The Case of the Raucous Redneck

(From the files of Dick Gumshoe, PI - Case № 5)

It had been a day just like every other day that month - no calls, no work, no money and another pile of bills. It isn't easy being a (blog) world famous detective, especially when one resembles a hybrid of Inspector Clouseau, Colombo, and Monk all rolled into one.

I hadn't made many friends since I'd taken up a career as a P.I., but I'd certainly made quite a few enemies. Many times I'd had to rely on my quick wits and guile to survive.

When I heard the first footfall upon the bottom step of the staircase leading to my office door, I used my cat-like prowess to quickly douse the lights and to dive under my desk. While Sherlock Holmes may have had to match wits with Professor Moriarty, I was tormented by my own arch-nemesis, one Harold Abernathy - my landlord.

Besides bumping my head on the desk, my actions did help me solve a couple of mysteries. I found the source of the fruit flies and my missing piece of pepperoni pizza. I decided to let the fruit flies have it.

When my caller rapped on the door I bumped my head again. Somehow, I managed to keep my stream of uttered profanities at a barely perceptible level, or so I thought.

"Mr. 'tective, I knows you in there. I heared you a-cussin'," boomed a voice with an unmistakable southern drawl.

I crawled out from under the desk and scrambled into my chair and said, "Come in."

The door swung open and there stood a lanky man wearing a sleeveless t-shirt and dungarees. The clodhoppers on his feet pounded the floor with each step he took into the office.

I cleared my throat and said, "Have a seat. How can I help you, mister ...?"

He looked around and said, "I reckon so. I didn't see her."

Confused by his reply, I asked, "You didn't see who?"

"Tarnation!" he yelped. "That's what I'm here fer."

I took a deep exasperated breath and exhaled as I spoke, "You seem to have me at a disadvantage. Just what did come you here for?"

"I came here fer you to help me find my girlfriend's pussy," he replied.

I leaned forward and rested my chin on my fist. This had to be some kind of joke. Somebody must have sent this redneck to my office to drive me crazy. Since I didn't have anything better to do, I decided to play along for a while.

I grinned and said, "Did you try looking under her skirt?"

"Why would I look under her skirt?" he said with a deadpan but serious glare.

"Well," I began, "it's been my experience that that's the first place I would look for one."

"Lawd a'mighty," he snapped. "How in the hell did you gets to be a 'tective anyway? Where I comes from, iffin you wuz to be lookin' under gals' skirts you would get the piss slapped outta ya! And I knows that fer a fact, coz that's been my 'sperience."

I thought to myself, 'I hope they broke the mold after they made this rube.' I grabbed my pen and a pad of paper to take some notes and asked, "Have you ever had trouble finding ... it before."

"Hell no! Every time I try to take a nap it's in my face!"

This was too much. I leaned back in my chair and decided to see what else he had to say. "Before we go any farther, I need some information for my files. We'll start with your name. You are ... Mister ...?" I noticed that his lip began to curl into a sneer. Then it came to me. "Ah, yes, we've already determined that you missed her, didn't we? Uh, tell me, what is your name?"

"Cletis," he answered, "Cletis Clyde."

"Okay, Mr. Clyde, besides when you weren't trying to sleep, when was the last time you saw your girlfriend's ... ah ... pussy?"

"Jest 'bout ten minutes a-fore I came to see you."

"Where were you at the time?"

"We wuz down yonder next to that fountain with the statue of some nekkid gal innit."

"I know the one. Let me guess, while she was looking at the statue you were looking at it?"

"Gosh a'mighty! Lookin' at it? I had it in my hand!"

I raised my eyebrows. "You had your hand on it in a public place? Weren't there any people around?"

"Hell, yes. But theys wuzn't payin' no never mind to us. Anyways, she wanted me to wash it. Tha's whut I wuz doin', a-washin' it."

I shook my head. Whoever put him up to this joke must have known I'd get a rise out of it. I cleared my throat, "Okay, you were washing your girlfriend's pussy in a public water fountain ... May I ask, why?"

"Coz she done up and got paint on it."

My jaw almost hit the top of the desk. I was almost afraid to ask, "Paint? How did she get paint on ... it?"

"From a-sittin' on a park bench what had a sign what said 'Wet Paint' onnit." Before I could ask he added, "My girlfriend ain't none too bright like me. She wanted to see jest how wet the paint might be."

"I see. She must have got paint on her skirt too?"

"Nah, it was a new skirt handed down from her sister. She hiked it up so's not to get paint on the skirt jest in case the paint wuzn't dry."

"I got it. That's how it come to have paint on it, and that's why you were washing it, to get the paint off of it. So tell me, how is it that you lost it?" This I have just got to hear, I thought to myself.

"Well sir, with it all wet and lathered up with soap, it got too slippery. I lost my grip on it."

I scribbled a few words on the pad and thought of something. I had to ask, "Tell me, Mister Clyde, can you describe your girlfriend's pussy for me?"

"Well, I reckon it ain't no different than a lot of them. It has short black hair and don't smell none too good. Oh yeah, it's still got some green paint offin that bench onnit."

I jumped when suddenly I heard "Dueling Banjos" from the movie Deliverance playing. As for Cletis Clyde, he calmly removed a cell phone from his pocket. "It's my girlfriend a-callin' me," he said. "Hello, hunny-bunches. Wha's that? Tha's awful! I'll be right there!"

