Sunday, May 12, 2013

Bad Karma on i77

We just got back from Florida at 6:00 Wednesday night.   It was a motorhome trip that involved towing her convertible, camping, vodka, firearms and huge expenditures of time and money.  Thought you might enjoy the highlights.

We left without incident and drove south on into the night the first day.  Dirty misty rain caused the last 3 hours driven that night to be less than comfortable.   We crashed in the steady rain at a truck stop that night.   The place was packed with huge trucks and a few $200k coaches.  What's the sense of owning a 1/4 million dollar rig if you don't want to sleep in a parking lot someplace surrounded by idling diesel trucks?   

The sun came out the next day and we breezed in to Kissimmee without incident.   Cypress Cove Resort had our reservations all ready and the campsite they saved for us was just right.   It has 50 amp power for all our goodies, water, sewer, cable tv and wifi too.   Okay!   It was time to crack open a bottle of Mexican Vodka and chill out.   We rested that afternoon.  

The next few days were spent going back and forth to Universal Studios. They do have a few roller coasters but most of the newer rides are those simulator things.  Our favorite one is Harry Potter.  You sit in a ski lift chair and swirl, rotate and lean all over, very cool and you don't feel like you might die. It was really well done, even the waiting line is totally themed like the Hogwarts Castle in the movies.  They have an option to skip the ride and take the Castle Tour to enjoy the cool stuff they constructed along the route of the queue.    Good food too!

That's about it for the good stuff.   I rented a golf cart the second day we were there to make it easier to get around the campground.   That was great until I backed it into the support for our extended awning.   But the damage was (mostly) repaired by raising one of the hydraulic leveling jacks and lowering it over the bent area.   Hey, it works well enough to be operational but the aluminum channel still has a little zig zag in it.

After getting a early start Saturday morning we followed our printed directions to help navigate home.   It was a very nice day rolling smoothly north from Florida  even after running into some construction the map, odometer and clock all agreed that we were about 45 minutes ahead of schedule.   About 5:00 pm while passing a truck on a hill in North Carolina the dashboard suddenly lit up like a christmas tree.  Temp gauges spiked on tranny and engine, the stop engine light was bright red and turbo boost gauge dropped to zero and we started to slow rapidly.   I headed for the shoulder.   We pulled over just downstream of an overpass.   The coach was leaning at a precarious angle and still close enough to the road that every passing truck blasted us with a gust of air strong enough to make the entire 36 feet of diesel pusher shudder in fear.   

The Good Sam road service people were quite friendly on the phone.   A nice lady named Susan took our call and said she would send a mechanic out to fix our problem.   Hang tight, she said and promised to call us back in a few minutes.   An hour later we called her.   There is nothing available for you right now... Sorry.   Uh, what?   How can that be?   Even the Highway Patrol cop didn't have a tow vehicle to get us off the road,   So we unhitched the car, packed up the cats, abandoned the parrot and drove to a hot sheets motel for the night.   

The next day the company miraculously was able to find us a mechanic to come out to check us out.   The problem was a fan belt tensioner pulley.  This guy was able to "presidentially engineer" a bungee cord to somehow allow us to limp down the interstate to a rest stop where we spent another night on the side of the road.   He came out Monday and installed a new pulley.  He had way more guns than us and we had a fun time doing show and tell. The Guys flashed our guns and the girls compared tattoos.

Our frustration level was growing so we decided to drive 5 more hours to Shenandoah Valley and spend a few days there for R&R.   We pulled into a nice KOA where we had stayed before and settled in.   The next day we unhitched the convertible and drove out to visit a few micro breweries.


On our way back to the campsite a big fat chick, shaped like an upside down bowling pin clobbered us from behind while we were stopped in traffic.   I think she was texting.  So now Pats car is all smashed up.  She is becoming less happy by the minute.   We call the cops, exchange insurance and head back to the KOA.  We both have doctors appointments and my buddy the lawyer is on it already.

We spent another night there, woke up early and planned an uneventful drive back to PA.   Getting ready to go involves checking everything.   Whoops, flat tire on the motorhome.   That tire is a Big bastard too.    Back on the phone to our road service company.   Turns out they do not fix flats.  They sell tires.   $750 and they don't cover labor to mount it.   Fugetaboudit.   The nice girl in the office called a local who came out, removed the roofing nail and repaired the tire for $104.   Guy had a serious case of meth mouth but man, he could wrestle a tire.

