Turbot Town Stories

Wasn't it great...

2010-08-14T11:22:00.000-07:00

...when we posted all the time?

But, now...Turbot is gone. That's a story. Our Final Story. Hopefully, we will put that up for you soon.

Now...enjoy our CRACKED reviews!
And our Green Acres reviews!

Would ya, please?

Arthur got a new haircut! He looks like Larry from The Three Stooges!

Arthur got a haircut!

2007-08-02T09:00:00.000-07:00

He looks like Moe from "The Three Stooges" now!

More updates soon.

Write to us for locks of Arthur's hair.

Holy Crap!

2007-07-26T09:32:00.000-07:00

We're back!

Marlene and Arthur here! Where were we? You wonder? Did we get washed away or something? How is Turbot? What's with those Cracked magazine revews?

Let me just say this, "We have had a time."

We won't go into all of it on this post. Really, we just want to say "Hello" to folks who have read our stuff in the past. There's nothing like a long trip to clear your head. And, did we ever take a long trip?

Yes. We did.

Arthur is six inches taller and has a beard! Marlene has lost ten pounds and won a pie eating contest in Duluth! How's that for you?

A beard! Duluth! You guys are nuts! Yes.

Turbot is no more. We are writing to you from Berchard, Nebraska - Home of the First Money Roll! You know, they invented that little paper roll you put pennies in. They're real nice people. We don't have the trailer anymore. We have a pickup with one of those trailer things on top. We're happy. But, we're busy with new jobs and everything so...

Stay tuned! We'll have more info for you soon. What a story!

New Cracked Review Blog!

2006-11-12T12:39:00.000-08:00

Hello!

All Cracked review have been moved to their own blog!

http://crackedreviews.blogspot.com

Awesome!

Enjoy!

Cyril P. Welcomes "The Spirit of "76!"

2006-07-14T22:05:00.000-07:00

“The Spirit of ‘76!” I’m sure you’ve seen the banner hanging proud and large across the front of the Rialto. For the next few weeks, they’re showing films solely from the year 1976. As you may or may not know, I don’t believe that hopping back into our history like this is all that great. I recently had a chance to glance at my calendar and we’re no longer in 1976 so the lessons taught by these films are no longer valid. There is a reason why they make new movies: Because they are important! Be that as it may, the Rialto is showing these “oldies.” And, the editors have requested that I review them in my “normal fashion.” So, I shall. “The Spirit of ‘76!” is here. Let’s enjoy together. Shall we? We shall.
One question I had right off the bat was: Where was “Queen Kong?” All week long that had been the advertised film. But, when I arrived, the marquee read “Next Week: Queen Kong!” Oh well. This week: “Kiss of the Tarantula.” Arachnids over apes? Were they trying to tell us something? You decide.
So, the tarantulas who kiss are owned by a girl whose name is (most likely) Genevieve. An odd gal who doesn’t have very many human friends but does have many, many spider friends. And, they do her bidding whenever her bidding needs doing. In fact, that’s the gist of this “old favorite.” A strange girl who spends a lot of time with spiders uses them to kill people who throw her the grief. Thank you very much.
What about that scene with the make-out couple in the car, huh?! They’re smooching, it’s nice, it feels fine. Then, the car’s filled with spiders and the guy’s dead! Holy Crap! And the lady goes nuts! Holy Super Crap! Thank God I hadn’t met this odd gal when I was younger. Many’s the time she could have done a similar thing to me when I was in the woods, late at night...you know what I mean. Although, I was never as distracted as make-out couples must have been. Actually, I probably would have got out of there before the spiders swarmed. In fact, I’m pretty sure of it. So, if you’re planning on kissing someone to distraction in a car in the dark, watch out for swarming. It happens. (Or it happened.)
Dear sweet Genny, I’ve got a thing or two I’d like to say to you...Come on, kid! Get with it! You can’t run around killing people with spiders all your life! Where’s that leading you? What’s the future hold? Someone doesn’t give you a job...kill him with spiders. Someone won’t go to the prom with you...death by spider. Someone cuts you off in traffic...spiders down their drawers. The love of your life runs off with your brother...smother them in spiders. I mean, it sounds great but it’s really just screwy! You need a hobby that’s less based in violence against other people. Something like model airplanes, doll collecting, finding shiny rocks, not hurting people. Oh, there you go. Making a hobby of not hurting people sounds like a great start. In fact, I would guess that that’s the lesson of today’s film: Don’t kill people with spiders. Take up productive hobbies of a non-violent nature. Join a Youth Group of some kind. I believe that Jesus was around in ‘76 so perhaps he could help you. And, as always, don’t do drugs.
(A quick disclaimer: As the film is an old one, the lesson may no longer apply.)
“Kiss of the Tarantula:” A journey forward from a past time to share its wonder in the present moment. Go to the Rialto and see what you think. Next week: “Queen Kong!” Bring the kids. Or they might just bring you.

Cyril P. Reviews an "Oldie But Newie!"

2006-06-14T09:23:00.000-07:00

It’s funny. I watch a movie. It’s good for you. The memory of that movie is forever emblazoned on the mind. But, Hollywood makes a lot of movies. They constantly press forward, changing and refining ideas. Ideas that are important to them and us. Movie after movie floods my head. So, after 100 or more, I don’t retain exact memories of each movie. I retain the strains of thought from each and the build-up of intertwining moral and social threads. However, the individual moments all mold together into one. Luckily, Hollywood has found a solution. (Did you think they wouldn’t?) This mighty fixative? Remaking (with slightly subtle differences) films we’ve previously seen.

I haven’t watched “Halloween” in about five years. But, it doesn’t matter. Because I’ve just seen “Offerings.” The exact same movie but without a lot of the scares. Let’s be honest, it’s very tough to ingest the message when you can’t stop shriekin’! Know what I mean?

So, I present you now with “Offerings.”

We’ve seen it before. So, it makes everything a little easier.

Small town. The opening is certainly different. A little mute boy kills a relative. Granted, that’s not the part that’s different. The different part is how they present it. This new piece introduces the little girl who becomes a major part of the film.

“Ten Years Later”

The young woman has the house to herself. She has a friend who enjoys sex. The nutty fella has escaped from the loony bin (with a doctor in hot pursuit) and is going for the young woman whose name is nothing I currently remember. Let’s call her Sue-Anne. Sue-Anne is given “offerings’ from the crazy guy. An ear, a nose, a head, etc. He loves her, whereas Michael Meyers in “Halloween” seems to want to kill the girl.

I think this is what’s happened: We learn as we go. In “Halloween,” the young innocent is presented as the center of the stalk. She is what he is after. And, this has been the template for what has happened since. Some variation of that has permeated through each one of these. If the world is flat works for the best and brightest, why shouldn’t it work for me?

Well, they’ve re-thought their case. Our psychopathic innocent is now on the same level with our real innocent. He doesn’t want to hurt her. He wants to give her gifts and make sure she’s happy. Their re-alignment of this once over-the-top theme is very interesting. In the past, one saw the innocent making it to the end simply because she or he was the last one killed. Now, the innocent survives because the psycho doesn’t want to kill her.

Folks, the new thing is here! This is THE most important part of our new variation. Keep it in mind.

But, that wasn’t much of a review.

In Oklahoma (don’t make me sing it), some teens are having a heck of a time. It seems a boy they once picked on and pushed down a well is back to kill them. The funny thing is that the well doesn’t kill the boy or really seem to hurt him at all. The prologue ends with him falling in and the kids running away. Except for one little girl. His friend, Sue-Anne.

Well, then we get the “10 Years Later” and they tell us that that night the boy came out of the well and killed and ate his mom. That’s why he was put away. The well apparently sparked it and...really I don’t know. The events in the opening relate to the movie but not what got him put away. So, anyway...

“Ten Years Later”
The boy who was pushed in the well is coming to kill the kids who pushed the boy in the well. Except for the girl he likes (Sue-Anne). But, really, she was just there. She didn’t have anything to do with it.

Crazy McFriend squeezes one head in a vice, cuts a throat in a car, hangs one guy, decapitates a gal and so forth. And, that’s the line up. It feels like something we’ve seen before but we know we haven’t seen this.

In closing: Be good.

Mystery Writers...Listen Up!

2006-05-12T12:39:00.000-07:00

Are you working on a 2-Minute Mystery or some sort of "Mini" Mystery
story that you need a snappy ending for? Do you sit up at nights saying "I
know, I just know, that I can write a mystery story as good as any of those
multi-millionaire writers."? Do you want to make some extra income? Was
a career as a Dental Assistant something that just didn't appeal? Well, I
am Your Catalyst!

I have a small stockpile of "Mini" mystery endings that can be extended
to novel-length endings if the client requires. Sometimes you have all the
characters assembled, everyone is ready to learn who the murderer is,
and you just bomb out-- No ending. How will you resolve things?

Read on.

Here are a sample of five solutions that could get you out of that
bind:

Detective **** knew that the Madame was lying because of the clock. She
could not have seen the clock the moment she entered because the
Cleaning Lady had moved the breakfront. But, she could have seen the clock in
the mirror, which means it was 1, not 11. Her alibi crumbles to dust.

Inspector **** brought the feather to tickle Uncle Mumfin's underarms.
There was no way that a man as ticklish as Mumfin had proven himself to be
would be able to keep the Colonel's frozen hands under his arms. So, if the
dead man's fingerprints weren't from an abortive attempt at thawing, then
when else could they be from? The Inspector says it was Murder!

Two things become apparent when you examine the carriage marks: 1) they
were made with a Standard issue wooden wheel Model RT19, which were made by
the Bradenton Brothers from 1887-1892. It was a replacement for the RT18
and was replaced itself by the RY12728'. 2) The marks could not have been by a
horse-drawn carriage as the gradient of 15% would not allow for a
comparable exchange of momentum with the shoes that the animals would have been
wearing. So, Mrs. Henderson pulled the carriage herself. It was her
carriage, which she pretended was out of commission in the old barn.
And, she ran over Henrietta Wainscot on the night of March the 8th! J'Accuse!

One word: Applesauce. Not on his back, but on his shoes. Uncle Burdock
would never look at a porkchop again.

Paisley Wilmington knew that the German ate bratwurst every morning for
his heart. But, as there was none in his stomach at the time of death, she
knew that he hadn't eaten any that day. So, she deduced that any man without
his daily bratwurst was in danger of doing something he didn't want to do.
The lack of pants on the Scandinavian jockey meant that he was doing wash
and had no spare pants. Putting two and two together, they arrested the
Polack.

There it is, folks! Your ticket to a better life. What are mysteries?
Works of art? Beautiful constructions where form and function latch together
for all eternity. Or are they something that any old hack can churn out
quicker than corn through my digestive system?

The latter, ladies and gentleman!

So, contact me through Del Berman and this blog. I'll hook you up. (As
I said, I have hundreds of these. We're a horse suit and I'm the man in
the rear!)

Your dreams await!

I'm Del Berman! I'm in charge now!

2006-05-08T20:01:00.000-07:00

Hey, everyone! Del Berman here! And, I run Turbot Town Stories now!

Isn't that great?

I'm bringing back some old favorites (Cyril P.!) and some new fun times. (It's a surprise!)

I took over this goofball blog and now I'm gonna make it the best! Hold on to your Johnsons, kids!

Here we go!

Del Berman signing out...

A Good Thing

2006-03-12T16:37:00.000-08:00

Grey's may be closed. We may all be losing our jobs. We may all be losing our trailers. We may all end up at the bottom of Old Hagar's Swamp.

But...

I can't think of anything. Feel free to leave messages with things we can be happy about.

It's Official...

2006-03-10T07:00:00.000-08:00

...and it hurts!

Grey's Prepared Beef plant is officially closing down. All jobs are being outsourced to Guam or somewhere similar.

The entire town of Turbot (with a few exceptions) will be out of work on May 21st of this year.

Good luck to everyone!

Love,

M & A

One Tired Man...Still Swimming

2006-03-08T13:36:00.000-08:00

If there's anything I love about Turbot, it's Old Hagar's Swamp.

I've been swimming in that for six days now. I'm covered in lichen, detritus and just general filth. I've been coughing a lot and my lungs are clogged with life. Beautiful life. But, I'm swimming again. People say I wasn't going to be swimming after my Ba**s went south in the Marinate. Bull stank!

I'm swimming! And, they're closing down and they're done! And, I'm swimming!

Anyone who wants to join me...please do so. I start at 6AM and go until I become so tired and phlegmy that I can swim no more. I can't wait to see you.

Recipe Time

2006-03-06T09:21:00.000-08:00

Well, it looks like Grey's is shutting down. So, all of the unemployed in the area are going to need to eat light for a while...

I've got a recipe for you.

Take a box of tortilla shells, some cheese that you get in the mail and a can of Spaghettios.

Warm up the shells and cook the Spaghs. Make sure the Spaghs bubble lightly before you sprinkle in some shredded cheese. Then, take the shells out of the oven.

Crack the shells in half. Spread the Spagh & cheese mix on the shell half. Salsa, if available.

Eat.

It is wonderful. And cheap. Sour cream is a nice touch. Taco meat can be used, if, once again, available.

Enjoy.

Three Cheers For Me!

2006-03-01T17:49:00.000-08:00

I'm Melvin!

It doesn't get better than me!

Hooray!

MC Hammer to Play Free Concert On Top of My Trailer Home!

2006-02-24T11:35:00.000-08:00

Free Tonight! At My Trailer!

MC Hammer! It will be "his prerogative" to play a concert for you!

Show starts at 8PM.

Free refreshments! Just knock on my trailer door and I will answer.

If no one answers, yell for Wally! I'll come a'runnin'!

After the show, I'll be setting out my collection of lawn chairs and we can sit down and talk for a while. I've been really cleaning up the place nice so I think you should have a good time.

Maybe you could come over again tomorrow night? Whitney might be here...

I can't wait to see you. Bring a friend. Please?

We Apologize

2006-02-20T22:00:00.000-08:00

for the infrequent number of posts over the last week.

Things have been going very strangely here in Turbot.

We'll get back to you soon.

Read CRACKED.

YES! IT HAS!

2006-02-13T06:29:00.000-08:00

Sorry.

NO! IT HASN'T!

2006-02-11T14:38:00.000-08:00

Sorry.

GREY'S PREPARED BEEF PLANT HAS BEEN SOLD!

2006-02-09T20:20:00.000-08:00

More news as it comes in. But, we were told today that Mr. Grey and Family have accepted an offer for the purchase of the plant.

We've not been told who the purchaser is our what the future of the plant is but we've got out fingers crossed.

Until then, we will try to continue "business as usual" here at the blog. We've got some real wisecrackers comin' up. Stay tuned!

- Marlene & Arthur

Super Bowl Fun-Day

2006-02-05T14:28:00.000-08:00

Well, everyone, it’s a Red Letter Day in Turbot. Because we are going to have a Super Bowl Party!!!!

Oh boy!!!

I’m not much of a fan myself but, come on, aren’t those commercials great? I wish they’d cancel the game and just show those commercials. They never let you down.

Arthur’s anxious because he’s a big fan of Pittsburgh so the trailer is on edge. “They’d better win, Marlene!” He tells me with that tone. What a goofball! In fact, the first of the guests are arriving (mostly folks from our floors at Grey’s) right now. I’m waving “Hello!” to them as you read this. We are going to have a great time.

Pizza, check. Beer and pop, check. Nachos, check. Assorted veggie platter, no way! This ain’t any Figure Skating Party! (By the way, have you been watching Skating with Celebrities? We love it.) And, when the fourth quarter hits…Beef Jerky and Banana Splits! This will be the best party yet!

What about next year’s, you say? Who knows? Who knows?

Uh-oh! I hear Arthur arguing with Berns and his wife. Already! Did the game start? These sports rivalries are so exciting when you know what’s going on!

All right, everyone! Enjoy the game! I’ll talk to you soon.

P.S. If YOU are reading this (you know who YOU are), forget about it. You can’t come. Arthur does own a bat and his temper can flare. Coppish?

Alyssa's Final Journal Entry

2006-02-03T15:33:00.000-08:00

Hello.

Alyssa here.

Sorry. It’s been a while. I imagine you've all read about what went on over Christmas. Tim and I are very sorry for any trouble we may have caused. We actually thought we’d be back sooner than we were. There was a mishap. Unfortunately, I can’t really go into it.

I’m here today to say good-bye. Good-bye to Turbot. Good-bye to Grey’s Prepared Beef. Good-bye to Alyssa’s Journal. Don’t worry. I’m not getting morbid on you. Every thing I was complaining about in the past year is gone. Everything that was dragging me down and taking the energy from me is unimportant nonsense. I’m gone.

I have sold my trailer. I got a decent price for it. I’m going to use the money and travel because I can no longer remain in the town of Turbot. It is falling apart. Grey’s is being sold. I’m sure you all know that. Who is it going to? Who is taking the reins of the town’s only business? I’ve no idea. But, this area isn’t so great for keeping businesses open once they get sold off. And, frankly, I don’t really want to move to Guam. Although, I may visit.

The whole feeling of this town is just plummeting. That feeling that I used to have of being lost is everywhere now. I see it in every face. I’ve given my two weeks. The new tenants move in when my time underground ends. I’ve sold them most of my things. I’m keeping a backpack full of things. I plan on collecting as I go along. I feel free.