"Something wrong? Another crisis?" I asked.

"I'll say! She said they's some man's wiener stuck in her pussy!" He pulled a dollar bill out of his pocket and dropped it on the desk. "I wants to thank ya fer yer time. I hope that there covers yer bill."

I just sat there dumbfounded as the door slammed behind him. I was almost tempted to follow him, but gave it a second thought and quickly dismissed it.

Suddenly the door swung open and there stood a woman in nightie. She was hysterical and crying, "Can you help me?"

"I'll try, ma'am. What seems to be the problem?"

"My husband's wiener is missing!"

I could feel a migraine coming. I had to ask, "It isn't in his pants?"

"What are you, some kind of pervert?" she snapped.

"No, ma'am. Let me guess, it's in some girl's pussy?"

Next thing I knew Cletis Clyde came barging through the door. Under his arm he was carrying a black cat with green paint on its fur. In his hand he was holding a wiener ... a hot dog.

I shook my head and grinned. This case was just about to be solved.

Cletis offered the wiener to the woman and said, "I believe this wiener belongs to your husband. It was stuck in my girlfriend's pussy. Poor thang, it almost choked to death. I think the cat stole it from yer grill on yer porch."

"Keep it, you moron." Disgusted the woman charged from my office without another word.

The redneck shook his head and said, "She ain't none too grateful, is she?"

I smiled and said, "It's a good thing you were able to pull that wiener out of the cat's mouth."

"Pull it out? Nope. It wuz too far down the cat's throat to reach. "I had to perform the hindlick maneuver."

"You mean the Heimlich Maneuver," I said correcting him.

"Uh-uh. Hindlick. I lifted its tail and licked its hind side. That wiener shout outta there like a bullet."

I sighed, "Well, I guess you can say that everything came out alright."

He looked at me and said, "Mister, you Yankees sure got funny ways a-sayin' things. Y'all should be learnin' to talk straight and say what ya mean like we do down in Wes' Virginnie." He took a bite of the hot dog, waved and turned for the door.

"I'll remember that. Goodbye, Mr. Clyde."

He stopped by the door and said, "Ya know, I coulda used yer services las' week. My maw's tits went a-missin' fer a spell." Before I could respond, he grinned and added, "No, I didn't have to look under her blouse. After a hour or so, dem birds came back."

I leaned back in my chair and put my feet on the desk. I decided I'd write up the case later. I looked at the dollar bill he'd left on the desk and pulled 79 cents out of my pocket. The day wasn't a total loss, I thought. At least with $1.79 ... I could buy myself a cup of coffee.

№ 2044

Borrowed Nuggets

Nuggets of Wisdom...
( Borrowed from Phils Phun )
-1. If you're too open minded, your brains will fall out.

-2. Age is a very high price to pay for maturity.

-3. Going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than going to a garage makes you a mechanic.

-4. Artificial intelligence is no match for natural stupidity.

-5. If you must choose between two evils, pick the one you've never tried before.

-6. My idea of housework is to sweep the room with a glance.

-7. Not one shred of evidence supports the notion that life is serious.

-8. It is easier to get forgiveness than permission.

-9. For every action, there is an equal and opposite government program.

10. If you look like your passport picture, you probably need the trip.

11. Bills travel through the mail at twice the speed of checks.

12. A conscience is what hurts when all your other parts feel so good.

13. Eat well, stay fit, die anyway.

14. Men are from earth. Women are from earth. Deal with it.

15. No husband has ever been shot while doing the dishes.

16. A balanced diet is a cookie in each hand.

17. Middle age is when broadness of the mind and narrowness of the waist change places.

18. Opportunities always look bigger going than coming.

19. Junk is something you've kept for years and throw away three weeks before you need it.

20. There is always one more imbecile than you counted on.

21. Experience is a wonderful thing. It enables you to recognize a mistake when you make it again.

22. By the time you can make ends meet, they move the ends.

23. Thou shalt not weigh more than thy refrigerator.

24. Someone who thinks logically provides a nice contrast to the real world.

25. Blessed are they who can laugh at themselves for they shall never cease to be amused.

№ 2043

Butterfly Dreams (33)

(A sequel to The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray.)

They had died when helping thwart a plan to undermine the government of the United States. Now Ben and Susan have returned from the dead and they must bring that government down. Standing in their way are Michael Black and Michelle Gray, the bodies of whom they now occupy.

-(The Story begins HERE)-

Le Chambre Noire

Le chambre noire ... the phrase reverberated in my brain. I was only too aware that I was being directed, drawn to some mysterious dark room.

There were no words forming in my mind. I could sense no remote presence. It was as if some knowledge of the room had been awakened from deep within my subconscious memories.

The same thing had happened when Michelle and I had visited the campus before. We had somehow navigated our way through a maze of secret passages and tunnels that we could not have known existed.

I shuddered when I recalled those revelations that Professor Jordan had laid upon us. He claimed that years ago certain memories had been implanted into our minds and that those memories were what guided us to his secret lab.

Moreover, it was the other part of his story that had troubled us the most. As it was, it had been traumatic enough for Susan and I to have had our minds transferred into the bodies of Michelle Grey and Michael Black. Then Jordan had broadsided us with the claim that we had actually had our minds transferred back into our original bodies!

