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)