Notes from Underground

(Not Billy Joel, but rather, the King himself)

While I’m duty bound to give a full and accurate recount of my recent visit to Uncle Donny’s house, I value my life very much and fear an unadulterated version of the events would place it in grave danger. In light of this rather morbid fact, I, with my well being in mind, pen the following:

Upon arrival to what I later was instructed to refer to as “the Palace”, I was greeted by whom I was later instructed refer to as “the King.” After a brief walk through, during which I took careful notes of what not to touch and/or look at, I was shown to my room. At that point my Uncle said he’d like to try out a new locking mechanism and proceeded to turn the guest bedroom, with me inside, into a make shift prison cell; I always knew he was crafty. It was great! Finally I knew what it was like to bed down in a Soviet prison cell!

Things got better at daylight. Not only was there a generous ration of food (TWO slices of bread and half a can of beans!) but my door had been opened. After stuffing myself, I tentatively made my way to Uncle’s bedroom, where he was deep in slumber. The last thing I clearly remember is gently touching his shoulder to wake him; I’m still not quite sure where the baseball bat came from.

Hearing laughter three hours later, I slowly regained consciousness to find Uncle reenacting the whole scene for the emergency room staff. Seeing I had woken, he shouted, “See, I knew he was a tuff SOB!” Amidst the ensuing laughter I saw the on-call doctor slap him on the back and give him a hearty handshake. The group crowded around my bed and I proceeded to inform the nurse I had no feeling in my left arm, which Uncle took as a great opportunity to jab a syringe into my palm! More laughter; even I cracked a smile!

After the bone had been set (Uncle said later "Your arm was lousy anyways"), Uncle let me take him out for lunch. Later, back at the Palace, he gave me a demonstration of his new toilet. To be more precise, the new flush of his toilet. The water is sucked down with such violent force that I imagine the waters of Niagara falls are affected by the aquatic displacement. After the demonstration, I gave my Uncle an incredulous look only to find him literally beaming, as though he had just accepted a nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize.

The following two hours were filled with a vainglorious lecture by the King about how energy conservation is of utmost importance. He went into an ill-advised rant about how his convictions in regards to the house remaining in a state of near darkness at all hours are not selfish at all. I quote: "It's not about me Michael-rather, it's about the children in China who need electricity to. I'm only doing my part." I quietly informed him there is plenty of electricity in China but was cut short when a handful of candles hit me in the face as he howled "Learn how to use them or get ooooooouuuuuttttt!"

Later that evening, all my dreams of a magical holiday came true. Uncle let me accompany him (“Remember, stay at least 10 feet behind me at all times” he growled before entering-what a hoot!) to the Fortune 500 Annual Geriatrics Winter Party. While there was not actually snow per se, the abundance of white/gray hair fulfilled my yearning for a white Christmas. I must admit that the old folks really knew how to shake a leg (the one that wasn’t in the grave of course) and we danced the night away. Alas, all good things come to an end and Uncle was even kind enough to point in the general direction of Houston after demanding my departure not only from the party but from “his city in general” (I had encroached on the 10 foot bubble, my fault entirely).

The ride home was bittersweet. Part of me wished the jubilee would never end while yet another side sensed I was lucky to be alive. All things considered, it was a fantastic trip really; I went to a party, saw the intricacies of a rather powerful toilet, and even got to see what a Louisville Slugger looks like up close! Indeed, my Uncle was a great host!


Just after publishing the above narrative, I noticed the following comment which I feel I must publish as a footnote...

I must say my little nephew knows how to embellish his stories. He will make a great fiction writer one day if he is not already. In my defense, there was plenty of food and after seeing the amount of geriatrics at the first party I asked my nephew to join me at another club that I knew would have the younger element present and even better looking women. He replied "I have a headache" and wanted to go home and read. Good, I didn't need the competition anyway.

Much love,
Uncle Donny