Duane Fisher's Embellished Tales page 2

The Ford Maverick was Hot

There are those that think the current generation of college kids are more beserker than ever and offer the current raucous giddiness associated with college spring break as support for this assertion. Yet I think that today’s spring breakers are comparatively reserved and more interested in fashion, fun and suntans instead of the outright hooliganism of my generation.

In my younger days Spring Break at the Galveston Beaches or Splash Day as we called it then, was eagerly anticipated by the local youth. One year as I remember Ford had was introducing the Maverick and had a pavilion on the beach. They had buried a toy model car in the sand and whoever could find it would win a prize. My high school friends and I watched this roosted on the granite rocks near the seawall happily and thankfully sipping a beer that was easily obtained during this casual period of celebration.

The first person to dig up the small plastic car was immediately offered an elbow to his then existing front teeth. The new hopeful winner, after a short but valiant struggle, succumbed to a tackle, a pounce and many pummels from associated members of the frenzied mob. Each possessor of the treasured plastic car was greeted not by congratulatory slaps on the back but by actions deemed criminal in all states except perhaps Utah and in violation of the Geneva Convention and Maritime Laws and are considered mildly inappropriate by the World Wide Wrestling Association.

The shocked Ford corporate members tried to call off this mid day attempt at entertainment but only further exasperated the situation. Even to the point that the shiny new Ford Maverick they had exhibited on the beach was turned over by the now over stimulated crowd like a turtle on its back. But before someone came up with a can of gasoline to offer this amazing automotive marvel as a flaming offering to the gods a few in the crowd still had enough soberness to remove the brand new tires. This for compensation for the now withdrawn prize for finding the toy plastic car buried in the sand.

This and watching the drunks driving off the seawall provided early spring entertainment to an otherwise boring Gulf Coast juvenile existence.


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Bad Times in Bear Bottoms - Ferd Flagler,
inventor from Bear Bottoms.

Ferdinand Flagler the plumber and ex-dogcatcher always thought that he would invent something that would make him rich. About three months ago Ferd tried out a microwave hot tub that he had built. What little hair he had left after the experiment is still sticking straight out and he has had to wear an adult diaper ever since.

About nine years ago Ferd was elected county dogcatcher. Old Doc Paul, the town veterinarian, would come by and take care of the sick animals and put them to sleep as necessary if you know what I mean. Ferd thought that he could do a better job at this and came up with a device to dispatch the poor animal with laughing gas. He thought that at least they would go happy.

Some people think that Ferd used way too much laughing gas and some think that Ferd is just plain nuts but the first time he tried out his contraption he flooded the whole dog pound with the gas. Most of the animals survived and Ferd had a splitting headache for a couple of days but the greatest damage caused by the gas was the demise of Charley Four Eyes, the town’s two headed Cat.

Charley had been kept at the county pound for public display and folks had become quit attached to him, as Charley was the closest thing the town had to a tourist attraction. You can still see Charley in the lobby of the Bear Bottoms City Hall. They had him stuffed and mounted but they could not get that silly grin off his face, I mean faces.

Ferd was soundly defeated at the next election for dogcatcher by the town’s undertaker but this did not keep Ferd from his mission to invent something that would make him rich. All of Ferd’s inventions had a way of backfiring on him. He had a good chunk of his left ear removed while coming up with a John Deere baseball cap that would also keep your hair trimmed. The vision in his left eye was damaged while he was making a laser-guided cue stick. He blew off two fingers on his left hand while attempting to convert his pickup to run on gunpowder and he lost his left big toe when trying to invent, of all things, a better mousetrap.

Some people thought that Ferd was half witted and some people thought he was half done since he still had plenty of parts left on his right side. Conversations around the town were peppered with predictions of which of Ferd’s body parts would go missing next. After Ferd’s wife caught him fooling around with the undertaker’s girl friend most people agreed on which body part that would be.

Though Ferd is still a source of macabre amusement his plumbing business has taken a hit. Most people don’t want someone in their house that keeps blowing things up and besides, Ferd does not change his diaper as often as he should.


These are the facts as closely as I can relate them.
Duane

Xray Glasses and Dental Floss Bikini's

This is a post that I made on a travel board. There was a lot of people on this board complaining about not being able to get a lounge chair near the pool on a cruise ship to which I offered the following solution -

Years ago I saved up my coke bottle deposit money and bought a pair of X-ray vision glasses that I had found advertised in the back of a comic book that promised you could see through clothes. My adolescent disappointment was high when I discovered that they did not actually work. They had a flimsy plastic frame and cardboard lenses. In the middle of the lenses was a viewing hole that was covered with pantyhose material. I now know that this was pantyhose material because I get the same visual affects when I pull my wife’s pantyhose over my head when I get out of the shower and walk around singing the Hiawatha Love Song. This action also makes our tomcat Spencer hiss like an air matress with a hole in it.

