fiction, continuted from previous)
Scott No. 256 ate a blueberry bagel of questionable quality. One can easily understand his need to question the blueberry bagel as blueberry bagels are often of character that looks like they are on the brink of molding and growing fuzzy. This is caused by the blueberry pieces being close to the surface yet not entirely breaking the surface of the bagel therefore leaving a hint of discoloration on the skin of the bagel. Prior to consuming he stated amiably to his friend “If I die, you’ll know why.”
He was very amused that he had rhymed and therefore ate the bagel with a happy disposition despite his concerns.
Scott No. 256 decided to go to an engineering college. His best pick up line was “Hey baby, can I be your derivative because I want to be tangent to all your curves.” As with Scott No. 139 he didn’t get any girls either.
* * *
The whereabouts of Scotts No. 517 remain unverified.
It is vehemently believed that he will not be located in Akron. Ever. His brother had worked on an ambulance in New York City before moving to Akron to do the same work. He stated that for all the strange and disturbing things he saw as an EMT in New York, Akron was worse.
* * *
Scott No. 279 lived in Rush County, Indiana. In the middle of nowhere within Rush County, Indiana. Ergo: a cornfield. He had a big old house with a pond in front, fifteen feet deep in spots, thankfully, frozen over. It was snowing, really snowing and the news had a weather advisory out. They had made it fairly clear that no one should leave their homes unless it was an emergency.
Despite this, Wal-Mart beckoned Scott No. 279.
Besides how he was going to get there, Scott No. 279 did not stop to consider who might actually be at Wal-Mart once he got there or how bad the storm would be once it was time to leave Wal-Mart. He had no need to fear the warning. After all he had driven in the snow before. He had driven in the Sierra Nevadas in 12 ft. of snow in the middle of the night.
There was a long winding driveway out to the road that he couldn’t see at all because enough snow had already settled on the ground. Still Scott No. 279 was not to be deterred. He had a Jeep Liberty, he could do it. However in his attempt to keep on the driveway he swerved out onto the pond. His wife, who had been watching him from the front porch, realized that he was on the pond. She began to panic. She pulled on her boots and her coat and prepared to save her husband from the pond she was sure would break under the weight of his Jeep. His daughter watched the whole thing. As his wife dashed out the front door he backed up the Jeep and returned to the house.
“You were on the pond!” His daughter yelled at him.
“You were on the pond!” His wife yelled at him. “You were driving over the pond with a Jeep Liberty! You could have gone through!”
He refused to believe her. He told her he was on the driveway the whole time. He only backed up because he couldn’t find the road.
They went outside later that night and his daughter pointed to where the ice had cracked from the weight of the Jeep.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
The Whereabouts of Scott No. 517 -- Installation Three
fiction, continuted from previous)
Scott No. 139 tells a pretty first-rate penguin joke. It is best when told from the view point of his female friends as witnessing the actual joke can sometimes be found disturbing.
The first woman begins by stating that everyone should get Scott No. 139 to tell his penguin joke. Then amends her statement because she just can’t hold this in any longer. Second and third woman listen.
“So Scott No. 139 asks ‘Have you heard my penguin joke? Well, there’s this American tourist in Paris and he gets … well, you know.’
“He means to say horny but he won’t so we have to say ‘horny’ for him.
“‘Yeah, well, anyway, he goes down to the Moulin Rouge district—’ Here he starts having this outrageous French accent ‘—and knocks on the door of a whore house. A woman answers it and he tells her: all I have is $20 US, is there anything you’ll do for me? She looks at him and says: Not here but try across the street, maybe she’ll show you the penguin. Thinking great thoughts of penguins he crosses the street.’
“Blah, blah, blah – I’m editing the joke down because I hate repetition in jokes. Anyway, Scott No. 139 stands up at this point.
“‘So she takes the guy into a room and tells him to make himself comfortable she’ll be right back. So the guy empties his pockets on to the table.’ And Scott No. 139 starts emptying his pockets out onto the table. ‘And he takes off his pants.’ And Scott No. 139 unzips his pants and pushes them down to his ankles.”
The second woman raises an eyebrow. The third woman goes slack jawed. “He did this in the dining room?”
The first woman nods and resumes her narration: “‘And then the woman rushes back in and grabs all the stuff he put on the table and runs out, and he runs after her yelling: Hey! You didn’t show me the penguin!’ And here’s Scott No. 139 waddling across the room with his pants around his ankles.”
She concludes: “it was the bizarrest part of my week.”
This was lunch. The middle of the day. Scott No. 139 was sober. To the best of their combined knowledge Scott No. 139 had not ingested any hallucinogens prior to the telling of the penguin joke. Nor prior to the second telling of the joke. Nor the third telling of the joke. However his accent and gestures did become more extravagant with each reiteration.
His female friends discuss his conduct with great amusement and mild astonishment outside of his presence. The first woman believes he planned his under-wardrobe specifically for this event. They were red boxer-briefs that let you see just about everything. The three women look at each other as this information is digested with varying degrees of success. They don’t say it aloud, but in this pause they are all thinking how relieved they are to hear he does not wear tighty-whities.
