Stories from the Stray Lake Signal-Gazette

Stray Lake U, the college of last resort

'Run That By Me Again,' from a real newspaper column of stuff and nonsense

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Leroy Wertzbrimmer and Blue the dog The beer shortage

Chef announces first buzzard wings franchise, is arrested

Paint peels (historic register nomination questioned)

Parrot set to testify, is instead served to jury

Evangelist sprains tongue

Stray Lake U graduation in doubt, due to lack of candidates

Race for Village Idiot too close to call

Chef announces first buzzard
wings franchise, is arrested

by
Wilma Whipstittle
Signal-Gazette Staff Writer

Tipple Time chef Juan de Fuca was arrested Saturday after announcing he would open his first Juan's Wings franchise in Loomisville this summer. State police said they were considering charges which include inducing panic, inciting indigestion, breaking every health law on the books, violating the federal clean air act, and transporting a corpse across a state line to do weird things with it.

"We may be a bit shaky with that corpse thing, but we can make the rest stick," State Police Commander U. Will Obeyme told a news conference in the parking lot of the Tipple Time. "I've never tasted those wings, but they are legendary and I have smelled them several times as I hurried by Stray Lake on the bypass before we adopted our mandatory gas mask rule for that stretch of road. Come to think of it, we may throw obstructing traffic into our charges."

"To begin, I believe the commandant was smelling the eau de sewage lagoon," Juan said in his defense, following his release on his own recognizance. "Strangers frequently make that mistake, though even I will admit the similarity in bouquet. Second, my wings have to have a distinctive odor lest they be seen as the vulture parts and byproducts they actually are. Third, I have never done weird things with a corpse, at least not that I can remember. And finally, I am willing to negotiate."

Obeyme, who had retreated to the bar to further his investigation by drinking beer, said he might be willing to negotiate, especially after another round.

"We've got to keep those wings confined to Stray Lake," he explained. "You people have developed an amazing tolerance to them, due possibly to breathing that cloud that now hovers over the sewage lagoon. But the rest of the state is just not ready. I can envision stomach linings melting like butter on the steering wheel of a closed car when the mercury hits 110."

Doc Pandemic, who was occupying the next stool, considered this metaphore, shook his head, and explained to Obeyme that it was not the lagoon but Lou the bartender's special stomach remedy that gave Stray Lake citizens their immunity.

"I don't know what's in it and I probably don't want to, but it works magic," Doc said. "I don't think it really has any affect on the stomach, because I have rampant indigestion every time I eat Juan's wings, or anything else he cooks, for that matter. But I toss off one of Lou's specials and in five minutes I practically forget I have a stomach. I forget lots of other stuff, too. Why don't you try one, chief?"

"Commander," Obeyme corrected him. "And maybe I will. Such a libation might also be illegal."

Joined by the rest of the state police on hand, the commander downed one of Lou's specials, smiled and ordered another, then stood the house a round and told Juan to throw on a batch of wings.

"Are you sure?" asked Doc. "Even with two specials, you people might not be ready."

"You may be right," Obeyme admitted. "Lou, give us another."

The state police seemed to relish the wings, downing several more specials before they put in a carryout order and called a cab for the state capitol. A vanload of plain clothes detectives arrived Monday afternoon to drive the squad cars away, but as the Signal-Gazette went to press nothing more had been heard from upstate.

"Maybe a week, probably closer to a month, they might get a glimmer of memory," Doc speculated. "But they won't believe it, or at least won't admit it, not even to themselves. Juan, I think you ought to change the franchise name to Juan's Ailerons, build the things out of tofu, use fake eggs and whole wheat flour in the breading, then fry them in canola oil and peddle the stuff as health food."

"I might try that. I'll whip you up a batch right now," Juan decided.

"Give me a special, Lou, my stomach just turned," Doc groaned.

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Tipple Time's nomination to historic register questioned

by
Wilma Whipstittle
Signal-Gazette Staff Writer

The State Historic Commission seemed a little perplexed last week when the Tipple Time was nominated to the National Register of Historic Places.