It had taken the better part of a year for Susan and I to become Michelle and Michael. It was disconcerting to think that we really were Michelle and Michael. It just couldn't be, I thought. What about my lifetime of memories as Benjamin Bering? What about Susan's memories?

If all of that wasn't confounding enough, Ben and Susan were alive! Who were they? Whose minds were in their bodies? Were they mindless automatons functioning solely on mind-projected instructions?

I welcomed Agent Ferrara's sudden interruption, "Hold it right there, Black!"

When I turned to face him my attention was drawn to his service pistol which was aimed in my direction. "Wh-what?" I stammered, "What's with the gun?"

Landers stepped forth and placed his hand on the man's wrist, "Uh, partner, what do think you're doing?"

"Can't you see that he's leading us into a trap?" he snapped pushing the other man's hand aside.

"Get a hold of yourself, Ferrara," Landers shouted.

His gun still raised Ferrara snarled, "Why are we following him on this ... this dream walk? Can't you see they are in his head? Next they'll be in our heads!"

"Nonsense!" Landers countered. "Remember our assignment, agent. I don't need you becoming a loose cannon, not when we're this close to our objective."

I arched my eyebrows as his words registered. When they insisted on driving me there, they weren't interested in Susan. They wanted Professor Jordan! They were using me to lead them to him.

Their attention focused on one another, I began inch away from them. I saw that we were about ten feet away from the entrance of one of the campus buildings. I thought if I could make it to the door, I might be able to lose them.

I hadn't taken two steps when the roar of a gun rang out and the ground exploded next to my foot. I stumbled and fell onto the ground. "Damn!" I yelped.

I lie there stunned and watched as Landers tackled Ferrara to the ground. The two agents were wrestling in the grass. It was obvious that Landers was struggling to disarm his partner. The silence of early morning air was shattered by a loud crack. Ferrara rolled onto his knees and stared first at the pistol in his hand and then at the unmoving man next to him.

"My gun ... it didn't discharge!" he uttered. He grasped his partner's shoulder and shook him. "I didn't shoot you."

From the shadows of the building there was movement and another shot rang out. The kneeling agent cried out and clutched at his shoulder. Shaking his head he gazed at something in his hand and tried to rise to his feet. A gurgling sound escaped his lips and then he collapsed upon the other man's body.

I remained frozen where I stood, not daring to move. I was certain that I too was probably in the sniper's sights. I heard the footsteps before the shooter came into view.

"It's a good thing I followed you here. It's becoming a habit for me coming to your rescue," said an all too familiar voice. "Maybe you should hire me as your personal bodyguard."

"You just shot two FBI agents!" I muttered.

Sergeant Brock O'Day was grinning as he moved next to me. He raised the weapon he was carrying and announced, "Relax, Michael. They're not dead." He pulled something from his jacket pocket and placed it in my hand.

Recognizing the object I whispered, "Darts. You shot them with tranquilizer darts!"

He raised a thumb and replied, "Yep. Remember the incident at that Portland Street warehouse?" He waited for my nod of acknowledgment and added, "I confiscated a couple of the guns and a handful of the darts. I figured they might come in handy some day."

I glanced at the fallen agents and said, "And so they did. But ... shooting federal agents ... even with darts ..."

O'Day winked and said, "I don't see any witnesses. Do you?"

I grinned and shook my head. "Then we don't want to be here when they wake up."

"I'll take care of them. I'll carry them back to their car. When they come to, they won't know what the hell happened." He pulled a cellphone out his breast pocket and snorted, "First things first. There's something I have to verify."

A few moments after he pressed a few buttons, a chirping sound emanated from nearby. He stooped by the sleeping form of Agent Ferrara and began to fish through his pockets. Standing up he held aloft the man's cellphone.

My brow furrowed and I queried, "How did you get his cell phone number?"

He indicated the other cellphone and stated, "That's exactly what I want to ask Faye. This is her phone."

"It was Faye? I didn't want to believe it," I said. "She left an anonymous message that they should identify the bodies in Ben's and Susan's graves."

"Jesus. What did your ex-wife hope to accomplish?" he roared. He clenched and unclenched his fists several times before speaking again. "With Ben and Susan apparently very much alive, they must have known that they would find the graves empty." He studied my face for a moment and then asked, "They were empty, weren't they?"

I shook my head, "No. I'm afraid your current wife led them to two, as of yet, unidentified bodies." To add to his dismay I told him that the causes of death were identical as those of the woman at the nursing home.

He drew in a long gulp of air and exhaled. He faced me and said, "While you're taking care of whatever you were up to here, I'll take care of these two." He glanced at his watch, "It's almost six thirty. I'll meet you right here. Don't be too long, you've got a nine o'clock flight to catch."

I stood by the doorway and watched as he lifted Ferrara off of the other agent. Without a word he set off in the direction of the street where their car was parked.

Inside the building, I knew that I had to take the first hallway on the right. The third door in the hallway, underneath a sign labeled 'Photography Lab' was unlocked as I knew it would be. On the far side of the lab was a door bearing the lettering 'Dark Room.'

Once inside I blinked my eyes trying to adjust my vision to the utter darkness within the small room. I heard the swish of a panel opening somewhere above me. By the time I realized what a strange hissing sound might be, I found myself having trouble catching my breath.

On the floor, gasping for air, I thought of Ferrara's fear that it might be a trap. My last conscious thoughts were the words ... "Le chambre noire."

