(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
Showing posts with label serial. Show all posts
Showing posts with label serial. Show all posts
Sunday, May 17, 2009
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
Monday, April 20, 2009
Withering Flats, part 2, conclusion
Yes, Folks, it’s time again for Withering Flats, the small town in the Heartland of Decency and Family Values. Tonight we conclude the episode we started last night, when our hero and red- blooded boy, Clem, went all over town looking for his steady girl and heartthrob, sweet Janee Trubloo, who was last seen in the company of the villainous bad boy of town, nasty Nick Nak. Clem had just come from Mr. Woodinpate’s saw mill and had decided to go see Sheriff Blyndors. Let’s pick up the action from there...
Walking back into town, Clem was at a loss as to where to try next. He thought, that since Mr. Woodinpate had mentioned him, to try Sheriff Blyndors and ask if he had seen Janee or Nick. He was beginning to get worried that his searching would get him to the subjects of his concern too late!
He started running so that by the time he came up Main Street and stopped in front of the Sheriff’s Office, he was out of breath. The Sheriff was sitting out in front, in the shade under the awning, seated with his chair tipped back whittling on a stick. When Clem ran up out of breath he dropped the stick, jumped out of his chair and demanded, “What’s wrong? What’s going on? Is there trouble? Is there a fire? Has there been an accident? Are those danged hippies coming around again?”
Clem caught his breath and said, “No sir, I’m just looking for Janee Trubloo and Nick Nak, and it’s really important!”
“Eh? What’s that you say?” Sheriff Blyndors blustered, “The hippies aren’t back in town? Well they better not be or I’ll knock 'em around and lock 'em up again. Can’t have people who disagree with our way of life running around loose! You never know what kind of crazy ideas they will put in people’s heads!”
With that he pushed his big Western hat back a bit, bent over, picked up his stick and sat back down. He pointed his Bowie Knife at Clem and warned, “Don’t you go getting me all riled up, boy, you know I’ve got to keep the peace here,” and went back to his careful strokes against the wood.
“I’m sorry Sheriff Blyndors, but I really need to find Janee and Nick,” stammered Clem.
“Now Clem, you’re basically a good boy and have never given me much trouble. Although,” he mused, “you did go off to that Yooneeversity in the big city and you know I don’t cotton to the crazy ideas they put into young folk’s heads. All that eddy-kashun ain’t good for a body. People get too much of that kind of thing and they start wanting to change things and it just ain’t natural.”
“I know, Sheriff,” agreed Clem, having heard this same things many times over the years, “but have you seen Janee and Nick?”
“Say, Clem, why can’t you be more like that nice Nick Nak and do as you’re told?” Sheriff Blyndors asked. “Nick was by here a while ago and he gave me a friendly wave. Quite a nice boy. He knows his place and is someone to make a parent proud.”
“You saw Nick?” Clem exclaimed incredulously, “did you see Janee?”
‘Oh yeah, he had her by the hair dragging her down the street. He said he was taking her over to the old saw mill where Limmbug’s Alligator Farm is now. Yessir, that is a boy that knows how to treat a woman,” as he continued whittling.
Then, “You get along, boy, and stop causing trouble before I lock you up,” and with that he tilted his chair back, tilted his hat down and was quiet.
“Thanks, Sheriff!” Clem said, as he started off at a run.
“Slow down, boy!” barked the sheriff.
“Yes sir,” Clem responded obediently, easing to an anxious amble until he was around the corner, then set off running again, heading for the edge of town.
“I hope I’m not too late,” Clem worried to himself as he huffed and puffed up to the large, dilapidated shed that was the former saw mill and was now the office of the Limmbug Alligator Farm and Petting Zoo. There was a large sign outside the door stating that the feeding time shows were Tuesday and Saturday afternoon at 4pm and that there would be no between meal feedings (“So we keep ‘em hungry for you!”), and that trespassers would be prosecuted.
