For those of you that are interested, or those that are going to add content, or even those that see a link and feel they must click it, I have put up the template to the new site.  No content there (unless you count my post saying there is nothing to see here), but you will get an idea for how it will look.  My absence from posts the last few days has been a culmination of hot weather – Beer in hand.  Decorating – Beer in hand. And creating the new site – Mate did the graphics etc and I had a beer in hand.  So I think you can see where I am going with that.  Anyway, the new site is at http://www.disconnectedconsortium.comand those of you who wanted to contribute, can you drop me an email so I can email you your user details.  I wont sell your email address…for less then £80 a shot.  I also wont send you every sap joke I get.  Infact, I wont even email you after I have sent you the user details unless it is about the site! 

Now.  What to write.  I didn’t plan on doing a post today for two reasons.  1 is I have a lot on at the moment, and 2 is that I don’t have any content, so I am flying by the seat of my pants!

The one thing that the hot weather (no, it is not the fault of the beers.  It is a weather issue, OK?) has brought is that I have started to see ghostly apparitions.  Actually, just a foot.  A dark mysterious foot.  And always in the same place, but is there day or night.  But I only ever see it out of the corner of my eye.  It freaked me out on several occasions recently, and then yesterday I realised that I am a complete and utter doofus.  The ghostly apparition is a damn glass table top standing on it’s side that I walk past.  How the hell did I not work this one out?  I mean really… The table top has stood there for weeks and every damn day I walk past it, see the foot, freak out like a big girl.  I never worked out it was the table. I think that could explain the name of this site really!

Talking of ghostly apparitions, during a quiet drinking session with a few friends on Saturday night, my fence is now “red wine” red.  Actually, it is more the colour of red that has been sitting in a stomach and is then released.  At one point during the removal of his dinner and drink, I was tempted to pick my mate up and paint the whole fence.  Not knowing how much he had in him, it was going to be more of a spin him around and see how much I could cover before he ran dry and I had to refill him  Now, normally those fence painting things are either electric or pump activated.  There was no way I was inserting batteries in to any orifice of my friend, nor was I going to give him a good pumping (we are close…but geez…that is a little closer then I ever wanna be with another man).  But he did look a little whiter by the time he had finished decorating my fence and lawn.

And then we get to my wife.  She has a stomach that moves on it’s own accord.  If I didn’t know she was pregnant, I would think there is definitely something growing in there.  Now, with 7 weeks to go, I was most worried that she is going to have issues with the pressure of “squeezing it out” in the allowed time.  For instance, I saw this sign:

which I am worried is going to cause her some issues.  She is only a small woman with a large stomach.  Should towing really be necessary?  Although, I do feel that after the “I HATE YOU!” and “Come near me again and I will rip the testicles from your body and ram them in your ears!!” phrases I shall more then likely hear on the day of the birth, not to mention that she is freakishly strong for a small person and will pummel the living crap out of me, I feel that I may well be towed away.  In a body bag.  By a trained chimp.  Why a trained chimp?  Well, this is the NHS.  They are always up for cutting out those most amazing Dr’s and Nurses we have, and getting rid of them and adding trained chimps is cheaper.  I should start a protest about no Chimps, just Dr’s and Nurses.  None of you are with me are you?

I should also mention that the photograph is (c) www.signspotting.com as I don’t want a big scary webmaster coming to me saying “You stole an image we use which is in a public place and can be photographed by anyone!”  It would get messy and I would send him a photo of my own which reads “Bollocks:  With compliments” or something.

OK, so this wasn’t the best post I have done, but the next one will be something special!  OK..OK…don’t hold me to that will you. 

Just recently, I have been talking to the man in the mirror.  He never answers me back, but still I do it.  It is because  I talk to him about things that would not fit in to this site.  Serious things.  Or maybe about a film I just watched.  Why I hate the government.  Many many conversations.  Those conversations are very very lonely because the man in the mirror is an ignorant type and never answers me back.  I think it is because he agrees with everything I say.

So I had an idea the size of a thing exactly the same size as what I was thinking.  Create a second site.  But then, I don’t want to write that much stuff all the time.  But maybe, just maybe, others are in the same boat.  Do you ever have content you think just doesn’t fit in to your site, so you don’t write it?  Maybe you have a serious site and writing about a sunburned possum is just not going to work on your site.

