A New Day Has Dawned with Cake

Thanks, MoN, for this idea ...

I, Kimpossible, HEM, PWTPI, Hottie, aka Bob, being of sound and disposing mind and memory ... (OK, who are we kidding here?) ...

will, give, and bequeath unto Doug Steenland, CEO of Northworst Airlines, if he survives me as their CEO (which is unlikely since they are about to have a mechanics strike and then go bankrupt, the Property described below and pictured above:

Authentic, size 11, Celine Dion houseslippers from her Vegas show, "A New Day."

My SiL recently sent these to me from Vegas, and originally I was like, hmm, that's really ugly and weird (though hilarious) and I'll put these in the closet until I get myself together enough to auction them off on Ebay. But then yesterday I found them again and decided to start wearing them. Husband took one look at me and said, "Kim, what is that? Those look like skis ... I could stand on the back of those with you and shuffle around the house." So truly, these are a fantastic gift upon my death.

Yesterday The God of Cake sent a glorious manna-like, aluminum-foil encased chocolate bundt cake. I found it in a Kroger sack tied to the top of Suzie Q. Subaru and I had eaten 1/4 of it before 9:30 a.m. Yes, I eat anonymous cake. I also ate a driedup pickle out of The Goose's car seat (he hasn't had pickles since our trip to the Ozarks in early July), so anonymous, left-on-top-of-your-car-like-a-Tony-Alamo-ministries-world-newsletter cake is really not that bad. Later I found out that the God of Cake is actually a park regular named Ernie, whose name I remember only because one day, while Goose and I were taking our morning hike, I came upon a happy retired couple who immediately said, "Oh, you must be Ranger B's wife. He has told us all about you and The Goose. I'm Ernie and this is Joanne. You know, like Burt and Ernie."

"Oh yes," I said, in my most polite and sweet ranger's wife voice, "Except that she's not 'Burt.'"

"Right, but I'm Ernie," he said.

Right!

And Ernie, apparently, makes divine chocolate cake which, if Husband hadn't come home and fed to the chickens, I would've crawled up inside and taken up residence. God bless Cakeman Ernie. I used to know a guy in college called Cake Boy. I believe he got his name from getting high and tearing into some cake. That is totally unrelated to this story, but I always think of him when there's cake around ...

In other news, my mom's co-workers have gotten such a kick out of the Northworst Airlines/broken breastpump story, that they are writing a letter to the airline. The letter, whose draft I was asked to edit, includes various tidbits about how none of them have EVER had such an unfair experience in court, even though they have tried cases in front of Marcus Gordon. Now, in case you are totally ignorant about the recent Edgar Ray Killen case in Philadelphia, Mississippi (even though it has been covered on most national news syndicates), let me bring you up to date ...

Back in June, Edgar Ray Killen, former klansmen and organizer of a church burning that killed several civil rights workers, was sentenced to life in prison (even though he's in his 80s) for his crime (after about 40 years of scott-free living). Guess who was the judge? Yep, you got it: Marcus Gordon. Maybe if Marcus had been MY judge, then they would've got what was coming to them. I guess we'll never know. And p.s., Edgar Ray is now out because a Mississippi law allows Marcus to let him out on bond due to his appeal of the case.

I love that this is all covered in the New York Times, because every morning I sit down to read the update online and I have the clearest picture of these people in my mind. I can just see Edgar Ray's buddies putting up their plots of Neshoba County land in order to come up with the $600,000 bond. Poor Edgar Ray. Now that he's out, he's telling the world about how awful it was for six weeks in prison. He didn't even get a pillow! He had to bribe another inmate for one. Edgar, dear, just take off your pants and wrap them around your oxygen tank and curl up. I'm sure the warden wouldn't mind rubbing your greasy head while you drift off into geriatric prison dreamland. Or maybe you could get your buddies to bring by your old klan robe. You could wad it up and stick that under your head. Oh, but nevermind, you're out anyway. It's just too bad you were a couple weeks too late for the the Neshoba County Fair.

OK, enough.

We're leaving later today (sing: I'M LEAVIN' ON A JET PLANE!) for my in-laws house in Milwaukee where The Goose will likely spend four days boycotting sleep, causing me to have a complete breakdown which may or may not result in my taking up permanent residence in a brewery. Nevertheless, away we go ... and in the words of Laverne & Shirley ...

Give us any chance we'll take it,
Read us any rule we'll break it,
We're gonna make our dreams come true!
DOING IT OUR WAY!
Nothing's gonna turn us back now,
Straight ahead and on the track now,
We're gonna make our dream come true!
DOING IT OUR WAY!
There is nothing we won't try,
Never heard the word
KIMPOSSIBLE
This time, there's no stopping us ...
(CROON IT!)
Yeah we'll do it OUR WAY, YES OUR WAY,
MAKE ALL OUR DREEEEEAAAAMMMMS
COME TRUE ...
Just me and you.