Things Are Looking Up

I've mentioned that I've smelled things. Nasty things. I have.

This is about one of those moments..

It was May. It was warm outside. Husband and I were outside walking around our Estate.

We have critters on our Estate. I've seen horses. I've seen deer, coyote, yeti, raccoons, hawks, squirrels, moles, butterflies, mice, chipmunks, and fox.

A bad bad bad bad bad smell is in the air. It is the dead smell. I've learned to differentiate between the dead smell that comes from Husband's ass, and true, dead smell. He had not dealt it. It was strong. It was close. We look around, we start the search. behind rocks, near rocks, by trees...I mean...we are walking in circles.

I don't. I don't recall what led me to look......up.

But when I did, and what I saw, caused me to launch the loudest AND most profane tirade heard in a 3 mile radius.

High up in a tree...in a hole in a tree. eeeeeeuuuughhh.. it's so gross.

Ok. There was a squirrel. Stuck. Halfway in...halfway out...in a hole. Winnie the Pooh Style.

Except, it's head was facing out..it's arms stiffened out in a pose like Superman.

dead.

OHMY#$#$(#*()*@&#&*(&)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!HIT!!!!!! WHAT THE F#($&#(*&(*&(@&(*@&#()(*&THATSDOING#(*****&&&CKINGTREE?

Husband has to clamp his hand over my mouth, I think he's screaming, "LOOK AWAY!!! LOOK AWAY!!!

I was all like "how the HELL did that thing die, and we not notice?" Oh yeah, Ok...we had just come home from vacation. Ohshit! Poor thing just was all alone, squeaking and squirmi....ohmyGOD...the poor thing....that JUST SUCKS.

I was overcome with a mix of emotions...horror..sympathy...despair.

Oh yeah...here comes the sympathy...the POOR thing......like...I could cry. Now. Instantly.

Moving on. What do we do? The thing is like, 20 feet in the air, stuck in a tree??? I can't just let the thing slowly start to decompo...you know what I'm saying...it's so sick. SICK. I can't have little bits just dripping and dropping off hither and nither..I have kids. I mean, that would be messed up. Like, a little dead bloated squirrel ala Winnie the Pooh, missing half it's face? Like therapy isn't already on their horizon?? I gotta add this to the queue? No. Thank. You.

Squirrel is coming down.

And it smells BAD. I mean, bad. So, we know this guy is working at our neighbor's house, and he's got a tall ladder. We offer him $20 and a case of beer if he will get the squirrel down.

I felt like such an asshole, I did. I mean, really. Who...does that? We did.

So, we supply him with a trash bag...and I'm out there with an aerosol can of Febreeze. I am.

I'm trying to be supportive. I'm emptying the contents of Febreeze into the open breeze, just trying to get Ramone some relief as he climbs the ladder, because it smells so much like dead ass.

Ok..So, he sticks his hand inside the trash bag, and grabs ahold of SuperSquirrel. Gives a little tug.

I'm TOTALLY imagining the thing crumbling and disintergrating...I mean, I've got all these gnarly images already happening in my head, I am looking away, kind of.

But, he gives a tug...and stops. Gives another tug...and another.

He looks down at us and says :

"ees stuck"

Ok.."NO!!!! It's NOT STUCK RAMONE!!!"

I mean...it HAS to come out. I'm begging...I'm spraying...I give him some thumbs up...sign for "give it another go"

Ramone tries again....

and it came out...it. came. out.

Ramone got his $20 and a case of Bud.

The squirrel got a ride to a landfill.

I had to buy some more Febreeze.

And my other neighbor now knows that it's totally cool to swear around me.

Please

To Whom It May Concern, Dear Sir or Madam,
I will keep this brief. No one finds it cute. No one finds it unique. No one finds it exhilarating. No one finds it at all "freaking awesome!!!!!!!" that you are in a McDonald's drive-thru, riding in a limo, with your windows halfway down.
Just please, if you find yourself in a limo, refrain. If you have the need for McFlurry, just have the driver park the damn thing, and walk in and get the thing yourself.

Please?
You just look stupid. I don't know why, but you do.
Thankyou,
B

I Never Imagined

I never imagined myself in the Cots Tub and Further store, standing in front of the clerk, getting ready to say...

