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Favorites from the newspaper column (January 2004 - this page) (February 2004) (Archives) How about a cruise? | My muse and I | Red Riding Hood meets the Three Bears A cowpoke named Sylvester | Meet the new vacuum cleaner The Vikings were Scandinavian peoples who liked to cruise the seas in search of people and loot which they could grope, pillage, and burn. (Grope is a euphemism and is in no way intended to poke fun at the governor of California.) (Sure.) The first Viking longships arrived at the English coast in 792. Unfortunately, the Vikings had forgotten to board the ships before they cast off their mooring lines and so the English were left to wonder what that had been about. The next Viking cruise to England was led by Rolf the Bad, who was careful to have his men board their ships and so landed at Whoppingshire Abbey in 793. Rolf promptly burned the place, leaving precious little to grope and pillage, and sailed home to consult with R&D. The next year, Rolf and his men landed again at Whoppingshire Abbey but found only the ruins they had left. Rolf beat himself over the head with his shield and the flotilla sailed back to Scandinavia. In 795, Rolf stayed home. In 796, he and his band landed at Bloomingshire Abbey. Following instructions from R&D, the Vikings groped, pillaged, and burned. "By George, I think we've hit on something," Rolf told his second in command, Skarf the Bad. "I believe you're right, Old Boy," Skarf agreed. "What say we book another of these for next year?" Before you could say, "Who stabbed John," most of Europe was knee-deep in Vikings. They groped, pillaged, and burned from Moscow to Lisbon, Paris to Dublin, and points between. They were fierce fighters and even fiercer eaters and drinkers. Soon, Europe lay in ruins. "Maybe we shouldn't have burned so much," Groff the Bad, Rolf's great-grandson told his second-in-command, Bertha the Bad. "Men," said Bertha. "I guess we'll have to sail even farther west," Groff said. "Shouldn't we leave that for Columbus?" asked Bertha. "I mean, if we get out of historical order won't something bad happen to us?" "We won't tell anyone," Groff said. So the Vikings sailed west, where they found Iceland. "Men," said Bertha. "What is there to pillage and burn in this place?" "There's not even anything to grope," said Groff. "Men. That's all you think about." "If you don't stop with the criticism I'm going to make you found a colony here," Groff warned her. "Men." And so Iceland was colonized by Bertha the Bad and the Vikings kept pressing westward. Bertha's daughter, Helga the Bad, founded a colony in Greenland, and her granddaughter, Inga the Bad, landed in today's Newfoundland to plant the colony of Vinland. Meanwhile, back in Europe, Vikings began to settle on the lands they had groped, pillaged, and burned. They rebuilt what they had destroyed and became prosperous farmers and artisans. This brought another wave of Vikings to grope, pillage, and burn. "Hold on, we're Vikings, too," the first wave told the second. "Can't fool us," the second wave retorted, and soon Europe was again in ruins. "This is very bad," Ethelegg the Partially Ready King of England told Peppin the Size Seven-and-Three-Eighths of France. Peppin said, "My R&D people think we should rebuild, then invite the next wave to take it before they grope, pillage, and burn. That way, they'll have it, still be fierce fighters and even fiercer eaters and drinkers, and will fight off the next wave." "All this waving is making my arm sore," Ethelegg said. "That's the price you pay for being royalty," Peppin told him. So Peppin rebuilt the French coast and when the next wave of Vikings came they were invited to take the place without a fight. But Ethelegg started building forts and drafting people for an army. In France, the Vikings all changed their names to Norman, fought off successive waves of their fellows, and opened a factory outlet carpet store. In England, the Vikings won some and lost some and settled in the north of the country. They baked Danish pastry, fought with the Picts (who were in fact the Scots, but that is another story and this one is already too complicated), and excavated Hadrian's Wall (Hadrian had been forced to leave it behind when the Roman Empire declined and fell; see above). Meanwhile, back in Vinland, things were going badly. Crops failed, fishing was poor, and Olga the Bad had fallen off the wagon and pillaged and burned the colony. "Bertha warned us," Gertrude the Bad