Now we are home.   Shit, what's next?

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Wayback Machine

Set your time machine for 1970.5, (±1 year)    I was dating the daughter of a quack doctor.   This guy was making a killing selling diet pills and behavior counseling to housewives from all over our county back in NJ.   They had built a great big fancy house with his office attached, along the main drag a few towns over from us.   I had met this girl, in summer school and we really hit it off in a free-spirited, Summer of Love, kind of way.   It might have been the summer of Bordentown Military Academy or the hippie dippie, Moorestown Friends School or maybe it was Doane Academy Preparatory School.  I am not sure.   Anyway, she was a furry, freaky, funny, happy, blue eye blonde, rich, hippy chick who never wore underwear and really didn't give a $hit in a very sweet, casual kind of way.   My parents had no clue about raising a kid and her parents believed in freedom, or some sixties notion like that.  We were a hit!  I was totally infatuated with this girl because she was so fresh and so different from the girls in my home town.

Her family was very progressive.   Except the doctor dad, he stayed in the clinic for what seemed to me 24 hours a day so he was absent.   They had a big pool out back in which the entire family frequently jumped into and out of without a stitch, Mom included!   Similarly they roamed freely about the house, sometimes dripping wet in an exposed state seemingly without notice.  All this much to the dismay of the older brother who repeated reminded the mother, "Mom! We have company."

There were times when the mom asked if I was "staying over" and she never had a problem sending me upstairs to wake her or to help get her ready when picking her up for a date.   

This one night she was very excited.   "Let's go!"
"Hurry we'll be too late." She rushed to my '61 chevy wagon, jumped in the drivers side and slid half way across the bench seat.

"What, where huh?!"  She never did anything in a hurry.   I got in the car and took off.  Turns out she had tickets for a concert.  
"There's this new band called Jethro Tull."
"Jethro Tull?"
"The front man plays a FLUTE!"
She assured me it was going to be very cool and I would like it and please drive fast to Philly.   A big green cloud filled the car as we drove toward the new Spectrum.   We arrived just as JT was taking the stage.   I was amazed at the smell in that place and how long everybody's hair was.   

The music started just as we emerged from the ramp to the second floor.  The crowd let out a roar and music filled the hall.  I was stopped in my tracks by the volume and the vivid scene that had suddenly unfolded directly in front of us.   
"Quick" she says, grabbing my hand and giving a little squeal of delight, "Let's sit here."  
We slid our feet under the bar at the top of the ramp, sitting on concrete, our earth shoes and ragged bell bottoms dangling 30 feet in the air and our heads and arms protruding through the space between the second and top bars.   These were great seats, forget those numbers on our tickets, stay right here.  The stage was just below us and slightly to the right.   The sound was amazing!   The colors smoke and flashing lights were out of this world.   The acrid smell of sweat and weed was just overpowering.   I was stupefied with happiness.  Who could imagine such a scene existed on earth.   Joy.

The music finished and Ian Anderson announced the name of the song and plugged the new album, Aqualung.  I swear he looked right at us!   The piano player, dressed in an all white suit, was rapidly and deliberately pacing around the stage as Anderson began to introduce the next song.   The Piano dude looked like a cross between an ice cream man and an over amped Colonel Sanders with hair down to the middle of his back and cascading over both shoulders.   This guy was so wound up that he would frantically wave one hand or the other as fast as possible if he had an idle second without assigned notes to play.   The urgent, rapid strides around the stage continued between songs.  It's a wonder his heart didn't explode right then.

Mr Anderson had an unusual appearance also.  He was wearing a bright green, soiled, swallow tail coat with one tail raggedly removed.  He had sort of white tight pants and brown, fringed, over the calf, lace up fringed boots.   He put the sole of one boot on his opposite knee as he played the flute.   Long, wild, frizzy hair and a full untrimmed beard completed his stage presence.    Freaky.   The third (or tenth) song was Cross-eyed Mary.   An excerpt of the lyrics is:

Laughing in the playground -- gets no kicks from little boys:
would rather make it with a letching grey.
Or maybe her attention is drawn by Aqualung,
who watches through the railings as they play.
Cross-eyed Mary...   

Just as Anderson sang "maybe her attention is drawn by Aqualung"  he cocked his head toward us.   He was looking right at me!  He stretched out a bony hand with the longest fingers I had ever seen in my life, pointed right at us and sang, "watches through the railings..."  

