Hello, friends! It's been quite some time since we've posted anything here; sorry about that!! Time has been flying, and all of a sudden we've found ourselves more than halfway through Lent! I came across this prayer by Henri Nouwen for the 4th Week of Lent in his book, Show Me the Way, and wanted to share it with you. I hope Lent has been a blessed, joyful, and fruitful season so far for all of you. I will continue to keep you in my prayers as we look forward to the joy of Easter! :)
Prayer for the 4th Week of Lent
O Lord, this holy season of Lent is passing quickly.
I entered into it with fear,
but also with great expectations.
I hoped for a great breakthrough,
a powerful conversion, a real change of heart;
I wanted Easter to be a day so full of light
that not even a trace of darkness
would be left in my soul.
But I know that you do not come to your people
with thunder and lightning.
Even St. Paul and St. Francis
journeyed through much darkness
before they could see your light.
Let me be thankful for your gentle way.
I know you are at work.
I know you will not leave me alone.
I know you are quickening me for Easter -
but in a way fitting to my own history
and my own temperament.
I pray that these last three weeks,
in which you invite me to enter more fully
into the mystery of your passion,
will bring me a greater desire to follow you
on the way that you create for me
and to accept the cross that you give me.
Let me die to the desire
to choose my own way and select my own cross.
You do not want to make me a hero
but a servant who loves you.
Be with me tomorrow and in the days to come,
and let me experience your gentle presence.
Amen.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Critters Series: Part Two - Reptiles
Q. WHY would you make a fireplace so that you could put nothing in it, not any kind of real fire at all, except an electric tinsel-noisemaking-lightbulb fake fire?
A. So you have a place to put your longhorn.
Q. WHY would you put electrical outlets on your mantel?
A. So you can put Christmas lights on your longhorn.
-
The early Advent search for a musical setting for the Canticle of Mary is interrupted:
Jen, from the laundry room: "Guys there's a lizard over here! And it's green!!! AND IT'S A BIIIIIG ONE!!!!
(Tinsel fire crackling in the background) Kristi and Laura speculate for a moment about whether said lizard is actually biiiiig, since most lizards we've seen thus far - with one exception (post coming soon) - have been very small.
Kristi ventured into the kitchen to find a lizard-trapper (namely, a strainer). Laura followed, hoping to glimpse the green lizard in all its enormity.
A moment of indecision led to a moment of poor decision, which led to the green lizard hiding behind the China cabinet containing much crystal and two salt and pepper shakers - one with the Immaculate Heart of Mary, the other with the Sacred Heart of Jesus, along with prayers for before and after meals. (Let it be known that these salt and pepper shakers do not belong to us.)
*Ding ding!* Round 1: We gave it a one-two from the left! We gave it a one-two from the right! Left hook! Right hook! Goooo Papa's Angels!! We thought we had won. Then, the lizard erupted into visibility with a roundhouse kick. What was once a dear lime green friend had morphed and taken on the color of the black cave of death, the darkest and most dreary place in our house. The darkness of the black cave of death is not like the darkness of the womb. On the contrary, it is the darkness of vacant interstellar spaces of chaos, of death.
Round one: Lizard. *Ding ding!*
Round two: Cowgirl vs. Alien (aka Kristi vs. Lizard)
With Jen trying to push the lizard out of the black cave of death, Kristi was ready to decide the fate of our friend in her strainer. The small black alien suddenly darted forth. The lightning bolt of fear struck Kristi's mind - the awareness that the creature (of God) could crawl up her pant leg at any moment. She ran. It returned to its lair. Point - Lizard. Repeat four times.
Round two: Lizard. *Ding ding!*
Round three: The escape.
The lizard chose a new victim. It scuttled behind the China cabinet, approaching Jen, who stood upon a kitchen chair. From thence it scuttled under her chair, pausing nary a moment to let us gaze into its black eyes. We were fixin' to open the back door, and it scuttled itself right into a hole in the corner of the wall, never to be seen again. Round three: Lizard.
Game, set, match: Lizard.
Papa's Angels could not bring themselves to put away the strainer and other tools (Rice Krispies box, broom, flashlight, kitchen chair...) until they taped up the lizard's point of exit with leopard print duct tape. And so they did.