said. "We're out of order." "But we haven't told anyone," Olga said. "In that case, let's cut out and say some guy named ... oh, Lief, did it all." "Let's get packed," Olga said. "No wait, we burned it all." "Should we go back to Scandinavia?" asked Gertrude. "Too cold," said Olga. "How about France?" "Too hard to speak the language," said Gertrude. "Let's do England. I haven't had a good Danish in years. By the way, what time is it?" "About half past 1065," Olga told her. "If we hurry, we'll have time to stop and buy a carpet from Norman," Gertrude said. Copyright 2004, Robert A. Markwalter "You're not much of a muse." The muse looked up from the television set and said, "Ain't that Lucy a stitch?" He looked at his blank computer monitor and said, "You're supposed to be inspiring me, but all you do is sit in front of the television watching old sitcoms." "And your point is?" "Inspire me. Now." "You don't get it, do you?" said the muse. "I am inspiring you. I have been inspiring you. Look at her stuff those chocolates into her blouse. Reduced me to tears the first time I saw her do it in rehearsal." "Rehearsal?" he asked, looking up from the screen. The conveyor belt covered with chocolates was running faster and faster. The muse sat staring at the television, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "Rehearsal?" he asked again. "Well you can't inspire a comedic artist if you aren't there when she creates a masterpiece, then can you?" "You mean you ..." "I've been assigned to Hollywood for decades," the muse said. "Before that, I was in vaudeville. Does anybody wanna buy a duck?" "That was your line?" "Of course not. It was a line I inspired. That's what muses do; we inspire." "Well you're not inspiring me." "If you can't write a good gag after watching that Lucy episode we just saw, you'd better get out of the comedy writing business." "Comedy?" he asked. "But I'm not writing a comedy. I'm writing a deeply moving and insightful novel about human relationships and man's place in a vast and unknowable universe." The muse switched off the television and said, "Really? The head muse just flat lost it as she read your opening paragraph. I never saw her laugh so hard in all my eons of musing. That's why she assigned me to you. She figured I could make you the comic genius of all time." He looked at the blank monitor and said, "I believe I am deeply offended." "I like it!" said the muse. "Run with it. How offended are you?" "I am so offended I..." "Yeah? Yeah?" "Now stop that!" "It's not nice to rip off Jack Benny. It's also illegal. Do we need to go over copyright law?" "We need to go over inspiration. You're a muse. Inspire me to write a deeply moving ..." "Van. Get it? Deeply moving van?" "That's not funny." "It is if you stuff chocolates down your blouse while you're loading it." "There is more to life than stuffing chocolates down your blouse." "Now I'm offended." "Well good. Maybe they'll assign me another muse." "Afraid not. You get one shot at this. It's me or back to the advertising department." He stood and began to pace the floor. The muse flipped on the television and began to channel surf. "Do you have to do that? I'm trying to think." "That's not the way to creative genius. You can't think your way there. Thinking is for accountants and engineers. Artists need inspiration." "And all I've got is you." "Look, there's the program where Ernie Kovaks had an egg taped to his finger with a Bandaide for the entire show. Now that was funny!" "Well, yeah, it was. He never mentioned the egg, did he?" "Not once. I like to think I had something to do with that." "You ... and Ernie?" "Listen, Bub, who do you think was at Will's elbow when he did 'The Taming of the Shrew?' And then at Cole's when he put it to music?" "Wow!" "You're in the big time, buddy. This is your chance. The golden ring. You gonna grab it, or are you gonna be moving and insightful?" "But I'm an artist!" "Who drives an eighty-five Chrysler." "But I can't write comedy!" "Read me your opening paragraph." He sat at the computer and scrolled to the opening of his novel. He cleared his throat and read, "The sky was deeply overcast, a sort of gray-blue blanket that hung over the universe like a mantle that threatened to slowly descend and smother the green grass beneath it, except of course the grass was not green because of the gray-blue blanket that hung over ..." The muse was rolling on the floor. "I should go with that?" "Write the whole novel as one sentence. We're talking James Joyce does George