so I have to pull another post out of my a$$ this morning.

which shouldn't be too hard.

Yesterday the paperwork came in the mail from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts permitting me to marry my nephew to the Most Beautiful Bride in the World.

That'll get 'em motivated to find someone MOST riki-tik as I am likely the last person they want to marry them.

Now comes the fun part and that's getting everyone wound up.

My sister called. She is my nephew's mother.  I told her I was busy cleaning my shotgun for the wedding.

What?! What?! What?! You're NOT bringing a shotgun to my son's wedding!!!! 

"But it's in the Official Redneck Hillbilly book of ceremonies," I protested. "Besides, NOBODY gets cold feet at MY weddings!"

Click. The phone went dead.

I gave a slow count of five and dialed my nephew and as I figured the phone was busy and I knew she had called her son. Just then she was verbally pouring 25 gallons of gasoline at his feet and was throwing a match into it to build a fire under him to get someone to perform the wedding.

Twenty minutes later the phone rang. I had expected the call to be about five minutes later, actually. It was my nephew. He was fairly calm but not too pleased.

"Quit getting my mother all worked up," he pleaded. Then he laughed. "Besides the shotgun, what else did you tell her?"

"That's all. It doesn't take much. How's the bride to be making out?"

"It is the scariest thing I have ever seen in my life," He confessed. 

"She getting worked up over the toothpicks being the right color?" I asked.

"That's just it, she's not getting worked up. That's what is so scary about it." he said. "She's calm. She also thinks you ought to do the ceremony."

"Now, THAT'S scary!" I shot back. "Hmmm. She'll do well in this family, now that you think about it."

"Whatever," he answered. "Just stop getting my mother worked up. Then again, I don't know why I am asking... Hey, next time tell her...Never mind."

"What?" I asked.

"Never mind," he said. "Neither of us would ever hear the end of it. Oh, hell. I'll tell her."

"Tell her what?" I asked.

"I'm going to tell her you said you bought a brand new turban to wear when you marry us," he said.

'That's a good one." I said. "When can I expect a call?"

"Maybe I'll let this one ride until tomorrow. We've already had our crisis of the day," he replied.

Sometime today I will get a call from my sister who after all of these years ought to know better. After all, we don't take prisoners in the Piccolo family.








To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html