An ongoing evolutionary collaborative free-range Atkin's friendly, wardrobe malfunction-free, literary blog. Tastes like chicken, smells like pennies, thinks like Sloths. Hand me your cash, we need an editor.
The Raft
Sam: Dear Shirl: My horoscope for today said I should look both ways. What does that mean? Signed, Lost in the Pacific.
Shirl: In answer to your question.....If you figure that out, you'll be half way to "I don't give a damn". Signed, lost in the Atlantic.
Sam: LITA: Your attitude, and my continued thirst, will do nothing to advance our newly established, and tenuous relationship. I have limited paper and only a few small bottles with which to converse. My only pen is a twenty-nine cent Bic Stick, which I refuse to apply to unnecessary written verbage and long, drawn out conversation. Now can you help me or not?
Shirl: Ralph: I told you that I'd go to the end of the world for you...but I was hurt when you retorted, "But would you stay there?" So do I waste your paper by writing on the reverse side, after smelling your rancid perfume bottle with said note therein?
Sam: Living in the past.. well, that's where's I'm gonna be in the next couple of days unless I can find my GPS. I think it may be stuck in the lining of the raft.
Shirl: I felt I was out of my mind...so feel free to leave a message. I fumbled with the lining using my sea water bloated fingers and found a box of unopened condoms. Damn, condoms vs GPS, what had I been thinking while stocking up?
Sam: Was she thinking, "LifeStyles condoms vs. life saving devices e.g. floatable rafts, etc.??" Maybe that was it, and perhaps she was thinking, "LITP is on the other side of the world, and only I could help him." But I could be hallucinating.
Shirl: Just then, a fishing boat came by and someone aboard asked if I was ok. I asked them if they had any spare notepads and bottles, to which they replied "Sea you" and tossed over their empty beer bottles and a roll of toilet paper into my raft.
"And writing instrument?" I asked in dismay.
Sam: "I got's me a pencil if you got's a bottle opener!" the crewman roared. Then, a swell from the aft hoisted his 170 kg ass up into the brackish air.
Ass-over-teakettle, the ship capsized. As the sea wash from the rogue wave subsided and the mood came to rest, a calm settled. The important person of the Mynah Hynah now sat in my lap. His ship settling to the bottom of the pond, his face agape with realization with what had just transpired, Jerry looked at me with a smile.
Shirl: As we were sorting out things, a pirate ship came alongside from out of no where it seemed. "Ahoy there, avast, hand over yer booty or you'll be visiting Davy Jones' Locker ya landlubber!," yelled out one of the scalawags. With quivering hands I held out the box of condoms to him as an offering.
Sam: "Ye, avast, lest ye possess any V!@gr@, C1@l!s, or any other of the typical pirate offerings, including unwanted Trojans, ye arhhh bastarrds...!!!" we all yelled. Ummm, that didn't go over too well.
Shirl: "ok, ok, ok.....guys...um...how about a beautiful perfume bottle instead?" One of the less swarthy fellas, wearing earrings, a silk scarf around his hairless neck, clad in frilly pinkish pantaloons, and stiletto style boots, stepped forward and winked. "I'll be having that, me hearty!"
Sam: Scabbards were now sheathed. Eye patches were raised. Once gay pirates now looked at one another heterosexually. It was a new paradigm.
Shirl: How would I be able to write all of this adventuresome news to my love across the oceans on a few pieces of paper, and a roll of toilet paper?
The plot thickened. "Can you take me with you and put ME in that rum keg that I see onboard and then turn me loose in the Pacific for me to profess my sentiments to my beloved in person?"
Sam: "Why certainly," he said, as if the Voice of the Sea was there. The Voice of the Sea, one Harlan Saperstein, narrator of the Jacques Cousteau PBS specials, was there, and came forward. Harlan gently grasped the celestial microphone.
Shirl: Just then, a bottle bumped up against the side of my raft. It was from Ralph. I retrieved the note from within. The pungent odor filled my nostrils as I read it, my eyes watering. "Guess who I just met? Lloyd Bridges! He was riding Flipper and stopped by my raft for lunch. I'm wondering if we're still on for meeting in the Suez Canal at Christmas?"