I wish I could tell you what happened to me over the holiday. My eyes opened up. I saw past the beef and the petty backstabbing. I realized that working several stories underground is awful. I learned and saw what this town was like at the beginning. It would put you to shame to see what we’ve done to this beautiful place. Grey and his Prepared Beef can drop into the center of the earth as far as I’m concerned.

My hands are shaking as I write this. The things Tim and I did and saw. (No, none of it was sexual. (I feel gross even having to mention it but I know what many of you think. I don’t want to be in this gutter anymore.) My bridges aren’t just burning. I’ve destroyed them. If I fail, I fail knowing that I’ve done what I wanted to do. Have you ever seen Grey and his family? Mole People come alive. He cares about his family and nothing else. He would seal us all underground if it made him a decent profit. Maybe that’s the American Way but I think it sucks. I’ve seen more. I’ve seen better. People deserve better. Every single one. Not just a few lucky folks sitting up top. That’s garbage.

Good-bye everyone. Maybe I’ll start my own blog. Keep an eye out. Live a good life.

Mulletville Main Street, Part 2

2006-01-30T16:31:00.000-08:00

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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2006-01-26T07:07:00.000-08:00

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Mulletville Main Street, Part 1

2006-01-24T15:43:00.000-08:00

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!

2006-01-22T15:48:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-01-18T13:43:00.000-08:00

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

2006-01-15T12:57:00.000-08:00

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

2006-01-14T11:18:00.000-08:00

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

2006-01-10T11:31:00.000-08:00

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!

2006-01-08T10:30:00.000-08:00

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.

Bleeding Skull.com is a "Cyril P. Pick of the Month!!"

2006-01-06T16:40:00.000-08:00

I, Cyril P. Drathmoor, movie reviewer for the masses, do hereby declare that Bleeding Skull.com is an excellent source for reviews on some of the finest pieces that the Land of Entertainment has to offer.

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

I Charge You! Go Now! www.bleedingskull.com

Good night, America.

An Important Announcement from Dr. Lipton Montgomery IV

2006-01-04T19:18:00.000-08:00

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!

2006-01-02T05:35:00.000-08:00

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!

2006-01-01T11:59:00.000-08:00

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

A New Year Greeting from Mr. Grey

2005-12-31T14:00:00.000-08:00

Hello, Turbot residents.

From the Grey Family compound to you, we extend our warmest wishes at the start of the New Year. "2006! It'll be a great one for Grey!" We expect this year to be one of our most profitable years ever. America & the World have really taken a shine to the Prepared Beef products that we sell. So, the projected profits for this year are through the roof.

Turbot Town-folk, you are hard workers! The best kind of hard workers! People who are 100% loyal and willing to work for a little less than the average worker because they know it's about the team & the company, not them.

I admire your willingness to enter into the two story aboveground building that we own. The ten stories that stretch underground and offer all sorts of additional facilities for manufacturing are almost a bonus. The way you people work down there makes an owner realize that sunlight is not as important as people believe. Fluorescent lights work just as well. And, they stay on all the time. Don't they?

Well, I could go on for hours. Turbot truly contains the hardest working group of people I've ever encountered. A ready work force willing to chip in!

This New Year will be the greatest! Thank you, Turbot!

With love,
the Grey Family

We found them!

2005-12-25T18:16:00.000-08:00

Arthur here, everyone!

Tim Patrick is sitting here with me, Marlene and his mom. Alyssa is back in her trailer. They are safe and warm and well. Merry Christmas.

It is snowing again. Coming down hard. About an hour ago, much to our joy and surprise, we came upon them wandering around from the direction of the swamp. I knew that we hadn't looked through there as well as we could have but it was so cold and visibility was so low... Don't blame us.

They seem fine. Strangely enough, Tim seems more mature. I always knew him as being a kind of rapsaclliony kid but he seems a lot more, well, mature. It's odd. Alyssa's the same. She seems happier. They wouldn't tell us what had happened although, frankly, some rumors have spread. Both of them denied any sort of relationship beyond friendship. Marlene would say that I am not the best judge of people but I believe them. I think something else happened. What? Who knows?

Regardless, they are back. And, get this, Tim even brought a gift for his Mom! A lovely necklace with little faux-diamonds on it. It is Christmas. We were worried that it might not be.

Merry Christmas, everyone. They are here. They are safe. We will talk to you in a few days. We're going to have dinner and rest. We hope you are well. Talk to you soon.

Seasons Greetings and Love,

Marlene & Arthur

Merry Christmas

2005-12-25T10:23:00.000-08:00

Marlene & Arthur wish you and yours...

Merry Christmas

May your day be merry and bright.

We have begun searching for Tim & Alyssa. The snow stopped. We got 9 inches. It's cold and tough to move about. The State is sending a snow plow but it will be a few hours. Once again, if you hear or see anything, please contact us through the blog.

I will update everyone at the end of the day. We will be to busy searching to do anything else.

Merry Christmas.

The snow has stopped our search

2005-12-24T21:53:00.000-08:00

Another update from Marlene.

The crew are back from Old Hagar's and the factory. They didn't find Tim or Alyssa.

Mrs. Patrick is with us tonight. She's going to share a little Xmas dinner so, we're hoping, that should boost her spirits. I've made turkey, mashed potatoes and stuffing. Arthur made perogis. We always have a wonderful meal.

About six inches of snow on the ground and there's no sign of stopping. It is 10 degrees out right now. So cold. It's tough to see.

Arthur says that they went as deep as they could into the swamp but it was just too tough to see. Sorry. We're trying our hardest. First thing tomorrow, we'll start up the search again. It's Christmas so we should have better luck.

Say prayers for us tonight. And, for them.

All of us here in Turbot wish you a beautiful Christmas Eve. Keep your loved ones close. They can get lost just like that.

Search Update

2005-12-24T15:42:00.000-08:00

Nothing yet.

The searchers are still in Old Hagar’s Swamp. But, it’s a blizzard out there now. We’re pretty sure everybody’s safe but… We’re a little worried.

Tim vanishes. Alyssa’s gone. We don’t need another predicament on Christmas Eve.

Some of the security guards at Grey’s have agreed to take some time searching the factory. A few of our folks are going over there to help them out. We’ll keep you posted.

Tim, we hope you’re somewhere warm. My thermometer’s reading 4. We’ll get 8 inches by Christmas. We should be in our trailers, peacefully celebrating. But, we’ll keep looking. Just don’t be lost. Please.

Update from Arthur on Tim! And Alyssa!

2005-12-24T08:25:00.000-08:00

We haven't found him yet. That's the first news.

But, we have been looking. A little while after Marlene posted last night, we heard the parties pass by. They were yelling for him. So we joined them.

Most of the park spent the evening scouring the trailers, the Rural Route, the diner, the lake. We're getting ready to go into the Swamp in a little bit. It got down to 6 degrees last night. As you can imagine, you'll lose your extremities in weather like that. But, folks had cocoa and hot soup for the lookers. Marlene stayed back at our trailer and supervised a bit. We're hoping that, once we get into the swamp interior, it will warm up slightly. (We're guessing here. Wishful thinking, probably.) It started snowing at 5AM and it's getting worse. Brisk & visibility is dropping. But, we're determined to find him.

We'll put up Mrs. Patrick and Tim for the next few days and some of the other folks have volunteered their places for other nights. We're trying to wrangle Jack Turbot's trailer for a little while. It just sits there, after all.

So, stay tuned. If you hear anything, send a comment or an email. Marlene is at the computer.

Keep warm and safe. Merry Christmas.

Arthur Y

Oh, crap, crap. I'm sorry. They just told me this and I just told Marlene and it's coming in faster than we can type.

No one has seen Alyssa since last night when she left the party. She doesn't answer at her trailer. She doesn't answer her phone.

Alyssa, if you're out there, please contact us. Tell us you're safe. This is not the time of year to vanish.

Grey's Big Xmas Party

2005-12-23T23:18:00.000-08:00

It's Martha, everybody. Well, I made the figgy pudding. People ate it. Or at least the pan emptied out by the end of the night. I guess that means folks liked it. I didn't have anyone come up to me complaining so...there you have it.

The caroling was a bit more exhaustive than we had wanted it to be because the elevator broke down. Kept breaking down is actually a more exact description. In between SUB3 and SUB4, we sat for twenty minutes gradually losing layers of Dickens-style clothing. There were no elevators in Victorians times, apparently. Or were there? I don't know and I'm not sure I care.

Mr. Grey and his family were there. Although, the first sign that something strange was happening came when Mr. Grey was not dressed as Kris Kringle. He was in a very smart business suit and, alongside his kids, he had three lawyers. Hey, we thought, lawyers like to have fun too!

It was fun. Until, the rumors started to spread. (Well, the third time the elevator stuck underground, nine stories underground, was possibly when the fun began to wear out a little. Close harmonies become tougher to do when you start to become afraid for your life.) The first rumor was that one of the lawyers was actually a pinata filled with summer sausage. That rumor didn't last long.

The second rumor involved no gifts for anyone this year. This rumor was not true because we were all given brand new shoelaces. Color of our choice. I went for maroon. Arthur got a lovely beige lace. So, Mr. Grey didn't back off of that.

Rumor three involved Guam. A company trip to Guam. Not true.

Rumor four was that something rotten was about to happen. This is the one that spread fastest and touched all corners of the room. It affected everyone, except Alyssa. She left early. No team spirit, that girl. If she was in packaging, I'd give her one heck of a talking to. The something rotten involved everyone getting fired and the factory being shut down all the way to some sort of Mad Cow-esque plague infesting all of us. We would be burned to prevent spreading. The strangest rumor involved something about Mr. Grey's youngest one, Goldman. Something about the child possibly being sick or doing something...That one I never quite sussed out. But...

Mr. Grey stood up at at quarter-past nine and made his announcement: "I am selling the Plant. There shouldn't be any layoffs but if there are you can still keep your job by moving to Guam." There was the Guam rumor made true in a disturbing way.

Well, as you might imagine, that was the end of the party. People tried to keep dancing but it didn't work. By quarter to ten, Arthur and I were home. Here I am now, writing this.

Frankly, this is not the way we wanted to spend our Christmas. Things feel odd over here at Casa Yurvis.

To top that off, we've just spoken with Mrs. Patrick. Tim is still missing. I'll get back to you when I get an update on the plant or on Tim.

We're going to sleep now.

My son, Tim Patrick, is Missing

2005-12-23T16:16:00.000-08:00

Hello. My name is Mrs. Patrick. You may know my son, Tim, from his column. He really likes Heavy metal, a lot.

We've been without a home since the flood back in October. We've been staying at people's trailers and such. The past two nights we've been under awnings. But, it's got really cold. I feel like a terrible Mom but I had to trade almost everything we own away for food money. Tim knew this but... Santa isn't coming this year.

I don't know if he knew or I don't know what happened but this morning, when I got up for work, he was gone. I asked around but no one has seen him. Whether he ran to Ovid or is hidden in Old Hagar's Swamp, I don't know.

I just realized that I have no way of getting a message from you if you have any information on my son. I guess you can leave comments on the blog. I'll try to get to a computer. Maybe Marlene & Arthur can help me out.

Just, please, if you see him or know anything, contact me. Thank you so much for your help. Merry Christmas.

Cyril P. and his Xmas Smells

2005-12-22T18:09:00.000-08:00

If Santa kills your Mom and Dad on the way home from visiting Grandpa in the Old Loon’s Home, get a good therapist. No, get a great therapist. Having a nun yell at you and punish you all the time for being wicked and sinful doesn’t help anyone. The Mother Superior in this film is the character I would have thought “Most Likely To Get Killed” (she’s rather deserving) but she survives. I don’t mean to sound crass but where’s that comeuppance I’ve come to expect?

There aren’t enough good Santas in the world to exorcise this one real stinker. The poor boy in this, Billy (?), is just wrecked. After the extended opening, we get an extended post-opening involving him as a youngster, traumatized by Christmas! Then, we get him grown-up and he is not well. In fact, he’s nuts. So, he starts hurting people in a very serious fashion with assorted things that really hurt.

The man is crazy; the man kills. What’re you gonna do? A lot of people kill or at least that’s the opinion I’m forming. There’s always a reason and a lot of the time I wish it’d stop. It’s not very festive, this movie, what with all this killing.

What it is is Hollywood’s latest Smell. Something the family can approach, scratch and sniff really good. And, frankly, that smell is Christmas. I don’t want to say: Stay away from Santa. What I want to say is: Stay away from Santa if he has an ax. If it’s dripping with blood, that’s an even better sign. Billy tries to hold back all his rage but it doesn’t work. Xmas death flows.

Public Service Announcement from Them to Us. Although I think this is a rough message for the holiday, I do know that life is not easy. My trailer has had a strange musky, sour odor in it for a week now and I haven’t found out what the heck it is. I’ve drank all the eggnog. There’s no milk. I don’t own pets. It’s driving me crazy but I still review! I still teach you the lessons!

Merry Christmas to me! I am really great! Send any appreciation to The Turbot Tribune c/o Cyril P. Send now.

Alyssa's Final Journal Entry

2005-12-21T14:59:00.000-08:00

Christmas is almost here. Today is the Solstice. I don’t know, folks. Something doesn’t feel right here. I…

Let me tell you. I’ve never owned one of those little village things. You know, the fake snow all around and little green trees and fake homes and/or business establishments named after characters from Dickens and you stack them all around so it looks like some sort of festive place you’ve never been. I always want to know what’s going on in the houses. They always have second floors and I always want to see (or be) in there. I don’t know why. Oh, whenever they have sled or ski runs with multiple levels, I always want to go down them. There was one called “Log Cabin” that was meant to be someone’s home. (I stayed at a log cabin once for three weeks. I’m sure it was very interesting.) I like the “Log Cabin” because there’s a little lake out front with a tiny boat in it. But, the scale of the boat is wrong. It’s about a 1/4 the size of the water, which would make it ridiculous to have. Several good rows and you’d be on the other side. In fact, the man is such that he could probably leap across it or at least bounce once in the middle and go from there. I love these things.

A memory that is leaving me... Being in a knicknackeria in a cold town. A wall cabinet nook...three stories of these things. It’s laid down with white cloth and flows from the first level to the very top. Shops on the bottom leading to the banquet halls and festive homes in the middle flowing to the ski lofts, sled runs and frozen ponds for skating up top. It’s breathtaking. A miniature breathtaking. I stare at it for a very long time. It’s glorious. I’d love to be there. But, I never will. This I know and understand.

But, that doesn’t mean I don’t want it very, very bad.

I’m restless and I feel detached. I haven’t stood on top of my trailer and taken the air for weeks.

I don’t know. I thought maybe this would help me out. Blogging on. The first few times it felt great. But, it doesn’t do a damn thing anymore. I’m going to wrap it up. See you around. Merry…

Black Metal Column

2005-12-20T04:57:00.000-08:00

Hey, Nut balls! It's me, Tim Patrick! Guess what? My life blows! Talk to you later. Munch!

Here’s the thing… I’m waiting on Christmas. It’s roaring our way. We’re staying at Mr. Murdoch’s trailer. It’s a little small but he says, “Ba-boom! We can stay over the Holidays!” Well, guess what, Nope! December 19. We’re sleeping under an awning of some trailer or other hoping that no one catches us.

Merry Christmas! I hate everybody. I haven’t had batteries for my CD player for three days. Black Metal? None for me thanks. In my mind, I hear the pounding and feel the reverberating bass but for real…I ain’t got shit in a sack, Jack.

And, here we go. You’ll love this. Guess who doesn’t own a single black metal CD at the moment. I don’t need to hold a quiz. Me. We traded in all my CDs so Mom could get some cash for Christmas. Mr. Murdoch made me some sort of CD-R but it doesn’t play on my stuff. So…bite it. This sucks.

Santa won’t be visiting because where the hell will he visit? No presents, no nothing. I hate that rain so much. Mom doesn’t know where we’ll go next. The only fun I’ve had all week was writing this. And, who knows if Marlene And Arthur will be able to read my writing because it’s so dark here.

Bones.

If we get somewhere warm and lit-up by Christmas, I’ll give a yell. If not, F**k it. Right in the ear.