Having narrowly escaped the claws of the lizard turned chameleon turned alien, Papa's Angels settled down for a few moments of recovery in front of the crackly tinsel fire until they nodded off into blissful slumber.
A. So you have a place to put your longhorn.
Q. WHY would you put electrical outlets on your mantel?
A. So you can put Christmas lights on your longhorn.
-
The early Advent search for a musical setting for the Canticle of Mary is interrupted:
Jen, from the laundry room: "Guys there's a lizard over here! And it's green!!! AND IT'S A BIIIIIG ONE!!!!
(Tinsel fire crackling in the background) Kristi and Laura speculate for a moment about whether said lizard is actually biiiiig, since most lizards we've seen thus far - with one exception (post coming soon) - have been very small.
Kristi ventured into the kitchen to find a lizard-trapper (namely, a strainer). Laura followed, hoping to glimpse the green lizard in all its enormity.
A moment of indecision led to a moment of poor decision, which led to the green lizard hiding behind the China cabinet containing much crystal and two salt and pepper shakers - one with the Immaculate Heart of Mary, the other with the Sacred Heart of Jesus, along with prayers for before and after meals. (Let it be known that these salt and pepper shakers do not belong to us.)
*Ding ding!* Round 1: We gave it a one-two from the left! We gave it a one-two from the right! Left hook! Right hook! Goooo Papa's Angels!! We thought we had won. Then, the lizard erupted into visibility with a roundhouse kick. What was once a dear lime green friend had morphed and taken on the color of the black cave of death, the darkest and most dreary place in our house. The darkness of the black cave of death is not like the darkness of the womb. On the contrary, it is the darkness of vacant interstellar spaces of chaos, of death.
Round one: Lizard. *Ding ding!*
Round two: Cowgirl vs. Alien (aka Kristi vs. Lizard)
With Jen trying to push the lizard out of the black cave of death, Kristi was ready to decide the fate of our friend in her strainer. The small black alien suddenly darted forth. The lightning bolt of fear struck Kristi's mind - the awareness that the creature (of God) could crawl up her pant leg at any moment. She ran. It returned to its lair. Point - Lizard. Repeat four times.
Round two: Lizard. *Ding ding!*
Round three: The escape.
The lizard chose a new victim. It scuttled behind the China cabinet, approaching Jen, who stood upon a kitchen chair. From thence it scuttled under her chair, pausing nary a moment to let us gaze into its black eyes. We were fixin' to open the back door, and it scuttled itself right into a hole in the corner of the wall, never to be seen again. Round three: Lizard.
Game, set, match: Lizard.
Papa's Angels could not bring themselves to put away the strainer and other tools (Rice Krispies box, broom, flashlight, kitchen chair...) until they taped up the lizard's point of exit with leopard print duct tape. And so they did.
Having narrowly escaped the claws of the lizard turned chameleon turned alien, Papa's Angels settled down for a few moments of recovery in front of the crackly tinsel fire until they nodded off into blissful slumber.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
It was nice while it lasted...
Disclaimer: The views expressed in this blog post belong solely to the author (Laura), and are not necessarily those of all of Papa's Angels (though this post was written with their knowledge, help, and approval).
Also, this blog post will not be in Texan. I am currently boycotting Texan.
"Don't mess with Texas??" Bring it, Texas. It's on. You started it.
As soon as I arrived in Texas, a certain...fondness for this unique and quirky state began to grow in my heart. I was pleasantly amused by the Texan accents I heard surrounding me, I chortled every time I saw something that was far bigger than it needed to be (often saying to myself, "Only in Texas..."), I smiled when I saw one of the countless stars that adorn almost every building, and I even came to appreciate the presence of a longhorn, gun case, saloon doors, hunting cuckoo clock, and various other items of Texan home decor that are present in our home. My housemates and I went so far as to purchase matching pairs of Texas-shaped earrings at the State Fair of Texas (blog post on that coming soon!).
Then...
Strike 1:
TEXAS Rangers defeat Tampa Bay Rays in ALDS (baseball playoffs).
The Rays had just come back from an 0-2 deficit in the 5 game series, beating Texas, on the road, two games in a row. All was well. I thought that my relationship with Texas would be able to escape this unsavory ordeal unscathed. The Rays would win Game 5, go on to beat the Yankees and win the World Series, and my affection for Texas could continue to grow.
