I recently posted regarding a haunted apartment I used to live in. This post was requested by a good friend of mine named Jerry. I enjoyed the experience of a writing assignment a great deal so I posted a status update on Facebook requesting suggestions from my friends on stories or topics they would be interested in reading.
I got several responses. There were some suggestions that meant as jokes but I did get quite a few that I will be pursuing in one direction or another. I will acknowledge the person who put forth the idea in those posts like I did here with Jerry. I am excited to get working on these so I can get them out to you. If you have further suggestion please feel free to leave them as comments on this post below.
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
215 North Rochester Street
I love horror movies. I work as an actor in an outdoor haunted attraction in October. I was reading Stephan King in 5th grade. It should be no surprise that I believe in ghosts.
I lived, for a few years, in a building that is haunted. At the time it was called “Inn the Olden Days” and was a bar/restaurant in downtown Mukwonago Wisconsin. The building was constructed in 1871 and the story I heard from people revolved around a fire. The building, as I understand it, used to be almost twice as long as it is today. However, as some point in the past a lady went down to the cellar to have a discreet smoke break and ended up starting the building on fire in which, she perished. It is said that her spirit remains and occasionally torments the employees including people working in the kitchen and the wait staff. There is rumor of video footage capturing her as she walks from the kitchen into what is now a restroom. I have not actually seen this footage so I cannot validate its existence or hers for that matter. I have gone into the basement of that building and there is a cloying sense that makes you feel as though you are covered in fruit flies and they are crawling all over you, in your ears, nose and mouth. It was pretty awful but I never witnessed anything from her.
What I can attest to is the activity upstairs where the apartments are. At the time I lived there, the upstairs portion was divided into a large apartment, a small economy apartment, and an office used by the owner. If you were to stand in front, my apartment (the larger of the two) would take up the better part of the upper left-side 1/2 of the building. Here is a very poorly drawn out idea of the upstairs layout.
Standard access to the apartments is had by going around to the back of the building, climbing a set of stairs that would become nearly lethal at the slightest suggestion of rain or snow and walking along a catwalk consisted of metal grating until you came to a locked door. It was not ideal for anyone with even a touch of acrophobia. The only way in is either with a key or pressing the doorbell to one of the apartments. This comes into play later.
It was explained to my roommate Landon and I that the main entity upstairs was a man named Ben who used to be a town constable. Ben wasn’t particularly malicious; he just seemed to get bored and liked messing with us. Our first encounter with Ben came near the beginning of our stay there. One of us was pouring a glass of milk and just before the milk hit, the cup few off the counter leaving us pouring milk on the counter. We were so shocked at first we laughed but after a while, our humor changed to bemusement as we tried to rationalize what happened. We also had an entire gallon of milk disappear from the fridge. Having neither one of us drank the entire gallon ourselves we enquired of the owner if he borrowed it after they ran out downstairs. With some indignation, he quickly assured us he did not enter our apartment without permission and steal out milk. He, in fact, seemed offended and gave us both pamphlets regarding renter’s rights.
After that fiasco, the interactions with Ben seemed a little more jovial. I remember coming home and seeing all the lights on in the apartment but not seeing London’s car only to discover the light being off when I got up to the apartment. There were times when Ben would knock at the apartment door. I would hear the knock but not hear anyone walk up to the door and sure enough when I opened up, the hallway would be empty. One night he came knocking and I didn’t answer. He knocked again and I didn’t answer. He knocked a third time and a told him to cut it out in a loud voice. He then started knocking on the door continuously until I sprang out of my chair and stomped to the door. The moment I touched the door, the knocking switched to my bedroom door. When I went to that door, it moved to the bathroom door. I followed his knocking to every door in that apartment until he finally stopped.
That was the last time I yelled at a ghost.
I remember situations like coming home and finding every door, drawer, and window in the apartment open or feeling a slight breeze flow past you while you’re reading a book. I am particular about how I have the blinds drawn in my room. I have them always pointing down; more than once I have woken up to find them pointing up. It is a disconcerting feeling to have event after event occur with little in the way to rationalize them.
Other times you would get a feeling of someone kind of hanging around near you. Imagine you’re in an elevator. You can feel the people around you radiating their existence. You can feel that they are only a couple of inches away from you without looking. You can almost imagine you might feel their breath on your neck. It was like that only I couldn’t see anyone. It wasn’t unpleasant and it stopped being disturbing after it became apparent there wasn’t anything nefarious afoot. I decided he just wanted to be near someone, as though maybe he were lonely.
