So everybody get your best suit or dress on--let's make believe that we are wealthy for just this once. Lighting firecrackers off on the front lawn, as 30 dialogues bleed into one.

Happy new year, my dearest children, from Trimble, MO, collecting more strange and horrible stories.

Here's a taste: My grandfather told me a story of when he was a kid, one of the children in his class got his finger slammed in a door and it actually snapped the tip off. While the kid was being taken to the ER, my grandfather picked up the tip, put it on the end of the stick, and proceeded to chase the other children around the playground with it.


I wish the world was flat like the old days, so I could travel just by folding a map--no more airplanes or speed trains or freeways. There'll be no distance that can hold us back.

arrrrrggg. (chokes. dies.) I am back in Chicago and I suddenly have a wicked cold with a sore throat and a squeaky voice.

Too much work piled up on my desk while I was gone, and I'm really beginning to think life would be easier without vacations. I don't know exactly where to begin-- respond to e-mails? edit this huge backlog of stories? return phone calls? finish my own assignments? make a to-do list??

I guess blogging is probably not the place to begin making the dent.

shilo

I'm still here in Bingo. Here are a few photographs from my parents' house.
This is me sarcastically playing guitar while my mother snaps away. I am so mature.

Here are my parents at least pretending to like the Christmas gift I gave them, the Roomba vaccuum!

Here are my brother, sister and I.

Here is my parents' new dog. Adorable, but psychotic. And very very large.

Merry christmas, my babies. SNL may finally be rebounding from the loss of will ferrell. Here are two of my favorite sketches:

Lazy sunday (mr. pibb + red vines= crazy delicious)

Christmastime for the Jews

My brother got an xbox. i weep.

Merry christmas!

My gift to all of you: um, more posting. give me until the new year, then i'll be back on track. Miss/love you.

First things first: The Catatonics are playing Red Line Tap in Rogers Park on New Year's Eve. $25 gets you dinner, music and champagne at midnight. Cool, huh?

Last night I stayed up until four trying to talk reason to a brick wall. (It was unproductive.)

Today is still, gray and cool. I woke up late, ate a lot, did a little work, got annoyed with my parents' new dog. My brother has made huge strides in guitar playing and singing, and now he makes me extremely, extremely jealous.

I'm not used to so much social stimulus as my family provides, and I'm quite grumpy as a result. I am also not used to being homebound.

I also feel a little lied to, and very suspicious. ... those fears, of course, are quite reasonable, given ... ohyouknowwhat. YEAH.

This weblog is incredibly boring, huh. I wish that I had some interesting observation on something. But I don't try to do that anymore. I'm starting to feel that divide again -- that divide of values and perspectives between me and everyone I know. And now I just feel bored, boring and selfish.

Advertising involving half-naked women is now fully inescapable. It has infiltrated Venus and Pitchfork. Just an observation. I don't have the energy to complain about it. I do have the energy to complain about other things. Lots and lots of other things.

I am no fun. I am getting way into crazy mode. Being in NY is not good for my brain, I must say.

I hope you all have good holidays, either way.

I went out with a bunch of girls from high school last night. They all looked amazing and were doing awesome things with their lives. Not that it surprises me. It was really nice.

The bars here are frickin bizarre -- wall to wall people. I think if I lived here, I'd have to find some place where toothless locals hang out.

My family is chaotic, but fun.

Binghamton is pretty much the same. gray, gray, gray.

I have an exam tomorrow. I hate this feeling: unprepared and just slightly indifferent.

This marks day 8 of Adele being the only CM poster. What gives, kids?
I am tired of passing out bandages, money, encouragement and scoldings! I am tired of being a babysitter. I'm just tired, and you're not helping.

I also have terrible PMS right now.

A stranger returned my lost wallet today. wow. wow. wow. Everything was still in it: even my $2 winner lotto ticket. even my endorsed check for $2,000. even my $10. Thank you. thank you. thank you. I wish I could have done more for you. thank you thank you.

Also: my embarrassingly extensive and poorly written top music of the year list is now available here.

