011721

 

When I say "grapefruit diet,"  do you think "weird fad of yesteryear" or do you think "Zoot Suit Riot," the perfect song for Weird Al to mock with his comedic genius? Well, no contest. Stop what you're doing, drop everything (unless you are holding crockery) and stream "grapefruit diet!" Follow that up with almost any other song by Weird Al, and tears will be running down your cheeks. And after all, in the year of the Trump virus, maybe laughter is still the best medicine. I sure hope so, since we still can't get enough doses of vaccine.

122220

 

Dreams and Nightmares update:

Keeping up with submissions. If you submitted something more than a week and a half ago and you haven't heard back that means it made the short list.

The January issue, number 117, is being laid out. That is going slowly, because of other things keeping me busy. One of those is definitely not reading volume 6 of the complete Pogo newspaper strips, published by Fantagraphics, which brings us up to 1960, because I have finished reading that book. Lots of good stuff that did not make it into the books Kelly published when he was alive.

These are large hardbacks, and the strips are reproduced at large size. Volume 7 is out, and I have ordered it. There are going to be 12 volumes in total, published at about the rate of one per year. If you like either slapstick or politics in your comics, and you don't know Pogo, this was the premier comic strip from the late 40s till the early 70s. Everyone since then learned from the master. You need to buy them.

101220c

 

Sorry...I think?

Was it something I said

I said to myself

and will I forgive me

or just block myself

It must have been ugly

but I don't recall

the mean things I said

if any, at all

 

032620

"The Edible Zoo" -- poems for small children, about eating animals. Play-tested on a dozen niecephews. Ages 2-up. Free PDF, just ask.

This is the cover, which is not included in the PDF, but there are interior illustrations, which are included.

012020e

Volume 6 of the complete syndicated Pogo is now out!

http://www.fantagraphics.com/pogo6/

Publishers have tried to reprint some or all of Pogo before, but these books are huge. Large hardbacks in which the glory of the original artwork is displayed for the first time. Every syndicated panel, including those that never appeared in book form before. If you like Pogo, even if you have copies of all the original books, these large panel will show you things you never noticed. And that's the only way you can get new Pogo.

Also, these books are available in digital form.

061619c

Finished the 5th volume (covering 1957-1958) of Pogo newspaper strips from fantagraphics.com: Mind-bogglingly awesome. A huge number of these strips never made it into the books, including many Sunday (color) strips. You can't see these anywhere else. (All previous Pogo books are out of print and expensive.) Large hardback, high-quality paper, excellent reproduction, illuminating front- and back matter. Best syndicated cartoon until The Far Side.

020119b

http://www.fantagraphics.com/pogo5/

I really want this book!!!

111118

Wake up and smell the coffee

It had been a long day. Heck, it had been a long week. Come to that, the year was wearing a bit thin too. Such were the paths my mind wandered as I lay comfortably back in my chair, feet on my desk, one warm July afternoon. I was too sleepy to get up and get a drink of water, and it wasn't time to go home yet. The glamorous life of the small business owner!

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," I called.

There was no answer.

"Come in," I said again.

Still no answer.

"Come in!" I shouted.

Dead silence.

With a sigh I put my feet on the floor and rummaged in my drawer for my 45. Then I remembered what happened to it during last month's giant fly infestation on Tailor Street. I had been lucky to escape with my life, and if it hadn't been for that brave little tailor I would have ended up as dinner for maggots the size of boa constrictors. Guess that really would have been one maggot; not enough meat on my bones to satisfy two of them. What with one thing and another, I had never replaced the gun. I looked around. An empty bottle of Tecate would have to do. By this time, I was sure no one was at the door. It had probably been a prank, but I couldn't be too careful. I do have enemies. My name is Hasp Deadbolt. I'm a private eye. I flung the door open and leaped out into the hall, beer bottle raised. My foot landed on a box of a dozen eggs and shot out from under me. The beer bottle hit the ceiling and shattered, and I hit the floor, covering my eyes with my hand. I heard shards of glass skittering down the stairwell and I slowly pulled myself to my feet. I went over to the box of eggs. No one was going to be making any omelettes with these. They might have been poisoned anyway. Then I saw the note. I carefully picked it up by a clean corner and took a look.

"Mr. Deadbolt

"I need your help. I don't have much money, but these eggs could be a down payment on your bill. I hope you enjoy them. I do have the best eggs around. Most people fall for them... hard! Anyway, I will come see you soon.

"Sincerely,

"Little Red Hen"

Maybe one or two of the eggs were... no. Oh well. I set them on the table near the door and went back to my chair.

-----

The next morning a chicken was waiting outside my office. She was a pleasing russet bird, rather plump, about twice the size of a football.