During the time I lived in that apartment, I worked 2nd shift which meant I slept the better part of the day. I had noticed during the couple of days surrounding Halloween, there felt like a lot more activity both in the hallway and in my apartment. It seemed like it was more than Ben hanging around but since it was nothing other than a feeling and there wasn’t any physical activity, I didn’t bother with it. I come to find out later that a local radio show had been downstairs broadcasting live and they had brought in a “Medium” to try to communicate with the ghosts in the building. My Mom happened to be there and mentioned that her son (me) lived in the apartment upstairs. They asked her to give me a call but knowing that I was most likely sleeping and having first hand experience waking me up she declined. I suppose what ever I was feeling upstairs was just trying to avoid what was going on downstairs. I sort of felt pleased that “they” chose to be up near me during that time. I would like to add that at the time this took place I was skeptical on the subject of mediums. Since this occurrence, I have had experiences that solidify my belief that some people have the ability to communicate with another plane of existence. I remain, however, unconvinced in the abilities of the person who was there that day.
I ended up moving out of that apartment primarily because I couldn’t afford to live there alone. It was defiantly one of my favorite places to live, even if it was a little “crowded" sometimes.
I lived, for a few years, in a building that is haunted. At the time it was called “Inn the Olden Days” and was a bar/restaurant in downtown Mukwonago Wisconsin. The building was constructed in 1871 and the story I heard from people revolved around a fire. The building, as I understand it, used to be almost twice as long as it is today. However, as some point in the past a lady went down to the cellar to have a discreet smoke break and ended up starting the building on fire in which, she perished. It is said that her spirit remains and occasionally torments the employees including people working in the kitchen and the wait staff. There is rumor of video footage capturing her as she walks from the kitchen into what is now a restroom. I have not actually seen this footage so I cannot validate its existence or hers for that matter. I have gone into the basement of that building and there is a cloying sense that makes you feel as though you are covered in fruit flies and they are crawling all over you, in your ears, nose and mouth. It was pretty awful but I never witnessed anything from her.
What I can attest to is the activity upstairs where the apartments are. At the time I lived there, the upstairs portion was divided into a large apartment, a small economy apartment, and an office used by the owner. If you were to stand in front, my apartment (the larger of the two) would take up the better part of the upper left-side 1/2 of the building. Here is a very poorly drawn out idea of the upstairs layout.
Standard access to the apartments is had by going around to the back of the building, climbing a set of stairs that would become nearly lethal at the slightest suggestion of rain or snow and walking along a catwalk consisted of metal grating until you came to a locked door. It was not ideal for anyone with even a touch of acrophobia. The only way in is either with a key or pressing the doorbell to one of the apartments. This comes into play later.
It was explained to my roommate Landon and I that the main entity upstairs was a man named Ben who used to be a town constable. Ben wasn’t particularly malicious; he just seemed to get bored and liked messing with us. Our first encounter with Ben came near the beginning of our stay there. One of us was pouring a glass of milk and just before the milk hit, the cup few off the counter leaving us pouring milk on the counter. We were so shocked at first we laughed but after a while, our humor changed to bemusement as we tried to rationalize what happened. We also had an entire gallon of milk disappear from the fridge. Having neither one of us drank the entire gallon ourselves we enquired of the owner if he borrowed it after they ran out downstairs. With some indignation, he quickly assured us he did not enter our apartment without permission and steal out milk. He, in fact, seemed offended and gave us both pamphlets regarding renter’s rights.
After that fiasco, the interactions with Ben seemed a little more jovial. I remember coming home and seeing all the lights on in the apartment but not seeing London’s car only to discover the light being off when I got up to the apartment. There were times when Ben would knock at the apartment door. I would hear the knock but not hear anyone walk up to the door and sure enough when I opened up, the hallway would be empty. One night he came knocking and I didn’t answer. He knocked again and I didn’t answer. He knocked a third time and a told him to cut it out in a loud voice. He then started knocking on the door continuously until I sprang out of my chair and stomped to the door. The moment I touched the door, the knocking switched to my bedroom door. When I went to that door, it moved to the bathroom door. I followed his knocking to every door in that apartment until he finally stopped.