"Do they perhaps mean the National Register of Hysterical Places?" wondered commission president Biltmore Oldham. "Isn't that the dilapidated bar which overlooks the town cesspool? I believe I recall that place being condemned a few years ago. Has it not been torn down?"

"We made the necessary repairs we could afford and are paying the building inspector to overlook the rest by giving him free drinks," Lou the bartender explained. "That's him sleeping over in that corner booth. We usually slip him a mickey in the third drink to hold down costs. But where does this Biltmore character get off with calling the place dilapidated? We put a coat of paint on it just last fall. Of course, it was cheap paint and the first time the cloud over the sewage lagoon shifted with the wind the walls all peeled or turned purple and orange. But it still looks good, especially in the flickering lights of the parking lot."

Oldham explained that National Register buildings must have some architectural or historic significance, "such as being of a distinctive style or being associated with a famous person or event."

"We're about as distinctive as you can get," Lou countered. "We call it 'Early Potpourri,' but of course we don't actually allow any of that to go on here. Anyway, the barroom dates at least from 1830 when the place was a log cabin where my great-great-grandfather kept a still. When he went to his reward after sampling a tainted batch of his product, my great-grandfather took over the operation, put in a bar, added an outhouse, and the rest is history."

"Outhouse?" asked Oldham. "If they have an outhouse we might want to preserve that, in a manner of speaking. Those things are rare."

Unfortunately, Lou said the outhouse had been torn down shortly after Stray Lake installed its sewer system in the 1960s.

"I believe it was used to fuel a hog roast," he recalled. "I was but a lad then, yet I still recall the pungent taste of that porker. We never have been able to duplicate it."

As to famous people, Lou remembered the Helms brothers, Hiram and Jules, who patronized the Tipple Time.

"Hiram could belch louder than anyone in Stray County and Jules could hold his breath until he actually passed out," Lou explained. "They are legend. They died tragically only 12 years ago when Jules held his breath and passed out on the deck, then fell over the railing into the sewage lagoon. Hiram belched himself over the same railing just seconds later. That was before the latest upgrades to the sewer plant, such as adding chemicals, and no trace of the brothers was ever found. And if that isn't good enough for the historians, the Declaration of Independence and the Oath of the Tennis Court were both signed in our Leroy Peugeot Banquet Room. That's the room just past the gent's facilities that doubles as freeze-dried buzzard wing storage."

Chairman Oldham said Lou's story sounded utterly implausible "except for the parts about the Declaration and the Oath, which are outright lies. However, we might consider a nomination for that cesspool. There doesn't seem to be any other place like it in the country, or any place even close. At least we hope not."

Lou shrugged and allowed, "Some people just don't appreciate historic events or fine old buildings, but if they'll consider the lagoon we'll fill out the papers. Historic designation could make it a tourist attraction. Whoops! Was that a piece of the roof that just fell into the parking lot and demolished several cars? Lucky we get everyone to sign a disclaimer, huh?"

WRITING AND EDITING | TOP OF THIS PAGE | STRAY LAKE HOME

Parrot set to testify,
is instead served to jury

by
Wilma Whipstittle
Signal-Gazette Staff Writer

Selma Jessup's parrot, Buddy, was scheduled to testify this week in Selma's lawsuit against her ex-husband, Larry. But Buddy mysteriously ended up being served for dinner Monday to jurors in the case.

"He looked like any other bird to me," Tipple Time chef Juan de Fuca explained. "And with what the county pays for jury meals, I can't be picky about what I start with. I just grab some dead stuff, coat it with my special sauce, and drop it in the deep fryer. Well, I usually drop it in the fryer. Sometimes, when I'm really busy, I just slap it on a plate and send it out. But this time, I am sure I fried things."

"He fried a material witness," Judge Wimmer explained. "That is punishable by ... gee, I'm not sure there's a statute covering that. I'll have to check my law books. They must be around here somewhere."

Selma said she was "outraged and deeply grieved that poor buddy should meet such an untimely end. He was such a gentle bird, and always had a kind word for everyone. I feel sure my snake of an ex-husband had something to do with this, and I have hired a private detective to prove it."