Well, let me preface this by saying I was on a birthday present quest. For the perfect present. For the person who has everything. I knew what I was going for. The exact model. The make, the brand. No substitution would do. No cheap imitation, no scaled down version.

Daughter was with me, wondering, "why, Mommy?" As in, why are we getting this? How do I explain the power of this present? The sheer genius? The hours of entertainment? Not only capable of individual use, it is capable of bringing families together. It can be used in the workplace. "It's multi-awesome, daughter"
It brings joy. It brings smiles.

What we find first, is indeed, a cheap scaled down version. A key chain model. Without the many features of it's advanced cousin. In truth, it sucked.

Which leads us back to the beginning of the story. I found myself asking a store clerk something I was pretty sure no one has ever had to ask a store clerk before.
What was I asking the clerk? This:

Me : Excuse me? But do you have a better Fart Machine brand than this one?? (holding lame inferior machine dangling by it's chain)

Daughter : oh Mom! SHEESH!!

Clerk : uh.

Me : I'm looking for one with a remote control, please.

Clerk. Um.

Clerk : Let me ask.

Now, I nearly squealed with excitement at the thought of this clerk going on the PA asking some unseen entity for the deluxe Fart Machine model "in the back".
But, instead, she turned around, and asked some other lady..

Clerk 1 : Do we have different Fart Machines? With remote control?

I'm nearly peeing my pants at this...

Clerk 2 : I know exactly what she's looking for...I'm going to the back.

My heart did a leap...

So, daughter and I are waiting and waiting...and daughter says something I never imagined an 8 year old girl has ever said anywhere in the world..

Daughter : Mommy, let's just get THIS fart machine and go already...

Me : Honey, we are waiting...

So Clerk 2 comes back with not one, but TWO Deluxe Fart Machines. In fact, they are called, The Electronic Whoopie Cushions. They come with a remote control button, that you can set off from anywhere. Ohmygod, I was dying. They were perfect. She came with TWO!! Of course, we had to have one for our family!!! What else do we do on cold winter nights????

Daughter had to take them away from me before we even left the store. I could barely get through the store without setting them off near every person we passed.

Well, obviously, the gift was a hit. It was worth it. I put my neck on the line. I will say stupid things to get what I want. And I promise to tell you all about it.

This Is Huge

It's Easter. And we are at my sister in law's house. There is a lot of people, food, merriment.

"We", being sister in law's side of the family and friends, are all huddled in the kitchen. Sister in law has actually come down with a bad case of hurling her guts out. So, she's locked away in her bedroom, missing all the fun. Brother in law is entertaining his side of the family and friends on the other side of the house.

Anyways.

Here we are in the kitchen.

My husband is laying down on the floor, with his head on a bathroom scale. And we are all lined up behind him, to see how our teeny craniums measure up.

But first, I think we should back this truck up.

My husband comes from the Island of the Really Freaking Huge Heads. That is how it was labeled on old maps. It did say "Freaking". His people were once mighty rulers there. Ever seen pictures of those head statues on Easter Island? Tribute.

The island is no longer on the map, having sunk. I think you can gather the reason why.

Having been set apart from the rest of civilization, they were able to evolve into super beings, with the ability to have..well, basically, just really huge heads. That's it. I don't care what else he tells you.

His Grandpappy's Grandpappy, Chief Thomas Michael Thomas Thomas Michael, was one of the first to notice the the island tilting. Realizing something was amiss...afoot...he ordered everyone off the island.

"Swim to your new lives. Go out in the world. Save yourselves. GET OFF!!!!!!!"

And other wise shit.

So, my husband's family swam and swam to Indianapolis.

Time passed, they married. They had babies. Mostly, the huge head thing stayed put. Even if they married a spouse with a meager melon, the babies...the babies, had huge ones.

I remember the pediatrician having that "concerned doctor look" on her face, contemplating "Which neurosurgeon do I refer these people to for their daughter?" as she was measuring her newly born head. I reminded her of Daddy's lineage.

It comforted her. Slightly.

He doesn't look weird. If that's what you're thinking. He's quite proportionate. He's a handsome shmandsome devil. It's only when he's sitting next to someone, do you notice. Usually, you notice the shadow first.

He tells me of bets he has won. Kind of like :

Husband walks into a bar:

Husband : I HAVE THE BIGGEST HEAD HERE!!