Dreams I had last night:

>I bought a custom printed t-shirt for my brother that said "Cannibalistic Maniac" for Christmas. (this is not, actually, a bad idea.)
>Jake Gyllenhaal worked at the magazine in a cubicle across the hall.
>Fenway park was turned into a futuristic space dome with springs coming out of it, and I went hang gliding over it.

Maybe I shouldn't have had all those vodka sodas (with lime.)

I experienced something f'n amazing last night. For obvious reasons, I don't go out to the Rush/Division area very often. I was there once last April, when my friend had a party after which she insisted on going to a downtown club. I left before we got in the door and went home and seriously considered shaving my head. (for reference, please see this blog on April 21, 2005).

The second time was last night at the behest of my dear, yet misguided, roommate. Her coworker is friends with Rebecca who was in the final round of The Apprentice last night. For the live finale, friends and supporters of Rebecca gathered at Elm Street Liquors to cheer her on in front of the cameras. (Sandra and I stood way to the back.) It was a riot and the camera crew almost got trampled when she lost. Elm St. was kind of fine and fun. Pretty comfortable space, not too ridiculously expensive. The people were dorks, but still, not bad overall.

BUT THEN. After the letdown of the Rebecca loss (I did not care!) Sandra's coworkers wanted to go the The Hang Uppe next door (this is incidentally also the place we almost went the night of my near head shaving.) I decided to be a good sport and go along. There is no adequate way to describe the madness within. DRUNK WHITE BUSINESSPEOPLE STANDING ON TABLES SHAKING IT AWKWARDLY TO "867-5309" and "RESPECT." HOLY SHIT!!! I did not know such things as these existed. It was like the 18-year-old future sorority girls hitting The Keg freshman year, except with more gray hair and less dancing ability. HOLY SHIT. Few things are a sadder reflection on this nation's culture than semi-attractive suburban 30-year-old women with no style sporting that one sparkly "going out" shirt and being all fake coy as they sing along to Aretha while swilling $5 miller lites. Holy hell. It was a shock to the system like none other. To my incredible relief, Sandra turned to me and said, "I am horrified. How late is Corosh open?" So we left. And we proceeded to have a hilarious time in the comfortable confines of the real world.

Life is good. Music is good. Beer is good. I wish youth was three times as long as it is so I could go down all these paths and linger over all the fun stuff that's happening. But being busy is good too. My only complaint is that satisfaction, fulfillment and contetment do not make for very exciting lyrics (or blog entries).

While Lakshmi and her veggie-eating influence are off in Italy, I have been rekindling my love for red meat. Today at the work holiday lunch, I ate steak for the first time in a year (possibly longer?) and I have to admit it was pretty freaking amazing. Actually it was completely freaking amazing. wow. mmmmm medium rare.

my boss, who also ate steak, said that he would eat it every day if he could.

"I'd be dead in a year," he said.
"it would be an awesome year," I replied.

Craigslist Mayhem Re: Corosh. Fave quote: "did I mention you can score blow there? that's the only good thing about it."

Also, do any of you out there have a bank that you actually like and trust?

I would be better off having my money in a box under my bed than depositing with Chase/ BankOne. I've lost $18 on my savings account in the past two months. This is not acceptable. Even if I change my account type, I lose money. Basically, I cannot avoid service fees if I want to earn interest. If I'm going to have an account type that doesn't charge service fees, I will earn no interest, and given that, I would be better off having my money in a box under my bed than depositing with those people. That's what I just told the poor woman on the phone. I know it's not her fault, but jeez. This bank is such a rip. I wish I could just win the friggin lotto.

three songs heard on last leg of commute to work today:

>Yo La Tengo-- Autumn Sweater
>Mirah-- The Struggle
>Broken Social Scene-- Fire Eye'd Boy

These three seemed perfect for the bright, cold morning today. Fire Eye'd Boy ended as I pressed the elevator button to go up to my office. I love my iPod.

Dude, I just read our stats today. Someone got here by typing in "vaginal maggots" to the msn search engine. I couldn't have imagined that this problem was widespread enough to warrant any sort of investigation. And the kicker? We're not even among the top 5 results for 'vaginal maggots'. How's that for injustice?