Interview with the Slicer

2005-12-18T18:04:00.000-08:00

This is tiresome. But, if you hold it straight, it might work...Thank you. Yeah. It’s very tiresome. The slices of beef are all done right now. Smell ‘em...Nice, huh? Yeah. And, it’s my job to slice it. What?...Oh. Marinate, slice, then packaging, It’s just us 4. Well as I said, it is tiresome. We work pretty hard. 5-10 hr. shifts a week. Slicing and slicing . Yeah...No Ha! We get asked that lot...There are no fingers in the beef...Yeah. Of course you can. This hand is just missing the 1. This one has two gone but I can still grasp. See?...Those 3 are stitched back on. You sort of favor the other fingers at that point...Why only 4 slicers? This ain’t so glamorous. It doesn’t have the mystery that the marinaters hold. It doesn’t have the camaraderie of packaging. It’s just slicing beef...Oh sure, I like everyone here fine. But, our hands are our trade. So, there isn’t a lot of rogue chatter down here, ya know. We’re always watching our hands...Oh yes. The company helps out. A bit. Well, they request us,, to watch our hands. They request that fairly regularly. Any and all accidents are frowned upon...When we can’t use one of our hands, we are terminated. Oh sure, we have a pension...But, when we lose the right amount of digits, we’re done. We retire. The pension is however much we have accumulated. The Safety features on the slicer are pretty hi-tech. This guard is a strong plastic. Hit this red switch and everything shuts off...Yeah. It can be tough to remember to hit the red button when you’re in the middle of losing a finger. Hey, you panic too, dont’cha? See?...What don’t we get?...Here...Write this down...Ready?...One of the rules of the job is that we must have two working hands, as I said. It doesn’t matter if it’s 1 year, 5, 20 or 30. I’ve been here 20 and I’m doing all right...As long as we get to the hospital in around half an hour we’re fine...Sure, you have to drive fast. Nearest hospital’s 45 minutes away. And, if someone hasn’t called ahead...They retired Burlap Miller last year. He got there and the hospital was just swamped down. They could not get to him. Poor soul. Watched his job and hand die right there...He was 28. Really good, too...He does OK. I haven’t heard from him but he gets a decent wage...Oh. Really? I didn’t know. Is there...When was the funeral?...Yeah. That’s why. I was working...Poor guy. How did he do it? Oh...Well, I don’t imagine that’s so painful. Yeah...Yes. They do cover medical and disability for everyone else. But, the hand and finger problem isn’t a disability under “Prepared Beef Rules”. It just means early retirement....How does that strike me? Now look Mr., I’m a Slicer, that’s what I do. This is my calling. I am excellent at what I do. Are we gonna have accidents? Sure. Try doing this 50 hours a week. You get sloppy. It would be great if we had more people to do it but it’s just too dangerous and too rewardless, if that’s a word. The carolers don’t even stop by here on Christmas. We have to go to them...Is it thrilling? Slicing beef? No. It’s a job. It’s what I’m good at...Look OK, OK. I’ve had enough questions, all right...Ya know what, we work here because when this started we got all sorts of benefits. But, as we got bigger, they went one by one. Medical and disability? 20 years ago, we had that. They took it away. If I stay another 20, I get full pension. But, I don’t know if I’ll make it. And, it’s too late for me to transfer. You need more than the Frankenstein Monster’s hands to do other things in this plant. We can’t even marinate. Closed shop. They won’t let us in. Hey, slicing’ll take anyone. But, they have to trick ‘em. Or, get someone like Burlap who doesn’t-didn’t care and thinks the world is his and he can’t get hurt. But, someone like that is usually pretty careless and they’re gone quick. This job...Here I am. I can’t go. I think I can’t...I don’t know. This isn’t something I like to think about...I...I’m going to go back to slicing. Mind the beef on the floor.

Trees - 4th Installment

2005-12-16T10:24:00.000-08:00

In the last installment, Dave and Mr. Thomson completely failed to sell a tree to a man named Ruben.

INT. – TRAILER – AM
KEITH is asleep on a chair. DAVE walks in. KEITH jumps up.

KEITH
Aaaahhh! Wooaahhh! Hey!

He looks around slowly, catching his bearings.

KEITH
Oh no. I’m still in this trailer.

DAVE
We lost another one.

KEITH
Why?

DAVE
I don’t know. I think it was Mr. Thomson

KEITH
Has he sold one tree for the Troop?

DAVE
Chris said he does all the time.

KEITH
I’ve never seen it.

DAVE
Chris said he used to sell cars.

KEITH
When?

DAVE
Who knows? I guess he used to sell ‘em downtown.

KEITH
Why do we never see him selling then?

DAVE shrugs. He takes a sip of his cocoa and makes a “Cold! Yuck!” face. He pours the cocoa out of their shattered window. Refills himself with another. Pause.

DAVE
I gotta piss. Who has the key?

KEITH
Guess…

EXT. – GATE – AM

MR T is holding a key on a rather hefty chain.

MR T
Do not let anyone have this! Do not place this down anywhere! Don’t let this out of your sight
for a moment! Do not let anyone else in! Do not lose this key! You got me!

DAVE really wants to go pee. But, he lets out a heavy nod that MR T smiles at.

MR T
Hurry back!

DAVE rushes out.

EXT – SCHOOL – AM
As previously mentioned, they are on one side of the school in an almost cul-de-sac sort of area. There is an entrance in the corner nook. DAVE tries the door.

MR T (distant yell)
It better not be open!

It’s not.

DAVE puts the key in the door and steps inside.

INT. – SCHOOL – AM

Not a modern school. Straight out of the 50’s.

The steps are very large and gray. There is an entrance to the basement visible. (A Fallout Shelter.) There are two large double doors that lead out into a hallway.

A rather hefty sized staircase winds up to the second floor. DAVE steps through into the hallway. A long dark hallway.

Numerous doors lead into classrooms. He passes a cafeteria and a large kitchen area.

In the center, there is a large gymnasium. DAVE rounds a corner and heads towards some doors and a water fountain.

He goes into a bathroom. We see, in a moment, that it’s the “GIRL’S” room.

The building is empty.

Long dark hallways all of which loom around rather ominously. Maybe in the distance someone is heard. But, it’s nowhere near DAVE.

A loud toilet flushes.

DAVE comes out a moment later, rubbing his hands on his jeans. He begins to go back the way he came. Suddenly, he turns and runs the other way.

INT. – HALLWAYS – AM

DAVE is just spazzing and rushing along making all sorts of whooshing noises. He passes the windows to the gym, which has a large stage in it. He rounds another corner. He is now in the front hallway.

Passes by the “PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE” and the main entrance to the building. He rounds a corner, taking a bit of a slip and spill.

He keeps running. Then, he zips to the end and the door he started at. He looks thrilled.

He is panting slightly. After a moment, he opens the door and begins to step out. Before he does, he checks his pocket. There’s the key! He steps into

EXT. – PARKING LOT – AM

LOUIS and SVEL are loading a tree onto the family’s car. There are a few other people floating around the trees.

DAVE strolls towards the tree field as the snow begins to fall a little harder.

TIME PASSES

EXT. – TRAILER – 1PM

Nearing the end of their shift.

In the parking lot, several cars are visible. Something is going on inside the school.

KEITH, LOUIS and DAVE are lobbing all sorts of snowballs at each other.

LOUIS is taking the brunt. SVEL is sitting on the step down from the trailer. Some folks are browsing through the trees and MR T is spending a bit of time trying to sell.

The snow is picking up.

SVEL
I think it’s really going to come down.

DAVE
Yeah. It…

DAVE gets pummeled with a ball in the face.

DAVE
Oh man. My nose.

He wipes the snow away.

SVEL
The radio said that we’ll get six inches before the day is out.

DAVE picks two huge armfuls of snow and flips them at KEITH.

KEITH lets out a yell and gets a big face full.

DAVE rushes up and knocks him over whooping off into the distance.

LOUIS laughs and laughs before getting hit.

SVEL
Keep an eye out, Louis!

MR T (yell)
Hey, one of you goofs help me out here!

None of the goofs go.

SVEL
Dave, you get this one!

DAVE runs by, whooping towards MR T. When he’s very close, he yells and leaps into the air. OOMF! He hits the snow. Laughing and laughing.

MR T is standing with a family who are buying a medium sized tree. DAVE gets up.

DAVE
Sorry.

MR T is sorting through cash. He points at a tree.

MR T
That one, Davy.

DAVE
Gotcha, Mr T.

DAVE lifts the tree, which is just a little heavier than he can handle. He falls over.

MR T
Quit the goofin’ and help them out.

DAVE
Yessir.

The family begins moving towards their car.

DAVE struggles behind them.

As this happens, the next shift begins arriving. A lot of portly boys! One can only imagine how the trailer is going to handle this one.

DAVE falls down a lot but the tree gets there in the end.

How do you make Figgy Pudding?

2005-12-14T17:45:00.000-08:00

I mean, what is it?

Marlene here, loyal readers! Happy Christmas to you!

We’re having our Annual Christmas (Holiday) Prepared Beef Party at Grey’s on the 23rd right after work. It starts on our floor at 5. We are the Carolers this year so I’m going to dress in one of those Victorian England outfits like the Victorian English people do.

We try to make the carols as beefy as possible. “The First Jerked Beef” “O Come All Ye Spices” “Silent Beef” “God Rest Ye Merry Marinaters” Things like that. I’ve been rewriting lyrics so they should be great! The only problem is the Freezer floor. None of the guys there speak a lick of English so I’ve written a beef related carol about Père Noel and we’ve been learning some basic French. The carol’s great but the basics aren’t going as well. We thought we’d try speaking some Spanish instead.

After the caroling (and visiting every floor takes some time, trust me), we convene on the ground floor for a big hoohah. Mr. Grey & Mrs. Grey and all the little Greys will be there wishing us well. Mr. Grey will be dressed as Santa and handing out bonuses. Last year, it was prepared beef. We’re all excited about what this year’s bonus will be.

I’m in charge of the figgy pudding and some sort of myrrh related non-alcoholic drink. Hopefully, I’ll be able to whip something together. Arthur and I have such a busy schedule. We go to his family in Ovid on the Eve. On the day, we have my family in from Horseheads. I’ll tell you all about that next week. Right now…the party…

There will be tacos, perogis and kashki. Every year we have such a great time I wish I could invite all of you. I’ll give a run-down for you afterwards. Oh, I almost forgot! This year, Mr. Grey says he has a big announcement for us so we’re all on edge. Good! Bad! Who cares? It’s Christmas. We have a great…I said that already.

There will be dancing and streamers and eggnog with brandy and little sweaty wieners on sticks from the Marinater Floor. If Arthur can figure it out, there will be pictures.

“On the First Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me beef in a giant beef tree.”

Merry Christmas everyone!

Alyssa's Journal #4

2005-12-13T10:18:00.000-08:00

Well, it’s been a while. Why is that? It sure isn’t because things have gotten real exciting down in the Supplies Floor over at Grey’s Prepared Beef. I’ve been trying to write something more substantial for the site. A story, a poem, a something. But, I’m not pulling it off. I don’t know if it’s because I’m tired or I’ve got some kind of block or if I’m just not a writer. I sure thought I might be. But now…who knows?

And, oh yes, it’s Christmas. Oh boy. My Mom will not be coming by this year because she’s going to some sort of All-Holiday Bingo Fest down in Florida somewhere. If I’m lucky, I’ll find a stray cat to spend the holiday with. Or maybe one of the creepy Marinaters will spend Christmas Ever with me. God, I shudder just thinking about it.

I’ve bought a tree and some lights. I’ve got a jug of that eggnog with the brandy already mixed in and a dream for a better tomorrow. But, I don’t know if Santa and friends can pull anything off for me. “Santa helps those who help themselves.” Oh, cram it.

I don’t mean to sound crass because I don’t feel crass. Not really. When it comes to the holidays (especially Christmas), no other time of year excites me more. Christmas, especially, works on my senses like no other time. I mean, my gosh, go to a good candle store and buy a dozen or more Christmas related candles (from specific ones like Cinnamon or Egg Nog to more vague “conceptual” candles like “Christmas Morning” and “Holly Wreath”). The memories those smells will bring to you can be pretty astounding. Some are specific (many of the fir related ones) but some are...they do a strange thing. There is one called “Christmas Eve” and when I smell it, it’s odd...What does Christmas Eve smell like? This candle’s odor conjures up memories beyond sensory. I think it’s something to do with the name, honestly, maybe. The smell of the candle coupled with the name stir and draw up the memories of that time. (This is true because my memory is always vague before I found out the candle’s name. The fragrance can be enjoyed outright but due to, I guess, the limited amount of smells you can jam in candles, it works best when you also know the name. Your nose smells something but a push doesn’t hurt.) It’s strange. To smell each candle as it burns...Christmas. The day is not just one word; it is 100 different things vying for your mind’s attention.

Tip… Buy cinnamon sticks. Warm up your eggnog. Remove it from the stove right before boiling. Stir the cinnamon stick around a bit. Be good. These are the holidays and, frankly, you don’t want to be a snicker doodle! Take the stick out and drink. Drink hearty. Life doesn’t begin when you’re dead. It starts when you’re very much alive.
…
I just took a deep breath. See how I ramble when the feeling of the holidays hit me. I can blather like that forever. Maybe that’s what I need to write. A great Christmas column or story. Give me some time. Let me dwell on it. This could be the start of something.

By the way, have you read that Trees thing? I like it. Maybe I could take over for an installment or two. Is anyone listening?

Holiday Drink Recipes

2005-12-08T09:43:00.000-08:00

The Stankwell Falls Fizz

2 parts vermouth
2 parts apple jack
a jigger of maple syrup
&
a prune

Mix well. Drink fast.

AKA Monte Carlo Punch

Enjoy! Drink wisely.

Arthur's New Favorite Movie Is...

2005-12-08T09:37:00.000-08:00

2 Fast 2 Furious!!

This movie was incredible!

Car chases! Beautiful women! Good-looking guys! Slick stuff!

The first one was all right but this one will send you crazy! I can’t say enough good things about it. Go out right now and buy the DVD. Special Edition and all.

I, Arthur, recommend this film to you, the reader. Enjoy

Trees - 3rd Installment

2005-12-06T09:31:00.000-08:00

In our last installment, Mr. Thomson had just called Dave out of the trailer. The first customer of the day had arrived in the Christmas Tree lot.

EXT. – TREE FIELD – AM

There is a guy, in deep dark flannels, looking at the trees. He prods them, pushes them, and goes at them as if he were testing melons at the supermarket or something.

This is RUBEN, repeat shopper. DAVE approaches. Mr T lurks amongst the trees. Why? It’s certainly too creepy to be some sort of support. But, I think that’s what he thinks it is.

DAVE is not a salesman. It’s not something he likes, no matter how many times Mr T tells him otherwise.

DAVE approaches RUBEN.

DAVE
How you doing, sir? Can I help you with anything?

RUBEN
No thanks, young man. I’m just browsing.

DAVE
OK. Well, one of us’ll be around if you need anything.

RUBEN
Thanks.

RUBEN touches the trunk of one of the trees. He put his finger in his mouth. DAVE walks away. MR T pounces out when the customer is out of earshot.

MR T
Stay with him.

DAVE
He said he’ll come out when he’s ready.

MR T
You gotta get in there and make the sale.

DAVE
If he wants to buy, he’ll buy.

MR T
Get back there.

DAVE
Mr. Thomson, come on.

MR T
Let me show you how a real salesman does it.

DAVE closes his eyes for a moment.

WE SEE the searing hot cup of cocoa.

The steam is replaced by MR T’s breath flying into DAVE’s face.

MR T
C’mon! C’mon!

DAVE follows MR T to RUBEN, who is still smacking trees.

MR T
Good morning, sir. How are you?

RUBEN
Doin’ allright.

MR T
Can I help you out?

RUBEN
Just browsing around. I’m trying to find a real good one.

MR T motions to the one they’re looking at.

MR T
That’s a great one.

RUBEN
It’s nice.

MR T
You can’t get better than a Douglas Fir.

RUBEN
That’s what they say.

MR T
How about it? We’ll give you a good price.

RUBEN
How much?

MR T
$25.

RUBEN looks unthrilled by the price.

MR T
That’s a little under the going rate.

RUBEN
Mmmm….

MR T
We’ll wrap it up and put it in your car for you.

RUBEN
I could pick this up and throw it over the fence.
Why would I make a kid struggle to my car?

MR T
That’s part of the service.

RUBEN
Ahhh, I don’t need it.

He looks around and frowns. DAVE tags behind.

RUBEN
My family doesn’t come around much at the holiday.
Generally, I’m alone. I want a real good one. One
that feels right ‘cause it’s just the cat and me.

RUBEN is looking at things the whole time he talks.

RUBEN
Sweet cat. I call him Ruben. That’s my name too.
Ruben. We’re the Two Rubens. He’ll try and eat
the tree given half a chance.

Snow begins to lightly fall.

In the distance, another car pulls up. A family slowly gets out.

RUBEN
When you’re by yourself, you either don’t care
or it’s got to be perfect.

MR T
I know.

RUBEN
You do?

MR T
I’m in… (whispering) I’m a divorced gentleman right now.

RUBEN
There you go. I’m buying Xmas gifts for myself this year.
I’m wrapping ‘em up and putting them under the tree
with my name on them. “FROM: SANTA.” I don’t know
whether that’s pathetic or not. I can’t tell.

There is a pause. MR T seems to be on the very edge of saying something. But, he doesn’t… Instead.

MR T (pointing at tree)
This one would look really great with some gifts under it.

RUBEN nods.

RUBEN
Yeah. Well, thank you. I may come back later.

MR T points at the first tree.

MR T
$5 off that one.

RUBEN
No thanks.
(to DAVE) Have a merry Christmas, kid.

DAVEYou too.

RUBEN smiles and leaves.

LOUIS and SVEL are with the other family.

MR T watches RUBEN go. He looks down at DAVE.

MR T
Guy’s a tough nut to crack.

DAVED’you think he’ll come back?

MR T
I don’t know.

DAVE nods and heads back to the trailer.

Greetings of the Season from Turbot!

2005-12-04T17:44:00.000-08:00

Hello, everyone! Marlene & Arthur here! Christmas is rolling upon us so we thought we’d send you this little article. It appeared in the Weekend Edition of the Turbot Tribune. We hope it helps you and yours have a safe 25th! Talk to you soon. (We have to go shopping!)

Love,
M & A

A Safe Xmas

Everybody enjoys Christmas. It’s the one time of the year when you can really be yourself (or somebody else). You can really just have just a great, great time. Wow! This is a time for everyone, stinky and non-stinky alike.

Certain features of the holiday, however, can be quite lovely but dangerous. Let me give you a list.

-The time to buy gifts is before December 24. Do not rush out on the 24th willy-nilly trying to buy. Especially if you’re drunk.

