My book that I was writing is not any good. I'm done with my novel, I think. I'm gonna do some more practice in this training canvas. I'm putting this back up but am 100% moving away from politicky stuff. This blog is more fun and humorful these days. I took out about 50 old essays ... some are really good and I like them but I don't want to taint this humor blog with hornet nest topics anymore. I used to dive right into veritable hornets nests of topics and swim around in them until we weeded out some common ground. That's a big headache doing that, it really is. When it came to satire, I hit some big nests too, national ones, religious ones, economic ones. I went for high hanging fruit in the old days with "dig out" essays and "hornet kicker" essays ... not low hangin' fruit.
As you can see from the logo above... this is a NEW blog. It's more good and more better and way more Strongaaa/Stronger than the last blog. This is no longer "Writing on Subjects" or even "Writings on Subjects 2.0" ... this is now .... "New Writings On Subjects II Stronger."
I really get worried that if I don't write stuff that I will just forget how to do it. So let's write stuff. I am really just re-opening this for the sake of Writing and there's not really any sort of incredible goal or format to this blog any longer. I'm openly Writing for practice and Writing for the sake of understanding it as an art.
I re-read an essay by Edgar Allan Poe last month,
The Philosophy of Composition by Edgar Allan Poe
.... and I found it to be really fascinating. You think that he was just some emo-guy churning out greasy kid stuff but he had a severely logical approach to his poems. He really knew what to work with writing. All the things he did were done with reason and rhyme. Writing about Writing.
So, the Writings in here are going to be experimental exercises from here on for the most part. Many of the old ones were that too but it was never really stated that that's what I was going for. In the sense of Poe's Philosophy of Composition, I want to try and be more literal with the experiments I'm trying out in here. Instead of just doing them, I am going to spell out to the audience what I'm going for so there's less room for misinterpretation.
In the old days, if I tried some whacky character as a base setting for the narration of the essay and it didn't work ... then it just looks stupid. Or, if I buried myself deep for a "dig out" and didn't successfully dig out then I just come across as being a terrible person. Or, if I tried whacking around a hornets nest and a bunch of hornets just flew out and stung me then that ended in a failure too.
One essay I still like is "Bees" from this blog ... which is a Hornet Nester in an almost literal sense. You probably now in 2019 wouldn't believe it was a "hornets nest" topic but Bees was a big whacky deal for a while with adherents claiming that we are killing them and that humans couldn't survive without bees and this and that. It was funny to me that a hornet nester topic was just so literal there ... a hornetter about bees.
Okay, anyways, so, what's today's Writing experiment you ask?
Well, over the last 3ish or so months that this blog was under Deep Hiatus ... I traveled the entirety of Canada for the second time in my life. Now that I am back I will engage in a very Jack Kerouacian form of Writing training which is pretty unstructured and free form. "On The Road" by Kerouac was written by Jack after he returned from traveling and just punched keys on his type writer onto an almost endlessly long sheet of paper. He called his texts "scrolls" I think because they were long sheets of paper that he just shredded keys on his type writer to and never had to think of changing the paper. Of course, anyone under a certain age will not know what a type writer was and not understand a word of that but that's okay.
I used a type writer when I was a kid. I was very young too. I was probably three or four when I would use a type writer. I used to try to emulate the baseball boxscores from the newspaper and try to make my own where my favorite players got more Hs and Rs and RBIs. Even typing on a keyboard to this day .... I swear I smell ink. I do. It's just in my brain from when I was a little kid and punching keys on something like this you'd get ink on your hands from touching parts of the type writer that you weren't supposed to touch. My computer keyboard as I punch keys even now smells like ink! It's wild.
I worked with a Kerouac style VERY briefly in this blog at one point. The experiment was 40% Kerouac and 60% Mojo Nixon. Mojo has stated on many occasions that one of his main influences was Jack Kerouac so it felt like a fitting mix. It was not a long piece and I doubt anyone would've picked up the Kerouac style from it but the punctuation is definitely Kerouacian in that one.