That was the last time I yelled at a ghost.
I remember situations like coming home and finding every door, drawer, and window in the apartment open or feeling a slight breeze flow past you while you’re reading a book. I am particular about how I have the blinds drawn in my room. I have them always pointing down; more than once I have woken up to find them pointing up. It is a disconcerting feeling to have event after event occur with little in the way to rationalize them.
Other times you would get a feeling of someone kind of hanging around near you. Imagine you’re in an elevator. You can feel the people around you radiating their existence. You can feel that they are only a couple of inches away from you without looking. You can almost imagine you might feel their breath on your neck. It was like that only I couldn’t see anyone. It wasn’t unpleasant and it stopped being disturbing after it became apparent there wasn’t anything nefarious afoot. I decided he just wanted to be near someone, as though maybe he were lonely.
During the time I lived in that apartment, I worked 2nd shift which meant I slept the better part of the day. I had noticed during the couple of days surrounding Halloween, there felt like a lot more activity both in the hallway and in my apartment. It seemed like it was more than Ben hanging around but since it was nothing other than a feeling and there wasn’t any physical activity, I didn’t bother with it. I come to find out later that a local radio show had been downstairs broadcasting live and they had brought in a “Medium” to try to communicate with the ghosts in the building. My Mom happened to be there and mentioned that her son (me) lived in the apartment upstairs. They asked her to give me a call but knowing that I was most likely sleeping and having first hand experience waking me up she declined. I suppose what ever I was feeling upstairs was just trying to avoid what was going on downstairs. I sort of felt pleased that “they” chose to be up near me during that time. I would like to add that at the time this took place I was skeptical on the subject of mediums. Since this occurrence, I have had experiences that solidify my belief that some people have the ability to communicate with another plane of existence. I remain, however, unconvinced in the abilities of the person who was there that day.
I ended up moving out of that apartment primarily because I couldn’t afford to live there alone. It was defiantly one of my favorite places to live, even if it was a little “crowded" sometimes.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Live at The Rave
I recently played a gig at The Rave in Milwaukee. I have been going to this venue to see bands since my early teens and have had the opportunity to play there a few times. Each time I step on one of the stages in that building I get a thrill because even if the magnitude is insignificant, I still feel a closer bond to the bands I saw and loved. I like to think that the energy expelled at every concert gets absorbed into the wood and bricks that form those walls and I am honored to have my energy mingling there with everyone else.
For this show I decided to tell of my journey from teenager to performer and from watching a performance in this building to giving one.
Here is that show
I hope you enjoyed watching it. I enjoyed performing.
For this show I decided to tell of my journey from teenager to performer and from watching a performance in this building to giving one.
Here is that show
I hope you enjoyed watching it. I enjoyed performing.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Laughing in the New Year
During the near 15 years I’ve spent working at my current job, I’ve worked on all three shifts in the service department and during that time I have gained a plethora of stories. To help set the scene I will explain that I work for a company that builds and sells utility trucks the power companies use to put up telephone poles and repair power lines and trim tree and such. Some of the trucks dig holes with large drill-bits called “Augers” and some have buckets on them to lift people high in the air. I’ve proud of the company I work for and the equipment it produces and have enjoyed the experiences it has provided. In celebration of the coming New Year, here are three stories that occurred during my time on 3rd shift. There were three of us working third at the time; myself, Jeremy and Randy, who was the team leader on the shift. We worked a 4/10 shift meaning we worked 10 hours a day 4 days in a row usually 7:30 pm to 6 am Monday – Thursday. It was a great shift and I learned a lot from both Jeremy and Randy during that time. I remember once…
We had had a really tough night trying to remove a large steel hinge pin that held the boom to the truck. The pin was probably about 4” in diameter and around 2’ long and rusted in place. We spent most of the evening heating the sockets that held the pin in place and pounding on it with a sledge hammer. Eventually we moved to pneumatic jack-hammer and after several hours we got it apart, but it fought us the entire way. Around 5:30 am 1st shift would start to show up and Randy would meet with the day shift team leader to get him up to speed with what we accomplished on 3rd so work could be continued. During this time, Jeremy and I would put away our tools, fill out our paperwork and clean up to go home.
