The Devil Queen

How my wife and I sold our souls to the Queen Anne Victorian we tried to save.

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Location: Crow Mountain, Arkansas, United States

Synopsis: This is a cautionary tale. A seriously disturbed couple find the charming, old ruin of a Queen Anne Victorian in Russellville, Arkansas, and buy it for $1.00. They tore the roof off, cut it in half, and had it moved to some land they owned sixteen miles away because they didn't know any better. Since then, they have hired and fired contractors, had all of their tools stolen, re-wired, re-plumbed, insulated, and essentially rebuilt the entire house. Their only problem is that after four years it still isn't finished. Now they are tired, broke, and wonder what in the hell it is they've done to themselves. And, it's haunted.
(Last updated on April 3, 2008)

Press: Russellville Courier Article - December 2003, HGTV website article, AP story - October 2006, and Victorian Homes Magazine - February 2008 (link coming soon).
Art: From time to time, I receive requests for my art. If you would like to look at more of my art, go to The Failed Artist. If you would like to buy my art, email me. I am more than happy to answer any questions you might have. Thanks!

Monday, December 19, 2005

Urine, Because It's Funny: The 2004 Dumbass Award Winner

The holidays are a stressful time for many folks. The newspaper my wife works for keeps someone in the newsroom over the holidays to cover the seasonal increase in obituaries. A cheerful thought, no?

To ease some of the holiday stress, I offer the story of the 2004 Dumbass Award Winner.

The 2004 winner was Charlie, my wife’s grandfather. Charlie is retired, but he occasionally works at a flower shop in Morrilton, Arkansas. Morrilton is about 15-20 minutes away from Atkins, so it isn’t much of a drive. Charlie also had the distinct pleasure of making this drive in his new Volkswagen Beetle. It’s a nice car, nothing like the old, classic VW Beetles. It has air conditioning, seat warmers, a CD player, and a lot of bells and whistles the old one never had. And, it’s a turbo diesel, which means it gets over 40 miles per gallon. The only thing I have against it is that it is an automatic transmission. Still, it’s a nicer car than mine by far.

One night while driving home from the flower shop, Charlie was over come with an incredible urge to pee. I don’t know much about geriatric medicine, but I’ve heard that bladder control becomes a bigger issue as people get older. This is one of the many reasons why I think being eaten alive by a pack of hyenas when I’m 50 may not be such a bad thing. Call me vain, but I really don’t want to die in a diaper.

Anyhow, for whatever reason, Charlie didn’t want to go back to the flower shop to use the bathroom. He didn’t want to go to one of the gas stations he’d just passed either. He was very anxious to get home. Could he hold it? He didn’t think so.

In a fit of inspiration, Charlie pulled into a self-service carwash just off the road. No one was around and it was getting dark. So, you’re thinking he circled around to the back, found a wall that hid him from view, and relieved himself. Nope. That would have been too easy.

Instead, he circled around to the back of the car wash and parked by one of the trashcans. He got out of the car and fished a large, big-gulp styrophome cup out of the trashcan. Then, he went back to the privacy of his car, got in, and relieved himself in the styrophome cup. Everything was going well, or so it seemed (I’m still wondering what he planned to do with that cup of steaming hot urine).

About the time he was finishing, he noticed that the driver’s seat was getting really warm. He briefly wondered if there was something wrong with the seat warmer, and then he noticed the hole in the cup. It was small, but it managed to drain the whole cup onto the driver’s seat before he was finished.

Charlie, not left with any other good options, drove home in his brand new car soaked in piss. So, how did we find out about this? Charlie, unlike some previous winners of the award, did not rat himself out. His wife did.

All of his cunning could not conceal the urine soaked pants, the bucket of soapy water, and the hour spent scrubbing out the driver’s seat of his new car. His wife knows and sees all.

After the voting confirmed Charlie as the 2004 winner, he complained to my wife that he didn’t think that he deserved the award.

“I don’t think I should have won. I mean, Debbie drove to Chicago instead of Arkansas on her way home from Kentucky. That is a lot worse.”

“True,” my wife said, ‘But urine is just funny. You can’t beat urine.”


Blogger Gary said...

Charlie isn't the kind of guy to piss and tell, is he?

4:10 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I found your blogs from the houseblog site. I can't tell you how much I needed a funny story like this on this particular morning. Thanks, Nancy

6:30 AM  

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