The second woman breaks the silence. “So how was he?” She wants information if information is to be had.
The first woman shrugs her shoulders. “Not bad,” she says with mild approval.
All three women nod.
“Do you think this is a new kind of dating strategy?” The third woman asks. “Show ‘em the goods and maybe you’ll find a taker?”
The expressions on the three faces are all similar: more disturbed and possibly scared than anything else. If this was his strategy they were not a good choice of target audience.
* * *
Scott No. 139 tells a pretty first-rate penguin joke. It is best when told from the view point of his female friends as witnessing the actual joke can sometimes be found disturbing.
The first woman begins by stating that everyone should get Scott No. 139 to tell his penguin joke. Then amends her statement because she just can’t hold this in any longer. Second and third woman listen.
“So Scott No. 139 asks ‘Have you heard my penguin joke? Well, there’s this American tourist in Paris and he gets … well, you know.’
“He means to say horny but he won’t so we have to say ‘horny’ for him.
“‘Yeah, well, anyway, he goes down to the Moulin Rouge district—’ Here he starts having this outrageous French accent ‘—and knocks on the door of a whore house. A woman answers it and he tells her: all I have is $20 US, is there anything you’ll do for me? She looks at him and says: Not here but try across the street, maybe she’ll show you the penguin. Thinking great thoughts of penguins he crosses the street.’
“Blah, blah, blah – I’m editing the joke down because I hate repetition in jokes. Anyway, Scott No. 139 stands up at this point.
“‘So she takes the guy into a room and tells him to make himself comfortable she’ll be right back. So the guy empties his pockets on to the table.’ And Scott No. 139 starts emptying his pockets out onto the table. ‘And he takes off his pants.’ And Scott No. 139 unzips his pants and pushes them down to his ankles.”
The second woman raises an eyebrow. The third woman goes slack jawed. “He did this in the dining room?”
The first woman nods and resumes her narration: “‘And then the woman rushes back in and grabs all the stuff he put on the table and runs out, and he runs after her yelling: Hey! You didn’t show me the penguin!’ And here’s Scott No. 139 waddling across the room with his pants around his ankles.”
She concludes: “it was the bizarrest part of my week.”
This was lunch. The middle of the day. Scott No. 139 was sober. To the best of their combined knowledge Scott No. 139 had not ingested any hallucinogens prior to the telling of the penguin joke. Nor prior to the second telling of the joke. Nor the third telling of the joke. However his accent and gestures did become more extravagant with each reiteration.
His female friends discuss his conduct with great amusement and mild astonishment outside of his presence. The first woman believes he planned his under-wardrobe specifically for this event. They were red boxer-briefs that let you see just about everything. The three women look at each other as this information is digested with varying degrees of success. They don’t say it aloud, but in this pause they are all thinking how relieved they are to hear he does not wear tighty-whities.
The second woman breaks the silence. “So how was he?” She wants information if information is to be had.
The first woman shrugs her shoulders. “Not bad,” she says with mild approval.
All three women nod.
“Do you think this is a new kind of dating strategy?” The third woman asks. “Show ‘em the goods and maybe you’ll find a taker?”
The expressions on the three faces are all similar: more disturbed and possibly scared than anything else. If this was his strategy they were not a good choice of target audience.
* * *
Monday, September 10, 2007
The Whereabouts of Scott No. 517 -- Installation Two
(fiction, continuted from previous)
Occasionally the Scotts meet. They are neighbors. They sit across from each other in airports. They ride the subway to work but take different lines to get there. They are currently attempting a trial separation in lieu of a divorce. If there is a sale, they often shop at the same grocery store and stand one after the other in the express checkout lane.
* * *
Scotts Nos. 12 through 14 hated each other. It was a long standing grudge assumed to be caused by their proximity and the general resentment that Scott No. 12 felt for everyone. Perhaps resentment was too strong a word. A better description would be bitchiness, and a general desire that things were not complete unless some sort of complaining was involved.
Scott No. 12’s favorite focal point for his pissing and moaning: the Juniper sea green hedge separating his lawn from that of Scott No. 14.
Juniperus x pfitzeriana, currently 4’8” in height, spread comparable (likely the same as the height but harder to measure), needing full sun and adapting to most any moisture situation.
Despite this final fact, and its appearance in every gardening book Scott No. 14 had ever come across, Scott No. 12 insisted that Scott No. 14 was an over-watering pest out to destroy his lovely hedge.
Scott No. 14 refused to call it a hedge, his hedge, a lovely hedge and most certainly refused to call it Scott No. 12’s hedge. He referred to it as “the juniper bush” and only as “the juniper bush.” Sometimes just “the juniper” when he was being rushed. Scott No. 14 did not like to be rushed. He did like to check out gardening books from the local library which is how he knew that the juniper bush was not in any real danger.