On this morning, clean up took less time because we were only on one truck most of the night so Jeremy went outside to have a smoke and I joined him just to get out of the shop for a couple of minutes even though I don’t smoke. It was winter time and while we were standing there and I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a very large snow pile over in a corner of the parking lot about 75 yards away. Abandoning all reason and with a foolish chuckle I took off running at this snow pile with visions of childhood playground antics flickering through my over-tired brain. Considering the distance from the pile, I had gathered quite the amount of momentum when I reached the pile and dove, shoulder first, into what I expected to be a cloud of feathers and marshmallows.
It turned out, instead, to be an oppressive mountain of concrete and anvils.
It hadn’t occurred to me that the last time it snowed had been several days ago, thus allowing this innocent snow pile melt and freeze a few times. As I collided with this unyielding blockade of joy all the air I had taken for granted moments ago left me like a kid from a Christmas sweater. I, in fact, bounced off and landed in a crumpled, bruised and gasping heap on the frosty asphalt. I didn’t even leave a mark much less visible evidence that I had hurled my entire weight at Frosty’s obese evil cousin.
After a couple of minutes to reboot the software in my head and do a systems check for any obvious damage, I slowly got up and limped back to where Jeremy was standing. After a couple of seconds of silence he asked without looking at me “Sooo, How’d that work out for you?” I remained quiet until we went inside.
…
We usually took a break around midnight or 1 A.M. depending on the jobs we were doing. I remember we were sitting down near the coffee pot we had out in Service eating when we heard a noise come from the Bay 6 Service door. For Perspective, the service shop has 10 work bays each with a large garage door big enough to allow a full size utility truck to drive inside. In the garage door in bay 6 there is also a small man sized service door that can be used to go in and out of the shop. We looked at each other then looked in the direction of bay 6 and we see a woman emerge from between the trucks in bays 5 & 6 and asked “Can someone jump me?”
This, in fact, rarely occurs.
As from one of the stories that men allegedly read in those magazines featuring bow-tied bunnies, a dazzling, and somewhat tipsy, woman in a tight black cocktail dress and high heels has just walked into our service shop in the middle of the night and asked for automotive assistance in the form of zesty innuendo. After a quick, muttered deliberation, it is decided I will go forth and see how this adventure plays out. I ask where her car is at and she explains that she is parked in the lot across the street by a small office building. I tell her I will meet her over there.
As I pull into the lot, I see her standing next to an S.U.V. with the hood up and accompanied by yet another well dressed woman. I begin to wonder if there are camera men in the trees or hidden around somewhere until I see a sharp dressed man step into view. “Oh well”- I think to myself and pull up in front of the dead vehicle. I get out, get my cable from the trunk and begin hooking the two vehicles up all the while being showered with “Thank You’s” and praise for doing this. The story comes out that there had been a celebration that evening and of the trio before me, the man was the only one sober enough to drive, although I believe a breathalyzer may have had a differing opinion.
I quickly got the vehicle started, disconnected the cables, and put them away. As I was turning away from closing my trunk I was hugged first by the lady who came into the shop and then by her friend. The man made an offer of payment, but I declined and asked that he help someone else out should he get the opportunity. He then demanded giving me a beer which I refused because I was, after all, still on the clock. In the end I agreed to take three cans, one for each of us on 3rd, and have them with the guys at the end of the shift. He shook my hand and we parted ways. He went home with two beautiful women and I went back to the shop where I was asked about a magazine ending of the story. Sadly, the article was more Popular Mechanics then Playboy.
…
The trucks we work on are big. They commonly have equipment mounted on them that can lift a person 55’ to 90’ in the air. When these units are stored for transport the booms often hang out in front of the cab. Consequently, being a mechanic working on these units requires you to work on ladders often. These machines lead hard lives working in harsh weather conditions and sometimes not subject to the maintenance recommended by the manufacturer and so the use of a hammer is sometimes needed to encourage forward progress of a task. In other words, sometimes you have to smack the crap out of something to get it apart or put it together and often you have to do it standing 8’ off the floor.
One day, I was tasked with removing a metal bracket that was no longer needed from the side of the boom. The bracket was a plate with a lip on the outer edge that was welded to the boom and resembled a small shelf maybe 6” long and 4” deep. It was welded on only one side so the best way to remove it would be to cut those welds, remove the bracket and grind the area smooth. The problem was the bracket was bent down over the welds so you couldn’t get a cut-off too up in there.