So here I was barely 17, first real concert, tweaked out of my head, in a perch suspended high above the crowd and this guy saw us!   I was part of the show.   Everybody looked.   She rushed, shook her hair and threw her arms over her head and kicked her feet.   It seemed the singer appreciated the exuberant little show she put on.  Thumbs up!   We were quickly joined on the ledge by others seeking to share our advantage in access to the band.   The sudden movement caused the guards to descend in a large group.  Now we were caught in an unsafe and popular position.   We had to take our real seats for the rest of the concert.   

After that night, every time I returned to the The Spectrum and saw the solid steel panel welded to the bottom of all the railings at the top of each ramp reminded me that Rita, me and Ian Andersen were the reason they modified that opening.   The little hippie chick succumbed to cancer and The Spectrum has been demolished and replaced by a bigger, better, more modern facility.   Ian Andersen is still making music and me... well you know what I do.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Chaos at CUN

We were once delayed at the Cancun airport by a full figured lady whose under-wire supporting garment had activated the warning buzzer on the metal detector portal.   Our line at CUN paused to observe the 3 minute spectacle.  

The Mexican TSA agent repeatedly waved the wand back and forth across her chest, beep, beeeeep, beeeeeeeeeeep, alternating over her boobs, in turn.
"Its my bra." she whispered to the agent.
"It's an underwire."
Beeeeeeep, beep.  
She was pronouncing the word very carefully as to make herself better understood.
Beep, Beep.  The screener looked slightly puzzled.
"Want me to take off my shirt?" Her frustration grew as did the volume of her speech.
Beeep, beeep, chirp, beep. 
A little louder now, "I'll do it, swear to god!"  

Suddenly she crossed her arms low and grabbed the bottom of her Senor Frog Bar tee.  She thought better of it and changed her tactics midstream.   We stood transfixed behind the line ropes while the traveler did the bra off thing under her shirt.  She quickly flipped the hooks in the back, drove her hand under each sleeve and reached up under the front of her tee shirt for a grand finale.  Swoosh.     

"See?" She said, raising her arms aloft displaying the expensive, white, industrial strength, metal filled, Cross Your Heart, 4 hook, padded strap, Maidenform bra high above her head and rotated 360° to give us all a full frontal view of both the doomed garment and her double D bosoms straining against the cotton tee shirt.  
"Everybody see?" 

And to the Mexican TSA lady who by now was standing by sheepishly,  "Now are you happy?"   
Yup, everybody was smiling and we all seemed very happy.   The offending metal brassiere was unceremoniously deposited in the waste receptacle, the black electronic wand passed silently over her boobs, she passed through the metal detector without an  audible incident and we all walked off merrily toward our respective gates.

Saturday, April 21, 2012

Enough Already

Remember when you got a favorite toy as a kid?     Or when you became a little older and had ample funds at your disposal, you could go to the candy store and get all the candy you wanted.  Or better yet, how about that time when the drinks were so delicious and the effect so pleasant that you figured that more would be better?  Fairly soon that toy lost its charm, candy became tasteless and repulsive as your taste buds fatigued and quit under the onslaught of sugary treats.  And sometimes the booze wins the battle.

Once at a party in the 70's, I had a little segmented worm from a bottle of cheap Mezcal.   It was fun running around with it on my tongue, showing all the girls who screamed and turned away.   It was a different matter when, for some unknown reason, half the bottle gone, I decided to bite the damn thing.   It had been soaking in the mescal for quite a while and it had a super concentrated flavor of tequila/mescal/insect guts.   It was an immediate emetic.  As soon as the worm guts entered my mouth my insides did the same.   I barely made it to the commode as my lower intestine tried to help my stomach better evacuate its contents.   It wasn't a total loss because back then projectile vomiting was usually a big hit and the indicator of any real party. 
I still don't like the flavor of tequila.   Some stuff you just can't get over.  

We have been here, in Playa del Carmen Mexico for 122 days.  We have had three mini vacations to different parts of Mexico, two snorkel trips and 3 all-inclusive days with one more on the books.   We have fixed the lights in the ceiling, shopped and found a sofa, love seat, Tommy Bahama beach chairs with coolers built into the back and a matching umbrella.  We had the washer fixed once, the fridge took a shit and spoiled much of our food, twice.   We have eaten food at carts on the street and carts in the dirt, at Italian, Chinese, Indian, American and of course Mexican restaurants.   We have found and installed pieces of obscure hardware.    