"Little Red Hen I presume," I said, unlocking the door. "Do come in. By the way, the eggs were delicious, thank you. Alma made an omelette with chives, onions, and mushrooms."

She hopped up on the chair in front of my desk. "I could not help noticing some pieces of brown egg shell in the hall in front of your door, and a dried smear of albumin on the baseboard. You stepped on the box, didn't you."

She was one smart chick. "You are one smart chick. What do you need?"

"Mr. Deadbolt, I have a problem. My sheep are in the meadow, and my cows are in the corn. No telling how much they've already eaten. I had a little boy watching the sheep and he was supposed to look after the cows too. Usually when the livestock get loose I find him asleep somewhere under a haystack or an apple tree. I swear, sometimes it seems like I have to do everything myself. This time, though, my shepherd is nowhere to be found. His mother is going to be very upset tonight if he isn't home at dinner time. Ever since his sister ran off with a tinker, she's been overprotective. Can you help me?"

I couldn't say no. I have never been able to resist a damsel in distress. Besides, nothing beats fresh food straight from the farm. I went out to the farm to take a look around. "LRH Farms," I read. As the Little Red Hen had called ahead, no one bothered me while I checked out the meadow, the cornfield, and the fields where the sheep and cows were supposed to stay. There were also a couple of barns, and a row of haystacks at the edge of a mown field. I didn't see any boys, just a few pigs and an old tired horse. And the sheep, which were back where they belonged. I didn't see any cows. The cornfield looked like something a lot more destructive than a herd of cows had been through it. I was puzzling over some strange depressions when one of the pigs sauntered over.

"Hey man," he said, a piece of straw dangling from his lips. "What's happenin'?"

"Just trying to figure that out," I said. "You see the little shepherd boy lately?"

"No man, he doesn't hang with us. He was here yesterday morning. I saw him taking a nap over that way." He pointed to the row of haystacks. I rubbed my chin.

"Well, where are the cows? Little Red Hen told me they were all over this field earlier this morning."

"Dunno man. Say, you know what these are?" He pointed at the depression in front of us. It was about 6 inches deep, more than a yard long and nearly 2 feet wide at its widest point. The sides were vertical, and the rich black soil crumbled into the edges of the hole where it was starting to dry out. A string of similar depressions stretched across the field. I followed the trail. Almost hidden in a pile of litter at the edge of the field was a battered iron cow bell. The trail went on, and so did I..

-----

I set the bell down on the Little Red Hen's kitchen table. "Recognize this?"

She paled. "Bossy! That's Bossy's bell! I recognize the little patch of blue paint at the lip. What has happened to her?"

"I fear the worst Ma'am. I followed a trail of very large footprints from your cornfield to the woods over by the river. There I found a pile of fresh bones, which I recognized as the skeletal remains of 5 cows. How many cows did you have?"

"Five." She hung her head and pecked at the tabletop. "What about Blue?" She asked, looking up.

"Ma'am. I'm sure that all five cows were eaten."

She jumped up and started running around the kitchen, wings flapping. She was having a panic attack.

"No! Blue is my shepherd. That's his name. (Strange name for a kid, but who am I to say?) The giant must have eaten him too!"

I made calming motions with my hands. She was making me dizzy. "I didn't find any of his bones. He's probably fine." I just had to find him, preferably with his bones still inside where they belonged.

-----

I hadn't told the Little Red Hen, because I didn't want to worry her unduly, but the trail of giant footprints had ended at a humongous passionflower vine on the riverbank. There was no evidence the giant had eaten Blue, but the boy's disappearance and the cattle poaching had to be connected somehow. I returned to the foot of the vine in the afternoon, armed with a pick, a coil of rope, and a gallon of coffee. I started to climb. I climbed, and climbed, and... you get the picture. Eventually I emerged through a hole in a cloud. Seeing ripe passionfruit bigger than watermelons littering the cloudscape, I figured it would support my weight. It did. Off in the distance I saw a stone cottage. I guess if the clouds would hold giants and a stone building, it was silly of me to wonder whether they'd bear my weight.

The cottage was bigger than it looked. It was also farther than it looked. A lot farther. The sun was just touching the cloudscape, turning the "ground" a disturbing shade of red, when I saw someone coming toward me. It was either a giant, very far away, or a shepherd boy, close. The kid made to run right by me. I blocked him. His eyes were wide, he was panting, his hair was standing up, and he was drenched in sweat.

"Where's the fire, Blue?"

"Run!" he screamed, jerking in my grasp.

"Come on, it can't be that bad. A little misunderstanding. We need to get this straightened out before anything happens." The ground was shaking.

"You don't understand," he screamed again. "Nothing is 'little' up here. And if she catches me, she'll eat me. Probably you too. Our only hope. Get down the passionfruit vine, cut it down so she can't follow."

The ground was shaking more as darkness gathered. "What did you do?"