So the city of Chicago has stepped in to save me from myself with a partial smoking ban, and I can't seem to get mad about it. All told, I'll be cranky for a while, but I know I'm better off for it. And when I'm hungover on a Tuesday (for example) there will be one less telltale sign of the past night's questionable activities for co-workers and people who sit next to me on the bus to sniff out.

Filter, the coffeeshop at Milwaukee/North, is a hipster meatmarket. I am guaranteed at least one attempted pick-up every time I go there. I can't decide if I like it or not. Hipster coffeeshop pick-ups are just as predictable as barstool pick-ups, but maybe a tad less gross. "what are you reading?" is a popular opening line. More creative, "do you like Sleater-Kinney?"

Corosh has once again become the center of all things debaucherous in my life. I drank and played ultra-competitive charades 'til 3 last night. Tie-breaker on which my team (with a theater major!) lost it all: Raising Arizona. Get six or so drinks in me, and I begin to contemplate doing very bad things. And while last night held much contemplation of very bad things, I did not do them. A testament to my strength in the face of extreme inebriation, I suppose. Sometimes, I wish I didn't have a conscience.

I took the professional responsibility final exam last night (before the six beers). It went as well as it could on about 8 hours of intense cramming and coffee consumption. There were some tricky questions, though. Is it ethical for a lawyer to make a TV commercial in which he pets a bengal tiger and says, "This is my dog, Spot. Bring your personal injury case to me. I'll do anything it takes to win your case. I'll eat a bug! I'll stand on my head! I'll do anything to make sure you leave the courtroom smilin'!"? I don't know whether it's ethical, but the image is f'in hilarious.

My lifestyle habits have sunk into the realm of truly deplorable. I've had burger king twice this week (that I'll admit.) Given the artery clogging self abuse which is my daily lunch routine, my near-continuous state of good health is remarkable, and my semi-thinness nothing short of miraculous.

In the spirit of balls out grossness/ honesty pioneered by my inspiration, Jason Mulgrew, this is how I eat. (And I currently weigh 109 lbs. This plan is obviously fool proof. I will also die of a heart attack at 28. I love you, Jason Mulgrew. You've changed my life. Call me.)

>breakfast: bagel, cream cheese, two or three cups of coffee (black) [if bagel cannot be scrounged for, feel free to eat donoughts, oatmeal, coco-crispies, etc.]
>mid-morning snack: chocolate teddy grahms
>lunch: grilled cheese, hamburger, BLT or tuna melt (whatever it is, get fries on the side and try to incorporate at least one slice of melted processed cheese)
>mid-afternoon snack: jello pudding, some hershey's kisses
>after-work snack: cigarette, diet coke (optional)
>dinner : half a package of President's Choice shells and cheese. (This should be alternated approx. every other day with six alcoholic beverages and/or candy that can be purchased from the nearest vending machine. This, I think, is the key to the plan. Eat crap all day, and then let beer and m+m's serve as dinner three or four times a week.)

I wish I was kidding. I don't know why I'm disclosing this information. It ain't pretty, and probably, somewhere in here, is a violation of my obligations as a future lawyer under the ABA rules of professional responsibility.

-fin-

And speaking of being a rich faggot, I canceled my trip to Germany to see Mark in order to go to Bali, Singapore, and Hong Kong with my sister. This is how I'm spending my tax refund check. I feel little remorse over this.