So my idea grew.  I thought “What about a community site where a select group could write any post they feel like (within reason) whenever they wanted to.  And if there are enough writers, each writer would be advertising this “side project” on their site, thus bringing in the readers, who will in turn surf out to each others sites adding more readers to your site.  Well, that might happen.  I am no expert.

Would you be interested?  I have set the site up.  It is called “Disconnected Consortium”.  I haven’t posted anything yet as I would like to see if any of you reading this would be up for it (or know someone who this might work for and can recommend them.)

It is a no pressure type of site.  If you do a post a week, fine.  One post a month even.  I just think if we get enough people on board, it could work out well.  We could have something similar to what I and MOB have been doing with the cross site story and have a mess about on one site etc.

If you are interested, either email me on sy@wheelturninghamsterdead.com or leave a comment, or just use ESP.  I am always listening.

Well lookie what we have HERE.  You guys rule.  If you whacked that vote button once, or every single day I begged my sorry arse off for votes, you did me proud.  I would give you all a big wet sloppy kiss as a thank you, but my wife tells me that when I do that, it isn’t exactly a pleasurable experience, so I feel it would be sending out the wrong message by leaving you looking like the aftermath of an amorous Saint Bernard Dog getting his wicked way with you.

And a huge thank you to Rose who nominated me in the first place!

It was fun (for me.  Probably painful as all hell for you with my constant whinging for votes), and it got some good interaction with a couple of other sites, namely MOB who came second and her campaign manager Debs who I tried to turn and get her to vote for me, but apparently offering a wink and a smile wasn’t payment enough for her to do so.

Now with a tear in my eye, I will go and carry on doing that work thing that I am doing, and tonight I will see about posting a pic of me eating tickertape.  OK, so it might look like confetti, and I might look like I am in a suit that I might or might not have got married in, and the picture might of might not have been cropped to remove my wife so she isn’t seen to all of you and she can hide (unless you manage to find me on Facebook, and then she cant hide.  Good luck with that).  You decide.

Oh yeah…work…I should do some of that huh.

 

*********UPDATE**********  And now with photo from tickertape parade!  And yes, I was hungry.  OK?  It had been a long day.

Jane Turley sent me one of those tag thingymajigs. Then she begged and pleaded that I do it. Then she told me that if I did, you would all send me £10 each. I can’t argue with that can I!! I suggest getting Jane to pay up front and then you guys collect the money from her.

Anyway. Where were we. Oh yeah….

What’s your favourite table?
– The periodic. Those sexy little chemical elements just get me all ready to go.

What would you have for your last supper?
– A bunch of friends. Cooked medium rare and washed down with a nice Chianti.

What’s your poison?
– Cyanide. Although a nice mix of the Ebola virus can be used for giggles if I have time on my hands.

Name your three desert island ingredients.
– Sand, palm trees and surrounded with water. What else are you going to make a desert island with? Stupid question.

What would you put in Room 101?
– 0100101110001101011110001010001010101111001010101110 – It IS a binary room right?

Which book gets you cooking?
– Sushi – A cooking enthusiasts must have.

What’s your dream dinner party line-up?
– Me, The nude female jelly wrestling team and a large tub of Viagra just to make sure I don’t get stage fright.

What was your childhood teatime treat?
– Dinner. Oh I love my Mum. One day I had enough to eat in two mouthfuls!!

What was your most memorable meal?
– One I had in the canteen at work. Memorable for all the wrong reasons. Search back through the old posts and you will see photos. Yeah, the old days when I made an effort to put images up! Anyway, I wont give you a link…go find it.

What was your biggest food disaster?
– I once dropped a KFC chicken wing. I cried like a big girl. I had been saving it for the right time…and 4 months after I bought it, that moment came. Devastated.

What’s the worst meal you’ve ever had?
– See above the above

Who’s your food hero/food villain?
– Hero – The kernel. The villain – Any goddamn vegematarian and their vegematarian ways and the way they push their vegematarian bible in my face.

Nigella or Delia?
– Can I drink? Nigella. Or are we talking about eating their cooking?

Vegetarians: genius or madness?
– Freaks. Damn circus freaks. As bad as religious nuts. Kinda.

Fast food or fresh food?
– I like my food like my women. Faster the better. (ummm…I mean…I love my wife, and my food preferences and women preferences are no longer aligned)

Who would you most like to cook for?
– Anyone who will accept I am a super amazing chef. Currently my cat.

