Greetings of the moment and farewell for nine days: I'm off to Minneapolis, Minnesota to play in the US Open National Championship Volleyball Tournament. I will play in two separate divisions, four days each, and so will not be back at my keyboard until all that is over. Check back in a week and a half!
Smiles to you and ...
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
A Descriptive Sentence from Long Ago
A wide, wildly dashing torrent of far reaching, malleable golden surface that dipswirls laughingly around the motionless rocks and trees, random splash flashing in eddied twists, spraying from bright reaching light in swiftly arching stretches to the bent dark shadows of sudden bowed valleys, in the amber thick slow motion of visual awareness as I look out over the continually swaying wheatfield tresses caught in the crisscross brushing play of the warm summer wind.
Written By Michael Steven Platt 11-16-75, edited and posted 5-19-09
Written By Michael Steven Platt 11-16-75, edited and posted 5-19-09
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Withering Flats, Episode Two, part 6, conclusion
(Episode 2, Part 6, conclusion)
Greetings and welcome to the conclusion to Episode 2 of Withering Flats! We left Nick standing dejected at the door after the trick-or-treaters laughed as they thought his prideful declaration of villainy was all part of a Halloween act. Poor Janee has been wrapped in copper wire for quite some time (especially since I have not met a timely production schedule) and is patiently sleeping while waiting for Nick’s return. Let’s not keep her waiting any longer and we present the exciting conclusion to our tale...
“Ha ha, thanks Mister!” and they turned and went on their way, as Nick lowered his arm and looked rather deflated.
“Kids nowadays,” he lamented, “No respect...” and he closed the door.
Then, seeing Janee still trussed and asleep, he shook himself, growled, cocked his head at the sound, growled again, and then smiled his old evil smile once more. He waved the plunger at her and said, “Now it’s show time for you, my sweet!” He put the plunger back between his legs, pulled the goggles out of his pocket and pulled them on so that the elastic back was against the back of the helmet, took the gloves out from under his arm, pulled them on, grabbed the plunger from between his legs and strode over to where his helpless victim stood propped against the wall.
Janee’s rhythmic snoring had caught the interest of a fly that was now buzzing in and out of her mouth with the vibrating tides of her breath, but otherwise showed no awareness of what was transpiring around her. Nick knelt at Janee’s feet, picked up the two ends of wire and...
Ding-dong...
“What?!” Nick Cried.
Ding-dong...
“I don’t believe it!” Nick denied.
Ding-dong...
“I don’t care!” Nick belied, and he stuck the wires into the socket, causing Janee to jerk and clamp her mouth shut with a “WHOOP!” just at an influx of breath (much to the consternation of the fly), then he got up, picked up the plunger and stormed over to the door.
He flung the door open to see a person standing there who was dressed in a blue and green striped jacket with matching trousers, a yellow shirt with purple polka-dotted red tie, a pair of red, white and blue gym shoes, a straw hat sporting a plastic daisy from its band, and who held a large bunch of oily looking tulips in one hand and a box of candy in the other. Nick stuck the plunger under his arm, glove handedly fished in his coat pocket, pulled out the box of foil packets, stuck the whole box down into the flowers, grabbed the plunger again, waved it threateningly and said, in goggle-eyed frustration, “Trick or Treat yourself!” then slammed the door.
The door re-opened immediately, Nick reached out, grabbed the box of candy, said, “My treat this time!” and, as sparks flashed behind him, re-slammed the door.
The door again opened, this time with smoke accompanying Nick, as he said to the person, “And that’s the silliest costume I’ve ever seen!” and slammed the door once more.
The door opened still yet again and, as smoke billowed out, sparks shot from behind him and a sizzling sound grew louder, Nick added, “And my costume is not a costume at all, it’s my working wardrobe because I’m a scientist and I’m getting mad! So don’t bother me, we’re busy!” and with that he finally slammed the door for the last time, leaving Clem Clump standing there in great confusion in his Sunday best suit, wondering if perhaps Janee is busy for the evening and can’t go with him for a walk in the moonlight to watch the fireflies at the city dump.
Well, that’s (fianlly!) the end of Episode Two of Withering Flats. Will Janee survive Nick’s shocking intentions? Will Nick get the deed signed over? Will Janee agree to marry Nick? Will Clem find someone to go watch fireflies with? Will the Trick-or-Treaters find a good use for the foil packets? Will the toilet plunger become the new weapon of choice for magicians? Tune in again next time to see if these questions are answered! So for more action, suspense and romance be sure to return for Episode Three of Withering Flats!
Written by Michael Steven Platt 5-17-09
Greetings and welcome to the conclusion to Episode 2 of Withering Flats! We left Nick standing dejected at the door after the trick-or-treaters laughed as they thought his prideful declaration of villainy was all part of a Halloween act. Poor Janee has been wrapped in copper wire for quite some time (especially since I have not met a timely production schedule) and is patiently sleeping while waiting for Nick’s return. Let’s not keep her waiting any longer and we present the exciting conclusion to our tale...
“Ha ha, thanks Mister!” and they turned and went on their way, as Nick lowered his arm and looked rather deflated.
“Kids nowadays,” he lamented, “No respect...” and he closed the door.
Then, seeing Janee still trussed and asleep, he shook himself, growled, cocked his head at the sound, growled again, and then smiled his old evil smile once more. He waved the plunger at her and said, “Now it’s show time for you, my sweet!” He put the plunger back between his legs, pulled the goggles out of his pocket and pulled them on so that the elastic back was against the back of the helmet, took the gloves out from under his arm, pulled them on, grabbed the plunger from between his legs and strode over to where his helpless victim stood propped against the wall.
Janee’s rhythmic snoring had caught the interest of a fly that was now buzzing in and out of her mouth with the vibrating tides of her breath, but otherwise showed no awareness of what was transpiring around her. Nick knelt at Janee’s feet, picked up the two ends of wire and...
Ding-dong...
“What?!” Nick Cried.
Ding-dong...
“I don’t believe it!” Nick denied.
Ding-dong...
“I don’t care!” Nick belied, and he stuck the wires into the socket, causing Janee to jerk and clamp her mouth shut with a “WHOOP!” just at an influx of breath (much to the consternation of the fly), then he got up, picked up the plunger and stormed over to the door.
He flung the door open to see a person standing there who was dressed in a blue and green striped jacket with matching trousers, a yellow shirt with purple polka-dotted red tie, a pair of red, white and blue gym shoes, a straw hat sporting a plastic daisy from its band, and who held a large bunch of oily looking tulips in one hand and a box of candy in the other. Nick stuck the plunger under his arm, glove handedly fished in his coat pocket, pulled out the box of foil packets, stuck the whole box down into the flowers, grabbed the plunger again, waved it threateningly and said, in goggle-eyed frustration, “Trick or Treat yourself!” then slammed the door.
The door re-opened immediately, Nick reached out, grabbed the box of candy, said, “My treat this time!” and, as sparks flashed behind him, re-slammed the door.
The door again opened, this time with smoke accompanying Nick, as he said to the person, “And that’s the silliest costume I’ve ever seen!” and slammed the door once more.
The door opened still yet again and, as smoke billowed out, sparks shot from behind him and a sizzling sound grew louder, Nick added, “And my costume is not a costume at all, it’s my working wardrobe because I’m a scientist and I’m getting mad! So don’t bother me, we’re busy!” and with that he finally slammed the door for the last time, leaving Clem Clump standing there in great confusion in his Sunday best suit, wondering if perhaps Janee is busy for the evening and can’t go with him for a walk in the moonlight to watch the fireflies at the city dump.
Well, that’s (fianlly!) the end of Episode Two of Withering Flats. Will Janee survive Nick’s shocking intentions? Will Nick get the deed signed over? Will Janee agree to marry Nick? Will Clem find someone to go watch fireflies with? Will the Trick-or-Treaters find a good use for the foil packets? Will the toilet plunger become the new weapon of choice for magicians? Tune in again next time to see if these questions are answered! So for more action, suspense and romance be sure to return for Episode Three of Withering Flats!
