Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Bring Back My Metal To Me!!

Good Gravy! It’s almost Christmas!

And, we don’t have anywhere to live!

It’s me, you nuts! Sorry I haven’t written in a while. Ever since the flood back in October, we have been homeless. Hopping from trailer to trailer. This is the first chance I’ve had to ball down and just feel it out on-line. Suffice it, no new METAL! (Not nu-metal, you fat pack of bones!)

Somehow my CD’s and MP3s have been going “straight into Satan’s backside”! I don’t know what’s happening. I thought maybe it was my Mom but… They’re vanishing! Into the Realm of AGOTH!!!!

Man, I wanna freakin’ rock! I wanna rock until it hurts my batch! I’ve asked Santa for a bunch of stuff but we don’t have an address. We don’t even know where we’re going to be on the day.


I wanted to review the latest Opeth masterpiece but before I could listen to it…Flood! The story of my life.

They want me to play the myrrh Wise Man in the school pageant. I said “Sure. As long as I can play him as a Rocked-Out Satan Loving Sonofabitch!” They’re still considering my offer. I think it would add a much needed injection to the play. Boring! There’s the baby! There’s the star! We’ve got it. Oh look, shepherds. We watched a movie the other night called “Island of Death”. The piece is set somewhere in Greece. That’s got an awesome shepherd in it. Watch out for your delicate backside! ROCK!

Crap. No music. No home. That can’t stop my spirit. When I close my eyes at night, I can hear the growl and smell the fresh riff passing through the air. Awesome!

Next time, Christmas! I will rock you!!!!!

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

My Great Aunt's Great Adventure

One day, a fine Tuesday, my great aunt, Silvania Tallman went out to her blue mailbox and got out three pieces of mail: 1 to Resident, 1 to from her sister and one to Silvania Tallmin from the U.S. Dept of Weights and Measures. She opened it up, figuring she could say she didn’t catch the name misspelling until she’d had a glance at it. Inside, she found a very oddball letter.

Dear Ms. Tallmin,
Our dearest regards to you and yours. We have recently heard about your achievements in the realm of linguistics and were interested in acquiring some of your time and talents for our organization. Please call us at ---- and ask for Mr. Grant.
Yours sincerely,
your Department of Weights & Measures

My aunt had spent the past 22 years packaging prepared beef. She could not claim a single achievement in the realm of linguistics. Silvania gave a call, asked for Mr. Grant was put on hold for 20 minutes and was eventually disconnected after listening to muzak versions of Barry Manilow songs that she liked better than the originals. Government issued Muzak, she supposed.

After this call, she tried one more time, the same thing happened. So, she forgot all about it. Two weeks later, a second letter arrived.

Dear Mrs. Tallman,
We have not heard from you. We are a little worried. Are you well? Please call us at --- and ask for Miss Granth. Hope to hear from you soon.

Your friends,
the Weights and Measures Bureau.

So, Silvania tried again. Nothing. The only person she talked to would not listen because the call wasn’t for her department and everyone there was on lunch. And so, more Barry Manilow-muzak and waiting and wasting time. She showed it to her best friend, Madge, who suggested talking with Dr. Krause because she was once a Government Doctor. Silvania said she would but didn’t because it was silly advice. The Government was like a large corporation. Just because you worked in Sales didn’t mean you had any idea what Shipping did. Dr. Krause had enough to do. Luckily, Silvania’s indecision was cleared up by the sudden arrival of a third letter.

Dear Marnie Tillmin,
Hello fellow U.S. citizen! My name is Bonton Grant and have I got a proposition for you. 3 weeks in Jamaica all expenses paid at a hotel with a large pool. Sound great? Sounds great. You bet it is. And, it’s all yours for a small assistance. We need your help with some weights and measures related problems. Your skill as a linguist, especially with your overwhelming knowledge of the Romance languages, is desperately needed. Call ---.
Yours truly,

Suffice it to say, Silvania could not get a hold of them. Try as she might. Everything she could. Nada. But, the letters kept coming and coming and here they are:

Dear Tallman,
Please reply to our missives. We know you have the number. We need you here to do some important work. Thank you.
Weights and Measures, U.S. Government

Dear S. Tillmoon,
Do you love the gram as a measuring standard? I have a feeling you do. And, if this feeling is worth anything to you, call us. Please.
Whites and Measureballs

Dear Occupant Tallman,
Jesus Christ, do you not care?! This is shattering for everyone and you find it well to act this way? This is wrongness. There is nothing of stopping you. Call.
It’s yours,
the people of Measures

And the final letter from this weird address:

Dearest Slavinius Toorman,
Enclosed please find a check for $0.00 made out to nobody for your non-assistance when you didn’t help us. No thanks.
Weights & Measuires, U.S. Gov’t

Then, they stopped. And, Silvania didn’t hear another peep for the longest time. She went about her self, doing what she’d always done and having a nice time. Six months after she got the non-check, a letter came, certified, and it cleared everything up a bit. A little ways. Certainly, it made most things clearer then they had been.

