I am a mutt!

I love Twitter.  No where do I get as much writing material than I do from this one social media site.  Recently I was in a discussion with a British chap and we discussed lineage.  I have never contacted ancestry.com.  I do not want to know my heritage, because I am afraid it will reveal a sorted history of gene mutations.  I do know this, my great grandmother was full blood Cherokee, who married a man of Irish ancestry.  That makes me an Irokee Okie.  However, the rest of my lineage I am unsure of, as my mother’s father was adopted.  He may have been German with his blond hair and blue eyes.  That then would make me a Germirokee Okie.  Are you getting the picture now?  I don’t want to know my heritage.

My British twitter friend has a thing for Viking’s and the terror they brought upon poor Anglo/Saxons.  He also mentions being surrounded by Eskimos and that I might be a Viking in disguise.  Actually I think I might be part Pict because of my love for watching Braveheart and dressing up in a kilt costume for parties.  That just might make me part Scottish.  Heck I don’t know what I am!  I have some red tint to my hair, and was born with blue eyes, which are now brownish-green. OMG – I am a mutant!  I now believe in ancient aliens.  Prometheus was a documentary, not a science fiction flick.  Which means I am mutated alien.  DNA is sure a nasty prankster.

If you ask me about my heritage, I won’t belabor the point as I have above.  You’d need therapy thereafter because you’d start questioning your own heritage and find out your mother was a hamster and your father an elderberry, and that you came from the isle of hamberry.  To keep you from going insane, I’ll just let you know I am a mutt born in Texas, now living in Oklahoma. Oklahoma is next to Arkansas where DNA testing has proved impossible and the term “kissing cousins”, well, I won’t go there, as that creates a new species – mutated mutts.

Woof!

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