Kerouac is only 1/3 of the influencees of this following exercise however. Another of the beat generation will be incorporated. Not Ginsberg or what's-the-other-guy though. To be honest, I'm not a fan of beat writing and not even a big fan of Kerouac (even though today's exercise is 33% based on his style). I really feel that the beat generation of "diggers" who "dig everything" fall into familiar patterns of over description of every little thing around them (even wrote 'bout it once). I understand that hippies can find a way to "dig" everything but does "digging" the "vibe" of some "scene, man" really make for good writing all the time? Not really. The other beat generation fellow being channeled in the following story is Jean Shepherd (and putting him in the beat generation is done loosely, that is not really his main category).
Shep does appear as a character in On the Road by Kerouac under a different name so he was part of that scene, man. For sure. He's a big Writer to me. A Writer's Writer. Most people just know him from the Christmas Story but over the last two decades I've on-and-off listened to archived radio broadcasts of his and read his books. The Christmas Story is actually pieced together from various chapters of his "In God We Trust - All Others Must Pay Cash" book. I gave more than a hint that Shep was an influence to this blog in "Stayin' Up All Night? Oh That's All Right" which was an essay trying to prove that staying up all night is all right.
One thing I liked about Jean's radio show was the bouncing from topic to topic weekly without care. One night's show could be about how to make some french cocktail and then next night's show would be about how he spilt oil on someone's car as a kid but blamed it on someone else. It really seemed like it had no structure even though it was actually a very concise composition of very structured words each week. It was real Yin Yang stuff, man.
The third style that we will incorporate into today's exercise is the surreal stylings of The Stone (free online novella) by late Residents composer Hardy Fox which is a very surreal journey through a dreamscape setting where the only structure to the piece is that it is tethered to a Buddhist quote about this bird who thinks this Stone is just a piece of liver.
Alright, so, what have we got? We're gonna do a short story today ... and it is 33% Jack Kerouac, 33% Jean Shepherd, and 33% Hardy Fox.
In the sense that....
It is a free form scroll churned out without pause written by a person who's just returned from a journey and is trying to remember everything that happened in a flurry of words (Kerouac).
It is also a reminiscent piece about childhood memories ... some true, some half-true, and some totally made up (Shepherd).
It is lastly a piece that is barely tethered to reality and seems almost dream-like in nature (Fox).
Okay... I really don't friggin' know how this short story is gonna turn out. I'm not gonna write it all in one sitting. I think like "The Swamp" one I wrote last year it'll be done in a trilogy. Let's start the first part right now before I realize that this is a bad idea and not do it.
Look, I'm gonna jam this down now, and if you follow me on this Journey so be it ... but I'm not promising that these styles will mix up well AT ALL, okay? I mean this is down right experimental stuff here now.
Okay, Let's go:
The Journey - Part 1 (of 3?)
-A short story by D.
As you know I have been traveling, I have journeyed deep up north into the wilds of Northern Canada. It is a pretty Human Journey that I embarked on and it is cold and difficult in many ways, it is. My goal is to mediate upon a coupla mountains in hopes of coming to some deepest-most understanding of the World.
As of this moment, I am currently in Lac des Deux Montagnes, Quebec (Lake of Two Mountains) ... which is pretty Up North but not like super-duper Up North. I just started my journey yester-week so you can't expect me to be like in the Tundra yet, you know? I just finished an interesting conversation with one of the locals in this here Tea House....
"Ca va?" the aged gentleman asked of me.
"Oui, ca va monsieur." I replied.
"Tu écris quelque chose"? He asked.
"Moi? Oui, j'écris dans mon blog sur l'internet," I told him.
"Ecriture est une chose merveilleuse, n'est-ce pas? De quoi écrit tu?" He wondered.
"Je marche vers le nord et j'écris à ce sujet," I replied.
"Hmmmmmmm. Que fais-tu là-bas? Au nord?" He then asked.
"Oh, je vais juste grimper des montagnes et regarder autour de moi quand j'arrive au sommet des montagnes," is what I told 'em.
"Wow, ça a l'air amusant ça," He said sarcastically.
"J'ai déjà commencé ici à Lac des Deux Montagnes," I said.
"Pourquoi?" He asked.
"Eh bien, une montagne? C'est pas assez pour moi. J'ai besoin deux..." I began before he cut me off.
