Sunday, July 12, 2015

July 12: Long-Ass Day, Writing a Poem, Classic Saint Marty

It has been a long-ass day.  Really long-ass. 

When I got home last night from the fireworks, I started working on a poem.  Actually, I'd been working on this poem for almost three weeks.  It has been a plague on my mind.  It was for the sesquicentennial worship services today at my wife's church.  A couple months ago, I was asked to write this poem by the pastor.  I've been struggling ever since that day.

I don't think I'll ever be able to write a poem for a presidential inauguration.  When Hilary Clinton comes calling next year, I think I'm going to have to check my caller ID before I answer the phone.

Anyway, I was up until 3 a.m. working on the poem.  Then I went to bed and got up at 6 a.m. to finish it.  I was at church at 8 a.m., didn't leave until 2:30 p.m., and then went to my nephew's birthday party.  He is four years old, so it was a couple of hours of screaming toddlers on trampolines.

I am beat.  I'm practically falling asleep right now.  I actually thought about calling in sick for work tomorrow, but I can't bring myself to do it.

Today's episode of Classic Saint Marty first aired about three years ago, on a Friday.  Enjoy.

July 13, 2012:  Good Luck on Friday the 13th!

I don't believe in bad luck on Friday the 13th.  I've never had bad luck on any Friday the 13th ever.

Tonight, I'm driving up with a group of friends to a camp on Crystal Lake I used to be a counselor at when I was a teenager.  I haven't been back there in a long time.  They closed the place down when the son of the camp cook drowned in the lake one August.  I remember the cook.  Kind of a nutty lady named Mrs. Voorhees.  But, boy, could she make a mean meatloaf surprise!

All of the people I'm going up with used to be counselors with me at Camp Crystal Lake.  They were a wild bunch.  Sneaking off to empty cabins to screw each other's brains out.  Drinking all night long.  Skinny dipping off the dock at midnight.  None of them have changed that much.  It should make for quite a party this evening.

I'm leaving right after work.  It takes about an hour to get there.  Down a few dirt roads.  I hope they don't have the cabins all locked up or anything.  I've already packed all my stuff.  And I didn't forget the bug spray.  I don't want to get eaten alive up there at the lake.  I think it's going to be a blast.

The only thing I'm really going to miss from the good old days is Mrs. Voorhees' meatloaf.  She sure knew how to handle hamburger.  It really was sad about her son.  I can't quite remember his name.  I think it was something like James or Jay.

Any how, I can't wait to see our old stomping grounds.

No, sir.  Saint Marty doesn't believe in all that bad luck on Friday the 13th stuff.

Good old Mrs. Voorhees!

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