Mulletville Main Street, Part 2

Let me finish my story.

So, they had the subway car going. From the factory to the empty field. Well, after all that time had passed and all that money was saved, people were pretty excited about the whole thing. Wondering what it would look like and all that.

Turns out they didn’t have nearly as much money as they thought they did. They couldn’t construct a real Main Street in the middle of that field anymore than I could fly to the moon by eating a lot of beans. The townspeople were pretty wrecked. Another 10 years? 20? The Chamber of Commerce had no idea. At first, cries of “Corruption!” went up. There was no corruption. They just didn’t have the money. So, there was a compromise.

You remember I told you that the missing building had a huge, huge room where all the train loading and unloading was done? Well, you should. Here’s what they did… They built the Main Street. Underground. They used the empty space that was the platform. Imagine this: You step off the subway and there is a lovely sidewalk, capped with bushes and a couple of big fake trees.

There’s a sign right outside the doors reading “MAIN STREET”. It points to an archway in the far corner of the platform. Directly in front of you, there is no longer a huge platform. There is a big, fake brick wall stretching up three stories. If you listen carefully, you can hear the sounds of people having a good time.

Follow the arrow. Walk through that archway onto “MAIN STREET”. Well, they’d done it. It was a big city Main Street with two lanes of traffic, fire hydrants, and an intersection with a stoplight. And, the stores. Everything they wanted was there. A huge department store stretching up three floors. “BARNEY’S DELI”. A video store and all of it. Everything you’d want to see on the Main Street. And, there was always the sound of hustle and bustle. People talking, cars beeping, dogs barking.

Except, of course, it was all fake. The stores were well-arranged storefronts. The noises were piped in through fake rocks. There were a couple of scooters that drove up and down the street to simulate traffic but no cars. People could walk down the street and peer into the department store windows with their constantly changing window displays and promises of big sales. But, they couldn’t go in. Oh, the Chamber hired people to walk around just beyond the displays. You could see shadows and the occasional person but you could not pin them down.

The deli window was filled with meats and signs selling meats. In between all of this, there was a counter that shadows passed across. There was even a bologna smell piped past everyone.

They hired someone to stand at the newsstand and yell headlines. But, none of the magazines or newspapers was real. The stoplight worked perfectly. A traffic cop would give you a ticket if you fooled around. A fake ticket.

At the holidays, the street would be lined and covered appropriately. As the day progressed, an enormous light would pass across the street. Streetlamps would flash on when the light was gone.

At first, the Street stayed open 24 hours. After a time, it was 9AM-10PM all week. It was just easier. A voice would announce that Main Street was closing and people would hop back on the train. Although, it was tough to pull some people away.

The whole thing was like a full-scale version of those Dickens’ Villages things that people have. You know, you can peer in the windows of the Toy Store and see little people at little counters or playing with toys but none of it’s real. The Mulletville Main Street was a giant fake Village. Every building you looked in promised something beyond what you could see. Nothing was there but they did what they could.

You think all this is lame? A bunch of hicks wasting all their money on an unreachable dream. Well, you’d be surprised. For the first six months, people used to flock down here whenever they could. They had a hot dog stand and an actual restaurant down there so folks could eat. Lunch was big for the Marshmallow People. They’d window shop and have a nice slice of ham at the “MAIN STREET DINER”. People were thrilled by it. It was almost everything they wanted from a Main Street. For a time, it was wonderful.

We always have hoodlums, don’t we? Or curious people who screw things up. Kids started sneaking in after 10PM and spraying graffiti on the storefronts. At first, everyone thought it was local color. But, then they started spraying rude words and things like “U PEOPLE SUCK!” That made a lot of people stop going. “We’re tired of it” That’s what they’d say. But, I think people felt less and less safe.

Then, there was Norman Marn. He worked in packaging down at the plant. They always say that he was a bit of a dope. Always doing his own thing and usually screwing stuff up for everyone. Well, it was Christmas time and the workers had made a beautiful display for the holiday. People from all over town were there that evening. That was when they made it snow. The year they made it snow. They’d turn up the air down there to get you to see your breath. That was great. Anyway, the display was wonderful. Big ornaments and snowmen. A manger. Giant Santa waving back and forth. A thousand lights. Their best ever. Really.

