Strange Tuesdays: The Saga of Morty & Betty


It started out as a typical Tuesday evening for me. I was entertaining a group of elderly at the retirement home with my repertoire of simple yet catchy guitar tunes. Morty stood up, walked right up to me and said, “Hey why dontcha play some of them Christmas tunes?” Of course I obliged with the typical Silent Night, Jingle Bells, Handel’s Messiah, etc…. I was right in the midst of a robust rendition of the song from the Charlie Brown Christmas special when Betty performed a little concertus interruptus of her own. She stood up and began pacing back & forth like a black bear wondering what to do before lunging at it’s prey. “I can’t find my nurse and I just soiled my diaper!” she blurted out. And, sure enough, she had indeed shat her adult absorbent undergarment. “Ok, ok Betty, I’m sure someone can find your nurse. Now please quiet down so the rest of these fine people can go on enjoying the seasonal musac,” I replied. Fearing that she had just embarrassed herself to the point of no return, she shuffled out of the room as fast as her little arthritic legs would carry her. Looking back on it, the whole episode really made me think. Sometimes if you just get into the season and really get into and enjoy the music that accompanies it, you tend to forget about your problems, as they just don’t seem as bad.

Alas, the music had to come to an end. As it neared eight o’clock I realized that it was getting pretty late in the evening for this crowd. I finished up with a sing-along version of Christmas in Killarney and bid all the people that were awake adieu. As I was packing up my gear, I noticed a very concerned visage on some of the orderlies. They were searching frantically for Betty. It seems as though Betty left the room and, quite simply, did not stop walking. She walked down the hall and encountered the emergency door. This emergency door had another purpose in addition to sounding a piercing alarm whenever it was opened. It was the door that the staff would exit through in order to sneak a cigarette now and then. The problem with that was that in order to open the door without setting off the alarm, one had to use an allen wrench in the access port on the side of the alarm to disable it. This had been done so many times that the alarm didn’t always get reactivated once the person had come back into the building. Thus the reason no one heard Betty slip through the door, and into the night. I figured the staff was doing everything their protocol dictated in order to find a lost resident, so I packed up my gear and left.

On the way home, I remembered that I was in desperate need of some ointment for a rather wicked rug burn I had received on my taint days earlier. (more on that later) It just so happened that I recalled this right as my vehicle was approaching the particular street the store was on. I pulled in and was driving towards the building when I saw someone that I had never in a thousand lifetimes thought I would see right there at that very moment. It was Betty. She was walking into the store, still hobbling as if she still had the deposit in her night drop. After several “what the” and “how the” utterances I found a parking spot and hurried inside. Priority number one: geesh ointment. Priority number two (heh heh): find Betty, call the home and get the rapscallion back safe & sound. Pausing only briefly in the ointment aisle for the skin-between-the-marble-bag-and-the-balloon-knot cream, I rushed around the store with the style and grace any speed walker with runny butt syndrome would envy. I could not find the woman. Up and down every aisle. From eggs to kosher salt, I looked over what I thought was every inch of the store. I eventually gave up. I did need to pay for my crotch flap salve so I went to the check-out line. As I was paying with my officially licensed Muppets Mastercard, I asked the cashier if she had seen an old woman wandering around with a bag of poo attached to her hind quarters. She looked at me as if I had three and half penises growing out of my face. I took that as a resounding “no” and proceeded on my walk of shame out the door. You know the walk- the one where you’re slowly walking step-by-step, looking at your receipt and wondering, “Jesus Christ, what the hell did I just spend all that money on?” I had just tossed the receipt in the trash can and looked up in time to see Betty already half-way across the parking lot. “Hey Betty!” I yelled out. But it was in vain due to the fact that she had dropped her hearing aids in the men’s room urinal at the home a week earlier. I was going to run after the car and save the day but I stopped when I actually recognized it. It was a 1970 Ford Fairlane. It was an unmistakable pea-green in color and had most of the undercarriage rusted off. I recognized it because I had seen it every Tuesday night for the last seven months, parked at the home. I figured someone there must have tracked her down and taken her back.