-A tree is a great addition to any house but do not light real candles on it. They can flame up and kill everyone. Death is a tough sin to wash off the hands.

-Enjoy eggnog in limited quantities. That’s a lot of egg, that’s a lot of nog. And, you’ll throw up all over yourself if you have too much.

-Lights are nice. They blink, they don’t, and they’re very festive. But, do not wrap them around a cat. Cats are unpredictable creatures with a penchant for running away. Lights are electrical objects with a penchant for electrocuting living beings.

-Presents are wonderful. But, don’t give gay. Nothing ruins a holiday more than getting a gift that clearly was not thought out beforehand. Consider whom you’re buying for before you buy.

-Fruitcake is a caring and traditional gift but no one eats it.

-If you’ve eaten too much at dinner, take five...and then eat some more.

-Do not drink the tree water.

And, last but not least,

-Santa’s boo-boo’s are for thankin’, not for yankin’.

Have a HAPPY HOLIDAY!

Turbot Residents are #1 in Giving Themselves Awards!

2005-12-02T19:17:00.000-08:00

-Hey, you’re horribly ugly!
-Oh, don’t you start.
-Start what? I just noticed it now.
-Dear, oh dear. And, you know what, Mitchell? You ain’t so great yourself.
-No...I know that but, boy oh man, you got something...there’s something...yeah...Why didn’t I notice it before?
-I cast a magic spell over you.
-Serious?
-No. I think you’re just stupid.
-Oh, hey!
-Keep it quiet! Why are you always so loud?
-I’m not “always” so loud.
-Spare me. You’ve been this loud as long as...
-You’ve been that ugly?
-I’ve got a fist and it’s about to hit your fat little mouth.
-Try it...Au!
-Yeah. Go back to sleep, Mitchell.
-Au!

Mitchell and Noreen Winton had been arguing like this eternally. And, yes, Mitchell was always loud and Noreen was really ugly. But, that was just Mitchell’s way and Noreen had an excellent knack for make-up.

But, there’s was a love. The first couple married in Turbot. One year after its naming. They’d been married for over 20 years now and had, sincerely, run out of things to say. There life had been based around their jobs and their status in the small town. And, unfortunately, it was really about being Turbot’s first couple. (Although, they never liked to admit it.)

And, the magic and celebrity of that wore off faster than it takes you to read this. (Don’t pretend like you read it really slow) The milky after glow turned into a sour fluorescent shine, with all the headaches that go with that...

This couple had been in love. But...

I guess it’s time for another Turbot History Lesson.

Turbot History #8:
Until Stan Turbot left for good, the people in the town took it into their great and mighty heads that everything in their town could be commemorated as a first: 1st head cold, 1st holiday, 1st exchange of gift, 1st bounced check, 1st baby born, 1st kitten found, 1st broken bone, 1st case of chronic anal clog, 1st fire, 1st flood, 1st fist fight, 1st neighbor complaint, 1st loud party, 1st big time wasted and, yes, 1st couple married.

They were a bit of a gambling duo, the townsfolk used to say, always willing to bet something on something trying to get something. That’s the way it went down and they missed 1st baby born by one month. Mitchell never forgave Noreen that month when her cycle was just a little off and her period came early and it threw off their plan and she conceived a week later and, hells bells, it didn’t work so great.

A second honor, so they believed, would have sealed it up for them as the 1st Couple of Turbot. Damn and blast!

-Damn your ovaries, Noreen!
-I’m pregnant! Leave me alone!
-The Coopers are gonna beat us out.
-What?
-She’s 2 months already. You’re 3 1/2 weeks.
-Well...baby’s have been born before the 9 months were up.
-Wait!...That’s...Hmmm...
-I’m not saying anything. But, it’s our kid. Certainly he or she could be coaxed out a little earlier.
-That’s a plan.

So, the second title the Winton’s took was 1st Stillborn 1 1/2 month Premature Baby.

Not all honors are remembered. Nor should they be.

Once So Proud and So Everything to the people of Turbot. Now...just like all the others. And, their slow decent into this eternally circular bedtime argument began.

And, it got worse when they won the title of 1st Retired Couple. Because, by that time, Stan was gone and nobody cared about the title: They cared about making prepared beef and drinking. The Winton reign was over and all they had to look forward to was looking at each other for forever.

(If Turbot’s 1st couple ended up like this, it doesn’t take Copernicus to imagine the rest of the couples.)

-Oh boy.
-What?
-Ugly.
-I’m gonna throw you out of bed.
-I’ll throw myself out...Ow!
-Dummy.
-Someone kill me! Please!
-Stop being so loud!
-Does this really go on forever?
-Wait! I think...Damn.
-What?
-I thought my heart stopped.
-One day.
-You wish.
-Yeah.

Bring Back My Metal To Me!!

2005-11-30T19:20:00.000-08:00

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.

Dogballin’!

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!!!!!

My Great Aunt's Great Adventure

2005-11-29T13:02:00.000-08:00

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,
Grant

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.
Yours,
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.
Yours
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.
From,
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.”
Sincerely,
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.”

To All Our Readers

2005-11-24T11:38:00.000-08:00

Marlene & Arthur wish you...

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!

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

Trees - 2nd Installment

2005-11-22T11:40:00.000-08:00

EXT – TREE FIELD – MORNING

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

KEITH
Where’d you suppose Matt is?

DAVE
Who knows?

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

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

KEITH
He couldn’t help us haul the trees cause he was
“sick”.

DAVE
He’ll show up around noon.

KEITH
“Feeling much better.”

DAVE nods. They continue patting.

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

DAVE
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.

LOUIS
I like the square knot. That’s easy.

He mimes tying it.

DAVE
You’ll have to show me some day.

KEITH
Dave, you don’t know the square knot?

DAVE
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.

LOUIS
He smokes a lot.

KEITH
My dad says he drinks too.

LOUIS
Wine?

DAVE
I think he starts with wine.

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

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

KEITH
So, you’ve just avoided tying knots.

DAVE
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.

LOUIS
My dad was thinking about buying this one.

KEITH
“The $50 giant?”

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

LOUIS
Who bought that?

K & D
No one.

The boys begin to walk back to the trailer.

DAVE
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.

MR T
Ahh, boys. We’re warmin’ up the water. Have some cocoa
and coffee soon.

The boys nod. They begin to go inside.

MR T
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.

MR T
You up for some selling, Dave?

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

MR T puts his hand on Dave’s shoulder.

MR T
You’ll learn son, you’ll learn.

DAVE seems vaguely disturbed.

CUT TO

INT – TRAILER – MORNING

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.

LOUIS
Now, Dad!

SVEL
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.

DAVE
Mr. Vyvenberg went through that?

SVEL
At just the right angle.

DAVE
I wouldn’t think he would fit.

SVEL
Well, he did.

DAVE
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.

EXT. – TRAILER – AM

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.

SVEL
You’re going to knock the trailer over again.

MR T
Send one of the boys out! Customer!

SVEL looks up.

Rurality

2005-11-20T14:09:00.000-08:00

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 corn...it’s more rigid...like 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?

One More Jump

2005-11-16T16:49:00.000-08:00

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...
-There!

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.

-John-John!
-Honey!

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?

-Yeah.

-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.

Trees - 1st Installment

2005-11-14T15:29:00.000-08:00

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

EXT. – PARKING LOT – 9:30 AM - SATURDAY

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.

CUT TO

EXT. – PARKING LOT – SOON AFTER

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.

MR T
(OS)
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.

MR T
…but I just want you to know that I’m here to help
you at any time

BOYS
Thanks, Mr Thomson.

MR T
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.

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

KEITH
That’s weird.

LOUIS
I hope he’s all right for Christmas.

The other two nod.

MR T
(OS)
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.

MR T
How’s it look, Svel?

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.

KEITH
Oh no. Ouch… That looks bad…

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

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

LOUIS
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.

DAVE
I hope we have some left over.

LOUIS

Cocoa!

KEITH
We’re gonna freeze.

MR T pokes his head out of the broken window.

MR T
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.

The trio of nuns fought the creature valiantly

2005-11-12T14:17:00.000-08:00

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!

A blog entry

2005-11-08T17:00:00.000-08:00

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?"
"None."
"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
Themselves.

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

I don't remember my own nudity

2005-11-06T19:40:00.000-08:00

“(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?

International Symposium on Super Heroism and...

2005-11-04T17:19:00.000-08:00

...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]

Story Time

2005-10-31T14:01:00.000-08:00

Hello everyone. Marlene here. This is a story submitted by a nice man who works in the Marketing department of Grey's. I think it's lovely. Enjoy!

I’ve grown tired all the time and I think it has something to do with what I eat for breakfast. When I was a virile, young sprout, they told me, “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Stacy. So, eat healthy now. And, I don’t just mean a bowl of ‘Fruity Sugar Malted Balls’ or ‘Blackwell’s Chocolate Chunks’. I mean eggs, home fries, bacon, sausage, pancakes, French toast, an omelet, a crepe, some toast with some jam or jelly on it, etc. It’s all about energy. You need that energy to begin your day.” And, they were right. For 25 years, my breakfast has consisted of two eggs (any style, poached if I can have ‘em that way), four long strips of bacon, a glass of orange juice, two pieces of toast with strawberry jelly and a piece of cantaloupe. Time passed, I worked hard at my job and life became more complicated, so did my breakfast. As the years peeled away, I became larger (mainly my ass) and assumed that more food was necessary every morning to keep my energy level at its desired capacity. Gradually, I increased the amount I ate. My regime went from 2 eggs to 3 or 4, four long strips of bacon became a half dozen, a glass of orange juice, prune juice and a Vegetable Medley drink, 4 pieces of toast marinated in strawberry jelly, a piece of cantaloupe along with a side of three buttermilk pancakes or French toast powdered with sugar. Well, daily intake increased. And I now eat 6 eggs, 5 buttermilk pancakes and ½ dozen pieces of French toast, 12 strips of bacon alongside a big slab of Canadian Bacon, a crepe filled with cheese, a 2-liter of Mountain Dew (to make up for what I felt to be failing energy) and a small box of chocolate covered cherries. Yet, my energy level is still way down. I find I barely want to leave my room let alone board the bus and go to work. I long to change my breakfast diet, to make me more peppy, but I fear any subsequent loss in energy that might occur.

Of course, the tired could come from my family. I wouldn’t put it past them. My mother had died three years ago. She was a charming and gregarious woman who instantly became the life of any party she became a part of. A fun lady who enjoyed a big buffet as much as the next woman. My dad, in contrast, was a gym teacher. Yelling at kids all day takes the energy right out of ya, I guess. I never heard the man say more than five words at the same time at any time. But, after Mom died, everything changed. Dad suddenly acquired an “urge to live”, as he called it. I asked him what he’d been doing with Mom for all those years but he didn’t answer. He sold the family house as is, which was a little annoying as all our family photos and quite a few of our childhood belongings were in there. But, Dad didn’t even take notice. He took the money from the sale and rented space in the garage of the house across the street so he could have an “Eternally Nostalgic” view of the Homestead. The remainder went towards the purchasing of a ‘79 Plymouth Home-On-Six-Wheels trailer. A truly gross looking machine which had strange rusty stains all along the bottom and smelled like a small, sheltered, damp place no matter how much you disinfected the thing or aired it out. I asked him why the sudden urge and he claimed that Mom came to him in a daydream and told him to spend the rest of his life traveling around the country and then from the North to the South Pole. By time he left on his journey, one year ago yesterday, he had taken to living entirely in the trailer. The man couldn’t use a bathroom anywhere but in that trailer. “It’s cramped, yeah...it’s cramped!” he’d say stumbling towards the RV’s permanently stained kitchen table, “But, it just makes me appreciate, so much more, the enormous expanse of the world when I get out.” I thought maybe it got a little too hot for him in there. But, despite my pleas, he set off across Our Great Land and then up to the North and down to the South. The last thing I heard him yell, as he drove out of sight, “I’m hoping to pick me up some hitchhikers! With short shorts so tight!” A month later, he started sending requests for money as he’d left his ATM card in the garage. He was my dad. How could I turn down his request? I also have one brother, Trevor, who ran off years ago to become a traveling troubadour throughout Europe. We haven’t heard a thing from him since. Oh, except some bi-monthly requests for what he calls “Troubadour Restitution”. It’s not much, though. 2/5 of my income went to the two of them and, with that, almost all of my love, hopes, tears and wishes. Working lots of overtime to help them out barely kept my eyes open at 8AM unless I had three big, big cups of coffee.

The job, which I’ve held for the past ten years, has just recently begun to make me tired. I don’t know if it’s the primary source of my tiredness but it certainly doesn’t help. Ten years I’ve been there...and I’m convinced that they are not looking out for my happiness. I have been bucking for this job for weeks. I worked for it, campaigned for it, shmoozed the bosses, greased palms and did every damn thing I could think of. It didn’t work. I couldn’t get it. I mean, it was there in my grasp and they gave it to Danny D! “This is Danny D! Can I get you somethin’ nice?” Jesus, that guy makes me angry! Well, he did make me angry. Now, he just makes me tired. That job in Government Reporting - Verifications should have been mine. The president of the branch said I was the best employee Government Reporting, and maybe even the Retirement Plan Division, ever had. I was the #1 man in Government Reporting - Statement Exceptions and I missed a job in Verifications (who are, by the way, closer to the windows) to that spud Danny D. My anger became rage that became tired because it had nowhere else to go. I gotta get a new job. Or a second one. But, I just don’t have the time to look.

And, whose relationship with a certain woman named Sally wears them out? I’m afraid that’s me. Sally is what I like to call a “big girl.” Not fat, mind you: Big. A bit thick. And, since I’m a bit thick, I think my women should be likewise. I met Sally a year ago out at Seneca Park during the big Employee Picnic. There had been hot dogs, enormous amounts, and I sincerely enjoy hot dogs. After about 8 or 9, my ass felt particularly lugubrious and I decided a walk round a couple of nearby trees would work wonders. So, I began walking and bumped, after a 2nd revolution, directly into the most beautiful vision I’d ever encountered: Sweet, Plump Sally. A shock to all my senses. We spent the rest of the afternoon talking and talking. Over the next six months, we were together every other night in our pre-wedlock bliss. Of course, wedding bells were in our future or so we figured. There is, however, an obstacle, a force larger than both of us that is cheesing her off to no end. My great and enormous love for my own ass. Here’s where it ties in and I can see now that the threads of my own destruction, my feelings of great lethargy, were purely my own creation. I suppose then, as much as I try to ignore it, my love for my enormous ass makes me tired.

My fanny intrigues me in a way that may be considered unhealthy. I remember when it was a tiny little compliment to my body and how it’s grown, gotten a little hairy, a little flabby. Wherever the wind blows it, I let it go. Let it run wild in whatever pair of slacks I happen to have on at the time. Why not? I believe it to be an ass of epically, beautiful proportions and I am so glad it’s mine. And yes, it is for this reason that I eat so much breakfast (watching my ass increase in size increases my self-worth), this is why my family’s gone (they have no love for one who cares more for his posterior than them), this is why I lost the promotion (Danny D. has the smaller ass and can fit in any chair, regardless of size. Mine must be custom built. You know why.), this is why Sally is leaving me (a woman does not appreciate a man who prefers his own ass to hers) and this then is why I’m tired. Chasing my tail for all time.

I’ve grown tired all the time but I’ve become accustomed to it.

Alyssa's Journal #3

2005-10-29T07:42:00.000-07:00

I am no longer a member of the Stan Morgan All-Comedy Improv Group.

You know us (or maybe you don't) as the "whacky" bunch of "goofs" who spends every Friday and Saturday afternoon trying to make you laugh after a long week in the Prepared Beef Plant. We play over on the small stage at Ornette's. Well, it's not a stage per se. It's a spot on the floor that's slightly higher than everything else. We call it a stage.

Stan runs a tight ship. There are 6 of us up there moving through the improv games that Stan has worked out. Some are relatively straightforward. "Give me an activity that you like doing at night with someone in the dark, preferably in a bed!" "Give me an embarrassing situation that you've been in, preferably involving eating some bad Mexican food and being stuck in a traffic jam!" "Can you Find the Detective?" He made up some great ones.

"Find The Detective" was the best. It involved one of us, alone on stage, stating that somewhere in the crowd there was a real live detective and we would ferret him out. So, one of us would be in the crowd dressed as, say, a clown, a ballerina, a construction worker or an Officer of the U.S. Department of Weights and Measures. We would approach the ballerina and say "Excuse me. Are you a detective?" "Yes. I am." "You look like a ballerina." "I'm in disguise." "Who is your favorite detective?" "Rudolf Nureyev." "He was a ballerina." "He was an amateur detective throughout the end of the 19th Century and the start of the 20th." "Are you thinking of Sherlock Holmes?" [pause] "Maybe I am a ballerina."

It went on like this until the host of the game met one of us dressed in a long trenchcoat and smoking a cigarette. (Or wearing a deerstalker cap and smoking a pipe.) "Excuse me. Are you a detective?" "I'm a surveyor. I work for the county." "You're dressed like a detective." "I'm sorry. I don't know anything about that." "I think you're a detective." "Well, you found me. Perhaps you're a detective." It would go on like this. Eventually, right when the crowd was beginning to go south, the detective would fess up and reveal that the construction worker was a detective in disguise. When the audience got a closer look at the worker's hardhat, they'd see that it read "I AM A DETECTIVE" in block letters. Great game.