Written by Michael Steven Platt 5-17-09
Friday, May 15, 2009
Withering Flats, Episode Two, part 5
(Episode 2, part 5)
Hello and welcome back to the story, folks! If you’ve just joined us for the first time, then get on down and read the earlier parts so you know what the heck is going on! For those who have been following the story so far, we left off with nasty Nick just finished trussing up sweet Janee with copper wiring and threatening to plug her into the electrical outlet. Let’s see what develops from this potentially shocking situation and pick up again at that point...
Stepping back to survey his handiwork, he rubbed his hands together in glee and said, “Now my sweet, you’ll see what happens when you refuse my reasonable offers!”
He picked up the two trailing ends of wire once more and was just about to plug them into the wall socket when he stopped, said, “Whoops!” put the wires back down, straightened up and said to himself, “No, no no!” giving a little chuckle, “Ha, ha, ha, mustn’t be too hasty... could be problems that way...” and then looked around the front hall in search of something. Spying the closet door on the opposite wall from where Janee was comfortable propped, he stepped over, opened it up and was immediately assailed by a powerful, rather foul odor.
“Ahhh...” nasty Nick breathed in deeply, “How I love your perfume, sweet Janee!” thus demonstrating how over all bad he really was. In the closet were three hangers, one which was empty, one holding a very large fur coat that appeared to made from a bear skin (“Hmmm,” mused Nick, “That reminds me of that lovely afternoon last summer when I put Janee in the cage with that delightfully angry black bear... I wonder whatever happened to it...”), and the third held, “Ah, just the thing!” Nick exclaimed as he pulled out the long rubberized, stained and crusty mackintosh, with a label reading Ernie’s Services sewn just below the left front lapel. He put this on over his own coat, then on the shelf above the hanger pole, next to a pretty pink bonnet, he saw a well battered, crust spattered, pink hard hat, which he reached up and took, saying to himself, “This looks promising, though it’s not really my color,” and he plonked it down on top of his black, oily-haired head.
There was a pair of large rubber boots on the floor which were a grungy match to the coat and hard hat, so he took those out as well. Carefully unzipping and taking off his own black boots, Nick pulled on the big rubber ones, stood straight, shrugged into the coat a bit, looked down at the boots, felt the hat on his head and declared, “Yes, this is just the fashionable thing for our little afternoon activity.” Looking across the hall to Janee, he smiled affectionately in anticipation. Reaching to close the closet door he saw, hanging from a hook on the back of the door, a pair of large, black rubber gloves that matched the coat and boots in design, material and crusty condition.
“Perfect! Just the thing I was looking for!” Nick cried in glee. He took them off the hook, tucked them under his arm, shut the door and strode back over to Janee. He reached down and picked up the plunger, wondering if he could perhaps put it to some kind of creative use within his plans for Janee, but just then the doorbell once again started ringing.
“No!” Nick shouted.
Ding dong...
“Not again!” Nick denied.
Ding dong...
“No fair!” Nick pouted.
Ding dong...
“Aw nuts,” Nick finally shelled out, and stomped over to the door, collected his composure, cleared his throat, pulled open the door and sweetly asked, “Yes, may I help y...?” and once again stopped in mid-sentence as he found himself facing a policeman, a fireman, an army commando and a nurse.
“Umm... uhh, hello, officer!” Nick stammered out, “What can I do for you all?” weakly smiling and hoping that perhaps they were selling tickets to the local charity balls.
“Trick or Treat!” came the same chorus as last time.
“What?” responded Nick, once more taken by surprise.
“Trick or Treat!” as the prerequisite bags were held up expectantly.
“Oh.. oh yes, heh-heh,” Nick recovered. He transferred the plunger to his left hand, still holding the rubber gloves under that arm, put his hand into his coat pocket, screwed his face up in surprise and pulled out a pair of large, crust covered goggles. He looked down at the pocket and recalled that he was wearing the rubberized overcoat, stuck the goggles back into the pocket with a thoughtful nod, reached into his own coat pocket and pulled out the box of foil packets. He held this out to the children and admonished, “Take only one apiece, Uncle Nick wants to have some left over for himself,” leering suggestively.
The four costumed characters each obediently reached into the box and pulled out a single packet (“What are these?” the nurse whispered to the fireman, who whispered in return, “I know what they are. My brother gets these. They are some kind of super balloon and they hold a LOT of water!”), and after each had had their turn they all chorused “Thank you, Mister!”
The policeman spoke up to Nick, “Hey mister, that’s a funny costume, but who are you supposed to be ... and what stinks?” scrunching up his nose.
Nick replaced the almost depleted box back into his coat pocket, took the plunger out from under his arm, raised it above his head in a regal pose and, with intense fervor, declared, “I am the Terror of the Town, the Purgative of Pleasantries, the Villain of Villains, the Embodiment of Evil and Terror, I am Nasty Nick Nak and I will ram this magic wand up your little behinds if you don’t scram pronto!” and he glared menacingly down at the four children. They stood still for a pleasurable second, then all broke into raucous laughter, “Ha ha ha!”
“You’re funny!”
“That’s silly!”
“Crazy!”
“Ha ha, thanks Mister!” and they turned and went on their way, as Nick lowered his arm and looked rather deflated.
“Kids nowadays,” he lamented, “No respect...” and he closed the door.
(end part 5)
Poor Nick... he gets no respect. Perhaps that’s why he acts out his little fantasies with Janee. But poor Janee, all trussed up and nowhere to go. Will Nick finally get to plug her in? Will the smell of his newly acquired outfit knock her out? (I doubt it... remember, it’s her outfit to begin with.) Has Nick found a new villainous device in the plunger? Will a real hero every come to the door? If Nick finally does plug her in, will Janee be able to pay the next electric bill?
Find out tomorrow when we present part 6 in the conclusion of this Electrifying Tale from the small town with big drama, Withering Flats.
Written by Michael Steven Platt 5-15-09
Hello and welcome back to the story, folks! If you’ve just joined us for the first time, then get on down and read the earlier parts so you know what the heck is going on! For those who have been following the story so far, we left off with nasty Nick just finished trussing up sweet Janee with copper wiring and threatening to plug her into the electrical outlet. Let’s see what develops from this potentially shocking situation and pick up again at that point...
Stepping back to survey his handiwork, he rubbed his hands together in glee and said, “Now my sweet, you’ll see what happens when you refuse my reasonable offers!”
He picked up the two trailing ends of wire once more and was just about to plug them into the wall socket when he stopped, said, “Whoops!” put the wires back down, straightened up and said to himself, “No, no no!” giving a little chuckle, “Ha, ha, ha, mustn’t be too hasty... could be problems that way...” and then looked around the front hall in search of something. Spying the closet door on the opposite wall from where Janee was comfortable propped, he stepped over, opened it up and was immediately assailed by a powerful, rather foul odor.
“Ahhh...” nasty Nick breathed in deeply, “How I love your perfume, sweet Janee!” thus demonstrating how over all bad he really was. In the closet were three hangers, one which was empty, one holding a very large fur coat that appeared to made from a bear skin (“Hmmm,” mused Nick, “That reminds me of that lovely afternoon last summer when I put Janee in the cage with that delightfully angry black bear... I wonder whatever happened to it...”), and the third held, “Ah, just the thing!” Nick exclaimed as he pulled out the long rubberized, stained and crusty mackintosh, with a label reading Ernie’s Services sewn just below the left front lapel. He put this on over his own coat, then on the shelf above the hanger pole, next to a pretty pink bonnet, he saw a well battered, crust spattered, pink hard hat, which he reached up and took, saying to himself, “This looks promising, though it’s not really my color,” and he plonked it down on top of his black, oily-haired head.
There was a pair of large rubber boots on the floor which were a grungy match to the coat and hard hat, so he took those out as well. Carefully unzipping and taking off his own black boots, Nick pulled on the big rubber ones, stood straight, shrugged into the coat a bit, looked down at the boots, felt the hat on his head and declared, “Yes, this is just the fashionable thing for our little afternoon activity.” Looking across the hall to Janee, he smiled affectionately in anticipation. Reaching to close the closet door he saw, hanging from a hook on the back of the door, a pair of large, black rubber gloves that matched the coat and boots in design, material and crusty condition.
“Perfect! Just the thing I was looking for!” Nick cried in glee. He took them off the hook, tucked them under his arm, shut the door and strode back over to Janee. He reached down and picked up the plunger, wondering if he could perhaps put it to some kind of creative use within his plans for Janee, but just then the doorbell once again started ringing.