What would you cook to impress a date?
– Some kind of wrinkle remover. I doubt any date likes being a wrinkly little reddish brown thing.

Make a wish.
– I wish this was over.

Oohhh it IS over! Your turn!

If you haven’t followed the story, this wont mean a thing to you.  You can catch up starting with THIS story by MOB followed by my story HERE which ended in THISreply.  This is the next story in this…erm…I dunno.  What can you call it?  Insanity?

Saying their goodbye’s, Hortense and MOB part ways.  The emotional scene only shorterned by MOB making a noise like a startled giraffe for no apparent reason followed by shouting of “Squip Diddle doo dum dum. I am called MOB and you can see my BUM!” and she danced around the room using her pillow case to make her look like a Nun.  Hortense thinking that she was always nuttier then squirrel shit, made her way out of the secret tunnel somewhat bemused.

Meeting outside of the escape hatch at the penitentiary, Simondo tells Hortense of their escape plan.  The plan is to escape to France and meet up with Hortense cousin Debs.  Because they need to escape unseen, Simondo had enlisted the help of “dodgy” Dave Doodle.  Dave Doodle was a people smuggler who did the honourable thing of getting people out of the current mess that was known as England.  But Dave Doodle was not called “dodgy” for nothing.  Everything had a price, and dodgy would want more then just money.  In this case, he wanted to transport some frogs legs to France.  Being a legs mule was something dodgy made all his transporters do.  It is where he made the mules hide the legs was the issue.  Often, if caught by customs at the border, they border guard would offer them a cream to get rid of their “issue”.  Knowing that there are more then enough frogs legs in France, it is thought that he only did this for strange perverted kicks.

Upon “packing” their frogslegs, Dave Doodle bundled them in to a cargo container and off they went aboard the Eurostar.  The 2 hour journey should fly by, but when trapped in a container with a woman with severe flatulence problems, which with the added smell of raw frogs legs, made for a less then interesting smell. 

Upon entering France, the container was opened.  The authorities were immediately alerted to a higher then usual radioactivity level in the area, and the relevant authorities raced to the scene, all dressed in weird anti-radiation suits.  Horty and ‘mondo ran in to the nearby forest and the police sent in sniffer dogs to find them.  The sniffer dogs promptly vomited at the smell and collapsed.  Horty and ‘Mondo had made their escape. 

Neither speaking French, finding Castle a’la Debs was going to be a problem.  Knowing only that the place she lived in sounded like a disease only a badger would get on it’s privates, they stole a map and made their way, only stopping for breaks of semi cooked frogs legs, cooked by the naked flame of his zippo lighter.

“I have found ScratchyBadgeyitus.” Simondo said excitedly.  “Soon we will see your cousin and we can get you out of those clothes before they dissolve from the smell!”

“Schimondo…you arsh my shero” Hortense said to Simondo.  “Schoon we shwill be wish Debsh and can shtart our life togesher.”

Wiping the spit from his brow and holding his breath as he stood downwind, Simondo smiled, and tried not to vomit from the smell now permeating from Horetense which resembled something almost as fowl as that which has come out of my cats behind recently.  He could feel his nose starting to bleed.

Finally reaching ScratchyBadgeyitus and Castle a’la Debs, Horty ran towards Debs, who stood in a field wearing a most fetching pair of Jodhpurs.  They were checkered with faces drawn on them.  Had she been somewhat bigger, the faces would have looked stretched uncomfortable images which Simondo thought would probably look like deranged muppets which never made it out of Jim Hensons workshop. 

“Animal Hungry” Simondo said to Debs on meeting her; trying to be like a muppet, but not realising people cant hear his thoughts.  This was also a very lucky thing as Simondo often wondered what it would be like to be smeared in Brie and baked for 15 minutes and then his privates eaten with a nice glass of red wine.  Debs started to wonder who the hell he was and why they were here.  But happy to see Hortense, she took her inside for a bath and to get her in to clothes that were still in one piece.

Hortense explained the situation and agreed that they could stay for a while.

 

Ahhh yes.  Search engines.  Searchy little engines.  Engines of the search.  And the post material that they bring.  Today’s batch is the pick of the last 72 hours worth of hits. 

For the uninitiated, the words in the ” ” are the exact search engine phrase.  The rest is just a little sumpfin sumpfin I added.

