|
| News from June Feb. & March (part I) |
March (part II) |
April |
May |
July |
August |
September October | November | December | Home Stray Lake High graduation deteriorates (surprise?) June 6, 2000 Gunpowder marinade launches pig from barbecue spit June 13, 2000 Stampeding swans panic ballet audience June 20, 2000 Cat sights thermometer, destroys animal clinic June 27, 2000 Graduation ceremonies at the Stray Lake High School gym went smoothly Saturday night until valedictorian Husher Gumbott raised a red flag and cried, "Death to the proletariat!" The Stray Lake High band struck up the Internatioanale, and it went downhill from there. Stray Lake High principal Homer Nottaclue called for order, but was ratcheted to the floor by graduating seniors Beven Cumbeau and George Marx. When school superintendent Walter Infusion tried to intervene, he was hog tied and thrown from the stage. The evening began innocently enough with the playing of Pomp and Circumstance, or as near to it as the Stray Lake High Marching and Stationary Band can get. The graduates walked flawlessly to their seats, with the exception of Althea Nubberman, who whapped English lit teacher Huber Pummice on the head for flunking her two years ago. Huber took it in stride, tripping the next graduate in line, Eldora Noffitach, who in her turn fell onto phys ed instructor Howard Large. In retrospect, Homer Nottaclue might have called for order here, but he was busy ogling senior cheerleader Lattice Puttogether and so missed most else. What else was Howard's intended, match teacher Wedderea Kittleman, leaping upon Eldora and beating her severely about the head and shoulders. Wedderea was pulled from her mission by girls phys ed instructor Alma Thump, who set Wedderea in a chair and told her to behave herself. The decorum of the spectacle being now severely curtailed, parents began to make catcalls and smoke and drink, and small siblings commenced to running up and down the aisles screaming without purpose. This being pretty much what goes on at Stray Lake High during school sessions, most of the teachers and administrators failed to notice the commotion and the graduates seated themselves without further incident (save for Henrietta Huber's accident). Principal Nottaclue introduced the Rev. Marvin Potrasky, who gave a brief prayer, rendered all the briefer by the fact he could not remember which deity he was praying to. This was followed by a song of complete nondescription by the Stray Lake High Chorus and Woodworking Guild, and another prayer by Rev. Potrasky, who can seldom be stopped when he is on a roll. The main speaker, Gerald Main, of Main Animal Crematorium, then droned on for about 20 minutes, covering things no one remembers or wants to. It sticks in this reporter's mind he talked some about character, but since he has none few in the audience paid attention, and some about cremating animals, which was disgusting. It was here that valedictorian Husher was introduced, and when he raised his fist the students screamed in response. This also not being unusual, faculty and staff settled back with their flasks for Husher's speech, but were astonished by his cry about doing in the proletariat, which most of them remembered vaguely being part of. Following Walter and Homer going to the mat, Husher screamed some more about death to practically everybody and the students raised their fists in response. The audience generally gaped in response, until Husher's Uncle Value said out loud, "I always knew that kid was flat crazy, and I'm getting out of here!" The following stampede can only described as a stampede, and most are reported doing well at Maid of Mercy Recuperation Clinic, although some have already left for the Tipple Time, where Lou the bartender is offering discounts to survivors. Homer, Walter and the Rev. Protrasky were among the first in line. Following the evacuation of the gymnasium, Homer is reported to have cried, "It worked, break out the kegs!" but you did not hear it from this reporter, who reportedly left before it happened. But she did have a good time, off the record. The half-roasted pig carcass which ricocheted around town last Saturday was the result of a novice barbecuer's basting error, according to Claude Afterburner, president of the Stray Lake Society for Charring Dead Things. "Young Julius Flicker thought he was supposed to pour the rubbing alcohol and gunpowder marinade into the pig, rather than over it," Claude explained, "which is probably why that sucker went supersonic about two minutes after it went over the coals. Did you see the big blue flame that shot out of its mouth?" Everyone within about 20 miles seems to have seen the big blue flame, and most