“No!” Nick shouted.
Ding dong...
“Not again!” Nick denied.
Ding dong...
“No fair!” Nick pouted.
Ding dong...
“Aw nuts,” Nick finally shelled out, and stomped over to the door, collected his composure, cleared his throat, pulled open the door and sweetly asked, “Yes, may I help y...?” and once again stopped in mid-sentence as he found himself facing a policeman, a fireman, an army commando and a nurse.
“Umm... uhh, hello, officer!” Nick stammered out, “What can I do for you all?” weakly smiling and hoping that perhaps they were selling tickets to the local charity balls.
“Trick or Treat!” came the same chorus as last time.
“What?” responded Nick, once more taken by surprise.
“Trick or Treat!” as the prerequisite bags were held up expectantly.
“Oh.. oh yes, heh-heh,” Nick recovered. He transferred the plunger to his left hand, still holding the rubber gloves under that arm, put his hand into his coat pocket, screwed his face up in surprise and pulled out a pair of large, crust covered goggles. He looked down at the pocket and recalled that he was wearing the rubberized overcoat, stuck the goggles back into the pocket with a thoughtful nod, reached into his own coat pocket and pulled out the box of foil packets. He held this out to the children and admonished, “Take only one apiece, Uncle Nick wants to have some left over for himself,” leering suggestively.
The four costumed characters each obediently reached into the box and pulled out a single packet (“What are these?” the nurse whispered to the fireman, who whispered in return, “I know what they are. My brother gets these. They are some kind of super balloon and they hold a LOT of water!”), and after each had had their turn they all chorused “Thank you, Mister!”
The policeman spoke up to Nick, “Hey mister, that’s a funny costume, but who are you supposed to be ... and what stinks?” scrunching up his nose.
Nick replaced the almost depleted box back into his coat pocket, took the plunger out from under his arm, raised it above his head in a regal pose and, with intense fervor, declared, “I am the Terror of the Town, the Purgative of Pleasantries, the Villain of Villains, the Embodiment of Evil and Terror, I am Nasty Nick Nak and I will ram this magic wand up your little behinds if you don’t scram pronto!” and he glared menacingly down at the four children. They stood still for a pleasurable second, then all broke into raucous laughter, “Ha ha ha!”
“You’re funny!”
“That’s silly!”
“Crazy!”
“Ha ha, thanks Mister!” and they turned and went on their way, as Nick lowered his arm and looked rather deflated.
“Kids nowadays,” he lamented, “No respect...” and he closed the door.
(end part 5)
Poor Nick... he gets no respect. Perhaps that’s why he acts out his little fantasies with Janee. But poor Janee, all trussed up and nowhere to go. Will Nick finally get to plug her in? Will the smell of his newly acquired outfit knock her out? (I doubt it... remember, it’s her outfit to begin with.) Has Nick found a new villainous device in the plunger? Will a real hero every come to the door? If Nick finally does plug her in, will Janee be able to pay the next electric bill?
Find out tomorrow when we present part 6 in the conclusion of this Electrifying Tale from the small town with big drama, Withering Flats.
Written by Michael Steven Platt 5-15-09
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Withering Flats, Episode Two, part 4
(Episode Two, part 4)
Hello again from the ever interesting world of Withering Flats! We are continuing our installments of Episode Two and tonight we pick up right when nasty Nick Nak had sweet Janee Trubloo tied up in copper wires and was about to plug her into the electrical socket when the doorbell rang. Nik answered onoy to find himself confronted by a host of Super Heroes. Let’s find out what happened next...
He swung the door open, politely saying, “What can I do for ...” then suddenly was struck dumb in seeing right there in front of him, Superman, Batman, Iron Man, the Wolverine, Harry Potter and a Cheerleader!
“Gulp,” Nick nervously swallowed and, in his most innocent voice, asked, “Well, hello there. Whatever brings you all to ...um, visit this evening?” hoping that it was some kind of mistaken address situation.
“Trick or Treat!” they chorused, as they all raised their arms up to show the bags that they carried.
‘Huh? What’s that again?” responded Nick, in some trepidatious confusion.
“Trick or Treat!” and they all offered up their bags a bit more insistently.
Nick stood in motionless befuddlement a moment longer as the gears of his thought processes disengaged, remeshed in a realigned differential configuration, ground, chuttered and clattered a bit and finally produced enough mechanically organic electrical energy up the convoluted wiring of his evil mind, to finally light the ultra-violet bulb in his idea attic, shedding dark illumination on the realization that it was Halloween and these were kids out begging for loot. (“My kind of deal,” his subconscious entity acknowledged, and then followed with, “No wonder they all look so much shorter than I imagined them to be.”)
“Oh,” his conscious mind finally vocalized, then, “Oh! Okay, you sneaky little brats, I know your game,” once more reverting to character, rocking on his heels and putting his hands in his jacket pockets, “Well, you’re out of luck here, because I don’t...” then he stopped as his hands fondled the box in his pocket. His thoughts went through their manipulations again, his brows knit down then purled back up again, and he said, “Wait a minute ... here,” pulling the box out, “there’s one for each of you,” and as he held the box in one hand he pulled out individually wrapped foil packets from it with the other and dropped one in each proffered bag.
“There you go, kids, now beat it, I’m a busy man!” and waved them away “Thanks, mister!” they chorused one last time, as some of them looked into their bags, trying to discern exactly what it was that he had given them.
Then Superman spoke up and added, “That’s a great old fashioned costume you’re wearing,” referring to Nick’s slicked back jet black hair and pencil thin handlebar moustache, his long black coat, black string tie against the severely starched white shirt (worn to please his mother), the black trousers falling down around his high healed shiny black boots. “But what is that supposed to be,” pointing between Nick’s legs at the protruding toilet plunger still tightly held there.
“Um,” Nick looked down into the red rubber circle of the plunger’s business end as it seemed to be staring back up at him.
“Um...” he repeated, looking back up at the gathered group, once again in confused stasis. (Mental gears grind, etc.)
“Oh!” he announced, in sudden inspiration, focusing on the Harry Potter costumed child. He stuffed the half empty box back into his coat pocket, grabbed the plunger and brandished it above his head in a menacing way.
“This is my Magic Wand and I’ll use it to turn you all into sewer rats if you don’t scram!” he threatened menacingly.
The gathered children looked at him, then all broke into laughter exclaiming, “Ha-ha-ha!”
“You’re too funny, mister!”
“Cool!”
“That’s a good one!”
“Ha! Thanks again!” and they scurried off to the next house as quickly as their costumed legs would carry them.
Nick slammed the door in self-congratulatory triumph at having overcome this challenging setback, turned and strode back to where Janee was napping peacefully against the wall. He plucked out the rag with his left hand, the right hand still holding the once again forgotten plunger, and stuffed it in his back pocket. Janee stirred a bit, smacked her lips twice, smiled in her continued repose and began snoring in vibrant, open-mouthed earnest.
“I’ll make you sign the deed over,” Nick confidently announced to her, waving the plunger for emphasis, “and tell me that you’ll marry me!” he threw in for good measure, not really caring if she married him or not (or if she even heard him), but enamored with the idea of making her tell him, against her will, that she would. He put down the plunger next to Janee, went and grabbed the spool of copper wire that he had stashed behind the door, then continued trussing the solidly sleeping form of her upper body until she was quite well cocooned.
Stepping back to survey his handiwork, he rubbed his hands together in glee and said, “Now my sweet, you’ll see what happens when you refuse my reasonable offers!”
(end of part 4)
Well! Will Nick make good on his threat to plug Janee in? Will she wake up before he does? Will she wake up when he does? Is there some way to stop this evil scheme? Do we have to wait until tomorrow?
Yes, that’s all for tonight, and we will indeed pick up again tomorrow as the further adventures of those wonderful folks from Withering Flats return!
Written by Michael Steven Platt 5-13-09
Hello again from the ever interesting world of Withering Flats! We are continuing our installments of Episode Two and tonight we pick up right when nasty Nick Nak had sweet Janee Trubloo tied up in copper wires and was about to plug her into the electrical socket when the doorbell rang. Nik answered onoy to find himself confronted by a host of Super Heroes. Let’s find out what happened next...