During the Friday afternoon show, Stan was beginning to insist that we get a "little more serious about our comedy." We began to start each show with "News of the Day". He would ask the audience for a story that was in the news. He'd get a response. We would then do a ten minute play he prepared on the dangers of drinking milk with too many chemicals in it. No matter what the story was that was Stan's big thing so...

He called it "misdirection". I thought he was being a "fat jackass".

The other games that drove me nuts were "Wallpaper" and "Suggestions".

"Wallpaper" involved us hanging up strips of wallpaper along the back wall and discussing the Communist Political Agenda in modern day China until he said "Scene!". One afternoon, he let us go for twenty minutes. There wasn't a customer in the place by time we'd finished.

"Suggestions" is the one that really drove me crazy. It closed the show. We would take suggestions from the crowd. "Color." "TV show." "Politician." "Movie." "Actor." "Food." "Soft drink." We'd accumulate all this for around five minutes and get the crowd really riled up and excited. Then, we'd say "Good Night!" and the lights would go out and we'd leave. Stan called it "Po Mo Improv". I wasn't convinced.

Last night, we had it out. The show ended at 8:30. It had gone on for 2 1/4 hours. He had introduced a new bit called "My Drunk Uncle". We would ask the crowd for the name of any uncles they could remember who were drunk all the time and we'd construct a short play around an abusive uncle. If we went for a laugh, "Uncle Neil" would hit us. I was pretty bruised by the end of it. The crowd was pretty pissed.

I told Stan after the show that he was ruining the group. (And that he received too much joy from playing the Drunk Uncle.) We had it out. He called me a whore and a piece of filth. I told him that we needed to make the crowds laugh. That's why they came here. He threatened my life and waved a piece of broken glass at me. I told him that his tyranny was ruining what was once a beautiful artistic endeavor. He punched me in the boob. I couldn't take it and told him that I wanted the group together for a vote. He said I was no longer a part of the group. If I came back, he would, personally, make sure that I never walked again.

You can imagine that I will be speaking to Ornette the next time I see him outside of the bar. I just wanted somewhere where I could free my talents. It's tough enough doing anything remotely creative in this town. I think Stan was being unreasonable. Especially when he threatened the lives of any children I might have in perpetuity.

I'll get back to you when this is resolved.

Three for the Festival (Part 2) (?)

2005-10-27T13:35:00.000-07:00

I don’t know that this story is new (I know it isn’t) but it doesn’t hurt to hear it again. In high school I had to learn every amendment to the U.S. Constitution. All but one or two have left my memory even though they were pounded into my head again and again. This story, Charlie told me this, keeps popping up like a song. I’ll try to tell it as Charlie did because, well, he told it right. I don’t want to fudge it around with my whatever:

“Yeah. It’s weird, ya know, I’ve lived here all my life but I never met Ruben. I guess, what they tell me is that he was a grade ahead. But, when I first saw him at the festival, I didn’t know him from Zorro. He was...Hmmm, ya know, this happened a couple years ago but I still...it still...

"OK. I’ll tell the story. Then, I gotta get back to work...Alice and I had met, fell in love, married and been like that for 3 years. No kids, but we were planning on it. We both worked here...This beef, you know. But, ...just...we were in love. And, every year, we went to the festival. I had proposed to her on top of and or on the way down the slide. So, we...you can imagine anyway...We had had some fried dough, played some skeeball, had a good time. We’d watched the brawl. You know, you’ve been, all the stuff...we saw and did it.
The night was gettin’ on. About 10:30 and we went up the slide. I don’t now...We did this every year and I guess I sort of really didn’t pay much attention to it. It was something she really loved and I did it. I can’t...What I’m trying to say is that it wasn’t until later that any of this meant anything so I didn’t...no...

"So, we’re on the slide. Happy as can be. Deep in our wedded bliss. It was probably a little cloudy and I imagine the moon was pretty high and bright. I’m sure I could check a good almanac or something but...You just want to hear what happens and here...

"So, we’re on the slide. Holding hands, I’m sure we smiled at each other and I’m sure we kissed, put on our sacks and slid. Oh, one thing, I do remember. But, only vaguely, sort of after the fact, but...As we put on the sack pants, I thought I heard a voice yell 'Alice!’ twice. But, there’s so much sound and neither of us wanted to ruin the moment. I hid the ring in a specially planted pair of sack pants, you know. Well, I thought I heard it. I...I knew I heard it. But, I didn’t pay attention. Didn’t matter anyway.

"We went down the slide. I remember they had new sack pants that year. And, the moment we stopped, Ruben entered our life. Well, mine. I kind of ignore him and tried to go round but I noticed that Alice was a bit...agog. A look I don’t know I’d ever seen. At first, I thought maybe he had pulled a knife but he was just smiling at her. He was a good-looking guy...

"We were introduced. She said that her and Ruben used to be very good friends. I saw him smile, slyly. And, I...I didn’t think anything about it...I’m not a real jealous guy, you know. Alice is a real pretty woman. I never thought about it. Never noticed it. But, we talked for a while. He seemed like a nice guy. At one point, though, I forgot what I said, but he gave me a look. Damn, I wish I could remember. I think I made a comment about prepared beef. And, he gave me this look. I let it pass but...It was a real sort of patronizing, condescending, unfriendly look is what it was. But, I just let it go. One of the things that has always bugged me is the thought that whatever it was he did to her that moment could have helped his cause. Ya know, 'Why are you with him when he says stupid stuff like...' whatever. I don’t know.

"The chat ended. He went his way, said 'see ya' and was gone. I said that he seemed nice and she nodded. For the rest of the night, she was [he waved his fingers in front of his face here]. When I asked her about it, she just said she was tired, a little lightheaded. So, we went home, fell asleep. It was a nice night.

"It was two months later. We were eating dinner and she told me she had some news. I thought she was pregnant. She wasn’t. She spoke very sternly. Very ‘laying down the law’. She said she was sorry but she was in love with someone else and would be moving out of the trailer in the morning. It was at this point that my IBS began. It’s only gotten worse since then.

"I didn’t know what to say and, in the end, there was nothing I could. She was going. I tried pleading with her but that got pretty pathetic. I asked her why, who, what, how all that crap. But, she said that if I loved her, I would just let her go. “If you love something, set it free” and all that. So, I did.

"It’s not...I didn’t feel...The real pain sunk in the next night. I felt very alone. I felt...No idea what had just happened. And, my stomach was shooting everything I ate right out. Thought that was food poisoning. Cried and...

"Let me...A month later, Shauna at work, she told me what happened. She knew that Alice left. Moved out of town, I haven’t heard a word from her since. But...this is what she told me.

"Alice left with Ruben. He had to be described to me because I didn’t remember the name. And, suddenly, the festival came back. Very quickly. And, I felt my stomach shake. But, I didn’t know if I’d get a chance to hear the story again so I let her go...Of course, four people have tried to tell me the story since. But...

"Ruben and Alice had been deeply in love about ten years before she met me. They had, apparently, been inseparable. One guy called them insufferable. They were never apart. Always in love.

"Well, Ruben, so they tell me, is very ambitious. Wanted to get rich quick. So, against her wishes and some of his own, he left Turbot for the coast to make a $1,000,000 or so they said. Well, I guess Alice, until she met me, was very, very sad. But, I, according to her friends, brought her back to life. I remember them saying that to me when we started dating. I smiled or laughed but I didn’t know what they were talking about. Well,...she hadn’t heard from him in years. And then, he showed up at the festival. And, they started meeting in secret. Shauna saw them at Ornette’s once during the Taco Lunch Special they have there, you know it. They tell me Ruben had a great car. One of those big sports things. Brand new, wholesale, and one guy told me that Ruben owned a jewelry company on the coast. Estimated worth, he told me, a tremendous amount. Well...what could I say? That’s more than I’m worth.

"Her friends said she never spoke of Ruben or her plan but they could tell something was up. They didn’t know it was this...The rest is pretty obvious. Still in love. He asked her to leave. She left. I correspond with her lawyer. We were legally divorced a year ago. I hope she’s doing well. I wouldn’t mind punching Ruben in the jaw.

"That’s childish, I know. I get real angry sometimes. But, I try not to. The doctor told me it just makes me sicker. I...I have trouble eating some days. Some days, I’m fine. But, I get a bad week and I can’t eat. It’s... There are drugs I could take but that’s not really my thing. Thank God, I’m not a marinater.

"Yeah. I don’t...I’m still by myself. Haven’t really dated. Scared, ya know. Six years gone over a guy named Ruben in a flashy sports car. But...if she really loved him...who am I to...? It doesn’t matter even if I do moan and... I’m not really sure where she is now. I hope she’s happy. I’m sure she is.

"I do...I wonder if she thinks about me. She must. She took all the pictures. I have one of us...Here. See...Took that at the big theme park next state over. Well, we didn’t take it. It’s on the big White Water Maniac Ride. The big hill at the end, you know it. They take pictures of everyone. Cost us $7 but...I’m glad we got it. I always kept it in my wallet as a laugh. I mean, it’s so blurry because of the way we were moving around. I guess if I didn’t have it she would have taken that too. See how pretty she was. No, that’s me. It’s kind of tough. She’s got her hair up and...Yeah. that’s her. Ha...Yeah...

"Well, that’s it. That’s the story. It’s really not so great. I...I don’t go to the Festival anymore...I...really wanna punch Ruben. Just once. But...life goes on. Everything has a purpose and a meaning. At least that’s what they tell me.

He Was Turbot

2005-10-25T12:06:00.000-07:00

At one time, this town was named Mulletville (mull-AY-ville). That was when we had the Marshmallow factory. But, that closed down.

Then, times got strange. People left. The ones that stayed behind don't remember everything so clearly. Many of them say that Mulletville became the most Fun town on Earth. Others aren't so sure.

All I know is that the Fun vanished overnight leaving ruined buildings and a community abandoning their homes in droves. Whatever we were called, it was no longer a desirable place to be. Of course, some of the older folks stayed. This was their home. They weren't going anywhere. But, most folks took off. Left the houses to decay. The wilderness to take over.

It is said that one day a decent sized trailer appeared in the large field near Old Hagar's. A trailer that seemed rather rusty and damaged on the outside but, through some miracle of decorating (smoke and mirrors?), was much more spacious inside than you would ever imagine. This was Jack Turbot's trailer.

Most falls called him Jack. A few people called him Frank. One gentleman told me his real name was Joseph. There are no sort of records in his trailer so we don't know. I'll call him Jack.

He parked his trailer in the field and started to live. He put up the yellow and white striped awning. He set out a propane grill. He set out a deck chair. He ate and drank and endlessly scribbled things into a series of notebooks. He seemed to have no worries.

One day, Mrs. Endicott parked her trailer near his. Her husband had passed three months previous. She was traveling. She became Jack's friend. Together they lived in the field.

Over the next five years, more and more trailers set themselves down in the field. At first, scattershot-random. Only Jack and Mrs. Endicott's trailer remained still. Families came. Everyone shared with everyone else. They worked on writing, drawing, sculpting, singing... All sorts of endeavors.

They were not a town. They were not anything. Just a place where these people could go to do what they needed to do.

With families came the questions of money. People searched for jobs. But, the factory had been closed for several years. Jack Turbot had no jobs for people. In fact, they say that several of the current Grey's employees became rather angry with him. They had believed that this was some sort of planned community where they could raise children. Jack Turbot never advertised himself.

He became disillusioned. He insisted that everyone would be fine. But, people wanted their security. He insisted that it was not an issue. But, it became one. That's when Mr. Grey arrived.

Grey renovated a house and lived there for a time. Grey stepped forward with the jobs everyone needed. Beef! Help him prepare it! Some inhabitants resisted. Jack told Grey that he should go elsewhere.

It was Grey who named the town Turbot to appease Jack. The appeasement stopped when Grey saw how desperate the people had become. There was no need to appease this strange man with the ugly trailer. Grey had a house and money. And, he reopened that factory. Gave everyone jobs.

When the election came for the Town's first First Selectman, Mrs. Endicott nominated Jack Turbot. Grey won by a landslide. Within a month of the election, the rows were created, people's homes were assigned spots and the field became a Trailer Park.

People still worked on their projects. But, they were now hobbies. Other things became more important.

A few people still believed in Jack. But, his heart had gone out of it.

One night

He told Mrs. Endicott to watch over his trailer. He asked her to keep it where it was and to let no one else go inside. He put on an old flannel, old jeans and a pair of white shoes. With a deep breath, he crossed the Rural Route and headed throughout the woods to Sodus Bay.

They say the last anyone ever saw of him was as he walked into the bay. He vanished into the water. Never to be seen again.

Mrs. Endicott keeps control of the trailer. It is the Turbot Memorial Trailer. Everyone knows whose trailer it is but no one can agree on his first name. Or even what he looked like.

No one in town says it...

Five old men at the circular diner will though.

There is a legend that when things get so bad that people won't know why they get out of bed. Why they want to live. Why they want to work five stories underground making beef jerky. Why anything matters. When things get that bad, Jack Turbot will rise from the waters and save us all. With one wave of his arm, he will make everything all right.

Every night I watch the waves.

Vote for Me, Ron Kelly!

2005-10-23T23:55:00.000-07:00

Hello, Ronald Thomas Kelly here. I'm running for First Selectman of Turbot in the November election. Maybe you've heard of me.

Most of you may know me as the Town Swell. I'm always over at Ornette's with a smile and a beer in my hand. I worked 28 years over at Grey's Beef Plant. I was a Marinater and eventually moved on to Marketing and then management. Mr. Grey and I used to enjoy each other's company on the golf course every other month.

My wife, Hildy, passed two years ago. I have not remarried because her memory is too strong. Sadly, we never had children. But, we collected pictures of children. Hundreds of them line the walls of our trailer. And, each one has a name. Maybe you know them...Steven, James, Wallace, Thom, Jenny, Maitland, Rene, Trix, Bern, Tomlin, Horace, Winchester 7, Odie, Gunnar, Lars, Champlaign, Thurs, Rudge, Sam, Kenny, Morris and many more. All with names. It's not that tough to acquire hundreds of pictures of children. Just give me a call at the Town Hall and ask how Hildy and I accomplished it.

Before I go, I want to dispel some rumors that have been "making the rounds" down here. I do have claw marks all down my back. Surgery has reduced the swelling and the unsightliness. I don't deny any of that. Two years ago, I was attacked by some sort of animal in Old Hagar's Swamp. But, I got away. I watched it leap onto a branch to try to get at me. I saw the branch snap. I saw the brown shape sink into the bog, howling. All that happened. I'm just here to say that I am fine. There is no truth to the rumors that the attack affected me in any way. Yes, I don't sleep on my back and sometimes I can't sleep at all. But, I've had insomnia for years. It is a pre-existing condition in no way relating to the events of that night. The attack has not, in any way, deterred me from living a happy life. In her last days, Hildy took great care of me. Until the day she went missing, I was her prime concern. Our love is still strong.

Turbot needs a strong First Selectman. Someone who will take no bull from those hotshots in Washington. I'm your man. I survived dropsy as a child, hair loss as a teen and a brutal attack by a strange animal in middle age. I should be your first, your only, choice!

Ron Kelly, First Selectman! It's the right thing to do! Isn't it?

Paid for by The Committee to Elect Ron Kelly

Arthur Yurvis, what have you done now?

2005-10-21T09:24:00.000-07:00

Well, we had thought (Arthur thought) that we finally figured out how to put our picture up. It was a great one too. Taken at the Grey's Beef Harvest Festival in 2003. The two of us are standing in front of the "3 Legged Race" banner with our legs tied together. My hair's a mess. I had it up in a bun but bits are sticking out all over. Arthur had used a little too much dye and looked like he was imitating Elvis. We were a little bit out of breath and sweaty from the race. But, and we can't stress this enough: We Looked Good! That's us. We're charming. From over 473 pictures of us as a couple, I chose that one.

Thursday, October 19. That was when Arthur posted the picture. (We'd seen other people post pictures so we knew it was possible.) And, as it was posting and the little thing was spinning saying "Here you go. It's posting.", the whole thing burped and went down. That's where we we've been for the last 24...just gone. Lost somewhere on the internet. Arthur spent all of Thursday night attempting to bring us back. I told him "If we've lost a single post, I will give you such a pinch!"

4:30 AM. Today. "I've got it, Marlene." (And, I did. -A.) The whole blog reappeared. We're pretty sure. I had a look through and all the posts and comments and photos seem to be here. Except one. The Wednesday post. Part 2 of Three For the Festival had gone missing. Would whoever sent us that post please re-send it? I'm not sure if anyone got to read it. Sorry.

Oh, should I mention that the post with our photo is gone too. Is that obvious enough? Arthur, I love you but still no photo. So, what we've decided to do is this: Send a stamped SASE to

Arthur & Marlene Yurvis
P.O. Box 14
RR 72
Turbot, U.S.A.

Don't worry about the zip. It's not going anywhere else. You will receive a color copy of our photo for your wall or mantel. It's a fantastic photo. (We may even include a little note saying "Hello" from Turbot.)

We hope to hear from you soon. Everything should be back in order now.

Rod Berman is a Crack!

2005-10-17T11:30:00.000-07:00

I don't want to get you down, Fat Backs! But, Rod Berman not only does not listen to Tool but he is a Tool! So says Tim Patrick, the Black Metal Listening God!!!!

All you Hellspawn know where I'm tearing it from here...It rained like Satan's Thursday all last week!