He stuttered. I couldn't tell if his teeth were chattering or his jaws were being knocked together by the increasingly violent vibrations transmitted through the clouds. "She'll never miss it. That's what I thought anyway." He reached under his shirt and came out with a pearl earring. The pearl was the size of a cantaloupe. "She owes the Little Red Hen for those cows. I figured this would make us even."

"You idiot!" I shouted, stumbling as the ground started bouncing like a trampoline at a kid's birthday party. "That pearl's worth more than the entire farm. No wonder she's angry."

He started to make some lame excuse, but he was interrupted by a very loud, yet feminine, voice.

"Where's the cockroach who stole my grandmother's earring?!"

A rather attractive brunette stood over us, hands on hips. She wore a pair of extremely short shorts and a flannel shirt tied off below her breasts. If she hadn't stood nearly 20 feet tall, the effect would have been adorable. All things considered, the prospect was alarming. Blue cowered behind me, clutching the earring in both hands.

"Ma'am," I said, "I'm sure Blue didn't mean to steal a family heirloom. His judgment was impaired because he was worried about the serious blow you dealt to his employer, the Little Red Hen." I had more to say, but she interrupted me. She reached down and snatched both of us up in one hand almost before I could draw breath. Ah, the impetuosity of youth.

"What are you talking about!?" she growled. Blue's face was turning bright red. I couldn't breathe either. Both of my hands were trapped. I couldn't even gesture. Finally, just before I passed out, she loosened her grip slightly. I quickly explained about the cows. She sighed and sat down crosslegged on the clouds, setting us down in front of her. She leaned forward and looked me in the eye. I tried not to stare at her cleavage, which was larger than some geologic faults.

"That was my brother. He has such an appetite, and no self-control." This from the giantess who had nearly popped my head off like she was squeezing toothpaste out of a tube. Despite our brush with death it appeared we weren't going to be ground up and used as a flour substitute anytime soon. Blue returned the earring. The overwhelmingly well-endowed giantess promised to send her brother down to do chores for the Little Red Hen to make up for the loss of five cows and a corn field. We parted amicably. She even invited us to come up for dinner sometime.

As we were climbing down the vine, Blue told me he was thinking of taking her up on the offer.

"You ought to have your head examined," I said. "She almost killed you. And she's five times your height!"

"Yeah, but she's single. And she's hot." I couldn't argue with any of that. I also couldn't picture the two of them together (outside of the circus), but I know better than to argue with young love. I don't, however, know better than to harass it.

"One thing's for sure," I said. "If you bring her home to visit your mother, it better be on a nice day. I don't think your mother's living-room chairs would be very comfortable for her."

"Mr. Deadbolt, please," he said.

I wasn't done. " If you two get married she better watch where she throws the bouquet. It could be fatal. Finally, whatever you do, if you have children, don't ask me to babysit!" I draw a very firm line. I don't babysit any kid who outweighs me.

I almost forgot. The Little Red Hen offered me a lifetime supply of eggs. I had to turn it down, because I'm watching my cholesterol, but I definitely appreciated the thought.

The end

 This story is contained in a collection entitled Nursery Rhyme Noir, which is available from smashwords:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/42875 

122217d

A perfect present for me

This year, my wife put me in charge of choosing and buying presents from her to me. It made sense, for several reasons. I would get to it sooner and it would avoid problems connected with her misunderstanding what I wanted. So I got to would a little late, but I got my Hanukkah present yesterday, one day after the last day of Hanukkah. It was My Crowd, by Charles Addams. This book is a coffee table book of cartoons, most of which were from the New Yorker, reproduced at large size. most of these were actually printed at a size larger than the artist intended (most of his published cartoons that I have seen or reproduced at a size smaller than he intended). Consequently, they look best held at arm's length, which is less than ideal. if you hold the book closer, you see individual brushstrokes creating faces and other elements of the cartoons. On the plus side, I noticed quite a few details in these pictures that I had not seen when I looked at these cartoons in other places (for instance, the CD accompanying the book containing all of the cartoons from the New Yorker, from 1925 through 2004, which I strongly recommend). these details included small faces peering down at the action and architectural details of the Addams family's incredible house. There was one cartoon that I have never seen before, but unfortunately it is not one of his best. I am an Addams family completist; if I was not, I might have been disappointed with this book. If you don't have very many of his books, and especially if your vision isn't that great, this one is a good choice.

I don't have anywhere near all of his books. I have a really big fat white hardback, I forget the name. I have three of those little mustard colored paperbacks, which reproduce the cartoons at a very small size, and which I think were reprints of larger editions. Even though I want to have all of his books, I have made no serious effort to complete my collection. By contrast, I think I have everything by Walt Kelly except a few of the comics from the 40s, the Pogo songbook, and songs of the Pogo. I think those were two different books, but I am no singer and just wasn't very interested. I think I have everything connected with the Far Side, except for the animated TV movie (I don't know if one can get that anywhere; I couldn't find it on YouTube). I think I have all of the Sylvia books by Nicole Hollander. I know I don't have all of the pearls before swine books, Calvin and Hobbes, or the Tom tomorrow books. I need to work on that.

