I want my mommy but my mommy's dead. That just occurred to me. Life's like that I guess, all broken glass and tears for grandpa. Course, I goes where the wind blows, if you catch my meaning.

Do I seem retarded to you? Maybe I'm loopy as a peacock. A sad peacock. One that people feel sorry for, because his wife peacock is a lunatic and his mommy's dead as a goddamn pitchfork. Maybe I'll just strip down to my Depends and run around with bananas in my ears, just like old Ralph down the street did. You couldn't stop me if you tried, could you? They couldn't stop old Ralph, and look at him now! He's dead like my mommy. But that's' not really why I'm writing today.

I come before you with the girth of a flatulent cherub. My wife, grandma, says she's set to leave me for the nunnery. Curses. Of all the news to get while Wheel of Fortune is playin... and I think she means it, too, because Jesus has been calling her in one way or another for a LONG time now.

"Grandpa," she says, " I'm a'thinkin 'bout donning a habit and giving this all up to serve the Lord." Well, you can probably guess that I just about dislocated my hambone, rustling around in fear and agitation.

I told all the fellas down at the recreation center about it, hoping for some advice. But now they all just point and call me "Hambone." That rankles. It turns out I misheard her just like with that ROUGHAGE calamity, and she actually had said she was going to leave me for Sean Connery.

HAH! Good luck. You know, that Connery fella's a wife beater. Maybe when she comes crying back, she'll have some sense knocked into her. I've never been real big on beating women, but I heard Connery say it was okay on the morning show. And he's a celebrity, so who am I to argue?