Dear Sy: What are “sexy things to say to a intimate person”

Uncle Sy Says: This is always a tough one as each person likes something different.  But the universal phrases of ‘I wanna take you for a ride in my combined harvester’ and ‘Will you spank my arse and call me Winston’ whispered in his ear will work every time.  Trust me on this one.  Have I ever steered you wrong before?

Dear Sy: I am looking for “wheelturninghamsterdead”.  What should I do when I have found it?

Uncle Sy Says:  Ahh yes.  I know the site very well.  I suggest going HERE and voting for WheelTurningHamsterDead and all will be well with the world!  If you don’t, karma will come for you.  Is that a threat?  No…but you shouldn’t mess with karma my friend.

Dear Sy: My “hamster is unable to pass wind ”

Uncle Sy Says:  You sniff your hamsters farts on a regular basis or you just like the sound of them?  What one is it?  Look, you can get these tiny whoopee cushions which when the hamster sits down, will make the noise.  If it is the smell you like, I suggest smearing your body in out of date sardines which have been left in the sun for 3 days.  People will want to be you and smell like you.  It’s a winner my friend!

Dear Sy: “is cheese spiritual”

Uncle Sy Says:  Yup.  I am Lord Cheeso of the planet Cheezine.  Kneel before me freaks.  Smell my cheese!  Taste my cheese!  YOU ALL WANY MY CHEEEEESE!

Dear Sy: “what do i do after hamster dead?”

Uncle Sy Says:  Cry like a big girl for 37 minutes and then go buy a real pet. 

Dear Sy: “my hamster has a weird lump on his chin”

Uncle Sy Says:  I’ve got two legs and a hairy chest.  What makes you think your hamster is so special?  Huh?  Yeah I thought so.

Dear Sy: Can you tell me about “a hamster that is wearing a space hamster”?

Uncle Sy Says:  Huh?  a hamster that is wearing a space hamster?  That doesn’t even make any sense!  How about you wear a hamster suit and then go to the ‘We love hamsters in a way humans shouldnt’ party at number 56 and see what happens.

Dear Sy: “how do you know what a hamster is feeling”?

Uncle Sy Says:  Look what the damn thing is holding!  Geez.  Is your wife holding a carrot?  Yes?  Then she is feeling a carrot.  Who died and made you the village idiot?

Dear Sy: What happens if I put the “hamster wheel back to front”?

Uncle Sy Says:  The hamster will run forwards but spin backwards.  Oh gravity…how you tease us with your silly tricks!

Dear Sy: “i choke it to death”

Uncle Sy Says:  What goes around comes around my friend!  On day your penis will grow arms of its own and will come looking for you when you least expect it.  That or your mate Dirty Dave will unleash his on you while you sleep in a drunken stooper.

Dear Sy:  I really love “sniffing sweaty socks”.  What do you love to sniff?

Uncle Sy Says:  Foreigners.  When they aren’t expecting it.  How I giggle as I sneak up and give them a damn good sniff!  I had to stop for a while due to a bloody nose, but I fixed that by learning to run faster.

 

With all the merriment recently, I haven’t given you an update on what happens in the world of me.  So I thought you might want to know.  But then, you might not.  But either way, Mikiye…put your sandwich down.  So here is the state of the house at the moment:

I live with 1 poop challenged cat.  4 eight week old psycho kittens.  1 schizophrenic parrot.  1 pregnant oompah loompah wannabe lookalike – the original looking ones, not the remake one.  But she doesn’t have green hair. The orange skin colour?  Well…as I said, she doesn’t have green hair.

Just recently, the house has turned in to a war zone.  There are a few fronts, labelled by offense. 

The first offensive.  I did it.  You sort it.

The cat has taken to standing in her litter tray, having a good dig around and then leaning her behind over the edge of the tray and crapping on the floor.  If I am not in the room, she makes a feeble attempt to cover it up.  Recently, this is by pulling whatever is on the floor towards it, which in some instances will be one of the kittens.  But then, they are fluffy and may well do the job..  Therefore, I have told my wife she is forbidden from standing near the cat when the cat is having a good empty.  This is because I don’t want to come home from work to see my wife plastered to the floor via the glue that is cat crap. 

