Doe-Eyed Children of Satan.

It wasn't that long a trip. Just from Boston to the Berserkshires. But I always have an enormously absurd time on the road with my favorite driving companion. He is a Sparkmonkey, too. Maybe moreso than me, onaccounta he is also part Magpie, which means not only is he wired to process at warp speed in many directions at once, but he is also apparently adventure oriented and pushes boundaries like no one elses business, but I digress...he finds cool things to do, or say, or be.

"So, did I *ever* tell you about what I used to do with hotdogs when I was a kid?"

Now, that, my friends, coming from him, is, well, it is a frightening thing.

Mind in the gutter I shuddered to think aloud what glorious gifts to the Altar of Hotdog were given. And, knowing him as I do, my snicker wiggled out of my tightly pursed-for-safety-sake lips.

"Do I want to hear the answer to that question?" my response snickered at me from behind a huge smile. He was driving and couldn't really see how funny this really was. I mean, for me it is nearley juice-snorting-out-yer-nose silly.

"See, my family wasn't a chip family. No. They were a Stick family, so I took the potato stix and shoved them into the hot dog and then ate em."

Okay, so I am thinking...Ow..catheter thoughts are careening through my mind while at the same time laughter was pulling through my chest and rolling out my mouth. Sick funny things are like that, sometimes. Sorta like graveside laughter.

Then, I gots to thinking:

So did he stick em on the outside, too? You know, so it looked like a porcupine? I asked.

He answered, and I do not remember what he said, cause a beautiful deer crossed the road in front of us, bounding away into everpresent greenery on the bumpy back road to Camp High Rock.

"Damned Doe Eyed Children of Satan!!! How dare they cross the road in front of us!!!"

But it really was cute.

No. Really it was.