( To be continued

Whose Life Is It? )

№ 2042

Anger Management

-Thanks, Cathy

I'm still a little under the weather. The effects have moved upstairs with a touch of a sore throat and unrelenting sniffles. In addition to some cold "remedies" I've been drinking a lot of fluids and getting a lot of sleep.

Hopefully, I'll be feeling better for the weekend.  (And back to posting more frequently.)

№ 2041

Butterfly Dreams (32)

(A sequel to The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray.)

They had died when helping thwart a plan to undermine the government of the United States. Now Ben and Susan have returned from the dead and they must bring that government down. Standing in their way are Michael Black and Michelle Gray, the bodies of whom they now occupy.

-(The Story begins HERE)-

Corpus Delicti

I suppose I could have refused to accompany the two FBI agents to the university, but under the circumstances I was in no position to resist. Besides, it would give me a chance to try to pick their brains and find out just what they knew.

I hadn't any more than settled into the back seat when Agent Ferrara declared, "Mr. Black, as uncomfortable as you might view our alliance, I think you'll agree that we can exchange information that will benefit both of us."

I forced a reluctant nod and responded, "Sure thing. Of course any information you give me will obviously be well within the parameters of national security."

Landers started the car and addressed my remark, "National security? Why do think there would be a threat to the nation's security?"

I squirmed a bit but countered, "Why then would the FBI be concerned about a certain young woman?"

"Don't be coy, Mr. Black," snapped Ferrara from the front passenger seat. "When corpses are seen walking about, I assure you the FBI isn't the only one concerned."

"Corpses?" I said with a dead pan glance. "Funny, but the two of you don't strike me as men who would believe in ghosts."

"Shall we cut to the chase, Mr. Black?" asserted Landers as his eyes in the rear view mirror met mine. "The three of us in this car know that Susan Parsons and Benjamin Bering were not buried in those coffins last year!"

Before I could respond Ferrara barked, "I don't suppose you could tell us whose bodies were in those graves?"

"What? What are you saying?" I stammered. Trying to quell the sickening feeling in my stomach I muttered, "Bodies? I ... I assumed those caskets were empty. I don't know anything about ..." I grew silent for a moment and leaned forward. "It was you? You dug up the graves?"

Landers glanced over his shoulder and replied, "Not exactly. We hired a couple of local crack-heads to do the manual labor. For a hundred bucks apiece, we could've had them dig all the way to China." As an after thought he added, "... and before you ask, we did not have authorization to exhume the bodies."

I grew tense with the sudden feeling of being a caged animal. "With the deceased apparently very much alive, you must have also expected the caskets to be empty." Something wasn't right I thought. I had to ask, "Why then did you dig up the graves?"

"We had no intentions of disturbing the graves. That was before we received an anonymous tip," Landers said before nodding at his partner.

As if on cue Ferrara addressed me, "A female caller, her voice obviously disguised, left a message on my personal voice mail. She said that it was imperative that we identify the remains in the graves of Ben Bering and Susan Parsons."

"Jesus Christ!" I yelped. "That woman knew that there were bodies in those coffins!"

"Can you say corpus delicti?" Landers averred. "I'd say that the two as of yet unidentified bodies are evidence of a possible double homicide." He peered into the rear view mirror and posed to me, "Wouldn't you?"

"Look, you're barking up the wrong tree if you think you can implicate me on murder charges," I growled.

"Relax, Mr. Black," Ferrara said, "we have no reason to suspect you of anything." He turned to face me and added a sarcastic barb, "... For now."

"You'll have to excuse Agent Ferrara. He can be a little pushy at times," said Landers. He glanced at his partner and chided, "I'm sure he knows that it is of no benefit for us to alienate you in any way."

"Yeah, I can be pushy," the man admitted with a grimace. "It's just that those bodies and the condition of them was most disturbing. It's how they died."

"What do you mean? How were you able to tell the cause of death just by looking at them in the coffins? How did they die?"

"You saw the body of that woman at the nursing home, Mr. Black," interjected Landers. "We made sure that we had access to the autopsy report."

"Good God!" I cried.

"The reliquiae in question were transported to our forensics lab in Washington. I don't hold much hope that they will be able to identify the victims in a reasonable amount of time. I'm certain however, that they will determine that the massive damages at the bases of their skulls were caused by internal trauma."

"Executed," I muttered, "they were executed."

There was a sudden jolt as Landers braked the car to a halt. "We're here," he announced. He shrugged and looked into my face, "Where do we find Miss Parsons and Professor Jordan? The Science Building?"

I felt a sudden twinge behind my eyes and shook my head. "No, too obvious." I closed my eyes for a moment. I opened them and rubbed my temples. "Yes, of course." I stepped out of the car and beckoned for them to follow.

"Where are we going?" Ferrara shouted after me.

"To a place where you'll be afraid once you have entered, my friends," I responded. We're going to the dark room ... le chambre noire!"

( To be continued ...

Le Chambre Noire )

№ 2040

I Hop, U Hop

KANSAS CITY, Mo. -- The IHOP restaurant is suing a Kansas City-based religious group that uses the same name.

The International House of Pancakes has sued the International House of Prayer in federal court for trademark dilution and infringement.

The lawsuit, filed last week in U.S. District Court in Los Angeles, says the restaurant chain has six registered trademarks for the IHOP acronym.

The religious group started 10 years ago in south Kansas City. It has drawn thousands of people from around the world and broadcasts all over the world through a live stream in Jerusalem.