Then, in a matter of only three short hours, everything changed. Texas, by defeating the Rays 5-1 in the final game of the series, sent me a very clear message: "Giddyup! I'm fixin' to run you outta town!" I felt like a giant, Texas-sized, Texas edition pickup truck had run over my heart.
Strike 2:
Texas: "In yer face, Laura! We made you and yer Rays look like a one-legged man in a butt kickin' contest!"
(Preface: Before the Rays-Rangers series had ever begun, I went to the Texas Rangers' website and registered to win a chance to purchase tickets for one of the games here in Texas. I apparently was not a winner, and was never given the chance to purchase tickets.)
After Texas broke my heart and treated my affection with complete disdain, I received an email, informing me of the following: "Congratulations! You are a winner for the 2010 Texas Rangers World Series Ticket Opportunity. We are pleased to offer you the opportunity to purchase up to four tickets for one potential game of the World Series at Rangers Ballpark before they go on sale to the general public." ...Like I want to watch that go down, should the Rangers manage to get that far. I couldn't believe the way Texas was so blatantly adding insult to injury. Texas not only defeated my beloved Rays, but then felt the need to rub it in my face by offering me World Series tickets. I had done nothing but try to find the best in Texas, and now Texas was attacking me without any provocation.
Needless to say, Texas and I were not on very good terms after these incidents. Then, just as I began to wonder if reconciliation would ever be possible...
Strike 3:
My day at work had been extremely long. I had attended two very long meetings, barely had time to eat, and been at work for over 10 hours. I had to stop by H.E.B. (the grocery store) after work, and so I decided that it would be a good end to a tough day to go home and enjoy a nice cold beer. Texas, however, had other plans. I brought my nice cold six-pack of beer up to the register, and handed the cashier my ID. He looked at it for a second, and then, realizing that it was an out-of-state license, said he had to call the manager over. The manager then looked at my ID, and proceeded to tell me that because it was not a Texas license, I would not be able to purchase alcohol at H.E.B. The cashier suggested I go to Walmart. It was as if I was from another country. I could hear Texas saying to me, with a sneer, "You ain't from here, and you don't belong here!" I was forced to return home with all the stress from the day, no beer, and added anger at Texas for its harsh treatment of me over the past week.
Texas, all I have to say to you is, "YOU'RE OUT!!!!"
...
Maybe there will be a chance for reconciliation in the future...maybe. But for now, I am deeply hurt by Texas' heartless rejection.
Sincerely,
Laura
Also, this blog post will not be in Texan. I am currently boycotting Texan.
"Don't mess with Texas??" Bring it, Texas. It's on. You started it.
As soon as I arrived in Texas, a certain...fondness for this unique and quirky state began to grow in my heart. I was pleasantly amused by the Texan accents I heard surrounding me, I chortled every time I saw something that was far bigger than it needed to be (often saying to myself, "Only in Texas..."), I smiled when I saw one of the countless stars that adorn almost every building, and I even came to appreciate the presence of a longhorn, gun case, saloon doors, hunting cuckoo clock, and various other items of Texan home decor that are present in our home. My housemates and I went so far as to purchase matching pairs of Texas-shaped earrings at the State Fair of Texas (blog post on that coming soon!).
Then...
Strike 1:
TEXAS Rangers defeat Tampa Bay Rays in ALDS (baseball playoffs).
The Rays had just come back from an 0-2 deficit in the 5 game series, beating Texas, on the road, two games in a row. All was well. I thought that my relationship with Texas would be able to escape this unsavory ordeal unscathed. The Rays would win Game 5, go on to beat the Yankees and win the World Series, and my affection for Texas could continue to grow.
Then, in a matter of only three short hours, everything changed. Texas, by defeating the Rays 5-1 in the final game of the series, sent me a very clear message: "Giddyup! I'm fixin' to run you outta town!" I felt like a giant, Texas-sized, Texas edition pickup truck had run over my heart.
Strike 2:
Texas: "In yer face, Laura! We made you and yer Rays look like a one-legged man in a butt kickin' contest!"
(Preface: Before the Rays-Rangers series had ever begun, I went to the Texas Rangers' website and registered to win a chance to purchase tickets for one of the games here in Texas. I apparently was not a winner, and was never given the chance to purchase tickets.)