We toured ancient ruins with a guide who gladly shared the fact he was in the throes of a crisis of faith.  We found broken hunks of Mayan pottery used to extract salt from the Caribbean hundreds of years ago.  We have been hounded by timeshare salesman, red cross volunteers, Mayan ladies selling shawls on the street, plaintively rolling their eyes and begging us to buy.   We've been tattooed, injected, inspected and Brazilian waxed smooth.  We have been in pools, oceans, tidal pools and hot tubs.   We have had guests come and go. 

We have driven in cities, country, jungle and some horrible, smarmy dirt roads near the beach riddled with chuck holes and sour rain filled craters big enough to swallow the little red car.   

We have stood in lines at immigration, customs, the DMV, Telmex, CFE, restaurants and supermarkets.    The weather has been hot, cold, wet, dry and everything in between.  We drank at bars, in pools, right on the street, at the beach, in cars and palapas and drank from buckets, green bottles, clear bottles, brown bottles, cans, paper cups, hand blown glasses, plastic cups, jello shots and Bubba Kegs.  We have spoken English, Spanish, French, German, a little Mayan and even some Yiddish.  We spent dollars, Pesos, Euros and charged stuff to get the air miles.

Last week a belligerent, middle aged Mexican man with gray roots, stood in our way, directly in front of the path of our car in Sam's parking lot.  He was texting or something.  He knew we were there but he didn't care.  He was on vacation and he had a few bucks.  We are foreigners after all.  We can wait.  As we entered the store he was directly in the isle.  Again blocking my path, elbows extended, still fascinated with his phone like a teenage girl.  I gave him a little bump with my shoulder and pinched his ass, hard.  This cocky, little chubby, bastard was a foot and a half shorter and a hundred pounds lighter.  Pat was following behind because this guy had obstructed the foot traffic down a single lane at the entrance to Sam's Club.  She witness his reaction from only two feet away.  She said he jumped a mile, sized me up and sheepishly moved to the side.  Enough of the macho, bullfighter mentality for him. 

Our downstairs neighbors are obnoxious boors.  She woke us almost every day screeching Phylis Diller like nonsense syllables.   Her normal voice is so backwoods Midwest that it is difficult for me to understand her on a good day.  Everything is I, me or my with her.  She was telling a story about her grandson getting stung by a bee at her house.   It included a description of her wooden table and some history of the table, what she was wearing, which flowers she had planted and what she had for lunch.  

Her husband is a total pussy.   He is one of those guys who delights in telling you how it should have been done if you knew what you were doing, the best way to get somewhere after you get back or the proper way to repair an item soon after you fix it.   These obnoxious people are almost directly beneath us.  We shared a diagonally adjacent balcony corner.  They, singlehandedly, almost prevented us from enjoying our winter.   If not for the sunny dispositions of the base crew of owners here we would have withdrawn from condo society completely.   The other "Nor tays" seemed to all agree about the monopolizing attitude of our private Phyllis Diller.  They tolerated it publicly much better than we did.    

But now, with a week to go.  I have had enough.   The town is beginning to separate itself into two sections.  One a gleaming, modern resort, sparkling with all the amenities.   The other has started to look like a medieval torture chamber.  I miss cheesesteaks and the familiar taste of a Union Barrel Works carver sandwich paired with micro brew porter.   I know that it will take some time for real, east coast English to return and this other language, rattling around in my brain like an insufficient, little donut spare tire loose in the trunk, to leave my conscious thought patterns.  I am just beginning to understand some of the high speed stuff they speak only among the Spanish speakers and TV commercials.  But the time for that has passed for this season.   It's getting tiresome.  I welcome the acrid smell of urine from the Philadelphia Airport Jetway.    

Pat shut down three weeks ago, she has retreated from the chaos of Mexico and the invasive rantings of our neighbor to the comfort of CSI reruns and the American satellite TV coming from a homemade, Frankenstein looking dish mounted on the roof of Condo Tower C and her Kindle.

All indications are, it is time to go, to flee, to abandon this country for now.   But unlike that mescal in the 70's the worm has decided to stay in the bottle.  Those people downstairs will be in Florida next winter and not return in the foreseeable future.  Mr and Ms obnoxious plan to lease out their condo to more normal people.   We have a beautiful piece of art our friend created which we will treasure forever.   So next year promises to hold new journeys, fresh adventures and more culinary delights and best of all, we look forward to the very pleasant, easy company of our friends here in Playa del Carmen.  We are excited to get home to Pennsylvania and can't wait to return.