Enter, The Hammer.
The hammer was an old sledge hammer with the handle cut down to allow one handed use and looks as though it would be at home amongst the personal possessions of the local Thunder God. This is my “Finisher” hammer because once I’m done with it; the job is finished regardless of completion. I decided to go with my finisher because the bracket was made out of fairly robust metal and I didn’t want to be up there all night, banging away on this metal piece, and annoying my co-workers. So up the ladder I go with Mjöllnir. Due to several factors the only real way to land a solid hit was to stand on the ladder with my back to the ladder and using both hands, swing the hammer up like I was bumping a volley ball. I had considerable success with this method right up until the plate was bent to an angle to deflect the blow straight into the right side of my forehead. The blow was hard enough to be heard 30’ away. I stood there stunned for a moment, pretty much oblivious to everything as the glitter in my shaken snow-globe of a brain settled once again. I then began my descent from the ladder. As I reached the bottom Randy asked if I was OK to which I responded “I need a cup of coffee and a couple of moments to let you know.” After a few minutes, I got myself recalibrated and finished the job. So the hammer worked, just like I said it would.
I fully expected to develop a large and colorful bruise I could proudly show off as a “Badge of Bad-assery” earned from working with big tool but all I had was a headache and bragging about getting a headache after hitting one’s self with a hammer doesn’t have quite the effect one would desire. However, a couple of days later I discover a bruise on my knee. Searching the database I come up with not event that would cause a bruise to my knee and so I have decided that, so awesome was the power of the hammer-blow that, I actually knocked the bruise from my forehead to my knee.
…
So there you go, three more glimpses into the life and times of Me, your humble host here in Abretokia. I hope the coming year brings you all great wealth, health and of course laughter. I look forward to entertaining you for another year.
We had had a really tough night trying to remove a large steel hinge pin that held the boom to the truck. The pin was probably about 4” in diameter and around 2’ long and rusted in place. We spent most of the evening heating the sockets that held the pin in place and pounding on it with a sledge hammer. Eventually we moved to pneumatic jack-hammer and after several hours we got it apart, but it fought us the entire way. Around 5:30 am 1st shift would start to show up and Randy would meet with the day shift team leader to get him up to speed with what we accomplished on 3rd so work could be continued. During this time, Jeremy and I would put away our tools, fill out our paperwork and clean up to go home.
On this morning, clean up took less time because we were only on one truck most of the night so Jeremy went outside to have a smoke and I joined him just to get out of the shop for a couple of minutes even though I don’t smoke. It was winter time and while we were standing there and I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a very large snow pile over in a corner of the parking lot about 75 yards away. Abandoning all reason and with a foolish chuckle I took off running at this snow pile with visions of childhood playground antics flickering through my over-tired brain. Considering the distance from the pile, I had gathered quite the amount of momentum when I reached the pile and dove, shoulder first, into what I expected to be a cloud of feathers and marshmallows.
It turned out, instead, to be an oppressive mountain of concrete and anvils.
It hadn’t occurred to me that the last time it snowed had been several days ago, thus allowing this innocent snow pile melt and freeze a few times. As I collided with this unyielding blockade of joy all the air I had taken for granted moments ago left me like a kid from a Christmas sweater. I, in fact, bounced off and landed in a crumpled, bruised and gasping heap on the frosty asphalt. I didn’t even leave a mark much less visible evidence that I had hurled my entire weight at Frosty’s obese evil cousin.
After a couple of minutes to reboot the software in my head and do a systems check for any obvious damage, I slowly got up and limped back to where Jeremy was standing. After a couple of seconds of silence he asked without looking at me “Sooo, How’d that work out for you?” I remained quiet until we went inside.
…
We usually took a break around midnight or 1 A.M. depending on the jobs we were doing. I remember we were sitting down near the coffee pot we had out in Service eating when we heard a noise come from the Bay 6 Service door. For Perspective, the service shop has 10 work bays each with a large garage door big enough to allow a full size utility truck to drive inside. In the garage door in bay 6 there is also a small man sized service door that can be used to go in and out of the shop. We looked at each other then looked in the direction of bay 6 and we see a woman emerge from between the trucks in bays 5 & 6 and asked “Can someone jump me?”