After Texas broke my heart and treated my affection with complete disdain, I received an email, informing me of the following: "Congratulations! You are a winner for the 2010 Texas Rangers World Series Ticket Opportunity. We are pleased to offer you the opportunity to purchase up to four tickets for one potential game of the World Series at Rangers Ballpark before they go on sale to the general public." ...Like I want to watch that go down, should the Rangers manage to get that far. I couldn't believe the way Texas was so blatantly adding insult to injury. Texas not only defeated my beloved Rays, but then felt the need to rub it in my face by offering me World Series tickets. I had done nothing but try to find the best in Texas, and now Texas was attacking me without any provocation.
Needless to say, Texas and I were not on very good terms after these incidents. Then, just as I began to wonder if reconciliation would ever be possible...
Strike 3:
My day at work had been extremely long. I had attended two very long meetings, barely had time to eat, and been at work for over 10 hours. I had to stop by H.E.B. (the grocery store) after work, and so I decided that it would be a good end to a tough day to go home and enjoy a nice cold beer. Texas, however, had other plans. I brought my nice cold six-pack of beer up to the register, and handed the cashier my ID. He looked at it for a second, and then, realizing that it was an out-of-state license, said he had to call the manager over. The manager then looked at my ID, and proceeded to tell me that because it was not a Texas license, I would not be able to purchase alcohol at H.E.B. The cashier suggested I go to Walmart. It was as if I was from another country. I could hear Texas saying to me, with a sneer, "You ain't from here, and you don't belong here!" I was forced to return home with all the stress from the day, no beer, and added anger at Texas for its harsh treatment of me over the past week.
Texas, all I have to say to you is, "YOU'RE OUT!!!!"
...
Maybe there will be a chance for reconciliation in the future...maybe. But for now, I am deeply hurt by Texas' heartless rejection.
Sincerely,
Laura
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
oh, and by the way...
we have a record player. you should all ask joe langenfeld about all the texas-sized stuff that is inside it.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
Critters Series, Part One Point One: Non-Mammalian Indoor-Dwellin’ Critters: Arachnids
It all started with the dead cockroach Kristi found when we were cleanin’ up our kitchen for the first time, and we weren’t thinkin’ nothin’ of it.
Incident #1: Bird-sized spider. After a nice, relaxin’ evenin’, Jen was on her way to bed. She encountered the biggest spider she had ever laid eyes upon. This rendered her speechless, but still rather vocal -- Laura immediately heard the screams. After realizin’ what was occurin’ Laura underwent a wrenchingly intense internal struggle (due to her intense dislike/fear/hatred of spiders paired up with her intense love of Jen) whereby she was led at last to peer through the door to come to Jen’s assistance. Sort of. Now first, Laura found it appropriate to advise Jen to get the Raid that had been gifted to the house so generously by our dear Echo friends Joe and Sarah.
The followin’ dialogue has been translated into Texan for your enjoyment and enrichment.
Jen: [unintelligible screams]
Kristi: [rousing from the first blinks of slumber]
Laura, interiorly: What in the blue blazes is goin’ on out there?
exteriorly: Jeeeeeennn? You okay?
Jen: There’s a giiiiiiiiant spiiiiiiiiiiiiiiider!!!!
Laura, expressin’ the profound wisdom that emanates from one tryin’ to avoid contact with said spiiiiider: GET THE RAID!
Jen: I CAIN’T! IT’S FIXIN’ TO EAT ME! (Please note that the spiiiider had located itself between Jen and the kitchen where the Raid dwells.)
Kristi: [chortles]
Jen: LAURA, HEEEEEELLLLLPPPPP MEEEEEE!
Laura, thinking frantically for a minute and relying on her well-developed, tried, and true method for bug-killin’ which involves sprayin’ them to death with available cleanin’ supplies, Here! I have some Windex! I’ll throw it to you.
Jen: YOU CAIN’T THROW IT TO ME! I CAIN’T CATCH!
Laura, hesitatin’, opens the door and takes two steps out of the bathroom. Seein’ the spiiiider, Laura begins to scream and quickly hands Jen the unnozzled Windex bottle. Which still sprayed, just not very effectively.
Jen: KRISTI! COME OUT HERE, YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS MOTHER EFFER! (please note that this has not been censored.)