Everyone was watching the display, enraptured. Then, one of the background “Shadows” began getting closer. At first, people thought it was anew effect. Then, ugly old Norman Marn stumbled in. He was a little drunk and quite a jerk. Somehow he’d gotten behind there and was inside. People were shocked. At first, they thought that Marn worked there and was going to do something. No, he didn’t. No, he wasn’t. He went to the store door and pulled it open. No one knew it was supposed to open. Some folks say that Marn unlocked it. Others say that he broke part of the façade. Regardless, he waved everyone in.

There was a pause. Then, the crowd flooded in. They found the storage room. The break room. The employee bathroom. But, there was no more store. You can imagine that even though the people knew there was nothing there that they were very disappointed. Some people broke things. Most just never came back. By Christmas, only a few visitors stopped by Main Street.

Six months later, Main Street closed down. The employees got thrown out of work. Some went back to the plant. Others left. Marn “Quit” his job and no one ever saw him again. Main Street began its decay. The dream was over.

This was twenty years ago. As far as I know, no one has been down there in a decade. When the marshmallow plant closed, everyone but a few of us left. I don’t know that the trailer park people even know about Main Street. The train sure doesn’t run anymore. But, it’s still there. Still able to take people to Main Street. A potent memory for some. I don’t know. I’m too old to ferret it out. Let some young fritter explore. I just want to rest.

Well, that’s my story. I think Ray is up next. His story may not be as good but he’s a nice guy. So humor him.

Thanks.

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“And, it was very good!”

Mulletville Main Street, Part 1

By Jake

You want an old fun story? Here’s one. Although, it may not be all that fun. But, anyways, here it is.

When the had the old marshmallow plant up, people in the town got a bit of a hanker-on to have a Main Street. This was when people were living in the houses. Yes, the ones we’re still in. But, most folks are in those trailers now and, God Bless ‘Em, I think they smell. That doesn’t preclude the fact that sometimes I might smell but those tings have that sanitary smell you get in public lavatories. You know that smell? Yeah, you know that smell. I can see it in your eyes. Anyway, the workers at the marshmallow plant wanted to be more cosmopolitan.

Yes, yes. Turbot, or Mulletville back then, does have a “main street”. It has the general store, the video store and the office of the Turbot Tribune. Hicksville 100%. Absolute hicks laugh at it. People who live in the smallest Appalachian towns blink and miss “Main Street”. The Mulletvillians wanted something bigger. They wanted a full-on New York City/ Chicago-style street. Now, I know there are a lot of them in the big cities. They wanted a generic one. Ya know, a block long with a busy four lane street. All the buildings would be three or four stories high. Department stories, pizzeria, delis, newsstands. You know, you’ve been to a city. They wanted the light, the hustle &, frankly, they wanted some bustle in there. They knew that their confectionaries went around the world so why do they have to be secluded.

“Let’s get in some of the big department stores. We’ll put a Harrods in Mulletville! Eight stories high with a permanent Christmas department, the biggest food court in the U.S. (with sushi), a whole floor devoted to shoes and more expensive chocolates and nougats in gold boxes than you can shake your wang at! We’ll have a Kosher deli with meat, meat, and meat! We’ll have a Chinese restaurant, an Italian eatery and a Greek dinner hutch! There will be a video store next to the coffee shop and a bakery with fresh bread 24-hours a day! We want a Main Street. And, we will pay for it!”