Drunk Rowdy Patrons : BET YOU DON'T!!! HOOOOOO-EEEEEEEEE

Bartender whips out measuring tape. Good bartenders always have measuring tape on hand.

Think about how many time you hear in a bar: "BET I HAVE THE BIGGEST......"

Bartender has to help square the bet.

Heads are bent over the bar....one after another after another. Measured. Submitted.

Husband walks up. Leans over. Measured. But wait. They've run out of measuring tape.

Cash is collected, Husband drives on to his next town. Eat his dust, little head people.

In Boston, he went into a hat shop. Wanted a baseball hat. Warned the guy :

Husband : I have a really big head.

Guy : We have really big hats. Don't worry about it.

So...well, let's just say, there's a picture of Husband in that shop with the biggest baseball hat they could find perched on top of his head like a cherry, taken, I suppose, for it's freak show essence this Guy wanted to share with the rest of the world.

Honeymoon. Bermuda. He's experienced renting scooters before, and the helmets that come with them. He just said to me :

Husband : Watch this.

Me : Ok.

Husband : I need a really big helmet.

Scooter Rental Girl : Oh, yeah. We have big helmets, no worries.

They bring out the helmet. He tries it on. It looks like the top of an acorn on his gourd.

OHMYGOD. I had to sit down....I was nearly wetting myself.

They had to use a box cutter to cut out the foam inside the helmet, just so it would at least fit somewhat down around the skull. And also to cut down on the drag.

I could go on and on and on.

But we find ourselves in the kitchen. With the scale. We were just sitting around. The topic of huge heads came up. I don't recall who suggested the scale. But we got it. Husband was on the floor in the middle of the kitchen. Head on scale.

Now wait!! I know what you're thinking. To get a true cranial measurement, the head needs to be severed at the 3rd vertebrae and be devoid of all hair, to get an accurate weight.

But, well, that obviously couldn't happen. So we decided we could at least just measure all the same way, and just compare the difference. It was the best we could do.

Everyone else. And I mean EVERY one else weighed in between 9-12 pounds.

Now, get this!! I Googled "average weight of human head" later that day....

8-12 pounds.

His was 16 pounds.

Bow down.

Nuh-UH!!!

So I'm standing in line to board this plane from Phoenix to Sacramento. And this airline offers general seating. You get in line, you walk on the plane..you sit. So, clearly, you want to do a visual sweep of you fellow passengers before you get in line with them.

Man....I'm smiling right now, because I've got SO many descriptive qualities of the kind of people who you would NOT want to sit next to..but, well, it just borders on cruel and sick, and I've turned my ways, I have...I have.

And I trust in you, to be able to discern, who is probably NOT a good idea to hop in line with..

( see that newlywed? the drunk one? she's getting ready to remove her nail polish with one of those nail polish remover tubs with the sponge in it..she will stink up the whole cabin..and she will be yelling across the aisle to her new husband, asking him if he's "getting airsick yet honey?", even though we've not even left the gate.)

So I see a harmless looking gentleman. Older. I was 21, so, he could have been 41 for all I know.. but he had a sparkle in his eye. His mouth is closed, and his nails clean.

We are in line together. We start talking:

Him : So, where are you from?

(no one in Phoenix, is FROM Phoenix)

Me : Indianapolis, originally, I've been out here 2 years.....::blah blah blah mah mah mah:::

Him : Oh! Indianapolis! I flew a plane over the Track for the Race last year.

(note, I've never been to the Indy500, but I do know you capitalize the word Track and Race when referring to either one)

Now...for some reason. Him saying "I flew a plane over the.." did not flip any switches, or hoist any flags in my brain. What it did trigger was this response :

Me : So, you're a pilot??

Him : uh huh..

Me : That's GREAT!!!! (readers, please remember what I'm about to say, just for future reference) So, like, if this puppy started going down, do you think you'd be able to go up there and fly it?? (oh GOD!! I know the ending to this story..and everytime I remember that question I asked this man... I cringe. Hard)

Him : Uh....yes.

Me : We should sit together!! I hate to fly!!

So..we find our seats, I give him the aisle seat, in case he needed quicker access to the cockpit...

our conversation resumes..

Him : I was a pilot in The War. (again, I know when and where to use Caps...WWII)

Me : Wow...

Me : My Grandpa was in The War. (I should teach young girls the art of conversation)

Him : I shot down ( I forget the number...let's just say...) 8 bazillion German planes.