On this day Scott No. 12 was executing a cunning device of sabotage. After his near daily fight with Scott No. 14 about proper amounts of watering Scott No.14 had returned indoors, picked up his briefcase and coat, gotten into his car, backed down the driveway and driven away. At this time, and only after these recently stated events Scott No. 12 scuttled around his lovely hedge and into Scott No. 14’s yard where he proceeded to pull up each sprinkler that would hit his lovely hedge during its watering cycle and jam chewing gum in the mechanism.
Scott No. 13 remained on the odd side of the street watering his lawn and shaking his head as he had been doing for the past twenty minutes. Scott No. 13 smoked as he watered his lawn each morning and never paid attention to the cigarette or to the hose. This caused him to occasionally have to jerk his terrycloth slippers out of the way to avoid damage from burning or drowning. He enjoyed watching the two Scotts fight. He also enjoyed slowing down while passing car crashes in order to get a better appreciation of the damage and destruction. He was not the type to help.
Occasionally the Scotts meet. They are neighbors. They sit across from each other in airports. They ride the subway to work but take different lines to get there. They are currently attempting a trial separation in lieu of a divorce. If there is a sale, they often shop at the same grocery store and stand one after the other in the express checkout lane.
* * *
Scotts Nos. 12 through 14 hated each other. It was a long standing grudge assumed to be caused by their proximity and the general resentment that Scott No. 12 felt for everyone. Perhaps resentment was too strong a word. A better description would be bitchiness, and a general desire that things were not complete unless some sort of complaining was involved.
Scott No. 12’s favorite focal point for his pissing and moaning: the Juniper sea green hedge separating his lawn from that of Scott No. 14.
Juniperus x pfitzeriana, currently 4’8” in height, spread comparable (likely the same as the height but harder to measure), needing full sun and adapting to most any moisture situation.
Despite this final fact, and its appearance in every gardening book Scott No. 14 had ever come across, Scott No. 12 insisted that Scott No. 14 was an over-watering pest out to destroy his lovely hedge.
Scott No. 14 refused to call it a hedge, his hedge, a lovely hedge and most certainly refused to call it Scott No. 12’s hedge. He referred to it as “the juniper bush” and only as “the juniper bush.” Sometimes just “the juniper” when he was being rushed. Scott No. 14 did not like to be rushed. He did like to check out gardening books from the local library which is how he knew that the juniper bush was not in any real danger.
On this day Scott No. 12 was executing a cunning device of sabotage. After his near daily fight with Scott No. 14 about proper amounts of watering Scott No.14 had returned indoors, picked up his briefcase and coat, gotten into his car, backed down the driveway and driven away. At this time, and only after these recently stated events Scott No. 12 scuttled around his lovely hedge and into Scott No. 14’s yard where he proceeded to pull up each sprinkler that would hit his lovely hedge during its watering cycle and jam chewing gum in the mechanism.
Scott No. 13 remained on the odd side of the street watering his lawn and shaking his head as he had been doing for the past twenty minutes. Scott No. 13 smoked as he watered his lawn each morning and never paid attention to the cigarette or to the hose. This caused him to occasionally have to jerk his terrycloth slippers out of the way to avoid damage from burning or drowning. He enjoyed watching the two Scotts fight. He also enjoyed slowing down while passing car crashes in order to get a better appreciation of the damage and destruction. He was not the type to help.
Monday, September 03, 2007
The Whereabouts of Scott No. 517 -- Installation One
"The Whereabouts of Scott No. 517" is a short story of mine that, having not yet been accepted by anyone for publication, I have decided to segment and post here. Look back at the beginning of each week for the next Scott No. X installation. (Don't worry about keeping the numbers straight.)
(fiction)
(fiction)
* * *
Scott No. 228 had absolutely no interesting stories to tell.
* * *
Scott No. 412 had a plethora of interesting stories – or so his agent said – each more scintillating than the last.
* * *
From an early age Scott No. 53 knew he wanted to be an only child. His parents, however, did not consult him when they had his brother thirteen months later. Old enough to walk and wandering around the kitchen Scott No. 53 managed to get a hold of a long handled meat fork, and carried it over to the other end of the kitchen where the baby bassinet was set up holding the only sibling he had to contend with at the time. His mother turned around horrified to see Scott No. 53 blindly poking the meat fork into the baby basinet.
Scott No. 53 still contends that life would have been easier if they had stopped after him. Instead they had five more. His attempt to remedy the situation with a meat fork was unsuccessful.
About seventeen years later Scott No. 53 and first brother were fist fighting about something. This started in the kitchen, and lead out of the kitchen, and into the living room and then they fell in the coat closet. The whole time their 4’10” mother was beating them indiscriminately with a broom yelling: “Stop it! Get off of him! Stop it!” Ten year old little sister was following their mother around crying buckets of tears, certain that one of them was going to kill the other and if that failed their mom was going to kill them both with the broom.
In retrospect little sister claimed it was a very traumatic experience for her. Scott No. 53 just nodded at her remark and repeated his request to be an only child which he has now missed by forty-some years.
* * *
The existence of a Scott No. 517 was previously unrecorded and operations are underway to verify said existence. His status and story are currently unknown. A search to determine his location is underway.
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