Kristi, tickled to death and really wantin’ some sleep: I’m in bed already and I don’t have my contacts in any more. I ain’t comin’. (Jen thought this was a lame excuse...)
To herself: Dear diary, today, Jen and Laura tried to kill a bug by themselves.
Spider, drowning in Windex but still kickin’: Et tu, Brute?!
After slowin’ down the spider, Jen sprints and springs into the kitchen to procure the Raid. She unleashes the fury of the history of chemical engineering -- half a bottle’s worth -- into the immediate vicinity of the spiiiiider. Jen, thinkin’ she has defeated the spiiiiider, slows the stream of chemical.
Spider, in a pool of Raid, liftin’ itself higher like a Hun pops out of the snow (think Mulan, friends): NEEEVVVERRRRR! Giddyup!
(Jen and Laura would like our dear viewers to note that this photograph does not convey the size and incarnate horror of that there spider.)
Jen: Is it dead? Is it dead?
Laura, emergin’ fully from the bathroom, camera phone in hand: KEEEEEP SPRAYIN’!! JUST KEEP SPRAYIN’ IT!
Kristi, still observin’ from her bed but givin’ up on sleep for the time bein’. Internally: Just keep swimmin’, just keep swimmin’, what do we do? We swim, swim, swim!
Jen continues to spray as Laura’s quick thinkin’ takes her over to the substantial pile of magazines left behind by the landlord’s granddaughter. Choosin’ the biggest one, which happens to be InStyle, she proceeds to drop it onto the bird-sized spider, which means she drops it into a great lake of Raid. She returns to her room, hopin’ to avoid feelin’ the crunch of the dyin’ spiiiider, and places not two but one tennis shoe upon her foot. She stomps upon the magazine, spiiiider, and Raid lake and she did stay there for a minute or two.
Laura, internally: I want to make sure it’s really dead. If any spider’s gonna come back to life and kill us all, it’s this one.
Jen and Laura are then certain that the spider is dead. Kristi also feels that the spider is dead because she has a sense that much chemical weaponry has been deployed. Jen and Laura rest peacefully that night, letting the magazine, spiiiider corpse ,and Raid lake stew together in a hot mess of death for the rest of the night. A day passes.
Kristi, realizin’ that Joe is comin’ over and there is still a death stew on the floor: Dang-nab it, they killed the spiiiider but they left me a death stew to clean up.
The Spirit of Laura, who is not home: It is only just and necessary that Kristi should clean up the corpse because she did not partake in the death.
The Spirit of Jen: That’s tellin’ her how the cow ate the cabbage! (Translation for all our non-Texan viewers: You go, girl!)
Kristi disposes of the magazine and the spiiiiiider corpse. The Raid lake is much larger than she has anticipated, which necessitates the use of a rag. And then a swiffer. And a change of socks.
Giddyup.
Incident #1: Bird-sized spider. After a nice, relaxin’ evenin’, Jen was on her way to bed. She encountered the biggest spider she had ever laid eyes upon. This rendered her speechless, but still rather vocal -- Laura immediately heard the screams. After realizin’ what was occurin’ Laura underwent a wrenchingly intense internal struggle (due to her intense dislike/fear/hatred of spiders paired up with her intense love of Jen) whereby she was led at last to peer through the door to come to Jen’s assistance. Sort of. Now first, Laura found it appropriate to advise Jen to get the Raid that had been gifted to the house so generously by our dear Echo friends Joe and Sarah.
The followin’ dialogue has been translated into Texan for your enjoyment and enrichment.
Jen: [unintelligible screams]
Kristi: [rousing from the first blinks of slumber]
Laura, interiorly: What in the blue blazes is goin’ on out there?
exteriorly: Jeeeeeennn? You okay?
Jen: There’s a giiiiiiiiant spiiiiiiiiiiiiiiider!!!!
Laura, expressin’ the profound wisdom that emanates from one tryin’ to avoid contact with said spiiiiider: GET THE RAID!
Jen: I CAIN’T! IT’S FIXIN’ TO EAT ME! (Please note that the spiiiider had located itself between Jen and the kitchen where the Raid dwells.)
Kristi: [chortles]
Jen: LAURA, HEEEEEELLLLLPPPPP MEEEEEE!