121817c

Did you know that Charles Addams, who invented the Addams family, did a version of Mother Goose? I sure didn't, but I have ordered a copy. I will review it here. I wonder if it is anything like Chaosium's "Call of Cthulhu for beginning readers," which is a truly awesome book. if you know of any others of this ilk, please comment.

120517

Froggy Went A-Courting

I couldn't see a thing. It was as dark as the inside of a dog. No, it was darker than that. It was as dark as the inside of a dog that's been swallowed whole by a lion, or a bigger dog. (Not likely, that one, cos the dog it looked like the inside of was a pretty big one.) Maybe it had been swallowed by an anaconda. Then I realized my eyes were squeezed shut. I opened them, looked around. Still couldn't see a thing. I began to wonder if I was inside a dog. I tried to reach out and see if I could touch my surroundings, not that I wanted to if I was inside a dog, but my arms wouldn't move. That wasn't the worst of it. They hurt like hell. My brain sent me a telegram marked Urgent: I was tied up. Also, it seemed I had been hit on the head, if my throbbing headache was anything to go by. It was. I know things like that. My name is Deadbolt, Hasp Deadbolt. I'm a P.I.

Time passed, during which I might've been unconscious. Suddenly, someone ripped a hood off my head. It was ... a woman who looked kind of familiar. Her name was ... Rumplestiltskin? I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head violently. Opened up: her again. Loretta von Meier, widow of the unlamented Oskar the Butcher? No. Where did I know her from? Something or someone gnawed through the ropes binding my hands and feet. I slumped to the floor. She was wearing blood-red boots with 5 inch heels, which meant she was short and didn't like it. I turned my head to look up at her out of the corner of my eye. Was she? It couldn't be, but it was! Gertrude "Red" Wolfe, timber baron(ess) and widowed child bride of her own grandmother's ex-husband, author of a popular series of novels for young predators, and so on. She was also the last woman I wanted to see in a situation like this. We had dated, back in the day. It had not ended well.

"Gertrude," I said weakly.

She got straight to the point.

"I'll get straight to the point, Deadbolt," she growled, nudging me in the ribs with the toe of her boot. "I disliked you the day I threw you out and I still don't like you. I never will."

I struggled to a seated position and rubbed my eyes. "Then why are we hanging out?"

"We are not...!"

"And why not come to my office," I interrupted, "during business hours, to tell me that. Or just send me a certified letter. Or wait, I have a better idea. You could send a singing Gandergram™. Geese come cheap." It was taking her longer than usual to call me an idiot.

"Shut up, you idiot, and get up off the floor."

I did, and looked around. I saw a plain wooden chair and took it. I knew she wanted something. She wasn't one to spend time on verbal abuse, or even the physical kind, for its own sake. She wanted me to talk. Well, good luck with that, sister, I shouted inside my head, good luck with that.

She paced back and forth in front of me, 4 feet and 8 inches (plus five) of frustrated womanhood. That much I could see, but she wasn't talking, not with her mouth. Yes, she had plenty to say, but I wasn't listening with my ears. If that was what she wanted she was out of luck. My ears were off, shut down, disconnected, flopping weakly on the dusty floor like fish on a hot tin roof. Well, I guess those tin-roof fish would be jumping pretty energetically, and besides, my ears weren't really detached at all. It's called metaphor. Anyway, her outfit was red from tip to toe, and it left little room for concealed weapons or imagination. My soliloquy on audition had not been much of a distraction. Back and forth, back and forth she paced. Her discourse was on a familiar theme, and it was what had brought us together all those years ago. She could've been a glass of red wine, full to the lips, if you could blow a glass with curves like that. It was too early for wine. Sweat trickled into my eyes. My vision blurred. I tried to blink it out, but it was useless. Now, with vision occluded, olfaction came to the fore. Her scent wound around my nostrils like a string of sausages around a chained dog. A starving one. I had to change the subject. I had to say something, anything. I didn't have to tell her what she wanted to know.

"You win," I rasped. I cleared my throat and tried again. "You win. What do you want?"

"Someone has taken my frog," she said, "my dear speckled frog." So it was that way, was it? An amphibian was something of a comedown from a wolf, not to mention me. Still, if a frog was good enough for a princess... I am not prejudiced against the differently slimed.

"When did you last see him or her?"

Finally the words came. He'd been sunning himself on a speckled log, floating in a lilypond on their private estate.