"That bird could make a sailor blush," Larry told this reporter. "He was about as mean and nasty as Selma, which should figure, since she raised him from a chick. See this chunk out of my ear? Buddy did that one night when I told him to shut up so we could hear the TV. But I had nothing to do with him becoming lunch, although I must say I can't figure how the jury got something that tough and nasty down."

Jury Foreman Randolph Ekkles, speaking off the record, told this reporter Monday's meal "did contain some pretty tough and foul-tasting tidbits, but that is more or less normal for the Tipple Time so we fed those pieces to alternating mayor Blue the dog and thought little of it. Perhaps if they X-rayed Blue or dropped a microphone down his throat they could still get some testimony."

Stray County Sheriff Legible Thomas said he doubted that theory, but was looking for anyone who might have heard Buddy's last words.

"I told him that bird was already dead when I got it," Juan explained. "And I can't tell you where it came from. Usually, there's a bag of stuff hanging from the kitchen door when I come to work. I think one of the bums on the beach collects it after every shift in the wind over the sewage lagoon. Anyway, I leave a few cans of overage beer in return, and that is all I know or care to."

Lej said he would check the beach, but also wished to talk to Larry, Selma, the jurors, Juan, and Lou the bartender.

"I lose my bird and now I am considered a suspect?" Selma wondered. "I believe you have to look no further than Larry, who was about to lose the case and thus return to me custody of our once-joint collection of stuffed possums. Quite aside from the collection's monetary value, I wish it returned because it reminds me of our dead armadillo, Leonard."

Judge Wimmer said the case would be postponed until he finds his law books, and the jury would in the meantime remain sequestered at the Wimmer Motel (where all juries stay) and be fed at the Tipple Time.

Randolph allowed that would be all right with the jury, because most of them make more on the county per diem than they do at their regular jobs.

"Besides, the food at the Tipple Time is better than my wife can do," Randolph added. "But remember, that's also off the record, lest the county need a jury to avenge me."

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Evangelist sprains tongue

by
Wilma Whipstittle
Signal-Gazette Staff Writer

The Rev. Elijah Motorlips is recovering at Maid of Mercy Recuperation clinic after spraining his tongue during a sermon at the annual spring revival at the Candle Creek Church of the Freewheeling Apostles.

"He got worked up about transgressors, then went into high gear over what should be done with them," Doc Pandemic explained. "When he started on the option about smiting them, his lips and his tongue got out of synch and he sort of ground to a halt. The sprained tongue is minor, but he nearly died of apoplexy when he found himself behind a pulpit and unable to talk."

The Reverend Haskall, regular pastor at Candle Creek, attempted to heal the Rev. Motorlips by laying hands on him but only managed to get bitten several times for his trouble.

"We gave him a tetanus shot and released him," Doc said. "The other fellow will be with us until he calms down or we find that his insurance won't cough up the tab."

The Rev. Motorlips, though unable to speak, did respond in writing to this reporter's questions, saying he would smite Doc as soon as they took the straps off his bed.

"Then again, we may release him later today," Doc explained. "We'll wheel him out to the edge of town, turn him loose, and run for it. No wait, we'll have a car standing by, I lost my head."

The Rev. Haskall said he hoped Rev. Motorlips would soon be able to return to the revival, which has been drawing big crowds.

"Rev. Motorlips is an arresting speaker who knows a great deal about sin and transgression, and about stoning, smiting, and other uplifting activities," the regular pastor explained. "It is no wonder people come from far and near to pack the revival tent. Of course, the free beer probably didn't hurt, so until Rev. Motorlips regains the use of his tongue we will be serving a free lunch as well. That ought to draw a lot of transgressors and offer many opportunities for smiting."

Tipple Time regular Billy Henson, who has also been a regular at the revival, allowed that the free lunch would probably swell the crowd.

"Unless they serve Juan's wings," he hastened to add. "Talk about your transgressions ..."

