  

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