Our trailer got washed into the freakin' SwampAss Swamp! Can you believe it? Satan, why have you pulled this crap with me!!!!

So, I get them out and I head over (with Mom and Nana Sue) to the Berman's trailer. It's bigger and, yeah, maybe it smells better. But ours stinks of Hellfire and Brimstone and Hemlock and Satan, so we've got our reasons!

We get there and I've got my Phat Rack of Black Metal CD's. Oh yes! Rock with me! Duh...duh...duh...d-duh...duh...duh...Lepers! All right. I throw on the latest Enslaved (Isa!!!) and start jumping around Rod's nook. Well, his maaaaaaaa (maaaaa!) tells me to "Turn that down!" His dad laughs at it. He thinks it's goofy. I tell him "Since when have Vikings been goofy singing heavy metal, old man!" After I was done sitting in the corner, I put on some Graveland. (YEAHHH!) Well, what does the 'Boneman' family do?

You got it, Tank. "What is this?" Blah blah blah. "Polish Black Metal!" I yelled. (I let out a "Yeahhh!" here.) So, Mr. 'Boneman' tells the one about the Polack with one arm waving to his relatives from a tree and the one about the Polack at the optometrist. They're funny but, WTC?! I can't spend five minutes listening to Fascist Black Metal without getting one from the back.

Come on! Rod is laughing the whole time! He gets out his CD's and we're listening to The Eagles! Oh My Lord! How Evil do I have to be here!? I pretended like I was throwing up by putting my finger in my mouth and making barf noises.

Well, a minute later, I really threw up my Vienna Sausages all over their stereo and a sweater that Mrs. Berman was knitting for Rod. This time I was sent outside until I cooled down.

Next time this happens, I'm running away! Yeah, you heard me! I'm taking my CD's and my Awesome Attitude and I'm going to Ovid or somewhere were they're gonna appreciate me!

'Bonemans!' I hate you! Rod, what happened man? Did your Mom throw out your good music?

Oh Dark One, Grant All My Wishes! Let Me Rock In Hell!!!!!!!!

(That's a picture of the Bermans, by the way. No. I'm kidding. It is Gorgoroth. Do they rock? You can bet your cheeks they do!)

Tag Sale on Saturday

2005-10-16T17:00:00.000-07:00

The Thrift Shop above the bank is having a Tag Sale next Saturday. Feel free to come by this week and drop off anything you might want to sell. Ask for Gladys. You'll be speaking with Wilma. Frida's in charge.

No need to place a price on them. We'll be doing that this year. There was a little too much confusion over how much was paid for whatever last year so we'll take care of it.

There will be a cakewalk at 4PM so dress warm.

We are hoping to raise $450 this year for the charity of our choice.

Come early. Come hungry. And, bring cash. (No personal checks.)

Saturday 8:30 AM-6PM. Social afterwards.

Madelynn & Dan - Turbot's Happy Couple!!

2005-10-15T10:02:00.000-07:00

This is Madelynn & Dan. They're getting married today.

We've actually used a large concrete anchor to secure the Chapel In The Trailer to the ground so it has not slid into the Swamp. Although the rain is scheduled to stop soon, it hasn't stopped yet.

The whole of Turbot will be there. If you're in the area, come by Ornette's around 1PM. We'll all be a little tipsy...and full of Prepared Beef. If you know what I mean. (Pray for non-nihilist improv.)

Eternal love and luck to the beautiful couple. Forever and always.

- Marlene & Arthur

P.S. Arthur's pulled muscle should be healed for dancing. He kicks some prime booty on "We Are Family". Tell your friends.

Hold Up My End

2005-10-14T09:05:00.000-07:00

Sorry. We fell behind.

The accident, all the rain and there's a wedding this weekend for two very nice kids here in town. They both work in Marketing over at Grey's. It's going to be a big to-do. Mr. Grey might show up! Exciting!

It's been raining here since our accident. (We're still all right.) But, there is a fear that the Chapel On The Trailer might float away. It's just upwind of Old Hagar's Swamp and things are smelling murky, if you know what I mean.

If you happen to be in the area, it's tomorrow at 11:30. The reception is at Ornette's. The Stern All-Comedy Improv Group will be doing a show for us. (I hope they keep it light this time. At a wedding last year, we all got a little bummed.)

The wedding was going to be outside but things don't look so hot now. Well, live and learn.

I still have to keep Arthur's groin on ice and then hot depending upon his needs. (He pulled a muscle there. Remember.)

I'll update you all soon. Pray for our Trailer Chapel.

- Marlene

Three for the Festival (Part 1)

2005-10-11T15:42:00.000-07:00

Everyone arrived. Wrapped in shawls and coats standing bravely in the chill-blowing wind that cut them deep and made their lung’s most hidden gifts visible to all. Bravely before the turning Ferris Wheel that showed too much of its internal mechanism and had carts, which were laced in scribble, old and wobbly. Wobblier than a major theme park would allow. But, well within the safety standards for Aunt Lil’s Funtime Themetime Festival! Which is what occupied a field just sou-southwest of Turbot on the long weekend of the 3rd to the 6th.

Setting up had begun early on the 30th: Waking up most of the residents at 4:30 AM as the trucks pulled in and emptied out carts, cars, skeeball, bottled, darts, fried dough, tiny hot ticket booths, the plasticy animals for the merry go round and the top and bottom, like two bundt cake pans on top of each other, of the GraviBend. Probably the most feared and loved of the rides.

A large grey UFO-ish contraption where you stepped in, leaned against a side wall and held on to nothing. It would spin so fast that you’d stick to the wall. Then, the floor would drop and you’d still be sticking to that darn wall. Bending Gravity, as Aunt Lil claimed. Many a lunch was lost in that strange carnival nether world between the dropped floor and the feet of the Benders of Gravity.

Every year when this went up: Oh boy...many a bet, a wager, a fight went on in here. Guys would challenge each other to fist-fights here. Slow motion, face bending fights but, if you could raise your arm well for a punch and get in a “gravity bend”, “BAM!”, your opponent would get about 50g’s right in his pressed puss. There wasn’t a lot of gang activity in Turbot. But, what there was met every year in the Bend for a rumble you would not beleive. 30 guys and 20 women in various gang colors, exotic bandanas and/ or powdered wigs spinning, turning, swinging upside down, all in the slowest possible arcs of the body with maximum teeth gritting and brow furrowing. When the floor dropped out, everything became harsher. Many’s a time the floor couldn’t be raised because people’s bodies were jammed into the darkness. You’d hear loud “Ow!” 's and “Hey!” 's as the floor raised and then gravity would right itself and everyone would drop. Each year the festival visited the same brawlers brawled and each year the same people tried to stop it. (Aunt Lil could have cared less. The ride had been won in a bet 20 years ago and any dollar put into it was profit.) After 12 years of carnival, the 30-something brawlers weren’t as tough as they once were and the campaign to halt it all was obligatory. The height of protest was Year Six when the Turbot March wound around the Trailer Park with 111 people. The brawlers snuck in at 3 on Monday Morning before dismantling and went at it. Now, a random mother would send an angry letter to the carnival. Lil kept them all in a drawer that was marked “STUFF I DON’T CARE ABOUT.” And, that was it. Every year there was a brawl. Although, after so many years, they didn’t really have as much to fight about as they all worked together and some were married. The brawls were more of a theatrical event and the times were well-known and the people came out to watch them.

And, I’ve spent a lot of space talking about the GraviBend when it was really an insider thing for the folks in Turbot.

I suppose we should talk about the skeeball court, kitty corner to the fried dough hovel. That’s where a portion of the story tales place. An important portion.

If one had all the money in the world and one wanted to spend it on trying to win the 24-year-old boombox ("Now with Cassette!") which went for 175 tickets at the skeeball court, you’d never win it. The boombox worked, sure enough. It played all through the Festival. (In fact, it was Gimpy’s radio. And, he would keep it.) A great little box. But, you’d never win it. Because the game was fixed. There was a a certain button under Guimpy’s prize counter that he would hit when someone was getting close. The white circular hoops, painted with point desigations, would shift ever so slightly. So, all the strategy the “Big Gainer” was using flew right down the Grumper. And, no grumper pumper could pull them out because Gimpy’s grump-causer had 3 settings: regular, shifted and the one that made a small piece of elastic cover the inside, unseen, of the white hoop. You could not get what you wanted if what you wanted was the boombox. If what you wanted was the fun plastic hand-sized pinball game whose pull plunger thing always broke and whose cardboard back fell off often, then that you could have. You had to alter a lot of what you expected from the world at Aunt Lil’s Festival.

And, let’s not even ask the question: What exactly is the fried dough made of? Didn’t taste like dough that anyone else knew of. Some say it was made of the Devil’s Meat and others giggled when they heard this. I was one.

The dough was formed and fried by Norm and sold by his common-law wife, Duchess. They operated as a a spearate entity at the Festival. Paying a portion to Miss Lil every stop but keeping most of their profits, which they invested in microbreweries around the world. They didn’t drink; it was their retirement fund. No one ever saw dough enter the small hovel. It sat like a ticket booth in the center of a bare patch. You could walk all the way around it if need be. Regardless, you could not figure how the dough came in. Some kids kept on watch one year for a 24-hour period and saw nothing. And, then it hit them: Underground! Somehow they were getting their dough from a secret underground bunker. Or, somehow, Norm pulled the dough from the very crust of the earth itself. So, after the festival left, the kids scavenged around in the ground that was lorded over by the Dough Hovel. And, they found it!

A large hole lined with ripped tinfoil and sparkled with dirt, worms and bits of random earth debris. And, the final ingridient: small, caked bits of white sticky globs along the tinfoil. Some had dead worms mixed in. It let off a smell that was not so much fetid as...corrosive.

These kids vowed never to tell anyone what they’d found. And, never to eat the fried dough again.

But, the pizza was good. So, were the hot dogs except when you got one with that strange skin over it. But, if you had the knack, that would peel right off.

The festival was, is, a glorious place. So loud. But, a syncopated loud that made everybody smile. Bright lights, turning wheels, spinning cars and the giant slide that would whip your drawers and your ass off if you weren’t wearing the special sack pants they gave you on the way up.

A festival always makes people smile and the Turbot Festival did that in joyous spades. But...not everyone can be happy and mirthful. This isn’t a sitcom.

This is our story.

The story of a couple (Alice and Charlie) and Alice’s “Special Naked Friend” Ruben. And, the time they all met up at the festival and Charlie found out the truth. Nothing will dash a carnival to the ground quicker than this.

But, I’ve slipped up.

This story will require another part. Carry the festival with me into it.

Alyssa's Journal #2

2005-10-09T09:37:00.000-07:00

I think Mr. Lucassen might be peeping up at me in the middle of the night. I happened to look down and I saw a shape move behind a curtain. Somehow it wouldn't feel right if I'm trying to stand out here taking the air and feeling the world when that old perv is looking up at me. Of course, I've never seen him looking out before. He could have just looked out for the first time. I faced the other way after that. Facing deeper into the trailers. There's a much larger chance of someone seeing me this way. That's all I need, one of those nosy-ass ladies in Packaging to start talking. "What is Alyssa doing up there?" "She's so lonely." "She needs a man." That's not the sort of town publicity I need.

One of the Marinaters flirted with me for about half and hour. Some old nut smelling of beef and spices. (I don't even eat the stuff. You get sick of it real fast. They have Prepared Beef Pie for Lord's sake! The best thing you can do with it is nail it to the door of your trailer to keep the Polacks away.) This guy needed to get a new strap for his harness. That's all he needed to ask for, all he needed to say. But, he kept going on.

"So, you're working in Supply? I'm one of the Marinaters. So, I mean, I'm pretty important around here. Not everyone can Marinate. (Just guys.) It takes a certain breed. (That's gender, dope. Guys.) We go out there and put our areas on the line and make that meat our own. You become so close with the meat after you've swum with it for an hour or two. It's very spiritual. Very intense. (He paused for a couple of seconds.) A friend of mine's balls are getting jerked."

"Oh yeah."

"Yeah. Occupational hazard. But, you play hard, you fall hard. Do you dig my ditch?"

"I'm sorry."

"Do you catch my drift?"

"Oh, Sure. Sure. What were you talking about again?"

"My muskers are in fine shape. You wanna come over some night and butter them?"

In any other job, this would be sexual harassment of the highest order. Here, that's some sort of slightly advanced form of flirting. Nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, buttering balls is something all the Marinaters have to do. It keeps them fresh. But, Good God, I don't want to do it.

"Maybe you oughta do that yourself. Or hire someone. Aren't there women off of the Rural Route who will do that?"

"I don't want to butter my own tonight, beautiful. And, I don't want to pay."

"Did you need some sort of supplies or what?"

"A new strap for my harness."

I ran back, grabbed one and returned in a moment. "Here you go. Have a good one."

He winked at me. "I'll be back next time a strap breaks. It'll give us something to talk about."

Sometimes I wish more people needed supplies around here. I'm dreading the next snap on that man's harness. That smell. I can't even imagine what it's like on the floor itself. Oh my. Pungent is too calm of a word. It's like someone's strapped a ferret to your face.

Now, I just have to avoid him at the end of shifts. He'll pose from behind the search curtain given half a chance. Oh the dread.

Marlene & Arthur are OK!

2005-10-07T18:29:00.000-07:00

I know you've read the paper and seen the news. Well, we're OK. Just a few aches and pains.

We were driving up the Rural Route to Ovid. I needed new walk shorts so we were going to the Discount District. Arthur was driving the old sedan. We were taking that particularly dangerous turn near the Old White House when this swanky red BMW shoots around the corner swerving onto our side of the road.

We both yelled "What's this guy doing?" Arthur beeped and turned fast but it was too late. Pow! He slammed into our driver's side. Air bags went off and Thank God for seat belts. Arthur pulled a muscle in his groin. I hurt my neck a little. But, it could have been much worse.

The BMW stuttered on for a few feet. The driver's side was totaled. When the guy stepped out, he was clearly wasted. He came over, asked how we were and vanished into the woods. We had no idea who he was.

Glass everywhere. I was shaking. Arthur was moving his leg to check how much he hurt. We called 911. (It was close to the old hamburger diner. Those five old men in there just stared at me.) A very nice man stopped to be a witness. But, no driver of the other car. He'd vanished.

A very nice cop went into the woods. But, nothing. Our car is totaled. We've got aches and pains. They're still tracking down the jerk who did this. We'll get back to you as soon as we can with more details. (I never got my walk shorts.) Updates should continue as usual. We're just a bit shaken. If anyone knows who this man was, please contact us through this blog.

Thanks. Have a good one. Be careful.

- Marlene

Marinater's Dilemma

2005-10-03T19:50:00.000-07:00

[OK. Well, A. Anthony is a friend of ours who works as a Marinater at the Prepared Beef Plant. He was supposed to give us a column on what exactly they do down there. A. Anthony hasn’t done that. He wants to be more “creative”. He’s decided to give us a story. It’s “based on a legend from the Tenth Floor Underground.” We’re a little… Never mind. Here’s the first installment. I’ve edited some of it where I thought the wording got a little crude. A. Anthony says he’ll have more to us in the “near future.” Enjoy.]

A Marinater’s Dilemma
Chapter 1:Good Enough To Eat?

-What’s wrong with your Johnnie’s, man?
-What? There’s nothing wrong with...what...what’re you doing paying so much attention to my Happy Steves?
-Lift the left one.
-Get out of here. Wash yourself and don’t look at me anymore.

Chet shrugged and had to make do with checking out Horrie’s scrot*m surreptitiously. There was something wrong.

Of course, it could have just been his eyes. It was steaming in here with 30 other men. One normally had to draw one’s attention away from the red and pine blood arcing along tile and flowing into the drain. But, today, Horrie’s area was...disquieting.

None of the other men seemed to notice it. Chet just considered himself a little more observant than your average Prepared Beef Marinater. Then, his brain slid into place and all the feeling he had about Horrie’s Baloncestos clicked: Prepared B*lls! That’s what it was.

-Stop peeking at me, Chet!
-Maybe you should see the doctor, Horrie.

The older man just grabbed his towel and left the stall. Other marinaters showered and soaked around him. Making the most of some industrial soap and some very hot water.

Prepared B*lls! Chet left the shower and went up to the Infirmary. He flipped through some texts on Common Ailments for the Marinater of Prepared Beefs and Beef By-Products. After several moments, of scan-around, there it was.

A picture of an old man with his pants around his ankles and Danglin’ Grampas that you could eat. Prepared Beef was good; everyone knows that. The people who work at the plant from Sub up knew that. It’s better than jerky. And, at Grey’s Prepared Beef Inc., the center of Turbot, it’s made the absolute right way.

The plant had a very rigorous hierarchy:
[This is what gets up my skirt. If A. Anthony had actually looked at the site he would have seen…yes, there it is. The layout of Grey’s Prepared Beef Plant in my posting from several weeks ago. I’ve omitted his writing with one exception.]

SUB10: The Marinaters home. Where Chet and Horrie worked. In large vats. And, here lay the secret of the Special Prepared Beef.

The Marinate has two Special Ingredients: The Dip and the Men’s Swinging Bubblers. The Vats are filled with Dip and suspended beef is lowered into it. Then, the nude men are brought in. Freshly showered and seasoned, they swim around in the vat and help prepare the meat. “It’s the musk from grown men’s la-las that make Grey’s Prepared Beef taste so good” was a slogan rejected early in the company’s career. But was, nevertheless, very, very, very true.