To Ms. Tallman,
We thank you heartily for doing your patriotic duty and not giving in to foreign marauders and shady characters. Those letters you received a while ago would have tempted anyone, even me, but you are strong. Well done, I imagine you were wondering what was happening. Someone like you, though, probably had your suspicions. Well, I can’t say much but I can clue you in. The French were after the Gram again! It’s hard to believe. It seems like every five years, doesn’t it? Remember the last time? I’m sure you do. How could you forget? How’s your left side?

Anyway, hope you’re well and thank you for being a “good American.”
Gen. Roqufort-McWilliams,
Dept. Of Weights & Measures

Silvania kept all the letters and read through them now and then. The only spot that really gets here is the General’s question about her semi-paralyzed side, which was true. The accident that caused it was what kept her away from Prepared Beef. All the rest she could dismiss as a mis-mailing accident but...

What would the French do if they got the gram? What sort of havoc can you wreck with it?

“Oh, how different that is.”

Thursday, November 24, 2005

To All Our Readers

Marlene & Arthur wish you...


We've got turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, rolls and an extra-large pumpkin pie.

If you're in Turbot this afternoon, stop by and see us. We'll set a place for you.

Peace, love & us

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Trees - 2nd Installment


The boys reach the trees, which are still covered in snow. They begin to pat everything off, sending clouds of snow flying all around.

Where’d you suppose Matt is?

Who knows?

Do you think he’s all right? Maybe he’s sick.

Louis, whenever anything involves getting up early,
Matt’s sick.

He couldn’t help us haul the trees cause he was

He’ll show up around noon.

“Feeling much better.”

DAVE nods. They continue patting.

D’you think Mr. Thomson makes Matt and Chris do
knots at home?

Ha! “C’mon guys, you can have some ice cream if you
can tie a lark's head hitch for me.”

KEITH and DAVE laugh.

I like the square knot. That’s easy.

He mimes tying it.

You’ll have to show me some day.

Dave, you don’t know the square knot?

I just don’t do knots well. I can’t figure out
those diagrams and Mr Thomson’s breath is too
strong. All I want to do is get away from him.

He smokes a lot.

My dad says he drinks too.


I think he starts with wine.

I don’t get it, Dave. How have you got this far in Scouts
without being able to tie a knot?

When it comes time to tying anything, we know to leave it
up to someone else.

So, you’ve just avoided tying knots.

I’ve gotten lucky.

Most of the trees have been patted down. The three converge on a very large green tree. It is probably about 8 feet high. Keith is around 5’ 7” but it still towers over him. They pat up it as well as they can.

My dad was thinking about buying this one.

“The $50 giant?”

Yeah. Last year they had one bigger than this.
It went for 60.

Who bought that?

K & D
No one.

The boys begin to walk back to the trailer.

Mr. Klebes ended up buying it.

Mr T is outside the trailer. He is elaborately stretching with a cigarette in one hand. He is doing the “Ahhhh! It’s good to be alive but who really believes it” shtick. Kind of showing the boys that it’s good to be up this early doing something they really don’t want to do (except maybe LOUIS).

None of the boys are interested.

LOUIS goes inside the trailer to speak to his dad and get some cocoa.

MR T continues his over elaborate routine.

Ahh, boys. We’re warmin’ up the water. Have some cocoa
and coffee soon.

The boys nod. They begin to go inside.

So, what do you boys think? Is it going to be a good
selling day?

KEITH is able to make it through the door into the trailer. Unfortunately, Mr. T catches DAVE’s eye.

You up for some selling, Dave?

I don’t really like selling, Mr. Thomson.

MR T puts his hand on Dave’s shoulder.

You’ll learn son, you’ll learn.

DAVE seems vaguely disturbed.



The interior gives new meaning to the word cramped. There are a couple of fold out chairs and a beat up card table. The table is covered with cups, strainers, packets of cocoa and an old sports section.

There is a small counter against the back wall. It’s right by the window, which continues to let cold air blow in. SVEL is trying to seal it off. There is a small hot plate with two burners: one for coffee, one for hot water.

LOUIS is standing next to it with a mug reading “CATHOLIC PARENTS GET TO THE [heart]!” There is a small plastic spoon poking out.