Me : Dang.. (what should I name my school?)

Him : I was shot down over France...

Me : No!!!

So. This is the part where...well. Ok..I say,

Me : My name is Becky Andrews, by the way.

Him : My name is Chuck Yeager...nice to meet you, Becky.

He shakes my hand...

Yeah...chew on that.

I yank my hand back..and I'm instantly looking around. Like, what the?? Does anyone else KNOW this? That DUDE from the RIGHT STUFF is here??? The pilot? The bad ass??

Wait....wait wait wait wait wait.

Me : No. No you're not.

Him : (laughing) What?

Me : Let me see some ID.

I CARDED CHUCK YEAGER, people. What kind of asshole am I?

Him : (laughing) You know who I am?? (reaching into his pocket to get his wallet) You are pretty young to know who I am...

Me : hand it over...(I'm doing the finger to palm thing with my hand..like..gimme gimme) Of course I know who Chuck Yeager is!!!!!

So, yeah. Brigadier General Charles Yeager (I should know, that's what it said on his Air Force ID card I just looked at) handed me his driver's license, his Visa, Mastercard....

ALL of them said Charles Yeager. And as I'm looking...it's all coming back. His face. It is him.

DEAR GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I just said some...no, not some...I said ALL DUMB things to Chuck Yeager...and then I carded him.

And then the plane starts the taxi to take off....

We have about 2 hours.

Just me and Chuck.

Our time together was special. I asked him deep and probing questions, like :

Me : Does your face really go like this (pretended it was flopping back in the wind) when you are going, like mach 40??

We talked and talked and talked. My conversation skills finally blossomed once I got over my initial "we are just 2 strangers on a plane, why are we talking in the first place?" weirdness.

He shared some personal thoughts with me like :

Him : Becky, I'm fearless, but you scare me..

(I swear on all things Holy...he said that. He DID!!!)

I guess I said some "goofy" things...who knows? He was smiling when he said it though...

Chuck was a cool dude. He was a bit of a flirt for someone that could've shared a beer with my Grandpa back in the day...but, I was secretly flattered.

Back then, I used to work at a lot of concerts, so I got to meet a lot of the people who perform at the concerts. And, well, once you see ONE heroin afflicted asshole, you've seen them all. NOT that they all were like that...but, well...I kind of got over it.

But. I was starstruck. I was. Now I knew why all those people at the concerts were freaking out to get backstage...they wanted to FEEL what I was feeling...this...OHMYGOD feeling.

But...this was Chuck, right?? This had some TEETH to it!!!

I was flying to Sacramento to see a boy. He actually lived in the same small town Chuck lived in...so, Chuck gave me his phone number, in case I needed "any assistance".

And we walked off the plane together, arm in arm. He wanted to wind up the guy I was coming to see...Chuck just smiled and handed me off..

I'll never forget that flight.

Who gets to say

"I flew with Chuck Yeager"?

I do.

I've Smelled Dead Things

I've smelled dead things, and they've come out of my husband's ass.

Alright. Let's just clear the air....HA!! I didn't even intend to pun!

Ok..so, alright. No more secrecy...cloaked in darkness stealthiness business. Because, in order to really tell you this story, I'll have divulge, that yes, I work in healthcare. Yes, I work in surgery. Yes, I expect to break some sort of HIPPA violations someday...

(knock knock..."who's there?" HIPPA!!!! "HIPPA Who?" Can't tell ya!!) just a 'lil joke for ya there...as an added treat...

But, screw it, oh well...I will use no names, places, faces, or any other descriptive body parts.

But here's the deal. I worked in a trauma hospital for 10 years, ok? So, I know what icky poo-ee smells like. I know what it's like to put wintergreen oil on a paper mask, because things smell so threatening and ripe, with it only to result in it seeping through the mask..in which case, your upper lip starts to burn...and all you're really smelling is wintergreen and the stank du jour...with or without maggots. You know the idea. Air freshener in the potty. You deposit a load. You spray the floral spray. And now the potty smells like floral spray and poop.

I had a 4 month stint where I couldn't eat grilled cheese sandwiches due to a stinky poo case at work once. But I'll spare you the reason why....

BUT! I never ever NEVER ever ONCE threw up. Not once.

Never, from ANY smell, have I ever thrown up.

Until, one day, I was minding my own business..enjoying a shower.

