Friday, April 27, 2012



At the end of our last episode, as you will recall, Theodore killed Junior in a fit of indifference.

"The SIFOTS urban renewal project came to an abrupt end, when Theodore crushed Junior with his backhoe. Theodore is in jail awaiting arraignment for Reckless Homicide. The wake for Junior will be held at Happy Acres. Bring your own weapons."


That was last episode, so now we're all in the same page, and on it, too, I might add. It's easier right now to type explanations than it is to backspace. But, I digress.



It was a beautiful night in SIFOTS-ville. The tiny town was bathed in a soft light, the kind of light one might see when living behind the local family-owned convenience store. Light that is not exactly luminescent, but just lights up the back wall and  SIFOTS-villeSIFOTS-ville is located on and around our front porch: 

I took about 4 of these; this is the best of the lot 

Anyway, the locals are still a-buzz about the Theodore and Junior thing, but they're rapidly being diverted by the house that burned down one block north of SIFOTS-ville and the two accidents that occurred within days of each other at the intersection of Nebraska Avenue and Floribraska Avenue.

Just an aside. What in hell kind of name is "Floribraska?" I find this unimaginative and somehow vaguely plagiarism-like. I'm surprised we don't have a "Michida" Boulevard, "Wisifornia" Street and "Georginois" Lane. People aren't confused enough here in Tampa, I guess.

So, we are still all a-gog and a-tilt at the passing of Junior, but this seems to be just a portent. There have been ominous signs indeed, that things are changing here in SIFOTS-ville.

Tonight, we've been out looking at the night sky. For once, we can see the actual stars instead of klieg lights from above. The police helicopters have not been hovering with search lights lately, as the felons skip gaily from back yard to back yard, and baying hounds are heard in the distance. Things have been quiet here... Or have they?

All is pretty and quiet; peace abounds

Consternation and screaming ensue. Panic and pandemonium, as the sky (and trees?) begin to melt, or the picture-taker has a fit...

Wild horses (singular) run through SIFOTS-ville

She bows down to her God, Mr. Ed

Okay, so she's a plastic horse and there's only one of her, and there's a scrape in her side; she's still a harbinger of death. A psychopomp, if you will. Come to escort us to that Underworld, where crappy sitcoms go into syndication or $1.00 carload, double-billed, grade-Z horrors; at the "renovated" or "old" drive-in movie theaters... forever.

"Angelique," as she wishes to be known (we learn this telepathically) decides to stop and play a little croquet.

M'kay; you're doing it wrong, plastic horse. We are no longer so terrified

She quickly wields her mallet with stunning expertise, shocking all who watch. Her malevolent gaze (ok, it's the same blah stare she's had since she was molded) rakes over us. We just notice that it's daylight. 

Is this magic? Is it a time-warp continuum? Is it because the mallet and ball were just found and brought home by JC today, thereby giving me some shred of hope for anything resembling a plot, albeit a slim one??

The rockets begin to land, bringing forth their deadly cargo

Forward they come; determined to engulf us in their bright, screaming flamingo pink hues, Hell-bent on conquering Florida, or SIFOTS-ville, whichever is easier

The Horror! Ahh!

More Horror!!! Argh!!!!

And More blah.... blah.... blah...

AIYEEEEE!!!!! ARGGGHHH!!! Residents are swallowed by pinkness!


In the nick of time, the National Guard lands on the curb with their Attack Feline, Herman.
The battle is so ferocious that we cannot bear witness to it. 

Translation: We are lazy and can't come up with anything else epic. What do you expect with no budget, a camera phone, plastic cast-off crap from the street, and no imagination? This isn't Spielberg.

Calm has returned to SIFOTS-ville. Melba and Ruth decide a little fishing with their hairpin poles will help to ease their nerves.


(Credits Roll)

We don't have any more money in our budget for this episode


La la la la, Dee dee dee, Ho Hum


When I was a kid growing up in California, Cal Worthington, Used Car Nabob was everywhere. I saw him first LA, then he showed up as a Midnight Merchant on local San Jose TV. Ol' Cal was probably in San Diego too, but I was too young at the time. He was one of those polyester-suited, comb-overed, buck-toothed, sheistery kind of used car salesmen that everyone loves to denigrate. His suits were always some atrocious pattern, plaids, paisleys, or seashells, in god-awful hues that made your eyes bleed for days on end. 

Anyway, JC has been perusing the used car ads here. I was not aware that there was so much entertainment to be had in these stupid ads. He has kindly given me the best of the crop, so far. I fear... er, I look forward to more of these little jewels.

You'll save at the pump all right, because you will have been hacked to death by irate motorists for driving in the fast lane of I-75 at rush hour

I've heard of "Dealer's Markup," but this is atrocious!

I guess at 6 years and 1 day, it turns into a Yugo?

Well, those are all the delusional ravings I have for you now. I enjoy doing all this nonsense, and I hope you have fun reading this as much as I do putting it together. It's all pretty ad-hoc, if anyone cares to know, which I suspect you don't and really cannot blame you. I know it looks really planned out and all, but surprise! It's not.

Anyway, I'll be back soon with another bunch of SIFOTS, just as soon as we collect some. If any of you have any to share, please send me pics.

A little RS Report coming up; we're all going on a King Black Dragon hunt this weekend. Someone will die; it's usually me.

Love and light,