They weren’t goofin’ your noodle. They were going to pay for it. For 15 years, the Chamber of Commerce set aside cash and donations towards the Main Street Project. The Government would match some of the funds and so would the owners of the factory. Those puffy, white hotshots thought that they could expand production and put a store on the Street. Tricky, crafty fellows. You should have seen the people’s faces light up. Once a year, they would have a get-together towards the construction. They would review budgets and pertinents. Each year they got a little closer. It was a thrilling time. Mulletville’s prime.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. How in the hell are they gonna pull this off? This sounds like an ass-headed venture if ever there was one. Yes and no. They had one big advantage. You remember that the marshmallow, now prepared beef, plant was once used for arms manufacturing during WWII? Well, it was. And, there were actually two plants. The one that still stands and the one that used to be in the large field where all the trailers are. It was knocked down after the war for mysterious, government-men reasons but the other was kept up.
What the folks of Mulletville knew was this: There was a connecting underground subway that would bring “Classified” things from one building to another. They are only a mile apart so it wasn’t a long ride but… If you go down to the 5th sub-floor of Grey’s Prepared Beef and you go all the way to the west wall. There is a door. Just a door. An ordinary door. I don’t even know if it’s still there. They’ve probably walled it up, sealed it off. If you went through the door, there was an enormous warehouse room. That’s where they kept the “Super Secret” things that they did. Germ warfare? Kill-em-all explosives? Possibly. I don’t know. At the far end of this room, there is a track. A subway track leading deep into the underground darkness. It went under Mulletville and wound up at a long, high room directly under the basement of the now-torn down building. This is what made it possible.

They would get a subway train. One or two cars. It didn’t have to be a big one. People didn’t mind crowding in. They would dig a separate tunnel down to the 5th Sub-Floor room in the marshmallow factory. Now, all the employees would have instant and easy access to the train that would take them to Main Street. On weekends, some people would walk there but you’ll notice one thing… The houses are on the other side of the factory. On the east side. The trailers and the now-gone building were on the west. It was far more convenient, and far more cosmopolitan, for them to take the subway to there beautiful Downtown.

So, they had it worked out. Well, that part of it was.

What I’m going to do is take a break and use the can. When I get back to you, you’ll learn about Mulletville and their Main Street. What really happened in The Little Town That Thought It Could. Bye now. Stay safe

Dr. Lipton Montgomery here, folks!

Hello, everyone!

I've decided to start the Old Fun Stories Reports I've promised you all in a slightly different way.

My thought had been to give you detailed descriptions of the five elderly gentlemen who told me all about "Fun Town". Instead, I've done something that is far more interesting.

Each of the men over the next few weeks will be telling an "old, fun story" of their own. Something from their life or about the town that they think (and I think) represents them well. I believe this will give you a better intro to the fellows than all my chatter ever could. It's more fun, too.

So, on Tuesday, Jake will be regaling you with a story. About what? I don't know. He hasn't sent it to me or told it to me yet. But, it'll be good.

Stay tuned. Tuesday - The Stories Begin.

I, Rene Descartes, am writing this to regale you with an adventure I have just taken part in in the year of our Lord sixteen hundred and forty five. An adventure, indeed. It was more than that, so much more. This is such a wondrous time in our history, but these things I’m sure you know. The story’s the thing here, my friend! Pick up a daily parchment if you need updating. &, do I have an adventure for you? Yes, I can say I do. So, let’s get right to it. This man can wait no longer.

My 48th year & I was strong of body & trim of mustache with a beard whose bushiness matched the density of my mind. I had published numerous scientific, philosophic & theologistic pieces that kept me in the public eye & which, if I do say so myself, kept people thinking & wondering, pushing their minds further & further along that path of darkness & confusion into the light. Well, this all comes at a time when I had a couple of new ideas & new theories, experiment was a top priority of mine whether it be physical or mental, which were taking me over. But, I see that I am surpassing myself in narrative thrust, you don’t know where I was or how I was living. I haven’t even given you a proper description...Oh, when one wants to tell a story, one can be literally dragged away. Let us set these things aside so I can relate my tremendous adventure. Will you please join me at the next paragraph?

Well, I was of average height for my times, relatively thin & sprightly, even at my age, & that’s not including my mind, with dark hair, dark eyes & an exquisite symmetrical combination of mustache & beard. My teeth were as well as any member of the nobility’s ever since I had taken up brushing them weekly with a small brush. My disposition, I will try to be as honest as I can, tended towards an isolation. I had, by this point in my life, been swarmed by numerous multitudes of Our Lord’s creations. Fought in several wars, lived in the lovely & crowded Paris loveliness. I have spent so much time with noise & the hustle-bustle of humanity that I now find I keep myself to myself in the main. My manservant of 20 years, trusty Henri, was my closest companion & that was only because we lived in the same house.