The Kansas City Star reports that the restaurant chain says the church's use of the IHOP lawsuit says the religious group's use of the IHOP logo causes confusion for the public. In some locations the church has even been serving food, specifically pancakes, which further adds to the confusion.

This blogger has learned that IHOP isn't stopping there. It seems that other establishments and organizations have also been getting away with using their registered trademark.

The company has decided to wage war against those who are using their famous acronym now and those who might try to use it in the future. They have served notice that they will jealously protect their name from all cases of infringement.

The first suit will be filed against a particular egregious group using "IHOP" on as signage and on their letterhead is a Kansas kindergarten school,Int'l House of Patti-cake.

In Reno, Nevada, they have served cease and desist papers against the The International House of Poker, a small gambling casino.

Ipanema Hooters on Parade

It is well known that at the popular beaches in South America many women stroll the beaches topless. It seems that one beach an annual parade is held which invites the lovely women to strut their stuff.

Apparently the announcement of the upcoming event appeared in the local papers as "IHOP." The organizers of the Ipanema Hooters on Parade event said they will fight the restaurant chain's suit.

Several adult entertainment establishments have been using the "IHOP" logo for their International House of Porn operations. A spokesman for the porn industry was quoted as saying, "That lawsuit is f**ked."

Several pizza shops have been cited for using "IHOP" for numerous locations under the name of International House of Pizza.

Other targets for the suit include:

A clinic that specializes in gastronomical disorders, called the International House of Poop.

A Pittsburgh cathouse known as the Independent Hookers of Pennsylvania

A tee-shirt silk screening company selling t-shirts bearing the lettering: IHOP - I'm Hooked on Phonics.

News of the impending lawsuits has caused considerable anger on many of the nation's university campuses.

Attorneys for IHOP have discovered through FaceBook and Tweeter activity that unauthorized and secretive contests are being staged in the students' dormotories using an "IHOP" designation.

It seems that a popular dorm room activity, Intra-dorm Hours of Pillow-fighting, has been abbreviated as "IHOP" in many e-mails, text messages and tweets.

Said one co-ed who wished to remain anonymous, "It's ridiculous. It's just an abbreviation. Besides, we don't serve food." She giggled and then added, "Sometimes when there are three of us involved, we do sometimes serve up sandwiches." She giggled but did not elaborate.

If you ask this blogger, I think International House of Pancakes should worry more about serving their customers and less about serving up court summons.

If you'll excuse me, a little brunette and a redhead challenged me to a pillow fight. I love a challenge!

№ 2039

Lady Gag Gag

Pardon the puns that are sure to follow.

Accepting an award at the MTV Awards ceremony for her hit video, Bad Romance, she looked as if she'd first stopped off at a deli counter.

Fresh from the meat locker, Lady Gaga walked onto the stage attired in an outfit made out of animal flesh.  There was quite a buzz in the crowd of her gathered peers, but I suspect that the sound was being made by the flies trailing in her wake.

It should come as no surprise that her wardrobe drew immediate ire from PETA.  Said a spokesperson, "... it likely smelled and was probably crawling with maggots."

I wonder what cuts of meat were used for the apparel?  Flank steak?  No, it was probably skirt steak!  Actually the meat resembles the Italian deli meat,  prosciutto.

Her attire was topped off with a 16-oz steak strategically positioned atop her head.  Her meaty outfit also included what looked like pot roast platforms; the shoes were even wrapped in string.

What fashion-conscious woman wouldn't want to complete a look without a matching purse?  Cher, who presented the award to her, was left holding the bag while Gaga took the microphone to espouse her acceptance.

Professed Vegan, Ellen Degeneres offered Lady Gaga her own version of edible clothing when she presented her with a bikini and skirt made from green vegetables.  Makes sense to me!  After all, a salad usually does compliment a meat dish.

It was rumored that Lady Gaga's ensemble was fashioned from a side of beef which was tenderized by Sylvester Stallone reenacting a scene from his movie, Rocky.

This is not  the first time that meat has been used as an article of clothing.  Don't you remember the bacon bra?  I'm surprised that it never gained much popularity with the distaff set.  After all, what man doesn't like bacon and looking at boobs?

During her appearance at the awards show I had to pity her entourage, especially her body guards.  Can you imagine her fate if the Bumpus' dogs from A Christmas Story caught scent of her raiment?  What if she were accosted by a bunch of hungry men armed with bottles of A-1 Steak Sauce?

Gaga Rump Roast

Of course, in the end she probably saved money for catering charges for the party after the ceremony.  Her friends and guests would only have to peel off a strip here and there. You like it rare?  Or well done?

A thought occurred to me ...

What if she and some guy decided to get intimate, you know get down to the meat of the matter?  Think about it, if they did the dirty deed ... then they would surely be makin' bacon!

Now that I've managed to lose my appetite, I gotta go look for that bottle of Pepto-Bismol.

№ 2038

Butterfly Dreams (31)

(A sequel to The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray.)

They had died when helping thwart a plan to undermine the government of the United States. Now Ben and Susan have returned from the dead and they must bring that government down. Standing in their way are Michael Black and Michelle Gray, the bodies of whom they now occupy.

-(The Story begins HERE)-

Where It All Began

When my eyes snapped open I was confused, not sure where I was. In the dim light above me, the ceiling filled my senses. Beaded perspiration upon my naked body gleamed from the glow of the table lamp.