Seriously, I have no idea why I still do these things.
1. Ever been given a ring? no.
2. Longest Relationship? 4 years (on and off)
3. Last gift you received: A subscription to OK! magazine
4. How many times have you dropped your cell? 15
5. Last sport you played? archery
6. Things you spend a lot of money on: Serge. My sisters. Tabloids. Pepsi
7. last food you ate: reheated dominos and beligan chocolate. Seperately.
8. First thing you notice about the opposite sex? Clothes, hair, lips. What did you want me to say, sense of humor? It's no secret I'm shallow
9. One favorite song? "Soma" Smashing Pumpkins
10. Where do you live? Dallas
11. High school you attended: The Hockaday School for Girls
12. Cell phone service provider: T-mobile
13. Favorite mall store: Bebe
14. Longest Job held: 3 years at the library
15. Do you own a pair of dice? Not for back alley purposes, no. Just for like, Rism and garbage
16. Do you prank call people? Um, like, twice when I was 12. And it felt kind of mean and stupid, even then
17. Last wedding to attend? Monica
18. First friend you'd call if you won the lottery? Serge
19. Last time you attended church: Last night--Relief Society Dinner. And every sunday, ever.
20. Favorite fast food restaurant: This is like Sophie's Choice. McDonalds. Wendy's. Chipotle
21. Biggest lie you have heard? "I'll write"
22. Where do you work? Home/computer
23. Where's your favorite place to eat with friends: Now defunct The Sherm
24. Can you cook? Cook, yes. Bake, no
25. What car do you drive? Whatever my parents give me the keys to drive
26. Best kisser? Mark
27. Last time you cried? Monday
28. Most hated food: Ham salad. Have you tried this? I mean, seriously.
29. Thing you like most about yourself: My taste
30. Thing you hate most about yourself: My laziness
31. Person you want to do in a bad way? As in, badly? Probably Hamilton Leithausser. As in, "spite", probably Jude Law, to see what all the fuss is about
32. Longest shift you have worked at a job? 12 hours. I had been so busy making out that week I had forgotten to sign up for my requisite 15 hours minimum per week, so I did 3 friday, 12 saturday
33. Favorite Movie? Moonstruck
34. Can you sing? Technically, yes. Pleasently, no
35. Last concert attended? Smog
36. Last kiss? June/July. I am so lonely
37. Last movie rented? "Born Rich"
38. Favorite Alcoholic drink? If I could drink, scrumpy jack.
39. Thing you never leave home without: bra
40. Favorite vacation spot: Being a rich faggot, the Cote d'Or. Flay me now

Because I know there are people out there who want to see Mike Ditka rapping, I present to you the following link.

In other news, best week ever had a contest: name the most horrible, random thing a relative said overThanksgiving dinner. My entry?
Aunt: "When your uncle's sister came to visit--the one who had married a colored man, she drove 8 hours to see us, but I wouldn't let her in the house around my kids. No way, with a husband like that."

Here are some other entries:

Happy Birthday!"
-My Drunk Sister (When Trying to Remember What Holiday it Was)

“If given the choice, would rather have their 20% Wal-Mart discount than health benefits”

"Only a Muslim would have a store open on Thanksgiving. Those people have no religion."

"If you lose one more chin, you'll be lovable."
-My Mother [After I Lost 35 pounds]

"Well someday you'll meet your better half and contribute to the next generation. Hopefully I'll be long gone by then."

"Well, at least they have jobs."
- My Dad during a discussion on Child Labor and The Gap,

[In regards to my aunt recently being arrested and jailed for stalking]
"God, I wonder if she has to look out for dykes. I mean, is that really a problem in there?"

Aunt: "Hey Allen, did your brother get out of jail yet?"
Dad: "Um...yea, he's actually been out for the past 10 years now"

"You're cursed, and that's why you'll be alone for the rest of your life."
- My Mom

"There was some man in the 1950's who thought that the sunglasses they had built were too bulky, so he used all of his money to make a chicken contact lens company and went completely broke.
-My Uncle Steve

[A Joke?]
Q: "What's the fastest animal on Earth?
A: “A Bukharian on a Polak."
(Bukharian: referring to a male person of Jewish decent from any number of regions in Kyrgyzstan, Iran, etc. & Polak: referring to an attractive Polish woman.)

"I'm can't be racist...I'm dating a Spic!"

"I haven't taken a shit in 2 weeks"
-My Aunt, who is mentally challenged (seriously) and from what I can gather in some pain.

"I mean, I like Sam Jones, but I just don't know if I could vote for a colored mayor. Look at Detroit or Chicago, they have colored mayors, and I just don't want to see mobile end up like that."
-Grandmother

"I like fat people." - No further explanation given
-Seven Year-Old 3rd cousin.

"Egyptian? Were you scared when you met him?"
-My great-aunt.

"White people are savages and they'll stab you in the back the first chance they get! You know it! You know it! All up in your face smiling, and at the same time they're planning to take you down! If we were as powerful as they are, we'd be more fair-minded. We're just fundamentally better human beings!"

My recently divorced Mom to the woman sitting next to her after a few glasses of wine: "Do you wanna just become lesbians? Dykes seem really with it and together."