He swung the door open, politely saying, “What can I do for ...” then suddenly was struck dumb in seeing right there in front of him, Superman, Batman, Iron Man, the Wolverine, Harry Potter and a Cheerleader!
“Gulp,” Nick nervously swallowed and, in his most innocent voice, asked, “Well, hello there. Whatever brings you all to ...um, visit this evening?” hoping that it was some kind of mistaken address situation.
“Trick or Treat!” they chorused, as they all raised their arms up to show the bags that they carried.
‘Huh? What’s that again?” responded Nick, in some trepidatious confusion.
“Trick or Treat!” and they all offered up their bags a bit more insistently.
Nick stood in motionless befuddlement a moment longer as the gears of his thought processes disengaged, remeshed in a realigned differential configuration, ground, chuttered and clattered a bit and finally produced enough mechanically organic electrical energy up the convoluted wiring of his evil mind, to finally light the ultra-violet bulb in his idea attic, shedding dark illumination on the realization that it was Halloween and these were kids out begging for loot. (“My kind of deal,” his subconscious entity acknowledged, and then followed with, “No wonder they all look so much shorter than I imagined them to be.”)
“Oh,” his conscious mind finally vocalized, then, “Oh! Okay, you sneaky little brats, I know your game,” once more reverting to character, rocking on his heels and putting his hands in his jacket pockets, “Well, you’re out of luck here, because I don’t...” then he stopped as his hands fondled the box in his pocket. His thoughts went through their manipulations again, his brows knit down then purled back up again, and he said, “Wait a minute ... here,” pulling the box out, “there’s one for each of you,” and as he held the box in one hand he pulled out individually wrapped foil packets from it with the other and dropped one in each proffered bag.
“There you go, kids, now beat it, I’m a busy man!” and waved them away “Thanks, mister!” they chorused one last time, as some of them looked into their bags, trying to discern exactly what it was that he had given them.
Then Superman spoke up and added, “That’s a great old fashioned costume you’re wearing,” referring to Nick’s slicked back jet black hair and pencil thin handlebar moustache, his long black coat, black string tie against the severely starched white shirt (worn to please his mother), the black trousers falling down around his high healed shiny black boots. “But what is that supposed to be,” pointing between Nick’s legs at the protruding toilet plunger still tightly held there.
“Um,” Nick looked down into the red rubber circle of the plunger’s business end as it seemed to be staring back up at him.
“Um...” he repeated, looking back up at the gathered group, once again in confused stasis. (Mental gears grind, etc.)
“Oh!” he announced, in sudden inspiration, focusing on the Harry Potter costumed child. He stuffed the half empty box back into his coat pocket, grabbed the plunger and brandished it above his head in a menacing way.
“This is my Magic Wand and I’ll use it to turn you all into sewer rats if you don’t scram!” he threatened menacingly.
The gathered children looked at him, then all broke into laughter exclaiming, “Ha-ha-ha!”
“You’re too funny, mister!”
“Cool!”
“That’s a good one!”
“Ha! Thanks again!” and they scurried off to the next house as quickly as their costumed legs would carry them.
Nick slammed the door in self-congratulatory triumph at having overcome this challenging setback, turned and strode back to where Janee was napping peacefully against the wall. He plucked out the rag with his left hand, the right hand still holding the once again forgotten plunger, and stuffed it in his back pocket. Janee stirred a bit, smacked her lips twice, smiled in her continued repose and began snoring in vibrant, open-mouthed earnest.
“I’ll make you sign the deed over,” Nick confidently announced to her, waving the plunger for emphasis, “and tell me that you’ll marry me!” he threw in for good measure, not really caring if she married him or not (or if she even heard him), but enamored with the idea of making her tell him, against her will, that she would. He put down the plunger next to Janee, went and grabbed the spool of copper wire that he had stashed behind the door, then continued trussing the solidly sleeping form of her upper body until she was quite well cocooned.
Stepping back to survey his handiwork, he rubbed his hands together in glee and said, “Now my sweet, you’ll see what happens when you refuse my reasonable offers!”
(end of part 4)
Well! Will Nick make good on his threat to plug Janee in? Will she wake up before he does? Will she wake up when he does? Is there some way to stop this evil scheme? Do we have to wait until tomorrow?
Yes, that’s all for tonight, and we will indeed pick up again tomorrow as the further adventures of those wonderful folks from Withering Flats return!
Written by Michael Steven Platt 5-13-09
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Withering Flats, Episode Two, part 3
(Episode Two, part 3)
Hello again, folks! Well, we’re back at Withering Flats ready to find out what nasty Nick wants with sweet Janee’s Father’s Tulip Ranch. He seemed very intent on finding that deed and Janee was rather taken aback by it. Let’s pick up the action right there and see where it flies us...
“Not the Tulip Ranch!” she cried out, then queried, “Why ever would you want that worthless place?”
Nick gave her a puzzled look, asked, “Worthless?”
“Of course,” Janee replied. “The tulips don’t grow any more since the accident that killed poor Daddy. Didn’t you know that?”
Nick evidently did not know that, for he stood there and repeated, “Worthless?” looking at the now less enticing page of dirty paper in his hand.
“It was in all the papers around here,” Janee rambled on, “about how poor old Daddy was digging a well to get fresh water for the tulips because he was tired of having to truck it in, you know, with the lake being so far away and all, so he just thought he’d dig himself a well and fix that old tulip ranch up right nice,” she kept on as Nick was shaking his head in disbelief, frowning at the deed in his hand, “...so there he was just digging away and he had himself a hole about twenty feet deep when alluva sudden, there was this rumbling and shaking and I was just over by the shed and I could hear it and it scared the dog right bad ‘cause I saw him run and hide under the porch, which I didn’t think was a good idea seein’ as how that’s where the skunks had dug themselves a burrow...” Janee had a head of steam like a run-away semi- trailer truck down a mountain road, “...he was runnin’ hard and we ain’t seen head nor tail of that dog since, but we’re not feelin’ too bad about that on account of the smell, y’know, so anyway that’s when I heard this loud whooshing sound and looked to see this big, smelly tower of wet black stuff just gushing out of Daddy’s well stinkin’ up the yard and no sign of Daddy and I was wonderin’ where he might have got to and we never did find him, of course, which I thought was strange seein’ as that was the same time that the dog had run off smellin’ pretty bad himself, but I didn’t think of that until later on the next Tuesday, or maybe it was Wednesday, but anyway...”
Nick pursed his lips, stroked his chin, knitted his brows then suddenly looked at Janee again as she said, “...so even though it’s all spoiled and oily and worthless now that the tulips won’t grow, I won’t sell the ranch ‘cause of the memories of Daddy and how he used to love the place so much, at least when he wasn’t cussin’ at it and complainin’ about all the stinkin’ manure and the stinkin’ flowers and how they was drivin’ him to a early grave and all...”
“Did you say you won’t sell the ranch even though it’s worthless?” Nick butted in, knowing he’d never be able to speak otherwise.
“What’s that?” Janee came out of her monologue.
“You said you won’t sell me the ranch even though it’s worthless?” Nick asked, hopefully.
“Well, after what Daddy went through and it being the only thing of his I got and the fact that we never did find him, no I won’t sell it because it’s like havin’ Daddy still around when I go there, but of course the smell is different, not that Daddy smelled much better y’know, but at least I was used to it..” she continued until, smiling in renewed glee, Nick casually stuffed the rag back into Janee’s jabbering mouth.
“Mmm mnnng nmmm nnn...” she continued for a few moments until the jawing action segued into her chewing on it again and her eyes closed contentedly.
“Wonderful!” Nick chortled and rubbed his hands together, “Now I can force you to sell it to me, just like I planned!”
With his evil scheme back and ready to be put to action (”He’s not a bad boy,” his mother said of him, “it’s just that he has some social issues.”), Nick grabbed the ends of the heavy copper wire trailing down from the now lightly snoring Janee, and was just about to plug them into the wall socket when the doorbell rang.
“What?” Nick cried.
Ding-dong...
“Drat!” Nick scowled.
Ding-dong...
“Curses!” Nick cursed.
Ding-dong...
“Oh, ...oh ...oh phoeey!” Nick blubbered, then dropped the wires and told Janee, “I’ll be right back. Don’t start without me,” then waddled to the door, still reflexively holding the forgotten plunger tightly between his knees, waggling back and forth.
