Mail Piles Up, Utility Shut Off Notices, And Where Is My Brother Ben Myers? (Parody Post)

Contributed photos, blog post by John Hoff

(This post contains parody)

(Correction to image directly above: No, Center Point Energy, we don't actually MISS Ben Myers)

Regular readers of this blog are aware of my complicated and intense relationship with "public figure" Ben Myers, who is both my paternal twin and half brother by our mutual mother, "Big Mama Sweetums." When he was quite young, Mama dropped Ben off at an orphanage in Texas. But Ben somehow found his way back, through a female "outlaw trucker" he met Lord knows how.

We all ended up in North Minneapolis, though Big Mama eventually went back to the double wide trailer house in Texas. But who knows how long THAT will last? Ben pawned Mama's trailer house to pay a judgment in a lawsuit.

(This following part is NOT parody)

In recently weeks, none of the Jordan Neighborhood movers and shakers had seen Ben for a while and...

It seemed like nobody was at Ben's house, located at 2615 Logan Ave. N., not far from the almost-famous Jordan Pond.

The folks in that area (the good ones, anyway) keep things pretty tight in the neighborhood, keeping an eye on houses inside a fairly wide perimeter. The fact Ben apparently wasn't at his house much didn't concern folks too much--after all, it's Public Figure Ben "Save Big Stop" Myers, and who wants him around, anyway, after the crap he pulled on the Jordan Area Community Council in the bad old "Old Majority" days?--but when a little utility flags appeared in the yard and a certain envelope from Center Point Energy hit the door, folks on the Jordan Pond couldn't help but notice Ben was really, really absent.

It was suggested somebody should call 911 for a "health and welfare check" on Ben Myers' residence. After all, there had been that incident on July 4 with a body found inside a house, and that house was actually within earshot of Ben's house. But who cared about Ben enough to make the call?

(Back to parody)

It was suggested everybody draw lots, but we'd used all the straws mixing up "Kip and Johnnys," which consists of Jagermeiser and Green Tea/Ginger Ale. I would have been perfectly willing to use used straws, but Kip Browne was all, like, "Dude, that's been in your MOUTH." I was all, like, sorry but you KNOW how I was raised.

Everybody agreed I should be the one to make the call, mostly because it was FUNNIER THAT WAY. I called Big Mama Sweetums first, and explained how one of the neighbors had approached the house under the city's "Keep An Eye On Vacant Houses Mandate" and noted a big pile of unopened mail.

I asked Mama if she'd heard anything from Ben or received any word from him. She said somebody had broken into her trailer and seemed to know right where the stash of "original flavor" Nyquil was located, and she'd blamed kids in the neighborhood, but (in retrospect) maybe it was Ben, because (just like Ben does) the thief had made a "sammich" for himself and left out a bunch of the mayo packets which Mama always liberates from fast food joints.

Well, not just mayo, but any condiment, really, and--ironically--hundreds of bendy straws which I could have really used that evening in North Minneapolis so we could have actually drawn straws, instead of just having the "911 for a health and welfare check" task dumped on good ol' Johnny Northside.

Did I mention Mama also drags along gallon jug and fills it with blackberry flavor sweetened ice tea from the beverage machine at White Castle? Well, she does.

Heavy sigh. I was going to have to be the one to make the call. I should get one of those "We Watch, We Call" signs and wear it around my NECK or, better yet, I could use a t-shirt like that. Some folks say "Stop Snitching." To that I want to add: yeah, dude, the cell phone minutes ALONE really add up.

I kind of hoped my own dear sweet Nyquil-addicted mother could get me out of the snithcing task, by telling me to uphold the family code and NOT call the police on my brother. But instead of telling me to say nothing, and hope Ben would turn up after an 11-day drunk in Mexico (again) here's what our dear mother said about Ben's disappearance:

"That son-of-a-biscuit with gravy owes me BIG TIME. See if the police will let you go through his pile of mail, and if you find any money or checks, send 'em to me. And keep an eye out for any of my jewelry. Oh, and my bread machine!"

Calling the police on my brother Ben was hard. Mostly because the battery was so low on my cell phone, and I didn't have the cord, so I had to look all over for the cord. So it was hard. The police wanted to know what Ben looked like, and I gave a description of his cocky smile, which matches his eyes. I was forced to explain how nobody in a certain high-profile neighborhood social circle had seen Ben for "a while," which translated into about a month when the officer on the phone pressed for more detail.

(The police questioned me BRUTALLY. Where was Dave Bicking when I needed him?)

Though not seeing Ben for a few weeks wasn't particularly worrisome--after all, Ben just wasn't very popular with certain folks--A MONTH was a long time.

And the mail. Let's not forget the mail. Ben is a lawyer, and lawyers are trained to be very responsible and oriented toward paperwork. What kind of lawyer lets mail pile up like that? Maybe nothing was wrong but (I explained) finding a body on the Fourth of July taught folks on the Jordan Pond a lesson. When mail piles up where it's not supposed to, it's time to ask some pointed questions.

As of today, a neighbor informs me the notice from Center Point Energy is missing from the door. We wait, we wonder what is happening to Ben. Did he go to another state (such as Texas) to become a lawyer elsewhere, since maybe things aren't going so well in North Minneapolis? (I mean, just judging from the pile of mail...these are not the habits of somebody whose life is going WELL)

Not only do "We Watch, We Call" but "We Wait, We Wonder"...we mostly wonder about the fate of that sweet little house, which is not such a bad house, really, even though Ben lived there.

Moments ago, even as I wrote this blog post, a Jordan resident texted me at my unknown, secure location (where serving me with Pete the Pedophile's paperwork would be pretty difficult) to inform me the notice from Center Point Energy is missing form Ben's front door. Unknown about whether the pile of mail has been resolved.

Good folks in the neighborhood can use this thread to discuss the alien abduction situation with Ben Myers. Or Ben can get on here and answer for himself.

MOM SAYS SHE KNOWS YOU HAVE THE BREAD MACHINE, BEN.

Give me mom's bread machine and I'll lay off you for a month or so. I already told Mama how you said "the double wide trailer matches her ass." Just wait until she sees it on the deposition tape, which I am ABSOLUTELY SALIVATING to get my hands upon and post right here.

You know and I know there's a lot more sibling dirt where THAT came from, Ben. It's Easter, for God's sake.

ISN'T IT TIME TO FINALLY DO WHAT IS RIGHT?

(Missing JACC paperwork and Blackberry, cough cough)