Now, Dad!

It makes a noise when it’s done, Louis. Just give
it a minute.

KEITH begins to make himself some cocoa. Dave enters with a strange look on his face. He walks over to SVEL.

Mr. Vyvenberg went through that?

At just the right angle.

I wouldn’t think he would fit.

Well, he did.

I wish we’d had a camera.

SVEL nods.

DAVE begins to prepare some cocoa. The kettle begins to make noise. SVEL pours out bowling water for the boys.

They begin stirring. LOUIS’s eyes light up with excitement. For him, this makes it all worth it. The other two aren’t as convinced but they clearly like their cocoa.

Everyone sits, sipping. Steam from breath and steam from cocoa and coffee mingle together, lovely. So peaceful…

It can only last for a moment.

There is a loud pound on the side of the trailer. It wobbles dangerously. There is another pound. The boys look towards it but don’t move.

SVEL stands. There is another pound.


SVEL leans out with coffee. He has a look at the pound. MR T, cig in hand, is pummeling the side and looking off into the distance.

You’re going to knock the trailer over again.

Send one of the boys out! Customer!

SVEL looks up.

Sunday, November 20, 2005


Look at that field! Is that majestic or what? It grabs you hard, don't it? Right by the poh-poh’s. This side nothing but wheat. This side covered in majestic ears of corn. They move in different ways. People love that. The wheat stalks ripple, like great fir trees in the midst of a wind. The’s more a person in the cold trying to stay rigid and solid but still giving. But, the corn doesn’t snap. That’s the thing. The corn will not snap. It just moves in a heavier sway is all. People are entranced. They love to watch the field move. Kids run in and out of the fields. Playing, getting lost. This is one of the few places I know of where people treat it with reverence. 10 years now, I’ve been growing and folks treat my farm real kind...Real kind.

They don’t know the other thing about all of this.

Well...this ain’t gonna get published for everyone to see is it? All right then...ya know, every year I have a great crop. People come from all around when I have my Annual Bread and Corn Festival after harvesting. We assemble around the fallen stalks and eat and party and really live it up. It’s something. I hope you’ll be here for that. So many people and fresh bread and corn on the cob and corn chowder like you wouldn’t believe. Well, you might believe it. But, you’d do best to act like you don’t. So...the folks love it. They watch, next morning, as I drive my big truck loaded with wheat and corn away. A thrill. It really is.

But, let me show you something.

Feel this stalk. Yeah. Strong, almost ready to be picked. Now, have a look at this corn. Hmmm....what d’you think? Looks pretty good, huh? A strong, healthy yellow. I’d ask you to try a bite but it’s made of plastic. The stalks are made of some sort of high-endurance material. Same with the wheat. Yeah...This is all fake. My big truck hauls all these fakes to an air-conditioned storage space where it sits until fake planting next harvest time. I have a series of different sized stalks stored away there. These are the strongest because they’re out the longest. Very real, huh? And, no one knows they’re fake. If they do, they’re keeping it to themselves. So, fancy man, what d’you think about that?

I don’t farm a damn thing. Never did. I make my money selling rubber goods that I make out of my home. PULLCO.COM on the Net, if you’re interested. But, this...The town can be very conservative. This is “keeping up my exteriors” as it were. I’m Turbot’s one and only gentleman farmer. I work hard and do well. I mean, come on, it’s not easy simulating growing crops year after year. Middle of the night, replacing stalks. Always hoping that the sudden, massive growth and someone’s putting 2 & 2 together never coincide. It’s worked well so far. And, when someone finds out, well...I’ll focus all my time on rubber goods and, if the people of this town wanna rail-run me out of town, so be it. My Rubber Goods Monthly says that the market has never been better. I agree wholeheartedly. I’m doing incredible.

I don’t say that what I do morally is so great but people round here love the festival. You should see the faces. Not just the youngsters but everyone. It’s a lively day in Turbot, which is not that often as I’m sure you’ve seen. So...I may be a liar but I’m the best lying gentleman farmer ever. Ever. What d’you think about that, Mr. Scribble Britches?

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

One More Jump

Wally, Debi and John-John, dressed in layers to keep out the cold, ran into the small gully of thistle-filled bushes that ran alongside the train tracks leading out of Turbot. A train really didn’t stop there but there was a small platform where a lineman worked. Every once in a while a train would stop to unload some sort of supplies for the town. But, generally, nothing. What would happen, though, is the engineer would slow down and give a wave to Eustace in his little office with the orange light or he’d hit the horn hard if the old man was sleeping. Regardless of what was done, the train slowed down.