Horrie was a marinater. Chet was a marinater. And, they knew the risks. Too much time in the vats can prepare your biscuits like the beef around you. “Make your toddlers good enough to eat. Tender and juicy. Swimming in special sauce and blood all day’ll do that to a man.” Doc Sickler told them all one day.

Oh, one word of extra mention, the Beef has a very sour, red smell. That’s because, in the final half hour of the Marinate, the Blood of the Children is washed through to give it a little “extra, extra something.”

Prepared B*lls meant the end of your marinating career. A man with Jerky B*lls, well, you can’t marinate a chicken with another chicken. Substitute jerky b*lls for poultry.

If Horrie truly had Prepared B*lls, the man was out of a job. No Workers Comp for that. Only if you lose your trollers in the Dip, not if they become good enough to eat. You could sue. Dan Thurman tried that 36 years ago. But, you can imagine the embarrassing front-page photo.

Chet was scared. Scared for his buddy and his buddy’s b*lls. He had to talk to him.

Dashing past the local children getting ready to help the Dip to the elevator, he zipped up to the ground and stormed into the Check Point.

Tom, Tim, Jorge and Waldron would scan the men and women of the plant for Prepared Beef on their persons. The boys from SUB10 would have to drop ‘em behind a curtain for Waldron’s inspection.

Chet ran up as Horrie stepped from the screen, zipping his breakaway trousers up high.

-Hey Chet! Goin’ to Ornette’s tonight?
-Ummm...Horrie? Are you...?

Waldron, a lumpy man with a thing for collecting pig’s tails, barked at Chet if he was gonna get checked now or later.

-Yeah. Yeah, Waldron. In a sec.

The guard nodded and scratched his nose with a latex gloved thumb.

-Horrie, are you...?
-C’mon, Chet! It’s the end of the day! Let’s forget about each other’s schnuts ‘til morning. See you at the bar!

The older man pulled his friend’s arm and left.

As Chet dropped ‘em and was getting a quick probe around, he couldn’t help but wonder: if Horrie’s area was all right, what did he see in the shower that looked good enough to eat? The next logical thought confused him more. How did Horrie get by the guard with a ration of beef stuck to his body? And, why was Horrie stealing when he could get beef from the company for wholesale plus 7%?

These questions would buffet his brain. He could not let them go.

My Fat Sheriff (Part 2)

2005-09-30T19:37:00.000-07:00

In the North Carolina town where “House of Death” takes place, Sheriff Avery is not one who has to run a lot. His shape implies little to no crime although he does nab a kid in a grocery store trying to sneak out a “nudie” magazine. So, he is observant. He never actually wears a uniform-type shirt. All his tops are semi-fancy dress shirts with a badge pinned on. He’s a casual man; it suits where he’s stationed. The town is a very white piece of small-town Americana with carnivals, baseball teams and psychopathic killers.

Everyone seems to know the Sheriff. They joke with him, greet him warmly and one gentleman requests that he “Keep [his] powder dry.” (The actual words the man says are “How bout keeping your powder dry?) This is said to him as he is mopping his brow during a particularly hot one. I’m informed by a source (Prof. Lorraine Hoover, author of Colloquial Carolina) that this implies Avery should keep clean and sweat free so he doesn’t stink up the place. The Sheriff also commands respect as the pot smoking “kids” instantly cut it when he shows up. So, he does promote a message of “Say No To Drugs!” Dogballin’!*

To address the effectiveness of the Sheriff here is simple. The large law is one step behind but does manage to arrive in the nick of time and kill the psycho. When I say “nick”, I mean only after five people have been killed but three are left. His investigation is a little slow but his physique doesn’t lend itself to fast.

Unlike the other films, the majority of killings here are in one big burst at the end so the Sheriff’s culpability is low. (Although, something else is going on in an odd subplot.) The first couple killed, during the pre-credits foofah, are thought to have left own. The Sheriff insists that they’ll come back. This does not make the Sheriff culpable as the couple really seem to have gone out of town. He couldn’t have prevented it and one doesn’t get the feeling that he could have done something there.

About that odd subplot: It is between the Sheriff, Mona (the town screwaround), Casey (the town’s brain damaged inhabitant) and the Sheriff’s son (deceased). The Sheriff clearly hates Mona because of some car accident (?) involving the “kids”. Apparently, Casey was driving and the Sheriff’s son was killed. Mona came out of it unscathed. If anything, her boobs got bigger.

The subplot is never fleshed out. The viewer thinks it might amount to something but it doesn’t. In fact, the Sheriff is after Casey who goes missing. This leads him to the killer but none of it touches the subplot. In the end, he is the most effective of the three although lots of people die and that’s only in relation to the other two.

The Sheriff in “Offerings” is in charge of a small town in Oklahoma. He seems like a decent guy although a kid who is hiding nudie magazine fools him with the name “Ben Dover”. One imagines that this may be a new “goof name” in this neighborhood. The viewer imagines that the Sheriff is familiar with “Phil McCracken” or “Pat M’Groin”. The Sheriff’s job here is to act similar to the Sheriff in “Halloween”. Except, that Sheriff J. Chism is, frankly, larger.

In the end, the Large Arm of the Law shoots and kills the psycho. Once again it is in a “nick of time” manner. (See previous Sheriff.) Most of his time is spent following the killer’s psychiatrist as he hunts the killer. At the same time, the girl who is given the “offerings” also calls him in. He posts an ineffectual cop outside her house but refuses to give her all the skinny on what’s happening. In the end, he saves her but none of her friends. Somewhat effective.

As far as culpability, one gets the feeling he probably should have told the girls a little more about what was happening. Kids are disappearing, body parts are piling up and his attitude remains “Those kids just keep goofing around. No one worry.” It’s oddly presented because even the killer’s doctor implies that Chism should tell the girls what’s happening. But, he just doesn’t. He could have upped the ante on the “protecting the kids” issue.

Honestly, the thinnest of them all.

I’ve examined their effectiveness and culpability but now I would like to, briefly, compare and contrast some of their behavior and actions as they pertain to the main bodies of the movies.

All three men are corpulent; the first two verging on obese. This implies a lack of crime in the area as one would imagine more infested areas would need to have tougher cops. Now, the “Don’t Go…” Sheriff has his deputy to do more athletic stuff but still…these can’t be places that expect psycho killers very often.

All three men are rather terse. They have that southern “Now you wait a minute while I tell you what’s happening” attitude. The “House of Death” Sheriff is the only one who actually seems to get really involved (or be really involved) with the people in his town.

All three can become active when they need to be to very individual results. The “Don’t Go…” cop leads that posse but doesn’t actually meet up with the killer. Avery gets to the killer and actually shoots him in the head. Actually, in the face, which blows his head up. Sheriff Chism arrives in time to send a few shotgun blasts the killer’s way. Avery seems rather sadistic here. Especially, if you consider the circumstances. He has no real evidence that the person he’s shooting is the killer.** A man falls from a window into an outdoor basement entrance. The Sheriff’s response is to shoot this guy full in the face. Maybe less salt in his diet would bring him down.

They have different reactions to the main characters. The “Offerings” Sheriff doesn’t seem to know the girls but treats them friendly enough. The “House…” knows everyone so the treatment is different, more personal. He knows their stories. “Don’t Go…” doesn’t seem to get to know the potential victims at all. The cop plotline and the camper plotline runs separate until the bitter, elongated end.

It is fun to watch the three of them move, especially the first two. They sort of flobble along in an entertaining way. The viewer wonders how they will be effective against a homicidal killer. Well, the plot can adjust…

This is obviously a very cursory examination of a very important issue. But, under the chosen parameters, I believe we have covered all that has been sought out. The large law enforcement officer is an important part of thee films. We’ve seen that they are not as useless as previous scholarly work has stated. The slasher movie victims can be helped here because the law is always there at the end to shoot a couple of killers. Although, again, not always.

For more on law enforcement in slasher movies, see “Brock Johnson: Man or Myth?” by Dr. Greg Pinnick.

*Also from Hoover’s book. The meaning is an exclamation of raucous affirmation for an action or statement.

** I think. Something vague happens in a garage that may or may not lead Sheriff Avery to the identity of the killer.#

# But, does he actually know that there’s a killer loose at this time? Psychic Sheriff!? Tough to say.

Pray For David Burp!

2005-09-29T20:25:00.000-07:00

Just a little Turbot News Flash!!! - From Cub Reporter Marlene Yurvis

Our Own David Burp, Prepared Beef Marketer, is taking his Jewelry Design Exam tomorrow. It starts at 9AM. We know that he's been getting A's in Placement, Polishing and putting that monocle glass thing in your eye and staring at gems. But, he has been having some trouble with Gem Identification and a few others. (The man can't tell an opal from an opposum.)

So, say a little prayer for Mr. Burp!! We wish him the best!

Results tomorrow!!!

(Along with the rest of My Fat Sheriff)

My Fat Sheriff

2005-09-28T19:49:00.000-07:00

Hello. This article was sent to us anonymously. I've split it in half as it's a little lengthy. Have a good one! - Marlene

“A Brief Study of the Effectiveness & Culpability of Overweight Law Enforcement in the Slasher Film”

or

“My Fat Sheriff”

The slasher film, in general, is ruled by its formulaic elements. There is the Final Girl, the mysterious prologue, and some sort of remote or isolated location, sexual byplay and ineffective law enforcement. The purpose of this article is to examine the last of these elements in some detail. How effective is the law enforcement in slasher films? Also, how responsible are the aforementioned “Fuzz” for the events that occur? As there are many slashers with some kind of law enforcement in them, the current writer has chosen three Sheriffs who all share a common denominator: they are all what is euphemistically referred to as “big boned” or, to tweak the term slightly, “fat boned”. We will be examining the characters and actions of three corpulent cops as they relate to the previously mentioned points.
The three I have chosen are: The Sheriff from “Don’t Go In the Woods”, Sheriff Avery from “House of Death” and the character of Sheriff J. Chism from “Offerings”. All three are fairly standard offerings from the 1980’s with the last of these being a less stylish/ scare free retelling of “Halloween” set in Oklahoma.
For the benefit of those who may not remember the basics, here are brief plots for each. “Don’t Go…” is set in the mountains of Utah where a large hairy man with beads on his face is slaughtering groups of campers. Includes the classic scene with Dick and Cherry. “House of Death” takes place in a small North Carolina town at the end of summer. A killer attacks a bunch of 20-somethings (?) who are partying after the carnival comes to town. Features Susan Kiger from “H.O.T.S.” and a grown man-boy named Diddle. “Offerings” is about a young asylum inmate who escapes and, returning to his hometown, begins to kill the kids who picked on him when he was young. The “offerings” are given to the only girl who was nice to him. They consist of an ear, a finger and so forth.
We will begin with The Sheriff from James Bryan’s “Don’t Go In The Woods”. The Sheriff is in charge of county business, which implies that his jurisdiction is the woods where the killings are occurring. With the help of his noticeably lanky deputy, they set out in search of the big killer.
Before discussing effective and/ or culpable behavior, let’s have a quick look at the Sheriff and his character. The first time the viewer sees the Deputy he has been warned that the Sheriff is “busy and asked not to be disturbed”. However, the Sheriff is playing golf in his office. The first thing a viewer thinks upon seeing the golfing sheriff is “Those are the largest pants I’ve ever seen” and this could be a true statement.
The Sheriff is presented as a man who is rather dismissive of the reports that come his way. “Another missing person’s report…It’s the freakin’ call of the wild!’ But, he does investigate including a ride in a small plane, which he seems to teleport into, as they don’t show him climbing in. The trip involves this plane flying over the huge mountains while the Sheriff yells, “I’ll bet he’s not even down there! All in all, it seems a mite ineffectual. However, when proof is presented to him, he forms a posse and gets all the gun totin’ hicks he can to help him find the maniac.
The Sheriff is seen to investigate. He makes that plane ride. He does the manhunt. None of which is, frankly, effective. The disappearances occur in the woods but, until proof arrives, the plane ride is all he does. Perhaps if they had gotten closer to the ground earlier in the movie things may have worked better.
The manhunt is expansive. It lasts for 2 full days. The men, led by the Sheriff, scour the trees. The Sheriff gets off some of his best sweating here. He also is able to shift all the weight of the hunt from “Killer” to “Killer and mental case” when Peter (one of the lead campers) heads back into the woods to rescue a friend. This scene can be seen by choosing Chapter 23 “When’d and how’d it happen, Maggie?” on the Special Edition DVD.
But, in the end, even though all this man hunting is occurring, the two leads, Peter and Ingrid, find the maniac and kill him. The Sheriff and friends show up to point guns around when the killer’s dead. This may not be actually ineffective as the others happen to find him first but it certainly doesn’t mean the Sheriff succeeded. Possibly more men or, as we shall see, a more considered approach.
It is implied that the maniac has been killing for some time but the Sheriff either has been able to do nothing or done next to nothing. Frankly, it looks like the latter. He sweats, he hefts his pants and he mops his brow but doesn’t do much until the manhunt. None of which rate him low on the culpability scale.
The strangest moment here is during the manhunt. (Not counting when the first day ends and the Sheriff says everyone will come back in the morning because there’s “…not but one more place he could be.” (?)) The Sheriff tells the Deputy that he’s “going to the cabin”. Indeed, the Sheriff is seen strolling through the woods to the cabin where the Maniac lives. Oddly enough, he doesn’t say “Holy Cow! A cabin! What’s this doing here?” He yells “Hello in the cabin!” and approaches it. The implication to the alert viewer is that the Sheriff knows of the cabin, knows it’s inhabited but doesn’t seem to connect it to anything. Does he not know who lives there? As the Sheriff shouldn’t he know? Is the mortgage under the name “H. Wildman”? Frankly, the Sheriff should have immediately come here and questioned the owner. Surely, if they wanted to catch the killer, a mailman could have been sent with a package needing a signature. When the madman came out to sign, they could have grabbed him. It’s this sort of thinking that would have saved lives here. (By the way, he finds a body in the cabin but somehow the manhunt never really picks up.)
People seem to like this Sheriff but it must be because they think he’s jolly. One can see his tactics are ineffective (of all three discussed here, he gets the most screen time) and lead to more than a little (indirect) responsibility for some of the mayhem. But, it was this sort of character that prompted Turbot Tribune movie critic Cyril P. Drathmoor to say “[quote withdrawn]” His prayers were answered.

Turbot's Super Hero

2005-09-27T08:05:00.000-07:00

The little girl's eyes opened very wide as, with a galumph!, the hindquarters of Lorenzo slid down the enormous reptile's gullet. Here eyes grew wet, wet and huge with tears that began coursing down her dusty/ dusky cheeks. She hadn't wanted to stop here. But, Dad didn't know how to fix the car so... Lorenzo got eaten. Ohmigod, what a day!

The eyes of the reptile peered from the surface of the green, scummy water that let off a stink that you could smell all the way through the hotel. What a stinkhole! How that old jerk who owned this hole could call this place "Judd's Haven" was a joke. But, Cathy wasn't laughing.

She just wanted to be going to Gramma's big, old trailer in Turbot. They were so close.

Now, Lorenzo would never get there.

The alligator burped. Its eyes stayed poised on her. She tried to stare it down but was too sad.

"Little girl, be careful!" Judd rounded the corner and pushed himself between her and the shattered porch railing. "What happened here?"

The girl stared at this man whose pet now watched them both. Maybe 55, gray, thin hair a little ways up the shoulder. He looked silly. His face was long and not attractive. A mashed nose, lazy eye and three missing teeth saw to that. He was kind of hunched and his hands, very close to her face, seemed larger than they should be. She didn't like him. His concern for her seemed very wrong.

"Did you do this to my fence?"

Cathy choked through tears. "That thing did it."

"Blake?" The old fart didn't seem concerned. He chuckled at his reptile in the stench swamp. "He's as gentle as a morning breeze."

"HE ate my dog!"

"Well, he does have a taste for 'em." The old man nodded.

"What?" Cathy's voice was trembling. "My-my dog, I mean...it leapt through the railing and ate it."

"I used to," Judd said slow, checking the swaying, torn wood of the railings, "have a sign bewaring people. Especially about bringing your dogs over. Blake'll smell it."

"He's done this before!" Cathy was starting to get angry. She should have yelled for Mom and Dad but this man's nonchalant attitude was getting her cute, young girl dander up. "Why is he so close to your hotel?"

"He's my pet. You had your pet close to you."

"Your pet ate my pet!"

Judd laughed and tossed an old nail at the water where it sat on top of green, bubbling congeal. The reptile's eyes flashed over at it and then back at people. "Now, that'll happen! Blake'll eat almost anything."

Cathy's eyes narrowed. "What d'you mean?"

Judd leaned close. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Sure."

"Blake's eaten people. People I don't like."

The girl looked at the old man for a long time. The water bubbled nearby. Blake burped again.

The old man got quieter. "You say anything and you'll follow your dog."

The reptile burped again and this time a dog's blood and bile soaked leg shot through the air and slammed into the hotel wall, sliding to the ground next to the old man with the threatening look in his eye.

"You know somethin', mister."

"I'm sick?" Relish shone on his gaunt face.

"That's what I was hopin' you'd say."

"Why?"

The little girl grabbed the top of her hair and pulled off a very life-like latex wig and mask.

"Oh my..."

Before the hotel proprietor stood a 40-year-old midget with a little girl's clothes on and a small box with a button on it. "Hello, Judd Dirkins."

"Who are you?" The old man looked scared.