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Friday Morning in the Summer.

There was all this screaming behind our home this morning.  Like a herd of children turned loose with a bowl of sugar cereal and some redpunch.   It dissipated into the morning stillness over the soccer fields behind our deck and a misty morning serenity slowly returned.   Except for one kid.   That kid was really having a great time enjoying its freedom.    Repeated intervals of screaming, whoops and hollers caused me to mosey out on the balcony to have a look.   Bubba the parrot slept out there last night.   Because of the great weather we had allowed the doors to remain open and the cats were roaming in and out at will during the evening hours while we slept.    The cats decided to follow me out.  I greeted Bubba and he answered me "Hello, Stick em up." The parrot spotted the kitten, "Stop it." he scolded the cat.   I sipped some coffee and directed my gaze toward the sounds.    

There is a church across the athletic fields, the Community Rec Center has an athletic field there too.   But that is not where this maniac kid was.   It was in the little park the community constructed.   They have swings and junk over there I think and that is where the kid was.   Now the one kid was in full stride Whooping and Screaming over and over and over.  Maybe it was a summer camp outing.   It is a beautiful day, a Friday and just perfect to let the little bastards blow off some steam and get their energy levels depleted a little.   This kid was still going strong.   Now and then one of the other kids screams would join this one noisy kid's voice but they were mostly quiet.    As I looked across the dry grass the small group of kids and two or three adults came into view under the trees in the  community area.   They seemed as if it was a summer school program or a church group, we have a LOT of that here, out to take in the scene and get a breath of fresh air.   The children were following one adult who was moving away from the forested area and getting closer to the open soccer fields.   Another adult was bringing up the rear and herding the reluctant children along when I saw The Hyper Kid.   THK was running concentric circles around the adult leading the group he darted in and out of the cluster of children as a comet orbiting a solar system.   This kid was on it.   

It became evident that the shouts that accompanied  THK were not attempts at harmony but actually protests and shrieks of dismay as he swooped in to harass any stragglers from the pack of kids.   THK was determined to attack one child per circuit as a rogue asteroid might do to communications satellites.   They were standing at the edge of the field when the lead adult grabbed THK.  He took him by the shoulders and rotated THK around to face the goal net far across the fields.   The adult pointed,  THK looked off into the distance and sighted the white support and the net it held.   The adult pointed, let go and THK took off running across the two adjacent soccer fields toward the farthest net.   The two adults cheered and they encouraged the other children to raise their voices too.   THK was streaking past the center line screaming the whole time "AAAAHHHHHHAAAAAHHHHHH".  He was past the first field in no time.   The group yelled for him to go faster.   He went faster.   THK was really flying now.   They yelled more.    I could hear them,   "Yay Hyper Kid!"   He reached the goal net but he didn't stop, THK circled the goal box at full speed and volume and came running back.   The cheering continued as lead adult moved to intercept THK before he got back to the group.   THK showed no signs of fatigue in the legs or vocal cords.   As he almost reached the assembled pack of humans, the lead adult, now twenty feet in front of the group of children,  huddled together for safety, started making a circular motion with his arm as if he were twirling a lasso.   THK knew exactly what to do.   He rounded the guy and headed off to the other end of the field again, still screaming and now waving both arms above his head and yelling like some kind of demented shaved monkey, shrieking in full gallop attacking a pile of bananas.   The other kids hopped and cheered as THK swerved from their direction.   

THK made another round trip between the goals.   He began to tire.  His arms drooped below his shoulders.   His shrieks became less frequent.   It almost seemed that his speed was slightly diminished.    The third trip began to have the desired effect.   Both adults were trying to spur THK to continue but he was definitely running out of fuel.   At the end of his fourth orbit THK flopped to the ground in front of the assembled group, arched his back and with one huge scream and a spasm of his arms and legs he lay spread eagle on the grass facing the sky.  The group, sensing the end, turned in unison and slowly moved away.

So parents, please give your kid his medicine in the summer too.   Even if it is Friday and even if it's the other parents weekend.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Welcome Desi

It has been an eventful time since we got home from Mexico.   Poor Siamese got sicker and sicker.   Sammy is gone now but we have a new member of our family.   Desi is the new Siamese King.   He is quite a handful.  He knows no bounds and we hope to keep it that way.   He is chewing on scattered papers, learning about how claws affect human skin and stacks of post-its as I try to type this. 
photo C.L.C.
photo C.L.C.