The kids growing up in the rather slow town of Turbot had relished this ‘slowing down’ for years. Many of them loved train hopping. That’s why Wally, Debi and John-John were hunkered down in sharp-pointed bushes watching the approaching light on the train slow down. The train came through at 11:42 PM every other night. It was now 11:41 PM and these kids were anxious. The only light around was shining, bright and harsh, from the big halogen over the station. And, the approaching train.

All three were veteran jumpers. John-John, at one time, was known for being able to hop on the second car after the engine. They would ride the train a mile or so and hop off as it slowed down for Ovid. All the kids loved it. It was fun. But, tonight was a little different. Tonight, they had something to prove.

-Here it comes. Debi was peering over the thistles. -About half a minute.

Wally nodded and had a look at John-John. -Are you ready?

-Ready as I’ll ever be. John-John cleared his throat and spit. -I just hope it’s a long haul tonight.

Debi kissed his cheek. In this dark, her pale white skin and raven hair made her look like and oddball angel. -It will be, babe.

But, John-John didn’t notice the kiss. He was raising up his crutches, primed to move.

The train had slowed down. No horn tonight. Good, that always made it easier.

The trio tensed up. The train began to glide past.

John-John’s eyes welled up tears and his face cracked a smile when he saw extra cars at the end.

-Let’s go. Wally whispered loud over the clack and click of the train.

The trio poured up the gully and ran to the train. Well, Wally poured and ran. He reached the train in seconds and grabbed the rungs on the 4th car and pulled himself up. The wind tore threw his hair and pressed his face into elation. But, when he had a look back, the elation left his face although the wind did not leave his hair. Watching Debi and John-John broke his heart.

Debi was trying to shuffle her boyfriend towards the train. It was clear now that they should have planned this better. John-John’s crutches and his foot were barely stumbling across the pocked and gravely pre-track space. Debi was trying to support him to the train but she was a small girl. So, Wally hopped down from his cherry spot and ran to them. They had to get John-John on this train.

-Thanks, Wally. Debi smiled under the tremendous strain of trying to rush her crippled boyfriend to the train.

-Yeah. Thanks. John-John looked as determined and as fierce as he always did train jumping. It’s just now he was fierce and determined on crutches.

-Come on. Wally went to the damaged side of John-John’s body and scooted it up. Debi cinched up the other side.

Their speed to the train doubled. By Car 16, they were there.

John-John’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the rungs stretching up the slowly moving storage cars. The other two had seen this look before. Normally, it was quicker. He was feeling out the train. Looking for the right one.

After a time...

Two cars down. A red car with the code AT-374 alongside it. Debi and Wally had a look at each other and nodded. John-John steadied himself on his foot. Her friends readied themselves under him. The car arrived and he was boosted.

-Grab it! Grab it!
-Come on, hon!
-Give me a sec!

Debi’s body was shaking under his weight. John-John’s stretching body was tilting lopsided onto his girlfriend. Wally tried to raise him higher. Just when Debi was about to drop, John-John grabbed a rung. He was on the train.

His foot hit the ground once, precariously close to the wheel, as the crutches dropped and his friends let go. Debi and Wally shuddered but he pulled himself up.

John-John was on a train again.

His friends whooped and cheered, ecstatic. Then, they watched as habit tried to get him to climb with both feet. In an instant, he slipped and fell with a puff of dust and a series of bruises, next to the train.


To his side.

John-John was coughing, dusty and bruised but ready to try again. -That was the wrong car.

-Babe, maybe we should just forget about it.

John-John lost his determination for a moment. He looked at his girlfriend with eyes that were glazing over. His mouth hung open for a moment and...

Wally hauled him up. -No time for crutches, John-John! Pick your car!

Debi, a little weary, grabbed the other side.

John-John pointed at an approaching faded green car. Wally nodded. With an audible huff, the two friends boosted their crippled pal to the rungs.

The train began slowing.

Three chilled kids strained for the rungs. Puffing and huffing. Trying to get John-John attached to this train. The rung approached.

-I’m gonna miss the rung! I’m gonna miss it!
-We can’t lift you anymore, John-John!
-I’m gonna drop him!

The train got slower.

Rungs alongside the crippled boy. He grabbed at them but his girlfriend slipped and he missed and he swore and Wally began to move him but Debi stumbled and the two fell heavy to the ground. Wasted and defeated.

But, the train had stopped.

Slowly, the bruised train jumpers patted themselves off and began to watch the stopped train. Wally stood up. Debi stayed down, next to her winded boyfriend.