I never knew who owned the monstrosity, but I felt assured in the fact that it did belong to someone involved with the facility where Betty belonged. Indeed it was someone tied to the home. It found out the very next Tuesday that the crusty land yacht’s proud owner was none other than our friend Morty. The guy with the flacid hard-on for the Christmas music. Confused? I was at first, but then it all started to come together.

It had been a very busy and eventful week and the old folks’ home. Not only had Morty and Betty not been seen and presumed AWOL, but a nurse was fired and arrested on DVD piracy and drug charges. This employee that had been trusted to care for and protect the elderly had actually been taking advantage of their innocence and robbing them blind. She would wait until the residents were asleep, then sneak into their rooms, and pilfer any money, jewelry or other valuables. The most disturbingly disgusting and heinous detail is yet to be told. She had a fetish for old people. Old people knocking boots. Doing the hibbity-jibbity. The horizontal waltz. The ol’ slap and tickle. The- well you get the picture. How does this come in to play you ask? This sick freak and aberration of nature had known about a developing relationship between Morty and Betty for a few weeks. She sunk to a new low – planting a video camera in the bedroom of Morty. If you’ve read this far, I assume you know what the video camera captured on tape. I’m not going to describe it, as it makes me want to bleach my eyes and pour sulfuric acid on my crotch.

And now on to the piracy and drugs. (it all ties together, I swear) The nefarious attendant had quite the home-based business. In true entrepreneurial fashion, she found out what the public wanted and supplied it. Abusing her rental privileges at Blockbuster video, she rented movies, took them home, and mass-produced copies of them. She sold them online via eBay, through family and friends, and even at flea market swap meets. She had even extended this distribution channel to places as far away as Japan. The piracy and marketing was not limited to dvd’s from blockbuster. She also sold copies of the privacy-invading Morty & Betty video. This explains why Morty and Betty are such huge porn stars in the disgustingly huge underworld that is the Japanese porn business.

Morty had found out about the embarrassing home movie in his favorite restaurant, of all places. It was a Japanese restaurant only two blocks away from the facility. A blind eye was often turned to Morty as he slipped out just for a short while to get some Japanese food at the aforementioned eatery. He was right in the middle of his okonomiyaki when he noticed two of the kitchen staff, obviously Japanese, staring at him and laughing a bit. “What’re you sons-a-bitches laughing at?!” he questioned. No reply, as they simply went back to working. The hostess felt a little confused at the situation and went to talk to Morty. He explained that they were laughing and making him feel uncomfortable. She went in the back and interrogated the two jovial Japs. To her horror, the story of the video was revealed. Turning more shades of red than a baboon’s ass, she returned to the table with a dvd. On the cover of the dvd, it looked like someone was stuffing a turkey in preparation for a big thanksgiving dinner. But Morty knew better. He immediately recognized the Ecuador-shaped birthmark Betty has in a certain spot on her body. The enraged Morty stormed out of the restaurant, hopped in his road hazard, and began driving home at a breakneck pace of 23 miles per hour.

The model employee that she was, the nurse always stepped outside the home to smoke. Crack cocaine. In fact, Morty had caught her smoking the rock one afternoon. She had just inhaled the toxic fumes when Morty’s Fairlane came roaring into the parking lot. He side-swiped two cars and bent over a lamp post before he finally brought the behemoth to rest in a parking spot inches away from the druggie nurse. “What the hell’re you doing with that pipe?” he demanded, you’re smokin that crap cocaine aren’t ya!” While she was mortified 😉 to have been caught feeding her addiction at work, she was also angered by what she perceived as an invasion of privacy. “I know what you’ve been doing around here all along! I kept my mouth shut outta fear that you’d hire some goons to rough me up or something. But now, I’m mad! I know all about that goddamn video you made too!” Morty hollered. He stormed into the building like a Viking on a raid. He went right into Betty’s room and told her everything. “You jackass, can’t you see I’m knitting?” she retorted. Morty, now even angrier, replied with, “Come on woman! Get it together! Our bedsheet shenanigans have been watched by thousands of people!”