Ignoring the sign (he’s read it many of times when he came to watch the feedings) and bursting through the door he saw Nasty Nick standing by a long lever, similar to the one Mr. Woodinpate operated in the new saw mill, and sweet young Janee Trubloo (only a few years older than Clem) tied up and lying on the conveyor belt that remained from the old milling operation, although the saw itself was long gone. The far end of the belt stopped over the opening where the saw used to be that was now used to throw dead chickens and other delicacies down to the alligators in the pit below. It appeared that Janee had chewed through the gag, and she was peacefully snoring as Clem shouted, "Stop!”
Nick turned to face him, surprised anger gathering on his features while Janee snorted, grunted and woke with a start.
“Curses!” cried Nick.
“Huh?” blinked Janee.
“Stop!” repeated Clem.
“You’re too late, Clump chump! I’ve finally got her where I want her!” Nick scowled, his black suit and boots, as usual, were impeccably trim and neat, a black string tie dangling sharply against the stiffly starched white of his shirt. (“I wear the white shirt for my mother ‘cause I’m not ALL bad,” he explains to those who ask.)
“NO! Stop I say!” urged Clem, frantically.
Nick reached out, put his hands on the lever and sneered, “Tell me why, just for fun!” His beady eyes reflecting the black of his dark soul, his well waxed handlebar moustache equally black and shiny.
“Oh Nicky, you’re such a tool,” complained Janee. “Go ahead Clem, honey, tell him why,” and she looked at Clem with that sweet grin of hers that always touches him in a way he can’t control, making him blush and stammer.
“Uh... uh... uh... “ stammered Clem, blushing on cue, completely bedazzled by her radiant, gap-toothed smile.
“I thought so,”Nick snorted, and leaned into the lever, starting the belt and Janee toward the dark, open hole at the far end of the shack.
“Uh,” gave Clem one more time, “No... it’s umm, oh yeah!” he suddenly recalled his purpose as Janee and Nick watched him expectantly.
He dug into his pocket and fumbled with something as Nick raised his oily black eye-brows, reached beneath his black coat, whipped out a pistol, aimed it at Clem and took up a defensive posture.
“Here!” cried Clem, triumphantly, pulling his hand out of his pocket and brandishing a small piece of paper.
Nick looked relieved, Janee looked bored and Clem looked quite pleased with himself, continuing, “I finally remembered the punch line to that joke!”
“What!?” Nick and Janee exclaimed in unisoon. They froze for a second, looked at each other, looked back at Clem and then blurted out a harmonious, “Well what is it?”
“No one has told you yet, have they? I’m still in time aren’t I?” Clem asked them, a bit hesitantly.
“No, no one told us,” they harmonized, “Now tell us!”
“Whew,” huffed Clem, releasing his pent up breath, “I thought I’d be too late and you would have heard it from somebody else!” He looked greatly relieved, “Even though it’s only been a week,” and smiled from ear to ear.
“Tell us!”
Clem held up his piece of paper and triumphantly read, “No, it’s the OTHER way!”
There was a moment of silence as Clem looked rather smug, then Janee burst into hysterical laughter and Nick, looking rather puzzled, said, “I don’t get it.”
“You don’t get it, Nick?” exclaimed Clem, with a surprised look on his face.
“No, Clem, I’m sorry, I just don’t get it,” returned Nick as he replaced his revolver and walked over to where Clem was standing.
“Well, Nick, let me explain it,” began Clem as Sweet Janee Trubloo reached the end of the conveyor, tipped and plunged into the pit, still laughing hysterically.
And, as Clem talked with avidly grand gestures and Nick listened intently, neither one paying any heed to the loud splashing and thrashing noises coming from the shed, they wander away down the path back to town.
Well, folks, that’s all we have for this episode of Withering Flats, and we’ve been left in a real doozy of a spot. Will Clem be able to explain the joke to Nick? Will they be prosecuted for trespassing? Will they be prosecuted for feeding the alligators outside of the schedule? Will Janee be alright? Will she be prosecuted for trespassing or feeding the 'gators? Will the alligators be all right?
