Sunday, October 23, 2011

Sunday Funnies; Volume 190.


Oh, this is rich.

Most of y'all will remember Maryanne Seamans, the campaign manager for Bill Smith when I helped defeat the sorry bastard. Maryanne, as you will recall was famous for such things as going to Tommy Gregory meet-and-greets and campaign fundraisers and writing down license plate numbers so that Darlene could find out who they belonged to and prepare a list of their names. so that Big Thug Willie could punish them appropriately. And of course, Big Thug Willie used drug funds to pay her kid's tuition to VSU.

Anyway, as I entered the dining room at Aunt B's at about 3:00 today, I saw her getting up from a round table where she was seated with a bunch of fellow holier-than-thous from her church. As soon as she saw me, she sat back down as did all of her fellow church ladies. I of course immediately turned away because the name Medusa was flashing in my frontal lobes.

I went and got my salad. As I was eating it, she approached my table and with a nauseatingly saccharine and insincere tone, said "Is your name Jay?" This was of course not our first meeting, but it suited her purposes to pretend that it was.

When I answered "Yes", she said "Oh, well, you know, you've been notorious all over Camden County for years but I've never actually met you. I'm Maryanne Seamans."

"Yes, I know who you are."

"You do??" (with exaggerated incredulity. The crazy broad first introduced herself probably a good fifteen years ago at the end of a county commission meeting where she had spoken out against an alcohol license earlier in the evening in her Molly Hatchet persona. Not having yet learned of my feelings about busy- bodies like her, she was obviously shocked when I did not fawn all over her for doing the Lord's work.)

She then proceeded to remind me how I used to be a customer at her brother's gym and that I knew her mother and that she had not one, but two able bodied brothers.

Then, "So, how are you doing?" Translation, "How do you like it in that wheelchair that my God put you in as a personal favor to me, you fat-assed infidel! Oh, how I look forward to your burning Hell!

Well, after finally giving up on her original mission - to try to goad me into some outburst which she could use for the Unholy Alliance - the butt-ugly, phony hag toddled on back to her table where she no doubt told her fellow church ladies that she had done her best to bring me to Christ, but failed.

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