Friday, November 21, 2014


After "tinkling" (who uses the word "tinkling" anymore unless you're potty training a toddler?) I had an idea. (Hey ... I do some of my best thinking in the loo, you know.)

I practically bowled over Jeff and Clark as I came out the WC. "What are you guys doing hovering around the bathroom door? I'm not going anywhere! *geez* Look ... I know how to get to the bottom of this entire mess. We'll get KB ... I mean ... Mama' on the horn and she'll set the matter correct. We'll put her on speaker ..."

That sounded like a plan to the guys. Clark asked if he could still hold the lamp for effect while we talked to
The Kitsch Bitsch. He'd grown fond of the thing.

"I'm still gonna hold the lamp. For effect ..." he said in no uncertain terms.

We dialed up The Kitsch Bitsch. "You guys do the talking. It's up to you guys to determine if there was any funny business going on. I'm confident in my innocence - it's you two who need the convincing."

Jeff sneered. His mustache twitched. Clark raised an eyebrow. He switched the lamp from his right hand to his left. The phone began to ring.

KB answered "Hello?"

"Cheers, Mama," Jeff replied. "It's me, Jeff. I'm with the guys. We're trying to get to the bottom of the quandary about your one site sinking like a stone once Michael came on board to moderate. Michael says he's confused about what happened; we were hoping you could shed a little light on the subject ..."

For punctuation, Clark positioned the lamp at that moment to shine its light directly in my eyes.

"Oh ... that. Yeah ... it's too bad I had to shut down that site. It got way, way out of hand. Too man savories who thought they were entitled to do whatever they wanted. I mean ... you have to have rules - and I did. I pointed them out time and again. But some people just seem to love reveling in chaos. Michael was a sweetheart coming on to help out. Not only did he offer his services, but he took time out to help out dissolving the site when I threw in the towel."

"Really?" Jeff asked somewhat incredulously. "You weren't coerced into doing it?"

"No," KB responded.

"He didn't try any funny business?" Clark wondered out loud.


"There wasn't anything underhanded going on?" Jeff suggested.


"No elements you might consider blackmail-like in nature?" Clark postulated.

"No! Why?"

"Well ... Michael seems a bit confused as to why any of it happened at all. Sounds suspicious to us ..." Jeff replied.

"Michael had nothing to do with it. It's been going on for quite some time ... the jerks on the site, I mean. Some of them seemed to thrive on doing what they want regardless of anyone else. It's plain and simple selfishness and them wanting to mess things up. Luckily, that hasn't happened with my other sites. That one got too big for its britches, anyway; too many members, too many uncontrollable members, really. That's recipe for drama. Me and the other moderators did what we could - Michael included - but it was really too late in the end. The inmates had taken over the asylum so to speak. It was purely coincidental Michael that came on when he did with my decision to shut down that page just a few days later ..."

"So ... he's completely innocent of any wrong doing?" Jeff wondered.

"Yes. He was a sweetheart. He even helped me shut the page down."

"Because ... if there's any doubt, anything you're not telling us that needs to come to light ..." Clark punctuated the "come to light" part of his response by jerking the lamp toward me "... we have some things we can do to make him talk ..."

"What do you mean?" KB asked.

"Chinese water torture, for one," Jeff offered. "We haven't used that one in quite some time. It's pretty effective ..."

"What? No! Torture? Why would you want to do that?"

"I could force him to listen to modern country music while tied to a chair," Clark offered. "He isn't the least bit fond of the stuff. He hates Sade, too."

"No! Michael didn't do anything!"

"You know ... we could make him eat off metal plates. He has 'a thing' about eating off metal plates, remember ..." Jeff suggested.

"Ooooooooooooooo ... good one!" Clark agreed. "Hey ... I got it: We could force him to eat off metal plates while watching reruns of that Honey Boo Boo show ..."

You could see Clark's eyes light up. Mine just rolled up into their sockets. I sighed.

"DO NOT TORTURE MICHAEL!" KB yelled over the phone. "He didn't do anything!"

"Are you sure, Mama? Because we could break out our head squeezey thing, too. It's like a vice-grip. That always gets'em talking."

"No! Stop that! I have to go. You boys need to play nice and leave Michael alone. Otherwise, I'll be over there to put the hammer down ..."

Jeff and Clark sighed. I reached over and disconnected the phone. I also took the lamp away from Clark, turned it off and put it down.

"Are you guys satisfied?" I asked.

"Not really," Jeff said. "Now what are we going to do? We had all this pent-up energy ready to roll. Now you and Mama quashed it ..." Clark had his head down. He appeared dejected.

"I know: Jeff - Why don't you go whip up a batch of potatoes?"

Jeff looked at me. "But ... it's not Tuesday ..."

"So? And Clark? You could go kick Henri Petit's ass just for the fun of it. That will cheer you up ..."

Clark looked up with a gleam in his eye. A smile began forming.

Of a sudden, the air in the room vacated its smell of noir ... and all was right with the world.

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