Kaufman. You'll be driving a Lamborghini." "Now that's what I call inspiration!" Copyright 2004, Robert A. Markwalter Once upon a time there was a girl named Little Red Riding Hood. One day, Red's mother gave her a basket of goodies and said, "Take these to your grandmother who lives on the other side of the forest." "I know where the old bat lives," Red replied. "And why do I have to take this basket to her? Why can't we just overnight it with FedEx or UPS?" "Because I say so," her mother explained. "Well that's a dumb reason," Red decided. "Such a mouth," her mother said. "Just go. Get your cape and go. And don't forget the basket. Oh, one more thing: don't get eaten by the wolf." "Well duh." So Red set out for her grandmother's house on the other side of the forest. Each step she took put her deeper in the forest, which became darker and darker. Branches creaked in the wind, strange birds cried from the darkness ... "Will you shut up?" Red said. Just trying to set the mood. "Well why can't the forest be bright and cheerful and full of loveable furry creatures?" All right, the forest was bright and cheerful and full of loveable furry creatures. Three of these creatures were bears who ... "Don't, please don't." ... lived in a little cottage in the middle of the forest. "Bears don't live in cottages. They live in dens." This cottage had a big den. It was the Papa Bear's den and he had a big desk there. Now one day the Mama Bear made porridge for breakfast, but when she served it the bears found it was too hot to eat, so they decided to go for a walk while it cooled. While the bears were out, Little Red Riding Hood came upon the cottage. She was very curious about this cottage in the middle of the forest, so she went up to it and knocked on the door. No one answered. Red tried the doorknob, and the door opened. She went into the cottage and found the porridge on the dining room table. She sat down in the Papa Bear's chair, tasted his porridge, and said ... "This is the dumbest story I have ever heard." No, she said, "Oh! This porridge is much too hot for me." Then she tried the Mama Bear's porridge and said, "Oh! This porridge is much too cold." Finally, she tried the Baby Bear's porridge and said, "This porridge is just right." And she ate it all up. "Was there a barf bag in Granny's goodie basket? I mean, have you ever tasted porridge?" Next, Red went to the living room ... "Let me guess: the chair thing? And then the beds?" You know about the beds? "Well duh." You know that Red went to the bears' bedroom and found the wolf there? "This is just sick." The wolf was in the Mama Bear's bed, but he had disguised himself as Barbra Streisand. "Oh, he was that kind of wolf." "My, Barbra, what big eyes you have," Red told the wolf. "The better to read my fan mail with," the wolf replied. "My, Barbra, what big ears you have," Red told the wolf. "Watch it with the ears comments," the wolf replied. "And my, Barbra, what big teeth you have." "I do not!" the wolf shouted. "I spent thousands of dollars so I wouldn't have big teeth!" Just then, the three bears came home to find their porridge eaten, their chairs broken, and red and Barbra Streisand arguing in their bedroom. The Papa Bear said, "Wow, Barbra, I have every one of your albums. Will you autograph them for me?" "If this goes on much longer, I'm going to need a barf bag." The Mama Bear said, "Get out of my bed, you ... you ...singer! Get out of our house!" "Singer?" Just then Rip Van Winkle awoke in the next bed and said, "This is the noisiest place I've ever tried to sleep. Can't you shut up and let a guy get a few years of shuteye?" "Now hold on there, Pilgrim," John Wayne counseled. "John Wayne?" I like to work him in whenever I can. So the Duke decked Barbra Streisand and the Three Bears, then told Rip to shut up or he'd get the same. He was about to growl at Red when Duke Snyder walked in. (I can't help it; it's almost time for spring training.) Then Snow White and Seven Dwarfs and the Brothers Grimm showed up and that made two baseball teams, so they organized a game and lived happily ever after. "But that makes them only seventeen." The wolf and Barbra developed a split personality and that made them eighteen. "I said FedEx, I said UPS, but did my mother listen?" Well duh. Copyright 2004, Robert A. Markwalter Once upon a time in the Old West there was a cowpoke named Sylvester. "That's a pretty sissy name you got there, pardner," the other Cowpokes told him. "Don't you think you ought to change it to Tex or Slim or Ringo?" "But