"Then he was ... just gone." There were tears in her eyes. That's not something you see every day; she was really gone on this frog. "All that was left was his four brothers!"

His. Four. Brothers. Even in this enlightened day, you cannot marry five frogs. I told her that, in the kindest possible way.

"You can't marry five frogs! Not at the same time," I added.

"Marry! What the hell are you talking about?! They're dinner. I want you to find the missing frog before 5 p.m. today. I need all five, and they have to go in the marinade by five."

This was the Gertrude I knew and loved. I told her my fee, and she agreed to pay. There was a 50% surcharge for kidnapping me, but I didn't break it down for her. She paid half the total up front, gave me taxi fare home and directions to her estate, and was gone.

Her parting words were "Give my regards to your lovely wife." Coming from her, this was as good as a threat. I'd keep my appointment.

After a stop at home to change and eat lunch I was on my way. This rigamarole seemed like a lot of trouble to go to for a nice dinner. There might be more to it than the simple desire on the part of a diminutive wealthy spoiled widow to show a new lover, whoever he might be, a good time. Still, that wasn't my affair. I simply had to catch one wayward amphibian. And try to figure out what was really happening.

#

My thoughts kept me busy, and the cityscape had not registered on my consciousness. Now, the rolling hills covered with cornfields and cow pastures, through which I was driving, took me back to a simpler time. Rope swings and leaf piles, fallen-tree pirate ships, frog ponds and – here it was, "Lupine Farm." I turned in between white-painted posts and followed new blacktop in a succession of sweeping curves. They kept on coming, left, right, left, right. The drive was so long Gertrude should have posted a sign saying "Last gas for __ miles," and the variety of exotic wildlife I saw behind miles of picket fences really made me wonder why she was messing around with batrachians. Despite the unremitting evidence of luxury betrayed by the grounds, the house was still an over-the-top surprise. Three-story tapered columns held up a porch bigger than the block I grew up on. I was pretty sure she had a bedroom for every square foot of space in my house. When would you have time to even visit all of those rooms, much less clean them?

The pond was out back. One of the servants, an expressionless fellow named Lug, showed me the way. The place was smaller than I expected, no more than 30 feet across, and probably not much more than a foot deep. I could see the bottom halfway out to the middle. Cattails rimmed the pool, dragonflies hovered, it was an idyllic spot. And here I was, accessory before the fact. I asked Lug a few probing questions.

"So where is this log where the frog disappeared?" He pointed to a log so small it was hardly more than a stick. It protruded from a small stand of cattails. I didn't see any frogs.

"I don't see any frogs."

Lug shrugged expressively, as if to say that it wasn't his job to find dinner. I made a shooing motion, and he headed back up the hill. I wasn't going to get any useful information out of him anyway.

I walked slowly around the pond. I saw one frog, of which only the eyes were above water. It was speckled.

"Hey," I said, "what do you know about the lady who owns the big house?"

The frog blinked, ducked under the surface of the water, and swam out towards the middle of the pond.

"She told me you and your brothers are dinner tonight," I shouted, "all five of you!" Soon there were five pairs of eyes bobbing in the ripples that disturbed the pool. A bubble burst.

"We're listening," it gurgled.

"Aren't you worried? You need to get out of here," I said.

"Kill her," a bubble said. "You'll be rewarded handsomely," another continued. One of the pairs of eyes blinked. Then they all vanished as footsteps squelched behind me. I turned to see Lug, rubber boots in one hand and a long-handled net in the other.

"Your tools, Sir," he rumbled, like Lurch in the old Addams Family TV show. I looked back at the pond. There was not an amphibian in sight.

"Right. OK, give me a few, and I'll bring them up to the house." I waited till he'd gone, then leaned over the pond. "I'm not going to catch you, but something's wrong here. Why does she want you dead?" Just then I heard a very familiar sort of click.

"Reach for the sky," one of the frogs said from behind me. Cold metal pressed against my leg, just above my heel. I thought about jumping out of the way.

"Don't even think about jumping out of the way," the voice continued, "I'm a crack shot."

I raised my hands and waited for the frog's next move.

