The Chronicles of Granny In The Bed

Gareth Markobi, who bears distinction as the father of the Utinselist movement that began and flourished in Montreal for at least three decades, died quietly today at his home in Menarch after an apparent incident involving bobcats. Having recently endured a very heroic courageous bout with retrostatic anal-nasal reptilian nipple herpes, the artist, poet, writer, drive-by hit-and-run social media troll, noteworthy bigamist, Braille poet, balloon organizer, bobcat activist, notary public, mud farmer, and standby acrobat was found motionless and not responding to stimuli as if for the last time. The cats involved apparently fled the scene before authorities arrived. Markobi was 98. When the Hades agent finally arrived to return Markobi’s suit-coat, Il Coltello da Burro, as the artist was known to acquaintances, muffled on his master’s voice, chose to hide from death, and ran away in a jagged stitch as he was taught by his trickster mentor, Señor Venusitano Gustav Chagón, in order to

Being involved in a problem marriage can effect your life in a negative way.  These are the most reported symptoms you will notice right before sweet matrimonial bliss turns into a bitter legal nightmare: Your spouse inconveniences you, or asks you to do something that does not immediately give you instant gratification. You want to do something, your spouse doesn’t want to do it, but your spouse won’t do it anyway. Your spouse shrugs off or disagrees with one of your suggestions. You and your spouse do not have the EXACT same needs, wants, and interests. Your spouse has a friend or coworker that is not also your friend or coworker. You find it difficult to visit with your spouse’s family. Your spouse is reluctant to attend events attended by your family. Your spouse does not feel comfortable allowing you to control every aspect of his or her life at any given time even though you have demonstrated that you are superior to all others at every endeavor. You suffer from minor

     “You killed your baby marshmallow breath,” yelled a mopish protester in a swinging paisley skirt resting a sign on her shoulder that read ‘pray to end abortion’, standing on the sidewalk adjacent to Bordella Women’s Clinic on Old Main.  There was a faint hint of Baby’s Breath in the air.      “I saved it for the doctor, who is the one who killed it and deserves the credit,” blonde Marcy replied in her famous white blouse, “then he hacked it to pieces, thanks for asking.”          This was more than the pro-life activists had ever heard in their stand-in-the-corner lives, created a shock wave that formed a gallop down the center of the aisle of brazen Jane Roe reactionaries added to little selfish squints of baron spinsters and filthy old men who had nothing better to do.  The disorganized herd of faith-based jackals, as recorded elsewhere, began waxing self-righteous.  One woman in the group had a scowl on her face that rivaled horn-rimmed Satan.      “You won’t be so proud wh