The answers to these and whatever questions you might think of will have to wait until the next exciting episode of Withering Flats, so until then this is your narrator saying so long for now!
Written by Michael Steven Platt 4-20-09
Walking back into town, Clem was at a loss as to where to try next. He thought, that since Mr. Woodinpate had mentioned him, to try Sheriff Blyndors and ask if he had seen Janee or Nick. He was beginning to get worried that his searching would get him to the subjects of his concern too late!
He started running so that by the time he came up Main Street and stopped in front of the Sheriff’s Office, he was out of breath. The Sheriff was sitting out in front, in the shade under the awning, seated with his chair tipped back whittling on a stick. When Clem ran up out of breath he dropped the stick, jumped out of his chair and demanded, “What’s wrong? What’s going on? Is there trouble? Is there a fire? Has there been an accident? Are those danged hippies coming around again?”
Clem caught his breath and said, “No sir, I’m just looking for Janee Trubloo and Nick Nak, and it’s really important!”
“Eh? What’s that you say?” Sheriff Blyndors blustered, “The hippies aren’t back in town? Well they better not be or I’ll knock 'em around and lock 'em up again. Can’t have people who disagree with our way of life running around loose! You never know what kind of crazy ideas they will put in people’s heads!”
With that he pushed his big Western hat back a bit, bent over, picked up his stick and sat back down. He pointed his Bowie Knife at Clem and warned, “Don’t you go getting me all riled up, boy, you know I’ve got to keep the peace here,” and went back to his careful strokes against the wood.
“I’m sorry Sheriff Blyndors, but I really need to find Janee and Nick,” stammered Clem.
“Now Clem, you’re basically a good boy and have never given me much trouble. Although,” he mused, “you did go off to that Yooneeversity in the big city and you know I don’t cotton to the crazy ideas they put into young folk’s heads. All that eddy-kashun ain’t good for a body. People get too much of that kind of thing and they start wanting to change things and it just ain’t natural.”
“I know, Sheriff,” agreed Clem, having heard this same things many times over the years, “but have you seen Janee and Nick?”
“Say, Clem, why can’t you be more like that nice Nick Nak and do as you’re told?” Sheriff Blyndors asked. “Nick was by here a while ago and he gave me a friendly wave. Quite a nice boy. He knows his place and is someone to make a parent proud.”
“You saw Nick?” Clem exclaimed incredulously, “did you see Janee?”
‘Oh yeah, he had her by the hair dragging her down the street. He said he was taking her over to the old saw mill where Limmbug’s Alligator Farm is now. Yessir, that is a boy that knows how to treat a woman,” as he continued whittling.
Then, “You get along, boy, and stop causing trouble before I lock you up,” and with that he tilted his chair back, tilted his hat down and was quiet.
“Thanks, Sheriff!” Clem said, as he started off at a run.
“Slow down, boy!” barked the sheriff.
“Yes sir,” Clem responded obediently, easing to an anxious amble until he was around the corner, then set off running again, heading for the edge of town.
“I hope I’m not too late,” Clem worried to himself as he huffed and puffed up to the large, dilapidated shed that was the former saw mill and was now the office of the Limmbug Alligator Farm and Petting Zoo. There was a large sign outside the door stating that the feeding time shows were Tuesday and Saturday afternoon at 4pm and that there would be no between meal feedings (“So we keep ‘em hungry for you!”), and that trespassers would be prosecuted.
Ignoring the sign (he’s read it many of times when he came to watch the feedings) and bursting through the door he saw Nasty Nick standing by a long lever, similar to the one Mr. Woodinpate operated in the new saw mill, and sweet young Janee Trubloo (only a few years older than Clem) tied up and lying on the conveyor belt that remained from the old milling operation, although the saw itself was long gone. The far end of the belt stopped over the opening where the saw used to be that was now used to throw dead chickens and other delicacies down to the alligators in the pit below. It appeared that Janee had chewed through the gag, and she was peacefully snoring as Clem shouted, "Stop!”