#

I slogged up to the back door of the house, leaned the net up against the wall, and took off the boots. I went inside, and soon felt clammy toes and the barrel of a small revolver drop away from my ankle. I kept on walking. I was in a straight, low-ceilinged hall paneled in dark wood. Just inside the door was a row of pegs at about shoulder height. They were empty. My shoes were still down by the pond, and I moved silently past several closed doors. Light streamed out of an open door on the right. I stopped just before the door and listened, but heard nothing. As I quickly stepped past I looked inside. There was light because it had a window, and the curtains were open. It appeared to be a food preparation room, and an open door on the other side showed part of the kitchen. I saw no one, but as I passed the door I heard a tiny shrill shriek. Moments later, a mouse dressed as a maid darted out of the room. She carried an inch-long rolling pin. She started down the hall in the direction I'd been going, stopped, looked around for a moment, and then ran back into the room. Thank God for ornate woodwork I thought, as I lowered myself to the floor. I needed to move fast, and I did. There didn't seem to be too many living in the big house, and I made it all the way to a second-floor balcony running around a ballroom without being observed. A long table of dark wood was shoved against the wall, under a row of stuffed animal heads. Several of them looked familiar, but I couldn't place them. That black duck now, he closely resembled a wacky character I used to know. Danny? Dally? I thought I'd heard he'd moved out to Hollywood. There were identifying tags under the heads, but I was too far away to read them. I didn't see any dining-room chairs, but a massive block of wood, practically writhing with carved serpents and other monsters, loomed over the right end of the room. On it lounged Gertrude, lost on the massive block, lost, for that matter, in her long dress and dozen petticoats of various shades of pink. She was apparently alone. I was about to vault over the railing and confront her, when a herald announced

"Prince Duke of Fewmettia!"

A tall young man wearing a military-style dress uniform covered in enough gold braid to make a field of sunflowers strode into view. He approached the left side of the throne, and leaned down to kiss Gertrude. It was a long kiss. A very long one. It involved quite a bit of hands running through hair. Speaking of hands, one of mine was hurting. Apparently I'd been gripping the railing for a good while.

Finally, they broke apart.

"Darling," he began, "I have missed you terribly."

Gertrude trailed her fingernails across his cheek. "And I, you. I've missed you so much, and I just can't get anyone around here to do what needs to be done. It's nice to have a real man in the castle again."

My God, she actually batted her eyes at him. And he was eating it up. "Anything! Anything for you!"

"In that case," she said, leaning close to his ear, "in that case, here's what I want you to do." I missed most of the rest of what she said. My hearing hasn't been what it once was ever since I solved the case of the belltower beheading. But I caught a few words. She did mention frogs, and legs, and something about garlic. She was so emphatic, though, that it reinforced my feeling that this mania about killing the frogs was not about a desire for French food.

They nuzzled a bit, and then Gertrude shooed the prince away.

"Marry me," he said, but without emphasis, as if this was something he had said many times before.

"When I've taken care of my husband," she replied. He left, but I really didn't notice. Gertrude, married. Somehow I had never expected that.

On my side of the balcony, out of Gertrude's line of sight, gold and crimson drapery hung down almost to the floor. It was securely tied at the top, and I thought it would hold my weight. Over the railing I went, and descended hand over hand to the floor. Gertrude hadn't noticed me, so I stood by the arras for a moment. The guard at the door must be on the outside, because I didn't see him. I didn't see anyone else in the room, but Gertrude was talking quietly to herself. I moved silently closer until I was only a few feet away. I realized that she wasn't talking to herself. Someone was answering. It was the frog who had snuck into the castle with me. The frog was sitting on one of the arms of the throne, pistol trained on Gertrude.

"You know I would never cook you and eat you," she said. "I respect you too much for that."

The frog sneered. "It was never about that, Gertie. You actually thought I was in love with you? You?! You're not my kind of girl. No, it was always about all of this from the beginning." He waved his free hand to encompass the house and, I suppose, the entire estate. I could tell he was ready to make his move. I leaped around to the front of the throne.

"Freeze!" I shouted. Several things happened simultaneously. I tripped on something lying on the floor and lunged wildly forward, trying to keep my balance. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the frog shift his aim and fire twice where I would've been if I hadn't tripped. Gertrude slapped some kind of switch on the side of the throne, and the frog shot straight up in the air with a loud twang.

"Ribbiiiiiit!" he screamed.

Gertrude whipped out a machine pistol and emptied the clip into the air. The frog's scream was abruptly cut off. She looked at me.

"Drop it," I said. She let the machine pistol fall to the floor and then stood up, never taking her eyes off of me.

"You saw what happened," she said. "It was self-defense."

I raised one eyebrow. "I didn't hear him firing any shots while he was up in the sky," I said carefully. I swallowed. "You married the frog?" Even though Alma was twice the woman Gertrude was, and I didn't regret a thing, I was embarrassed to be bested at the game of love by a mere amphibian.

"He didn't turn into a prince like he promised," she said, "but in some ways he was twice the man you are. He was a mover. He would have gone far. Problem was he wanted to do it over my dead body. But there were no flies on him."

Obviously. "Look, I have to take you in. You killed a man. Well, you killed your husband. We'll let a jury sort out whether it was self-defense."

"Hasp, you're a good man. And I care for you. That's what makes this hard. But you've forgotten one thing." She was stepping back toward the throne and moving around to the other side. I followed, keeping her in my sights, though she probably knew it would be tough for me to shoot her. I didn't know if I could do it. Then she slapped the throne and I realized what I had forgotten. I'd forgotten what a devious creature she was. I remembered, while plummeting through darkness after the trap door opened up beneath my feet.