"Sanders. Hieronymus Sanders, Animal Bounty Hunter."

"What?"

"Cover your ears."

"What?"

Hieronymus pressed down the button. And, a giant alligator burst into a 1,000 bloody pieces. Spraying the swamp and the hotel and the old man.

"Hieronymus Sanders!

Animal Bounty Hunter!

Be careful what your animals do!

He'll come for them and you!

Sanders! Hieronymus!

He'll even kill a hippopotamus!

Enjoy him!"

Yes, kids. Turbot's only real hero stopped the rampage of a crazed alligator. The clever little man got the alligator to eat a poodle with five pounds of plastic explosives crammed in its anus.

Master of disguise, righter of wrongs and a grown man willing to pack plastic explosives into a poodle's tush. He may not be a superman but he's our favorite man.

"Hieronymus! Hieronymus!

Each and every part of us

love that little man so!
He's tiny!"

ANKA RULES!!

2005-09-25T09:34:00.000-07:00

(photo courtesy of paulanka.com)

Just a little equal opportunity!!!!

Anka Rules!!!!

His sweet song stylings are so great!!! You don't have to go to hell or die in a flaming pit of filth and offal to enjoy the music of Mr. Paul Anka! He will bring you home! He will be your destiny!!

- Marlene

(Yes! We finally got some pictures on here!)

(Thank you paulanka.com for the lovely photo. Give their site a try!)

BLACK METAL RULES!

2005-09-24T17:25:00.000-07:00

My fellow Metal heads, I just want to say....

METAL RULES!!!!!!!

I'm Tim Patrick! I'm 15 and I am 100% Metallic! If you know what I mean!

Satan RULES!!!!! Now, I'm not talking nu metal here or your mainstream bones!!!! I'm talking ball*s to the wall and as* to the crack, European Black Metal! I like it loud, fast, raspy and all about Vikings!

I can smell the apocalypse and it stinks of the decaying flesh of a 1,000 rotting souls!

(Dognuts, let me tell you. Until, you have swum waist deep in the blood of the innocents, you haven't lived!!! I'm sure looking forward to it!)

There aren't a lot of us Metal Freakz!!!!! in Turbot. But, there are a few. Rod Berman likes Tool so there's hope for him yet. I slip in a little Cannibal Corpse whenever possible!!!!

1...2...3...Righteous! Oh yeah!

Stay tuned, Metal Knobs!!!! I'll be coming back with my reviews and my thoughts and my stories!!! Turbot rocks to Hell and Back!!!!

Your Mama!!!!!!

(For any of you Bones who don't know, that picture is of the best Black Metal band ever...Immortal!! They aren't around any longer but their metal grind lives on!!!)

Alyssa's Journal #1

2005-09-22T02:15:00.000-07:00

My name is Alyssa May. I'm 28 and I live in Turbot. I work at Grey's on the Office Supply Floor. I'm an Assistant Supervisor. My job is to make sure everyone has all the pens, folders (file and otherwise), staples and stuff that they need. It's as exciting as it sounds.

For some reason, people seem to have the biggest trouble with staple removers. Someone's always taking someone else's staple remover. Why? Christ if I know. You haven't lived until you've had a bunch of office workers standing in front of you arguing over staple removers. It's great. You actually wish you could go deeper underground. Grey's!!

As you can imagine, I don't like the job very much. Oh, it's great when there's no one around. That's what made me start up a journal. I've got seven notebooks filled with this stuff. I'm, obviously, being very selective for this blog. Thank you, Marlene & Arthur!

I think a good example of the sort of fluff nonsense I have to put up with is this... A little something that happened this past morning:

One of our jobs is to open offices and conference rooms for people throughout the building. (It gets us out and about.) For example, T-4 is having a conference in Conference Room 4 from 3-4. We go there at 2:45 and open it up. At 4:15, we lock it. Rez, my supervisor, keeps all the keys. I'm handed keys when necessary.

So, they are having some sort of Training Day for packaging. I'm there at 7:30. No Rez. Gloria comes down at 7:45. "Why isn't the door open?" "I'm sorry. Rez hasn't shown up. He has all the keys." "We need the door open for training." "Gloria, I know. Rez isn't here." "Where is he?" "I don't know." "Do you have a key?" "Rez keeps the keys." "And, he's not here." "Correct." "How are we going to get in?" "As soon as Rez arrives, I'll run down with the key." "You don't have the key?" "I'm not the supervisor. Supervisors have the keys." "Did he say he was going to be late today?" "No." "Do you think he's OK?" "I'm sure he is." "That would be a real reason for being late, wouldn't it?" "What? If he were seriously injured?" "Yes." "You're right." "Well, send someone with a key soon." "Sure."

Gloria left. Thank God. Her silent presence can be tough to take but, God, when she talks to you... It's pretty rough.

So, 5 minutes later, I get a call from Rez. His trailer's power went out and his alarm didn't go off. He'll be here in 15 minutes as he's naked and afraid. "In my desk," he tells me, "2nd drawer on the left, under a file, there's a key to the conference room." "Excellent." So, I grab it and run on up.

Outside the conference room are about 12 people and none of them look happy. "I've got a key." I started opening the door. Behind me, it started. ... "Oh! Look at this!" "She did have a key!" "Oh, well then..." "Hmmm...that's very interesting." And all sorts of junk like that.

I sighed and tried to open the door, minding my own. But, of course, it was a tough lock and after about 10 seconds of fiddling, twelve people were right behind me and watching me closely.

"You've got to turn it! Turn it! Did you turn it?" "Too hard. You're turning too hard." "Don't break off the key! Be careful!" and on and on

The door finally opened but I got the worst case of Stinkeye that anyone that far underground has ever experienced. Gloria went out of her way to stop by the Supply Floor and act as if I had betrayed her. I don't know if it will ever stop.

So, I'm writing this at 1AM. I have trouble sleeping sometimes so what I'll go and do now is stand on top of my trailer. Mr. Lucassen next door'll have his TV on, flashing lights, but there's nothing else happening. I just stand there and let the breeze hit me. It's so nice, especially this time of year. I can feel it against my skin and my eyes close and I take a deep breath and I'm so happy. Five hours all to myself. Time to do what I want to do. Time to pursue the dreams I know I'm supposed to be after. I've stood on that trailer almost every night for the past two years and I don't think anyone has ever seen me. (Unless Mr. Lucassen is peeping.)

Some nights I want to yell. Loud into the wind. Yell for something I don't have... One night I will yell. You'll hear me. Wherever you are.

Turbot Tribune has some big news!

2005-09-20T15:48:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone! Marlene here... The big story in this morning's Turbot Tribune! We knew "J. J." Not a very pleasant man but still...

(I transcribed this myself so forgive any misstakes (lol).)

Beloved Movie Reviewer Dies

Jack "J.J." Johnson, beloved inhabitant and home owner in Turbot since its inception, was officially declared "deceased" at 6:42 Turbot time, September 18. The official cause of death has been listed as "mysterious". But, there is nothing mysterious about what the man did for this town: he wrote our movie reviews! Apart from the Do-It-Yourself Page and the headline, his reviews were the most read portions of The Turbot Tribune for many years.

Jack "J.J." was a taciturn man who would tell you what he thought of a movie only after a lot of finagling. He reviewed the movies for 8 non-consecutive years. He reviewed them well. But, he really loved watching the fish. The majority of the week passers-by could find him staring at the small pond adjacent to Old Hagar's Swamp. Staring real hard and trying to get the fish to come out. Always ready with a joke or a story, unless you asked him for one. Then, he'd clam right up. "Never do anything under duress," he'd say. "Even question your Mother." Many folks knew him, before his critical reign, as the head of Shipping at the Prepared Beef Plant for 12 years.

F. Rupric Rondstadt, the Tribune's editor-in-chief, smiled as he spoke of this pillar of our small community. "Apart from fish watching, hopping in the car and going to the Rialto was the biggest joy of his life. Jack "J.J." really loved the trip. In the end, he's probably pretty glad about everything that happened to him. The new Rialto owners weren't his sort." In fact, on several occasions, the reviewer had expressed his distaste over the ownership of the Rialto recently changing hands. Word is that he was no longer given free popcorn. So, maybe he did get out at a good time. Maybe movie reviewing in Turbot isn't what it used to be.

One man would challenge this...

Drathmoor! Cyril P. Drathmoor! Turbot's new movie critic. "Hi, folks! I'm game for a little adventure! You?!" With that opening announcement, a new era in movie reviews has begun. His press release continues: "I love movies so very, very much. I hope that I can instill my giant love for the cinema inside the good people of Turbot!" He promises that he will have a review in every Monday edition as opposed to J.J.'s reviews that appeared whenever he made it to the theater. Drathmoor also promises a few new bits of excitement here and there. "I just want everyone to stay tuned! And, be sure to read every week!"

The man loves movies! That much is for sure.

Be there...From now to eternity.

I hardly know Cyril but we are interested in reading his reviews. Maybe he'll let us post them here? Who knows?

2005-09-19T07:14:00.000-07:00

Where We Live & What We Can Do

Hello!

Arthur Yurvis here! How are you? I’m fine. Thanks for asking.

It’s a beautiful day here in Turbot! (Sports reference.) I do love my teams but anyway…

I’m here to tell you about where we live. Well, let me get this out of the way. The old houses in the woods, well, very few people live out there. This is where everyone lived before the marshmallow factory closed down. There are some old timers out there but they keep to themselves. Some times they tell stories but I never listen. I’m an accountant. One day, I’ll be an actuary. Turbot’s first. Until then…

We live in the Valhalla Estates on Odin Street right off of Yggdrasill Crest along with everyone else. Our trailer is E-5. We are on the perimeter now enjoying a view of the Bryant Woods. Old Hagar’s Swamp is about 1 mile away. It’s a beautiful place. E-4 is Mrs. Blake and her little son Mel (vert). They’re really nice. The son can yell a bit but he’s seven so you let him go. E-6 is Freddie C (He’s in Shipping & Receiving.) Good guy. Keeps himself to etc.

Five rows of 10 trailers. This is more than adequate space. We have a small screened in area out front and a small garden to the side. Sometimes ventilation is a little tough. The swamp can send a stink out if it gets too balmy and the neighbors can create their own smells on a hot night. Especially, if the septic need draining. But, it never gets overly bothersome.

I’d never lived in a trailer home before but after sixteen years here I can’t imagine ever being without. It’s too exciting. Everything is so parallel.

There are trailers of all sizes. Ours is a 36-footer with a separate queen sized bedroom area. Mr. Newt over at D-4 lives in a 52-foot number. It’s possibly too long. (More perpendicular than anything.) There’s a trailer in the center (C-4) that’s a back-of-the-truck kind of thing. It takes all kinds.

What do we do? Work, mainly, But, there’s always Ornette’s the local bar and restaurant. We like booze with the weekend and Ornette’s has plenty of it. (Don’t you worry. Tony, the guy who runs Ornette’s, will be by soon and tell you all about it.) I wish I was as verbose as my lovely wife. A general store, DVD rental place and the newspaper office. But, apart from that….This town’s not big but it’s great.

Really! Stay tuned for more great stuff!

2005-09-17T14:59:00.000-07:00

The Sweet, Red Smell of Grey's Prepared Beef Plant

Hello! It’s me, Marlene!

Today we’re going to Grey’s Prepared Beef Plant! Our first step! (And what a step!) Turbot, who loves you!?

In a town made up of 143 people, about 100 off us work over there! It’s a half mile away from the trailers so many of use the trek to and from for a little exercise. (Trust me, some of us could use it. There’s more than one big gut and large fanny around here!)

The building where the plant is located has been around for a while. It was an auto plant way back in the day. “We’ve got the Model T!” During, WWII, they used it to make some kind of bombs. They added on all sorts of bits and did all kinds of top secret shenanigans inside. Then, after the war, it became a marshmallow factory. This building produced the tastiest mallows this world has ever known. Mr. Tasty’s Mallow-Riffic Yummies were genius. Cushiony, white and sweet, oh so sweet. This was the most prideful factory in the country. No one ever had a bad day. The marshmallows made sure of that. In the early 80’s, they moved to Guam and the place closed down. Most people moved to the hard hat factory in Ovid.

After a few years of inactivity, Mr. Grey opened it up again selling fantastic prepared beef. G Bless him! My husband and I moved here about 16 years ago. We needed the work and we’d heard about the plant and we owned a trailer. Match made in heaven.

I’m one of the Gift Package Packers. I work on T-5. We load up all the gift orders for the entire world. It’s a great job. I am the Assistant Supervisor, which means I get a salary.

My husband is an accountant. T-3. He’s very happy but one day he will achieve his dream of becoming an actuary. (Keep reaching, hon!) His supervisor’s name is Ron.

If we can get a picture of the plant on here (Arthur!), it looks like a small 2 story office building. That first floor is the main security area and the execs offices. The main security area is where all the employees must pass through at the start and end of each shift. If you have direct contact with the beef, they do full body searches. Just to make sure that you’re not sneaking off with anything. We have a very generous employee discount program so really… Shame on You.

The second floor is marketing and all of the sales staff. “They need windows. They need sunlight.” Mr. Grey always says. And, he’s right. I like sunlight too.

The bulk of the work is done beneath them. It was something to do with the arms factory. No one ever told us for certain. But, the building reaches 10 stories deep under Turbot. That’s where we are

T-1 Shipping and Receiving. They have a direct link to the surface. We have our own line of trucks that ship out the prepared beef and ship in stock. Those boys are a lot of fun. They joke, they yell, it’s great to see them. (Though, I only do when I take things up to them, which is rare.)

T-2 Office Supplies. All boxes and labels and pens. There are a few folks who supervise but this is one of the most silent floors.

T-3 Accounting. It’s pretty quiet here too but not for lack of people. They have lots of paper here.

T-4 through T-6 is filled with Packagers.

T-4 Rush Orders Next Day or Same Day! (People love their beef prepared.) Each packaging floor has their own supply of product. We also have a direct elevator that comes up from the Supply Floor. When there is an order, it goes to the computer. The right floor gets the order and they take it from present supply. If there is nada, we yell down to the Supply guys and they haul up everything we need.

So, T-4 does all the stuff that goes out Now! And, there’s a lot of it.

T-5 That’s me! And Sally & Jean & Joy & Kris & Linda & Lavinia, our supervisor. & Rod. We’re really great. We do the gift packaging like I said.

T-6 Corporate packaging. Any business that has a regular account with us. They do the HUGE orders but they don’t rush as much.

T-7 The Product Supply floor. (dried) This is where the entire prepared beef product waits to be shipped. Huge shelves filled with well-prepared beefery goodness/ Just the smell is enough make you think you’re in heaven seven floors underground.

T-8 Supply (frozen) There is an express elevator that goes (very fast) (Too Fast) from the S&R floor to here. Keeps the freezer full of meat. This is the quietest floor in the building. Lots of frozen beef and men in long coats moving slowly around.

T-9 Sick bay and the labs. If you’re sick, go see Dr. Sickler (oddly enough) and he’ll make you nice. The labs…Well, new product is tested there. I never go there.

T-10 The Marinaters Floor. This is where the preparing is done. (I’ve heard that they use this floor because it’s closest to the earth’s core.) We’re good friends with a Marinater, Pete Knowles. He’s going to write us an entry with more info on the spicing of the beef and the Marinating Men.

Well, there you are! If they let me take pictures of the inside, we’d have some here for you. Unfortunately, there will be no pictures because Mr. Grey won’t allow it. (It is his plant.) Too bad, though. I could try to stash a camera but it’s not worth it knowing I’m going to get a full body search.

So, that’s where we work. Arthur’ll be telling about where we live next. Feel free to write us about the places where you work. (Especially if it’s a hot air balloon! Yowza!)

Talk to you soon!

Welcome to the town of Turbot, U.S.A.!

2005-09-15T08:09:00.000-07:00

Hello!

We’re Marlene and Arthur Yurvis (pronounced Jer-vis). You are now reading the very first entry in our town’s brand new blog!

This blog is all about our town! Turbot! A small, quiet town with one hell of a can-do All-American spirit! We don’t want to sound like a cliché but we’re a small town with a sizable heart (maybe you’ve heard that one?) A town that’s all about people working hard and making good. So many people and families have made us their home that we wanted you to spend some time discovering them. It’ll be fun.

We have a wonderful history that is exciting and epic and would make a great movie if anyone’s listening (Ha Ha!) We aren’t an old town although our location has a colorful history. There’s nothing we like more than a chilled glass of lemonade and watching the sun sink beyond the trees and trailers.*

Our population is 143 but we have the hobbies, interests and stories of 334. Entrepreneurs, artists, writers, marinaters, civic leaders. We have a newspaper (The Turbot Tribune) that comes out three times a week. Every year the Prepared Beef Plant sponsors a carnival, a bake sale (Cakewalk included!), a Christmas Pageant and, well, whatever Mr. Grey wants to sponsor. We all go. Why not? We all work there.

You may be saying: Why does your small town warrant my time? I’m a busy person. What about you people makes for good reading? Three words for you… a-nude-man. How’s that squeeze you, Roderick? (There’s plenty more where that came from.) Well, you just keep reading…Give us a little bit of that valuable time a few times a week and you’ll see…

We’re great!

(Oh, we’ll have photos & pictures on this thing as soon as Arthur can figure out how to work it.) (Honey!) (Sorry.)

Next time: we’ll start you on a tour of Turbot at the very heart of activity!

Grey’s Prepared Beef Plant! Let’s smell the smells.