Husband walks by like a terrorist with an apparent concealed AND deadly weapon. He opens the shower doors, points his weapon at me, and drops one of the most:

Silent

BUT

Deadly

Bombs

known to mankind.

And then he holds the gas chamber doors shut as the fumes invade my airways, the passages singed as the bomb seeks out my gag reflex. And seek it does...and found it has. An unfamiliar response is triggered. In fact, it's been unlocked, and it's working. The glands in the side of my mouth start responding...holyCRAP. I'm gonna BARF. SERIOUSLY???? From a Fart??SHIT!!! I JUST ATE RAMEN NOODLES!!

I start screaming for water to drink...I know from my pregnant days...drinking water will reverse that gag reflex...

So, this is Husband's response :

"You're standing in some!!"

And.

Well.

I'd like to say I didn't stand naked, in front of my husband, barfing up Ramen noodles, in the shower, after being attacked by his ass-bomb.

But.

I did.

And I had to squish the noodles down the drain with my toe.

Now.

So...Husband has the nerve, to act...horrified, by what he's just witnessed...saying :

"I've never been more disturbed by what I've just seen in all my life, I feel like I need to go to Church"

This...as I'm nudging the last noodle down the drain..

Vlogging Rated R

So I'm following this lady in her Moon-Rover. And in our state, you can have license plates for every interest. If you are interested in Blogs, you can have a license plate that reads: "Blog Rhymes With God". If you are interested in Llamas : "My Llama Beat Up Your Honor Student"

And so anyways, this lady in her Moon-Rover apparently takes special interest in kids.

"Kids First" it says...

Kids First. Go kids. I know for a fact it deals with kid's and their safety. Keep 'em safe she says.

I dig it. I'm down. And she's driving a Moon-Rover with enough girth to make a dent in a bunker made of Krypton.

Why then, do I see three of her kids bouncing around in her car practicing for their next Tae Kwon Do belt test? Does "Kids First" really mean : "Kids First Ones Out The Windshield As Projectiles"?

Why is the kid who found Mommy's .9 mm in her purse and received a self inflicted gunshot wound, the same kid that has never had any vaccines, because, "vaccines can mess kids up"? So can lead poisoning, I say...

Why do parents want to talk about what a special smile their kid had..or how much they will miss their child, and those same parents act so confused when their child is tossed from a car, because they just haven't yet understood the small silver part of the buckle clicks into the bigger black part??

"OOOOOOOOOOHHHH LOOOOORDDDD!!! WHYYYYY????? WHYYY?????"

They say.

Why? Because you let them ride their bike without a helmet down a busy street, and you have no idea where they've been for 2 hours.

Awww...look at that. Look at Billy help Daddy cut the grass.

"OOOOOOOOHHHHH LOORRRDDDD!!!!!!! WHYYYYY??? WHYYYY???? LOOK AT HIS FOOT!!!!!""

They say.

Why? Because 3 year olds fuck around and shouldn't be anywhere NEAR a lawnmower, and neither should his dumb-ass father.

I'm not perfect. At All.

Far from it. I'm stupid at times.

But I'm tired of people being so fucking stupid it defies stupidity. I'm tired of people doing some of the dumbest shit, and then moaning and moaning about it, and then people sympathizing all over them for it....."aww, the poor soul....lost her boy.."

Well. Yes. I know. Not very nice of me. Sometimes I'm nicer, I suppose. I do sympathize. There are mistakes. Misinformation. Miseducation. I get it. I do. I've done it. I have.

But when people repeatedly do some of the blatant things, I don't get it. Um. Car seats. Been around for awhile. Seatbelts. Longer.

Guns. We know what they do. Or rather...we know what the "people who use them" do.

(cite NRA)

Heads. We know they dent pretty easily.

Large sharp whirring blades....cut things.

I could go on.

I'm just vlogging. Vent/Blog. Look it up in Wiki.

Ok...gotta go. The boy needs a ride to the gas station to fill up the can. His chain saw is running low on fuel, and he's not done with the tree pruning just yet..

B

Oh No.