then I wouldn't know who I was," Sylvester said. The other cowpokes scratched their heads. "Besides," said Sylvester, "my sweetheart, Betty Lou, wouldn't know who I was, either." Betty Lou scratched her head. "And them longhorns we're a-heardin' wouldn't know who I was," said Sylvester. The longhorns scratched their heads. "Well," said the other cowpokes, "we'd better be getting on with this cattle drive. Where was it we were going again?" "I forgot," Sylvester said. "I'm just trying to remember my name." "Why ain't we drive 'em to Abilene?" asked Durango. "I think we ought to drive 'em to Durango," said Abilene. The cowpokes and Betty Lou and the longhorns all scratched their heads. "Why ain't we scratch one another's heads?" asked Cookie. "Ick pooh!" said the longhorns. They said it in unison. "If this is Greek tragedy and them longhorns is the chorus, I'm a'gettin' out of the cowpoke business," said Denver. "We just like to say things in unison," explained the longhorns. "Now, why ain't you drive us to the rail head at Dodge City?" "How come I ain't think of that?" asked Sylvester. "You're trying to remember your name," explained Betty Lou. So the cowpokes rounded up the longhorns and headed 'em out while Cookie rustled up some grub. As soon as the cowpokes smelled the grub they turned the cattle and headed 'em back to the chuck wagon. "Cookie, ain't you supposed to ride up ahead of us before you start to rustle up the grub?" asked Whiplash, the trail boss. "Sorry, I was trying to remember what's his name's name," said Cookie. So the cowpokes ate their grub and headed the cattle out again. Cookie cleaned up the dishes and drove as fast as he could to get ahead of the herd before he rustled up more grub. Unfortunately, he drove as fast as he could right through the herd and set off a stampede. "It's just as well," he told Whiplash. "I forgot to load up the dishes after I cleaned them. So the cowpokes calmed the stampeding longhorns and settled them down for the night in the same place they had been that morning. Cookie rustled up grub and everyone ate. "Are you sure I'm supposed to be rustling up grub for the longhorns?" Cookie asked Whiplash. "I'm sure," said Whiplash. "Okay, but the cowpokes are gonna get awfully sick of sauteed hay," said Cookie. The next morning the cowpokes rounded up the longhorns and told Sylvester, "You ride point today. That way, if there's a stampede you'll likely be killed and we won't have to hear your sissy name any more." "That hardly seems sporting," Sylvester said. So, with Sylvester riding point, the cowpokes headed the longhorns out. Cookie skirted the longhorns and rushed on ahead, with Betty Lou in the wagon beside him. As the noon sun burned overhead, the longhorns sat down for a rest. "This ain't the way it's done," Whiplash told the longhorns. "Stuff it in your ditty bag," the longhorns told Whiplash. By the time the cowpokes got the longhorns headed out again the sun was sinking in the west and Cookie and Betty Lou and the chuck wagon were nowhere in sight. "I reckon we'll have to head 'em out in the dark," Whiplash decided. "It's okay, we brought flashlights," the longhorns said. "Are you sure about the Greek tragedy?" asked Denver. So the longhorns with flashlights and the cowpokes headed out and about two hours later came upon Cookie and Betty Lou and the chuck wagon. "This is the most embarrassing story I've even been in," moaned Tucson. "Longhorns with flashlights, a cowpoke named Sylvester, sauteed hay for grub, and a film crew in a Volvo following us." "We're making a documentary," explained the film crew. "About the Old West and how dumb everyone in it was." "We told you to change your name," the cowpokes told Sylvester. "My name, my name," mumbled Sylvester. "Are we switching the Shakespeare?" asked Denver. "I'm outta here on that, too. Not gonna do any of the 'damned Spot' nonsense. What a name for a dog in a classic play." The film crew said, "We're going to make lots of money on this one." "I have something to say," said Cookie. "Betty Lou and I have decided to run off together." "Comedy AND sex?" said the film crew. "We're talking filthy rich." "George?" said Sylvester as Cookie and Betty Lou drove off in the chuck wagon. "Harold? No wait, I know! It's Schenectady!" "Ick pooh!" said the longhorns. "Ditto," said the cowpokes. "Midas!" said the film crew. Copyright 2004, Robert A. Markwalter Walter walked from the pool table to the bar, where he leaned on his cue, pointed at something under the table, and asked, "What the