Laura, thinking frantically for a minute and relying on her well-developed, tried, and true method for bug-killin’ which involves sprayin’ them to death with available cleanin’ supplies, Here! I have some Windex! I’ll throw it to you.
Jen: YOU CAIN’T THROW IT TO ME! I CAIN’T CATCH!
Laura, hesitatin’, opens the door and takes two steps out of the bathroom. Seein’ the spiiiider, Laura begins to scream and quickly hands Jen the unnozzled Windex bottle. Which still sprayed, just not very effectively.
Jen: KRISTI! COME OUT HERE, YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS MOTHER EFFER! (please note that this has not been censored.)
Kristi, tickled to death and really wantin’ some sleep: I’m in bed already and I don’t have my contacts in any more. I ain’t comin’. (Jen thought this was a lame excuse...)
To herself: Dear diary, today, Jen and Laura tried to kill a bug by themselves.
Spider, drowning in Windex but still kickin’: Et tu, Brute?!
After slowin’ down the spider, Jen sprints and springs into the kitchen to procure the Raid. She unleashes the fury of the history of chemical engineering -- half a bottle’s worth -- into the immediate vicinity of the spiiiiider. Jen, thinkin’ she has defeated the spiiiiider, slows the stream of chemical.
Spider, in a pool of Raid, liftin’ itself higher like a Hun pops out of the snow (think Mulan, friends): NEEEVVVERRRRR! Giddyup!
(Jen and Laura would like our dear viewers to note that this photograph does not convey the size and incarnate horror of that there spider.)
Jen: Is it dead? Is it dead?
Laura, emergin’ fully from the bathroom, camera phone in hand: KEEEEEP SPRAYIN’!! JUST KEEP SPRAYIN’ IT!
Kristi, still observin’ from her bed but givin’ up on sleep for the time bein’. Internally: Just keep swimmin’, just keep swimmin’, what do we do? We swim, swim, swim!
Jen continues to spray as Laura’s quick thinkin’ takes her over to the substantial pile of magazines left behind by the landlord’s granddaughter. Choosin’ the biggest one, which happens to be InStyle, she proceeds to drop it onto the bird-sized spider, which means she drops it into a great lake of Raid. She returns to her room, hopin’ to avoid feelin’ the crunch of the dyin’ spiiiider, and places not two but one tennis shoe upon her foot. She stomps upon the magazine, spiiiider, and Raid lake and she did stay there for a minute or two.
Laura, internally: I want to make sure it’s really dead. If any spider’s gonna come back to life and kill us all, it’s this one.
Jen and Laura are then certain that the spider is dead. Kristi also feels that the spider is dead because she has a sense that much chemical weaponry has been deployed. Jen and Laura rest peacefully that night, letting the magazine, spiiiider corpse ,and Raid lake stew together in a hot mess of death for the rest of the night. A day passes.
Kristi, realizin’ that Joe is comin’ over and there is still a death stew on the floor: Dang-nab it, they killed the spiiiider but they left me a death stew to clean up.
The Spirit of Laura, who is not home: It is only just and necessary that Kristi should clean up the corpse because she did not partake in the death.
The Spirit of Jen: That’s tellin’ her how the cow ate the cabbage! (Translation for all our non-Texan viewers: You go, girl!)
Kristi disposes of the magazine and the spiiiiiider corpse. The Raid lake is much larger than she has anticipated, which necessitates the use of a rag. And then a swiffer. And a change of socks.
Giddyup.
it's huntin' season.*
*In our livin’ room, that is.
Howdy, y’all! We’re here in Pearland in our livin’ room spendin’ some time in our community. We have been meanin’ to tell y’all about one of the first items upon which we laid our virgin eyes upon enterin’ our residence. These things of which we speak are giant shotguns.
Now, this was shockin’ to our virgin eyes because the three of us are workin’ for the Church in a real peaceful fashion, tryin’ to make change through nonviolent activities and lovin’ relationships. No need to shoot anything. We even count among our ranks one woman who studied peace for four years in her undergraduate education.
We have come to realize only this very evenin’ that there are not seven, not eight, but nine guns in the gun case. We mistakenly believed at first that there were a mere seven huntin’ rifles, none less than four feet in length. This very night, we have discovered that there dwells an additional revolver in the bottom of the gun case. Furthermore, along the eastern wall of the gun case dwells yet another huntin’ rifle.