"DEUX? Pourquoi vous besoin DEUX montagnes??" He asked.
"Bien, Je peux avoir plus de réflexion avec deux ..." I started but he cut me off again.
"Plus de réflexion avec deux montagnes?" He said.
"Oui, comme, je grimpe l'un des d'eux ... regarde autour de moi et réfléchis à quelque chose ... quand je réalise quelque chose ... je redescends ... grimpe l'autre ... réalise quelque chose d'autre ... et puis redescendre encore." I explained.
"Hmmm. Logique. Oui. C'est logique là, bien oui....."
I wasn't joking, that's what I did yesterday. I climbed up the first of the two of the Lake of Two Mountains's mountains and then just looked around until I came to one of life's most amazing conclusions and then I walked back down again, took a little breath, and then climbed up the adjascent mountain, came to a second of one of life's most amazing conclusions and then came right back on down again.
On the second mountain's descent, about half way down, I actually even came to a third of life's most amazing conclusions which was cool because that mountain (the second of Lake of Two Mountains's mountains) was like a two-for-one special is what it was. The third wicked life conclusion I came to half way down the mountain was a biggie too ... it wasn't like just an average one. It was a real shaker-upper. The third one shook me up real good.
After three big time Life Conclusions I felt it was time to move on from Lac Des Deux Montagnes so I did. I think I'm gonna log on out of this here Tea House and start walking more Norther and pretty Westwardly too I might add. North West ... that's where I'm off to.
I'll tell you something about walking. It's hard, but I've done it so much that it is very natural to me. Walking is the way to travel for this old goat. One day maybe my legs will be worser for wear and I won't be able to do a whole lotta walking ... but for now? I just huff offa one flat foot and on to the other, brother. Offa one and onta the otha. A one, a two, a one, a two, a one, a two .... 1- 2-1-2-1 -2-1-2-1-2-1-2-1-2 -1-2-1-2. Walking has a beat n' a rythym that hits naturally once you get a stride and a bounce brewin' and then it's auto-pilot from there. Well, until you hit an intersection then you gotta break rythym and look both ways and try not to get runned over. Your stride can get broken here and there but once you look ahead and it's just a straight old line on the foreseeable horizon you can brew up your stride again......
One. Two. One. Two. One.... and Two.....
....and think 'bout stuff. Will we win? Will we lose? Will we learn something? Will we get runned over? What about all that stuff about the guy with the........
One. Two. One. Two. One.... and Two.....
You can't just walk aimlessly though. You need to have at least some idea of where you're headed. "North West" is almost enough of a goal post to march towards but it's good to check the map and circle a town that sounds interesting. It's pretty random the locations I circle as goal posts. Why did I walk to Lake of Two Mountains as my first mark? Just because I thought it was cool that this lake had two mountains ... that's all. No real big reason.
Hmmmm... what's next? Let's see here ... how about ... Cornwall, Ontario? Sounds good. Why? Because Cornwall is a goofy name that's why.
I remember being in Cornwall a coupla times in my life. When I was a kid I was there with my parents and sister. We asked some local Cornwallian for directions (this was the 80s before like phones and googles and pip-boys and whatnot). Back then you met local people on these journeys because travel was just you and maybe a paper road map. The kid had a pretty whacky way of speaking and when we were done and drove off we all kind of laughed ... even my mother. We used to bug my mother for many years after that for laughing at that poor poor boy with the speech impediment. It was just one of those things we knew we could bug her with. Even though we all laughed we would always say things like "Remember when YOU laughed at that kid in Cornwall with the speech impediment? That poor soul of a boy? How could you?" Haha.
Whenever you drove from Quebec to Ontario in the old days there was a LANDMARK that was unmissible for any kid. This literal Landmark was half-way or so and you know what it was? It was the FAG building. Just a building with three big reddish letters on it for the world to see. It maybe stood for some corporate thing like Federal Alliance Group or maybe Freelance Armortization Guild ... but they abbreviated their name to FAG and put it in HUGE letters on their building. You always knew when it was coming too and you'd be like "I think the FAG buidling is coming up, guys!" Hahaha, little things like this made me laugh so much.
