uncle jerry's

Irreverent Thoughts on the life YA


Quarantine Dreams

"From the serious to the seriously silly, here are 11 unforgettable things to do with your brood before they fly the coop."

—Lame old family fun website

Joy and peace, Camper, and welcome to Your Uncle Jerry's Family Fun Free Advice Desk.

Forget it. That's Uncle Jerry's advice. If you think of them as your "brood," and of your job as inventing unforgettable things for them to do, you are already spending way too much time with your family. Take a break. Let them fight. You go sit in the car with your phone and tap out an angry letter to the governor.

In our virtual session the other day, the nice doctor asked Uncle Jerry about his dream journal. "Are you keeping it up during all this social distancing?" she said. "What are you learning?" Don't ask.

Conversation at 4:12 a.m.

INNER PIRATE: What do you want?!

INNER PARSON: Hey there! Surprised to see me?

INNER PIRATE: On Zoom? Yes. What kind of idiot would Zoom from upstairs?

INNER PARSON: I thought it would be fun! Like we’re in different cities and we can’t get together for Easter because of social distance and everything.

INNER PIRATE: Well: 1) I hate Easter. And B) I wouldn’t want to do it with you.

INNER PARSON: I know I know. Ha. But I would want to do Easter with you. I took that Facebook quiz? and it said I’m 80% “you get psychic energy from other people.”

INNER PIRATE: You’re a succubus; I knew it. And iii) you need to un-mute your video.

INNER PARSON: What? How do I do that?

INNER PIRATE: Oh for f@#% sake. . . Look on your screen. There’s a cute little icon of a video camera somewhere, okay? and it’s probably got one of those “no smoking” marks on it.

INNER PARSON: Okay. I can see it. How do I turn that off?

INNER PIRATE: On second thought, don’t worry about it.

INNER PARSON: What if I click on it? Will that hurt anything?

INNER PIRATE: Just leave it. . . . OMG! What is that? Hahahaha! You’re a potato with eyeballs. And lips. Eww.

INNER PARSON: Oh, yeah. Ha. That’s my virtual mask.

INNER PIRATE: So you’re safe from a virtual virus? Or no: You’re going on an Easter potato hunt with the kids, aren’t you? Aren't you!

INNER PARSON: Funny. Snap filter I guess. I don’t know how I turned it on, but it won’t go away.

INNER PIRATE: . . . Hello?? . . . Now you’ve frozen. This is so stupid. And truly creepy with that thing on your face.

INNER PARSON: I can still hear you. . . . It’s the bandwidth. It's been freezing ever since we switched to Comcast.

INNER PIRATE: A real mask with googly eyeballs would be great for COVID sightings. Why not make one on your little sewing machine? Or no! You could make an entire pointed hood, like the Spanish Inquisition or a politician from Idaho. People would run screaming from the Walmart's.

INNER PARSON: Ah. We’re back. . . . But you still look pixelated. A little.

INNER PIRATE: It’s the day-drinking. Why do people need virus masks, anyway? Just stay inside, where it’s safe. I hate to go out. I mean, it’s raining viruses out there.

INNER PARSON: Well, sometimes, I have to go out. If we’re going to eat, I can’t just hide in the basement.

INNER PIRATE: Shows you how stupid. And I’m not hiding!

INNER PARSON: You’re over-reacting. Caution is important. Panic is not useful.

INNER PIRATE: I’ve always hated crowds. I learned social distancing from my high school girlfriend.

INNER PARSON: You suds dist? Audio . . . brrrking up . . .

INNER PIRATE: I mean, like, I just kinda need some space? said Johnetta, snapping her gum, her eyes glistening with false emotion. You know: space? without you in it? You’re like always following me or something. Also, you’re a freshman? She left me for a guy with a “driver’s license.” . . . I ask you.

INNER PARSON: Who’s that voice? I thought you were alone down there.

INNER PIRATE: I am alone! I have never been more alone. The water is wide, and I walked the gangplank of love.

INNER PARSON: Sounds like you’re home-schooling someone in the background.

INNER PIRATE: I am reminiscing about lost love! You wouldn’t understand.

INNER PARSON: Is this about Candy Guidry again? Those college girls are such a reach for a sixth-grade boy.

INNER PIRATE: I may even step it up to Twitter stalking.

INNER PARSON: She’s about 95 now, but if you get a wheelchair date to the breakfast buffet, please wear a mask.

INNER PIRATE: Wait. Hold up: I have a mask. Made it myself.

INNER PARSON: You did something crafty? Let me s. . . OMG. Eww. No! Nononono. What is that dark thing? It looks almost like a . . .

INNER PIRATE: This? It’s just a burn mark. I was beta-testing, so I needed to light a cigarette—obviously.

INNER PIRATE: No, dangling off the front!!

INNER PIRATE: The mustache? It’s from that rabbit skin my dad sent me 30 years ago.

INNER PARSON: Okay. Put that directly in the barrel outside and walk away. I will sew you a replacement, stat.

INNER PIRATE: Really? Great. Make it with a pointy hood, googly-eyes, and a mouth-hole for smoking.

INNER PARSON: Har-dee-har. I wouldn’t let you go out in anything like that.

INNER PIRATE: Hell no. I’m not leaving the house. It’s for when I Zoom with my Facebook group from high school.

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