Society of Culture and Welfare

That Rusty.  It’s not his real name, but that’s what I call him.  He’s always playing around in the mud.  Watches mud wrestling contests on television every chance he gets.  He just can’t wait to get a little bit older, so he can go to rock concerts and mess around in the mosh pits.  You wouldn’t believe his laundry loads—filthy, filthy, filthy.  Right down to his Jockeys.  Of course, he plays baseball all summer long with his kooky pals.  There you go: more dirt, more mud, sliding into home plate, rubbing himself all over with that MUD.  Poor Jennifer—that’s his little sister, age 4.  She must be absolutely “grossed out” as they say, by this mud obsession.  You just get to a point where you’re so sick of it.  I mean, Cheer detergent and K2R won’t cut the mustard anymore, if you know what I mean.  I need something extra-strong and extra-powerful—like, perhaps, Hercules or Superman.  My own Superman left us when Rusty was three, so much for that.  Say, you know what?  There was this coupon in the paper yesterday, wasn’t there.  Something to do with “power washing in Chicago and Colorado?”  Well, that makes sense, ‘cause we live in Chicago.  I’d better investigate this a little further.  Wouldn’t Rusty laugh if he knew I was sending his Jockey shorts and his T-shirts to the Wild, Wild West!  (Well—maybe he’d just be bored.)