SOS Gab & Eti 1.39
Dreams of expansion and franchise hot in their heads Gab and Annalee have
been staying up late at night in the breakfast nook, the old oak table
covered with mason jars full of quarters. Between their groping caresses and
tongue probes making excited plans for an expedition south as a recent report
on the radio is that North Carolina has 200,000 operating outhouses, not
unused long enough to be purely historic, but fine enough condition for use
at the outhouse theme park. The oil in the pan is warm and the tank is full
on the flatbed. Problem is they have not been able to find an efficient means
of getting Etidorpha's coffee into a Stanley thermos short of using a grout
gun. Getting the coffee out of the thermos is not such a problem now that
they have 2" diameter auger bits hooked up to the PTO.
In related news Gab is happy to report that he cleaned the weird black crap
off his hands by helping Etidorpha make meatloaf. After three months of
attempted cleanings including with orange peel goop, xylol, Jack Daniels and
turpentine to no effect, the meatloaf worked wonders. I suspect it may have
been Etidorpha's garlic. I hesitate to report the technique as some of our
readers may have attended dinner.
Etidorpha, when not concentrating on her radish and pea crop, has been busy
trying to catch D. Glaucomo Lardoz' iguana that escaped last week. It took up
residence with the squirrels in the attic of the back porch and has been
causing an incredible racket. Gab suggested slow roasting on a spit with the
comment, "It tastes just like chicken." This has altered the otherwise
indifferent D. Glaucomo Lardoz' unsociable state-of-mind of amending all
queries as to his existential condition to the flat statement, "I don't want
to talk about it." Disengaging himself from life-support-system long enough
to remove the earplugs and the stocking from his head he has solicited
Etidorpha's assistance in recapturing his wayward lizard. It has brought out
her maternal side and she has been baking him anatomically correct
gingerbread cookies of Rhinos and Polar Bears to cheer him up. The kid needs
as much encouragement as possible seeing as his dad, Rusty Lardoz, has been
out in the ozone cruising country byways in quest of rarified pee renderings,
and this from a former tax man. Last month there was a Rusty sighting in
Arizona with the rumor he traded a Navajo medicine man with an old Buick for
an exclusive cactus button dealership. After the deal he was described
descending into a hole in the ground on the backside of an arroyo from which
he has not as yet been reported to resurface.
Altuna has caught onto the newest craze of Teledildoism and has been
designing an electronic jump suit for use on historic preservation projects.
The idea is that restoration mechanics in the field will wear the suit while
performing such daily chores as inhaling mortar dust, lifting herniating
buckets of mortar, slamming mash hammers on their hands, or rinsing acid out
of their eyes. In real time the tactile information is transponded via
telephone to a central server where it is then recorded on micro-disk.
Recordings are then made available for architects and conservators to replay
the physical sensations of the restoration process in the comfort of their
own homes. Accompaniment of appropriate music enhances the primitive
experience and Altuna has taken up the low rumbling blowing of a tuba
accordingly.
An added aspect of the suit is the benefit of two-way communication whereby a
straw boss is allowed the option to stimulate the restoration mechanic either
into working faster, bladder control, reduction of salacious daydreams,
reducing the frequency of unwarranted woodies, or maintaining their
resolution in the immediate vicinity of the work. Simple options allow that
as the worker approaches the perimeter of the worksite within six feet there
is an audible alarm, within four feet a noticeable stimulation, and when
directly in contact with the perimeter a smart slap of jewel jumping juice.
If we don't get a sparky barker out of this then there is no hope for the
application of technology in preservation. Next step is wireless.
In a bit of a continuing the romance effort Gab came up with a birthday gift
for Annalee that will knock your socks off. Taking a plank of wood he found
out behind the barn buried beneath a pile of old tires he affixed to it a
paste of wood putty, shellac and Tupelo honey forming the words, "I <heart>
Annalee". He then hung the plank in his favorite of favorite outhouses and
told Annalee that there was a something-special waiting for her in the park.
Annalee had no idea what she was searching for and by the time she had toured
three-hundred and twenty-six outhouses, having absolutely no idea how to tell
which one would attract Gab's especial attention, she finally, in a state of
near exhaustion, came upon the rustic plaque. To all amazement the sign had
attracted a bevy of flies of different sizes and orientations and the
sentimental greetings were conveyed, when the door was swung to on it's
well-oiled brass hinges exposing the innards of the domicile to full
sunlight, in a flash, buzz, and twinkle of kinetic wings. Annalee's flagging
spirits were summarily revived and they retired to an evening of chicken
barbecue at Jan Olaafson's house.
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