#

I was in a hospital bed. Alma sat beside me. The room was very brightly lit. I blinked rapidly, my eyes tearing up. "What happened to Gertrude?"

Alma frowned. What she said I'm reluctant to print here in view of her reputation for gentility and equanimity. "No one has been able to find her," she went on, "she gave the cops the slip and may be out of the country by now for all I know. She tried to kill you. She better hope that I never see her again!"

It was on the tip of my tongue to object. When I lay unconscious in the pit she easily could have finished me off. And then there was what she said at the end. I like to think it was the truth. (Not the part about the frog being a better man than I am. The other part.) She had no reason to lie to me then, unlike all those other times. I could have said a lot of things, but I kept my mouth shut. Instead I took Alma's hand and squeezed it.

"I've always hated working domestic disputes," I said, "they're messy." She squeezed my hand back, stood up, and moved out of my field of view. Sergeant Satyrday took her place and opened his notebook. He shook his head and tapped his pencil against his lips.

"Deadbolt, Deadbolt. When are you going to learn you can't play in the big leagues. I mean, this guy was a frog! A real tough guy. Maybe even a cream puff."

"Keep on laughing wiseguy," I said. He had been sweet on Gertrude as well, but she had never given him the time of day. "Have you caught her yet?" He made a sour face, then proceeded to take me through the whole sordid episode. Two times. Whatever. He wasn't smart enough to catch her. With my client guilty of murder and on the run, I wasn't getting paid. I figured that the only satisfaction I was likely to get was to make his face turn red. Turned out I was wrong. Gertrude sent me a nice check, drawn on a Swiss bank. With it came a note.

"Hasp,

You didn't really take out my husband, and I think you were trying to doublecross me. Still, I felt guilty about dropping you in the hole. I know you can use the money, raising a family on what a P.I. makes. See you soon,

Gertie"

I cashed the check, but didn't show Alma the letter. It would have been an unwelcome distraction, with the baby due in a couple of months. We're decorating the nursery with animals, but no frogs.

###

More Hasp Deadbolt: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/42875  



Lyrics to one of many different versions of this song:


Frog went a courtin' and he did ride, uh, huh
Frog went a courtin' and he did ride, uh, huh
Frog went a courtin' and he did ride
With a sword and a pistol by his side
Uh, huh, uh, huh, uh, huh

He rode right up to Miss. Mousie's door, uh, huh
He rode right up to Miss. Mousie's door, uh, huh
He rode right up to Miss. Mousie's door
Gave three loud raps and a very big roar
Uh, huh, uh, huh, uh, huh

Said Miss. Mouse, are you within, uh, huh?
Said Miss. Mouse, are you within, uh, huh?
Said Miss. Mouse, are you within?
Miss. Mousie said, "I sit and spin
Uh, huh, uh, huh, uh, huh"

Took Miss. Mousie on his knee, uh, huh
Took Miss. Mousie on his knee, uh, huh
Took Miss. Mousie on his knee
Said Miss Mousie, "Will you marry me
Uh, huh, uh, huh, uh, huh?"

Without my Uncle Rat's consent, uh, huh
Without my Uncle Rat's consent, uh, huh
Without my Uncle Rat's consent
I wouldn't marry the President
Uh, huh, uh, huh, uh, huh

Uncle Rat laughed and he shook his fat sides, uh, huh
Uncle Rat laughed and he shook his fat sides, uh, huh
Uncle Rat laughed and he shook his fat sides
To think his niece would be a bride
Uh, huh, uh, huh, uh, huh

Uncle Rat went running downtown, uh, huh
Uncle Rat went running downtown, uh, huh
Uncle Rat went running downtown
To buy his niece a wedding gown
Uh, huh, uh, huh, uh, huh

Where shall the wedding supper be, uh, huh?
Where shall the wedding supper be, uh, huh?
Where shall the wedding supper be?
Way down yonder in the hollow tree
Uh, huh, uh, huh, uh, huh

Where shall the wedding supper be, uh, huh?
Where shall the wedding supper be, uh, huh?
Where shall the wedding supper be?
Fried mosquito and a black-eyed pea
Uh, huh, uh, huh, uh, huh

First to come in was a flyin' moth, uh, huh
First to come in was a flyin' moth, uh, huh
First to come in was a flyin' moth
She laid out the table cloth
Uh, huh, uh, huh, uh, huh

Next to come in was a Juney bug, uh, huh
Next to come in was a Juney bug, uh, huh
Next to come in was a Juney bug
She brought in the water jug
Uh, huh, uh, huh, uh, huh