Sam: Unread at the bottom were footnotes, unannotated, written by Richard Basehart and David Hedison, co-stars in Irwin Allen's Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea.
Irwin, Basehart, and Hedison were dead. However, that didn't stop me from wanting to ride Flipper, or The Flying Nun for that matter.
Shirl: "Well shiver me timbers! Son of a biscuit eater! Save a dolphin, save a nun, ride a wench," one of the buccaneers belched out.
Sam: The Love Boat came to mind. Suddenly, I wanted to dine at Long John Silver's, though the thought of crabs became suddenly unappealing.
Shirl: Captain Highlander smiled down from the ship. One of the mates aboard, yelled out, "Captain Hindgrinder wants to speak". A hush grew over the crew. "Don't be getting your panties in a wad! Come aboard lass, we'll be taking real good care of ya," he said as he held out his peg leg for me to grasp.
Sam: "Yeeeeeeeee, a wee lasss," Hindgrinder graveled. "Do ya have the specularity for the old man?"
I wondered, in my impish immaturity, what he meant by that. I knew I was grasping his wood, but somehow I thought there was a euphemism I wasn't grasping.. ugh.
Shirl: Most men think monogamy is a type of wood. But this was more flesh-like, more supple. I was afraid to look up as I hoisted myself over the balcony of the pirate ship. Captain Hindgrinder greeted me with a nod, "Good stuff, I think you'll do fine." My knickers were beginning to knot. "Time for some grog," he roared.
Sam: Grog..Ralph.. I'd heard those words before, spoken in the same sentences. They were synonyms. Then again, I had to remember that I had no education, therefore I would not know the meaning of those words. Factor after factor. My head.
Shirl: Weeks later, I found myself out in the Pacific Ocean in a rum keg bobbing on the waves. I ran into something. A thud could be heard as i peered out the plug hole. Ralph? Grog?
Sam: I tapped on it with my iPhone, which, at this point, was only useful as a hammer. I tapped. I tapped again. The tapping became hammering because I knew something...something...was in there.
Shirl: It was the hollow sound, like that of a pumpkin, when tapped. It was Ralph's head. I'd know that hollow sound anywhere. OMG we've found each other and its not even Christmas or the Suez Canal meeting point.
Sam: As she tapped, the rhythmic tone came back. Ah. Now I knew it. All of the senses came back. Like the 2-tap 7-tap rhythm means Christmas and pine trees. I reverted to that scene well. Then there was the 3-tap-4-tap rhythm. That was the "Your daddy's not home, so here come the Johns" rhythm. Oh boy, do I know these. So close to my heart.
Shirl: Steven Page from the Barenaked Ladies, Andy Dick of Newsradio fame, and Ronnie Wood all knew these things too but are so busy with their latest calamities as to be concerned of this particular issue. I looked at Ralph, he looked at me....our eyes melted into one, we became one, but we added up to zero.
Sam: Mathematical failure. Still.. there was hope..
Shirl: Only a glimmer, yet the writing was on the wall - yet no wall - yet something was etched into the side of the rum keg.
Sam: It read.. All Ye Who Enter Here Abandon All Inhibitions.
Consumed with curiosity, we entered the hole.
Shirl: Our melted eyeballs were capable, and as one, we entered with reckless abandon. We saw what no others had seen, our eyes, without eyelids to blink, stared at the glory within.
Sam: It was dark. We were ready for that. It was placid. For a while, we slept. Four hours later, things changed. Walls were not there. There were now, literally, bare naked ladies. And I'm not talking about the band.
Shirl: I didn't want to believe it. Ralph's pink eye and my blue eye questioned, "Any connection between your reality and mine is purely coincidental." We had an eye for detail, yet was it real?
Sam: "Pink and blue create a magenta-sorta hue," Ralph said. "Is it real?" he asked. "That's up to the mind of the imaginer."
Shirl: Is reality perception? Is perception reality? I grew confused, my mind felt like it had escaped from the holes left gaping when our eyes melted and joined as one, slipping into this keg hole. By the way, how weird is this? I heard the sound of Wild Eyes by the Stampeders being played. Wow, back to the '70s.