The train was so quiet. It was very dark here. The halogen was faint in the distance and the moon’s light barely helped. Slowly, they listened to the approach of the man with the lantern.

-What in the hell are you kids doing out here? Vaudeville?!

-Uh-oh. Wally tried to cinch John-John up. But, he fell over again.

Debi’s teeth began chattering and she tried to hide her face with her hair. But, you could still see her just fine.

The engineer cast light on the dusty trio. He was a man of about 50. He knew right away that these kids had been riding trains for a long time. This pretty girl, her shaven-headed boyfriend and their longhaired buddy. Somehow the train jumpers always looked like this. But, he’d traveled the country by rail 4,723 times. Not a lot was new to him. -You guys are gonna get hurt. What are you doing?

Debi spoke through chatter. -Please, mister! Please don’t have us arrested! I...

-Shhh! Shh, shhh! Please, pretty girl! No one’s callin’ the police on anyone. I just...Holy Jesus! Boy, you’re missing a foot!

John-John flushed and brushed dust from his face.

The engineer frowned at them. -Why are y’all jumpin’ trains when he’s missing a foot?

Wally looked at the engineer and then at John-John and Debi. They shook their heads at him. So, he turned to the engineer and said -This young man was the best train jumper in Turbot! He...

-He just wanted to make one more jump, Debi said, sweetly. That’s it! Then, we’re gone.

-I’m just too ‘uckin’ crippled to do it, John-John mumbled.

The engineer had a look at his train. -This the car you wanted?


-Grab it now.

-It doesn’t count if it’s not moving.

There was a long pause presided over by the crickets.

The engineer checked his watch. -How far you wanna go, son?

The trio perked up trying to hide their enthusiastic smiles. -A mile?

-Can you hold on for a mile?

-I’ll be behind him, Debi said.

-OK. The engineer helped John-John to his feet. -I got 10 minutes. Let’s get him up there. The engineer began going to his engine.

-Hey, Mr.! John-John said. -Why are you...?

The man smiled at them. -I used to jump trains too, kid. I was the best around. Until...I lost three toes under a coal car wheel. Now, I drive ‘em. He ran to his engine. -Get ready!

The trio prepared themselves by the faded green car.

And, the train began backing up. All the way to the engine.

(John-John was heard to mumble -3 toes- angrily. But, Debi gave him a shot in the arm.)

The engineer gave ‘em a Thumbs Up and the train started moving. Kind of slow but moving. The trio tensed up as the green car passed and they dove for the rungs. Moments later, they fell to the dust again. But, the engineer was extremely amiable.

It took three tries but, finally, John-John got up there. Debi got behind him. Wally took the next car. And, they rode, at a faster pace, a clear, cold, dark and glorious mile. John-John laughed and laughed until tears came to his eyes. Debi hugged him tight. Wally smiled.

The train slowed. The kids got off. They thanked the engineer but could not get him to back up the mile to get John-John’s crutches.

It was a long walk home but worth every minute.

Monday, November 14, 2005

Trees - 1st Installment

Hello, Readers. I think we're back on track now. Not sure what happened over the past week but... Forget it.
This is the first installment of a piece that our resident scribbler Dan Budnik is working on. It's holiday-themed so he will be sending us new sections up until Christmas. Here's hoping it makes sense by then.
- Marlene Y
Trees (1) by Daniel R. Budnik

This is the main setting for our story.

It is a large lot that houses a Catholic grammar school. We are in a cul-de-sac portion in back of the school.

One side of the lot is the school. One side is the wall for the cafeteria with a large dumpster in front of it. The other side is the fenced-in field.

Large goalposts are on either end of this very long field. In a far corner, there is a baseball diamond, bleachers and a fence backdrop.

CLOSE TO THE FENCE, within the field, are the trees. Christmas trees, about three dozen of them are spread out across a rather large space. Set up like a miniature forest. Strings of lights stretch over the top of them.

Off to one side, there is a mid-sized trailer that has seen better days. There are large rust stains, it is a very unpleasant greenish color and, boy, is it wobbly.

You walk in through the gate and the trees are in front of you. Trailer to the left.

There is a sign reading “XMAS TREES FOR SALE! SUPPORT BOY SCOUT TROOP 326!/ Thursday and Friday: 5-9PM/ Saturday-Sunday 10AM-8PM…Until December 23.”

There is snow everywhere in the field. The parking lot has been recently plowed. The piles of snow are mushed up against the dumpster wall. Occasional flakes of snow waft down.

A large car pulls up and parks. A large man, MR. VYVENBERG, steps out. When I say large, I mean very hefty.