But if I am in the room, she looks at me, meows and then drops her lunch on the floor.  Meows again and walks off.  I have deciphered the 2 meows.  The first one is “Hey, fat boy, I got a little something heading your way in a few seconds!” and the second is “Yeah, see.  You clean that up.  I have other things to do, and anyway….it stinks.” and off she goes.  Leaving something that I do believe has had steam coming out of it on at least 2 occasions recently.  I have myself to blame I guess.  I feed her.  But I feed her cat food.  Not dead festering skunk, so why the hell does it smell so bad!

The second offensive:  We will fight them on the hills.

The kittens sleep a lot.  Unless myself and Mrs Sy are in bed.  At which point, we become a battleground.  I think they use both of us because Mrs Sy is 7 months pregnant, so she has an impressive bump coming along.  I on the otherhand have an impressive beer gut.

So they seem to play “Take the hill”.  2 of them stand on our stomachs and the other 2 see who can get to the top of the hill fastest by any means possible.  Blood is spilt, screams are let out and eventually there is a winner.  Unfortunately it is me and Mrs Sy whose blood is spilt and who scream.  “Take no prisoners” is not lost on them.  My wife looks like a self harmer.  It isn’t pretty.  Her arms are covered in cuts.  As for me, I just look stupid.  It didn’t take the kittens to make that one happen.

When they reach the top of the hill, they generally jump about to celebrate and then jump on our heads. Or bite on my ears.  At first, it was nice.  The nibbling, gentle biting and licking.  I loved it.  I told my wife to never stop.  She then told me she wasn’t doing it.  I then felt ill for enjoying the pleasurable feeling of a kitten biting my ears.  These days I just don’t tell her they are doing it.

The thid offensive:  Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow.

The parrot thinks he is a cat.  He meows constantly. If he doesn’t meow, he screeches.  But that is OK, he only does that if I am at work.  When he used to misbehave before, so I got a water squirter and sprayed him.  Then he got smart.  He would hide behind a toy and then make the annoying noise and keep peeking his head out.  So I need something to make him stand still and then I can spray the little git when he makes the annoying screeching noises.  I have decided that I will stand him in the glue that is the cat poop.  But it is poor unfortunate Mrs Sy that has the bad side of the meowing bird.  When I am not there, he drives her mad.  I need ideas as to what to have for a side dish that goes with the parrot.  Actually, do we roast him or saute him or go for legs, wings and breast meat separately?  So many decisions.  I do know that I will be selling a genuine parrot feather hat soon though.  Any bids?

The last offensive.  I might not be tall, but goddamn you I am pregnant and I will have you for it.

Actually, I shall be nice here.  Maybe a little too nice.  Is it because I am scared of her?  Well, you decide.  With two months until sprogly is born, Mrs Sy, the self confessed oompa loompa is more then enjoying her pregnancy.  She hasn’t had any weird cravings because she has always eaten fried slug.  Luckily, with this being England we get a lot of rain and so they are in abundance.  She has not had any wild mood swings brought on by the pregnancy.  None.  At all.  (Is that OK Mrs Sy?  Convincing enough that they wont work out that you told me to write it?  OWWW!!  No stop it…STOP IT!!  My arm!! *break*)

For reasons beyond my control, I am now typing with one hand.  And no, I don’t expect any comments about 1 handed surfing thankyouverymuch.  Hey, you are reading it afterall.

So there you have it.  The state of play in my house at the moment.  And people wonder why I blog.  You lot reading this are as close to normality that I get.  Yeah.  You. 

What’s that?  Another plate of slugs?  Coming right up wifey!

 

Thank you so much to all of you that have VOTED and are continuing to vote for me.  Your click vote love is extremely appreciated and the finish line is in site, so please please PLEASE (insert more begging here…imagine me begging!) hit that vote button once every 24 hours!  You peeps rule.

 

This post is part 3 (or is it 4?) of an ongoing story between two sites.  This is how it started:

A comment conversation started HERE after a comment a friend of mine left on the voting site.  Have you voted for me today?  I hope so!  Then, THIS story appeared on her site.  Naturally, I replied with a post HERE which ended in THIS reply.  This post is my reply.

Waking up and slowly remembering the night before which resulted in his date chewing on his kidney, Simondo recalled the horror of the date.  Laughing to himself at how bad it had been, he climbed out of bed and wandered downstairs for a hangover reducing fry up. 

Sy was already up and and was sat reading some of the better blogs on the net.  His current favourite, “Albino Midgets fly paper airplanes” had just done a new post which Sy found most intriguing.

