Crabottom

Gooday all,
I have slept through the night. I have awoken and consumed eggs, and as such now possess the required energy to blog.
For this blog, as mentioned previously I will be delving into the tale of Professor Crabottom, the man from my small town who attempted to marry a sandwich.
Back in the late 1970's, My Father befriended Professor at the local community college named Crabottom. He was a gangly man, who wore a novelty sized top hat at all times, and spoke ill of the French. Freakishly tall, and strange he was nonetheless laded for his expertise in Classical Food History, and possessed a Ph. D in Francophone Slander. On many occasions My Father would invite Crabottom over to our home, to engage in deep discussions, while dressed in women's clothing. Frequently, for a lark, My Father and Crabottom would hurl gherkins at me, and instruct me to don a mask, and dance in a "fancyfree" manor. This generally did not trouble me, as I enjoy the smell of a good mask, and was also quite skilled with the akimbo.
These encounters were frequent and their discussions would go one for hours, usually until the entire bathroom was flooded, and they were both soaked in brandy. My Father would speak glowingly of Crabottom and one one occasion I do indeed recall the following, "I would undoubtedly assume that you had it coming, and in turn I would assist Crabottom in cleaning and removing your body, should he bludgeon you to death, my son." Laughing somewhat uncomfortably I donned the mask, in an attempt to mentally remove myself from the situation. I found it somewhat funny however that the above comment came mere days before My Father and Crabottom had their unforeseen falling out.
It all began one winters morning, when Professor Crabottom came to the house unannounced. I remember this specifically, because I had my hands down my pants, when he burst through the door, and I felt rather awkward. Ignoring my position, Crabottom, carrying a small box screamed for My Father in a shrill voice that bordered on nonsensical. "Mr. Bacon Wagon! Mr. Bacon Wagon!" He shouted, "Come at once, I am overwhelmed with joy, I have found my true love!" As My Father came down the stairs, groin still covered in shaving cream, he casually sat down on the sofa (couch), and queried Crabottom as to why he would barge into his home - especially as they had discussed that today was to be My Father "Winter Sheening"
Apologizing briefly, Crabottom explained his presence, simply by opening the small box, and removing a tasty looking sandwich. "Look, isn't she perfect!", he explained. My Father, agreed, and held out his hand for a bite.
Crabottom, slapped his hand away with such violence that his Top Hat was strewn from his head, and My Father's groin leap off the chair, spattering foam about my midsection. "You Cod!!", Crabottom continued, "You, Sir, were about to consume My future Wife, you stink-bat. She may look like a perfectly sliced Ham sandwich, garnered with fine Hot Mustard, Romain Lettuce, and, Old Cheddar to you, but to me, she is heaven. I made her last eve, and simply could not consume her. She is my angel, her name is Lovetessa, and tomorrow we wed."
Taken aback, My Father rose from his chair (foam soaking the floor, and running down his legs), and calmly asked Crabottom to leave. My Father was simply not willing to accept that he not share his sandwich, and questioned the ability to engage in sexual intercourse with it. Crabottom was hit hard my this news; by his friends denial of his one true love. He began to cry, and daintily packed up Lovetessa into her small box, and reverse walked out of our home. Filled with disgust, and confusion, My Father went back upstairs to finish his sheen.
The last, fate full news I heard; Crabottom had returned home from a 4 day conference on Why The French Are No Good, in a neighbouring town, and discovered that Lovetessa had been eaten my a pack of no good Chipmunks. Full of grief, and guilt, he hung himself with a link of sausages.

What a tale. What a tale indeed.
Until next time, good people,

Mr. Bacon Wagon