The bed next to me was empty. From behind the closed door to the bathroom I could hear running water. Feeling defeated, I sat up and buried my face in my hands. Though I had no recollection of the act, I realized I must have succumbed. I must have given in to her advances. My nakedness, my sweat-covered body and Susan in the shower were evidence enough.

My head was aching from the dizzying thoughts running helter-skelter within my skull. Too much was happening, too much had been happening for me to focus on any single event. I glanced at my watch and groaned at its revelation. It was five in the morning.

The throbbing pain in my head was abating but I thought could hear a faint pounding beyond the bedroom. Staggering about the room I managed to retrieve my pants and shirt. Once dressed I leaned against the bedroom door and trained my ears to the room beyond.

The pounding, though intermittent, persisted. After a couple of minutes my composure was restored and I realized that the sound was coming from the hallway. Someone was rapping upon the door to the apartment.

I grimaced as I gazed through the security peephole in the door. Although their faces were distorted by the convex lens, there was no doubt that my visitors were none other than the two FBI agents we'd encountered at the university earlier.

I cracked open the door and exclaimed, "Agents Landers and Ferrara, what a pleasant surprise!"

"Spare us the sarcasm, Mr. Black," Landers barked even as he shoved the door aside. "This is not a social visit."

"How did you get past the security door? Who buzzed you in?" I asked once they were inside the apartment.

Ferrara shrugged and with a sly grin replied, "When your girlfriend left the building we slipped in through the door before it closed."

"Girlfriend?" I sputtered. "What do you mean?"

"Come on, Mr. Black," Ferrara said, "we've seen you in the company of one Susan Parsons. We watched you enter this building together."

"You've been following us?" I asked. I grew tense at the implications of his remark. "Susan? You saw her leaving the building? No. She's taking a shower!"

I turned away from them and darted into the guest room. Pounding on the bathroom I shouted her name but no answer was was forthcoming. All I could hear was the running shower. A swirling wall of steam greeted me when I tore open the door.

After turning off the shower head I returned to face my uninvited visitors. Landers and Ferrara were standing where I'd left them. Arms folded across their chests, their stoic faces were belying their amusement.

I plopped down onto the sofa and queried, "I don't suppose you saw which way she went?"

Landers stated with a stiff lip, "She hopped into a Metro cab in front of the building."

"I called the dispatcher on the way up in the elevator," Ferrara asserted.

I spread my open palms before me, "...And?"

"It would appear," Landers suggested, "that you and your paramour didn't spend too much time talking." He studied my reddening face and raised a hand, "Of course, your relationship with Miss Parsons is none of our business, is it?"

I clinched my fists and glared at him before redressing his suggestions. "No, it isn't. However, I have nothing to hide. For the record, there was nothing untoward taking place here tonight." My hidden thoughts were not so assuring.

Ferrara shrugged his shoulders and said, "Look, we don't care whether you were knocking off a piece or not. That cab was dispatched to the campus of Northeastern University. I don't suppose you know what business she'd have there at five o'clock in the morning."

"Northeastern?" I gasped. My mind began to race at the implications. Was she aware of Professor Jordan? Was he summoning her? If so, what was he up to?"

Landers motioned to my attire and addressed me, "I suggest you get dressed, Mr. Black. The three of us are going for a ride."

"Ironic, isn't it, Mr. Black?" Ferrara quipped, "Our tenuous partnership began over there. It's where it all began."

I nodded and turned away to get dressed. I couldn't help but think that much more than our partnership had begun there."

( To be continued ...

Corpus Delicti )

№ 2037

Vacation Complaints

I "borrowed" these from Tony at The Laugh Line.

A tourist at a top African game lodge overlooking a waterhole, who spotted a visibly aroused elephant, complained that the sight of this rampant beast ruined his honeymoon by making him feel “inadequate.”

A woman threatened to call police after claiming that she’d been locked in by staff. When in fact, she had mistaken the ‘Do not disturb’ sign on the back of the door as a warning to remain in the room.

“The beach was too sandy.”

A guest at a Novotel in Australia complained his soup was too thick and strong. He was inadvertently slurping the gravy at the time.

“Topless sunbathing on the beach should be banned. The holiday was ruined as my husband spent all day looking at other women.”

“We bought ‘Ray-Ban’ sunglasses for five euros from a street trader, only to find out they were fake.”

“No-one told us there would be fish in the sea. The children were startled.”

“It took us nine hours to fly home from Jamaica to England it only took the Americans three hours to get home.

“My fiance and I booked a twin-bedded room but we were placed in a double-bedded room. We now hold you responsible for the fact that I find myself pregnant. This would not have happened if you had put us in the room that we booked.”

“I compared the size of our one-bedroom apartment to our friends’ three-bedroom apartment and ours was significantly smaller.”

“The brochure stated: ‘No hairdressers at the accommodation’. We’re trainee hairdressers – will we be OK staying here?”

“There are too many Spanish people. The receptionist speaks Spanish. The food is Spanish. Too many foreigners.”

“We found the sand was not like the sand in the brochure. Your brochure shows the sand as yellow but it was white.”

“We had to queue outside with no air conditioning.”

“It is your duty as a tour operator to advise us of noisy or unruly guests before we travel.”

“I was bitten by a mosquito – no-one said they could bite.”