also noticed the resulting fire which consumed the useless scaffolding the Hammer Slammers Handyman's Club is erecting around the fountain and statue of Colonel Richardson on the Town Square. Many at the bar in the Tipple Time also noticed, and moreover noted that the pig came to rest in front of them, where they devoured it. "I'd have liked to have stuck a thermometer in that thing before they ate it," Claude explained, "but if any of them gets worms, well, worms aren't all that bad, are they?" The Society for Charring Dead Things began their June desiccation innocently enough, with ritual chanting and the lighting of a giant pile of charcoal. Their followed the ritual tapping of the keg and toasting while the coals simmered themselves down. It was here that Chef du Month Ervine Forkpuncher weighed toasting against cooking and assigned his protegee, young Julius, to pre-baste the pig. Julius never was real bright, following the tradition of his family, and so poured the alcohol and gunpowder mix down the pig's gullet then taped up the former critter's mouth. Ervine showed up, did a perfunctory exam of the job, and fastened the entrée to the spit. Some say the pig swelled up before the blast, some say it was just a sudden blue flame. It would seem immaterial to Anna Hovett's cat, Loveless, who is now also hairless. The pig left the spit at a high rate of speed, bounced off the courthouse, caromed off Elkus's Hardware (striking Miss Matilda Chuker, who was passing on her way to the library), and seemed headed for a bath in beautiful Stray Lake. Just then, a gust of wind sent the speeding porker into the bottom end of the spiral slide at the playground in Fronkbank Park, and it shot up into the air until most lost sight of it. Thank goodness the playground has been condemned, or it might have held explosive devices. Meanwhile, the flaming exhaust at the spit had ignited the Hammer Slammers' useless scaffolding, leaving it really useless in a matter of minutes, but Hammer Slammers president Alvin Elkus promised to have the works rebuilt in a matter of days. "It was pretty flimsy to start with," he explained, "so it won't take long to get it up again." At the Tipple Time, where this reporter was situated, the descending pig crashed through the flimsy roof, startling almost no one, the roof being prone to falling in, and came to rest on the bar. Thinking chef Juan de Fuca was offering a new appetizer, revelers immediately dropped their intensely intellectual conversations and pretzels and began to carve up the pig with knives, forks, nail clippers, and anything else that was handy. (This reporter personally did not participate in the carnage, despite rumors and depositions.) Lou the bartender estimates the roof might be repaired by the next time it rains. Juan is considering gunpowder pigs feet as freebie appetizers, if the insurance is affordable. And the barbecue on the square proceeded with club members sending out for a roll of bologna, which they carved into a pig and charred and ate. At the Tipple Time, there was a round of belching, followed by much staring at the hole in the roof. When this reporter left, Miss Matilda was just dragging herself in to treat the after effects of being hit by a flying dead pig. The Grizelda Longleap Ballet's presentation of Swan Lake last weekend at the Orpheum Theater was well-attended, until the band lost its place in the score and the swans ran into the audience. "It was hard enough teaching those birds the steps," Grizelda explained. "I guess they just got confused when the band stopped. I suppose that's what I get for hiring the Stray Lake Drum and Bugle Corps, but you know how cheap they work." "It wasn't our fault," bandmaster Hubert Dyxon said. "Those birds were out of control before we lost our places. In fact, that's what happened - do you know how messy those things can get?" The audience quickly found out how messy as the birds leaped and flew among them, and all were soon streaming for the exits as Grizelda did not help matters with her ranting. Then she brought out a gun, brought down a couple of the swans, and the exodus turned into a rout as birds, band, and audience fled the theater. First casualty of the evening as the crowd burst out of the Orpheum was Miss Matilda Chuker, who was passing on her way to the library. Miss Matilda has taken to arming herself when she leaves the house, and brought down three more swans with her large caliber handgun before staggering off toward the Tipple Time. The patrons of the arts and the birds then spread out onto the Town Square, where the birds turned nasty. "They were hissing and pecking and jumping up and down on our heads," Eula Bastion reported. "I don't know what