Desi may be a furry, cat, nudist.   So far this kitten has slipped off and  ditched two collars somewhere in the house.   We have no idea where they are and he isn't telling.   The missing collars coincided with his entry to the lower level where thousands of boxes, piles and storage bins attract the most surreptitious of instincts in a kitten.  Desi also has developed a propensity for cream cheese.   Just nuke a cinnamon bagel and he comes running.   The cat wants a schmear!   His affinity with cream cheese somehow also extends to yogurt.   He seems to prefer blueberry over strawberry.   The vet assured us that only about fifty percent of cats are truly lactose intolerant but, a fetid stench frequently emits from the vicinity of the base of his tail.   The bombays appear to be most prone to opening when Desi is just about to fall asleep, which he chooses to do on the nearest available lap.

Lucy has learned to deflect his frequent savage attacks.   Our nearly 20 pound Main Coon places her gigantic paw on his forehead as he tries to lever his two and a half pound body, claws extended, reach her.   These sparring matches appear comical because of the difference in size and slightly resemble the Stooges.  Woub Woub Woub, nyuk nyuk nyuk.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Ah fair retail.

Goal Deluxe Sander Tree Beers

Won sap pun a tine dare washer ladle gull culled Goal Deluxe zoo leave din dissenter offer lodge forced widow mutter sander fodder.

Ones window ladle gull and/or pear rents swear aweigh, dare hop penned topaz buy tree beers -- ham other beer, ha dotty beer, inner ladle bay be beer.

Sea ingot dough row pin, bay be beer win tinfoil ode buys modern fodder. Dot repairs wondered true Goal Deluxe souse: day eight parch; day satin cheers; sand atlas day fellow slip into tree bids.

Wend Goal Deluxe inner mud rend fodder god hum, daze awe sun thin whirrs rung. 

"Sum bodice bin neat tender parch," sad Goal Deluxe, "an day aided awl! Handsome bodice bins it ten end dough's cheers!"

Gong Hindu turbid run, Goal Deluxe led otters cream: "Sum bodice bin slipping inner bids anthers till dare!"

Herring hearse cream, dot repair sleep tout ha bet innate Goal Deluxe sander pear rents sup.

Ream embark ids: Led slipping beers lye.

Can't read it? Drag the "?" to the the "*"

Goal Deluxe Sander Tree Beers
(Goldielocks and the Three Bears)

Won sap pun a tine dare washer ladle gull culled Goal Deluxe zoo leave din dissenter offer lodge forced widow mutter sander fodder.
(Once upon a time there was a little girl called Goldielocks who lived in the center of a large forest with her mother and father.)

Ones window ladle gull and/or pear rents swear aweigh, dare hop penned topaz buy tree beers -- ham other beer, ha dotty beer, inner ladle bay be beer.
(Once when the little girl and her parents were away, there happened to pass by three bears -- a mother bear, a daddy bear and a little baby bear.)

Sea ingot dough row pin, bay be beer win tinfoil ode buys modern fodder. Dot repairs wondered true Goal Deluxe souse: day eight parch; day satin cheers; sand atlas day fellow slip into tree bids.
(Seeing the door open, baby bear went in followed by his mother and father. The three bears wandered through Goldielock's house: they ate porridge, they sat in chairs, and at last they fell asleep into three beds.)

Wend Goal Deluxe inner mud rend fodder god hum, daze awe sun thin whirrs rung.
(When Goldielocks and her mother and father got home, they saw something was wrong.)

"Sum bodice bin neat tender parch," sad Goal Deluxe, "an day aided awl! Handsome bodice bins it ten end doughs cheers!"
("Some body's been eating the porridge," said Goldielocks, and they ate it all! And somebody's been sitting in those chairs!")

Gong Hindu turbid run, Goal Deluxe led otters cream: "Sum bodice bin slipping inner bids anthers till dare!"
(Going into her bedroom, Godlielocks let out a scream: "Somebody's been sleeping in the beds and they're still there!")

Herring hearse cream, dot repair sleep tout ha bet innate Goal Deluxe sander pear rents sup.
(Hearing her scream, the three bears lept out of bed and ate Goldielocks and her parents up.)

Ream embark ids: Led slipping beers lye. 
(Remember kids: Let sleeping bears lie.)****