I still have these gag glasses and take them on the cruise with me. I go up to the pool deck and find the gal (you know who you are) that sits by the pool in that Italian designer swim wear made out of dental floss. Nothing gives her the heebie jeebies more than a pot bellied middle aged man standing there looking at her with a pair of cardboard glasses with “X-ray Vision” written in bold letters across the front of them. After a while she will get up muttering something about your ancestors and leave you a vacant lounge chair. Make sure when you try this that her muscle beach boyfriend Burt is not around or he will pound your SPF 2000 buttered butt into a pulp. I promise this hurts like heck.

Now that you have an empty chair lather yourself up in that Quaker States Suntan Lotion you bought at the Army Surplus. I know it’s hard not to keep sliding off the lounger but I found by locking your arms around the edge of the lounge chair and intertwining your feet with the last few vinyl straps you can manage to hold on while pointing your white butt crack towards the sky like some droopy swim trunk offering to the sun gods.

I know that you are thinking that this is a great idea and you will try it on your next cruise but what about the chair hogs that leave their “reserved” lounge chair unattended for hours. There are several solutions that I can come up with that are logical, civilized and fair, but let’s not go there.

Two words come to mind and I say them with tongue in cheek as opposed to the more painful tongue in teeth, “Public Execution”. Remember the good ole days when after a morning fire and brimstone sermon we would all meet at the Town Square for a picnic and a hangin. Well I really don’t remember this but that would have been the way I would have remembered it if I did remember. I know that someone dancing at the end of a rope is just entertainment for the just and righteous but it may give pause to his fellow evil doers. They might reconsider and think that robbing banks, ignoring stop signs and cheating on their income tax is not such a good idea after all.

Wouldn’t it be a hoot if the Ship’s Captain came out in a Blackbeard outfit waving a cutlass above his head dispensing ARRRGGHHs left and right while he sends some poor chair hogger to their demise at the end of a yard arm, or meter arm in Europe, or off a plank on the pool deck?

I know what your thinking, “My God! Are you suggesting that the cruise line execute a paying customer for hogging chairs? What about the lost bingo and casino profits? Who is going to pay his bar bill? What if the cruise line feels that they have to compensate the surviving spouse with a free drink or onboard credit?” No no, au contraire. I am not suggesting something so drastic but there are a lot of crew members and one of them might be having a bad week, performing sub par so to speak.

All it would take is the Captain to shout, “This is what we do to chair hogging swill” before he tosses this poor chap into the foaming sea. This would not only take care of the chair hog problem for the rest of the cruise but it would also make the food in the dining room taste a heck of a lot better.

I would only recommend that this be done only once during the cruise because I am a non-violent person, especially violence from a muscle beach dude named Burt.

We are Packrats

Being a pack rat, perhaps more of a rat than a member of a pack, I have stacks of stuff all over the place. I hate to throw out magazines because I might not have read all of it or had enjoyed an article or photo in one and hated to throw it away. I am sure in one of my drawers I still have the keys of my old 1961 flathead Plymouth Valiant, loved those buttons.

Not only do I have a multitude of bad photos that I have taken over the years but have several copies of them. My wife and I have books everywhere, hardback, softback, and humpback and for a person of limited memory this is not good. We (and as I say we, I actually mean I) can stand baffled in front of the on sale rack at Hastings debating until we (and as I say we, I actually mean she) decides to add it to our collection or if it is already in our collection.

We have some friends who keep their house neat and uncluttered. Their greatest fear is dying and then having to make their children go through any clutter that they might have left just to find if the old folks had left anything valuable like a hundred dollar bill in some old magazine or purse. I on the other hand, enjoy the thought of my kids having to dig though mounds of junk just to find a few pennies stuck in a corner of some drawer. Since this is not their junk I am sure that they can make a more objective decision on what to throw away or keep. Problem solved.

I and apparently my wife also, enjoy having the things that we have collected over our lifetime near by. I know that the stacks of old magazines, old records, books and cheap souvenirs from our travels have little value compared to a painting by Matisse. But it's what we can afford and it gives us a warm and secure feeling like an old blanket, and yes we have one of those too. As someone once said, probably a pack rat, one man's trash is another man's treasure.

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Conversations between Bubba and William Shakespeare at the local bar.

“Whoa man, watch you wearun? Tha names Bubba. Tham jammies? Them leetards? Whatch up to? Goen sum maskeeraid partee? Yo shore dressed funny.”

“Greetings Bubba, I am known as William. Alas Bubba, if it was only for frivolity that I seek. I hoped perhaps the glowing lights of this pub would dispel the shadow of confusion that surrounds my sad circumstance. Yea this could free me to seek and enjoy the distractions of that you speak.”