Another time, me n' my friend, Ol' Fleegs, went down there and we sat in a bar that was pretty empty. As to why he wanted to just drive to Cornwall for, which everyone knows is not the party capital of Canada, is something I don't remember. It was just like me, him, and the two people that worked there ... and then some dude walked in and sat right next to my friend in this tiny bar ... and this dude was WEIRD. Like, you could just encapsulate the weird aura around him ... there's people like that in the world, there really is. This dude talked about pretty normal stuff but the whole time me, my friend (who was like elbow-to-elbow with him) and the two people who worked there were looking at each others eyes and our eyes were saying to all eyes that weren't our own eyes ...
"Yo, this dude is SO WEIRD."
It was so obvious a mutual feeling that it was pretty close to being actual telepathy between us. We all just like connected with our eyes, four people, in unison of, "THIS GUY IS WEIRD!" it was really something. The weirdest thing the dude did was near the end of his time in this empty bar, he asked to take the rest of his burger with him in a take-out styrofoam, and when he got it he JAMMED it into the inside of his jacket in a flash and then looked suspiciously at all four people in the bar like we were all gonna try and steal his half eaten hamburger from him. It was almost cartoony like Snidely Whiplash just acquired a half eaten hamburger and was looking at us all "THIS IS MINE! SEE! ALL MINE!" ... hahahaha .... when he finally left I said "I think that guy like just got out of like jail ... because no one protects half eaten hamburgers like their pilfered diamonds" ... and one of the people who worked there told me ... "yup, that's so-and-so and he just got out yesterday"....
The only other time I experienced the feeling of looking into other people's eyes and KNOWING exactly what they were thinking ... and in turn their eyes telling me that they knew exactly what I was thinking ... was the "Auditorium of Laughs." To this day if even bring up the term "Auditorium of Laughs" with Ol' Fleegs or Ol' Kurtis they will just start laughing and remembering it. It was a moment of life that is just totally encrusted and encapsulated in our brains. The humor of why it was so funny is hard to describe and probably can't be captured in this medium.
The "Why" as to why it was so funny was similar to the above anecdote where just by looking at someone you could feel and know exactly what they were thinking about and in turn knew that they knew exactly what you were thinking about ... that is the essence of why the "Auditorium of Laughs" was what it was. Me, n' Ol' Fleegs n' Ol' Kurtis and another fellow were hanging out in an abandoned burned down house up near Ol' Kurtis's place. That's the sort of things you did as kids ... you hanged out in burned down houses and climbed up to the roof to look off it and come to life conclusions. Anyways, the four of us were just chilling in this burned out building and the other fellow we were with was proned to making us laugh with the silly anecdotes that would come out of him. He had a sort of hang-up or what would you call it? A fascination with a certain pornography star named Ron and his vast array of x-rated films.... and he'd just out of nowhere bring up this fascination with this aged over-weight porno star at whim and without warning.
So there we were... Me, n' Fleegs n' Kurtis n' this nice young fellow who had a pretty big respect for the artistic work of a famous porno celebrity ... sitting in an abondoned building ... Fleegs had on this basketball t-shirt about some squirrel that was just lookin' for a nut (which I couldn't grasp what the statement had to do with Basketball) ... and we were just talking and we notice that our fourth friend hasn't been in the conversation for a while and we stop and all three of us turn to him ... and he's just smiling .... a real grin .... a real smiler's smile .... and then all three of us, we all turn and look at each other .. and ALL THREE OF US ... while we looked at each others faces and into each others eyes KNEW EXACTLY what two words were gonna exit this fellow's mouth within the next few seconds...
... and sure enough, this young man opens his two lips and before it's even fully out of his person and the statement has time to gestate into the air ... while it was only half way out into the open ... while me and my two friends were still locked in a mental connection so strong that we were almost like three men with the same brain ... he says it ...
"Ron .... Jer....."
... and before the words even had time to be considered Alive in the audible real world of waves of noise ... almost before he even said this .... within the milisecond of the first sounding of the "J" syllable being audible to our six
collective ears ....
...we LOST it.
All three of us. Me, n' Fleegs, n' Kurtis .... just lost ... IT.