How are we to describe Henri? If you’ll forgive the aside...He was several years younger than I, wiry, but I think without the same mind as mine. A man suited perfectly to the trade, as I think God must put us all in our proper places & positions, which he was given: to be my manservant. Lighter hair than mine, his eyes were hazel & his face was free from hair, which I teased him about but he claimed was his own business. A hard working man who was there at a moment’s notice to give me a towel, powder my social wig or hand me another bottle of wine during the endless hours of writing in my bedroom.

Which is where I did all of my writing, at least as much as I could. With a fire glowing, wine & cheese by my side & myself tucked under covers with a tremendous amount of quill & paper. This bedroom, which I had occupied since the house was acquired, had been the snuggest of all my writing desks as it were, making for such interesting theories which I could right another book about. I recommend to all those who write in the bedroom to get oneself a canopy bed. Something with a lovely covering over it. A hazy silkiness adds to the feeling that you’re in a wonderfully enclosed space. Add the curtains on all sides & you are there. The outside world, or at least the world inside of your bedroom, can be seen but you are a caterpillar cocoon’d to do your work.

An adventure can only be put off for so long & now I find myself further away than before. The bedroom is part of my house, which I have lived in for several years now, right outside of that lovely, unfettered, generous, holy, remarkable city-town of Holland. One can peak his mind in such a place. Its endless & lovely streets filled with such a large variety of people, the rich, the poor & those hard working folk somewhere in between. So many & varying places of business abut against charming houses, hovels & otherwise. You have never seen as many vendors of as many vendable items as out on that Main Street where even the sewer flows past us & smells like wine. Buns, rolls, breads aplenty, cheeses of a 1,000 varieties, leather, buttons, pastries, meats, shoes, fruits & vegetables, nuts that will crack themselves, sweet & glorious candies, one man sells earthenware crocks, one woman has alchemical doo-dadery which would do better in Portugal or Spain but she does allright, kittens & puppies, I do not tell lies when I tell you that I could go on for many more pages on our illustrious street vendors, with their splinter-wheel carts lined right on the edge of the King’s Memorial Sewer, making & plying constant worthy trades. But the vendors could exhaust one, when there are so many other wonderful sights in Holland: the mansions & castles of our smartest & wisest, the hospital with the adjacent ground of the Holland School of Higher Learning, both so large & full of learned men that I like to liken, to my good friend Dr. Johann Bjornmanian, all the visionary intelligence walking about during the day to the illuminatory & vibrant lighting of the night lamps which line the city’s streets.

I guess, looking back, my finest friend, I have many colleagues but he is a friend, would be Johann, an intelligent man, rather short & without facial paraphernalia or cranium hair except for two strips which arched over his ears like little gray rainbows. A good, wise man & an expert in the brain & general anatomy. He was 10 years my senior but, if anything, a little more sprightly than I. -The constant energy of my teaching & surgical room, he would say. Medicine had gone through so much in his time, as we would talk over the coffee bean drink he loved & a dinner. -Every 4 or 5 years I find myself updating my entire curriculum. -Wonderful things are afoot this century, Johann. I’m surprised it’s only every 4 or 5 years. -Yes. Ha! I feel like Adam at times. Cataloguing Creation. Johann is a fine man & I know he is extremely glad to take part in the upcoming adventure, which happened only a little while ago.

Leaving Holland, I bet you had forgotten we were there, one enters the hills & glades beyond. For a while, if you could walk backwards from Main Street into the rural area, the lights would still shine & the noise would be audible. In a city like ours, there is always some noise if only the lamps flicker or the sewer’s flow. But, the noise dies away &, at least heading towards my place, the lights disappear over the crest of a green hill with a small brown road stretching across it. The city is gone although forever within my walking distance, a lovely road flanked by trees & woods populated with all kinds of tremendous animals &, probably, one or two people. After a 1/4 mile, little roads weave in & between the trees, stretching to houses, many 1,000 times larger than the one I inhabit & epically beautiful. There is even a small parish Church down one of these.