(“Maybe it’s Mother,” Janee yawned into the rag.)
Nick stopped in front of the door, composed himself, licking his hand and slicking back his jet black (dyed) hair, twirled his moustache, put on his best pearly gray smile (he’s so bad his teeth show it), and swung it open, politely saying, “What can I do for ...” then suddenly was struck dumb in seeing right there in front of him, Superman, Batman, Iron Man, the Wolverine, Harry Potter and a Cheerleader.
(end of part 3)
Oh my goodness! Have these brave Super Heroes arrived in time? (I think it is in their contracts that they do, their agents wouldn’t want them to look bad for the folks at home by being tardy.) Will Nick’s plans for Janee be handily foiled by this impressive group of Do-Gooders? Does Nick have a trick up his jet-black sleeve to treat these characters to? Will Janee stay awake to see what happens?
Tune in again tomorrow for the next exciting installment of adventure, drama and romance from Withering Flats!
Written by Michael Steven Platt 5-12-09
Hello again, folks! Well, we’re back at Withering Flats ready to find out what nasty Nick wants with sweet Janee’s Father’s Tulip Ranch. He seemed very intent on finding that deed and Janee was rather taken aback by it. Let’s pick up the action right there and see where it flies us...
“Not the Tulip Ranch!” she cried out, then queried, “Why ever would you want that worthless place?”
Nick gave her a puzzled look, asked, “Worthless?”
“Of course,” Janee replied. “The tulips don’t grow any more since the accident that killed poor Daddy. Didn’t you know that?”
Nick evidently did not know that, for he stood there and repeated, “Worthless?” looking at the now less enticing page of dirty paper in his hand.
“It was in all the papers around here,” Janee rambled on, “about how poor old Daddy was digging a well to get fresh water for the tulips because he was tired of having to truck it in, you know, with the lake being so far away and all, so he just thought he’d dig himself a well and fix that old tulip ranch up right nice,” she kept on as Nick was shaking his head in disbelief, frowning at the deed in his hand, “...so there he was just digging away and he had himself a hole about twenty feet deep when alluva sudden, there was this rumbling and shaking and I was just over by the shed and I could hear it and it scared the dog right bad ‘cause I saw him run and hide under the porch, which I didn’t think was a good idea seein’ as how that’s where the skunks had dug themselves a burrow...” Janee had a head of steam like a run-away semi- trailer truck down a mountain road, “...he was runnin’ hard and we ain’t seen head nor tail of that dog since, but we’re not feelin’ too bad about that on account of the smell, y’know, so anyway that’s when I heard this loud whooshing sound and looked to see this big, smelly tower of wet black stuff just gushing out of Daddy’s well stinkin’ up the yard and no sign of Daddy and I was wonderin’ where he might have got to and we never did find him, of course, which I thought was strange seein’ as that was the same time that the dog had run off smellin’ pretty bad himself, but I didn’t think of that until later on the next Tuesday, or maybe it was Wednesday, but anyway...”
Nick pursed his lips, stroked his chin, knitted his brows then suddenly looked at Janee again as she said, “...so even though it’s all spoiled and oily and worthless now that the tulips won’t grow, I won’t sell the ranch ‘cause of the memories of Daddy and how he used to love the place so much, at least when he wasn’t cussin’ at it and complainin’ about all the stinkin’ manure and the stinkin’ flowers and how they was drivin’ him to a early grave and all...”
“Did you say you won’t sell the ranch even though it’s worthless?” Nick butted in, knowing he’d never be able to speak otherwise.
“What’s that?” Janee came out of her monologue.
“You said you won’t sell me the ranch even though it’s worthless?” Nick asked, hopefully.
“Well, after what Daddy went through and it being the only thing of his I got and the fact that we never did find him, no I won’t sell it because it’s like havin’ Daddy still around when I go there, but of course the smell is different, not that Daddy smelled much better y’know, but at least I was used to it..” she continued until, smiling in renewed glee, Nick casually stuffed the rag back into Janee’s jabbering mouth.
“Mmm mnnng nmmm nnn...” she continued for a few moments until the jawing action segued into her chewing on it again and her eyes closed contentedly.
“Wonderful!” Nick chortled and rubbed his hands together, “Now I can force you to sell it to me, just like I planned!”
With his evil scheme back and ready to be put to action (”He’s not a bad boy,” his mother said of him, “it’s just that he has some social issues.”), Nick grabbed the ends of the heavy copper wire trailing down from the now lightly snoring Janee, and was just about to plug them into the wall socket when the doorbell rang.
“What?” Nick cried.
Ding-dong...
“Drat!” Nick scowled.
Ding-dong...
“Curses!” Nick cursed.
Ding-dong...
“Oh, ...oh ...oh phoeey!” Nick blubbered, then dropped the wires and told Janee, “I’ll be right back. Don’t start without me,” then waddled to the door, still reflexively holding the forgotten plunger tightly between his knees, waggling back and forth.
(“Maybe it’s Mother,” Janee yawned into the rag.)
Nick stopped in front of the door, composed himself, licking his hand and slicking back his jet black (dyed) hair, twirled his moustache, put on his best pearly gray smile (he’s so bad his teeth show it), and swung it open, politely saying, “What can I do for ...” then suddenly was struck dumb in seeing right there in front of him, Superman, Batman, Iron Man, the Wolverine, Harry Potter and a Cheerleader.
(end of part 3)
Oh my goodness! Have these brave Super Heroes arrived in time? (I think it is in their contracts that they do, their agents wouldn’t want them to look bad for the folks at home by being tardy.) Will Nick’s plans for Janee be handily foiled by this impressive group of Do-Gooders? Does Nick have a trick up his jet-black sleeve to treat these characters to? Will Janee stay awake to see what happens?
Tune in again tomorrow for the next exciting installment of adventure, drama and romance from Withering Flats!
Written by Michael Steven Platt 5-12-09
Monday, May 11, 2009
Withering Flats, Episode Two, part 2
(Episode Two, Part 2)
We left off last night with Nick rummaging in Janee’s purse after wrapping her in copper wire and stuffing a rag in her mouth. He had just found a significant piece of paper and was flaunting it in front of Janee’s face. Let’s tune in and catch the suspense from there...
He grabbed the purse off of her wrist, reached into it, pulled out a piece of paper and exclaimed, “Aha! I have it at last!” brandishing it in front of Janee’s face
Her quizzical frown caused him to look at what he held and mirrored her frown as he realized he held the invitation to a bridal shower to take place later that week.
“Drat!” he muttered, as he shoved it into his back pocket and again reached in to Janee’s grab bag purse. He found another piece of paper, pulled it out triumphantly and said, “HERE it is!” again waving it in Janee’s face. She shrugged at him with a blank stare, causing him to look closer at this item, which turned out to be a receipt from Ernie’s May Day Floral Supplies and Sludge Haulers for the removal of 130 gallons of “Liquid Waste” from a septic retention tank. Grimacing with frustration, Nick stuffed this into his shirt pocket and once again thrust his hand into the purse, rummaging around until her found some more papers, which he pulled out and exclaimed, “Finally!” but growled in anger as he saw it wasn’t what he was looking for, then paused in thoughtful musing as he saw that it was a copy of ‘Soap Opera Crossword Puzzles,’ raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips and thoughtfully tucked it in his other back pocket from the Shower invite. He reached in one more time and came out with yet another sheet of paper which turned out to be a preprinted-autographed picture of purple-haired Rosco MacGoulash (Oodles and Oodles served) which he reverently folded and stuck in the inside pocket of his black coat.
“This isn’t going to be as easy as I thought,” muttered nasty Nick, and he opened the purse up wide to look into its voluminous depths.
“Sheesh!” he complained, “What is it with women and their purses? What is all this stuff for?” as he started to haul out various contents, placing them in his pockets (a Television Program Directory, a half eaten apple, several bottles of ‘Color Perfect’ nail polish and typing correction fluid, a tin of Garlic Roses Breath Mints and a screwdriver), under one arm (volume seven of the Encyclopedia Lusitania), then the other (a deflated inflatable ‘Man-around-the-House’ for the girl who has everything else) and finally between his legs (a short necked toilet plunger... it really is a big purse). He finally noticed a grungy piece of paper sticking out from an outside pocket, and, as carefully as his encumbered arms could allow him, he extricated it, unfolded it , perused it, scrunched his face up in confusion, rubbed some dried mud off it, had a sudden insight, turned it top to bottom and perused it once more. He then raised his arms and jumped up and down in lock-legged triumph (dropping everything except the toilet plunger, which he still held between his knees) and cried, “Eureka! I’ve found it at long last!”