“Oh man, you pootin on me! You talk funny too Willy. Yo from up nouth? Whair you frum?”

“Far away I fear. I do not know what separates me from the protection of yon Cliff’s of Dover, be it time or distance. The sweet smell of the heather of my home seems a faint memory. A dream perhaps, more mist than being. Perhaps this is the true reality that shocks my now open eyes.”

“Hell, Dover you say? Aint that whar them New Englun Patriates fooball team from, somewhar thar in Masseechewsets or Main? I warn’t worree bout that Heathur much. My old lady always akikkin my butt outtha house. Good scuse forn a three day drunk if yourn askin me. Anneeways aftern a few days the police ull take you back home an make the little woman let you back in. They don wan to have to put you up and feed ya in tha jail. I don think they gonna drive you to no Mastahawsits though.”

“I know not when furrows, ages plowed, have been covered by the clover of virgin pasture to make new the land of my birth. But these are confusing times. Perhaps I have fallen into the entrapment of the devil himself to face eternal torment confused and lost, seeking to return to that, which never was nor will be. If the good tavern keeper were to call upon the constable to bind and shackle me and take me without recourse, it could be no worse.”

“Oh man. If evern I seen sumwon who needs a bruw. You seem lowern than a buckit of crap at tha end of a long rope in well dug to hell. I told ya not to worree bout Heatha. She’s gotcha babblin lika fool. Tha furst times tha wurst but lika said, them womens thays hawd to git rid uv. You mite asswell spend time geeting drunk. Maybe yall stop babblin. Whacha drinkin?”

“If calling upon Bachus to provide his sweetest nectar would perchance allay the hounds of discourse that are upon me would I shout with the fullness of my breasts. If warm waves of brandy would take this ship of discontent elsewhere I would partake till its stupor drives me upon the shores of familiarity. But alas, though I find myself not completely destitute for my pouch is full, the good tavern keeper has no use for coinage of the realm.”

“Well hell I’ll be, let’s not be atalkin bout our brests. Folk’s roun these parts aren’t got the opin mine I got. They gonna think your sum wierdee doo dressed in them leetards and talkin bout yore brests. They don know yall's from Newt Inglund and got a womin.”

“Yore Yankee Macheechewsits money aren’t no good here. Ya'll need good ole Amuricun money like us. My bruther n law runs this place so I got an opin bar tab. I thinks he’d druthers me be hear adrinkin thin home with hissern sis amakun more babees. He don’t know thut I ruther be here arneeways. Let me buy you a bare. You sho culd use one.”

“If fates were reversed and I partaken of the opportunity to spread the balm of kindness as you, perchance the path that has taken me thus might be changed. And in return fashion, your offer will I accept in hope that this action will belay any discord ordained upon you. I thus pay homage to your wisdom in the appointment of ale for I can see by your girth that this knowledge has been applied greatly.”

“Hay Will, y’all come down from Missychawshats to git in a leetle huntin? My bruther een law gots sum hunnin leases not lent out on hissen place. We kin goat on out an geet us a deer. I got sum gud fludlites own my pickumup sows we don hafta wait fer daun. You kin burrow won of my deer raffles. If'’n stars rainin we kin goan gig sum frogs down by tha swump. They be gud giggin in tha rain.”

“Though I may find the smoky fragrance of venison roasting on the hearth fills one with anticipation of the feast, and yea have heard that the sweet meat of the flank of the frog does do rival to Kingly sustenance, I fear I must decline. For I find that my time in this place of learned giants has taxed me sorely. I must flee less I become crushed by the weight of thought borne by my attempt to converse. So thus I shall bid my farewell and sally forth into the mysteries of the night to face the torments of my destiny.”

As he entered the parking lot he fumbled for his car keys located in his little leather pouch. “Gosh derned rednecks by gum!” He muttered. “But all tha bahs round eer be full of em aye.”

“Who was that Bubba?” asked the bartender. “One of those re-enactors from this years Shakespeare Festival I suppose?” “It seems so Fred.” answers Bubba. “He had the costume down pretty good but I think he needs to work some on his Shakespearean grammar and inflection.” “Seems you were using questionable grammar yourself Bubba,” says the bartender. “Well, you have to keep the tourists happy you know.” Responds Bubba.

“Another beer?” questions the bartender. “No thanks Fred.” Responds Bubba. “I am making dinner for my wife’s birthday and need to stop by Piggly Wiggly for spinach for the Oysters Rockefeller and some walnuts for the Waldorf. “ “You take care Bubba. “ Replies the bartender. “See you at the Poetry Club meeting tomorrow.”

My other pages

Embellished Tales page 1
Embellished Tales page 3
Duane Fisher Arts