The house, which Henri & I inhabit, is about two miles outside of town. Wind past trees & you enter a large field with a single walking path to the front door. Many houses have paths for carriages & stables but Henri & I prefer to walk. It suits our constitution. There is space all the way around the manor, green grass dotted with the occasional tree. But, we are, as all out here are, surrounded by these woods. The house had been built 30 years ago in this natural clearing. The back yard stretches back for about 500 feet & then becomes woods that fall away on a rather steep incline into a beautiful horizon from which I can see the sunset from my windows, or the yard, every night. At the time our adventure begins, I had never really been back in those receding woods so, I guessed, anything could be back there.

At this rate, we will never reach my house, which is larger than the average Holland home but not as large as the Prince’s summer home or the hospital. Allow me to give my first rendering of the place.

Done in the early 17th Century Holland style in a lovely white. Made from strong wood & two stories high, two high stories high. Spacious rooms & an indoor plumbing facility, which we rarely used. My bedroom on the second floor, south corner, & Henri’s nearby. A spacious dining room & elegant entranceway. Three guest suites & 25 windows. No basement & no attic. 18 steps leading to the second floor & two leading into my Master Suite & three dropping you into the backyard. Three main balconies on the front of the house & three on the back, six in all. My bedroom had two, one on each side, front & back. Sort of a rectangle with bulges at both ends. The large dining room below me & a second Master Suite on the other end with a spacious & underused banquet room. I acquired this house through the goodwill of my fine friend, Dr. Harvey*, whom I worked with on many occasions & who treated me to dinner here on numerous nights. When he & his wife left for London, where because of his teaching there & his age he decided to leave the house for someone because he didn’t think he’d ever come back, I found myself, with Henri, the sole proprietors of the estate -for the purpose of continued research- & I continue that research. Free rent & I get all the rest of my sundries from sales & commissions of my works & several points of royal patronage, you shall encounter one of these fine nobles soon. So, I am probably a little more well off than your average person but not as well off as, say, the King of Spain.

________________________________________________________________________
*Editors Note: Dr. William Harvey discovered the general circulation of the blood. In 1628, he published De Motu Corids et Sanguinis in Animalibus (On the Motion of the Heart and of Blood in Animals). From 1618 until his death in 1657, he taught in England. While there is no actual evidence of Harvey and his wife having a ‘summer home’ in Holland, that doesn’t mean they couldn’t have. Harvey would have been around 60 when Descartes relates this, which was very old for men in the 17th century. It could be absolutely true that he wouldn’t be able to make the journey anymore.

A Post From Marlene

Happy Sunday!

Arthur & I are spending the day today installing a brand-new antenna on top of our trailer. The NFL playoffs are on and Arthur got real rowdy last year because we couldn’t see them. Who can afford the satellite thing? We sure can’t.

We’ve taken some old metal pieces and some hi-test tinfoil and soldered them into a large pointy mess. Arthur says that it is sure unsightly but it should attract the reception that we need. “I want those games, Marlene!” he says. A lot. And loudly. So, I’m not going to stop him.

Luckily, reception should be helped by the fact that the Pucketts hauled up stakes and left sometime during the middle of the night last week. One morning, we all set off for the plant together. The next morning, there is a large, empty, burnt space and more scattered garbage around it then you’d imagine three healthy people could whip up. Well, we always used to say that they were overachievers. I guess this proves it, in a way.

The Pucketts are actually the third trailer to leave in mysterious, dark circumstances since Christmas. (Hopefully, Mama Miller and Nana George won’t be leaving soon. The Patricks are living over there now. They can’t face another eviction.) I guess everyone’s starting to climb out onto the edge what with the Plant being sold soon and all. Can’t say as I blame them. Arthur and I are just going about our daily business, trying to pretend as if everything’s normal. Although, it did get a little rough ignoring the Pucketts moving out at 4AM the other night but we are happy in Turbot. We don’t want to go.

Oh by the way, we hope you’ll like Dr. Lipton Montgomery IV’s series of posts. He found out some things about our town and the area that he, frankly, won’t tell us until he posts them. Should be great. Hopefully…

Regardless, I can hear Arthur climbing down. I have to fiddle with the TV now. If we’ve got a picture, it should be a great day.