This, in fact, rarely occurs.
As from one of the stories that men allegedly read in those magazines featuring bow-tied bunnies, a dazzling, and somewhat tipsy, woman in a tight black cocktail dress and high heels has just walked into our service shop in the middle of the night and asked for automotive assistance in the form of zesty innuendo. After a quick, muttered deliberation, it is decided I will go forth and see how this adventure plays out. I ask where her car is at and she explains that she is parked in the lot across the street by a small office building. I tell her I will meet her over there.
As I pull into the lot, I see her standing next to an S.U.V. with the hood up and accompanied by yet another well dressed woman. I begin to wonder if there are camera men in the trees or hidden around somewhere until I see a sharp dressed man step into view. “Oh well”- I think to myself and pull up in front of the dead vehicle. I get out, get my cable from the trunk and begin hooking the two vehicles up all the while being showered with “Thank You’s” and praise for doing this. The story comes out that there had been a celebration that evening and of the trio before me, the man was the only one sober enough to drive, although I believe a breathalyzer may have had a differing opinion.
I quickly got the vehicle started, disconnected the cables, and put them away. As I was turning away from closing my trunk I was hugged first by the lady who came into the shop and then by her friend. The man made an offer of payment, but I declined and asked that he help someone else out should he get the opportunity. He then demanded giving me a beer which I refused because I was, after all, still on the clock. In the end I agreed to take three cans, one for each of us on 3rd, and have them with the guys at the end of the shift. He shook my hand and we parted ways. He went home with two beautiful women and I went back to the shop where I was asked about a magazine ending of the story. Sadly, the article was more Popular Mechanics then Playboy.
…
The trucks we work on are big. They commonly have equipment mounted on them that can lift a person 55’ to 90’ in the air. When these units are stored for transport the booms often hang out in front of the cab. Consequently, being a mechanic working on these units requires you to work on ladders often. These machines lead hard lives working in harsh weather conditions and sometimes not subject to the maintenance recommended by the manufacturer and so the use of a hammer is sometimes needed to encourage forward progress of a task. In other words, sometimes you have to smack the crap out of something to get it apart or put it together and often you have to do it standing 8’ off the floor.
One day, I was tasked with removing a metal bracket that was no longer needed from the side of the boom. The bracket was a plate with a lip on the outer edge that was welded to the boom and resembled a small shelf maybe 6” long and 4” deep. It was welded on only one side so the best way to remove it would be to cut those welds, remove the bracket and grind the area smooth. The problem was the bracket was bent down over the welds so you couldn’t get a cut-off too up in there.
Enter, The Hammer.
The hammer was an old sledge hammer with the handle cut down to allow one handed use and looks as though it would be at home amongst the personal possessions of the local Thunder God. This is my “Finisher” hammer because once I’m done with it; the job is finished regardless of completion. I decided to go with my finisher because the bracket was made out of fairly robust metal and I didn’t want to be up there all night, banging away on this metal piece, and annoying my co-workers. So up the ladder I go with Mjöllnir. Due to several factors the only real way to land a solid hit was to stand on the ladder with my back to the ladder and using both hands, swing the hammer up like I was bumping a volley ball. I had considerable success with this method right up until the plate was bent to an angle to deflect the blow straight into the right side of my forehead. The blow was hard enough to be heard 30’ away. I stood there stunned for a moment, pretty much oblivious to everything as the glitter in my shaken snow-globe of a brain settled once again. I then began my descent from the ladder. As I reached the bottom Randy asked if I was OK to which I responded “I need a cup of coffee and a couple of moments to let you know.” After a few minutes, I got myself recalibrated and finished the job. So the hammer worked, just like I said it would.
I fully expected to develop a large and colorful bruise I could proudly show off as a “Badge of Bad-assery” earned from working with big tool but all I had was a headache and bragging about getting a headache after hitting one’s self with a hammer doesn’t have quite the effect one would desire. However, a couple of days later I discover a bruise on my knee. Searching the database I come up with not event that would cause a bruise to my knee and so I have decided that, so awesome was the power of the hammer-blow that, I actually knocked the bruise from my forehead to my knee.
…
So there you go, three more glimpses into the life and times of Me, your humble host here in Abretokia. I hope the coming year brings you all great wealth, health and of course laughter. I look forward to entertaining you for another year.
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