“I think it should be explained in the brochure that the local store does not sell proper biscuits like custard creams or ginger nuts.”

“It’s lazy of the local shopkeepers to close in the afternoons. I often needed to buy things during ‘siesta’ time – this should be banned.”

“On my holiday to Goa in India , I was disgusted to find that almost every restaurant served curry. I don’t like spicy food at all.”

“We booked an excursion to a water park but no-one told us we had to bring our swimming costumes and towels.”

№ 2036

Work - Bad; Football - Good

BACK TO WORK!

That sure was a quick ten days! I don't want to go back to work.

I sure could get used to staying home and not having to drive from town to town every day. It would be nice not to be tied to those daily schedules and not have to be at any specified addresses at specified times.

Alas, it'll be at least a year, maybe two, before I officially declare myself retired. Until then I'll maintain a part-time status. Coupled with the monthly government check I can get by comfortably. I guess that makes me "semi-retired."

Because of the Labor Day holiday, I only have to work four days this week. But having a holiday-shortened week does have one drawback. I have to reschedule the Monday clients somewhere on the other four days. I really don't want to go back to work. Now the lyrics of Larry Verne are stuck in my head:

Please, Mr. Custer. I don't wanna go ...

Since the lyrics might be now stuck in your mind too ... you might as well listen to the whole song:

Are you ready for some football?
Thursday night the Super Bowl champion New Orleans Saints take on the Minnesota Vikings. I've got my Fantasy Football teams set up and ready for some football!

Flies on the Wall

Due to my 10-day vacation, which included Labor Day, I was unable to put much work into the 31st installment of Butterfly Dreams. I will try to have it posted by Friday, 9/10. If not on Friday, it will definitely appear on Monday, 9/13. Thank you for patience.

№ 2035

Super-Blog

What if Kal-el (aka Superman, dba the Man of Steel) disguised as a mild-mannered reporter kept a blog about his super-human deeds? The following is what it might look and read like. Then again, maybe not.

So, you think it's easy being a super hero? How would you like to spend one day in my red boots and blue tights?

Everyone thinks it's such a wonderful costume. You should have to pay my laundry bills! Do you know how much it costs to keep an indestructible super suit clean?

...And that stupid cape, it keeps getting caught in revolving doors! Have you any idea how many revolving doors there are in Metropolis?

Alas, I have no choice but to wear it. It helps to cover the buttons on the back of my pants. I might be a strange visitor from an alien planet, but I have body functions just like mortal men.

I was in a hurry once and forgot to button the flap which caused me an embarrassing moment.  I was giving Lois Lane a rooftop interview.  There was a gust of wind and she saw my bare butt. It was then that she coined the phrase "buns of steel." To this day, she still tries to peek under my cape.

I think I revealed too much about myself to her during that interview. I never should have told her about my X-ray vision. I noticed later that she started wearing lead-lined underwear. It was no big deal for a superman. Do you know how many attractive and sexy women who don't wear underwear there are in the city of Metropolis? A lot ... a whole lot ... thousands!

I'm sure some out there wonder why I, a super hero who fights for truth, justice and the American way, would even bother to keep a blog. I have to admit that it was Lois' idea. As it turned out, this blog gave me something to do when I'm not off fighting all the evil-doers and saving the planet from destruction.

I can use the blog to purge my thoughts. I can use this forum as journal of my daily exploits. I can even allow myself to be creative. Why, I can even compose poetry if I so desire. This is one of my favorites:

There once was a man from Krypton
Who escaped a planet's Armageddon
To become a hero who flies
And can use his X-ray eyes
To see whether or not Lois has a slip on.

You must think I live a "Life of Riley." Not really. Everything you earthlings take for granted presents problems for me. If maintaining a secret identity isn't bad enough, try setting up a bank account or using credit cards! The last thing I need is to be audited by the IRS.

You think you have trouble keeping up with the ever-changing technology? In an emergency or a crisis situation, just try to find a phone booth!

I don't want to hear about everybody's relationships and dating problems. I have plenty of my own. You might say they are super problems. When one is a celebrity, especially a super hero, their life is under a microscope. I can't be seen in the presence of a woman without fear of being caught on someone's camera phone or video cam.

Take that time I was checking out Wonder Woman's ... ahem ... assets. Don't you know it ended up on UTube! I had squeeze 100 pounds of coal into diamonds before Lois would believe me that Wonder Woman and I were only discussing the golden eagle on her bodice.

Hey, I'm not the only member of the Justice League of America to hit on her! It was a sad day in the JLA headquarters the day she came out of the closet. That's right, she's a lesbian. It turns out though that she has a thing for Kryptonians.  She and my cousin Kara (Supergirl) are getting it on! How do I know this, you wonder? Heh-heh, did you forget about my X-ray vision?

For a super hero dating definitely has its drawbacks. I can't always carry my wallet. Of course, it can be a mere matter of perspective.

Then there is the matter of nutrition and of course, appetite. Some women don't seem to realize a super hero must eat properly to maintain his strength.

So, as you can see, it's not easy being a super hero. Sure, I can bend steel in my bare hands and change the course of mighty rivers. Yeah, I can leap over buildings in single bound, I'm faster than a speeding bullet and I'm more powerful than a locomotive ... but there's more to life than having all those powers!

After all I am a man. I have the same thoughts, desires and needs of any man! Yet, because I'm revered as a champion of justice, I have to live by a code of ethics. Just who made up those damn ethics anyway and why do they apply to only me?