Janee, mulling over her own issues as Nick was occupied with the contents of her purse (“I wonder if Clem will show up tonight, this place is a mess and I haven’t raked my hair yet,” shaking out her seaweed locks), was startled as Nick jumped up and shouted. He grinned evilly and held out the soiled yet still legible piece of paper. She looked at it with mild curiosity, then looked at Nick and shrugged. Nick frowned, said, “Don’t you recognize this?” and waved it around for emphasis.
Janee, bobbed and weaved her head as best she could, trying to study the unsteady paper. Nick stopped moving it around, grabbed top and bottom to straighten it out and held it up close to her face as she still stood wrapped and propped against the brightly stylish cinder block wall. She looked closely and then shook her head as she once more regarded her tormentor.
“Oh really,” Nick exclaimed in exasperation, turning it around so he could look at it again, “it’s really quite easy to see...” and he stopped as he studied the paper, frowned, then sheepishly turned it right-side up again and once more offered it to Janee, stating in triumph, “It’s the deed to your father’s Tulip Ranch!” and, as he once again turned it around to study his prize, he sneeringly added, “And, it comes complete with tip-toe rights!”
“Oh no!” thought Janee, still chewing on the rag in her mouth as if it were cud, “Not the Tulip Ranch!”
“Mmm-nnh!” articulated Janee out loud through the rag, as she stopped her rhythmic chomping, “Nnn mmm Nng-nngm Rnnnhn!”
“What’s that?” asked Nick, looking up from the dirty deed, and then, seeing her wide-eyed, plugged mouth stare, apologized, “Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to be rude,” and he reached over to pluck out the rag.
“Not the Tulip Ranch!” she cried out...
(end of part 2)
Oh dear! Janee seems to be quite taken aback by Nick’s desire for her father’s ranch. Will he force it from her? Will she suffer at his whim? Will he stuff the dirty, oily rag back in her mouth? Will she survive it if he does? Will the rag survive it?
Tune in again tomorrow for the next exciting installment of adventure, drama and romance from Withering Flats!
Written by Michael Steven Platt 5-11-09
We left off last night with Nick rummaging in Janee’s purse after wrapping her in copper wire and stuffing a rag in her mouth. He had just found a significant piece of paper and was flaunting it in front of Janee’s face. Let’s tune in and catch the suspense from there...
He grabbed the purse off of her wrist, reached into it, pulled out a piece of paper and exclaimed, “Aha! I have it at last!” brandishing it in front of Janee’s face
Her quizzical frown caused him to look at what he held and mirrored her frown as he realized he held the invitation to a bridal shower to take place later that week.
“Drat!” he muttered, as he shoved it into his back pocket and again reached in to Janee’s grab bag purse. He found another piece of paper, pulled it out triumphantly and said, “HERE it is!” again waving it in Janee’s face. She shrugged at him with a blank stare, causing him to look closer at this item, which turned out to be a receipt from Ernie’s May Day Floral Supplies and Sludge Haulers for the removal of 130 gallons of “Liquid Waste” from a septic retention tank. Grimacing with frustration, Nick stuffed this into his shirt pocket and once again thrust his hand into the purse, rummaging around until her found some more papers, which he pulled out and exclaimed, “Finally!” but growled in anger as he saw it wasn’t what he was looking for, then paused in thoughtful musing as he saw that it was a copy of ‘Soap Opera Crossword Puzzles,’ raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips and thoughtfully tucked it in his other back pocket from the Shower invite. He reached in one more time and came out with yet another sheet of paper which turned out to be a preprinted-autographed picture of purple-haired Rosco MacGoulash (Oodles and Oodles served) which he reverently folded and stuck in the inside pocket of his black coat.
“This isn’t going to be as easy as I thought,” muttered nasty Nick, and he opened the purse up wide to look into its voluminous depths.
“Sheesh!” he complained, “What is it with women and their purses? What is all this stuff for?” as he started to haul out various contents, placing them in his pockets (a Television Program Directory, a half eaten apple, several bottles of ‘Color Perfect’ nail polish and typing correction fluid, a tin of Garlic Roses Breath Mints and a screwdriver), under one arm (volume seven of the Encyclopedia Lusitania), then the other (a deflated inflatable ‘Man-around-the-House’ for the girl who has everything else) and finally between his legs (a short necked toilet plunger... it really is a big purse). He finally noticed a grungy piece of paper sticking out from an outside pocket, and, as carefully as his encumbered arms could allow him, he extricated it, unfolded it , perused it, scrunched his face up in confusion, rubbed some dried mud off it, had a sudden insight, turned it top to bottom and perused it once more. He then raised his arms and jumped up and down in lock-legged triumph (dropping everything except the toilet plunger, which he still held between his knees) and cried, “Eureka! I’ve found it at long last!”
Janee, mulling over her own issues as Nick was occupied with the contents of her purse (“I wonder if Clem will show up tonight, this place is a mess and I haven’t raked my hair yet,” shaking out her seaweed locks), was startled as Nick jumped up and shouted. He grinned evilly and held out the soiled yet still legible piece of paper. She looked at it with mild curiosity, then looked at Nick and shrugged. Nick frowned, said, “Don’t you recognize this?” and waved it around for emphasis.
Janee, bobbed and weaved her head as best she could, trying to study the unsteady paper. Nick stopped moving it around, grabbed top and bottom to straighten it out and held it up close to her face as she still stood wrapped and propped against the brightly stylish cinder block wall. She looked closely and then shook her head as she once more regarded her tormentor.
“Oh really,” Nick exclaimed in exasperation, turning it around so he could look at it again, “it’s really quite easy to see...” and he stopped as he studied the paper, frowned, then sheepishly turned it right-side up again and once more offered it to Janee, stating in triumph, “It’s the deed to your father’s Tulip Ranch!” and, as he once again turned it around to study his prize, he sneeringly added, “And, it comes complete with tip-toe rights!”
“Oh no!” thought Janee, still chewing on the rag in her mouth as if it were cud, “Not the Tulip Ranch!”
“Mmm-nnh!” articulated Janee out loud through the rag, as she stopped her rhythmic chomping, “Nnn mmm Nng-nngm Rnnnhn!”
“What’s that?” asked Nick, looking up from the dirty deed, and then, seeing her wide-eyed, plugged mouth stare, apologized, “Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to be rude,” and he reached over to pluck out the rag.
“Not the Tulip Ranch!” she cried out...
(end of part 2)
Oh dear! Janee seems to be quite taken aback by Nick’s desire for her father’s ranch. Will he force it from her? Will she suffer at his whim? Will he stuff the dirty, oily rag back in her mouth? Will she survive it if he does? Will the rag survive it?
Tune in again tomorrow for the next exciting installment of adventure, drama and romance from Withering Flats!
Written by Michael Steven Platt 5-11-09
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Withering Flats, Episode Two, part 1
Withering Flats
Episode Two
Yes, Folks, it’s time once again to pull up a chair and gather ‘round the virtual radio screen because we’re off to take a trip to the Heartland of Truth, Justice and the Tongue-in-Cheek Way, out where men are men, women are women and the cows come home for supper (they wouldn’t want to miss the show) in Withering Flats, USA.
Last time we were introduced to our All-American Boy Hero and self-made man (just like his mother is still raising him to be), Clem Clump, and to his best (8 out of 10 on the Hussel Magazine scale) girl and light of his life, Sweet Janee Trubloo, and to Clem’s arch-rival and evil foil, the ever-unpleasant and despicably heartless, Nasty Nick Nak. We left off with Clem telling the punch line to a joke that Nick did not understand and Janee had thought so funny that she laughed uncontrollably as she fell into a pit of hungry alligators.
So let’s head back to the simple pleasures and travails of yestertimes in Withering Flats and see what is happening back then right now...