that composer had in mind with his Swan Lake, but I never want to see the place, and I certainly want my money back." "Money back?" asked Grizelda. "No way. When a dance gets out of control, we call it performance art. Eula is just lucky she got to be a part of this production, and is even luckier I do not bill her double for the privilege." The privileged were fighting a losing cause with the swans until the Stray Lake Volunteer Fire Department showed up to hose everyone down. "This was the Saturday night we usually wash down the fountain of Colonel Richardson," fire chief Randy Mossbreath explained, "so we just washed everyone. Boy, the statue of the Colonel sure needed it after those big birds got through with him. What were those things, anyway? Does Juan have them on the menu at the Tipple Time?" Juan did not, as most of the privileged found when they retired there to regroup, but he did stick the five luckless bird casualties that had been dragged away by the crowd into a special marinade and invited everyone back the next evening to sample the cuisine. Miss Matilda said she would be there, even if she had to take a taxi. The evening ended on a high note with the drum and bugle corps drowning out the jukebox as Grizelda did several selections from Four Goats and a Large Carp, her own work which she plans to debut next fall. This reporter will be there to bring you all the details, providing the carp is not unusually large. The Howard Rinaldo Small Animal Clinic and Home for Wayward Girls will be closed this week following the annual checkup of Olitha Thompson's cat, Hindenburg. "It was going pretty well until we started to take his temperature," Doc Rinaldo explained as he bandaged his wounds at the Tipple Time shortly after the exam. "But then Hindy looked over his shoulder, saw the thermometer ... Lou, do you have a needle that's not real dirty? I think this one is going to need a couple of stitches." While Lou the bartender scared up one of the needles Tipple Time chef Juan de Fuca uses to truss up many of his questionable entrees, Doc explained that he always schedules Hindenburg's checkup as the last appointment of the day. "I mean, that cat weighs 25 pounds and - I swear this is true - sharpens his claws before Olitha brings him in," Doc said. "Heck, I buy extra life insurance just for the month of his checkup." Hindy seemed pretty calm this year, Doc went on, probably because Olitha sprinkled a bottle of tranquilizers into his morning food. Once on Doc's table, the cat suffered his fur to be ruffled, his teeth to be looked at, and his paws to be examined (from a respectful distance). But then came the temperature check. "There's only one way to do that," Doc shrugged as he dipped Juan's needle into his drink and began to sew. "I brought out the catnip mouse for Olitha to dangle in front of Hindy, the Wayward girls pinned him, I took a deep breath, and that's when he looked back. I tell you, that growl he let out still raises the hair on the back of my neck, or at least what little is left after it was all over." Doc ordered another drink to quench that thought, then admitted he should not have proceeded with the thermometer. "But I took an oath," he explained. "I do not believe the people who thought up the oath foresaw this contingency, but an oath is an oath." So Doc proceeded, and according to reports from the street his oaths could be heard even above Hindy's attack growls, the screams of the Wayward girls, and Olitha's prayers. The commotion seems to have gone on in the exam room for about 30 seconds, then Hindy flattened the back door of the clinic and rocketed into the alley, where he collided with Miss Matilda Chuker, who was passing on her way to the library. Hindy was nowhere in sight by the time Miss Matilda got her gun out of her purse, and Doc was just sticking his head through the doorway to see if it was safe to come out. It as not, but Miss Matilda is also not much of a shot so the only casualty was Mildred, Doc's parrot, who lost some tail feathers. Miss Matilda squeezed off a few more random rounds then headed for the Tipple Time, while Doc and the Wayward girls surveyed the wreckage of his office. Olivia Wayward suggested they retire to the Tipple Time for regrouping, her sister Helvetica seconded the thought, and even Olitha was in favor of the plan, so long as Doc was buying, which he was. Olitha wondered through the first couple of rounds where Hindy might be, then shrugged and decided he would come home or find another suitable spot to spend the night. Doc agreed, but advised the public against going near him, especially since the thermometer seemed to be missing. |
| ©2000, Robert A. Markwalter. All rights reserved. |