This is the Scout Master. He is alone, with a large cup of coffee and a big, big belly. He is opening the field gate for a new day of selling. The door swings open with a loud creak.

Mr. V has a look at the trees and smiles. They are very festively draped in snow. He swipes at one and a cloud bursts off of it.

Mr. V is very bundled up and his breath his very visible. He trudges to the trailer, which has a cinder block for a step up and in.

The Scout Master lifts himself onto it and unlocks the door. He steps inside. The door closes behind him.

We stay outside. The trailer moves around rather alarmingly with him inside. The trailer is really gross and stained at this distance. There is something leaking out of the side.

There are two small windows on the front and a small vent on each side. On the back, there is one small window that may have something blocking a portion of it.

There is the continued sound of something moving around inside. The trailer shifts and lists. Several very loud creaks don’t bode well for the structure.

After a long moment, the back supports buckle, twist, snap and drop. There is a loud yell as the entire thing creaks over, swiftly. It stops on its base at a jaunty angle. But, Mr. V doesn’t fare as well. After a dangerous pause, there is another yell and his body bursts, in a very awkward fashion, through the window. It drops into the snow.



Three boys are watching a whirring ambulance pull away.

13-year-old DAVE, smart kid with some sass/ 13-year-old KEITH, smart also but rather vague looking/ 11-year-old LOUIS with a Scandinavian accent. He seems rather bewildered.

After a moment, an adult voice is heard. MR. THOMSON an asst. Scout Master. MR T is around 50. Mostly bald, with glasses. He always smells of cigarette smoke and, possibly, booze. He has a tendency to get to close to you while talking.

Boys, it’s a rough thing when someone you know is
seriously hurt…

Mr. T leans into the boys. A little too close. They all lean back.

…but I just want you to know that I’m here to help
you at any time

Thanks, Mr Thomson.

Maybe when things die down a little, if we get a
chance, we can practice some knots.

LOUIS smiles but the other two aren’t so thrilled. MR T pats DAVE and KEITH’s heads and goes away. The boys watch him leave. DAVE starts smiling.

I can’t believe the trailer fell on top of Mr. Vyvenberg.

That’s weird.

I hope he’s all right for Christmas.

The other two nod.

Let’s get to work, boys.

The boys get to work.

WE SEE that several large thick concrete blocks now prop up the trailer. It doesn’t look any sturdier. But, it might not fall over. LOUIS’s Dad, SVEL is walking around it.

MR T approaches. The boys are off in the distance.

How’s it look, Svel?

I think it’ll stand. I think

The boys zip around to the back. There is some debris spread throughout the crushed down snow along with a little red mixed in.

Oh no. Ouch… That looks bad…

Isn’t it going to be really cold in there?

DAVE scans around the site and spots something in the ground.

Well, he brought some cocoa didn’t he?

DAVE lifts something from the snow. It is the cocoa and coffee bag. As snow falls from it, so does cocoa and coffee. Smashed from the packets.

I hope we have some left over.


We’re gonna freeze.

MR T pokes his head out of the broken window.

Allright, boys. Here’s what needs doin’! Get out to the
trees. Pat the snow off. Don’t scrape it. Pat it. You’ll
tear the needles off if you scrape. Make sure the sign’s up.

The boys start walking away while MR T is talking.

Saturday, November 12, 2005

The trio of nuns fought the creature valiantly

but it still ate Mildred.

"Fight valiantly! I shall return!" she yelled as she was munched down.

Lucine was a tough broad who would throw debris at the creature. Concurrently, Josephine spun and flipped around it, hair flying, looking for that weak spot.

Its screams were the aural equivalent of biting tin foil. Except the tin foil gets caught in your tooth and every time you bite down it's terrible but you're having a tough time picking it out.

(The editors of this blog would like to apologize. This entry was supposed to be "How To Hold a Cake Walk" by three of the Leading Ladies of Turbot. For some reason, it is now something about nuns fighting a monster.

Currently, we are accepting any submissions for our "Movie Sequel" series. The first volume "Horror After Party Beach" is out in January. "Killers in Space 2" follows in February. Does anyone have plans on a "The Last Slumber Party 2" or "Don't Go Back In The Woods"? Give us a ring.

See, right there. We think someone has our blog password and is breaking into our posts. For a blog about Turbot, we've had very little Turbot-related material over the past week or so.

Tranny Curious? God knows, we are! Here at Cohen, Stark & Avery, touching other people's

If anyone knows how to rectify this, please contact us at

Hunt, Ortmann, Blasco & Palfry!
We'll come to your house!
We'll beat up your dog!