Sam: Dear Shirl: My horoscope for today said I should look both ways. What does that mean? Signed, Lost in the Pacific.
Shirl: In answer to your question.....If you figure that out, you'll be half way to "I don't give a damn". Signed, lost in the Atlantic.
Sam: LITA: Your attitude, and my continued thirst, will do nothing to advance our newly established, and tenuous relationship. I have limited paper and only a few small bottles with which to converse. My only pen is a twenty-nine cent Bic Stick, which I refuse to apply to unnecessary written verbage and long, drawn out conversation. Now can you help me or not?
Shirl: Ralph: I told you that I'd go to the end of the world for you...but I was hurt when you retorted, "But would you stay there?" So do I waste your paper by writing on the reverse side, after smelling your rancid perfume bottle with said note therein?
Sam: Living in the past.. well, that's where's I'm gonna be in the next couple of days unless I can find my GPS. I think it may be stuck in the lining of the raft.
Shirl: I felt I was out of my mind...so feel free to leave a message. I fumbled with the lining using my sea water bloated fingers and found a box of unopened condoms. Damn, condoms vs GPS, what had I been thinking while stocking up?
Sam: Was she thinking, "LifeStyles condoms vs. life saving devices e.g. floatable rafts, etc.??" Maybe that was it, and perhaps she was thinking, "LITP is on the other side of the world, and only I could help him." But I could be hallucinating.
Shirl: Just then, a fishing boat came by and someone aboard asked if I was ok. I asked them if they had any spare notepads and bottles, to which they replied "Sea you" and tossed over their empty beer bottles and a roll of toilet paper into my raft.
"And writing instrument?" I asked in dismay.Sam: "I got's me a pencil if you got's a bottle opener!" the crewman roared. Then, a swell from the aft hoisted his 170 kg ass up into the brackish air.
Ass-over-teakettle, the ship capsized. As the sea wash from the rogue wave subsided and the mood came to rest, a calm settled. The important person of the Mynah Hynah now sat in my lap. His ship settling to the bottom of the pond, his face agape with realization with what had just transpired, Jerry looked at me with a smile.
Shirl: As we were sorting out things, a pirate ship came alongside from out of no where it seemed. "Ahoy there, avast, hand over yer booty or you'll be visiting Davy Jones' Locker ya landlubber!," yelled out one of the scalawags. With quivering hands I held out the box of condoms to him as an offering.
Sam: "Ye, avast, lest ye possess any V!@gr@, C1@l!s, or any other of the typical pirate offerings, including unwanted Trojans, ye arhhh bastarrds...!!!" we all yelled. Ummm, that didn't go over too well.
Shirl: "ok, ok, ok.....guys...um...how about a beautiful perfume bottle instead?" One of the less swarthy fellas, wearing earrings, a silk scarf around his hairless neck, clad in frilly pinkish pantaloons, and stiletto style boots, stepped forward and winked. "I'll be having that, me hearty!"
Sam: Scabbards were now sheathed. Eye patches were raised. Once gay pirates now looked at one another heterosexually. It was a new paradigm.
Shirl: How would I be able to write all of this adventuresome news to my love across the oceans on a few pieces of paper, and a roll of toilet paper?
The plot thickened. "Can you take me with you and put ME in that rum keg that I see onboard and then turn me loose in the Pacific for me to profess my sentiments to my beloved in person?"
Sam: "Why certainly," he said, as if the Voice of the Sea was there. The Voice of the Sea, one Harlan Saperstein, narrator of the Jacques Cousteau PBS specials, was there, and came forward. Harlan gently grasped the celestial microphone.
Shirl: Just then, a bottle bumped up against the side of my raft. It was from Ralph. I retrieved the note from within. The pungent odor filled my nostrils as I read it, my eyes watering. "Guess who I just met? Lloyd Bridges! He was riding Flipper and stopped by my raft for lunch. I'm wondering if we're still on for meeting in the Suez Canal at Christmas?"