Next to come in was a bumbly bee, uh, huh
Next to come in was a bumbly bee, uh, huh
Next to come in was a bumbly bee
Sat mosquito on his knee
Uh, huh, uh, huh, uh, huh

Next to come in was a broken back flea, uh, huh
Next to come in was a broken back flea, uh, huh
Next to come in was a broken back flea
Danced a jig with the bumbly bee
Uh, huh, uh, huh, uh, huh

Next to come in was Mrs. Cow, uh, huh
Next to come in was Mrs. Cow, uh, huh
Next to come in was Mrs. Cow
She tried to dance but she didn't know how
Uh, huh, uh, huh, uh, huh

Next to come in was a little black tick, uh, huh
Next to come in was a little black tick, uh, huh
Next to come in was a little black tick
She ate so much it made her sick
Uh, huh, uh, huh, uh, huh

Next to come in was the big black snake, uh, huh
Next to come in was the big black snake, uh, huh
Next to come in was the big black snake
Ate up all of the wedding cake
Uh, huh, uh, huh, uh, huh

Next to come in was the old gray cat, uh, huh
Next to come in was the old gray cat, uh, huh
Next to come in was the old gray cat
Swallowed the mouse and ate up the rat
Uh, huh, uh, huh, uh, huh

Mr.Frog went a-hoppin' up over the brooke, uh, huh
Mr.Frog went a-hoppin' up over the brooke, uh, huh
Mr.Frog went a-hoppin' up over the brooke
A lily white dove came and swallowed him up
Uh, huh, uh, huh, uh, huh

Little piece of corn bread layin' on the shelf, uh, huh
Little piece of corn bread layin' on the shelf, uh, huh
Little piece of corn bread layin' on the shelf
If you want anymore you can sing it yourself
Uh, huh, uh, huh, uh, huh

112217b

Stunned scientists this week unearthed proof of late-Cretaceous dinosaurs civilization. A mummified T. rex, wearing a XXXXXXXXXXL T-shirt bearing some sort of cartoon about rat -like mammals. "The joke wasn't very funny," says Prof. John Smith, of Namuria College, "but what do you expect from a reptile?"

060817b

One of the most wonderful things about comic strips is that the author/artist can put all sorts of subtext and additional material in the background. For instance, in the "Pogo" comic, by Walt Kelly, almost all of the characters live in hollow trees. Most of them have their names nailed to boards over the door. Albert alligator has a sign that says "Albert" over his door. Except, in one strip it says "Atbler." Why? I have no idea. Albert is illiterate, as are most of the denizens of the swamp. It seems random, but likely isn't. Any Pogo fans have an idea about this?

I would be remiss if I didn't mention that Fantagraphics.com is reprinting all of the original Pogo newspaper strips from the beginning in large and very well produced hardback volumes. Three are out so far, and the fourth is due out in a few months. The strips are reproduced in a much larger size than they have been in two previous attempts to reprint Pogo comic strips that I know about and it really is beautiful. Wajt Kelly combined slapstick and politics the way almost no other humorist ever has and if you like comics or politics you have got to see these. Plus, I want you to buy the books so that Fantagraphics will be able to afford to keep printing them. No attempt to reprint all of Pogo has ever been successful, and I believe the reason is that the publishers haven't sold enough copies. So help me out here! This is a national treasure.

052017b

https://3610520.wixsite.com/theclassroomtimes/single-post/2017/05/19/Jagger-Arrested-Because-Of-Alleged-Little-Bite-Smuggling

So a friend of mine has a kid, who made this humorous web site. I think it's funny. Check it out.

051617

The Burgers of Tindalos

The spell will be complete

when fries are burnt on an iron griddle

under the full moon

and the sacred crimson

ointment is spread upon the bodies

yea, the entire bodies,

of the faithful,

and a virgin pickle is dismembered

and consumed with relish,

only then, with the proper incantations,

will the Portal open

and the Chëeseburger

(all praise its name) return to us

from the bowels of the cosmos.

Iä, Iä, Chëeseburger!

Long may it rule!

That is not consumed which can yet return

and in strange eons even hearts may burn

                            (The mad chef Cardius Congestivus)

The end

Apologies to H P Lovecraft & Frank Belknap Long


Brushfires, 2010

031317

bargun momb

This is a concrete poem,

with grass poking through the cracks,

and a pin, down between the slabs

where it can't be reached,

an acid stain in front of the chemistry

building,

and not a few scratches from file cabinets

and the like.

This is a concrete poem,

paving over my whimsey,

and the all-too-common urge

towards obscurantism.

This is a concrete poem,

vulnerable to acid,

and the violence of a critical hammer.

This is a concrete poem,

but some time ago

I was carrying it to a reading,

and a little piece broke of

underfoot (1991), my first chapbook. Inspired by a comment by the late Bob Grumman.