That’s when they hatched their plan. They knew I was coming that night to play music for the residents. They also knew that that sort of event bored the staff to tears, so they wouldn’t be as attentive as they should be. It was a perfect opportunity to escape this lunacy. And escape they did. While it looked like some sort of senile episode, it was nothing more than a cleverly devised scheme to divert attention and slip away. While everyone was worried about where Betty was, Morty had a job to do. He snuck into the area that housed the employee lockers, armed with a crowbar and a camera. Upon prying open the nurse’s locker, he found the motherload of illegal paraphernalia. Copied dvd’s, crack rocks, tons of jewelry, and of course, copies of the wrinkleporn. He took pictures of everything, then closed the locker. Everyone was still running around like beheaded chickens, so it was very easy for him to waltz out of the front door unhindered by orderlies. He drove down the street and picked up Betty in the store parking lot that they agreed upon previously. That’s when I saw them.

Morty actually still owned a cabin that sat on about ten acres of land. It was only three hours away from what they had just escaped, so they drove straight there. He had decided to keep the property a secret from his family, as he didn’t want the “the money-grubbing dirt bags” bickering over it when he would eventually expire. It was his own private sanctuary, in which he planned on spending the rest of his life with Betty. A few days went by before Morty realized that he had the pictures of dumbass’s locker. He sat at the table in the middle of the cabin for several minutes considering exactly what he would do. Not quite as elaborate a plan as their daring escape was, but a simple letter would be written. Morty agonized over exactly what he would write in the letter for hours. Then a stroke of genius hit him and he wrote the most epic letter he had ever written in his life. The text of the letter follows:

Dear Pleasant Pastures Retirement Home,
Your nurse is a crook.
You should fire her and have her arrested.

Morty Carruthers.

P.S. See enclosed pictures.

Morty and Betty decided that they would both go into town to mail the letter, seeing as how their lives were screwed up together. The held each others’ hand as they both dropped the letter into the mailbox, in hopes of closing a chapter of their lives together. Morty purposely took the long way home, winding through the hilly back roads around the cabin. Feeling like they had just saved the world, they were both on cloud nine returning to the cabin. Betty settled back into her knitting. Morty picked up the book he had been reading, 101 Ways to Keep Kids Off Your Lawn. Under the book was something that sent Morty into a tirade of expletives that would make 2 Live Crew blush. The pictures of the locker were there, on the table, silently mocking him. So, a second letter was written:

Dear Pleasant Pastures Retirement Home,

Your nurse is still a crook.
I didn’t put the goddamn pictures in the first letter.

Morty Carruthers

P.S. See enclosed pictures

The second letter was mailed, and the nurse’s fate sealed. Upon reading (both) letters, the director of the home immediately called the police and did away with the criminal in his midst. While an officer was still in his office, the director handed over the envelope that the letter arrived in. Contained in the postage cancellation was the zip code from which the letters were sent. Upon further investigation, it was found that there was property owned by a M. Carruthers in the county that the zip code was attached to. Four days after mailing the letters, Betty and Morty heard a knock on the front door of the cabin. It was the local police, accompanied by the director of the home. Morty let the pair in, and all four sat down at the table. Apologies spewed forth from the mouth of the director as he tried desperately to convince the two elders not to sue the company that housed them and allowed them to be robbed of their valuables and innocence. Morty piped up and said, “Listen here, bub. It’s not about money. I couldn’t care less about money or suing you or your company. It’s true, you might have had some sort of accountability in this messed up situation, but that’s just no concern of ours. I just hope that you’ve learned a lesson through all of this.” A quick reply was given, “Oh, yes sir! This has shown us that there needs to be a monumental amount of changes made to our facility and practices. Are you absolutely sure that there’s nothing we can do for you or provide you with?” Betty tapped Morty on the shoulder and the two whispered to each other briefly before nodding and turning there attention back to the impromptu meeting. “Well, there is one thing,” Morty said, “how about you bring that nice young fella here to play his Christmas music for us?”

I was flattered when the director came to me with this request. He said he’d take care of transportation and everything; they just wanted me to play Christmas tunes for them. You know, it just goes to show you, sometimes if you just get into the season and really get into and enjoy the music that accompanies it, you tend to forget about your problems, as they just don’t seem as bad.

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