A dark, late October night wraps its chilly fingers around the corners of the small town society as sweet Janee is just getting back home after a hard day at Jack Rackem’s Chiropractic Bar and Grille Emporium where she is employed as secretary and bouncer. She is carrying her stylish new alligator skin purse (and wearing matching shoes, hat, gloves and coat) and is looking tired after a rough day at the office.
“All I wanna do,” she is thinking to herself, “is take a hot mudbath, slip into my canvas nightie, curl up in front of the gas grill with a glass of port and read the latest issue of Soap Opera Indigestion.” She fumbles for her keys in her oversized purse, stops and digs deeper, pulling out various items and placing them in her pockets, under her arm and between her legs in search of the errant keychain. Out comes lipstick, compact, hairbrush, a pipe wrench (all of which go in various pockets of her coat), a leather truncheon (gripped awkwardly between her legs), a well thumbed copy of Farm Animal Monthly (stuck under the arm not holding the purse), an opened, large, economy sized brand name box of Hector Horse’s one-size fits all ‘Lubricated and Individually Wrapped for the Prevention of Disease Only’ foil packets (which she stuck in her mouth), a fat, half smoked cigar (“Aha,” she garbled excitedly to herself, “I thought I still had a bit of this left,” as she stuck it behind her ear) and, finally, a large, yellow plastic, squeaking rubber ducky that had a chain attached to it which held her keys. With her feet spread, knees locked together to hold her truncheon, arms tight to her body to hold magazine and purse respectively, she fumbled at the door lock until she was able to insert (choosing from several dozen) the correct key into the lock and pushed open the door. She waddled forward into the front hall of her warehouse bungalow, stuck her butt out to catch the door and swing it shut and was ready to drop everything in a sigh of relief when a voice suddenly cried out from behind the door, “Baby, I love it when you do that!”
With a croak of surprise through the box clamped between her teeth, Janee dropped everything (but the box, with her purse now dangling from the strap looped over her wrist) in panic, spun around and was confronted with the evil leer of that no-good despoiler of virtue, that slick and sly corrupter of innocence, that foul-mouthed cad (Mr. Bad Breath of 1937), Nasty Nick Nak himself. He quickly looped a ready coil of copper wire over and around her, pulled it tight to pin her arms to her sides, then looped it around over and over, many more times, trussing her up into immobility. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an oily rag that he raised to her face to stuff into her mouth. He paused in confusion as he noticed the box that was already occupying that space, frowned, shrugged, took the box out with his other hand and smoothly stuffed the rag in its place. He read the label on the box, raised his eyebrows in further surprise, smiled and put the box in his coat pocket for later attentions. He turned back to Janee, who was occupied in chewing on the rag and making pleased, “Mmm-mmmm,” sounds, twirled his well waxed moustache in anticipatory glee, grabbed and shuffled her back a few steps against the bright magenta painted brick wall, then grabbed the purse off of her wrist, reached into it, pulled out a piece of paper and exclaimed, “Aha! I have it at last!” brandishing it in front of Janee’s face.
Oh dear! Whatever does nasty Nick have? What does he want to do with it? What will happen to poor Janee?
Be sure to tune in again tomorrow night for the next installment of episode two of Withering Flats!
(end of part 1)
Episode Two
Yes, Folks, it’s time once again to pull up a chair and gather ‘round the virtual radio screen because we’re off to take a trip to the Heartland of Truth, Justice and the Tongue-in-Cheek Way, out where men are men, women are women and the cows come home for supper (they wouldn’t want to miss the show) in Withering Flats, USA.
Last time we were introduced to our All-American Boy Hero and self-made man (just like his mother is still raising him to be), Clem Clump, and to his best (8 out of 10 on the Hussel Magazine scale) girl and light of his life, Sweet Janee Trubloo, and to Clem’s arch-rival and evil foil, the ever-unpleasant and despicably heartless, Nasty Nick Nak. We left off with Clem telling the punch line to a joke that Nick did not understand and Janee had thought so funny that she laughed uncontrollably as she fell into a pit of hungry alligators.
So let’s head back to the simple pleasures and travails of yestertimes in Withering Flats and see what is happening back then right now...
A dark, late October night wraps its chilly fingers around the corners of the small town society as sweet Janee is just getting back home after a hard day at Jack Rackem’s Chiropractic Bar and Grille Emporium where she is employed as secretary and bouncer. She is carrying her stylish new alligator skin purse (and wearing matching shoes, hat, gloves and coat) and is looking tired after a rough day at the office.
“All I wanna do,” she is thinking to herself, “is take a hot mudbath, slip into my canvas nightie, curl up in front of the gas grill with a glass of port and read the latest issue of Soap Opera Indigestion.” She fumbles for her keys in her oversized purse, stops and digs deeper, pulling out various items and placing them in her pockets, under her arm and between her legs in search of the errant keychain. Out comes lipstick, compact, hairbrush, a pipe wrench (all of which go in various pockets of her coat), a leather truncheon (gripped awkwardly between her legs), a well thumbed copy of Farm Animal Monthly (stuck under the arm not holding the purse), an opened, large, economy sized brand name box of Hector Horse’s one-size fits all ‘Lubricated and Individually Wrapped for the Prevention of Disease Only’ foil packets (which she stuck in her mouth), a fat, half smoked cigar (“Aha,” she garbled excitedly to herself, “I thought I still had a bit of this left,” as she stuck it behind her ear) and, finally, a large, yellow plastic, squeaking rubber ducky that had a chain attached to it which held her keys. With her feet spread, knees locked together to hold her truncheon, arms tight to her body to hold magazine and purse respectively, she fumbled at the door lock until she was able to insert (choosing from several dozen) the correct key into the lock and pushed open the door. She waddled forward into the front hall of her warehouse bungalow, stuck her butt out to catch the door and swing it shut and was ready to drop everything in a sigh of relief when a voice suddenly cried out from behind the door, “Baby, I love it when you do that!”
With a croak of surprise through the box clamped between her teeth, Janee dropped everything (but the box, with her purse now dangling from the strap looped over her wrist) in panic, spun around and was confronted with the evil leer of that no-good despoiler of virtue, that slick and sly corrupter of innocence, that foul-mouthed cad (Mr. Bad Breath of 1937), Nasty Nick Nak himself. He quickly looped a ready coil of copper wire over and around her, pulled it tight to pin her arms to her sides, then looped it around over and over, many more times, trussing her up into immobility. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an oily rag that he raised to her face to stuff into her mouth. He paused in confusion as he noticed the box that was already occupying that space, frowned, shrugged, took the box out with his other hand and smoothly stuffed the rag in its place. He read the label on the box, raised his eyebrows in further surprise, smiled and put the box in his coat pocket for later attentions. He turned back to Janee, who was occupied in chewing on the rag and making pleased, “Mmm-mmmm,” sounds, twirled his well waxed moustache in anticipatory glee, grabbed and shuffled her back a few steps against the bright magenta painted brick wall, then grabbed the purse off of her wrist, reached into it, pulled out a piece of paper and exclaimed, “Aha! I have it at last!” brandishing it in front of Janee’s face.
Oh dear! Whatever does nasty Nick have? What does he want to do with it? What will happen to poor Janee?
Be sure to tune in again tomorrow night for the next installment of episode two of Withering Flats!
(end of part 1)
Thursday, May 7, 2009
A World of Questions
What to say:
It’s Poetry Day:
So here you go:
On with the show:
World Of Questions
Standing on a world of questions
Looking toward a sky of answers
We reach up for knowledge
Trying to grasp the contentment there
Not realizing that the sky is made of air
And has been in our hands the whole time.
Michael Steven Platt 1971, Posted 5-07-09
It’s Poetry Day:
So here you go:
On with the show:
World Of Questions
Standing on a world of questions
Looking toward a sky of answers
We reach up for knowledge
Trying to grasp the contentment there
Not realizing that the sky is made of air
And has been in our hands the whole time.
Michael Steven Platt 1971, Posted 5-07-09
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
A Random Rambling Digression
In keeping with my random postings I haven’t yet decided what to put up here for tonight, but I’m fairly certain that I will come up with something. I’m working on the second installment of Withering Flats, which I originally called “The Hi-Ho Funnies” in my journal when I wrote them over thirty years ago, but I wanted to give the series a less trite title. I wrote three ‘episodes’, each about two years apart and have decided to rewrite, refine and update them for presentation here. I hope to have the next one ready and posted over the upcoming weekend. I have a couple ideas for more Zlodt Bardo, Spaceman episodes, but I do not have one already worked out. The first one, Zlodt Bardo and the Space Pirate, I made up the day I posted the first half, about three weeks ago. The story turned out quite well and there will be more adventures in the future!