Ladies and gentlemen, the fun stops not there. The gun case is home to other glorious
Texan items includin’ but not limited to, from right to left, a Texas-sized bourbon flask with a decorative paintin’ of ducks; a reel for a fishin’ rod; a baseball autographed by the one and only Nolan Ryan; some ammunition; and a turkey caller.**
Please consider yourself privy to all the known items that dwell in the gun case that dwells in our livin’ room that dwells right next to the country in a little town called Pearland, Texas. This gun case is no more than five feet from the longhorn, mind you. It contributes abundantly to the Texanicity of our house. And don’t let your heart be troubled. The gun case is all locked up. Giddyup.
**To the men of D-House: Heed our warnin’. We are fixin’ to find, hunt, keel, and eat a Texan sized turkey usin’ our authentic turkey caller. It even features separate sounds for male and female turkeys. Giddyup. Our Thanksgivin’ turkey is gonna make yours look like a one-legged man in a butt-kickin’ contest.
UPDATE:
There has been a series of new discoveries in the cabinets just below the gun case. The less interestin’ discoveries include an empty ammunition case, many full ammunition cases, some sand dollars, some dumbbells, and a machete. The more interestin’ discoveries include a small framed photograph of two young boys, one of whom is grinnin’ from ear to ear and holdin’ a harmonica while wearin’ overalls, in front of not seven, not eight, but nine dead rabbits. Hangin’ upside-down on a string in the foreground.
Furthermore, there is a very large photograph of four men holdin’ the very same rifles that dwell in our livin’ room. Behind them are eight bucks. Not dollars, but male deer. They are hangin’ right side up. Men: 8. Deer: 0. Giddyup.
Howdy, y’all! We’re here in Pearland in our livin’ room spendin’ some time in our community. We have been meanin’ to tell y’all about one of the first items upon which we laid our virgin eyes upon enterin’ our residence. These things of which we speak are giant shotguns.
Now, this was shockin’ to our virgin eyes because the three of us are workin’ for the Church in a real peaceful fashion, tryin’ to make change through nonviolent activities and lovin’ relationships. No need to shoot anything. We even count among our ranks one woman who studied peace for four years in her undergraduate education.
We have come to realize only this very evenin’ that there are not seven, not eight, but nine guns in the gun case. We mistakenly believed at first that there were a mere seven huntin’ rifles, none less than four feet in length. This very night, we have discovered that there dwells an additional revolver in the bottom of the gun case. Furthermore, along the eastern wall of the gun case dwells yet another huntin’ rifle.
Ladies and gentlemen, the fun stops not there. The gun case is home to other glorious
Texan items includin’ but not limited to, from right to left, a Texas-sized bourbon flask with a decorative paintin’ of ducks; a reel for a fishin’ rod; a baseball autographed by the one and only Nolan Ryan; some ammunition; and a turkey caller.**
Please consider yourself privy to all the known items that dwell in the gun case that dwells in our livin’ room that dwells right next to the country in a little town called Pearland, Texas. This gun case is no more than five feet from the longhorn, mind you. It contributes abundantly to the Texanicity of our house. And don’t let your heart be troubled. The gun case is all locked up. Giddyup.
**To the men of D-House: Heed our warnin’. We are fixin’ to find, hunt, keel, and eat a Texan sized turkey usin’ our authentic turkey caller. It even features separate sounds for male and female turkeys. Giddyup. Our Thanksgivin’ turkey is gonna make yours look like a one-legged man in a butt-kickin’ contest.
UPDATE:
There has been a series of new discoveries in the cabinets just below the gun case. The less interestin’ discoveries include an empty ammunition case, many full ammunition cases, some sand dollars, some dumbbells, and a machete. The more interestin’ discoveries include a small framed photograph of two young boys, one of whom is grinnin’ from ear to ear and holdin’ a harmonica while wearin’ overalls, in front of not seven, not eight, but nine dead rabbits. Hangin’ upside-down on a string in the foreground.
Furthermore, there is a very large photograph of four men holdin’ the very same rifles that dwell in our livin’ room. Behind them are eight bucks. Not dollars, but male deer. They are hangin’ right side up. Men: 8. Deer: 0. Giddyup.
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