My brother-in-law, Captain Peter St. John, flies Apaches in the army. He’s deployed in Afghanistan right now and will be there for a year. I write him stories to keep his spirits up. Here is one of my recent ones
I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this while you’re out fighting bad guys helping democracy germinate via large caliber weapons, but my Grandmother is going to sue you.
You read that right, she’s filling legal charges against you for committing an assault crime against her person.
You may wish to consult JAG.
When did you do this heinous act? Allow me to unpack all the events so that there is absolutely no confusion about your crime.
First, we need some context. About a month ago my grandmother realized her butt fat was melting. Her ankles had been swelling and her knees aching and she had deduced that the reason for these events was due to the loss of fat around her ass. Specifically the migration of said fat to a more southern location.
She had ample fat. In fact, when she was younger, she said she was going to be a dancer thanks to said fat. Having seen pictures of her when she was younger—images I can never unsee—I can assure you she could not have been a dancer unless it was on some brass pole in a very low budget biker bar where cheap whiskey was an acceptable form of currency. She did not have the figure for it. Not the size or the shape or the rhythm. Though she had a portly rump, it was not within hip-hop video operating tolerances by any stretch. She was, for all intents and purposes, an unremarkable woman with trailer fit only for dumping.
But she believed in her ass. She swore she could have been a dancer, and she knew many men who appreciated her curves. Granted, she grew up in the back hills of West Virginia, an area of the country that inspired the movie Deliverance, where confused, isolated, and sexually frustrated men found enjoyment in the curves of other men. But that’s beside the point.
Relatively speaking, my grandmother knew many men who preferred her… over other men. And her ass had a lot to do with it.
Over the years, her ass expanded. She landed a mate with it. She came to trust in it. Depend on it.
She explained that the physiology of the Higgins’ (her maiden name) female ass has a well documented life cycle, and plays an integral part in their existence.
During their first thirty years, the ass is used much like a peacock’s tail feathers; to attract a mate. In the following 60, it turned into a tough Kevlar-like hide that repelled the boot of said mate. But, in the thirty years following—years 90 and beyond—the female Higgins as melts and succumbs to the pull of gravity, heading south to inhabit the knees, shins, and ankles.
This, according to my grandmother, is unfortunate because it leaves critical ass organs exposed.
Roughly 3 weeks ago my grandmother fell in her kitchen. She lives alone and it was a classic “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” story. She was found 24 hours after the fall by a neighbor woman who checks on her.
The house door was locked and inside screen door hooked shut. My parents had to come over and take the door off the hinges to get her out. She was then cleaned up, fed, and taken to the hospital via an ambulance as she was unable to walk.
At the hospital she explained that she falls often. That she see’s dead people in the house that leave before she can talk to them, often. That she has mini-strokes, often. That Italian doctors are idiots, often. That her ex-husband was a no good son-of-a-bitch, often. And that, often, she has days like this, when she falls and sees the dead and cusses Italians, so none of it should not be a reason to keep her in the hospital.
Against all odds, and in the face of such inscrutable logic, her doctors disagreed. Probably because they were Italian, but also because, as my grandmother says, “today’s doctors don’t care about getting you better, they only care about killing you for your money.”
My Grandmother was there by sentenced to rehabilitation center just south of her home. It was reviewed as one of the nicest rehabilitation centers in the county. It has a beauty parlor, a dentist, and a nursing staff that bakes all their new arrivals home made cakes on their birthday.
“It’s a hell hole!” declared my grandmother after a week in the place. “The people here are all idiots. I want to go home.”
“But Grandma, you can’t go home. You can’t walk. There is no one at home to take care of you. You can’t take care of yourself alone.”
“I’ll have the neighbor lady live there with me, she can take care of me.”
“She’s a grown woman with a husband and kids, she can’t live with you.”
“Yes she can!”
“No she can’t.”
“Oh, you just want me to die so you can take all my money! I don’t want to be in this place. I would have never picked this place. You put me here because you’re trying to kill me. This place is the worst place in the world.”
“What place would you like to be in?”
“I don’t know. Not this place. One of those homes that only have 1 or 2 other people in it. One of those homes… This place has too many people. Crazy people that run through the hallways screaming and nurses that beat me and people that come in here drunk all the time, and no one who can understand that I want to leave.”
“Grandma, there are no places that only serve 1 or 2 other people.”
“Yes there are, the man told me there are.”
“THE man. Him. The Man. He said there was.” She points to an unoccupied section of the room.
“Uh, I’m sorry, Grandma, but you had 15 years to choose where you wanted to go. We tried every location. We tried to help you. But you wouldn’t pick, refused to get help, and put yourself in this situation. We picked the best choice available. We could have put you in a much worse facility so stop being so negative. You’re here now and unless you can walk again that’s not going to change.”
“Oh you just want me to die. You just want my money. I might as well go up to the roof and throw myself off.”
“Grandma, calm down. You can’t walk so you certainly can’t make it to the roof. And we don’t want you to die so we can have your money. We want you to understand the situation you’re in.”
“You don’t want my money. Good, because you’re not going to get it. I took your name off all the accounts.”
“Why would you do that? How will we pay for your treatments now?”
“I did it because you’re criminals. We’ll see how you like it when I have you thrown in jail for putting me in this place. That’s right, I know what you’re up to. I know you’re scheme. I’m going to sue you, and those idiot doctors and that no good brother-in-law of Dirk’s.”
Up until this point, everything Grandma was saying was pretty normal. Well, normal for her. Invisible people: normal. Suicide threats: normal. Everyone but her being spawn of Satan: normal. The addition of you, Cpt. Peter St.John: that was new.
“What did Pete ever do to you?”
“He shot me! He shot me!”
She’s on to you, Pete.
She knows all about your “secret army training”, which she described to me in exhaustive detail. She learned about it from her neighbors. Well, she didn’t really learn about it. She just kind of deduced it, really, through expert sleuthing techniques involving starring out the window and consulting The Man.
The neighbor kids, whom she hates, went off to the Army a few years back. Around the time they came home, she started having her frequent falling episodes. She realized there was a direct correlating between the return of the neighbor kids and her falling that could only be explained by sniper fire.
It all made sense, save for one thing: there were no entry or exit holes.
However, after conferencing with The Man, she realized that the army trains it’s soldiers to shoot in such a way that leave no trace of the shot. This is how the shooters can cover their tracks and no one will know they’ve been there. It’s how they do all their presidential assignations, dignitary executions, and old lady euthanizing.
Why isn’t my grandma dead then, you ask? Well, that’s because she’s the strongest of the Higgins. The one with the strongest ass—which she says is where you shot her. She says she’s smarter than all the rest and genetically superior in every way. While their asses gave out at 90 on the dot, hers has fought time and gravity and only mostly melted.
Besides, those idiot kids next door were only PFC’s, not Captains like you. You are obviously a much more well trained and capable soldier. You could shoot her and make sure she stays “fallen and can’t get up.”
And, the icing on the cake is, she knows your motive. You’re family. You now how much we all want her to die so we can get our grubby little hands on her money. You did it for us, using secret military tactics to the perfect crime.
She says you shot her tailbone off. She says you might have killed her but you underestimated her ass. And Pete, you should never estimate my grandmother’s ass. It’s an ass that could take tank fire. It’s an ass that just won’t quit. It’s an ass that survived for 94 years.
It’s an ass that will see YOUR ass in court.