Sam: Unread at the bottom were footnotes, unannotated, written by Richard Basehart and David Hedison, co-stars in Irwin Allen's Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea.
Irwin, Basehart, and Hedison were dead. However, that didn't stop me from wanting to ride Flipper, or The Flying Nun for that matter.
Shirl: "Well shiver me timbers! Son of a biscuit eater! Save a dolphin, save a nun, ride a wench," one of the buccaneers belched out.
Sam: The Love Boat came to mind. Suddenly, I wanted to dine at Long John Silver's, though the thought of crabs became suddenly unappealing.
Shirl: Captain Highlander smiled down from the ship. One of the mates aboard, yelled out, "Captain Hindgrinder wants to speak". A hush grew over the crew. "Don't be getting your panties in a wad! Come aboard lass, we'll be taking real good care of ya," he said as he held out his peg leg for me to grasp.
Sam: "Yeeeeeeeee, a wee lasss," Hindgrinder graveled. "Do ya have the specularity for the old man?"
I wondered, in my impish immaturity, what he meant by that. I knew I was grasping his wood, but somehow I thought there was a euphemism I wasn't grasping.. ugh.
Shirl: Most men think monogamy is a type of wood. But this was more flesh-like, more supple. I was afraid to look up as I hoisted myself over the balcony of the pirate ship. Captain Hindgrinder greeted me with a nod, "Good stuff, I think you'll do fine." My knickers were beginning to knot. "Time for some grog," he roared.
Sam: Grog..Ralph.. I'd heard those words before, spoken in the same sentences. They were synonyms. Then again, I had to remember that I had no education, therefore I would not know the meaning of those words. Factor after factor. My head.
Shirl: Weeks later, I found myself out in the Pacific Ocean in a rum keg bobbing on the waves. I ran into something. A thud could be heard as i peered out the plug hole. Ralph? Grog?
Sam: I tapped on it with my iPhone, which, at this point, was only useful as a hammer. I tapped. I tapped again. The tapping became hammering because I knew something...something...was in there.
Shirl: It was the hollow sound, like that of a pumpkin, when tapped. It was Ralph's head. I'd know that hollow sound anywhere. OMG we've found each other and its not even Christmas or the Suez Canal meeting point.
Sam: As she tapped, the rhythmic tone came back. Ah. Now I knew it. All of the senses came back. Like the 2-tap 7-tap rhythm means Christmas and pine trees. I reverted to that scene well. Then there was the 3-tap-4-tap rhythm. That was the "Your daddy's not home, so here come the Johns" rhythm. Oh boy, do I know these. So close to my heart.
Shirl: Steven Page from the Barenaked Ladies, Andy Dick of Newsradio fame, and Ronnie Wood all knew these things too but are so busy with their latest calamities as to be concerned of this particular issue. I looked at Ralph, he looked at me....our eyes melted into one, we became one, but we added up to zero.
Sam: Mathematical failure. Still.. there was hope..
Shirl: Only a glimmer, yet the writing was on the wall - yet no wall - yet something was etched into the side of the rum keg.
Sam: It read.. All Ye Who Enter Here Abandon All Inhibitions.
Consumed with curiosity, we entered the hole.
Shirl: Our melted eyeballs were capable, and as one, we entered with reckless abandon. We saw what no others had seen, our eyes, without eyelids to blink, stared at the glory within.
Sam: It was dark. We were ready for that. It was placid. For a while, we slept. Four hours later, things changed. Walls were not there. There were now, literally, bare naked ladies. And I'm not talking about the band.
Shirl: I didn't want to believe it. Ralph's pink eye and my blue eye questioned, "Any connection between your reality and mine is purely coincidental." We had an eye for detail, yet was it real?
Sam: "Pink and blue create a magenta-sorta hue," Ralph said. "Is it real?" he asked. "That's up to the mind of the imaginer."
Shirl: Is reality perception? Is perception reality? I grew confused, my mind felt like it had escaped from the holes left gaping when our eyes melted and joined as one, slipping into this keg hole. By the way, how weird is this? I heard the sound of Wild Eyes by the Stampeders being played. Wow, back to the '70s.
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