"What did you say, my baby looks like the Michellin Man??"
- Cousin about her Newborn

"I've never heard of a woman having a large enough vagina she could shove one of those cellular telephones in it, have you??"

"Mabye if they didn't have the parade in the City, it wouldn't have so many queers in it." --My Grandma

"So there we were, me and Sid Vicious, outside the mafia bar beating these Redskins in the face with trash can lids."
-My boss

"And P.S. there was no such thing as slavery! The blacks came here for the free welfare!"
-Scary Old Relative as she's leaving our house.

If any of the rest of you have any, I'd love to hear it. Thanksgiving is a very special time, isn't it?

wow. congratulations, Adele. Congratulations on the promotion and good luck on the mooting team!!

If I were in Chicago right now, and you were still up for some celebrating, I'd paint the town tipsy with you, because I have some celebrating of my own to do. I've just been offered my dream job (within the realm of reality, my unrealistic dream job of course being taking over from TerryGannon as abcsport's figure skating commentator). I don't need anything else for Christmas; a realistic shot at my future of choice is present enough.

things I really enjoy right now:

President's Choice shells and cheese dinners. On sale this week 3 for $5. This means I will have six dinners that I will truly enjoy for only $5. (my palate never graduated from middle school.)

The music Lakshmi is writing. It appeals to my dark and somber side.

My job. Jeez, do I love my job. I work with really good people who've taught me so much and given me great opportunities. I know that sounds cheesy, but no, really. I mean it. My job keeps me sane.

Showing the snobs what's what. Yes, you twerp. I'm a night student. And I am going to destroy you.

--

Finals start this week. I'm going to spend one more day in denial mode, and take it from there. We'll see how far I can get on luck and cramming.

attention customers: I am out of bandages.

This week I was:
-promoted to managing editor.
-selected for a moot court team for a national competition.
-too busy.

please, please please someone celebrate with me? I want to have fun tonight. I deserve it. a lot has gone down. I labored away. and nothing went terribly awry. isn't this enough to warrant a beer or two?

Thank god. I was starting to miss the daily dose of foot fetish images on my morning commute. Welcome back to Chicago.

MORNING SUMMARY OF STUFF YOU COULD NEVER POSSIBLY WANT TO KNOW ABOUT
LONGORIA: 'MY BEAUTY HAS COST ME WORK'

DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES star EVA LONGORIA blames her beauty for stunting her early acting career.

The latina lovely, currently dating basketball ace TONY PARKER, claims that her celebrated looks have caused her to miss out on countless opportunities.

She says, "I've lost a lot of jobs because I was too pretty. And everybody's like, 'Oh, poor you.' But seriously, you don't get the good roles when you're beautiful."

Um, Eva? You're not really all that good looking. I mean, don't get me wrong, you're cute, and for some reason every guy in the country suddenly wants to jump you, but for a while everyone wanted to jump Tara Reid also. Let's not be making "My beauty hurts" comments unless you wake up tomorrow as Angelina Jolie

Scott Stapp (that beautiful, multi-talented lead singer for Creed) just beat up the bassist for 311. And no, I'm not making this up. What kind of a loser to you have to be to get the beat down from Creed? Oh, wait, you're a hippie and you play in 311. Nevermind.

The internet is such a beautiful place. Where else could the common man find Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes's wedding registry?


This woman is seriously so beautiful it makes me want to give up being a human being. But that isn't stopping me from seeing "Memoirs of a Geisha" opening day so I can sit and be shamed by my plainess for 2 hours

Ok, yes, it's hypocritical to mention Kevin Federline after I told everyone off for making fun of his loser sensabilities, but this was too good. Behold, the Kevin Federline Middle School Year Book Photo:


I love Scarlett Johansson. honestly I do. She's a beautiful girl, she's graceful, and she managed to bang Benico del Torro in an elevator and make it look classy. But she is simply not strong enough or cool enough to try and bring the euro-japanese mullet to the mainstream. Look at this vogue cover.

Bless her for trying to be daring. But it's hideous, and no matter how good she looks or how many couture dresses she wears, she's still going to look like every other continental european hipster: retarded.

who is our reader from De Queens, Arkansas anyway? Cause I went to look at it on googlemaps and it seems very lovely and green, but I don't know anyone from there. Reveal yourself, de queens!

