By Larry Flesler

I had packed up everything at the cottage and was looking forward to heading back across the Peace Bridge this weekend.

Stu and Wadi were kind enough to stick around and help me clean the cottage and get things in order for the next renter. They were good sports although I ended up doing most of the heavy lifting. After finishing off the last bottle of Dewar’s we started to pack things up. Wadi mentioned he liked my wardrobe and kept trying on my clothes as I tried to get them in the suitcase. I was taken aback as he is about eighty pounds heavier and five inches taller than me and my clothes were being stretched beyond there limits. Stu was frustrated as well and they started yapping back and forth.

I let them be and got things organized in my Buick 5th Avenue.

I was piling things in my trunk but was distracted by the arguing coming from the cottage as it was very loud. I was afraid they would start a fight so I went back in. Stu and Wadi, both clad in only their unmentionables, were kicking and slapping each other like a couple of schoolgirls.

Things escalated quickly when Stu grabbed a small coffee table and threw it at Wadi, striking him flush on the forehead and dropping him like a bag of wet cement.  Stu then snapped a leg off the table and beat him like he was a baby seal all the while screaming, “Leave me alone, you gelatinous ball of crap!”

Wadi then grabbed Stu by the ankle and started biting him. He reached up trying to gain his feet but only managed to tear a gaping hole in Stu’s boxers. Stu’s coin purse was now in full view as he kept throwing open hand slaps in the direction of Wadi. He called himself the angry windmill of death.

Stu was so gassed that he collapsed on top of Wadi and began weeping.

My patience had worn thin so I peeled off my badly stretched speedos, my sock garter belts and my smoking jacket from Wadi, hopped in my Buick and sped off.

I made it home just in time to watch a Matlock marathon.

It’s good to be home.