Batman gets it on with Bat Woman. Green Arrow is sleeping with Black Canary. Green Lantern made it with Star Sapphire. Aquaman hooked up with Meara. Why am I given different standards to live by?

I do have to admit that Lois and I did go to bed together one night. Unfortunately our night of intimacy was not a voluntary act for either of us. It was all part of a nefarious act masterminded by my mortal enemy, Lex Luthor. He drugged and hypnotized her into wearing a nightie fashioned from fibers of a Kryptonite meteorite. While her act of removing the nightie and discarding it may have saved my life, our virtues were nonetheless compromised.

While I was occupied that night, Luthor and his henchmen pulled off a series bank robberies. The next morning with her still sleeping, I had to fly off to investigate the crimes and to deal with an earthquake in California. When Lois awoke, the hypnosis had worn off and she was left with no recollection of what had happened the night before.

So began the feud between Superman and Popeye.

I have tried on numerous occasions to have a return engagement with Lois, but she won't give in to my advances. She insists that she is saving it for her wedding night. (sigh) I can't tell her that 'we've been there and done that.'

Then there was the day that I flew a deadly virus into the sun to save the world populace from annihilation. Even though I was partially blinded from being in the sun's corona, I sped back to earth to pick up Lois for a special dinner I had prepared for her at my Fortress of Solitude.

I didn't know that I would gain a new enemy that day.

№ 2034

The Maine Idea

I liked this sign marking entry into the town of Boothbay, Maine.  The Latin motto - Pelegrinis Cibum Dedimus, which translates to "We fed the Pilgrims" appears below the town name.

As you drive around the areas of the towns which surround the Boothbay Harbor area, practically every sign bears the words 'bay' or 'cove' as part of name of those areas. Because of the jagged coastline, one place of interest, which as the crow flies might be two miles, turns into a trip of seven to eight miles by car. That's okay, as those drives yield spectacular views and interesting sights.

The town of Westport occupies an entire island, we had decided to forgo the ubiquitous seafood fare in favor of a steak lunch. We were surprised to learn that there were no restaurants in Westport. From there we drove to the town of Damariscotta.

The name of the place and its sign said, "Come on in." King Eider's Pub is my kind of place. I had my steak and my wife went for the crab cakes. In a word - Excellent!

Tomorrow afternoon we will be leaving and heading for home. On our way back, we will again pass through Wiscasset. Per the suggestion of FB friend, Andrea, we will check out that town. Suggestions from the locals have us leaning to one of two eateries there: (1)Red's Eats or (2)Sarah's Cafe & Twin Schooner Pub.

We'll be back home Thursday evening, well before the arrival of "Hurricane Earl" on Friday evening. It appears that we will get a lot of rain and some high winds. Will have to check the batteries in the flashlights and radios in case we lose electricity. (With a little luck, the storm will track farther to the east than they are projecting at present.)

Now that I've bored you with our vacation adventures, I've put together a handful of jokes from the e-mail that has poured in over the last three or four days.

Once upon a time a guy asked a girl: "Will you marry me?"

The girl said, "No!"

So the guy lived happily ever after and rode motor cycles and went fishing and hunting and played golf a lot and drank beer and scotch and left the toilet seat up and farted whenever he wanted.

------------------------

Apple announced today that it has developed a breast implant that can store and play music. The iBoob will cost from $499 to $699, depending upon cup and speaker size.

The developers are hailing this as a major social breakthrough, because woman are always complaining about men staring at their breasts and not listening to them.

----------------------------

A young guy goes to the Job Center in Charleston, W. Va., and sees a flyer advertising for a Gynecologist's Assistant. Interested, he wants to learn more. "Can you give me some more details?" he asks the clerk.

The clerk pulls up a file ad says, "The job entails getting ladies ready for the gynecologist. You have to help them out of their underwear, lay them down and carefully wash their private regions, then apply shaving foam and gently shave off any hair, then rub in soothing oils so they're ready for the gynecologist's examination. There's an annual salary of $55 thousand, but you're going to have to go to Charlotte, North Carolina. That's about 250 miles from here."

"Oh, is that where the job is?" the young man asks.

"No, sir: that's where the end of the line is right now."

-----------------------

How do you know when you're staying in a Redneck hotel? When you call the front desk and say, "I gotta leak in my sink," and the clerk replies, "Go ahead."

Photograph reveals the First Lady with two different colored boobs.

Is it just me, or does anyone else find it amazing that during the Mad Cow epidemic our government could track a single cow, born in Canada, almost three years ago, right to the stall where she slept in the State of Washington? And they tracked her calves to their stalls.

But they have all kinds of trouble locating 11 million illegal aliens wandering around our country. Maybe we should give each of them a cow.

Catholic Shampoo

Shopping in a local grocery store, two nuns happened to pass by the beer, wine, and liquor section. One asked the other if she would like a beer.

The second nun answered that, indeed, it would be very nice to have a beer, but that she would feel uncomfortable about purchasing it.

The first nun replied that she would handle that without a problem. She picked up a six-pack and took it to the cashier.

The cashier had an obviously surprised look, so the nun said, "This is for washing our hair".

Without blinking an eye, the cashier reached under the counter and put a package of pretzel sticks in the bag with the beer. He said, "The curlers are on me."

№ 2033