I was babysitting across the street at Tom and Terese’s.  I was changing the young boy’s diaper (age 1 or 2) and I discovered that his scrotum had fallen off.

Yet, strangely, he seemed to have another one in the usual place.  So I have this detached scrotum and I don’t know what to do.  I am afraid I’ll be blamed from causing it to have fallen off.

I end up telling Terese (who was wearing on top just a pink sports bra) that one of the boy’s scrota had fallen off.  And she says, “Yeah, no big deal, that happens.”  She makes reference to some disorder the kid has that causes his scrotum to detach.

So I’m getting ready to leave and I notice that in the mail Terese has gotten a letter from my good old friend-cum-nemesis Eric Peters.  I am dying to know what it says.  No doubt it pertains to me.

I am at first thinking he has written some scurrilous piece of tripe warning Terese that I’m not good with kids, etc.  But I hold the letter up against the light and it seems he is being rather complimentary in tone.  But still, why would he write my neighbor except to screw with my head?


Second thread.

I am out of town.  Strangeness all around.  My car is in the shop.  I need it fixed so that I can move on along to wherever it is I’m going.  I go into the shop and they’re telling me that can fix it only, but only to the extent it’ll get me to Oklahoma.  As I look back, it seems I was headed to Texas.

I realize I do not trust these people and that I am being kept in this place for some reason.  So I go back to this huge awesome room or house I’m renting and get together my essentials.  I’m gonna just take the car and get out of there as fast as possible.


the cbw responds

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