Grandmother turned her head just a little

Grandmother turned her head just a little too far to still be alive, and to still be human. The sound of bones grinding and popping as she did, also didn't help her convince me

that her chicken soup was the best in the world. "Come on, Ma, you can't scare me. Not with a muffler like that still on. Come on, it's 65 degrees in here!" But Grandma

rusty trombone this side of Sepulveda Boulevard. I'm a sucker for sick shit. Lick my ass and toss me off and I am yours forever. And her crotch smelled like wet wool which

reminded me immediately of my knitting circle. We had mostly women in our knitting circle, except for me and a poof named Claude from San Jose. Claude's former group had kicked

him out for putting the rest of the knitting circle to shame with his fantastic creations. They were jealous, oh so jealous, of Claude's ability to transform yarn into

airplanes or a nice cabernet. These ladies had been knitting since childhood & couldn't abide an upstart like Claude showing up their scarves & sweaters with his knitted banjos &

fancy cross stitch flower pots. Claude thought their steely glares were signs of coy acceptance into their knitting circle, so he never read the sly winks or slow nods as warnings.

Because as any crafter knows, there is no crueler group than the Purl Posse. Or as they are more familiarly known, the Bitchy Witches making Stitches. The Posse leader glared at

the unwitting customer. No-one insults the Purl Posse! she snarled. Ten minutes later all that could be seen of her was a large yarn-wrapped bundle stuck full of knitting needles.