“So how did it go then?” Sy said, a wry smile appearing on his face.

“Yeah, you are real funny Sy.” said Simondo.  “Stumpy has some serious issues and I wasn’t sure I was going to make it out alive.”

“So come on then, give me the details!” Sy replied.

Simondo proceeded to tell Sy of the night.

“In the space of 2 hours, she managed to pop out my glass eye, she sucked my kidney out with a goodnight kiss she forced on me, and I am pretty sure she went back to the nut house she had escaped from.  I also forgot to wear my mittens, so I am sure she saw my missing thumb and index finger.”

Simondo had lost his thumb and index finger in a freak accident which included a refreshing shandy made by hand, some rope and a book on asphyxiation.  He had also lost an eye in the same accident while falling on a rogue wotsit which had fallen out of the packet a few days before and was now rock hard and embedded in the floor.  His eye had been replaced with a glass one instead of an eye patch as he had a phobia of pirates.  Yarrrrchnaphobia had plagued Simondo his entire life, so seeing someone on a blind date who needed a peg leg to straighten her out was playing on Simondo’s mind.

“I also had too many baked beans for lunch, and that bowl of muesli caused me many issues.  After she arrived, I realised that her fashion ‘sense’ was based on some early dodgy Madonna B-Movie stageshow, and her pointy freaky bra took my eye out.  On looking for it, I completely lost my lunch and I think by the time I had finished, even the kebabs were liquefied on the spit.” Simondo reported about of the date.  “Oh, and when she spoke…I got a shower.  It was like watching someone having a fit at one point.  It wasn’t pretty…but then, nor was she.  But luckily, I think she had bathed in a bottle of Brut aftershave, so at least she didn’t smell as bad as she could have done.  Not that I like my women to bathe in Men’s products!  I think she somewhat enjoyed it a little more than she should have though, as on returning from the bathroom, all I could see was this horrific pink hair moving up and down as she licked her armpits.  You know how a dog enjoys himself a little too much sometimes?  Yeah.  You get the idea!” Simondo finished off with.

“Interesting!  It sounds like she is a real looker!” Sy replied.

Laughing at the hell he had gone through, Simondo came back to Sy.  “Ah man, you know what?  I spoke about farting for ages.  You know?  The ‘leave me alone I can’t stand you and want you to hate me’ type talk?  She loved it.  She loved it a little too much.”

“So how did the night end?  Obviously you didn’t bring her home!”

“Dude…don’t even go there.  She only pole danced on a damn lamp post in front of everyone walking home at chucking out time.  Can you believe this?  As she did it, all I could smell was fava beans.  FAVA BEANS SY!”

“You, Simondo, are a very lucky man.  You can buy me a crate of beers as a thankyou.”  The crate of beers was the standard thankyou the guys had between each other. 

“Screw off!” replied Simondo and he finished his breakfast and went for a nap.

Several hours later, Simondo’s phone rang.  An unknown number appeared on the screen.  Raising his head, he answered the phone.

“Talk to me.  Don’t hold back, that’s the style I like!” Simondo answered the phone with.  A short silence was followed by “Hi, this is Templeton Psychiatric Hospital.  I have a call for you.  Please hold”.  The words sent a chill down his spine.  He didn’t know anyone who would be in there and this was obviously a wrong number he thought.

“Shlymondo?  It ish me.  Hortensh” the voice said.  “I had an amashhing night lasht night.”

“Oh crap!” Simondo thought.  But as the conversation continued, something clicked.  Some strange bond started to form between them. 

The calls started to happen every night, and then the strangest thing happened.

“Horty, I am getting you out of there and we are going to run away together” Simondo said.

“My shweet shweet Mondy.  Yesh.  Come shave me from thish shell” Hortense replied, leaving Simondo curious as to why Hortense would want to be shaved with a shell.  But it was agreed.  Simondo arranged to break her out and the plan was made.  During the last phone call, the plan was confirmed.

“Horty my love.  We are going to France.  I know just the place where I have a friend called Debs who will look after us and give us shelter.  She unfortunately smells of cabbage due to a vegetarian diet she is on, but I have some nose guards for us and I figure we can get some horse tranquilizer from her husband and put her in a deep sleep if she gets too stinky.  OK my love, I will see you tomorrow.”

And with that, Simondo packed his bag and the tools to break Hortense out.