devil is that, Charlotte?" Charlotte peered through the smoke and said, "That's the new vacuum cleaner." "It doesn't look like a vacuum cleaner. It looks like a little robot of some sort." "I suppose it is," said Charlotte. "It's an automatic vacuum. It runs around the floor on its own, looking for stuff to suck up." "It runs around on the pool table, too," Walter said. "And it sucked up the eight ball and my beer." "Oh, my," said Charlotte. "Maybe we should have bought the more expensive model." The vacuum cleaner rolled from under the pool table, hesitated, then shot into the air, landing on the bar next to a man who was feeling no pain. The man looked at the vacuum and said, "You come here often, baby?" The vacuum whirred quietly, then sucked up the man's drink and topped that off with a cigarette that lay burning in an ashtray. "Tha's a preddy good trick, baby. Can I buy you a drink?" The vacuum set off down the bar, sucking up drinks, cigarettes, loose change, and car keys. Walter watched its progress and observed, "Reminds me of my first wife." "The one who couldn't hold her liquor?" asked Charlotte. "The vacuum does seem to be doing better on that score." The vacuum leaped off the bar and landed on a nearby table, where it devoured two shrimp platters and a pitcher of beer. The man and woman at the table backed slowly away from it, then ran for the door. "This is getting out of hand," said Charlotte. "Where did I put the remote that shuts that thing off?" "I don't know, but you'd better hope it operates on more than one of them," Walter said. "Three more scooted through the front door while that couple was leaving." The four machines rolled into a circle in the center of the room. Lights on their plastic covers flashed, their antennae waved, and they clicked and whirred. Then they spread out. One jumped on a table, another landed in the buffet, the third disappeared down the hall that led to the restrooms, and the fourth rolled over to Walter's feet. "Kinda cute, the way it waves its antennae," Walter said. The machine hummed and clicked, and in a brief woosh! Walter's trousers disappeared into it. "It took my pants!" he said. "Hearts?" Charlotte asked. "You wear boxer shorts with big red hearts on them?" "Only in February," Walter explained. "At this moment, I know more about you than I ever wanted to." "I want my pants back," Walter said. "My money, my credit cards, my car keys ..." The vacuum burped and disgorged a wallet and set of car keys. It hummed and whirred and waved its antennae. Charlotte listened for a moment and said, "That thing sounds almost contented." The machine edged closer to Walter and hummed at a higher pitch. "Walter, I think it has a crush on you," Charlotte said. "Like hell it does," Walter said as he backed away. A scream came from the hallway, followed by a woman whose eyes were very wide. "They're everywhere!" she cried. "Little robots! They're in the ladies room, in the storeroom, in the ..." "The one that went down the hall must have opened the back door," Charlotte said. "Hearts?" the woman from the hall asked Walter. "Only in February," he explained. The machine with the crush on Walter hummed angrily at the woman and spewed a cloud of dust toward her. She choked and coughed, then pulled cigarette butts and shrimp tails from her hair. Charlotte said, "The salesman didn't mention any of this." "Look!" the woman cried, pointing a cigarette butt at the hallway. Several dozen vacuums came into the barroom. They hummed and whirred and milled about, then several hopped onto the musical instruments the tavern's regular band had left after their weekend gig. The vacuums puffed and whirred and waved their antennae and after a few false starts struck up a credible rendition of "Tea for Two" in a cha-cha rhythm. As the machines began to roll back and forth to the cha-cha, Charlotte said, "Not bad. That weekend band had better watch it or they'll be looking for work." Walter's vacuum rolled onto the dance floor and began to cha-cha by itself. "Oh, that's so sad," said Charlotte. "Come on, Walter." "You're asking me to dance in my heart boxer shorts with a libidinous vacuum cleaner?" he said. "Only in February," she told him. "Oh, what the hell," he said, and walked onto the dance floor. "Hey!" the man called from the bar. "Can you play 'Melancholy Baby?'" "So," Walter asked the vacuum cleaner, "do you come here often?" "Only in February," the machine replied. Copyright 2004, Robert A. Markwalter |
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