We lost it like something we never have or maybe never will experience ever again. We LOST LOST LOST LOST .... It. Just lost it and lost it and lost it. Completely and utterly lost it. I'm sure everyone's lost it in laughter before but this was a Losing It so intense and prolonged that for a good minute I actually thought I was gonna die laughing. I'm not exagerating. After the first minute of uncontrollable laughter between three people ... the second minute stops being funny and starts being scary. You're laughing and can't stop. You're laughing and you can't breathe because you're laughing so hard. I remember clawing at wood on the floor and hanging on to my two friends clothing ... clawing and hanging on to people because I thought I was gonna asphixiate, have a heart attack and actually DIE from laughing. It was scary. After like 5 full minutes, after it all died down, and all three of us just stopped laughing ... I was in awe ... I didn't know a person could just start laughing to a point where you could gasp, choke, and claw around trying to stay alive. It was something else. Something I will never forget even if I live to be like 150 years old.
I read a book once, Outlaws of the Marsh, where one of the lead characters at the end of the book dies of laughter. The end of Outlaws is sort of an Animal House style ending where everyone gets a "what happened to this person" afterward paragraph or two before the narrative ends. I always liked Lu Da's ending paragraph where he reads a prognostic poem about himself and then whilst watching the tide bore in and splash around at Qiang River ... he just dissipates into dust and disappears.
Another character, Wu Song, lived 'til he was 80 and then just one day started laughing and couldn't stop. He laughed until he passed on. As a person who can honestly say, without exaggeration, that I did almost die of laughter once ... I can really relate to a guy like Wu Song, you know?
Tide bores are nice......
Anyways gang, I'm gonna head out of 'ol Lac de Deux Montagnes and this dusty old Tea House with Wi Fi right about now and head down to ol' Cornwall town. You can follow me down there if it suits ya, old friend.....
Cornwall
Hunker down, that's what I'm doin'. Just plunkerin' on down. Cornwall town, that's where I am now. That is where I Be. I'm just sitting here in an empty bar, just me and the two people that work here. Thankfully there's no weirdoes here this time. I still can't believe that guy thought any of us would have stolen his half eaten mangly burger from him. I don't think I'll ever forget that.
Gettin' here was fun. I walked the whooooooole entire way. It was pretty cold and bad but what can I say? I came to three or four more deep conclusions about Life along the way, which is to say, I changed somewhat as a person over that walk. The cold and the thinking really shook things up for this rusty clanky noggin on top of my neck. I passed the FAG building along the way and took about 10 minutes to stop and really take it in. My gosh, the building of my youth that brought me much laughter. The one and only FAG building. There it was in all of its amazing glory. Truth be told, the joke doesn't work that well anymore. In the early 90s all young people knew this word and it was very popular. Maybe some older types didn't know about it and that's why a FAG building could sit along the highway in all its Majesty. It's a window in time, very small mind you, where a FAG building could stand in Majesty like this. The term cannot be used now and it was fresh enough then for not everyone to be keen to it ... that's the criteria for a window in time. A fleeting moment. And this? Well, this building was now a fleeting FAG moment. So fleeting that right before my own eyes the building vanished. Maybe my memory imagined it.
I was getting pretty hungry after witnessing the mysterious vanishing of the memories of my youth in front of my own eyes. I stopped in a little town and asked this kid where I can find a coupla burgers. He told me in a very strange accent ... he couldn't have been english but it certainly wasn't a french accent. What was it? He was a white kid ... probably born here ... but I could barely even understand what he was telling me.
"Boiyards? Ya want a couplo boiyards?" He squeeked out like a small wounded bird.
"Ya, I just want a couple of uhhhh Boy Yards. Yeah." I said to him.
"If yoo neeeed yooo a few boiyards just head ons along up this rohod, there charlie-jim!"
"Ok thanks kid. I mean thanks charlie jim. Say, what are you doing all by your lonesome here on the road side charlie-jim?"
"My noims not charlie jim, there charlie-jim! My name is Wessey, and and and ... I'm lookin' for clams n' cans!"
"Clams n' cans eh? What for?"
"Ya see I sell dem for munny. I get nickels fer cans and a dollar fer clams!!!!"