But besides Oprah's meth habit, I fulfill my promise: Horrible true stories from rural Missouri! And no one steal--they're all becoming short stories and poems, so if I read in a literary journal someday a story about an orphan who's father died during a fateful and gory cement accident, I'm out for blood.

Tales of horror 1: Maggots.
Courtesy of Randall, who was having a checkup and noticed the nurse looked pale. She said she hadn't eaten in 4 days. He asked why.

The nurse works part time at an ER in the ghetto. One day, a very dirty, obese black woman in her mid thirties comes in complaining of a bad smell. She said she hadn't been having sex, but she hadn't had a period in three months either. Lately, her "lady area", as she put it, had started to smell strange. She said her house was dirty on account of her size, cleaning was difficult, and there were always flies buzzing around garbage and old food, so the smell must have been really bad if she had come in. The doctors hoisted her up on a large bed, with the nurse attending. But when they pulled her legs apart, the stench was so terrible that everyone literally staggered back. They had to put on masks which they smeared with menthol just so they could get near her. One of the doctors puts on his gloves and starts giving her a pelvic exam, but notices he can't get his fingers--or a speculum--up her vaginal cavity. They shine a light and see that her entire vaginal wall is coated in thick period blood from months-old periods she had never bothered to clean. The blood gets thicker, until at the top, near the cervix, it clots. So they tap through and break the crust and out pours a pint--all three months worth--of old blood. And maggots. And eggs. Every single doctor and nurse in the office staggered back and threw up--one on the floor, one in his mask, one in a trash can.

After they had cleaned her up and interviewed her, in turned out the story was that the lady simply never bothered taking care of her period when she had it, as she was so heavy she couldn't reach her vagina. And eventually the flies in the house from the trash and the food had been attracted to the blood and had entered her, creating a dam in her vagina with the old blood to create a nest to germinate their own larva.
Moral: Ladies, take care of your business. And clean your house, inside and out.

Horror Story 2: The Urban Legend
My grandpa has seen just about everything that one man could see. Through construction, police work, and living near a railroad in the country, he's seen a man die in every conceivable way. He still gets together with the police in order to swap stories. This story he heard from a guy who's still on the force, who was called to the house of a young interracial couple

The call came from a hysterical young woman. She was white, the daughter of a famous local white supremacist and member of various white pride, Klan-related organizations. She had fallen in love with a black man and had gotten married. When she and her husband divorced, she kept the baby, and her father started speaking to her again. On afternoon, she went out to buy groceries, and left the baby with his grandpa since she couldn't find a babysitter. When she returned, the entire house smelled like sweet, like burning pork and the grandfather was in the living room, watching TV. She poked around the kitchen trying to find the source of the smell, and when she opened the microwave, there was her baby, covered in blisters, dead. When the police came for her father, he happily went to jail, thrilled about destroying the "half-animal, mongrel creation."
Moral: Think before you choose a babysitter.

Horror Story 3: Bits and Pieces.
My grandpa and my uncle Chris had to come out and help the police clean up this body that had been found near a tourist site.

When you go hang gliding, parachuting, what have you, there are designated "crash" or landing sites throughout the country where you can land safely without hill or tree to help kill you. These places are very isolated, and are usually only used a few times a month. Well, when Citizen X decided to kill himself, he figured no one would bother him if he went out to the crash site. Which he did. Shot himself in the head. And died. And wasn't bothered. For over 2 months. When the police finally got the report of an abandoned car, he was so badly eaten away, they could only identify him by his wallet. His jaw and been eaten/blown off, and he had little skin left. They tried removing him from the car intact, but when they tried to jerk him out, his arm snapped off. Citizen X had to be snapped off in bits and pieces so they could move him to the morgue.Moral: If you want to be isolated when you kill yourself, do it outside or in a large barn so clean up isn't horrible.

Horror story 4: The Flu
Benner was the town drunk. Grandpa tells lots of stories of picking him up and dropping him off during his drunken outings. When no one saw Benner for a week or two, grandpa was sent off to investigate as the local law enforcement. He took a team of two over to Benner's house to see what had happened.