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

A blog entry

Memo from Dave's Video
November 1, 2005

To: All Staff
Re: Burgess Meredith

It has come to our attention that certain employers have been alluding to this gentleman as simply "The Penguin". In fact, this venerable character actor who has appeared in numerous motion pictures such as "Grumpy Old Men", "Rocky" (where he played the lovable old coach guy), and "The Manitou". Please keep this in mind during further conversations. Thank you for your support.

All Staff_____________________

Performing Tonight at The Brown Psychedlic Palace: Holistic Jim & The Dawn Patrol!!!
Tickets: $15 Show starts at 7:30

You can take your Universal Grammar Theory and shove it right up your poop shoot.

The New Novel's Characters:

Jessup March - Professional Laugher. As he laughs for a living, he never laughs in real life. In fact, he rarely smiles. A good guy with a wicked sense of humor.

Mother March - Sweet old lady with a tinge of the insane setting in. She is a Sweepstakes Mama. Spends all her money on (sweepstakes) magazine subscriptions. Tries to cash those big, blank (fake) checks in Sweepstakes entries. Convinced that Ed & Dick are talking to her. Becoming troublesome.

Sarah Holstead - Independently wealthy woman. Interested in becoming a Professional Laugher. Finds Jessup to be fascinating. Lives affluently. Has Hugo, big dog, to protect her from burglars. (Mainly neighborhood kids.) Great woman.

Harvey Lewis - Jessup's cousin. Slightly odd. He's been saving his body hair since age 7. No one is sure why.

Stinson Lewis - Jessup's other cousin. Saves underpants in large bags by year ("vintages"). Can gauge what undergarments you're wearing by sniffing the air.

Hugo - Sarah's dog. Loves her. Would do anything for her. Very jealous of Jessup. Faithful.

"When I was younger, I was more of a sausage person."
"Oh yeah?"
"Bacon was always so greasy."
"My family never had any pork in the house."
"None at all?"
"No. They were sort of healthy people but..."
"No pork, huh?"
"Wow. No pork."
"None. None."

Here is the winning poem from the 8th grade competition:

People are funny in
Many ways, but
the funniest
Way of all is
when they be

Cristen Gerai will be receiving a $15 gift card to and a small blue ribbon that will have her name on it but it will be spelled "KIRSTEN GERARD". Great poem, Cristine.

Sunday, November 06, 2005

I don't remember my own nudity

“(he had done a few “nudies” before all of this)”

I had not! Or had I! It’s so tough to tell! I wasn’t naked. Are we talking about me being naked? I’m afraid my ass doesn’t stand up to close scrutiny. Especially under hot lights.

This time I know what I must do.

The woman stood and frowned at the videos. “Is this all you have?”

“We got a rush on the new releases! Sorry, Princess.”

Princess Castorsky ran her fingers through thinning gray hair. Ya know, this always happened on Tuesday. 3 for 2 day at Video God. You drive 15 miles to the greatest town and what do they have to offer: “House on Bare Mountain”, “Blaze Starr Goes Nudist”, “The Sinful Dwarf” and “The Curious Dr. Humpp.” All soft core, low budget nonsense. An old woman can’t even get her congenial rocks off anymore. Every single hard core was out. Not that they had a lot but every one!

A young man with a grocery basket full of sweet, sweet porn strolled by. (9 tapes) “Young man, are you gonna watch all of those?”

“I tape ‘em.” He looked at the Princess, smiled and pointed at “The Sinful Dwarf.” “Kicks ass.” He winked at her and went to the register.

There were the “nudie cuties” and the “roughies” and the artsie-fartsies and the hard core and the burlesque. But, I never heard of a Double XX. Single and Triple. But not XX. Does that mean two hugs? Or kisses? I forget. in Japan or Hong Kong they have ratings like that but, I mean, you’re either pretending to do it or you’re doing it. And, there’s either close-ups or there's not.

The man soaped off the corner of the trailer and checked its shine/ sheen. More than acceptable. So, he put his cloth back in his bucket along with his industrial strength stripper. Then, he laughed and ran into the night. Mask concealing his face, bag in hand and his black cape the only other article on him.

In the morning, the Parkes would find their trailer's blue paint completely stripped off and a 4-cheek dirt print from the Masked Naked Trailer Paint Stripper.

If this was what was meant by “nudies” than Grampa would oblige. He had done this as a younger man. But, he’d never been caught at it. One chilly autumn half the trailers in Turbot were stripped free soon after he had freely stripped.

“Why, Grampa? What was the thrill?”

“To raise awareness.”

“Really? For what?”