"Okay. Cool. That's good. You saving up for something? A video game maybe?" I asked him.
"Noooo, sweet chuck! I'm soiving up for a TOIKEE!"
"Turkey?"
"YA charlie-jim! A TOIKEE for my FAMILEEEEE!"
This young boy child was mighty strange. He seemed familiar to me though. Maybe I met him before. I don't know. I felt bad for him though. What kind of kid in this age looks for garbage and molluscs along the road side? I ventured further into this person's life for I found him interesting.
"Say Wes, what do you need a turkey for anyhow," I asked of him.
"Waddya think fer!? I neeeed it for Canoidian Thanksgoiving!" He told me.
"Canadian Thanksgiving was quite a few months ago, Wes." I said.
"Ob coooorse I knoi that! But my famileee didn't celebroite it at all! We couldn't boiy a toikeeee soooo we couldn't do Canoidian Thank Goiving!!!"
"Wes, I'm gonna give you what you need to buy a turkey, ok?"
"REEELY! IT"S A CANOIDIAN THANKS GOIVING MIROICOIL!!!!!
"That's exactly what it is Wes .... it is a Canadian Thanksgiving Miracle is what it is..." I said.
He took the funds and skipped off into the dry sunlight, swinging his can-poking stick like a happy little clam. Some kid, that Wes. Good kid. I continued walking up the road to the eatery. I bought a couple of burgers and ate 'em up good. I can see the future sometimes and my brain paused for a minute while I ate those burgers. They were so good that I had a burger-related epiphany and briefly got to see the future....
I saw a kid, a kid who could very well have been Wes, dropping a turkey onto the road. Why was my brain showing me this now for? I had more hamburgers to eat up and did not want to be bothered with powerful visions of the Human Future at this time in my life. Eating hamburgers is literally, no joke, one of if not my most favorite of human activities. Why would Wes drop the turkey for? Maybe I'm just worrying for no reason. I am constantly stricken by bouts of worry. I chewed and chewed ... and worried and worried. Don't drop the turkey, Wes. You need it. It's a Canadian Thanksgiving Miracle that turkey not just some regular turkey. It like represents something. It represents unity and grace .... and giving. It also represents a point in my life where I did something nice ... so don't drop it, Wes!
I couldn't enjoy these hamburgers any longer. I only ate like seven of them and left the rest on the platter. It was a pyramid platter of stacked burgers and I only got to the first seven. The pyramid was still standing for I took the first burgers from the top so it wouldn't fall down. I told the burger guy at the burger thing that I couldn't eat any more of them.
"Why not, old timer?" He asked me.
"I gotta go buy some turkeys. You know where I can get some, old brother?" I answered and then counter-asked him.
"Yah, sure do feller, ya just gotta keep huffing up that road there, you'll see the super market soon enough, ya old goat."
"Thanks old brother. Thanks a lot." I said gratefully and took my leave of the Cornwall burger stand.
I kept on a huffin' step by step up the street like he suggested. I got a good walking rythym going. A one-two, one-two, and couple more one-twos (and a three and a four) and I got there. It was a pretty nice super market for a small town. It was well-lit enough and had a decent selection. I found the turkeys without even asking nobody where the aisle for them was. They had a lot of them. I just needed a regular old turkey. I didn't need like one with stuffing in it already or anything ... just a normal one.
I paused. I started to worry. I wondered what if that kid, Wes, gets so happy and go lucky after getting a second turkey after dropping the first one that with nothing more than a hop, a skip, and a jump ... he swings his can-poking stick a little too hard and the second turkey pops out from under his arm and falls into a dirty puddle or maybe down a sewer....
I better buy a few more back-up turkeys while I'm at the grocery store, I guess. Just in case. In case that kid drops them all in puddles. I bought about twelve of them. I paid for all the turkeys and then stacked them in my arms like a pyramid and started re-huffin up the main Cornwall street.
