So. Never let it be said that your shit doesn’t come around to kick you in your own butt. I asked Cynthianne to do a guest posting and she did. Here it is in its unaltered and uncensored states. OK, except that I changed the font size to 13 and double spacelated the entire dealio.
I will, however, precondition readers to several modifying facts: First, if I can’t drink Carta Blanca I don’t drink beer; Second, Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson did attend the after and aforementioned meeting. As I’ve been in serious needs of sexing, I flew her in on the contexts of needing emergency therapies and mental adjustments. While those contexts are accurate in their essences, they were but smokescreens used, by me, in another feeble attempt (attempts) to bed my lovely ex-wife.
Anyway, and without further ado, I give you Cynthianne from Albuquerque:
“Mooner Afflicted with More Unsuitable Relatives
Guest post from “Cousin” Cynthianne
The Roe v. Wade celebration at the capitol was fun, with birthday cake and speeches and signs and even an impromptu little parade down Old Santa Fe Trail. Sadly, Mooner didn’t make the rally, to his loss. It was probably the highest concentration of liberal cougars ever seen in Santa Fe, if not the whole state, and he missed them one and all. You snooze, you lose, Mooner.
We met, as Mooner stated, at a somewhat loud biker/cowboy bar in downtown Santa Fe. I brought Gloria as my bodyguard, and Mooner brought his psycho-therapist, who was convinced that the only hits on his blog were Ukrainian spammers, to check me out. A body can’t be too careful these days.
I was wondering at first if Mooner had sent a ringer; not only was this person drinking Margaritas instead of Carta Blanca, he was suspiciously coherent and articulate. I was feeling like the hookah-smoking caterpillar in Alice– “WHOOO are YOU?” But then he had a massive giggling fit at something his long-suffering therapist said, and nearly fell out of his seat. Yep, it was Mooner all right.
It was possibly at this point that Gloria decided she was oh so tired and we should leave.
Although Gloria might not agree, I thoroughly enjoyed the visit. I was also mildly intrigued by the superficial resemblance of our features, but laughed it off until I found out about Myrtle. OMG! Great Aunt Myrt who ran off to Texas with the itinerant peddler almost a century ago! Could it be?
After exhaustive investigations (“All signs point to yes,” sez the Magic 8-Ball), it appears that I may be a cousin from the long-lost Louisiana hillbilly branch of the Mooner clan. As if Mooner didn’t already have enough family problems.
Exciting no? Although for some reason, Mooner keeps muttering something about DNA testing…
OK, I lied about the “unaltered states” part as I added the word “finis” and also the quotation marks to delineate Cynthianne’s prose from that of my own. As for that whole “we might be family” dealio, I’m uncertain as to what I might say. So I’ll say nothing. Except to say that Cynthianne would be a quite welcome addition to the manic menagerie I call The Family Johnson. Why she might wish that inclusionary addition to her heritage is a mystery.
“Nuff said. Manana, y’all.