“Yes. I'll have a melon with that.” His pants would hit the floor and he'd take off running towards the Swamp.

When I thought about it later, the melon thing made about as much sense as anything else he said. Really, what convincing reason could you give for doing something like that?

Friday, November 04, 2005

International Symposium on Super Heroism and...

...Super Villainy.

Presided over by Switzerland's only super hero - Neutral Man!

With Super Heroes : Castanet & Bongo

With Super Villains: Apocalypse Mistress & The Transgender Warrior

Neutral Man: I'm glad you could all make it here today. Let's start the day here: For those unfamiliar with you and your individual exploits, please enlighten us. Castanet?

Castanet: Thank you, Neutral. I'm Castanet, 1/2 of the team of Castanet & Bongo. We've been a superhero team for seven years now. Our battles include tussles with Bad Man, Pepe Villa, Achilles and etc. I'm 6' 1", 153 lbs, blue eyes, my hair is auburn and when I'm not working, I design things. Bongo?

Bongo: Crime fighting is the way I strive to find the natural balance inside myself. Finding the spot from where all my peace flows. Some find it through art. Some find it through their children. Obviously, I found it through crime fighting.

Neutral Man (NM): Esoteric but interesting. Thank you.

Bongo: Castanet had already said everything practical. I was strapped for chatter.

NM: Super. Villains, please. Apocalypse Mistress?

Apocalypse Mistresss (AM): Thank you, Neutral. I have been a Super Villain on and off, for three years now. Orignially, I was the sidekick for Terminal! The man whose touch brings death! With my discovery of the Apocalypse Switch, these things have changed.

NM: Do you have the Apocalypse Switch with you?

[AM holds up the small wooden box with the Apocalypse Switch in it.]

Castanet: Oh no. Why did you bring that here?

Bongo: What would possess you to bring that to a peaceful discussion?

[AM looks shocked.]

AM: Of course I brought it. I trust the cleaning people at the hotel with this? HA!

Transgender Warrior: What if they flipped the switch? For fun?

[There is a chorus of "God Forbids!"]

AM: Exactly! That's why it's here.

[Castanet and Bongo back down.]

AM: Where was I?

{The transcriber refuses to place anything else in Bold.}

NM: I think you'd finished. Transgender Warrior?

Transgender Warrior (TW): Hello. I'm the Transgender Warrior. Practicing non-gender specific villainy for almost ten years now.

Castanet: I'd no idea it was 10 years.

TW: This December.

Castanet: Wow! What d'you know? We'll throw you a party.

TW: Castanet, you are the most conscientious of the super heroes.

Castanet: Thank you.

Bongo: Can we get back to the talk?

TW: Sorry. As far as super powers go, I have none.

AM: Oh, don't say that! You've got inner power.

TW: Thanks.

Castanet: I agree. Although we don't fight on the same side, I still think you're morally sound.

Bongo: Well, I think you're morally goofy. All three of you. Could we discuss the topic at hand?

NM: Yes. First order of business. Super Heroism. What, intrinsically, is the nature of a hero?

Bongo: A self-worth question?

NM: More archetypal.

Bongo: Gotcha.

[Pause. All assembled look at Bongo.]

Bongo: Hey, how about you give me a mnute?

AM: Most heroes I've discovered have a real ridiculous goody-goody feel to them. I think it's probably from not having enough love at home or in their daily life.

NM: You think heroism stems from a necessity for a sort of need for love that they just don't receive regularly. So, they use the adulation they receive heroically to compensate for that.

AM: Yes.

Castanet: I would agree...for certain heroes. I think "Everything Man and the Important Squad!!!" are in that category. Bongo and I have different...reasons.

AM: What?

Castanet: Generally, I see all evildoers as a royal pain in the ass. Disrupting order and all that. It's our job to restore the order.

Bongo: Agreed. I do just fine in the love and affection department. I don't think I'm specifically "good" or "bad". I just fight on the side that saves lives and doesn't hurt people.

TW: I don't think I specifically want to kill or hurt.

Bongo: Well, you have.

TW: I'm more for disrupting the stultifying order that everyone becomes hypnotized into following. Specifically sexually.

Bongo: Oh, that's a pile.

TW: What? It's true!

Bongo: Pile.

[TW and Bongo start to tussle. Castanet and NM try to calm them.]

Castanet: Bongo, calm down!

NM: Boys, cut it out!

TW: Boys!

[After a moment, AM sighs. She takes out the Apocalypse Switch.]

AM: Guys, come on! Guys, look!

[They see the switch. AM's hand poised to flip it and destroy the world. The fighting stops.]

NM: Thank you.

[More transcript follows]