Bill had been complaining of the flu, so when I touched the glass on his door, I wasn't surprised to find it hot. Bill always cranked up the temperature as high as it would go when he was sick--85, 90 degrees. I don't know how he could afford it, but he did. I knocked and no one answered, so I figured I had the right to break in, in case he was incapacitated. We broke down the door and almost died and the smell of it. See, when a body dies, it goes through various stages of smell. The first is sweet--it's an unusual smell, that stays with you your whole life. You never forget what a corpse smells like. Then, it gets a bit sour, like urine and sugar. Then after that every day gets worse--like rotten, maggoty meat. This was the last smell--like rotten meat, old garbage, fishy. I go over to the bed and I see that the 5 gallon bucket that he had been using as a toilet had been knocked over. He literally kicked the bucket. I knew I did not want to touch those covers, so I shouted "Bill!". Still no answer. So I pulled back the covers and there was bill, still twisted up like a fetus, liquefying all over the bed. The humidity and the heat combined with how long he'd been dead--I'll tell you, it wasn't pretty. I had to call the funeral home. I remember they weren't to happy with me. I'll tell you, that's the only time I ever sat down outside and got queasy.
Moral: Don't be a lush

Horror Story 5: White Trash
This family were neighbors to my grandparents. Grandma and Carrie both vouched for this one:

Remember that retaining wall around our house? I had to build it because of those horrible Burkins next door. The Burkin family was as white trash as you can come. Back in the day, they still had an outhouse, and one night those kids were screwing around, burnt that whole thing to the ground. They had nowhere to go, so they started using these 5 gallon buckets, which they'd slop over into their garden as fertilizer, which would of course run off into out lawn. Pretty soon, everything started smelling like shit, so I went to the city council, and i said, "You would not believe what these Burkins are doing", so I told my story, and the mayor said, "There's no need to be dramatic, Phillip," and I told her "I'm not being dramatic, come and see." So she came by and she saw it was just how it was, and she was so horrified she fined them and told them if she caught them doing it again, she'd personally run 'em out of town. But they were still too stupid for a proper septic tank, so they'd haul their buckets across the block to the mulch pile. Once a year when we'd set that brush on fire, the whole town would smell like shit. There was no love lost when they finally moved over to St. Joe's.
Moral: Spring for the septic tank

Horror Story 6: Chief
Mom attests to the truth of this story, having seen Chief herself

Grandpa never liked Chief, that's true. I mean, he thought Chief was ok, Chief was a decent enough worker in the construction crew, but he was a bit of a flake. But who didn't feel bad for Chief went he went in for prostate surgery and got stitched up wrong? All of this extra fluid went into his testicles, until both were the size of watermelons. He came over after work and he said, "I think there's something wrong with my balls," so grandpa told him to drop it and he'd take a look. Grandpa said he'd never seen anything quite like it--they were both the size of cantaloupe, with the poor small penis just lost in between them. Grandpa told him to see a doctor, but Chief said that doctors were what had done this too him, and he'd had enough doctors. When Chief retired, the guys made him a card, "To the man with the biggest balls ever!"
Moral: Testicles are strange beasts.

Horror Story 7: Losing face
Grandpa saw this when he was working on a skyscraper.

There are these machines in construction that bring up cement to different floors. They have metal doors that clamp shut and then the platform starts to rise. Because they're so heavy, it's very hard to start and stop them quickly. This one dude, he was distracted, and didn't notice that his coat got caught in the metal grill doors. As the platform moves up, he catches his chin on the platform, and is pinned between the door and the platform, and it peels his face off, from chin to forehead. My grandpa nearly fainted from the site of the red faced man with no eyelids screaming. Luckily, he got to the hospital and stitched it back on, but he never quite looked the same after that.
Moral: Heads up.

The sad thing is, this isn't even all of it. The rest of the stories are unsubstantiated rumors my family would bat around, stories from a friend of a friend that they told under the banner "might be true". It's so odd that I've lived my whole life without discovering one dead body, or seeing one fatal car crash, but everyone up in Missouri has seen 50. I'm not saying I want to see it, but my point is, country living is dangerous. Those people are nuts, god love em