I do have a variety of short stories contained in my Making Sand collection, and I have posted some of these already (Master Bishu and the Genie, Realization and All in the Mind) but I don’t want to take too many from that source as I would like to publish them all as a complete unit. I also have taken excerpts from my book, Endless Shifting Sand (seeming to have some kind of affinity for sand), but again, I intend on publishing that and I don’t want to give away more than a taste here and there.
I also have random things I have written into the computer over the years, and I will throw some of those up occasionally, but that is a limited resource. My desire is to write more spontaneously and create interesting reads as I go, which was what the Zlodt and the Pirate story was. However, that takes a lot of time and energy and, at this time, I am not able to devote either of those in the quantities I would like. Yet I want to keep posting and keep adding to the collection of literary oddities that will, eventually/hopefully/someday, draw in readers and produce a following of people who enjoy what I write. My ambition is to become a writer/artist as a fulltime occupation and not have my creative talents be just fascinating hobbies, so I write (and draw) and believe that what I produce is good enough to warrant a closer look and thus develop a following. I have two followers so far, Dianne and Stringffellow1, and I am deeply and humbly grateful for their appreciation of my work.
I wasn’t intending to write in the direction that I did, but that’s where my words carried me and so that’s where we went. I will be write back...
Written by Michael Steven Platt 5-05-09 (Fell ease, sink the mayo)
I do have a variety of short stories contained in my Making Sand collection, and I have posted some of these already (Master Bishu and the Genie, Realization and All in the Mind) but I don’t want to take too many from that source as I would like to publish them all as a complete unit. I also have taken excerpts from my book, Endless Shifting Sand (seeming to have some kind of affinity for sand), but again, I intend on publishing that and I don’t want to give away more than a taste here and there.
I also have random things I have written into the computer over the years, and I will throw some of those up occasionally, but that is a limited resource. My desire is to write more spontaneously and create interesting reads as I go, which was what the Zlodt and the Pirate story was. However, that takes a lot of time and energy and, at this time, I am not able to devote either of those in the quantities I would like. Yet I want to keep posting and keep adding to the collection of literary oddities that will, eventually/hopefully/someday, draw in readers and produce a following of people who enjoy what I write. My ambition is to become a writer/artist as a fulltime occupation and not have my creative talents be just fascinating hobbies, so I write (and draw) and believe that what I produce is good enough to warrant a closer look and thus develop a following. I have two followers so far, Dianne and Stringffellow1, and I am deeply and humbly grateful for their appreciation of my work.
I wasn’t intending to write in the direction that I did, but that’s where my words carried me and so that’s where we went. I will be write back...
Written by Michael Steven Platt 5-05-09 (Fell ease, sink the mayo)
Monday, May 4, 2009
Another Thoughts of the Moment Triple Play
Another set of Thoughts of the Moment...
We are living in tomorrow’s past, so use the memories of that to guide your actions today.
A dollar might have an attractive bottom worth, but it is the pennies that get pinched.
The situation is not all it seems to be, and more.
Written by Michael Steven Platt 4-04-09
We are living in tomorrow’s past, so use the memories of that to guide your actions today.
A dollar might have an attractive bottom worth, but it is the pennies that get pinched.
The situation is not all it seems to be, and more.
Written by Michael Steven Platt 4-04-09
Sunday, May 3, 2009
All in the Mind
All in the Mind
Two hermit monks were each meditating on adjacent mountain tops. Neither acknowledged the other as they sat for many years. Then suddenly, on a warm, sunny afternoon, one called out to the other, “Are you a product of my imagination or am I a product of yours?”
The second monk called right back, “Neither, we are each the product of our own imagination.”
And so they sat and meditated in silence while the years slipped by, neither realizing that as soon as I stop writing about them, your imagination will soon move on and they will be gone.
Written by Michael Steven Platt Posted 5-03-09
Two hermit monks were each meditating on adjacent mountain tops. Neither acknowledged the other as they sat for many years. Then suddenly, on a warm, sunny afternoon, one called out to the other, “Are you a product of my imagination or am I a product of yours?”
The second monk called right back, “Neither, we are each the product of our own imagination.”
And so they sat and meditated in silence while the years slipped by, neither realizing that as soon as I stop writing about them, your imagination will soon move on and they will be gone.
Written by Michael Steven Platt Posted 5-03-09
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Initiative Redaction
Taken in from the top, everything else looks down and out, but the best way to get here from there is to wait until you catch up with yourself and see who arrives first. Tie goes to the rumor. I surround my ambitions with a yawn and prepare for the next available moment after this current one winds up its down time, pantemporal travel notwithstanding in the rain of my every day dreams for a better tomorrow in spite of yesterday’s misfunctions. The crowding hours keep my hesitation to broach anything more radical than a mid-morning snack, but I bite off the substance of freedom, chew over the implications of lateral intent, ruminate on a better way of strife, swallow my pride, digest what comes to my attention and generally get a belly full of short-changed inspiration just in time for lunch. Close call. Slow day at the okay corral. Round up your posse and ride like the dust that blows through the sweep of your mountain stone mind, like a rock. Here come the good guys and there goes the neighborhood out the back door, down the alley, into the streets of lost and found angels looking for a way to share a smile. All emotion is primal, all opinion is biased.
Writing as fast as you read, the images and words that flow from the fingertips of my every active mind to the walls of your never changing mend (substitutions abound) of the way you would like to see what it is that holds your breath between each and every distraction, come around and eventually trade sense for substance. I offer relief in the form of a cloud, you hold clouds in the arms of your clear blank eye, and between the motion found therein, the weather makes out just find in the loss of something else to lose. All reality is conditional, all perception is subjective.
One thing follows another until there is a whole series of confusion that only makes signs to point and ponder the way back to where you are going in any situational aspect of being lost without realizing it. Here you go there in the sunshine of the clear blue night, holding without touching and feeling without believing. All awareness is current, all actions change your future reality, ad infinitum.
Written by Michael Steven Platt 5-02-09
Writing as fast as you read, the images and words that flow from the fingertips of my every active mind to the walls of your never changing mend (substitutions abound) of the way you would like to see what it is that holds your breath between each and every distraction, come around and eventually trade sense for substance. I offer relief in the form of a cloud, you hold clouds in the arms of your clear blank eye, and between the motion found therein, the weather makes out just find in the loss of something else to lose. All reality is conditional, all perception is subjective.
One thing follows another until there is a whole series of confusion that only makes signs to point and ponder the way back to where you are going in any situational aspect of being lost without realizing it. Here you go there in the sunshine of the clear blue night, holding without touching and feeling without believing. All awareness is current, all actions change your future reality, ad infinitum.
Written by Michael Steven Platt 5-02-09
Friday, May 1, 2009
A Poetry Day Late and A Poem, Short
Okay, okay... I know what you’ll say:
I didn’t come through on Poetry Day.
Apologies, regrets, atonement, amends
My self recriminatory angst forefends…
I guess I’ll ameliorate this loss somehow
And offer a poem… so, how ‘bout right now?
Wrought Write Read
How much Writ
Can a Right Write Write
If a Wrought Write
Wrote Right Writ?
Wrap that around confusion’s find
Then plant it in your fertile mind,
And wonder if you were mislead
And wrote right write was left instead.
So with that read of wrought write fun
This Poetry Day is write right done!
Wrote right write wrought by Michael Steven Platt 5-1-09
I didn’t come through on Poetry Day.
Apologies, regrets, atonement, amends
My self recriminatory angst forefends…
I guess I’ll ameliorate this loss somehow
And offer a poem… so, how ‘bout right now?
Wrought Write Read
How much Writ
Can a Right Write Write
If a Wrought Write
Wrote Right Writ?
Wrap that around confusion’s find
Then plant it in your fertile mind,
And wonder if you were mislead
And wrote right write was left instead.
So with that read of wrought write fun
This Poetry Day is write right done!
Wrote right write wrought by Michael Steven Platt 5-1-09
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