With love,

Marlene Yurvis

Old Fun Stories - The Introduction

Dr. Lipton Montgomery IV here, folks. I’m glad you’ve decided to join me. This should be fun.

Here we go…

Today’s entry is an introduction. I spent several days in the Old Diner sitting with five old men who used to know the town of Turbot as Terranville. It hasn’t been Terranville since the marshmallow factory closed but they still refuse to call it Turbot. What you will be reading in my weekly entries are the stories these men told about the town they lived in and what it became during that vague period in-between Terranville and Turbot.

The old men called it Fun Town. But, it may never have existed.

Read on…

Imagine a long, two-line road lined with trees. The yellow line is solid double, solid and dashed but, most of the time, it’s dashed. The trees are tall and strong. Leaves are turning brown and red, although a few remain green. The branches are baring themselves. The leaves drop quickly all along the ground. You can see which stretches of road are rarely touched by the amounts of leaves spread around. When you plow through scattered piles that crackle and whoop up all around you, you’re in a rather (more) desolate area of the Route.

Every couple miles you’ll see a warning that the speed limit is going to drop. Slow down and the trees vanish. Sometimes you’ll fly through a town, sometimes it’s a natural clearing or rest stop, sometimes there’s an actual metropolitan area. But, mainly, things are really quiet.

When the road opens up and the sky comes out for Terranville (Turbot), things are still pretty quiet. You won’t see a lot of buildings; most homes are off on side roads, or many people. There’s a large, strange green, triangular building on the south side. Pass through some woods and you’ll slope down to Lake Schulman, which the locals’ll do some fishing on. On the north side is the “Rest Stop” all the signs and arrows have led you to. A large, silver circular building, with an overhang that has a gutter stretching all the way around it. The overhang, depending upon the time of day, lent a strange, thick shadow within the restaurant.

In the space beyond the restaurant, there is an old, decaying building that, apparently, used to be a hotel. But, more about that later.

Inside the diner, things are pretty standard except they’re circular. Two entrances, one on the west side and one on the east. The layout is constructed from three circles. Along the edge of the diner are booths. Perfectly spread out along the whole circumference, with the exception of the doors. Then, there is the counter (after a little circle between booths and counter) which has stools lined up all the way around with four spots for the waitress, Darla, to exit. Between the counter and the center is Darla’s strolling space. All the accouterment necessary for running a good diner was tucked under the counter or in the little refrigerator or in “special” nooks. Then, one would reach the center. Where Ronny cooks. A completely enclosed space except for one door that Ronny locked behind him. Two holes in the wall that flew open and ejected the food. Unless Ronny wanted to see you, he didn’t get seen. No one ever really saw in there (although mythological speculation abounds) and Ronny wouldn’t let me in so this is a rather strange area in an already strange town.

The two days I was there there was never a slew of customers. In fact, the main visitors were the five gentlemen I talked with. Cars pulled up, people stopped in for a quick bite and then left. I was worried that there would be moments when Darla wouldn’t be able to handle it but it was well taken care of. 6-8, 6 days a week. I don’t envy them.

I explained to Ronny and Darla that I’d be asking these men to tell stories. They didn’t seem to mind. Well, actually, they did mind, but, when I’d given them $---- each, they allowed it. Provided it didn’t interfere with their customers or their running of the diner.

So, on October 20, at 7:30 AM, I sat with these five gentlemen and discussed their lives, the stories they knew and, more specifically, what this area was before it was Turbot.

Next time, we will meet the men. Their elaborate stories of Fun Town shall begin.

A Memo from Grey's Prepared Beef Managers to the Workers

Hello, Workers.

This is Barbara. Most of you don't know me but I am one of the Assistant Managers in the Plant. I work on the First Floor, near Marketing. I have been asked to post this memo on your charming blog in regards to the main refrigerator in the Cafeteria, which is located on one of the underground floors.

I had a look at the refrigerator in question at it is appalling. Forgive me if I sound rude and I'm not singling anyone in particular out here but all of you people will be requested during your shift tomorrow to, one by one, look at the filth that is the workers' doing.

The refrigerator is filled with little worms. They seem to be scurrying up the inside and leaving their dead (or dying) in the freezer. It has now become some sort of Worm Graveyard. They remain forever frozen awaiting revivification.