So Husband is up at the altar all dressed in his rental...standing on the side for his friend, who is about to enter into matrimony.
And I'm Wife, "getting to know" new people. Getting to know these attached friends and their friends and some of the people he wished he'd never see again...and I'm also getting to know the new significant ohhs. So, I'm dealing. I'm on it. Even if I have two mini humans poised to thwart my every classy move.
The girl deals. The Church setting chills her..she's fine. The boy. Well, he's little.
I'm pew-side. Smiling. I'm approachable...and friendly, see?? Right? Regardless of what my nearest and dearest say of my demeanor...
Ceremony.
Words.
Touching-ness.
All of the sudden, boy gets down on floor.
Ceremony.
Quiet moment of Ceremony.
Vast open Church.
Echoey.
Boy starts grunting.
I lock eyes on my husband....praying. Praying he doesn't hear. Because if he does, we're done.
If he sees a glimpse of snickerness, we're done. If he sees me blink in awareness of what boy is currently unleashing in his Pampers, we're done. If. He. For. One. Second. Catches on to what is happening, and he for ONE Second finds it AT ALL funny....WE, are done.
If he starts, we are done.
We ruin months of planning.
Years of fairy-tale dreams.
If he starts, we welcome talk.
If he starts, it's over. It's become his ceremony.
Of what, I don't know.
I look down...I'm choking.
The boy is still delivering. Still grunting and it's echoing in yodel-like form.
Dogs are howling a return..
Natives are yelling "Over HERE!" for no reason....but just for the need to respond to the loudness of this communication.
The boy is pooping. And it's work. It's birth.
And if husband hears it..hears grunting, AT ALL...he'll know the source, he'll look up...he'll look at me..and then we'll be done. He'll lose his shit altogether...it sounds like crying...but he's laughing, I'll say...I promise...he's laughing.....
And then I'll crack. I will.
And then.....

Darwin Was Right

I heard this story once....
and it's all "alleged".
None of it's allegedly true, even, possibly. Maybe. Because to write about it, firsthand could be violating all kinds of things and what-nots and so-forths.
But if it were true-ish, Darwin would be right.
There was a girl on a break from her work once, and she went outside this workplace.
Now, outside this workplace, there were...the workers..and there were...let's see...visitors, and the people who came to visit the visitors.
This girl sat on a bench next to one of the visitors. This girl was just sitting there, minding her own business, having herself a break.

Visitor : This place is driving me crazy.

Girl : Oh. :::noticing huge wrapped bandage hand....also, huge, unaturally swollen fingers sticking out of bandage::::

Visitor : Yeah.

Girl : So, what are ya in for? :::vaguely curious, she thinks.. man, those fingers are HUGE::::

Visitor : Aww...well, my pet rattler bit me.....say....are you married?

Girl : Uh.

Girl : yah...

Visitor : DAMN!! All the pretty ones are MARRIED!!!! MAN!!!

Girl : Uh...

Girl : So uh, yeah...I read about you in the paper....your snake bit you...and then you hid the snake???

Girl : They said the DNR guy had to search the house for the rattle snake???

Visitor : Yeah....well...it was a Western Diamond Back....I knew they'd kill it...so I hid it...it was illegal to have.
Damn...it's all in the papers...it's like I'm a danged :::he said "danged" ::: celebrity...

Girl : :::thinking to news report that Visitor had to be air-evac-ed to trauma hospital for anti-vemom:::: :::::can't stop looking at huge fingers::::::::

Girl: So, what happened?

Visitor: Well, I was fucked up.....

Girl: ::::instantly thinking back to friend who raised snakes...saying "never EVER be fucked up around your snakes, They sense it.":::::::::

Girl: And...

Visitor : And...I went to feed it...and he bit me...

Girl: And...

Visitor : And..well, I knew I had to hide it..because, when word got out I got bit by a rattler, the DNR guys would confiscate it and kill it...so I hid it in my house...and my buddy and I drove to the hospital....MAN!!!! I was FREAKING OUT!!! SO I Twisted me up a fattie, in cased I died, I wanted to be good and HIGH!!!!! And got me to the hospital, and now, here I am...

Girl :

Girl : ::::::Girl can NOT wait to get back upstairs to work to tell fellow co-workers about this. BUT it gets better...:::::::

Girl : So..what does the doctor say?

Visitor : He says the swelling ought to go down soon enough....They killed my snake though...they found it...

Girl : Kind of lame of you to have hidden it...probably scared that DNR dude...

Visitor : Yeah...well..I'm thinkin' of getting me a Cobra.

Girl : Yeah. You really should. You really. Should.