Tipple Time chef Juan de Fuca said he had no intention of catering a revival service unless the money was particularly good, adding, "I wouldn't do my wings at any rate, but would go with the hand-dipped lake catfish. Your church groups always seem to go for fish."

"We'll talk," said the Rev. Haskall. "We can do fish, but I am not sure we want Juan hand-dipping them. I hear there are some pretty heavy transgressions that go on at the Tipple Time."

"He ought to know, he's here for most of them," Lou the bartender explained.

The Rev. Haskall could not be reached for further comment, having retired to a back booth to work on his sermon for the next revival service: "Sodom, Gomorrah, and Stray Lake - Three Sides of the Same Coin or Just a Great Title for a Broadway Musical?"

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Stray Lake U graduation in
doubt, due to lack of candidates

by
Wilma Whipstittle
Signal-Gazette Staff Writer

Stray Lake U may not hold graduation ceremonies this year, after it was found no one is eligible to graduate.

"Still, I think we ought to have some kind of ceremony," mused SLU president Dufoise Trolleyhauler as he talked with this reporter at the Tipple Time. "Maybe an un-graduation would be in order."

"Maybe you could give me another honorary degree," suggested Trixie Woozlebloom, the president's live-in secretary. "I got one last year for my ... what was it again, Doofie?"

"Cheerleading," Dufoise explained. "You were made an Honorary Doctor of Cheerleading, since you have been the head cheerleader at SLU for 12 years."

"Doesn't time fly?" asked Trixie. "So maybe this year we could make me an Honorary Doctor of Litters. You know how you make me change the cat litter every week, even though the cat has been gone for months. I tell you, Doofie, she ran off with that big, furry guy who was hanging around campus last winter."

"But she will be back, I know that cat," Dufoise explained. "And anyway, we were already going to award an Honorary Doctor of Money to Hermann Ward, who gave me a blank check after I caught him in a back booth here with one of your cheerleading squad."

"Boopsie," Trixie remembered. "Boopsie shouldn't have done that."

"Don't be judgmental," Dufoise explained. "Our problem here is that the honorary graduate will be the only graduate, and that won't look good.

"But I'll look good," Trixie explained. "Won't that even things out?"

"Maybe we could doctor the tests," Dufoise decided.

"I have a little black dress I am planning to wear," Trixie explained. "If I take it back and get a size smaller, no one will notice our honorary is the only graduate."

"We can get into the computers," Dufoise said.

"Especially if I present the degree,' Trixie explained.

"It's worth a try," Dufoise decided. "I'll sneak into the computer lab tonight and see what I can do."

"You can join all the students who go there to hack into government web sites," Trixie told him. "They use a ladder to climb in the window. They're fun. Can I come, Doofie?"

"Can you get that dress two sizes smaller?" wondered the prexy.

"Yes, but I can't be responsible for what happens if one of the students is hacking a missile launch command site when he sees me in it,' Trixie disclaimed.

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Race for Village Idiot too close to call

East McKirk, Indiana - With the race for Village Idiot entering its final days, the contest is still too close to call. Incumbent George "Yo-Yo" McKirk holds a slim lead in some polls, while his opponent, Eliot "Yo-Yo" McKirk leads in others.

"One thing for certain, it looks like one of the McKirk twins will win," prophesied pollster Walter "Yo-Yo" McKirk, their father. "You heard it first here."

Actually, we heard it first last spring when George filed for reelection on the Noodlesquat Party ticket while Eliot ran as an independent. Both swept to victory in a landslide, garnering no votes but being the only candidates in the primary.

"I warned them they had better vote," Walter said. "But then I forgot to remind them, and they spent Election Day behind the barn hitting each other with oars. I tell you, those boys are a handful."

The twins' mother, Hillaway "Yo-Yo" McKirk, said she was uncertain which of the twins she would favor with her vote.

"I'm not registered, but they never say anything down at the polls," she confided. "Maybe it's because my cousin, Wilma 'Yo-Yo' McKirk, runs things. Or maybe it's because I always leave them money. Then again, maybe it's because Yo-Yo tags along with that big shotgun of his."