Like I've said, we are not blaming anyone in particular but you people need to know that when workers are filthy, you attract all sorts of filthy creatures. It's a wonder we don't have rats running throughout the factory with the way the workers (not you specifically) spread their filth across everything.

I don't know the way the people who work here live but it's certainly not the way I do. We found a six month old tostada crammed behind the filthy appliance and the wall. We know it's no one from the above-ground floors because we've never seen each other eat a tostada and cram it behind the fridge.

Again, this is just a general call to keep a closer eye on your food. Mr. Grey has discussed taking away the refrigerator and, possibly, all "food privileges". Maybe the new owners will be less stringent on the decaying filth that the workers bring to cram in their mouths or maybe, as is more likely, they'll close this hole down and leave you all to swim in offal in the privacy of your own home.

Regardless, when the company gets sold, I make a cool $150,000 so do what you want. I could care less.


Sincerely,

Barbara Schwarz,
Ass. Manager

Castanet & Bongo!

Super Heroes for a New World! Castanet & Bongo! Their adventures will be coming your way sooner than you can imagine!

With their charming & evil cast of colorful characters, such as The Apocalypse Mistress, The Transgender Warrior, Pepe Villa, Bad Man and so many others, they will make you shake in fear and excitement.

Turbot Town Stories apologizes for the number of Coming Soon... posts this year. Things will actually appear soon.

Trust us.

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If you are one of "the masses", use the link to your right and enjoy.

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Good night, America.

An Important Announcement from Dr. Lipton Montgomery IV

Everyone, listen up!

I have finally finished my intensive survey of Folk Stories across America. It's been eight years in the making and it will make Thomas Lombardo III's previous study look as obsolete as the original McDLT technology from the 1980's.

Why do you want to know this?, you ask yourself. Let me tell you... Turbot! That's why. I have spent two solid weeks with the five old men who hang out at the Turbot Diner on the Rural Route, the round, grey building next to the vacant lot. And, the stories they have told me about your town would make a fat whore blush, if you'll pardon the colloquialism. (As a folk story collector, I do tend to let my colloquial dangle in the most embarrassing places.)

Beginning next week, I'll be starting an in-depth look into the history of your town. Weather permitting. I think you'll learn a lot. Laughing, crying and possibly stark, raving terrificness will be the order of the day!

Stay tuned! The Old Fun Stories of Turbot begin soon.

Yours,
Dr. Lipton Montgomery IV,
Folk Story Ethnologist

We don't punish enough whippersnappers!

Mr. Miller here, readers.

I just wanted to shove my two cents in your face and wave it around for those of you who may not have heard me on earlier occasions.

It's about those two punks who went missing at Christmas: the kid and that woman. I hate 'em. It was so cold and snowy. Why in the hell would you want to run away? What would possess you? Having no brains, possibly? Being inconsiderate young flim-flams? Why would you pull that sort of flim-flammery on the honest, hard-working people of Turbot, in particular Mr. Warren G. Miller, on the happiest day of the year?

Yes, what about me in particular? "Mr. Miller, you have to help us look! You have to help us look!" I'd love to help you shut up is what I'd love to do. I said it was too cold and that God would sort them out. The looks you people gave me! I've been in my trailer almost as long as John Turbot! I deserve some respect and, as I sit down to a beautiful Loin dinner, I don't need your scorn. The walls are thin in my trailer and I can feel your looks burning through the old aluminum. Knock it off!

Those rapscallions should be placed over knees and walloped within an inch of their lives. Not mollycoddled like veal! String 'em up and teach 'em a lesson about inconveniencing taxpayers, I say! Then, they will learn a little something about right and wrong. And, I can celebrate my holidays in peace.

Barring that, I want the details on what they got up to when they were missing. I like my stories as hot as the next guy! Hotter even! Give it to me! Or shut up.

Happy New Year from Marlene & Arthur!

From us to you...

May your 2006 be the most wonderful year you've ever had.

Thank you for spending time with us over this past year. We hope you continue to enjoy our company in the coming months.

Love,

Marlene & Arthur Y