But ... how am I gonna get the kid the turkeys after he drops them without making him feel bad for dropping so many turkeys and constantly getting them replaced by me? After like the first few he's gonna feel like a big klutz, this kid. He will. He's gonna feel like a big slob. Hmmmm, maybe I should buy a fishing rod at the hardware store. Yeah. Then I can like put a hook in a turkey and cast it out with the rod from like 20 feet behind the kid after he drops the turkeys into the puddles .... and then when they fall down into his arms from the cast out fishing line ... he can just unhook them and think like some angel or deity sent them to him. Yeah, that'll work out quite well.
I stopped at the hardware store and purchased a fishing rod. I proceeded now to walk up the street with a pyramid of twelve turkeys and a fishing rod strung to my back. I was a like a real Kwai Chang Caine. A real Kwai Changer. A big banger. Just walking around the roads of life with turkeys and fishing poles ... helpin' people. It felt good inside of my body and everything.
I finally caught up to the kid, and got ready to cast out turkeys from my turkey pyramid with my trusty fishing pole. Yet, much to my own surprise and amazement ... young Wes turned on a 90 degree heel-kick on his worned out sneakers and starting walking towards an abode ... I reckon it was his family's home. Well waddya know? He didn't drop a single turkey into a puddle let alone a baker's dozen of turkeys into a baker's dozen of puddles after I replaced them for him by casting them off from my fishing line and into his innocent yet grubby hands.
Hm. I walked up the window to see him present the turkey, or "toikee", to his family. I stood at the window with the other turkeys in my arms in a pyramid shape. I wasn't very incognito at all suffice to say. They didn't notice me standing there lookin' at 'em though for they were over joyed at the sight of little Wes and the turkey in his paws.
Their home was very beautiful. It reminded me of Canadian Thanksgiving's of my own past. The whole family gathered 'round the table eating all kinds of wonderful food while autumn leaves fell off the trees. Wonderful days those were. What in the world am I gonna do with all these turkeys though? I don't wanna throw them in the garbage can and make them a meal for some wordly raccoons. Heavens no.... I sat there in front of the window of Wes's house just a thinkin' and a lookin'. I was so proud of that kid that he made it home with the first turkey, when even deep in my gut, I just KNEW for sure he would need many replacement ones. I guess I'm just... like ... wrong about things sometimes.
I'm a flawed and deeply worrisome old badger is what I am. Worry. That's my middle name. It's better to be safe than sorry though when you really get into it....
"Hey moister..."
"Ya? What is it? Oh it's you Wes, you saw me in the window?"
"Yea I soire doid moister! Saaaaay .... waddya gunna doooo with all thoise toikees!?"
"You can have 'em. Freeze 'em for the future, you know? In the freezer."
"Oh, it's okay. I don't neeeyeeed 'em, there charlie-jim!."
"Alright."
"Saaaaaay, why dontcha jes givem all to those hobos underneef da broidge?" He suggested.
"Hobos? Under the bridge? Where's that?"
"Just up yonder way ol' jimmy chuck charlie sam jam!"
"Well, you don't want 'em and I don't wanna throw 'em away soooo... ya, ok."
I parted ways with the filthy yet loveable urchin and made my way to the bridge that he suggested I take these turkeys. Hobos eh? Can't say I really trust most hobos to be humanly honest but I sure as all heck 'aint gonna throw all these darned turkeys into some dumpster for squirrels to gnaw at. I trust hobos way more than I trust squirrels. How many hobos can there be under there anyways? It's a small town it's not like there can be millions of hobos under this bridge. I hope there's only like 12 hobos ... that way I can give each hobo one turkey each. If there's 20 hobos we'd have to cook all the turkeys and cut them up and everything so they all got equal amounts of the turkey. What a chore. There better not be any more than twelve hobos underneath this bridge, let me tell you.
There better not be more than twelve hobos underneath that bridge. Let me tell you.....
(to be continued.....)
Wow, this is fun. Yo, I think I'm just gonna do like one of these a month or one of these every two months for 2019 as my writing hobby. A full story that takes a year to write. Maybe. How many cities are in Canada? A lot? Yeah we can get a lot of meat out of this.
Man, hobos on the horizon. There's only two kinds... really fun ones and horribly bad ones. Stay tuned next month!
Same New Writings on Subjects II Stronger Time and same New Writings on Subjects II Stronger Channel!
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