Asked which Yo-Yo she was referring to, Hillaway was unable to answer, allowing, "One looks pretty much the same as another to me."

The twins' fianc�e, Lotisha "Yo-Yo-Yahoo" McKirk, said she did not particularly care which of her affiances won, but would expect the loser to be a good sport about it.

"We've got 50 years or better of matrimonial bliss ahead of us," she explained. "I don't want to hear those boys talking all that time about some silly election. Did I tell you I was elected homecoming queen two years ago? Now there's an election worth talking about."

We left her talking and asked George - or perhaps it was Eliot - what his election would bring to the job of Village Idiot.

"Me," he explained. "Who's the idiot here if you have to ask that question?"

Asked to amplify on his platform, George or Eliot said he would work to strengthen the local, regional, and state economies, and "cackle like a chicken from the steps of city hall every morning at dawn."

We wondered if he could support such an ambitious program.

"Probably not," he confided. "Maybe I'll just cackle every other day and work to strengthen my abs."

In Indianapolis, Governor Gumblatt "Yo-Yo" McKirk said he would remain impartial in the election.

"I am related to both those boys," he confided. "And if I open my mouth about it, everyone will find I am pretty much the state idiot around here. I won this office by smiling and saying the same things over and over, no matter what questions people asked. I will not jeopardize my position - or my pension - by changing the script. Wanna feel my pain? I feel yours."

Our Washington bureau reports that Senator Franklin "Yo-Yo" McKirk would not comment publicly for this story, but said off the record that the fewer people who knew about his ties to village idiots the better.

"I'm tied to enough idiots where I am," he explained. Sometimes, I can barely nap when the Senate is in session just for worrying about it. I actually have to take drugs to drift of during those speeches. But don't print a word of this, hear?"

At the United Nations, U.S. ambassador Carothers "Yo-Yo" McKirk referred all calls to his secretary, LaValloma "Yo-Yo" McKirk, who had nothing to say but breathed with great meaning.

Meanwhile, back in East McKirk, George and Eliot stopped hitting one another with oars long enough to engage in a lengthy debate, moderated by news anchor Kilmer "Yo-Yo" McKirk. The twins hurled insults at each other for a full half hour, then threw their empty beer bottles for another 30 minutes, and finally resorted to flinging furniture, livestock, and just about anything else they could lay hands on.

When they tired of this and retreated to the barn to hit each other with oars, George was declared the clear winner because he has more teeth than his brother does.

"Of course, he bought most of them," Hillaway said. "Eliot has always spent his money on loud clothing and trips out to the north forty to watch the corn grow. How two boys so much alike can be so different, I will never know."

Eliot's campaign manager, Karma "Yo-Yo" McKirk, put the best spin he could on the debate, allowing that Eliot "remembered his name, usually, and was better at flinging empty beer bottles than George. I look forward to the next debate, because ... well, I'll think of something before it starts. Probably."

George's campaign manager, also Karma "Yo-Yo" McKirk, said his candidate now held a decided edge heading into the final stretch.

"Does that sound good?" he asked. "That's what I hear them saying on TV all the time in those sound bite thingies."

A random sampling of voters revealed most were indeed random.

Harry "Yo-Yo" McKirk said he was still undecided how he would cast his ballot because "I hear they've changed the machines at the polls. They've got new rats in the wheels, the steam engine now has a governor, and there are going to be three pigeons instead of five. It will just be awfully confusing."

McKirk County Clerk Vandenheigh "Yo-Yo" McKirk said the new voting machines should confuse no one since "the rats are still white, the steam engine still pulls the little cart into the tunnel of love, and two of the pigeons simply up and died on us. All you really have to do to vote is what you've always had to do - make sure Ahab harpoons the whale when your candidate's name comes up on the bow of the Pequod."

"I dunno," Harry said. "I never could tell which was the whale and which was Ahab and for that matter I get the Pequod confused with my mother-in-law, Cornelia "Yo-Yo" McKirk. Sometimes I feel like we all ought to be running for Village Idiot."

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