Monday, October 10, 2011

Udderly Senseless; The Blog War Continues

    First off, let me show you . . .

The culprit!

   Here he is:
And here he is again!
(Trying to look INNOCENT.)

On the other side, 
since there's usually more than one side to every story,
here's . . . 

The victim


And again:
I really like those jeans she's wearing; I bet they cost $1 at a garage sale, seriously (they did)!

    So, now that you have faces to put with the names, let the madness begin.
    At approximately 1pm on Saturday the 8th, I (the victim) talked to my brother (the culprit).  
    "Shane, I have a real problem.  Ruby's been bullied and now things are getting out of control.  How would you handle a bully?"    
    My guru of a brother--that gift to humanity--responded quite wisely.
    And it was an amazing response considering I didn't give him all of the details about how The Bully pranks us when The Scribe can't play.  Or how she'll doorbell ditch our house after her mother has gone to sleep!
    It's so aggravating when I finally get my children to sleep and someone DOORBELL DITCHES us and wakes everyone up!  Ahhhhh!  Plus, her poor mother doesn't even know where her nine-year-old kid is late at night.
    Anyway, the day went on and I couldn't believe all of the crazy problems we're having with the bully.  I ran into a couple of my neighbors and they've apparently heard terrible rumors about me and The Scribe.  My neighbors said The Bully's mother had talked to everyone, saying wretched things.
    I ended up talking to my brother again, since he's practically my best friend. But while on the phone, the conversation changed.  "Elisa," he said. "Can I come talk to you? You've just been working so hard on your books and I want them to have the best chance possible."
    "O . . . kay," I said.  I didn't know why he'd want to come over at eight o'clock at night, but who am I to argue with a guru?
     So, my brother arrived shortly after that.  The whole time we visited I kept worrying about The Bully and if she'd doorbell ditch us while my brother was there.
    Then it happened!  We hadn't been sitting there five minutes, when someone actually POUNDED on the door.
    I couldn't contain my rage.  No one messes with me in front of company--NO ONE!  I opened the window, "Get the heck out of here!"
    Then, Cade, who's half ninja, ran outside and attempted to chase the person down.  "They left something on the porch," Cade said.
    I went after him and indeed, there was a package on our top step.
    A dilapidated note rested on the top.  "I know what you've been up to.  Watch out!" the note read and was signed by The Bully's mother.  
    I became irate.  Seriously, what have I ever done to her, and now she's gossiping about me and leaving bombs on my front porch?
    I immediately picked up my cell phone.  "That's it," I said.  "I'm calling the police."  Since I love them oh so much.  "I'm not putting up with this crap anymore.  She's said terrible things about my kids, teachers at school, some of my friends and their kids.  She's tried getting people fired and I, for one, WILL NOT be bullied anymore."
    But then my brother snatched my phone.  "Don't call the police," he said with a silver tongue.  "Why would you call them, when you haven't even opened the package?"
    It was confusing, and looking back, I wonder if that's how Eve felt before the fall.
   "I don't want to tamper with . . . evidence," I whispered because when I turned, he had a camera in his hand--a PINK camera.
    "What's going on with the camera?"
    "I had some pictures to show you, but while I have it here, why don't we videotape this for your blog."
     Oh ye, unsuspecting readers, see how crafty brothers can be!  Why was he pressuring me to open the box--the same man who adverts danger at any cost?  Normally he's quite cautious, treading softly, talking quietly.  Yet, this time, he pushed me to shun the police and open . . . the box of doom?  Like Lindsay Lohan and her crazy decisions, it just didn't make sense
    So, being a naive sap, I trusted him.  I pulled off some tape, opened one of the box's flaps and let my brother videotape the whole thing.
    But when I opened the first flap, a hissing sound dismantled my composure.  "It's a bomb," I thought.  "This woman is nuts, and she's sent me a bomb."
    So many solutions crossed my mind.  I could throw the box and look away--that might fix things--or I could grab the box and run toward The Bully's house. Sure I might explode in the process, but maybe the villains would get their just rewards and my own family would be safe.
   Just as I'd made up my mind and was about to run with the heavy box of doom, my brother said something strange,  "Damn it!"
    I turned to him, completely surprised, udderly senseless.  "You did this?" I asked and waited for his response . . .

    For the answer AND the video, please visit:

   Good thing I have a new prank in store for my brother!  Ha ha, this should be good.