Nick turned to face him, surprised anger gathering on his features while Janee snorted, grunted and woke with a start.
“Curses!” cried Nick.
“Huh?” blinked Janee.
“Stop!” repeated Clem.
“You’re too late, Clump chump! I’ve finally got her where I want her!” Nick scowled, his black suit and boots, as usual, were impeccably trim and neat, a black string tie dangling sharply against the stiffly starched white of his shirt. (“I wear the white shirt for my mother ‘cause I’m not ALL bad,” he explains to those who ask.)
“NO! Stop I say!” urged Clem, frantically.
Nick reached out, put his hands on the lever and sneered, “Tell me why, just for fun!” His beady eyes reflecting the black of his dark soul, his well waxed handlebar moustache equally black and shiny.
“Oh Nicky, you’re such a tool,” complained Janee. “Go ahead Clem, honey, tell him why,” and she looked at Clem with that sweet grin of hers that always touches him in a way he can’t control, making him blush and stammer.
“Uh... uh... uh... “ stammered Clem, blushing on cue, completely bedazzled by her radiant, gap-toothed smile.
“I thought so,”Nick snorted, and leaned into the lever, starting the belt and Janee toward the dark, open hole at the far end of the shack.
“Uh,” gave Clem one more time, “No... it’s umm, oh yeah!” he suddenly recalled his purpose as Janee and Nick watched him expectantly.
He dug into his pocket and fumbled with something as Nick raised his oily black eye-brows, reached beneath his black coat, whipped out a pistol, aimed it at Clem and took up a defensive posture.
“Here!” cried Clem, triumphantly, pulling his hand out of his pocket and brandishing a small piece of paper.
Nick looked relieved, Janee looked bored and Clem looked quite pleased with himself, continuing, “I finally remembered the punch line to that joke!”
“What!?” Nick and Janee exclaimed in unisoon. They froze for a second, looked at each other, looked back at Clem and then blurted out a harmonious, “Well what is it?”
“No one has told you yet, have they? I’m still in time aren’t I?” Clem asked them, a bit hesitantly.
“No, no one told us,” they harmonized, “Now tell us!”
“Whew,” huffed Clem, releasing his pent up breath, “I thought I’d be too late and you would have heard it from somebody else!” He looked greatly relieved, “Even though it’s only been a week,” and smiled from ear to ear.
“Tell us!”
Clem held up his piece of paper and triumphantly read, “No, it’s the OTHER way!”
There was a moment of silence as Clem looked rather smug, then Janee burst into hysterical laughter and Nick, looking rather puzzled, said, “I don’t get it.”
“You don’t get it, Nick?” exclaimed Clem, with a surprised look on his face.
“No, Clem, I’m sorry, I just don’t get it,” returned Nick as he replaced his revolver and walked over to where Clem was standing.
“Well, Nick, let me explain it,” began Clem as Sweet Janee Trubloo reached the end of the conveyor, tipped and plunged into the pit, still laughing hysterically.
And, as Clem talked with avidly grand gestures and Nick listened intently, neither one paying any heed to the loud splashing and thrashing noises coming from the shed, they wander away down the path back to town.
Well, folks, that’s all we have for this episode of Withering Flats, and we’ve been left in a real doozy of a spot. Will Clem be able to explain the joke to Nick? Will they be prosecuted for trespassing? Will they be prosecuted for feeding the alligators outside of the schedule? Will Janee be alright? Will she be prosecuted for trespassing or feeding the 'gators? Will the alligators be all right?
The answers to these and whatever questions you might think of will have to wait until the next exciting episode of Withering Flats, so until then this is your narrator saying so long for now!
Written by Michael Steven Platt 4-20-09
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